Between Love and Honor (Men of the Secret Service #3) - Tracy Solheim Page 0,10
later. He could still see the pity in the old man’s eyes. No one really believed the wealthy beauty would consent to attending the prom with a nerd like Ben.
“Face it, son,” his no-nonsense grandfather said after they knocked on every door of the house to no avail. “She got a better offer. They probably jetted off to the islands for the long Memorial Day weekend.”
But Ben didn’t want to face it. Not after what he and Quinn had shared. He and his bruised ego staked out the Darby house for the entire holiday weekend, ignoring the commands of his mother and aunt to come work at their family’s marina. By Monday, he was desperate. So desperate that the straight arrow Boy Scout did the unthinkable. He risked his commission to West Point by breaking and entering Quinn’s house.
He had never been inside the stately home. Whenever the two of them worked on homework it was at the library or at his aunt’s tackle shop at the marina. He now realized she was likely embarrassed to have anything to do with a townie; the son of a widowed school teacher and slain police officer.
That dark night, he wandered through the rooms of the house not caring about the fact he could be caught at any moment. He just wanted answers. Wherever she and her parents had gone, they’d left in a hurry. And if the empty drawers and closets were any indication, they weren’t coming back.
The familiar scent of Quinn’s perfume led him to her bedroom. He’d fingered the cheerleader pom-poms hanging from the doorknob. Random photos she’d taken of friends framed the side of the big mirror on her dresser. His heart had stopped when he spied a snapshot of the two of them among the others. He looked like a goofball in the picture with his cheesy smile, but the way she was smiling up at him still made his throat tighten and his chest swell.
Just then, a car had slowed out front. He quickly glanced around the room for more clues. In desperation, he snatched up the photo and shoved it in his pocket before bolting down the back stairs and into the inky darkness of the backyard. He’d spent the rest of that night hypothesizing about all the possible scenarios for her abrupt disappearance. Most of them involving terrorists or mafioso. It wasn’t until the next day at school he’d learned the truth.
And Blaine Simpson, captain of the lacrosse team and leader of the snotty rich crowd had taken great glee in delivering the blow. Quinn’s father had been recalled to England. According to Blaine the Pain, Quinn had known for weeks it was coming and that she wouldn’t be around for the prom. Apparently, the only one who didn’t know was the one boy in town who supposedly knew everything. Ben had never been more grateful to report to the Beast Barracks for his plebe summer at West Point five days after graduation.
“Kind of ironic that the one time you’re in the White House for an event, she shows up,” Adam commented, interrupting Ben’s painful stroll down memory lane.
Ben sprang from the sofa. He didn’t believe in irony, coincidence, or anything else that couldn’t be explained by fact. And his gut was telling him Quinn Darby showing up after all these years, on the arm of a Russian criminal, meant something. He just needed to figure out what.
The rapid pinging of his computer distracted him from solving the puzzle of Quinn, however. He tapped a couple of keys to open an email from the Secretary of Homeland summoning him to her office. Apparently, the NSA director was serious about wanting VOYEUR as soon as he could get his hands on it.
“Well, alrighty then.” Adam got to his feet. “Good chat.” He headed for the door. “I really stopped by to see if we’re still on for dinner in Watertown tonight. Joss wants to sample some of the seafood appetizers we’re serving at the reception. Probably the best part of this wedding planning, if you ask me.”
“Yeah,” he replied absently. “I’ll see you there.”
Adam hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. “Look, Bennett, I realize I’m not one to call a guy out on the secrets he keeps close to the vest. But a hotshot from MIT once had to set me straight about the value of friendship. Now I’m gonna return the favor. Griff and I, we’re your brothers and we’ve always got your six.