The Secret She Keeps

He was a father. He had no solid reason to be proud, but he was…a father. The realization knitted through his consciousness, drawing his fragmented self back together. He accepted her statement without doubt or question. On a cellular level, he must have known. Being a father changed everything. “Eden, why did you pick this moment to tell me?”

“Because I’m afraid.” But her voice sounded strong and defiant. “I thought we might be killed, and you deserve to know before you die.”

“No more negative thoughts.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arm. “We’re going to make it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’ve got to meet my son.”

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

Yeah, it’s cold outside, but we have just the remedy to heat you up—another fantastic lineup of breathtaking romantic suspense!

Getting things started with even more excitement than usual is Debra Webb with a super spin-off of her popular COLBY AGENCY series. THE SPECIALISTS is a trilogy of ultradaring operatives the likes of which are rarely—if ever—seen. And man, are they sexy! Look for Undercover Wife this month and two more thrillers to follow in February and March. Hang on to your seats.

A triple pack of TOP SECRET BABIES also kicks off the New Year. First out: The Secret She Keeps by Cassie Miles. Can you imagine how you’d feel if you learned the father of your child was back…as were all the old emotions? This one, by a veteran Harlequin Intrigue author, is surely a keeper. Promotional titles by Mallory Kane and Ann Voss Peterson respectively follow in the months to come.

And since Cupid is once again a blip on the radar screen, we thought we’d highlight some special Valentine picks for the holiday. Harper Allen singes the sheets so to speak with McQueen’s Heat and Adrianne Lee is Sentenced To Wed this month. Next month, Amanda Stevens fans the flames with Confessions of the Heart. WARNING: You may need sunblock to read these scorchers.

Enjoy!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

The Secret She Keeps

Cassie Miles

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

For most of her life, Cassie Miles has lived in land-locked, beautiful Colorado, which is about a thousand miles from family in Chicago and an equal distance from fun in Las Vegas. She likes to travel, but has never been fond of airplanes. Her favorite way of getting from here to there is the road trip, especially the kind of leisurely ride where you can go off the highway and explore all the historical markers, roadside attractions and local eats.

It’s the very best kind of trip to take with someone you love. Writing The Secret She Keeps was an absolute joy because she had a chance to revisit the great Midwest via car, train and horseback, with a short hop to Vegas in a puddle jumper.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Payne Magnuson—Alias Peter Maggio. The undercover federal agent, supposed to be dead, was on the run, framed for murder and targeted for vengeance.

Eden Miller—Alias Candace Verone and Susan Anthony. The Denver soccer mom escaped her violent crime-family background to protect her son.

Josh Miller—The eleven-year-old son of Eden had no idea about his heritage.

Danny Oliphant—Also known as Danny-O. A traitorous federal agent whose cleverness led to disaster.

Gus Verone—The patriarch of the notorious Verone crime family.

Sophia Verone—Eden’s grandmother and Gus’s wife, she struggled with family loyalty.

Luke Borman, Chuck Sonderberg and Samuels—Federal agents, who were both good guys and bad guys.

Sister Max—A kindly old nun who occasionally worked for the FBI.

For my wise and patient editor, Patience Smith, and Denise O’Sullivan at Harlequin Intrigue.

And, as always, for Rick.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Prologue

Bitter cold inhabited the last days of April like an unwanted guest who didn’t know when to leave. The vestiges of sleet had melted off the streets of Brooklyn, but a veil of ice remained, sparkling in the headlights of slow-moving traffic on the narrow streets. Payne Magnuson turned up the collar on his black overcoat and adjusted the lapels across his shoulder holster.

He seldom wore his gun anymore. A senior agent at Quantico, his regular assignment was in the classroom. Today, he was in New York for a consultation and seminar, teaching other special operation personnel how to go undercover and get out in one piece. Payne had the practical knowledge. Twelve years ago when he was twenty-four, he’d infiltrated the upper echelons of a Chicago crime family and lived among them for eighteen months. His tapes, wire taps and sequestered testimony had taken down seven minor crime bosses and toppled the Verone family. He should have been proud. In certain FBI circles, Payne was considered a legend.

