“What?”
“It isn’t signed.”
“Should it be?”
“Yes. There’s a small anchor and the date. But that’s it.” She replaced the mug, then picked up a vase, then a bowl. No names on anything. “You’d think pieces this expensive would be signed and numbered.”
“Well, when we come back, you can ask about it.” Zane pulled her away from the shelf. “But for now you’ll have to wait until we go back into town to pick up a Gossamer Falls mug for ten bucks.”
“That will be great. And I also want a bookmark from the local woodworker who made Gray’s table.”
Zane dropped a kiss on her forehead. “We’ll get them tomorrow.”
They wandered out of the gift shop without making any purchases and spent another thirty minutes exploring, their focus shifting to the areas that would be easily defensible, as well as what they might have to do to make it safe for the president.
“Well, what do you think?” Zane asked as they walked back to their cabin.
Tessa paused at the door. “I don’t think everything is as post-card perfect here as the good people of Gossamer Falls and The Haven would like us to believe. But the president and First Lady will love The Haven. And regardless of what they decide, I’d like to visit Gossamer Falls again. Soon.”
Sneak Peek fromDeadly Objective
EMILY DIXON NODDEDat the Secret Service agent standing post inside the front door of the vice president’s home. She handed him her bag and waited for him to examine the contents, the same way she had three times a week for the past six months. Before he finished, another agent approached from the long hallway to her right. Red hair, blue eyes, freckles, and a baby face that made him look like a college student and not the seven-year-veteran agent he was.
He stopped well into her personal space, crossed his arms, and loomed over her. “You’re early today, Ms. Dixon. This is going to mess up the schedule.”
Her Southern accent usually lingered around the edges of her voice, but she layered it thick on every word as she replied, “Good morning to you too, Special Agent Harper.”
Liam Harper developed an immediate and intense fascination with his shoes, but not before she caught the twitch of his lips. He made no reply until Emily’s bag had been returned to her and they were behind the closed doors of the small room designated for her to treat the vice president’s son. She and Liam had been on a first-name basis for months, but not in public. The only person who’d picked up on the way their relationship had been sliding from professional to personal was Mason Lawson. Her patient. Liam’s protectee.
“You really let the East Tennessee fly this morning.” Liam grinned at her, his words coming in a slow, low-country drawl that she didn’t ever get tired of hearing.
“My East Tennessee can take your South Carolina any day, and we both know it.”
“All kidding aside...” He leaned against the door, arms crossed, ankles crossed, accent gone—well, mostly. “Do you need me to get Mason early?”
She dropped her bag onto the octagon-shaped table to the left of the door and pulled out the exercise bands and massage gun she needed for today’s session. “There’s no rush. I hit the traffic jackpot today. I’ve never managed this trip in under forty-three minutes. Today was thirty-five.”
Liam waggled his eyebrows. “Right. That’s your story, but I know the truth.”
“Which is?”
“You couldn’t wait to see me.”
Emily made a show of pondering his words before giving her head a slow shake. “No. That’s not it.” The words were true enough. She’d been lucky with the traffic today. But they were also a whopper of a lie, because somehow over the past few months, her three-times-a-week therapy sessions with Mason Lawson had become the highlight of her week.
And it certainly wasn’t because of Mason. The teenager could be a nightmare when he was in a mood. Emily and her twin, Gil, had gotten into their fair share of trouble as children, but Mason Lawson was like a Tasmanian devil in three-hundred-dollar khakis and four-hundred-dollar polo shirts.
For the most part, the press left the VP’s kid alone, but that didn’t mean Mason hadn’t earned a nickname. It was unclear who’d started it, but rather than referring to Mason as a royal pain in the rear, someone had dubbed him His Royal Hiney.
It was ridiculous, but it stuck. Probably because while the VP was on the campaign trail during the previous election, four differentagents were assigned to Mason on a one-week-on, one-week-off rotation. No one could put up with him for more than a week at a time.
Enter Special Agent Liam Harper. The only agent on the VP’s detail who could keep Mason in line. He’d been assigned to the VP’s son for almost a year, and while Mason could still be moody, he reined it in when Liam was around. And after a rocky start, he’d also settled in with Emily. She suspected Mason might have a wee bit of a crush on her. She suspected the same of his favorite agent.
Liam pulled his phone from his back pocket and tapped on the screen. “I’ll have him come down. Do you want him longer or to finish up early?”
“How’s his mood?”
Liam cut his eyes to her but didn’t respond to the question before returning to his text. Awesome. Mason was in a mood.
