Secret Service Dad

“Have a seat.” Simons walked around his desk and dropped into his chair. “Got a job for you.”

“I’ve already got a job,” Mike answered.

“Well, now you’ve got another one.” Simons reached into his desk drawer for a bottle of pills. “Hand me that pitcher over there, please.” He shook out two large pills, put them in his mouth and washed them down with water. “Sorry, with all the crap going on, that ulcer of mine is acting up again. Guess it comes with the territory.”

Mike rubbed the back of his head when the thought of Charlie and her pet began to show all the signs of turning into a headache and a half. “Tell me about it.”

Simons eyed him sympathetically. “You, too?”

Mike shrugged. “Like you said, it comes with the territory.”

“Glad you feel that way.” Simons rummaged in his center desk drawer, took out two letters and handed them across the desk. “Take a look at those.”

Mike read the first letter. His lips set in a grim line as he read the second. Both letters threatened the Blair House personnel for their interference in the attempted assassination yesterday. “Kind of soon for these to show up.”

Simons leaned back in his chair. “Make a guy angry enough…” His voice trailed off. “You notice that the author keeps referring to our Charlie Norris?”

Mike had noticed, all right, but he hadn’t thought of the lady as being “our” Charlie. Maybe she was Simons’s Charlie, but not his. Not after the way the pain was growing at the back of his neck and threatening to take his head off. She may have pleaded her innocence when he’d confronted her after the shooting, but it looked as if she had managed to annoy the hell out of someone out there. “What was she supposed to do, let the two jackasses kill each other?”

Simons shrugged. “Right or wrong, she’s a target. I want you to keep an eye on her.”

Mike blinked. Of all the assignments he could have drawn, guarding Charlie wasn’t at the top of his list. “Don’t tell me that that’s the new job!”

“Yep.” Simons stood. “Get used to it.” He gestured to a picnic flyer Mike had sticking out of his breast pocket. “You can start with the picnic.”

Mike got to his feet and bit back a protest. “I hadn’t made up my mind to go to the picnic, sir.”

“Sure you have,” Simons said amiably as he opened the office door. “Enjoy the day.”

Chapter Three

At midmorning Sunday, Mike checked the address on the picnic flyer against the address on the little red barn mailbox. They were one and the same. The empty field across the road was filled with automobiles, SUVs and motorcycles.

It looked as if Charlie had offered her property for the annual Blair House picnic. That seemed normal enough, but what really got to him was the lack of security personnel at the gate.

He bit his lower lip. With Charlie Norris in charge, he was almost afraid to think of the surprise she said she had in store for him.

What bothered him even more than the lack of security was the conventional, rambling yellow-and-white Cape Cod-style farmhouse. Surrounded by trees and flowering azalea bushes, and with beds of peonies and day lilies randomly placed to make them look as if they grew there naturally, it wasn’t the type of setting he’d expected the unconventional Charlie to own.

On second thought, he wasn’t sure what type of house he’d expected Charlie to live in, but this traditional cottage sure wasn’t it. After she’d told him she had a zoo in her backyard, he’d almost expected her to live in a wooden cabin set in a stand of trees surrounded by animal cages.

“Daddy, hurry.” A small hand tugged at Mike’s knee and pointed to the balloon-decorated side gate. “Hurry up before all the balloons are gone!”

Mike tore his gaze away from the house and moved on.

Mob scenes weren’t his idea of entertainment, he mused as he followed the red arrows that pointed to the side gate. It was the idea of any open gathering in unguarded settings that made him uneasy.

He’d been trained to be wary of open spaces where he couldn’t control the setting or protect his charges.

This one really disturbed him. Bringing his son Jake along didn’t sit well with him, but he’d tentatively promised him they would come to the picnic before Simons had given him his new assignment. He’d had no choice.

With Jake’s little hand in his, Mike made his way around to the back of the property. Accustomed to checking every detail of his surroundings, he mentally counted twenty-eight women in shorts and T-shirts decorated with a Blair House logo. True to form, thirty-two men in jogging shorts or jeans and the same Blair House T-shirts were gathered in small groups and drinking beer.

The children were more difficult to account for. They never seemed to stand in one place long enough to count heads, anyway.

The casual T-shirts had to be a management giveaway because everyone wore them, even the kids. From a security viewpoint, in his opinion, they were the last item of clothing they should all have been wearing. If a problem arose, with every kid wearing the same T-shirt it would be difficult to tell one from another. As for putting a T-shirt on Jake or himself, no way. It wasn’t only foolhardy, the word casual wasn’t in his vocabulary.