Yet, he never thought of that time without regret. His efforts hadn’t ended corruption in greater Chicago. He’d barely made a dent. When the Verones stepped down, another family arose to take their place. Crime was a many-headed hydra, voracious and unstoppable. Now, a dozen years later, Gus Verone, the old patriarch, had regained supremacy. Except for two men still serving time in federal prison, it was as if Payne’s undercover operation had never happened.

“You’re going to love this restaurant,” his companion said.

“Why’s that, Danny-O?”

“It’s Italian.”

Danny Oliphant, like many of the younger agents, assumed that Payne was of Mediterranean descent. Because of his black hair and dark eyes? A superficial resemblance to Al Pacino? It wasn’t true; Payne wasn’t Italian. His surname, Magnuson, was Scotch, and he’d grown up in Wisconsin where the culinary fare was mainly meat and potatoes. His only association with Italian cooking was during his undercover assignment when he immersed himself in the culture and passed as Pete Maggio.

As a general rule, Payne avoided the Italian scene. He’d met a lot of people in Chicago he couldn’t face again. Not that they’d be expecting to see him. Payne, in his incarnation as Pete Maggio, was supposed to be dead.

Danny Oliphant—a husky redhead with an innocent, snub-nosed face—held open the door to the corner restaurant, Mama Paisan’s. They shook off the cold in the foyer and stepped inside where a pleasant warmth surrounded them. In keeping with the neighborhood location, the decor was casual with red checkered tablecloths and woven Chianti bottles used as flower vases. A long bar traversed one wall. Above the noise of conversation, Payne heard the background music of a tarantella.

Instinctively, he scanned the faces of restaurant patrons, looking for enemies. He recognized one man. Not an enemy. Another agent from today’s seminar.

“Luke Borman.” Payne turned to Danny-O. “I didn’t know we were meeting anyone.”

“Me neither.” Danny-O waved and approached the other man. “Hey, Luke. Good to see you. What are the odds we’d end up at the same place?”

Too high, Payne thought. As he reached across the table to shake hands, Luke’s jacket gaped open and Payne noticed the handle of the gun in his shoulder holster. Not standard FBI issue. This casual dinner was beginning to feel like a setup.

“Join us,” Danny-O offered.

“Thanks, but no,” Luke said. He checked his wristwatch. “I’m waiting for my girlfriend. She’s late, as usual.”

His reason for being at Mama Paisan’s sounded innocent enough. Luke’s presence was nothing more than coincidence, except Payne didn’t believe in random chance. Everything happened for a reason.

He led the way to a table in the middle of the restaurant and sat with his back to the wall. Though he remained alert to potential danger, the comfortable atmosphere soothed him. The mouthwatering fragrance of rich sauces and fresh bread tickled his senses and took him back in time. He remembered a candlelit dinner in his Chicago apartment. Twelve years ago. And he remembered a woman, the woman, Candace Verone. Slender with long coltish legs, she swept through his small one-bedroom apartment with sinuous grace. Wisps of long chestnut hair escaped her ponytail and curled at the edge of her high cheekbones. She wore no makeup, didn’t need any. Her hazel eyes were ringed with thick, black lashes. Her full lips glistened with a soft, natural pink. She was only nineteen but seemed more mature. The constant drama of the Verone crime family would be enough to age anyone, especially a sensitive coed with a strong sense of justice and truth.

Candace Verone. Payne thought of her often. The atmosphere at Mama Paisan’s brought her back to him with unbearable vividness. He remembered her leaning across the table in his apartment, holding out a serving spoon for him to sample the tomato sauce that had been bubbling on the stove for hours. In memory, his tongue tasted the perfect blend of fresh tomatoes, onions, peppers and garlic. In her eyes, the candlelight reflected a winsome glow.

