Cinderella's Secret Agent

Del Rogers

Strong and sensitive—with mesmerizing amber

eyes and a seductive smile.

SPEAR sharpshooter Del Rogers had learned the

hard way that love and marriage were off-limits to

a man like him. Still, playing white knight to the

beautiful and desirable Maggie Rice was one off-duty

assignment he couldn’t pass up.

Maggie Rice

A blond-haired, blue-eyed new mom who still

believes in fairy-tale endings.

Although the man of her dreams was awfully

secretive, Maggie couldn’t resist the powerful

allure of the gallant—and gorgeous—Del Rogers.

Why, she had him pegged as a real-life Prince

Charming! But this sweet-natured Cinderella was

holding out for promises of forever….

“Simon”

This menacing traitor seems to have more lives

than a cat. Now he’s about to make his move.

No matter how close SPEAR’s top agents get,

Simon is always one step ahead of them. Now this

diabolical archvillain is about to stage a full-frontal

attack. Anyone who dares to stand in his

way had better prepare for the fallout!

Dear Reader,

This is officially “Get Caught Reading” month, so why not get caught reading one—or all!—of this month’s Intimate Moments books? We’ve got six you won’t be able to resist.

In Whitelaw’s Wedding, Beverly Barton continues her popular miniseries THE PROTECTORS. Where does the Dundee Security Agency come up with such great guys—and where can I find one in real life? A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY is almost over, but not before you read about Cinderella’s Secret Agent, from Ingrid Weaver. Then come back next month, when Sharon Sala wraps things up in her signature compelling style.

Carla Cassidy offers a Man on a Mission, part of THE DELANEY HEIRS, her newest miniseries. Candace Irvin once again demonstrates her deft way with a military romance with In Close Quarters, while Claire King returns with a Renegade with a Badge who you won’t be able to pass up. Finally, join Nina Bruhns for Warrior’s Bride, a romance with a distinctly Native American feel.

And, of course, come back next month as the excitement continues in Intimate Moments, home of your favorite authors and the best in romantic reading.

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

Ingrid Weaver

Cinderella’s Secret Agent

To Deb and Kate, who know what this book means to me.

May you live long and prosper.

Dear Reader,

I was eight years old when I fell in love with the dashing spies in The Man From U.N.C.L.E. That summer, I transformed our back porch into my own top-secret spy headquarters using cardboard, old curtains and plenty of imagination…but instead of an international terrorist, I only caught the milkman. My hopes of a career in espionage ended, yet I’m still a die-hard fan of every action hero, from James Bond to Dirk Pitt. I enjoy writing novels of romantic suspense, so naturally I was thrilled when Silhouette invited me to participate in Intimate Moments’ twelve-book series, A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY.

When I began to write Maggie and Del’s story in Cinderella’s Secret Agent, I discovered an unexpected side of the danger and excitement of cloak-and-dagger work. Fantasizing about falling in love with a secret agent is one thing, but just imagine the difficulties it would bring in reality. How on earth could a man who deals in deadly skullduggery hope to fit into the life of an ordinary woman? What happens when their two very different worlds collide?

I sincerely hope that you enjoy reading Cinderella’s Secret Agent as much as I enjoyed writing it!

All the best,

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Agent Del Rogers was a hunter. For now his prey had eluded him, but a hunter has patience. He has self-control. And above all, a good hunter never takes the hunt personally.

Turning away from the hospital, Del forced his fists to relax. The reddened skin on the back of his hands twinged, and the patches on his arms where the hair had been singed off were beginning to itch, reminders of his last encounter with the man known as Simon. Yet Del had gotten off lightly compared to the agent he had just seen in the intensive care ward. The bomb in the warehouse last week had caught everyone off guard. The next meeting with Simon would be different. Next time, SPEAR would be ready.

