The Perfect Hostage (A Super Agent Novella) (Entangled Edge) by Misty Evans Page B

As if Boy Scout honor meant anything to him. If the Morgans were giving Lucie a hard time, he’d clean the deck with them.
    For kicks, he gave Lawson the Klingon hand signal. “ De Oppresso Liber , man.” To Free the Oppressed , the Beret motto. “I’m coming in.”
    Before he lost his nerve, he pocketed the phone and raised his mental shields—he had issues about his own dysfunctional family he needed to keep suppressed. Up went his impassive poker face, the one he preferred for awkward social events.
    He raised his finger to ring the doorbell. Put it back down.
    Fuck the doorbell. Guerilla warfare worked best when you took the enemy by surprise.

Chapter Two
    John Quick was hot.
    So hot, in fact, Lucie nearly dropped the tray of punch-filled champagne glasses when he entered the great room without even knocking.
    Lucie’s sister, Zara, all big belly and goofy smile, sat forward on the sofa and yelled, “John! You made it.”
    A fire crackled in the large stone fireplace. Her father and Agent Saunders, the FBI agent who’d been so kind to Lucie and her sister after their ordeal with the terrorist, Alexandrov Dmitri, last year, stood in front of the fireplace discussing stock options and gold futures.
    Zara’s mother sat on the sofa next to her daughter, the two of them surrounded by aunts, nieces, and cousins talking about strollers and applying for private schools.
    Lucie, kept at arm’s length all day by everyone but Zara, had been passing out the nonalcoholic punch and holding back an eye roll. The baby wasn’t even born yet and the Morgan clan was in an uproar over which private school the kid would attend. Agent Saunders, sensing Lucie’s exasperation, had winked at her and grinned. He was good like that…making her feel at ease in uncomfortable situations. He’d rescued her from plenty of those after the kidnapping when she’d had to recount what happened over and over to various government agencies.
    A good guy, just like John…the man she daydreamed about on an hourly basis now standing in the entryway, trailing in snow and staring straight at her.
    Some of the women giggled behind their hands. Her father’s face fell. Regardless that John was a hero, her father didn’t like him. On the two occasions the men had spoken, John had refused to talk about his family, his education, or his job history—the very cornerstones of the Morgan family. Everything her father held dear. From that point on, he’d made no secret that he thought John was using Lucie to get to the Morgan money.
    John didn’t seem to care what anyone thought. He wore camouflage pants, a knit hat with a hole in it, and cowboy boots. His jaw was covered with a couple days’ worth of stubble, his long hair peeked out from the hat, and he was carrying a six-pack of beer with a red bow on top.
    Framed by the open door and surrounded by the rugged backdrop and falling snow, John looked completely at home. For a long moment, Lucie simply stood and soaked him in.
    “Lawson!” Zara yelled at the top of her lungs. “John’s here.”
    Behind Lucie, their father cleared his throat. Morgans did not yell.
    While he’d fathered them both, Charles Morgan had never married Lucie’s mother, and Zara was the only Morgan who treated Lucie as blood relation. So while the head of the Morgan clan and his “legitimate” family claimed to accept Lucie as one of them, they hadn’t really accepted anything other than the fact Lucie was getting a big fat trust fund payout on Monday when she turned thirty. Few seemed happy about that.
    Like turning thirty wasn’t daunting enough.
    Zara struggled to get her pregnant self on her feet to greet John, and Lucie hastily set down the tray on the large glass coffee table. As she grabbed one of her sister’s hands, John strode across the wood floor, dropping snow as he went, and gently took Zara’s other hand. Together, the two of them helped her stand.
    Zara, always amenable and outgoing, had become even