Oath of Honor

snow-covered and frozen under the December winter.

As she’d been driving, the already scant signs of habitation

gradually disappeared. When she reached the northern end of the island,

the narrow road ended in a cul-de-sac bordering a wooded property.

The drive leading up to a pair of closed ten-foot-high wrought-iron

gates set into a natural stone wall was congested with signs of high-

level security. Unmarked black SUVs with smoked windows lined the

turnaround. A man and a woman, both in dark suits, monochromatic

shirts, and dark glasses, stood side by side in front of the gates.

Squiggly radio feeds running from behind their left ears and

steely expressions pegged them as security. The discreet lapel pins,

conservative suits, and all-American good looks said federal agents.

These weren’t rent-a-cops or gun-for-hire mercenaries. The man was

• 15 •

RADCLYfFE

six foot four and on the lean side. Wes would have pegged him for

a runner, except the broad shoulders and solid thighs that stretched

his not-off-the-rack suit said serious weight training. The woman was

maybe five-six or seven and looked toned and fit, but next to him, she

looked downright delicate. Wes doubted she was. Her tailored jacket

and pants, crisp white opened-collared shirt, and low-heeled black

boots screamed style while being completely functional. Definitely

professionals. Considering the event—Secret Service.

Neither of them moved as Wes parked behind a long line of

empty vehicles, exited, and walked toward them, but she knew they

were following her every step. She couldn’t see their eyes behind the

unnecessary shades. The sky was blanketed in a thick cover of gray

clouds, and she doubted either of them had any trouble seeing in the

flat midday light. Being able to observe without being observed was a

power play. It probably worked on civilians.

“I’m Captain Wesley Masters,” she said when she stopped a few

feet away from them, stating the obvious, as the insignia on her dress

blues, visible under her open topcoat, clearly indicated her rank. “I’m

here to liaise with the Medical Unit.”

“We know all the members of the WHMU,” the woman said in

a surprisingly full, smooth alto. No intonation. Not aggressive, not

challenging, not interested. Just the facts, thank you, ma’am. “You’re

not on it.”

Up close, Wes could see that what she had taken for glossy dark

hair was actually a deep burgundy—as if the midnight sky was flaming.

Barely tamed curls fell to below the crisp white collar and fanned

artfully around what appeared to be a sharply drawn but distinctive

face. She’d put the eyes at blue on a guess, but the opaque shades made

it impossible to tell. The agent had a body under those clothes, despite

the suit being cut, intentionally Wes would bet, to blunt her figure. The

tailored lines couldn’t hide the curves of her breasts and thighs—she

was fit and flinty and quite attractively female. The guy with her still

hadn’t said anything. The redhead was in charge.

“Your intel is out-of-date, then,” Wes said, and the agent stiffened

perceptibly. “You might want to check with your boss.” She turned her

wrist slightly. 1159. One minute. “If you could do that promptly, I’d

appreciate it.”

• 16 •

Oath Of hOnOr

One perfectly sculpted brow arched above the flat rim of the dark

shades. “ID, please.”

Wes slid her hand into the pocket of her topcoat and handed over

her military ID card. She smiled. “Here you are.”

The male agent’s lips lifted in a faint smile. The woman’s face

remained blank. Beautiful and remote. Wes waited while the agent

spoke softly into her wrist mic. A few seconds later, the agent held out

her ID.

“You’re cleared to enter, Captain.”

The man turned to open the gate. Wes slid her ID back into her

pocket. “Thank you, Agent…”

“Daniels, ma’am,” Agent Daniels said formally. “An agent will

meet you just inside the gate to escort you.”

“Thank you,” Wes said. “I’m sure I can find—”

“It’s protocol. Captain.”

“Understood.” Wes stepped through the gates and they swung

closed behind her. She had a lot to learn, and she was out of her element

on every level. Hopefully the WHMU personnel would be a little more

welcoming than Agent Daniels.

v

“She the one?” Gary Brown asked as the gates swung closed

behind the naval officer.

“Looks like it.” Evyn scanned the approach road and the dense

underbrush growing right up to the shoulders. The advance team had

been on-site for four days and had locked down the north half of the

island. Fire roads and beach-access lanes that might provide curious

onlookers and those with more serious agendas a way to get close

to Whitley Manor had been barricaded and were being patrolled by

agents, on foot and ATV. A two-mile no-fly zone had been established

around the island. As protective details went, this one was fairly close to

ideal. One access road, no surrounding buildings with line of sight, and