Undercover With The Heiress

What’s behind her beautiful mask?

FBI agent Kaden Farrell is on a mission. He’s undercover at Fitzgerald House in Savannah, where a little girl is the key to his investigation. And that’s what he needs to focus on, not a down-and-out heiress whose jeweled eyes haunt his dreams.

Courtney Smythe might be spoiled, but when Kaden notices her ease with the children at the B and B, he sees the beauty beyond her looks. Getting close to Courtney will help his case, and giving in to attraction is the right thing to do. Even if it means perpetuating a lie...

Kaden stared into her eyes and the room shrank.

“Were you the little girl in the story?” His voice was a deep caress, drawing Courtney closer.

“What?”

He swept her hair off her face. “Were you that unhappy girl?”

She didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to move. She wanted him to touch her. “I…I was making up a story for the kids.”

“Right.” He tucked a curl back behind her ear, and a single finger stroked down her cheek. His blue eyes locked on hers as he brushed her lower lip with his thumb. “I’m so sorry.”

Her breath caught in her chest.

Finally, Kaden was going to kiss her…

Dear Reader,

Ever since I started the Fitzgerald House series, I’ve wanted to redeem Courtney Smythe (she sure has been nasty). I wanted to figure out why she hasn’t thrived like her brother, Gray. Of course, her father calling her a “pretty little ornament” hasn’t helped.

When her dad cuts off her money and insists she find a job, Courtney suspects Gray caused her problems. She heads to Savannah, hoping her father will cool off. But Gray won’t let her sponge off him. Courtney works for the B and B. And fails. Tries to get the attention of the hot handyman. And fails. When she becomes a nanny to the kids living at the B and B, she finally finds her calling.

As a child, Kaden Farrell’s grandfather saved him from his drug-dealing parents. So when his grandfather breaks his hip working at Fitzgerald House, Kaden rushes to his side. At the B and B, his FBI drug-task-force job and his grandfather’s health intersect. The dealer he’s been chasing dropped her daughter off with the kid’s father, who lives at the B and B. Kaden, pretending to be a handyman, cozies up to the girl’s beautiful nanny. Even though Kaden’s not sure he even likes Courtney, sparks between them fly.

I love hearing from readers. Contact me at www.nandixon.com and sign up for my newsletter, or visit me on Facebook at www.Facebook.com/nandixonauthor. If you’d like to see the pictures that inspire me, check out www.Pinterest.com/nandixonauthor.

Enjoy Savannah!

Nan Dixon

Undercover with the Heiress

Nan Dixon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

NAN DIXON spent her formative years as an actress, singer, dancer and golfer. But the need to eat had her studying accounting in college. Unfortunately, being a successful financial executive didn’t feed her passion to perform. When the company she worked for was purchased, Nan got the chance of a lifetime—the opportunity to pursue a writing career. She’s a five-time Golden Heart® Award finalist and award-winning author, lives in the Midwest and is active in her local RWA chapter and the board of a dance company. She has five children, three sons-in-law, two granddaughters, a new grandson and one neurotic cat.

Books by Nan Dixon

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Southern Comforts

A Savannah Christmas Wish

Through a Magnolia Filter

The Other Twin

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To Mom and Dad always.

To my fabulous family. Thank you for your love and support. I’m dedicating this one to the women: Meghan, Allison and Anne. I couldn’t be prouder.

I must thank my Harlequin team: Megan Long, Victoria Curran, Piya Campana, Deirdre McCluskey and the wonderful group who bring my books to my readers. And of course, my marvelous agent, Laura Bradford.

My critique group challenges me to dig deeper. Thank you Ann Hinnenkamp, Leanne Farella, Neroli Lacey and Kathryn Kohorst. And my Golden Heart® sisters keep me sane—Dreamweavers, Lucky 13s, Starcatchers and the Unsinkables. And my writing community—MFW, you’re the best.