He strode along the sidewalk, stretching his legs to work out the lingering aches in his muscles. Out of habit, he scanned his surroundings, yet he knew he wouldn’t spot his quarry here. Yellow cabs shouldered through the late afternoon traffic; car horns and sirens mingled with the background hum of Manhattan. A warm puff of air scented with yeast and oregano wafted briefly from the doorway of a pizzeria before it was swallowed by the pervasive metallic tang of exhaust.

It was April. The hunt for Simon had been going on for almost a year, but it was bound to end soon. SPEAR was gradually closing the net. The best operatives in the top-secret government agency had taken their turn at running Simon to ground. Despite the traitor’s uncanny ability to elude them, his hiding places were dwindling. Now it was only a matter of time before he walked into their trap.

On the corner beside the subway entrance, a splash of color against the iron railing caught Del’s eye. A flower vendor was sitting on an overturned bucket, hawking bunches of fresh daffodils. Del dug into his pocket and tossed a coin to the weathered old man.

“Thanks, sport,” the man muttered. He turned the coin over in his grimy hand. “Hey, what is this?”

“It’s a double eagle.”

“Ain’t got change for that,” he said, squinting at Del.

“Didn’t think you would. The last time I had one of those coins was three years ago in Juneau.”

As soon as Del said the prearranged code words, the flower seller shrugged and picked up a handful of daffodils. “You must have some hot date.”

“Uh-huh.” Del took the bouquet, running his fingertips over the stems until he felt the small plastic rectangle that was concealed there. He headed down the stairs to the subway, slipping the microcassette tape out of the flowers and into his pocket. He would have to wait until he met his partner, Bill Grimes, at the surveillance site before he could listen to the briefing on this tape. Like all the SPEAR briefing cassettes, it would erase as it played.

He was pulling the graveyard shift with Bill tonight. Del wasn’t being given any consideration for his burns and bruises, and he wasn’t asking for any. At this stage of the chase, every available operative was needed to insure Simon didn’t slip away again.

The subway train squealed to a halt at Del’s stop, jarring his swollen knee. He ignored the discomfort and blended into the crowd that spilled onto the street. He walked a block east, crossed Third Avenue, then paused in front of a shoe store, using the reflection in the glass to check out the passersby. Satisfied that he hadn’t been followed, he glanced at the daffodils he still held. His lips quirked as he remembered the flower vendor’s comment.

Being holed up in an apartment all night with Bill, staring through a sniper’s scope, wasn’t Del’s idea of a hot date. And he was certain Bill wouldn’t appreciate the flowers.

But Del knew someone who would. He lifted his head, his gaze going to the coffee shop on the other side of the street. Maggie was the kind of woman who would love flowers. She would be thrilled to get these daffodils. He could picture how she would smile and stick them in a sundae glass and chatter about how yellow is such a happy color….

No. A bouquet of flowers could carry a message in more than one way. And Del couldn’t afford to give any woman the wrong message, especially a woman like Maggie. She deserved better than that. Life hadn’t dealt her a good hand, yet she was making the best of it, facing her problems with a good-natured determination that he had to admire.

If things had been different, if he had known her eight years ago, he might have considered giving her more than just a bouquet.

Del wavered for an instant, then tossed the daffodils into a trash can and crossed the street.

“Hey, Maggie. Your cowboy’s here again.”

Maggie Rice stood on her toes to peer through the round window in the swinging door. From here she had a good view of the coffee shop and the patron who had just sat down. Although his back was toward her, she recognized him instantly, doubtless due to the sudden thump of her pulse.

Clearing her throat, Maggie smoothed her apron over the front of her maternity dress. “Wrong on both counts, Joanne,” she said. “He’s not mine, and he’s no cowboy. Do you see boots or a Stetson anywhere? And have you ever heard even a trace of a drawl?”

“Guys like that don’t need the props.” Joanne Herbert chewed her bubble gum noisily, blew a bubble and popped it against the roof of her mouth. “The cowboy thing is part of his aura.”

