Page 2 of Mistletoe and Malice
“Not hungry.”
“Then at least go get some air. It’s been a trying day.”
Colton shot a glance at Trevor, a fairly new agent with the private security firm he’d been with for the past four years. Was he that obvious? He’d have to do a better job at not letting his personal life seep into his work.
Still, Trevor had a point. Some fresh air might help him regroup. Senator Congdon was safe enough, ensconced in an armchair, speaking with the judge and two other men Colton recognized as Houston nobility.
“Okay. I’ll be back in ten.”
“Make it twenty.”
He shook his head as he stepped away. The job usually kept his mind and body busy, which he preferred to days like today, when he had too much time on his hands to think. To feel. More than he’d wanted to over the past year, seven months, and four days.
At the graveside, he’d been on alert, watching for anybody who might be a threat to the senator after a high-profile vote last month had garnered more hate mail than normal. Anybody who might know he’d be back in Houston to grieve with his old friend.
Here at the estate, though, there was nothing for Colton, Trevor, and the driver out by their black SUV to do but cool their heels. At least, until the senator was ready to return to his own River Oaks estate, which he kept as well as the tony brownstone he used while working in the nation’s capital. Colton’s employer had scheduled round-the-clock protection here, along with the detail in D.C. But as head of the team, Colton traveled with the Senator back and forth.
He let himself out a back door, into the waning sunlit afternoon. Dusk would settle in soon, and darkness after that. As it did every day. Day in. Day out. Repeat.
Life went on. Never waiting for grief to loosen its insidious grip.
His gaze raked the area around the large terrace, his focus landing on a woman seated on a stone bench, head bowed and arms crossed over her stomach.
The door shut with a soft click behind him, and her head snapped around.
“I’m sorry.” He’d assumed she’d been crying, but there were no tears that he could see. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll go back inside.”
“No, it’s okay.” She stood and smoothed her dress over narrow hips. “Just having a little talk with God.” She took a fewsteps his direction. “I don’t want to keep all this sunshine to myself.”
Praying. She’d been praying. Something he hadn’t done in … well, one year, seven months, and four days.
As she moved closer, his brain took the usual notes. Shoulder-length dark hair worn straight and pulled behind her ears. Bangs that brushed her eyebrows. Petite and slender. No doubt another society princess, if the obviously expensive black dress she wore was any clue. Not to mention the ridiculously high-heeled, red-soled shoes, designer sunglasses, the diamond pendant around her neck, matching earrings, and tennis bracelet on her delicate wrist. No wedding ring, but an emerald surrounded by diamonds sparkled from her right hand.
She halted a few feet away and crossed her arms over her middle. “Are you a friend of the Mulaneys?”
“No, ma’am. I’m on the job.”
“Oh? What job would that be?”
“Petersen Security. Personal protection detail.”
One eyebrow hitched, and she pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, revealing eyes that competed with the emerald ring for most intense color. “And who are you protecting? Personally? From out here?”
He held back a chuckle. This one had spunk. He could hear it in her voice, see it in the set of her shoulders—pulled back, confident. “Senator Congdon. But I’m not needed until we leave the premises.”
“I see.” When he said nothing further, she offered her hand. “Riley Hudson.”
Of course. Daughter of Andrew Hudson, one of the Houston moguls sitting with the grieving judge and the senator inside. A billionaire financier and another of Petersen Security International’s high-profile clients. The Hudsons didn’t have a protection detail,per se, although Petersen installed andmanned the high-tech security system at their posh estate. Their driver was also a Petersen security specialist,akabodyguard, as needed.
He gave her hand a quick squeeze and let go. “Ms. Hudson.”
Anxious to take his leave, he didn’t offer his name. He wasn’t there to make friends. And his ten minutes were about to expire.
“I take it the guy with the earpiece by the door is with you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She nodded, then turned her eyes to the horizon, with the sun settling into its journey to the other side of the globe. Eyes shimmering with the fallout of grief, yet she held a measure of quiet strength about her. Not like she would fall apart any second. Fortunate, because comforting a distraught woman was not among his specific skill set.
