Tropical Safeguard (Men Of The Secret Service)

Tropical
Safeguard



Copyright: Stella Kelly


Published: 1
^st
July, 2013


Publisher: WordCarver Inc.

The rights of author Stella Kelly are in accordance
with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All
rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or
copied in any form or by any means without written permission from the
publisher.

Chapter
One

The
Winters’ Escape
mansion perched on the
edge of the ocean. The large windows in the classic Bermuda architecture
offered a stunning view of endless sky and turquoise water; a view that lifted
the spirits of those privileged enough to see it.

And now, the secluded
mansion was Katrina Turner’s sanctuary, her saving grace. Six months ago she’d
been running for her life. When a friend mentioned that Mr. and Mrs. Winters
were looking for a private Pilates instructor to live nine months at their
mansion, Katrina jumped at the chance. Isolation, silence, and high security
– it sounded too good to be true.

Sitting in lotus
position on the private beach, Katrina closed her eyes and let the sun kiss her
face in bright warmth as she let out a slow easy breath. Refocusing on the
clear blue water, a gentle breeze blew the wisps of hair that had fallen from
her loose ponytail. The water was calm today despite the breeze, like opaque
aquamarine glass. She counted four sailboats on the distant horizon and was
instantly reminded of her parent’s passion for sailing. She missed them greatly
and worried for their safety on a daily basis. Her past choices had put them in
danger and guilt festered in the pit of her stomach.

In her silent
contemplation, Katrina’s mind drifted into dark territory. She couldn’t shake
her uneasiness as paranoia infected her thoughts. Despite her relaxed pose and
calm veneer, internally she was crumbling. The peaceful spell of her early
morning meditation was already broken. These days, it didn’t take much to pull
her back to the fears of the recent past.

Getting up, Katrina
shook the sand from her towel and slipped on her sandals. Slinging a small
backpack over her shoulder, she trudged up the switchback staircase and wound
her way down the paved path that twisted through the lush green golf coarse.
This place was like an oasis, a paradise – but it wasn’t home. Since
leaving New York abruptly after the incident, a real sense of home had eluded
her.

He’d done that.

He’d taken her feelings
of security away with each seething comment, each painful blow. Since she’d
left him, secretly escaping in the dead of night, her confidence had slowly
returned.
 
She took pride in her
classes and the flow of her daily routine, relishing the rawness of her new freedom.
But, staying here forever was a fool’s dream, and the uncertainty of her future
was terrifying. He was always one step behind.

                          
        
<><><>

The private jet set down on the hot black
tarmac at Bermuda’s L.F. Wade Airport just before noon. Agent Cole Nielsen,
Secret Service with the United States Government, checked his watch before
peering out the small oval window. He spotted the assigned vehicles waiting at
a distance, right on schedule. His senses would be heightened this week while
guarding the dignitaries and their families, though not nearly as heightened as
other assignments. This was a family holiday after all. Priding himself on his
usual steadfast professionalism, Cole hoped to steal a moment or two of
tranquility between shifts at the mansion. The stress of his father’s
Parkinson’s was taking a toll on him mentally and this assignment couldn’t have
come at a better time. It was a much needed perk.

The plane taxied before
coming to rest beside the awaiting SUVs. The purring engines trailed off to a
low buzz as the nine passengers unlatched their safety belts. Cole stood up
first and straightened his tie, feeling far too tired for a man in his early
thirties. He buttoned his light grey suit jacket, covering the holstered gun at
his waist. He had to duck slightly so his head wouldn’t hit the ceiling of the
opulent cabin. At his height, he’d had his share of bumps and bruises.

His seasoned colleague,
Agent Thomas Kensing, rose at the front of the plane and turned to face the
passengers. Raising his hands, he cleared his throat before addressing everyone
in his trademark low rasp. “Just give us a minute for a security clearance,
folks.” His demeanor was direct. It was a demand, not a request. Cole was
reminded of Dirty Harry, minus the cool. The passengers obeyed, though they
looked anxious to stretch and exit the snug private plane after the lengthy
flight.

“Why can’t we just get
going? I’m starved and I wanna go swimming,” Cole heard the older teenage boy
whine under his breath as Agent Kensing released the front door of the plane
and pushed down the foldable staircase.

“It’s for your own
safety, Zach, remember that. Patience,” the teen’s father turned to answer.
Cole noticed the boy roll his eyes.
Teenagers, gotta love ‘em
.

Walking to the front of
the plane, Cole stood at attention by the door, watching Agent Kensing question
a few airport workers who were mulling around outside.

“He sure is thorough,”
commented James Mitchell, The Secretary of State as he leaned over his small
eleven-year-old son, Jimmy, to peer out the window. Cole noted a hint of
annoyance hiding in the man’s words and he had to admit, the feeling was
mutual.

“He’s quite a stickler,
Sir.” Cole smiled and tried to ease the creeping tension Agent Kensing was
causing the group. “Shouldn’t be long now. Just precautions.”

