“Those roses are amazing,” Quinn couldn’t help but say. “I’ve never seen them before. What kind are they?”
“They’re Kahala roses,” the florist replied. “I thought the beige color with the bronze elements perfectly captured the feel of the desert’s colors. Especially when using the Vermeil candelabras to showcase them.”
“They’re perfect,” Quinn and Josslyn responded at the same time.
When Josslyn grinned at her, Quinn relaxed, and got into the spirit of things.
“What color are your bridesmaids wearing?” Quinn asked, her mind whirring at the potential of complementary colors. How much fun would it be to actually photograph this wedding? The thought stunned her in its randomness. She pushed it aside, reminding herself she was playing a role. She was always playing a role.
“No bridesmaids. We’re trying to keep it as intimate as possible. My sister, the First Lady, is my maid of honor and my niece is the flower girl,” Josslyn explained. “Harriett and I haven’t picked out a color for her dress yet. She has designers pretty much at her disposal, but we’ll need to make a decision this week.”
“Peach. The color of sunset on the Serengeti.” Quinn glanced over at the florist. “Maybe with bouquets of Oceana roses mixed with some off-white lilies and one or two of these Kahala roses?”
The older woman nodded. “With the cream and moss-green accents of the Truman china on the table, that would be perfect. You have a very good eye for color.”
“Quinn is a photographer. She’s shot quite a few celebrity weddings.” Josslyn grinned at Marin. “Thank goodness I know two people with impeccable eyes for art or this wedding would be a simple safari theme.”
The First Lady’s secretary coughed discreetly into her hand. The florist shook her head. For her part, Marin seemed to grimace as if she didn’t like being placed in the same friend category as Quinn.
“I once photographed a wedding with a cake that had strings of topaz beads wrapped around the layers,” Quinn said, trying anything to win the other woman over. “With low lighting it allowed for some pretty shots. Topaz would fit into the color scheme perfectly. And with the candelabras as the light source—”
“Don’t tell me how to decorate a wedding cake,” Marin interrupted her. “I’m not sure why you’re interjecting yourself into this wedding, anyway. Not with your track record of disappearing without a trace. I’d stick with the White House photographer, Josslyn. At least that way you’ll know they’ll show up when they say they will.”
With that, Marin turned on her heel and left the floral shop. Quinn’s stomach rolled. She’d brought that on herself. And she was angry that the approval of Ben’s friends meant so much to her. Marin was right, however. Quinn would be disappearing. And the sooner the better. She had no business trying to forge relationships with these people.
But what if?
There was that thought again. Just for a moment, Quinn let it take hold. What if she was no longer in the game and these could be her friends? What if she could help Josslyn with her wedding? How much fun would it be to dance with Ben at the reception. Or to create the artistic photos the bride desired. She was suddenly overcome with a longing more painful than the sting of Marin’s words. A yearning for a life different from the only one she’d ever known. A life that up until yesterday, had fulfilled her, challenged her. Only now, she knew what she was missing. And the realization hurt.
The room was suddenly quiet as everyone looked everywhere else but at Quinn.
“She’s very protective of Ben,” Agent Groesch said quietly. “We all are.”
“I’m sure you don’t believe me, but I’m glad you all are protective of him. So very glad.” Quinn somehow managed to get the words out despite a thick throat. “Griffin is right. I think it’s best if I wait upstairs for Ben to return.”
Agent Groesch nodded and Quinn followed her to the lift.
Chapter Eight
Still reeling from the conflicting emotions brought on by his encounter with Quinn, Ben didn’t bother to temper his frustration when he knocked on the front door of the Secretary of Homeland’s residence. A long moment later, Agent Caracas pulled the door open with a smirk.
Damn. He’d forgotten the idiot was on the secretary’s personal detail.
“No need to be so ferocious, Inspector Gadget. We hear you.”
“Stuff it, Caracas.” He shoved past him. “Where is she?”
“In the backyard, communing with nature.”
He was through the narrow row house in an instant. When he emerged out onto the flagstone patio, the secretary didn’t bother looking up from the flowers she was dead-heading.
“Your urgent text interrupted a perfect Saturday morning, Agent Segar.”
He heard Caracas snort behind him, the unprofessional jerk.
“This needs to be discussed inside.”
No way was Ben going to cop to his mistake in front of Caracas, the service’s biggest gossip. Not only that, but he had no idea who might be on the other side of the privacy fence listening in with a Stingray. The secretary’s detail was supposed to be monitoring for those types of issues, but Caracas wasn’t known for taking those routine measures too seriously.
Secretary Lyle straightened at his words. He was relieved to see her drop the shears in the bucket beside her. The family jewels were safe for now. She pulled off her gardening gloves and tossed them in the bucket as well.
“Very well, then,” she remarked when she trudged past him. “Inside it is.”
She led the way to her study, which was actually a secure, sound-proof room, outfitted for her to conduct business from home when necessary. Ben took great pleasure in shutting the door in Caracas’s face.
“I was actually going to send him for coffee,” she said with a cocked eyebrow. “He’ll remind me the task is way below his skill level, but I enjoy messing with his ego.”
He might have laughed had he not been so uptight right now. “You might want something stronger to drink.”
“I take it I have bigger problems than beetles in my garden?”
She removed the wide-brimmed hat covering her jet-black hair and tossed it on the sofa with a sigh. Green eyes collided with his and Ben was momentarily taken aback by the fortitude shining within them. They reminded him of another pair of strong-minded green eyes.
“Does this mean you’ve found something on Ronoff?” she asked.
“More like Ronoff found me. Or rather his son did.”
That got her attention. “Explain.”
“A trio of Russians tossed my sailboat last night. Video from the surrounding boats and the marina IDed one of them as Alexi Ronoff. He made no attempt to disguise himself.”
“How did they make the connection to you?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.”
She swiped at her brow as she plopped into her desk chair. “I assume their visit was timed while you were ashore and no one was hurt?”
“Actually, Ronoff took the opportunity to drown a woman.”
Her head snapped up in shock.
He held up a hand. “We were able to get to her in time.”