Assignment: Bodyguard. Lenora Worth
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don’t you quit ogling the man and help me greet my guests, okay?”
“Oh, all right,” Trudy replied, turning to whisper something to a nearby waiter. Winking at the waiter, she pivoted back to Kit. “But later, you and I are going to have a serious talk. If you’re in danger enough to need a handsome guard following you around, I need to know.” Then she touched a hand to Kit’s arm, her brown eyes turning serious. “I couldn’t bear it if—”
“I’m fine,” Kit said, wishing her father wasn’t so overbearing. “It just goes with the territory.”
Gerald Barton was one of the top agents in CHAIM—Christians for Amnesty, Intervention and Missions. And even though her father was supposedly retired, Kit had learned at an early age that a CHAIM agent never really retired. Especially when that agent’s only daughter had lost her husband under questionable circumstances and was, herself, constantly receiving threats because of her stand against injustice.
Frustrated with the restrictions on her life, she shook her head then silently chastised herself. Maybe a prayer of thanks would be more appropriate, considering she was loved and held dear by her family and her friends. And she was blessed beyond measure. Which made her quip, “I’d like to forget all of this, just for tonight, okay?”
Trudy nodded, then leaned in. “But, honey, you must be thinking the same thing I’m thinking. They never figured out what happened when Jacob’s helicopter went down. That crash might not have been an accident, no matter how hard the authorities tried to do a cover-up.”
“You don’t have to remind me of that,” Kit said, old hurts making her snap in spite of Trudy’s concerns. “I think about it every day of my life.” And she always hoped that somewhere in her philanthropic travels, she’d find out the truth regarding her husband’s death. But no one was willing to delve into that now. It was over and done.
Lord, give me strength and patience, she silently prayed. And teach me how to get over this deep grief.
“I’m sorry,” Trudy said. She dropped her arm and stood back. “Go do your job. But remember, you promised me you will take some time off for that spa trip we keep talking about. I’ve found a very secluded retreat out in New Mexico. Just the two of us. We need some downtime.”
Kit looked at her watch again, thinking she’d need to make a speech in a few minutes. “That would be good. I’ve been so busy planning tonight’s event, I think I’m a little overwrought. But, Trudy, thanks for your concern.”
Trudy gave her a quick peck on the cheek, her worried look changing to playful as she touched a finger to Kit’s pearls, lifting the strand for a second before she let the shimmering strand drop. “Whatever you think about him, that gorgeous man over there can’t seem to take his eyes off you, darlin’.”
“That’s because he’s being paid to keep his eyes on me,” Katherine countered.
“And I’m sure he’s enjoying his job,” Trudy replied as she waltzed away and into the crowd. “Maybe you should enjoy the company.”
Kit lifted her head, her hand going up to the single strand of pearls Jacob had given her for their tenth anniversary. They’d gone out to dinner and after they’d come home, he’d unclasped the pearls and hugged her close. They’d been fighting but he’d tried all that night to make up to her. “Promise me you’ll wear these every single day.”
“I promise,” she’d said. That was the last time she’d held him in her arms. Her husband was dead now, and in many ways, so was she. At least she felt dead inside. Her devout mother and former CHAIM operative, Sally Mae, would tell her to never give up hope, to turn to her faith. But how could that help now?
What did it matter if she was receiving death threats for her determined stance? She had work to do and she intended to do it, and no amount of empty threats would stop her. Her work was the only thing holding Kit together these days. Work was her salvation. So with a renewed determination that included ignoring the handsome, dedicated man who’d been shadowing her all night, Katherine put on a convincing smile then moved through the glittering crowd filing into the hotel ballroom, her mind going on autopilot as she played to the hilt the role of hostess.
Head up, shoulders back, and a serene expression. That was the Barton tradition, after all.
He shouldn’t have signed up for this. It was never a good idea to be in charge of taking care of a beautiful woman. Never a good idea, but then the Knight was known for taking on the tough cases. This one was killer tough. And so lovely.
Shane Warwick moved through the crowd, his gaze sweeping the room with a cool assessment. The ballroom was long and rectangular with shimmering crystal chandeliers and gleaming mirrored walls, which made it twice as hard to keep up with the subject under surveillance. Glass windows all around the big square room allowed an incredible view of downtown Austin, Texas, and the Colorado River, but Shane didn’t have time to look out the windows. If he took his eyes off Katherine Barton Atkins long enough, he could enjoy the view of the State Capitol gleaming brightly off in the distance. But he couldn’t look away from her and for more reasons than just this particular assignment required.
The woman was easy on the eyes, as they liked to say here in Texas.
Shane went over the facts, trying to distract himself from getting too involved. Getting involved with beautiful women was his gift and his downfall. Sometimes the job required certain things and sometimes he just fell hard for a pretty face then moved on once the excitement had worn off. He couldn’t allow that to happen this time. Mainly because if Shane crossed that line with this woman, her father and his superior, Gerald Barton, would shoot first and ask questions later, as they also liked to say here in Texas.
Back to the facts, he sternly reminded himself.
Katherine “Kit” Barton Atkins, daughter of wealthy CHAIM leader Gerald Barton and his wife, Sally Mae Barton, childless widow of State Senator Jacob Atkins, and CEO of the Barton Atkins Foundation. Old Texas money and all the perks and responsibilities of also inheriting her husband’s newly minted money to boot.
According to the information he’d been given, the young widow wasn’t a typical socialite. She believed in the causes she worked so hard for, even if it meant she had to attend such stuffy affairs as this one. And even if it meant she had to go out into the field and make her points with photo ops and highly opinionated, impassioned speeches. Plus, she didn’t seem to mind getting down and dirty or going into the fray. He’d seen pictures of her holding dying infants in third world countries; he’d seen pictures of her walking through storm-littered villages. And he’d seen an unauthorized shot of her standing in a corner, turned slightly away from the glare of the spotlight, her hand to her face, all alone and wearing exquisite white pearls and a severe black dress, just after they’d buried her husband.
But she hid her grief behind her work and that was why he was here. Her father was very concerned about her. Which made Shane concerned, too, and intent on protecting her. If he could keep the woman in his line of sight.
She moved through the crowd with a grace that reminded Shane of ballerinas and swans and all things lovely. Her whole persona exuded cool, blond elegance. Her evening gown was almost severe in its cut and color—shimmering and sleeveless but with a discreet beaded beige portrait collar and a skirt that flowed all around her in soft, folding wisps of designer-cut silk. And she was wearing what looked like the same pearls she’d worn to her husband’s funeral. Other than a pretty glittering watch on her left arm and her wedding band, the pearls were her only decoration. He wondered if she’d chosen this dress and jewelry on purpose—to set her apart from all the standard but predictable black and red formal dresses, festooned with sparkling jewels, fluttering all around her. Or had she just reached into her closet and come up with a winning combination of classic proportions? Either way, it worked for Shane.
Shane had always admired attractive women and he could spot a phony a mile away. Katherine was the real thing. Purebred and gracious, perfectly attired and perfectly serene. She seemed untouchable, unruffled and unconcerned, until she glanced up and straight