Cole yearned to spill
his guts about the agent he’d been saddled with this week. They’d never worked
together before, but Agent Kensing’s reputation preceded him. Every agent knew
the rumors; the thirty-year veteran was notoriously inflexible and consistently
froze under pressure. Clearly he was bound for retirement soon.

Agent Kensing gave the
thumbs up from the tarmac. Cole chuckled and shook his head, remembering the
rumored nickname his colleague had been given.
Agent Prickly
. The name fit like a
glove.

“Okay, everyone, we’re
clear,” Cole announced.

“Yay!” Jimmy jumped to
his feet. The boy was eager, all scrawny and slight like his father. His wide
grin and open face resembled the Peter Pan archetype and Cole instantly liked
him. The other two boys followed Jimmy’s lead, jumping up and gathering their
backpacks, pulling down baseball hats and giving each other light punches in
the shoulder for good measure. Cole watched them jostle for position, reminded
of his teen years in Manhattan, which now seemed like a lifetime ago.

The two SUVs followed
each other closely off the tarmac. Cole accompanied Secretary Mitchell, Jimmy,
and the nanny named Trudy in one. The other carried Agent Kensing, Deputy
Secretary Edward Greenbaum, his wife Helene, and their sons Zach and Noah.
Looking out the window during the twenty-minute drive, Cole admired the sherbet
colored colonial cottages lining the rugged shoreline, the pastel painted
shutters and picket fences like a throwback to simpler times. They passed a
nature reserve and several lush golf courses before travelling west on South
Road past the Botanical Gardens, the grounds overflowing with lush vegetation,
the likes of which Central Park could only dream of possessing.

“We’ll have to do some
golfing while we’re here, hey Sport? I’ll teach you a few things,” Secretary
Mitchell said to his son.

“Does Mr. Winters have
his own golf course, Dad?” Jimmy asked, sounding amazed at the prospect.

“Yep, and we can golf as
much as our heart’s content.”

Cole could tell The
Secretary was down to earth, unlike most of the dignitaries he’d guarded. Some
you win, some you lose. Jimmy was a lucky kid to have such a loving, attentive
father. Not everyone has that. Cole knew he’d had it, that he’d been one of the
lucky ones.

                                   
<><><>

Back at the mansion, the hot water
covered Katrina like a blanket, trickling down her body toward the drain. She
wished the water could wash her chronic worries away. Even with all of her
meditation sessions, there remained a festering, nagging ache of unresolved
conflict. She washed the conditioner from her hair and turned off the water,
still lost in thought. How long would she have to live in fear, wondering if he
would ever find her here on an island in the middle of the ocean? Katrina
wished the island itself could become the Bermuda triangle and keep all
outsiders at bay.

Toweling off, she made
her way into the sizable bedroom. Shimmying on her underwear, she pulled her
wet hair back into a low knot and put on khaki shorts and a simple white tank.
She slipped on her sandals and looked around the spacious room. Although she
would have preferred her own place and missed the elegant apartment she’d
shared in New York, anything was better than being back there with
him
. Hell,
she’d take a cardboard box over that living arrangement. Dismissing the
thought, she left to join the other staff members. Thrown together, the staff
had become a quaint little family, filling a desperate need in Katrina that
they were unaware of. She hadn’t told them her reasons for being here. Hadn’t
dared. She wasn’t one to trust others easily. Not now.

She heard the clang of
pots and plates before entering the grand kitchen. Personal chef Jacque Lisse
whirled left and right, his head down and his hands busy creating delectable
fresh masterpieces. Katrina leaned against the fridge with crossed arms,
watching him in awe. It amazed her that such a robust man could move so
quickly. Jacque had spent most of his youth learning from the most renowned
master chefs in France. With his gourmet foundation and his passion, Jacque’s
creations could easily be described as heaven on the tongue and since her first
bite on the very first day, Katrina was hooked.

Looking up, Jacque
momentarily froze when he spotted her as a wide smile stretched across his
round face. He crinkled his large nose before winking and carrying on with his
task in haste. “My Dear, you are glowing. Got some sun this morning I see.” His
French accent was as familiar to Katrina as his signature dishes.

She walked forward and
leaned against the long, marble island. “Smells good, Jacque. What’s on the
lunch menu today?”

He chopped an onion at
lightening speed, the movement mesmerizing. “Harissa-spiked tuna tartare and
rockfish in kaffir lime-leaf sauce. The fish were caught this morning.”

“Wow, sounds
tremendous.”

“Mais oui, only the
best.”

“The dignitaries should
be arriving soon. Do you need any help?”

Stopping mid chop, he
stared her down with a raised eyebrow, lips pursed. “Really, Kat, you know me
by now. You are so sweet to ask, but I have it under control. I am, as always,
a one-man show. Just relax and get ready for these flavors to knock your socks
off…if you were wearing any.”

“I can’t wait. I’ll
round up Gloria and let her know what we’re having. I think she’s putting the
finishing touches on the guestrooms.”

“No, no, sit for a
minute. Gloria will come when she smells the meal. The aroma is always like an
invisible finger drawing you closer. It is my free advertising.”