Maggie knew exactly what Joanne meant. Of average height and average build, in his neatly pressed khakis and his polo shirt, Del sure didn’t resemble the Marlboro Man. Yet there was something so essentially, well, male about him. He moved with the easy self-confidence of a lone wolf, his body loose, his gaze always alert, as if he were some legendary gunslinger, scanning the horizon for his next target.

Oh, Lord. The pregnancy must be affecting her brain. Del? A gunslinger? He was a nice guy, probably one of the last ones left in New York.

“And he is, too, yours,” Joanne went on.

“Oh, get real,” Maggie said, rolling her eyes. “No man’s going to give me a second glance, even if I was interested. Which I’m not. Alan cured me of that. And right now it would be absolutely ludicrous to even think about—”

“Why, Maggie, I meant he’s your customer, that’s all. He’s sitting at your table, isn’t he? What on earth did you think I meant?” Joanne chuckled. “But come to think of it, it is kind of a karmic coincidence that he always manages to show up on your shifts.”

Maggie groaned. “Don’t you have a mantra to chant or some coffee to spill?”

“Nah, I already did that. But now that you reminded me, I do have some buns to burn.” Joanne pressed her cheek alongside Maggie’s to look through the window. “Mmm, speaking of great buns…”

Maggie bumped her friend with her hip. “Joanne, behave yourself. If you keep drooling like that I’ll have to get out the mop. Wet floors can be hazardous.”

“He looks…hungry.”

“Well, duh. Why else would he be here?”

“Besides drumming up business for us by making everyone’s mouth water?”

“If you like him so much, why don’t you serve him?”

“He’s sitting at your table,” Joanne said smugly. “Besides, I know for a fact it would hurt Laszlo’s feelings if I ran off to a rodeo with Mel here.”

“His name’s Del, not Mel,” Maggie said.

“With those looks, anyone could get confused.”

No, Joanne was wrong, Maggie thought. Del’s looks couldn’t be confused with anyone else’s. With his hawklike nose and his striking amber eyes, he was a one of a kind. He wasn’t handsome in a classic movie star or magazine model sort of way, but he was…appealing. Yes, that was a good word for it. Yet unlike most attractive men, he seemed oblivious to his appearance. As a matter of fact, his short-clipped hair and casual, nondescript clothes weren’t meant to draw attention.

But he drew hers. Oh, yes. No matter what shape the rest of her was in, her eyes were functioning just fine. She felt a blush rising in her cheeks and sighed. Was this what she had been reduced to? Lurking behind a door in order to ogle a customer?

He was most likely married anyway. She seemed to have a knack for finding the ones who were married. But it didn’t make any difference. Considering her condition, ogling anyone was worse than ludicrous, it was downright gross.

“Uh, Maggie?”

“Mmm?”

Joanne squeaked a fingertip across the round windowpane in the door. “You better get to work, girl. You’re fogging up the glass.”

Maggie sputtered and turned to make a retort, but Joanne was quicker. Grabbing Maggie by the shoulders, she gave her a gentle shove. The door swung open and Maggie stumbled into the coffee shop with all the grace of an elephant in a tutu.

Laszlo looked up from the grill, his broad forehead creasing in a frown. “Maggie, you okay?”

“Sure. Thanks.” She made an exaggerated show of grabbing the edge of the lunch counter for balance, then grinned. “It’s no wonder I keep tripping over my feet. I haven’t seen them for months so sometimes I forget they’re there.”

He shook his head as he gestured with his spatula. “You shouldn’t be working,” he growled in his thick Hungarian accent. “You should be home.”

“What? And give up all this? I plan to put the baby through college on the tips I’ve been getting lately.”

The ends of Laszlo’s drooping mustache dipped farther. “You’re the stubborn woman, Maggie Rice. Five days, that is all. Then I don’t want to see more of you until after the kid is born.”

“More? Now there’s a scary thought. Any more of me and I won’t fit through the front door anyway.” Maggie gave him a cheeky wink and picked up her order pad.

Five days, and then she would stay home. In spite of what she’d just told her boss, she was looking forward to the time off. As much as she needed the money this job brought, she had a million things still to do to get the apartment ready and less than a month to go.