He’d wanted to be honest with her, to explain his undercover work. To do so would have been dangerous. For both of them. He figured that when his assignment ended, he would come back for her. But such solace was not to be. She vanished after the final takedown. Though it seemed impossible, she was gone without a trace, never to be heard from again. Her disappearance was a tribute to the national and international connections of the patriarch, Gus Verone. He’d hidden his granddaughter so effectively that even the FBI couldn’t locate her. Payne had followed every lead, every hint. He would’ve done anything to see her again, to taste her lips, to feel her delicate body cradled tight against his—

“Payne!” Danny-O called him back to reality, nodding toward the waitress. “Should we get wine with dinner?”

“Burgundy,” Payne said. Candace had preferred red wine, full-bodied and rich. “A liter.”

There was no reason to avoid alcohol. He wasn’t on duty. This afternoon’s consultation and seminar on undercover procedure had gone smoothly, and he planned to head back to D.C. tomorrow morning.

Danny-O planted his elbows on the checkered tablecloth and leaned forward. With his red hair and freckles, he looked like Opie grown up. “What was it really like? Being inside?”

Payne shrugged. This wasn’t the place to be discussing undercover ops. “Just a job.”

“Did you ever, you know, get too involved? Did you ever think of dumping the assignment and joining the family?”

What kind of question was that? A test of loyalty? He wondered if Danny-O had an ulterior motive when he volunteered to show Payne the town. “Why do you ask?”

“You got to admit, the families have a certain appeal. Lots of money. Good wine. Great food.” He gestured to the table in front of them where the waitress placed a basket of warm crusty bread. Danny-O winked up at her. “Beautiful women.”

She smiled back at him and moved away. Her graceful hips undulated as she wove through the half-filled tables. It was a decent-sized crowd for a Thursday night when the weather was dismal. Payne watched as the waitress swished through the swinging door into the kitchen. What lay behind that door?

He glanced again at Luke Borman whose girlfriend had not yet arrived. Something about this dinner was wrong. Payne’s instincts, honed from years of ferreting out deceit, warned him to move on. He held up his wristwatch and made an excuse. “Sorry, Danny, I don’t really have time for dinner. I’m meeting someone at ten.”

“Who?” Danny-O challenged.

“Someone.” His tone was clipped, final. He’d say no more. Explanation was unnecessary; a senior agent deserved respect.

“At least have a glass of wine.” Danny-O raised both hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Come on, Payne. You can spare time for one glass, can’t you?”

Was he stalling, trying to buy time to keep Payne at the table? “You sound anxious, Danny-O. Been under stress lately?”

“To tell the truth, I can’t believe I’m here with you. You’re one of my heroes. I want to get into—” He stopped himself before blurting a specific reference to undercover work. “—your field. I’ve read every word of your reports, all the transcripts.”

Those documents were supposed to be sealed, top secret. How had a young agent, like Danny Oliphant, gotten clearance? Payne wanted to know more. He purposely relaxed his features, pretending to be seduced into indiscretion by the flattery. “Which part interested you the most?”

“Had to be the final takedown when you set up Locksmith and the guy they called The Nose.”

Payne capped his suspicions with a false smile, irritated that Danny-O knew the code words which meant he had accessed top secret, sequestered transcripts of testimony. This did not bode well.

The wine bottle was placed on their table, and Payne went through the ritual tasting before pouring a glass of dark crimson liquid, the color of blood. “Who have you been working with on this?”

“Nobody really.”

“You’re being modest,” Payne said. “Somebody had to give you clearance to read those documents.”

“I shouldn’t say this.” Danny-O tried to look sheepish but failed. This baby agent was more like a wolf. “I’m kind of a computer whiz. I hacked into the files.”

Unlikely. Very few amateur computer jockeys possessed the level of skill required to breach FBI security. Something was up, something treacherous.

