Covert Makeover. Mallory Kane
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in flour and cookie dough.
“Michaela, what did I tell you?” Rosita bustled into the room. “You go and wash your hands right now.”
Michaela pushed away and looked at him solemnly. “I got to wash my hands, Daddy. So I don’t get your suit all dirty.”
He nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
She ran out of the room.
“Too late, but a good idea.” He chuckled as he pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. “Rosita, send these to be cleaned tomorrow, will you? I apologize for being late.”
“Mr. Sean, you get into your room before you take off anything else. It is not proper for you to unclothe in front of a woman of my age.”
Sean laughed and tossed his shirt and tie to her. “Right. Like you didn’t powder my bottom when I was a baby.” He headed toward the master bedroom, which was separated from Michaela’s room by the kitchen and dining room area. At the door, he turned.
“I may be late for the next several days.”
Rosita picked up his suit jacket and rolled it up with the shirt and tie. “No problem. My son and his wife have gone to Disney World. They ask me to go, but I told them all that walking was for young ones.”
“What are you, Rosita, ninety?”
“I am sixty-three, you bad boy. I made you paella for dinner. As soon as the tea cakes come out of the oven, I’m leaving. Tonight is my favorite television night.”
Sean showered quickly and pulled on an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt that said Miami Heat. When he came out, the apartment smelled of cookies. Michaela was waiting in the kitchen doorway. When she saw him her whole face lit up.
“Daddy! Try my cookie.”
He swept her up into his arms and took a big bite of the strangely shaped cookie she held.
“Mmm. It’s good.” He kissed her sugary cheek and breathed deeply of her precious, bubblegum, little girl scent. “Who’s Daddy’s favorite sprout?”
“Me!” She pointed her thumb at herself.
“That’s right. And don’t you ever forget it!”
“Don’t you ever forget.” She shook her finger in his face, and he grabbed it and pretended to bite it off.
His eyes stung as she giggled and jerked her finger away.
Don’t you ever forget it. He hugged her tightly and deliberately locked away the doubt his ex-wife had tried to plant in his head.
“Say good-night to Rosita.”
“G’night, Rosita. Thank you for the tea cakes.”
“Do you know what we’re having for dinner tonight, sprout?”
“Hot dogs!”
He laughed as he headed for the kitchen. “Not quite. We’re having paella.”
“Pie. Eee.” Michaela stretched her mouth this way and that, trying to say the word. “I don’t like it.”
“Sure you do.” He set her in her chair and served up a small portion in a bowl. “Here you go. It’s chicken and rice—sort of.”
She picked up a tidbit of chicken with her fingers. “I like chicken.”
“I know you do, sprout.” Sean grinned and his daughter grinned back. “But use your spoon. You’ll get more that way. Then when we’re done, we’ll get your bath and I’ll read you a story.”
He glanced at the kitchen clock. It was nearly eight. He needed to work out the details of the ransom drop. He never went into any situation without being fully prepared. But it would wait until Michaela went to sleep.
He didn’t want to miss one second of the time he had to spend with her.
TWO DAYS LATER, everything was in place for the drop. Carlos had received a call from the kidnappers. As Sean had planned it, Carlos pretended to be too weak to talk, so Sean took the phone and identified himself as Carlos’s personal bodyguard. He’d refused to meet them in an abandoned warehouse in a shady part of town and countered with an area in the middle of downtown Miami near police headquarters.
The man on the phone grew angry, but Sean hadn’t lost his cool. He’d taunted them, saying they wouldn’t dare try making the drop near Weddings Your Way. His bluff worked. The drop was scheduled for six o’clock in the evening on the far side of Weddings Your Way’s large cul-de-sac.
Sean checked his watch. It was five-fifteen. He was in Rachel Brennan’s office, along with Sophie, Montoya and a petite blonde who hadn’t sat down since she’d entered the room. She was standing by the window, looking out over the grounds of Weddings Your Way.
Rachel Brennan was pacing. “We’re ready, Rafe?” she asked.
Montoya’s dark brown eyes snapped. “Absolutely. There is ample visibility on all sides. I have three video cameras set up. We will get everything on tape.”
“But your men know not to approach, right?” Sean asked, repositioning the worn baseball cap that was sitting on his knee. He was restless. He wanted to be outside, in place, in case the kidnappers came early.
“But of course. My men are experienced in surveillance. There will be no mistakes.”
Sean heard the words Montoya had bitten off. This time. It was a dig at Craig Johnson and by association, Sean.
His fingers tightened on the baseball cap but he forced himself to keep quiet. He’d wanted to use his own security team, but Montoya had argued that if the kidnappers were watching the place, they’d know all the regulars. A host of new people would spook them. So there wasn’t a single member of Botero’s security team here except for Sean himself.
Montoya’s distaste at having to work with him was obvious. Sean could appreciate that the other man was as angry and frustrated as he was that Sonya had been kidnapped right in front of Weddings Your Way. But the important thing was to get Sonya back.
Now wasn’t the time to get into a turf war.
“Sophie,” Rachel went on. “You understand that you have to be completely in control at all times. You’re going to be walking across that cul-de-sac alone.”
As Sophie nodded, Sean studied Rachel. Her appearance fit with her wedding planning business—all feminine and cool and carefree. But her attitude didn’t. She exuded an air of authority that seemed more suited to a law enforcement organization.
Sensing a movement from his right, Sean glanced at Sophie. His gaze followed her hand as it slid down her thigh, smoothing the material of her gray pin-striped skirt. Her reaction to stress. She was in her usual uniform—pencil-thin skirt that stopped just above her knees; soft, expensive long-sleeved blouse; and those sheer black stockings. Today she wore black sling-back pumps. She couldn’t have been more inappropriately dressed for navigating uneven pavement carrying a suitcase full of money.
“Sean?”
He realized he was staring at Sophie’s legs. He dragged his gaze away and acknowledged Rachel.
“I was asking if you had any last-minute changes.”
He shook his head. “Not unless you can convince Ms. Brooks to wear something more appropriate.”
Sophie’s blue eyes glinted. “I don’t see anything wrong—”
Rachel waved a hand. “If you can pry Sophie out of that tight skirt and those panty hose, be my guest.”
Rafe Montoya burst out laughing. Isabelle, the petite blonde, joined him.
Sophie’s face turned a bright becoming pink, and Sean was surprised to feel a grin soften his own features.
“I could give