“Cassie, huh? This sounds promising.”
“We should eat well. It better not be rubbery chicken.”
“Take care of my wife.”
“No worries there. I’ll protect Monique with my life. You know that.”
* * *
In a hotel room used for her cover, water sluiced between her breasts as she closed her eyes to let it all go. She scrubbed the loofah across her skin, trying to remove her rough edges. Cassiopeia Ellis died in a bathtub six years ago.
Tonight is make-believe.
She was no longer the millionaire, society princess, the Ellis Legacy, the CEO of Ellis Art Finds. Cassie had made it back from two tragedies. She was the Ice Princess—Special Agent Cassie Modine of the FBI.
The razor slid over her legs. She recalled the conversation she was summoned to alone with Greg Wilds in his office late Tuesday afternoon. She made sure to stand between him and the door. He wanted to discuss some of the operation particulars.
Cassie was relieved two of the assigned table occupants, Phyllis Wilson and her date, Robby Bynum, were no longer attending. She’d grown up with both. It would be awkward enough knowing other occupants, Betty Bynum and the Marshalls. Wilds all but said he thought she was a liability.
“How dare you think that? I take my oath seriously.” Cassie spat the words at him.
“I don’t care if it hurts your precious feelings; we have a job to do. The man is a United States senator. It is our job to make sure these nut jobs don’t kill him. Terrorism is terrorism. You need to be on top of this. No mistakes.”
“If you thought I wouldn’t be able to do this job, why did you approve my transfer?”
“It’s too late now, Princess. We need you to blend in. He cannot know you’re FBI. Pretend you’re a sexy, intelligent socialite. Use your considerable assets and get in his good graces. Stay close. Hell, if you have to, get on your knees under the table. Put on a pretty dress. You have a party dress, don’t you?”
“I’m sure I can pull together an outfit.” He missed her sarcasm.
“It’ll be good for you, Cassie. His aide is filling the second seat. It will be like a date. You know what that is?”
She scowled at him. “Yes, sir.” She stuffed her hatred for Wilds down as far as she could. She wasn’t going to let him distract her from her job.One more day.Cassie rinsed her body under the spray one last time.
The woman standing in front of the bathroom mirror wrapped in a fluffy white towel was a stranger. The life of attending charity parties was gone like the water down the drain. Cassie missed those nights with her family. She loved the people and the fashions. Once she was old enough to understand it was more than looking pretty, she saw the real beauty from their philanthropy. Those graces of goodness were destroyed on a warm May night six years ago.
She wiped the fog from the mirror. Streaks of steam morphed into whorls of cigarette smoke as visions bombarded her.
“You ruined everything.”
The hateful female voice.“She knows too much.”
Someone holding her hand.
Russian words.“You will be a good whore, Cassiopeia.”
A car. The smells of stale beer, sweat, clove cigarettes, and Clive Christian cologne. Hands dragging her. Hands touching her. Other voices laughing.
Voices calling her horrible names.“Whore. Slut. All used up, Cassiopeia.”Colors exploded behind her eyes. The violation. The painful bites.
She dropped the towel. Her fingers ran over some of the white scars as the conversation with Garett echoed through her mind. “I can’t do this, Cassie. You’re soiled goods.”
Cassie turned to the toilet behind her. Dropping to her knees, she threw up. Her cheek rested against the cold tile while the tears she thought were dried long ago poured again.
Uncertainty was amplified by the lack of sleep from the nightmares she was having. If they weren’t about that night, Greg Wilds and his behavior, they were about her feelings for Ian Chase. He was everything she wanted in a man: smart, caring, funny, sweet, honorable, and handsome. She enjoyed their evening together too much. Their brief kiss branded her. Was it fair to him to let herself fall for him?
That morning, while on the phone with her Aunt Rachel, she received an enormous bouquet filled with spring flowers—not a rose in sight.How did he know?She told her about their meal, regaling Rachel with some of the tabloid stories.
“Sweet pea, maybe it’s time to try again,” Aunt Rachel said.
