Hot Ice (A Hostile Operations Team Novel - Book 7) Read Free Page B

grandfather’s when he’d been a senator and then his father’s when he’d been governor—his blue eyes as serious as a heart attack, as she and her sisters used to say.
    “Yes, sweetheart, I did.” He’d steepled his hands in the pose that used to annoy her so much as a child because it indicated a lecture was coming. It still annoyed her because she didn’t like lectures any better now than she had then.
    “Before you start—”
    “Sit down, Gracie.”
    His voice was firm and deep, and she did as he commanded before she could stop herself. And then she was mad that she’d done it.
    “Your mother is worried. I’m worried. We aren’t going to let you run around town with some madman after you and no one there to help if it happens again. And then there’s the WHO conference—we can’t let you go to Rome alone and unprotected.”
    Grace swallowed. She didn’t say that she wasn’t planning on going to Rome alone—she was going with colleagues—because it was absolutely no use once her father had made up his mind. Besides, what had happened the other night had been frightening.
    After she’d run headlong into Tim Fitzgerald in the parking lot, he’d hustled her back into the building and called security. A sweep of the area netted them nothing. Who the man was or how he’d gotten past the gate was a mystery.  
    She would have wondered if she’d imagined the entire incident if not for the fact she could still see the rain and lamplight glinting off his gun when she closed her eyes. She’d been terrified, and she knew she was lucky the car alarm had startled him enough for her to get away.
    The past couple of days, she’d barricaded herself in her house with her best friend, Brooke. She felt safer with Brooke there, and Brooke hadn’t minded staying with her. Grace still went to work, but she left before dark and she was home, inside, doors locked, before the sun went down.
    Security had reported the incident to the police as a matter of course. There was nothing they could do when she didn’t know who had tried to grab her. Her father, however, had different ideas.
    “It’s too soon in the election cycle for any of us to be entitled to Secret Service protection, but never fear. We’ve hired a private firm. They’re sending over a man”—he looked at his watch—“who you’ll be meeting in about ten minutes. He’ll be with you twenty-four seven.”
    “Daddy,” she began, her lungs squeezing with the effort to breathe, but he held up his hand to silence her.
    “I’m not taking no for an answer, princess.”
    She cringed a little at the childhood endearment as he reached into his desk and then slid a folded sheet of paper across to her. She was too old to be her daddy’s princess, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop. The nickname made her feel inadequate somehow, though she knew that wasn’t what he intended. To him she was a princess, just like all her sisters.  
    She laid her hand on the paper, her heart kicking up. But she didn’t unfold it.
    “What is this?”
    “A headline.” The lines in her father’s face had settled into a worried frown. She didn’t like that look. She’d never liked that look.
    Grace took a deep breath and lifted the top of the sheet. Presidential Candidate’s Daughter Creating Potential Bioweapons in Lab—Where Is the Line on This Kind of Research?
    Grace gritted her teeth as fear and anger swirled inside her. Yes, she was working with viruses—and yes, she’d stumbled on some pretty damning evidence of what could be done with the viruses she’d been manipulating, but her research was done to help people, not hurt them.
    She’d only told a couple of colleagues about her most recent findings—and none of them would talk to the media since they all wanted to protect their jobs—but this headline cut too close to the bone for comfort.
    “It’s not true.”
    “Of course it’s not.” Her father tiredly rubbed his hand across his