Payne lifted his wineglass as he gazed toward the door. Three men entered. Two were unfamiliar, but Payne knew the tall man in the black leather jacket. His waist had thickened and his features had hardened. His opaque black eyes absorbed the light, sucked the energy from the cheery restaurant and turned everything dark. He was Eddy Verone. Candace’s brother. The up-and-coming boss in Chicago. Why was he here? What did this mean? No time to think.

Payne reacted instantly. His gun was in his hand. Damn it! He didn’t want a shoot-out in the middle of a crowded restaurant.

Danny-O had already pulled his weapon, identical to Payne’s. The young agent fired at Eddy Verone.

With a shove, Payne overturned the table. He focused on Luke Borman. From halfway across the restaurant, the barrel of Luke’s .45 caliber revolver aimed directly at the center of Payne’s chest.

The first shot was Payne’s. Borman went down.

Payne dodged through the tables, through the screaming, terrified patrons. He hit the kitchen door and kept running. Undercover, again. He’d been set up.

Chapter One

Dressed in a black skirt, white blouse, black sweater and the black and white headdress of a novice nun, the woman who had once been known as Candace Verone hurried along the sidewalk outside St. Catherine’s parochial school. Head down, the folds of the wimple obscured her features. She rushed as though late for an important appointment. In the carefully tended soil near the school’s entrance, she noticed the green blades of new dahlias, a harbinger of springtime, a promise of new life. Yet, her mind was consumed by thoughts of death.

She still couldn’t accept her brother’s murder. Eddy was too young to die.

Quickly, she mounted the steps at the arched stone entryway of St. Catherine’s, a school she had once attended a long time ago in another life. Her name was Eden Miller now. She was thirty-one years old, a single mother, currently living in Denver, making an honest living from smart investments and part-time work for a caterer. The key word there was “honest,” a description not often associated with her past in this quiet Chicago suburb.

Inside the school, Eden flattened her back into an alcove beside a plaster statue. Her plan was to sneak through the bowels of the school into the church next door where her brother’s funeral would take place in a few hours.

She had risked everything by coming here. If recognized, twelve years of carefully constructed anonymity would be erased.

Cautiously, she peeked out from behind the Blessed Virgin statue. Had the hallways always been so narrow? Years ago, the school had seemed much more impressive, filled with whispers and laughter. In a rush, she remembered spelling bees and notes passed in class and best friends and boyfriends. But now was not the appropriate moment for nostalgia. She needed to slip through the school undetected. It shouldn’t be too hard. Classes were in session, and no one should be in the halls. The tricky part would be to avoid the nuns and secretaries who worked in the main office.

Before she could make her move, Eden was caught. A large hand clasped her shoulder and spun her around. She faced Sister Maxine who was uncharacteristically dressed in her full regalia—a flowing black habit with a carved rosewood crucifix the size of a baseball bat hanging from wooden beads around her ample waist.

Silently, Eden cursed. She should have remembered that Sister Max had always been able to creep silently and appear out of nowhere. The joke was that, like the Lord, Sister Max “moved in mysterious ways.”

The old nun peered through her rimless eyeglasses. “I don’t believe we’ve met. May I help you?”

Eden hoped Sister couldn’t see her too clearly. From a distance, Eden could pass for a novice nun. Up close, her white blouse was definitely silk, and the sweater showed a stylish cut. “I’m new here,” she said. “A math teacher. I transferred from, um, another parish.”

At the sound of her voice, a smile softened Sister’s stern visage. Gently, she chided, “You were never a good liar, Candace.”

Her arms spread wide like the wings of a wise black bird, and she pulled Eden into a hug. The soft warmth of Sister Max felt like a wonderfully safe haven, and Eden hugged back with all her might.

Sister Max had been a comforting presence in the background of her life. When her mother died from natural causes while Eden was in fourth grade, Sister Max had pulled her from class and had given her the news. The same with her murdered father in seventh grade, but Eden hadn’t wept on that occasion. The Verone family tragedies had become too regular, almost expected. Still, she appreciated the solace offered instinctively by Sister Max, and Eden wished she could have stayed in touch. “I’m sorry, Sister. I left without saying goodbye.”