Of course I can’t forget the group that started it all: my sisters. Mo, Sue and Trish.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

May

“HOW MANY BODIES?” Kaden ducked under the yellow police tape and climbed the rotting porch steps.

“Three.” The photographer pointed at the man by his feet. “One here. Two inside.”

Kaden flashed his credentials at the uniform guarding the door. Plywood covered the cabin’s windows. The siding might have been white once. Now it peeled off termite-infested wood. Cement blocks propped up a corner of the wraparound porch. The place would probably blow over in the next tropical storm to hit the coast of Georgia.

Local deputies, DEA and FBI sifted through the crime scene. He took a deep breath and gagged on the stench. Covering his mouth with his sleeve, he headed inside.

Plastic bags lay scattered on the floor. Drug residue covered tables lining a wall. An empty garbage can was tipped on its side. Apparently, the dealers had left in a hurry. If they were lucky, they might find prints.

The medical examiner knelt next to a second body.

Six-one or six-two. Male. Caucasian. Must run 220.

“Hey, O’Malley.” Kaden stared at the dried blood on the floor. “Do you have a cause of death?”

“GSW. All three bodies.” The medical examiner glanced up. “How are you, Farrell?”

“Frustrated we can’t shut this ring down.”

The FBI had been chasing Heather Bole and Thaddeus Magnussen for months trying to stem the flow of drugs coming through Georgia and Florida.

He nodded at the vic’s bloated face. “At least Magnussen’s no longer terrorizing the streets. Don’t suppose we got lucky and Heather Bole is here somewhere?”

“Not here. We’ll check the blood type and see if there’s more than our victims.” She shifted. “Need to show you something.”

O’Malley rolled the body onto his side, using her head to point. “Check out the streaks under the body.”

“Is that blood?” Kaden backed up to get the full picture. “It looks like something was dragged out from under him as he bled out. Did he fall on something?”

She shrugged. “Maybe a someone. We found this beneath the body.”

She held up an evidence bag. It contained a bloodstained sneaker. Pink. Small. No laces. Fluff filled the shoe’s ratty Velcro.

“Damn it. A kid was here.” He swallowed.

“Yeah.” O’Malley waved over her assistant. “This one’s ready for the lab.”

Kaden unclenched his teeth. A kid. A little girl by the look of the shoe. He would check the file, but he thought Heather had a daughter who was young. Three? Four? The task force had gotten that intel but hadn’t been able to get the kid to safety.

His granddad had rescued him. Now, getting children away from their criminal, drug dealing parents was his life’s mission. He would save the kid and put Heather Bole behind bars.

July

“ANOTHER DEAD END.” Kaden slammed down the conference room phone in the Atlanta FBI office. “Two months and every time someone spots Heather Bole, she vanishes.”

The partial print at the triple-murder site had a 75 percent chance of being Bole’s. It was enough to bring her in for questioning. If they found her.

“We’re hearing rumors Bole has partnered with Hector Salvez.” His boss rubbed his short dark hair. “Hector’s a hothead. That might make Heather easier to find.”

Roger leaned back in his chair and it let out a loud screech.

The noise crawled down Kaden’s spine. “Not soon enough.”

“Is this about the daughter? Are you worried she’s in danger?” Roger asked.

“Kids shouldn’t grow up in that environment.” Kaden rolled his neck and the vertebrae clicked.

Saving kids from the drug life was why he’d joined the FBI, why he was on the task force. If he could rid this part of the world of drugs and dealers, he’d be content. “Heather is moving...a lot. Could be Magnussen’s brother is seeking revenge.”

“Maybe.” Roger’s chair squealed again. “Maybe they’ll all kill each other and make our lives easier.”

“DEA has a witness that swears Bole had her kid with her before the shootings.” Kaden tugged on his tie. “She and Rasmussen ran together for five years. Now what’s Bole up to?”

“Taking over?” Roger held up the picture of the blood streaks. “If Heather shot him, it was pretty damn cold to shoot her partner with her kid in the room.”