“Hello, Maggie. How are you and Junior today?”

She pulled her pencil from behind her ear as she stopped in front of Del’s table. As always, his rich voice set off an odd reaction deep inside. It was his tone, so steady and calm and masculine—

Get real, she admonished herself. Sure, he was a nice guy, and they had shared many casual conversations over the weeks since he’d started coming in. Yet she didn’t know all that much about him, other than he liked his eggs over easy and his coffee black and seemed to have a schedule that coincided with hers. There was no reason for her pulse to flutter whenever she saw him.

Actually, it wasn’t only her pulse that felt fluttery now. Her entire body was…restless. Yes, that’s how she would describe it. She had been having tremors and tingles all day. She focused on her order pad, hoping the strange feeling in her lower stomach would pass. “We couldn’t be better. She had the hiccups this morning, but she settled down when I changed the radio station. She hates rap.”

“She?” Del repeated. “So you think the baby’s a girl today?”

“It’s just a feeling I have. It really doesn’t matter one way or the other.”

“Have you settled on any names yet, Maggie?”

“Not yet. I want to wait until I see my baby’s face before I decide.” She touched her fingertips to the bulge that pushed at the front of her dress. “Oh, it’s going to be so good to finally hold her in my arms.”

A pair of customers squeezed past on their way out. Del shifted his chair. “Tan sandals.”

Puzzled at the change in conversation, she glanced up. “Excuse me?”

Tiny laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. “On your feet. You claimed you haven’t seen them lately, so I thought I’d bring you up to date.”

He had a wonderful smile, she thought. He didn’t flash it all that often, but when he did it added a hint of boyish charm to the cowboy toughness of his face. “Thanks,” she said.

“How did you manage to paint your toenails pink?”

“Would you believe a mirror and a brush with a very long handle?” She moved her hand from her stomach to the small of her back. The ache that had started building there this morning was getting worse—she must have strained a muscle somehow. “I could have skipped the polish, though. If the fashion police haven’t brought me in by now for this tent I’m wearing, I doubt if they’ll notice my toes. Heck, I can’t even see them.” She winced.

His gaze sharpened. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Maggie…”

“Really, Del. Aches and twinges are perfectly normal when a person’s carrying around this kind of weight. Want your usual?”

“I’ll settle for a coffee.” He glanced around. “The place isn’t that busy yet. Why don’t you take a break?”

“Can’t. Laszlo will fry me and put me in a burger.”

“I heard that!” the cook called.

She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “He hates it when I give away his secret recipes.”

“How bad is the twinge in your back?” Del persisted.

“On a scale of pinprick to root canal, it’s a stubbed toe. Relax,” she said, lifting her arm to tuck her pencil behind her ear. “I’m healthy as a—” She sucked in her breath. The pencil dropped to the floor. “Oh!”

“Maggie? What is it?”

“My back,” she said through her teeth. The pain took her by surprise, clutching at her spine and radiating to her belly.

Del surged to his feet and came around the table. “You’d better sit down,” he said, taking her arm.

She ignored the suggestion but she did lean into his support as the wave of agony gradually ebbed. Shaken, she exhaled hard and gave him a wobbly smile. “No, I’m fine. It’s gone now.”

Del looked carefully into her face. He didn’t release his hold on her arm. Instead he guided her to the nearest chair and gently helped her to sit. “What’s your doctor’s number, Maggie?”

“Please don’t make a big deal out of this,” she said, attempting to get up. “I shouldn’t have painted my toenails, that’s all.”

Del stopped her from rising by placing his hands on her shoulders. There was no humor in his amber gaze, only concern. “If it’s only a strained muscle, the pain won’t come back if you don’t move. We’ll just wait here for a few minutes and see what happens, okay?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said. “My due date’s weeks away, so I’m not about to give birth or anything.”

Taking the chair across from her, Del directed a look toward Laszlo. “Maggie’s taking a break.” Although he didn’t raise his voice, his tone was that of a man accustomed to giving orders. And unlike Maggie, no one else argued with him.