“I understand. Your family… Let’s just say, I understand why you had to depart so abruptly, Candace.”

“Call me Eden. Eden Miller. That’s my name now.”

Sister Max stepped back. With a clean white hanky that had appeared from nowhere, she daubed at the corners of her eyes behind her glasses. “Eden it is. I’ve been expecting you.”

“You have?” Tension shot through her. Was it so obvious that she’d return for her brother’s funeral? “Why?”

“Come with me.”

Eden balked, fearful of a trap. If Gus Verone sank his talons into her, she’d never escape. “Sister, I can’t see my grandfather.”

“Of course not. I might be a nun, but I’m not an idiot.” Bitterness tinged her voice. Though Sister Max believed judgment was the province of the Lord, she thoroughly disapproved of Verone family activities. “There’s someone else who wants to see you. And I promise you’ll come to no harm.”

“Who is this mysterious person?”

“You’ll see.”

Her grandmother? Eden’s heart leapt. She missed her grandmother, Sophia Verone, so very much. As soon as Eden heard of Eddy’s death, she’d called her grandmother. On the phone, Sophia sounded desolate and weak. She’d outlived both of her own sons, and now she’d lost her only grandson, Eddy. Granddaughter Eden felt guilty to be living so far away; she was as good as gone. She’d left her grandmother alone in a nest of vipers.

Sister Max led her down the stairs, past the cafeteria and into a tunnel that connected with the church. It was the route used by students attending Mass during snowy weather. “I’m sorry for your loss, Candace. I mean, Eden. Your brother chose a dangerous path.”

His life in crime, supposedly serving the family, had killed him. Just as it killed her father and her uncle. And her one true love. His name whispered through her conscience like a forbidden breeze. Peter Maggio. Over the years, Eden had tried not to think of him, to force his presence from her mind. But her senses would never forget his gentle caresses. Her ears always listened for the rich deep timbre of his voice, speaking to her of love, promising he would never leave her. Her eyes were reminded of Peter every single day. Their son, Josh, who was nearly twelve years old, looked more and more like his father as he matured. Sometimes, Josh would cock his head at a certain angle when asking a question, and she would see the reincarnation of Peter in the dark eyes of a son who had never met his family. And never would, Eden swore. Her primary goal in life was to keep Josh safe from the Verones.

In the basement of St. Catherine’s church, Sister Max pushed through one closed door and then another. She paused outside a third door. “This may be difficult for you, Eden. But I believe this meeting is necessary. For what it’s worth, I’ve always known in my heart that he was a good man.”

He? What good man was she talking about? “I don’t understand, Sister.”

“My prayers are with you. Be strong.” Sister Max guided Eden inside and closed the door behind her.

In the smallish room where racks of choir robes and vestments were stored in plastic dry cleaners’ bags, the light came from a single forty-watt bulb. It wasn’t dark, but Eden squinted, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.

She focused on a rugged man in a worn brown leather bomber jacket. Every detail came into stark clarity. She noticed the shine on his oxblood loafers, the stitching on his jeans, the buttons on his white shirt, the slight bulge of his jacket concealing a shoulder holster. His jaw set hard as granite. His dark eyes shone with unspoken gravity. Lightly etched crow’s feet touched those eyes.

“Peter,” she whispered.

He looked older. His high cheekbones and jawline were more sharply chiseled. A touch of gray streaked his thick black hair.

She must be dreaming. He couldn’t be here. Peter Maggio was dead. He’d been dead for twelve years, the entire life span of their son.

“Candace,” he said.

“Eden,” she corrected automatically. Her heart beat fast, speeded by the pressure of a thousand emotions. It felt like her rib cage would explode. “Candace is dead. Like you. You’re dead.”