“Five years ago she was a two-bit dealer in Atlanta. Then she moved to rural Georgia and started cooking meth.” Kaden tossed his empty coffee cup into the trash. “Breaking Bad has made people think cookin’ is easy money.”

Roger shook his head. “We’ll catch her eventually.”

Kaden nodded. But this case involved a kid. For weeks he’d worked the streets, talking to as many of Heather’s associates as possible. The other task force members had worked their own connections. Nada. Unless Bole was traveling on a fake ID, she had to be in the area.

Or she’d been dumped at sea. Always a possibility on the coast. He wasn’t worried about Heather, but the kid, Isabella, didn’t deserve this.

Roger tapped the table. “I need updates on your other cases.”

Kaden nodded and they discussed his active cases.

As they were wrapping up, Kaden’s cell rang. He peered at the unknown number.

“Go ahead,” Roger said.

“Kaden Farrell,” he answered.

“Hi, Kaden. This is Abby Fitzgerald. Your grandfather works for my family’s B and B.”

His heart gave a loud thump. “Is everything all right?”

“Nigel fell off a ladder. We’re at Memorial Health Center in Savannah.”

“Is he all right?” He clenched his phone. His grandfather was his only family.

“He’s getting X-rays right now.” Her soft drawl did nothing to soothe the panic racing through his chest. “They suspect he broke his hip.”

Crap. Broken hip? “I’ll be right down. What hospital again?”

She repeated the name while he scribbled.

“He didn’t lose consciousness,” she said. “But I thought you would want to know.”

“Thank you. I’m leaving right now.” He hung up and filled in Roger.

“Go.” Roger waved him away. “I’ll let you know if we hear anything new.”

Kaden rushed to his apartment. He grabbed his go bag, threw in his laptop and Dopp kit, and headed out of Atlanta.

Traffic on I-75 was bumper-to-bumper. Even the left-hand lane, void of trucks, barely moved at the speed limit. He longed to go hot and let the sirens get him to his grandfather.

Nigel had saved him. Pulled him away from his useless parents and shown him he could have a normal life. A life that didn’t require moving all the time and keeping an eye out for cops or DEA agents.

The miles crawled by. He merged onto I-16, hoping traffic would ease. No luck. Container trucks filled the right-hand lane, heading to the port of Savannah. He hit the radio and tuned into CNN, then the BBC, trying to knock out the voices in his head that were warning him he might lose his last family member. Even deep breaths didn’t ease the tightness in his chest.

Clutching the steering wheel, he exited on the 516. A broken hip at his grandfather’s age could be deadly. When he got to Waters Avenue and then Lexington, he exhaled. Finally.

He scouted the full ER parking deck. His fingers drummed the steering wheel. On the second pass, a car backed out and he grabbed the spot.

Dashing to the ER receptionist desk, he said, “I’m looking for Nigel Ganders.”

The young man searched. “He was just admitted.”

Kaden followed the directions to the correct floor, stopping at the nursing station to verify his grandfather’s room number. His heart pounded as he pushed open the door. And found a roomful of strangers.

“Kaden?” Granddad waved a finger at the three redheaded women in the room. “Who called my grandson for something this piddling?”

“I did.” One of the women shook her finger back in Granddad’s face. “He’s your emergency contact. Of course I called him.”

Granddad stared at Kaden. Then he touched his heart.

Tears threatened to spill from Kaden’s eyes. It had always been their signal. When Kaden had been playing basketball or giving a speech, it had been that small gesture that let him know Granddad loved and was proud of him.

The woman with a ponytail walked over, holding out her hand. “Hi, I’m Abby Fitzgerald. I called.”

“Nice to meet you.” Kaden’s response was automatic, but he stared at his grandfather. Nigel’s gray eyes were bright and his posture straight. His full head of white hair was as tidy as if he was heading to church instead of lying injured in a hospital bed.

Granddad made introductions. The other two women were also Fitzgeralds; Bess, long hair, and Dolley, short curly hair. He’d heard enough about the sisters from his granddad that Kaden said, “I almost feel like I know you.”