Joanne bustled forward and plunked a glass of water on the table for Maggie, leaning over to feel her forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay, hon? I can cover for you if you want to leave early.”

The caring in her friend’s gaze unexpectedly brought the heat of tears to Maggie’s eyes. She blinked hard. God, the pregnancy hormones were making a mess of her emotions. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. Really.”

And she would. Yes, indeed. Things could be so much worse. She had her friends. She had this job, at least for the next few days, and she had a home. And most important, in less than a month, she was going to have a child.

A child. A baby to love. Sometimes the wonder of it took her breath away.

“It won’t be long now.”

At Del’s softly spoken comment, Maggie smiled. He must have guessed the direction of her thoughts. “Spring is such a perfect time to have a baby, don’t you think?” she asked.

“What makes you say that?”

“Spring is when nature renews itself after the winter. The tulips are blooming, the cherry trees are blossoming, birds are returning to build their nests.”

“I see what you mean. It’s like an affirmation of life.”

“Exactly.” She beamed. “It’s my favorite season. Do you have any kids, Del?”

He hesitated. For an instant, a shadow of something dark flickered over his expression.

Oh, God. What was wrong with her? She shouldn’t have asked him such a personal question. Sure, they were on a first-name basis, but that was because she didn’t know his last name. Just because he’d been eating here regularly for almost two months didn’t mean she had the right to pry into his personal life. “Sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“No,” he answered finally. “I don’t have any kids. I’ve never been married.”

“Oh.” She shifted uncomfortably. The ache was building in her back again.

“My sister has half a dozen, though.”

She pressed her palm over her breasts. She seemed to have trouble taking a deep breath. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. The last two were twins. They keep her and her husband busy.”

“I can imagine. Wow. What a lucky woman your sister is. I’d love to have a whole houseful someday…oh!”

Del caught her hands. He might have said something, but Maggie couldn’t hear it over the rush of her pulse in her ears. She gripped his fingers, thankful for someone to hang on to as the wave crashed into the small of her back and stretched around to her stomach again.

It was harder than the other one, and it lasted longer. By the time it receded, Maggie could feel beads of sweat dampening her temples. She panted to catch her breath. “Whoa,” she muttered. “Did you see anyone behind me? Feels like someone smacked me in the back with a baseball bat. Heck, where’s a cop when you need one?”

Del’s face was so close she could see flecks of gold in his amber eyes. He looked at her carefully. “Maggie, I don’t believe that was a muscle ache from painting your toenails.”

“Could have been from moving the furniture. The crib was delivered yesterday, and I had to rearrange some things to make room for—”

“Maggie, I think you’re in labor.”

She released his hands and grabbed the front of his shirt. “I can’t be. I still have three weeks to go. There are too many things I have to do. The apartment’s a mess. I haven’t even set up the crib and I didn’t get to the laundry and—”

“Everything else can wait. I suspect this baby won’t.”

“But it’s too early.”

“You need to get to a hospital.”

“It’s just a false alarm. They talked about that in the prenatal classes. Mild contractions are perfectly normal in the last trimester, so there’s no point rushing anywhere until I’m sure—” She felt a distinct pop deep inside. Seconds later, warm fluid gushed between her thighs. She dipped her head, watching in disbelief as the liquid ran down her leg to form a clear puddle around her sandals. “Oh, my,” she whispered.

Crockery hit the floor nearby in a teeth-rattling crash. Joanne rushed to her side. “Maggie! Oh, my God! Is that…”

“I think my water just broke.”

“Oh, my God! Laszlo!” Joanne screamed. “She’s having the baby!”

“No. She can’t. This is the restaurant. Maggie, you can’t have baby here.”

The other customers in the coffee shop, alerted by the commotion, turned their heads to get a better look. Conversation halted briefly, then recommenced with an excited babble.

Joanne spun around, wringing her hands. “Oh, my God, oh, my God. What do we do?”