The Widow's Secret by Sara Mitchell Page A

head of the Secret Service.
    As though he’d been reading her mind, after the sound of the train had faded in the distance, Operative MacKenzieobserved, “I can’t speak for Chief Hazen, but I might make the observation that I’m not sure you believe me.”
    She jerked her head around, searching the shuttered face. The rocking motion of the cab made her queasy, and she fought the incipient panic rising in her throat. “It’s difficult, when I know I’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing! Yet you’ve frightened me, hounded me, and now you’ve bullied me into a situation I don’t want to be in. I returned your evidence, so I don’t understand what I can possibly say to your chief that I haven’t already explained to you.”
    An unexpected smile kindled in his eyes, crinkling the corners, then beneath his mustache a corner of his mouth tipped up. “If that’s how you perceive me, I’m fortunate you’re here at all, Mrs. Tremayne. Ah…you’ve placed me in an awkward position, especially after hearing your interpretation of my actions. You see, once he meets you in person, I don’t think Chief Hazen will have any lingering doubts about you.”
    Instantly wary, Jocelyn stiffened. “And why is that? You believe someone who looks like me is far too…noticeable…to engage in criminal activities? I’m too easily picked out of a crowd? Oh, yes—I swoon when confronted by murder.”
    â€œI could pick you out of a crowd of a hundred redheads,” Operative MacKenzie said, his voice deepening. “Besides which, the lovely young woman I met a decade ago still lives somewhere inside the woman sitting beside me now. Regardless of how much you may have changed in the intervening years, Mrs. Tremayne, I don’t believe you’d ever knowingly be part of anything illegal.” A soft pause as potent as the touch of his fingers seeped into Jocelyn. “And you didn’t swoon. You’re harboring a terrible fear inside you, Mrs. Tremayne. But I also see a rare strength of character, not to mention a formidable temper.”
    Hot color whooshed from her chin to her hairline. If she leaned sideways a scant six inches, their shoulders would touch, and she would feel again the strength of him, of muscles tensile and tough as her oak banister. An evocative scent of starch and something uniquely masculine flooded her senses. If only she’d met this man when she was seventeen, still bubbling with hope and a heart full of dreams. Instinctively, her hand lifted to press against her throat in an effort to calm her galloping pulse. “I—You shouldn’t say such things to me. I don’t know how to interpret them. I wish I…” She bit her lip, tearing her gaze away from Micah MacKenzie.
    With a jerk the hansom came to a halt. “Treasury Building,” the hack announced.
    The imposing building loomed before her, its seventy-four granite columns reminding Jocelyn of massive bars on a stone prison cell. When a warm hand gently clasped her elbow, she jumped.
    â€œIt’s really not the lion’s den,” Operative MacKenzie murmured. “But if it were, even if I couldn’t close the mouths of the lions, I’d protect you with my life.” When her startled gaze lifted, she discovered that despite the light tone, his eyes probed hers with an intensity that stole her breath.
    With his hand supporting her, they climbed the stairs into the main entrance. Jocelyn realized with a spurt of astonishment that she actually looked forward to engaging the chief of the Secret Service in a spirited defense of her position.
    Richmond
    A week had passed since Jocelyn and Katya returned from Washington, and life settled back into an uneasy rhythm ofsorts. For long clumps of time, Jocelyn almost forgot about the man who had burst into her life with the force of a runaway locomotive, then chugged off toward the