“Good. You’ll be staying in Savannah, right?” Abby asked.

“Yes.” No question. Kaden would be here for his grandfather.

“Wonderful.” Abby stepped out of his way, letting him move next to the bed. “You’ll be our guest at Fitzgerald House. No charge.”

Dolley grinned at him. “I’ve put a hold on a Carleton House room.”

“That’s not necessary.” Kaden looked at Granddad.

His grandfather shrugged. “No use protesting. They always get their way.”

“He’s right.” Abby smiled and patted Kaden’s arm. “At the B and B, you’re closer to the hospital than at Nigel’s house out on Tybee Island.”

“Umm, sure.” Kaden would have slept at the hospital.

“Good. Just head over when you’re ready. Here’s the address.” Dolley handed him a business card and then frowned. “I don’t think Nigel’s ever said what you do up in Atlanta.”

He hesitated. “I followed in my grandfather’s footsteps.”

“Construction?” Bess asked.

“Yes,” he lied. Few people knew he worked for the FBI and fewer knew about the drug task force. It was necessary to keep everyone and their families safe.

After exchanging phone numbers, Abby kissed Granddad’s cheek. “I’m heading back to Fitzgerald House. Call if you need anything.”

Dolley and Bess also kissed his granddad. “You take care of yourself,” Bess whispered loud enough for Kaden to hear.

Women loved his granddad. But not as much as Kaden did.

Once they were alone, his grandfather complained, “You didn’t need to drive down from Atlanta.”

“Of course I did.” Kaden wrapped his arms around Granddad’s shoulders. His Green Irish Tweed aftershave cut through the bite of hospital bleach burning his nose. He gulped deep breaths to capture the sandalwood scent. “What did the doctors say?”

“I fractured my hip.”

“How?” Kaden took the chair, but reached for his hand.

“Painting.” He grimaced, his thick white eyebrows forming a line. “I just wanted that last little bit and stretched too far.”

“You know better than that.” Kaden squeezed his hand. “You weren’t hopping the ladder along the outside of the wall like you did the first year I lived with you, were you?”

“I gave that up twenty years ago.” Granddad closed his eyes. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“I’m here for you.” Kaden’s heart pounded a little harder as lines of pain etched his grandfather’s face. “Did they schedule your surgery yet?”

“They’re working on it.” His grandfather gave him his infamous no-nonsense look. “I don’t want to pull you away from your job.”

His work was important, but some days it felt like he was holding up an umbrella to battle a tsunami. Drugs flooded the southeast states and innocents were getting hurt.

“I’m not leaving you alone to deal with this.” Nigel had saved him. “I’m right where I belong.”

* * *

“‘RIKKI-TIKKI HAD A right to be proud of himself—but he did not grow too proud, and he kept the garden as a mongoose should keep it, with tooth and jump and spring and bite, till never a cobra dared show its head inside the walls.’” Courtney closed the book and smiled at the circle of children at her feet.

“Read another,” Jamison called in his strong Southie accent. “With more bad cobras!”

“I can’t.” Courtney shook her head. “Our time is up.”

Actually, she’d run over the library’s reading hour. But she’d wanted to finish The Jungle Book story. “I’ll see you next week.”

As she pushed up from her small chair, Jamison wrapped his arms around her knees. “Thank you, Miss Courtney.”

“You’re welcome.” She hugged the little boy. “Thank you for paying attention.”

Two months ago, Jamison hadn’t been able to sit still for more than five minutes. Now he sat for the entire story hour. She nodded as his mother took his hand. He’d learned she wouldn’t read if he was talking or running around.

Grandmothers, sitters and older siblings gathered up the rest of the children.

“Your reading group keeps growing.” Marlene, the librarian who organized the volunteers, took the book from Courtney.

“It’s fun.” And her little secret. No one knew about her weekly visits to this Southside Boston library.