Picnics weren’t exactly his style, Mike mused as he continued to check out the surroundings while deciding whether to remain or leave. But, he reminded himself, he was not only here on orders, there was Jake, a thirty-seven-inch-tall, three-and-a-half-year-old bundle of energy to consider.

Then, too, he’d been promising himself he’d take up a normal life again, and, after a year of promises, he reluctantly figured it was about time to begin. Not for his sake—with a leg still aching from a bullet he’d taken during an attempted assassination, he could have done without picnics—but because of Jake.

As a single parent, he owed the kid big.

He smiled fondly at his son. “What color?”

“Green,” Jake said firmly. A frown crossed his little forehead. “No, red. I want a red one.”

“Cool, sport,” Mike agreed with a covert glance around the territory. So far, so good. “Let’s go and see if we can get you one of each.”

This shouldn’t be a problem, Mike told himself as they made their way across the wide expanse of grass to where a clown was blowing up balloons. The bigger problem facing him was how to make up to Jake for the loss of his mother in a boating accident a year ago.

As for seeing many familiar faces at the picnic, he hadn’t been assigned to Blair House on a regular basis long enough to have cultivated any real friendships. Except perhaps Charlie Norris. Now that he thought about their recent exchange over her odd choice of pets, he wasn’t sure Charlie fitted into the friendship category. Or, better yet, he thought as his imagination suddenly took flight, into his arms.

He’d never known anyone like Charlie Norris, he thought as they strolled around the grounds checking out the activity. The bigger surprise was that his attraction to her had turned into something beyond fascination before he’d realized what had hit him. Considering that business and pleasure didn’t mix, any ideas along that line had to stop. Especially since she had become his official charge.

He simply couldn’t afford to let his interest in her go any further.

He gazed casually around the picnic grounds as they made their way to the clown. On the surface, everything looked harmless, but he wasn’t prepared to relax his vigilance. On one hand, there had been Charlie’s involvement in the love affair between Wade Stevens and the Baronovian duchess. Then there was the recent shooting in Blair House. There were too many unusual happenings that Charlie had managed to become involved with. He needed to stay on his toes if he was going to keep her alive.

Granted, Charlie had always claimed good intentions, but as far as he was concerned it had only been by the grace of God that neither she nor anyone else had gotten killed by now. Between his reaction to those unhappy incidents and the incongruous encounter with her pet kangaroo, he didn’t expect many friendly words from her today. How to stay on a friendly footing and keep from blowing their tenuous relationship was priority number one.

“Daddy,” Jake said. “I’m hungry.”

“Me too, sport. Let’s go see what we can find.” Mike took a fresh look around him for any food vendors. With one balloon tied to Jake’s wrist and the other carefully tied to the shoulder strap of his little denim overalls, they set off to explore the picnic area. It was soon clear that it was a case of finding something for Jake to eat or having to leave, which he couldn’t possibly do and still keep an eye on Charlie.

Picnics were usually catered, but not this one. Too late, he remembered that the flyer had said this was a do-it-yourself picnic. Damn! True to form, Charlie’s picnic had to be different. He sighed as he gazed over at a group of women laying out homemade fried chicken and potato salad on picnic tables, and at the men busy at portable barbecues.

He sobered as the setting began to remind him of a long-ago picnic he’d attended with his new bride before Jake had been born. Ellie had been annoyed by the rustic surroundings and lack of what she thought of as comfort. He hadn’t dwelt on the possibilities of picnics since.

One thought led to another, and he was reminded of something he hadn’t wanted to think of.

It had been a year since he’d forced himself to put the past and his late wife’s accidental drowning behind him. Longer, if he counted the months from the time Ellie had decided to relive her carefree youth, free from husband and child, a decision that had left him without a wife and Jake without a mother.

What had made him think now of Ellie and the role she could have played in his and Jake’s life beat the hell out of him. Maybe he hadn’t done as good a job of putting the past behind him as he thought he had.

It certainly couldn’t have been the sight of Charlie Norris staking out a position under an apple tree. Or could it?

For a moment, he hadn’t recognized her without the tailored suit she usually wore on duty. In her brief cream-colored shorts and that damn T-shirt that seemed to be today’s dress code she made his testosterone jump to attention.