Margaret Thatcher suit. And he was right. It made her look no-nonsense and reliable, dependable and businesslike.
So, all right, it wasn’t the height of fashion. But she was sending out a clear message to the world. Veronica St. John could get the job done.
Except, in a few minutes, Veronica was going to have to walk out the hotel-room door and head down the corridor to the private conference room attached to Senator McKinley’s suite. She was going to go into the meeting and sit down at the table without the slightest clue whether or not she had actually gotten this particular job done.
She honestly didn’t know whether or not she’d been able to pull off the task of turning Joe Catalanotto into a dead ringer for Prince Tedric.
Dead ringer. What a horrible expression. And if the security team of FInCOM agents didn’t protect Joe, that’s exactly what he’d be. Dead. Joe, with his dancing eyes and wide, infectious smile…All it would take was one bullet and he would be a thing of the past, a memory.
Veronica turned from the mirror and began to pace.
She’d worked with Joe all afternoon, going over and over rules and protocols and Ustanzian history. She had shown him the strange way Prince Tedric held a spoon and the odd habit the prince had of leaving behind at least one bite of every food on his plate when eating.
She had tried to show Joe again how to walk, how to stand, how to hold his head at a royal angle. Just when she thought that maybe, just maybe he might be getting it, he’d slouch or shrug or lean against the wall. Or make a joke and flash her one of those five-thousand-watt smiles that were so different from any facial expression Prince Tedric had ever worn.
“Don’t worry, Ronnie. This is not a problem,” he’d said in his atrocious New Jersey accent. “I’ll get it. When the time comes, I’ll do it right.”
But Veronica wasn’t sure what she should be worrying about. Was she worried Joe wouldn’t be able to pass for Prince Tedric, or was she worried that he would?
If Joe looked and acted like the prince, then he’d be at risk. And damn it, why should Joe have to risk his life? Why not let the prince risk his own life? After all, Prince Tedric was the one the terrorists wanted to kill.
Veronica had actually brought up her concerns to Joe before they’d parted to get ready for this meeting. He’d laughed when she’d said she thought it might be for the best if he couldn’t pass for Tedric—it was too dangerous.
“I’ve been in dangerous situations before,” Joe had told her. “And this one doesn’t even come close.” He’d told her about the plans and preparations he was arranging with both Kevin Laughton’s FInCOM agents and the SEALs from his Alpha Squad. He’d told her he’d wear a bulletproof vest at all times. He’d told her that wherever he went, there would be shielded areas where he could easily drop to cover. He’d reminded her that this operation had minuscule risks compared to most other ops he’d been on.
All Veronica knew was, the better she came to know Joe, the more she worried about his safety. Frankly, this situation scared her to death. And if this wasn’t dangerous, she didn’t want to know what dangerous meant.
But danger was part of Joe’s life. Danger was what he did best. No wonder he wasn’t married. What kind of woman would put up with a husband who risked his life as a matter of course?
Not Veronica, that was for sure.
Although it wasn’t as if Joe Catalanotto had dropped to his knees and begged her to marry him, was it? And he wasn’t likely to, either. Despite the incredible kiss they’d shared, a man like Joe, a man used to living on the edge, wasn’t very likely to be interested in anything long-term or permanent. Permanent
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