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More than Happenstance
“How the hell am I supposed to know where she is, Rachel?” Dex shouted into his phone, frustrated and frankly scared beyond his capacity to stand any longer. “After what happened on the plane, it’s not like I can follow her! And I sure as hell can’t leave her a message.”
“Why not?”
“For pity’s sake, he’s weaseled himself into her room now!”
At the other end of the line, Rachel froze, rooted to her spot as she paced her bedroom in the wee hours of the morning. “Wait—what happened on the plane?”
“He happened.” Wiping a frustrated palm over his countenance, he continued. “That fake Duke? He’s the one who stole my seat next to her. As it happened, my new seat was still close, and since my entire reason for being on that damn flight was otherwise occupied, I had time to observe him. He’s good, Rachel. Damn good. He knows shit about her—personal shit even we didn’t know. I’m telling you, whatever is happening here, it’s bigger than us. It’s not something I
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Knowing she needed time to think—more time than was feasible in the hotel’s crowded restaurant—Caitlyn excused herself to shower when she and Duke returned to their room. He’d taken his shower before their meal, inviting her to join him with his most devilish smile and one lifted brow. It hadn’t been the only thing sticking up, she’d noticed. Even though she’d tried not to look. Compared to the American hotel rooms she was used to, the room she and Duke were sharing seemed positively Spartan. The only furniture in it was the two twin-sized beds, separated by scarcely a foot of space on any side, and a hanging mirror attached to one wall. Obnoxiously bright recessed ceiling lamps provided the only lighting, and there wasn’t even an option to dim them. They were either on or off as a whole, and once off, plunged the room into pitch-blackness. The bathroom though was quite nice. Spacious enough for both a toilet and bidet, with a large bowl-like sink to one side
Italy With A Duke Irresistible
When Dr. Alexander Maddox was diagnosed with a stage-four, inoperable brain tumor less than six months after a one-hundred percent normal annual physical, he’d wasted no time in contacting the US government. The man hadn’t been stupid, even if he had been secretive. He’d known immediately that the quiet but substantial grant that funded both his public research—the work he did in parallel with his brilliant but oblivious wife—and the private, top secret work he did for the US military was the reason. The pair had been under surveillance for years, of course. In fact, Duke’s bureau had provided the undercover waitstaff for the couple’s intimate and private wedding reception, and a team had kept track of them at a distance from the moment they’d married. Originally, there’d been two agents—one tailing Caitlyn, the other on Alex—but when the couple had wed, the staffing had been increased to four on rotating schedules. One each to guard them during the workday at their
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“Here you go, darlin’. Try this one.” Duke set a glass of freshly-squeezed juice from the bar beside her breakfast plate. Like usual, Caitlyn startled, looking up from his phone as he returned to his seat beside her in the hotel’s restaurant. The place was packed—every table full—and noisy, the same for the rest of the hotel. So, the members of their travel tour who’d agreed to share rooms upon their arrival were still sharing rooms on their last day in Venice. After the initial shock of it, she didn’t mind. Duke was neat and tidy to a fault, but infinitely tolerant and even amused by the general shambles that occurred in her wake. They made a good team, wandering the postcard-perfect streets of the floating city, with its crisscrossing canals, museums and galleries and public squares. He followed gamely with her leading using his phone and him constantly looking out for her. No matter what it was that she suggested they do, he always went along without compl
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Thrilled with his response, Caitlyn beamed. And equally as abruptly, her delight morphed into awkwardness. Suddenly, she didn’t know what she wanted to know about him. All of it—everything—but she couldn’t think of a single specific question to ask. Breaking the ice had been Alex’s forte. It wasn’t something she knew how to do. Her thoughts quickly derailed as, near the center of the room, their tour director stood, clanging a metal spoon against a ringing glass. “Excuse me, please. Excuse the interruption, please.” She lowered her voice as the conversation in the room faded and attention turned to her. “If you are a member of my tour—a member of Caroline’s tour—would you please meet me in the hotel’s lobby in fifteen minutes?” “What’da’ya suppose that’s about?” Duke whispered. Beside him, Caitlyn only shrugged. “There’s been a change of plans since our discussion after dinner last evening and I need to update the entire party,” Caroline conti
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Blanching, Caitlyn staggered backwards, crashing against the wall. Her heart spun inside her chest like a hummingbird’s wings and her breath came in frantic little pants. There was only one way the blue-eyed stranger could know that she hadn’t looked at her phone since they’d arrived in Italy. He had been trying to reach it. Which meant that he knew who she was, even if she didn’t know him. For a long minute, she racked her brain, searching for any possible connection. Any possible way she might know him. Aside from a striking similarity to Duke in both build and looks, and vaguely, the same sort of physical appeal, there was nothing. She had to get to her phone. Dashing forward, she snatched the paper towel message off the sink, wadding it up and tossing it in the bin quickly. She glanced up at her reflection in the mirror and a faint groan of anxiety escaped her. Her face was pale as a sheet. As attentive of a partner as Duke was, th
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Caitlyn’s cellphone battery had less that ten percent left on it after four days off the charger, and even though they’d left Venice, she still had no service. With a frustrated sigh, she powered it off, then zipped it back inside the pocket of her carryon. “When we get to the hotel in Florence, would you mind if I used your phone to call my wireless carrier?” Next to her, Duke turned his head and stared at her, thoroughly perplexed. Though she knew it couldn’t be true, she couldn’t shake the impression that he was a tall, dark and handsome, walking, talking lie detector most of the time, and spending nearly every hour of her last four days with him had cemented it. It was subtle things—so subtle in fact that it hadn’t been until he’d said something about her not liking asparagus to the waiter at one of their meals without her every having mentioned it that she’d begun to think about it. To catalog all the exceptionally specific things he’d noticed about her.
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Behind Duke and Caitlyn a few seats, Dex exhaled a disgusted sigh. He’d developed a genuine dislike for the big Texan who’d usurped him as Caitlyn Maddox’ Duke. Not because he cared one way or another about her—he was still on the trip, and frankly, enjoying himself since he didn’t have to babysit and entertain her. Still, he felt a little bad. She was being taken in, taken advantage of, and in the end, he knew that a woman like her, well, she’d come out of this with a broken heart. That wasn’t what she’d signed up for. Shifting to one side, he slipped his phone from his slacks’ pocket. <Where are you!!??> he demanded again of Rachel, not expecting to receive a response. She hadn’t bothered to reply to any of his texts for the last twelve hours. When the phone vibrated in his hand a few seconds later, he glanced down at it in shock. <Atlanta. Layover before the flight to Venice> Venice? Internally, Dex groaned. <I thought you we
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