For the First Time

Mark had to chuckle. “I turned you down for the job, yet you’re letting me know where you’re going to be in case I change my mind. That’s awfully ballsy.”

Josephine—somehow that name didn’t fit—shrugged. “Look at my casework again. Tell me you’ll find someone more qualified.”

She offered her hand and he took it. Her grip was firm and confident just like it had been at the beginning of the interview. Certainly not the handshake of someone who had been rejected.

She wasn’t the right fit for him, but he wasn’t going to deny that inwardly he was sorry about that. The woman had guts. Guts, in his opinion, was a necessary ingredient in a successful life.

* * *

“LUCY, I’M HOME!” Mark opened the door to his condo in a city-center high-rise and wondered if tonight would be different.

Probably not.

He’d been coming home to his daughter for the past two months and not one night had she greeted him with a smile.

He set down his briefcase, one he’d recently purchased to replace the leather satchel he used to carry. The satchel made him feel like Indiana Jones. The briefcase made him feel like his father. Mark figured that was a good thing. Might make him more fatherly.

Like most Mondays, his daughter wasn’t alone. The tutor he’d hired for her a few weeks ago to replace the one who had quit to go on maternity leave was here. Nancy was a nice woman in her early thirties who had proved to be an outstandingly good hiring decision. She showed up when she was supposed to, never lingered when it was time to go. Sophie’s grades were being maintained at the highest level and Nancy was fairly cheap, all things considered.

Watching Nancy, wearing plain jeans and a conservative sweater, collect her books to leave made him feel better. He’d definitely made the right choice by hiring her, he thought. Which meant he’d probably made the right choice letting Josephine walk.

“Hi, Mark.”

“Nancy, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine.”

Sophie sat on a stool at the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. She was reading a textbook and didn’t look at him as he approached.

“Hey.” He tried a different greeting.

“Hey.”

“Did you hear me when I came in?”

“Uh, yeah. Was that supposed to be an I Love Lucy reference?”

“Too old?”

“Too lame, Mark.”

He hated it when she called him Mark. “You know I would really prefer it if you would call me Dad.”

She smiled then, but not the kind of smile he was hoping for. “Hey, I would prefer it if you had actually been a dad.”

“Okay, well, I’ll be going,” Nancy said.

Right. Who wanted to stick around to witness such familial bliss? “Thanks, Nancy.”

“See you, Sophie. Don’t forget—not a word less than five hundred.”

“No problem.”

Mark watched Nancy leave and wondered, not for the first time, how he and Sophie must seem to her. Dysfunctional didn’t begin to cover it. She probably raced home to...well, no one. He happened to know that she was single and not seeing anyone. It had been part of what he had dug up during the background check on her—that and her Match.com profile.

But no doubt she thought they were a mess. And that was the truth—he and Sophie were a mess. Their past—or more accurately, lack of a past—was the river that separated them. It seemed no bridge he could build would ever allow him to cross it. No matter how much he changed his life for her.

Because, in the end, for so many years he’d been nothing more than a name scrawled on the bottom of a card. Certainly not a father.

Despite that, he liked to think he hadn’t been a total ass to her mother. When Helen told him she was pregnant he instantly knew he had to do the right thing and offer marriage. Only Helen knew she’d done the wrong thing by deliberately getting pregnant to hold on to a man whose life ambition was the CIA.

He thought he’d done everything right by her. He’d volunteered to refuse the CIA offer and find a more stable career—possibly with another federal agency, or scrap those plans altogether and go to law school. He damn certain had put a ring on her finger.

In the end, Helen had been the one to back away. She must have figured out that no matter how tightly she tried to hold him, he would always be looking over his shoulder wondering what kind of life he could have been living.

When he’d been stationed overseas Mark had liked to tell himself that he remained a part of his daughter’s life. He’d sent her cards and presents on her birthday and holidays. He’d occasionally chat with her over the internet if he was in a place that had the capability. But no amount of justification could cover up the truth. Having spent the past fourteen years of his life outside the United States, he was the very definition of an absentee father.

Hell, he hadn’t even made it home in time for her mother’s funeral.

No wonder Sophie hated him.

But she was stuck with him. Dom and Marie, her grandparents, who had been in the process of selling their home to move into an assisted-living facility when Helen died, had tried to make a go of having Sophie live with them. After a few months it was easy to see that two aging grandparents in questionable health weren’t up to handling a fourteen-year-old teenager.

And not just any teen. Sophie was special.

“What do you want to do for dinner?”

“Surprise me, Mark.”

There it was again. That hint of sarcasm. His daughter would turn fifteen in a few months but there were times when she sounded like she was double her age. He figured it was expected. The girl was a prodigy. A piano master by age nine who had been touring the country and the world for the past five years with the most highly respected orchestras and conductors. Giving her unique gift to the world, yes. But growing up way too fast for his taste.

He’d seen her act sophisticated and gracious with some very important political and business leaders who came backstage to pay her compliments on her performance.