Even though the book’s language had been formal, the kids had been great. How wonderful it would be to put together words to ignite the imaginations of children. Of course, today’s books couldn’t be as lyrical as Kipling’s writings, but oh, to be able to read something that she wrote to children. How amazing.

Not that it would happen. On her drive home, she rubbed the wrinkles in her forehead. Being her parents’ pretty little ornament took most of her day. To maintain her image, it took hours of shopping, salons and working out.

As she approached the gates of the family mansion, a dark shape darted from the bushes. She jerked the steering wheel. Metal scraped stone. She slammed on her brakes and her body jammed against her seat belt. “No!”

She threw the convertible into Park, jumped out and rounded the hood. Had she hit whatever had run in front of the car? She peered under the car, but didn’t find an injured animal.

Damn. Her front bumper was toast. Not again. Father would go ballistic.

She glared. They needed to expand the front gate. This was the third time she’d turned a teeny bit too tight and wrecked her pretty car.

Driving to the portico, she stomped up the entry stairs. Marcus had the door open before she hit the top step.

“Did you have a nice afternoon of shopping?” He took the bags from her.

She always said she was going shopping, which she did. It just wasn’t the entire truth. Her parents wouldn’t see the value of her spending time in a South Boston library.

She shook her head, curls whipping across her face. “I bumped the gate.”

One white eyebrow shot up. “Again?”

“An animal jumped out from the bushes.”

“Oh, Miss. Did you hit it?”

“No.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Could you...?”

“I’ll call the repair shop.” He tipped his head. “Your father would like to speak with you.”

She frowned, then forced her face to relax. She didn’t want a permanent furrow between her eyebrows, but it was hard. Nothing was right in her world. It had been off-kilter for months. “Where is he?”

“In his study.” Marcus headed up the left stairway with her packages.

Courtney’s heels clicked on the black-and-white foyer tiles. She longed to kick off her shoes, but she wasn’t sure what Father wanted. Had she done anything that might have irritated him lately? Last month it had been how late she was coming home, as if that mattered now that she was twenty-six. The month before he’d lectured her for a half hour about gossiping at the dinner table. And in February it had been the way she treated her new sister-in-law.

I can’t help that I’m not my perfect brother.

Outside Father’s study, she straightened her shoulders and smoothed the skirt of the red Versace sheath she’d worn to lunch with Gwen. Her eyes didn’t pop as much when she wore red. Now she wished she’d bought the dress in green, too.

She’d buy the green dress tomorrow. Better yet, she’d have them deliver it to the house.

Staring into the hallway mirror, she forced a smile onto her face and arranged her black curls so they cascaded over one shoulder. She was her father’s princess, even though he hadn’t called her that in years. The blasted furrow formed between her eyebrows again. She pressed on the hideous lines and took a deep breath. Opening the door, she glided into the room.

Father didn’t look up. He pointed to a guest chair and kept typing.

She stood next to the chair. Her dress looked so much better when she stood. She examined her manicure and waited.

Still not looking up, her father ordered, “Sit.”

Courtney gritted her teeth, but obeyed, moving around the chair. She slipped into her seat just as she’d been taught in the finishing classes she’d been forced to attend during high school.

Instead of crossing her ankles, she rebelled against the voice in her head and crossed her legs. By crossing her legs, she could admire the red soles of her Louboutin heels. They were a perfect match with her dress. She sat with her back ruler-straight, remembering the way the instructor had made her balance a book on her head.

Wasn’t she her father’s perfect daughter, dressed to the height of fashion? She folded her hands in her lap, but what she really wanted to do was thread her fingers through her pearl necklace. It had been a gift for her sixteenth birthday from her father, but Mother had probably signed his name to the card.

She could wait him out. She didn’t have anything else to do.

He looked up. Inhaled and exhaled. Twice.

Uh-oh. What had she done? He couldn’t already know about her car. She chewed her thumbnail, then quickly dropped her hand to her lap and twisted her fingers together.