Mark had also seen her roll her eyes at him like he was the dumbest man imaginable. He was proud of his daughter and the way she handled herself, but he also appreciated the other side, too. It reminded him she was still just a kid.

“Okay, I’ll cook.”

“I said surprise me, not kill me. The last time you tried to cook it was a disaster.”

“It was hot dogs,” he said in his defense. “How bad could they have been?”

“They were still cold in the middle and made me gag.”

“Whatever.” Oh, my. Had he really stooped to responding to his daughter in her own teenage speak?

“Besides I shouldn’t eat. I had a big lunch and I have to watch my figure.”

The girl was tall and lithe with long straight blond hair. If there was an extra ounce of fat on her body, he didn’t see it. However, he had to appreciate that she was a performer who was conscientious about how she looked onstage.

Mark decided to avoid the conversation—always a good thing when it came to women and weight—and instead went to check the mail.

In the months that they had been living together they’d fallen into a routine. He couldn’t say it was a comfortable one, since Sophie was too prickly for that. However, Mark thought at least they were settling into some kind of normalcy, which he was convinced was a good thing. After all, she couldn’t hate him forever. It simply wasn’t practical.

She practiced every morning at a studio where he rented space. From there she usually went to rehearsal with the Philadelphia Orchestra—her current assignment—at the Kimmel Center for a few hours. Nancy came three times a week in the afternoon.

Mark wasn’t sure how he felt about Sophie trying to cram what most kids did during a five-day school week into what was essentially nine hours a week. But given his daughter’s grades, it wasn’t like he could protest. She’d already taken a preliminary SAT test and had scored only two hundred points shy of perfection. No, he wasn’t worried about her grades so much as he was the other things kids experienced in high school. Like making friends, going out to parties, getting asked to the prom. The last time he asked her if she missed that kind of stuff she scoffed at him as if all high school activities were beneath her.

Maybe they were for a girl with her mind and talents. Who knew? Mark only knew that he was starting to enjoy their camaraderie even if it was seasoned with sarcasm.

She had chores around the house, although they were simple. She was supposed to keep her room neat, help him with the grocery shopping—that being agreed upon after a totally awkward moment when he’d purchased the wrong brand of feminine products for her—do her laundry and collect the mail.

Mark hired someone to handle the majority of the cleaning, which left him with providing dinner. That mostly entailed taking Sophie out to a restaurant of her choosing or ordering in. If this was to be their life together, then he probably needed to learn how to cook something besides grilled meat and hot dogs.

Walking to the small table in the foyer where Sophie left the mail every day, Mark sorted through what was mostly garbage and stopped at a white envelope that had no addresses—his or a return—or stamps. Just his name. Sharpe.

“Hey, was this in the mail?”

Sophie looked at him. “Yeah, whatever was in the box downstairs I put in the dish. You know, like I’ve done every day for months.”

He was going to have to explain to her that not every statement she made to him needed to be followed by a rolling of the eyes. The girl was going to give herself an eye condition.

Mark opened the envelope with suspicion. Maybe it was from a neighbor. He hadn’t really taken the time to meet any of them, being too busy keeping up with Sophie and the business, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have them. Maybe they didn’t like Sophie playing her electric keyboard too late at night.

There was only a single sheet of plain white paper inside. He pulled it out and saw the neatly typed sentence centered on the page.

You’re going to lose her.

The instant reaction in his gut was stunning and more powerful than anything he’d ever felt before. He lifted his eyes to his daughter, who had already dismissed him, and he thought, The hell I am.

This, he realized, was what it felt like to be a father.

And he kind of thought it sucked.

CHAPTER TWO

“YOU’RE SURE SOPHIE didn’t do it?” Ben lifted the note in the air, looking to see if there was any imprint in the paper. Some identifying mark.

Of course Mark had already checked for that. But he hoped Ben’s trained eye might pick up something he had missed. Despite the fact that Ben had been a longtime rival, Mark also knew he was the best. The truth was, after Ben resigned from the CIA, Mark had lost much of his love for the job. He’d already been making plans to leave the agency when the death of Sophie’s mother sped everything up.

Ben had been his benchmark: the agent Mark intended to be someday. The man he would best someday. To set himself apart from the others, Mark had done a lot of risky stuff. One stunt nearly cost Ben and him their lives. As a result, until recently they had never exactly been friends.

Now that they were both in the States and trying to live normal civilian lives, they had forged a bond that in the past few months had strengthened into friendship. Strange, considering how they’d started. Stranger still after Mark hired Ben’s assistant out from under him.

Yes, Mark had even harbored the notion of trying to steal Ben’s woman—for no other reason than to resume the rivalry that got his blood pumping. But Anna was in love with Ben and had already been carrying his baby when Mark hired her.

Ben had done the smart thing by tying Anna to him with vows and a ring. She was too easy for anyone to like. Smart, pretty, funny. Easy to be around.

For a moment Mark flashed on his interview from the day before. What was her name...Josephine? Yeah, she did not look like someone who would be easy to be around. But he had to remind himself of that because he’d been having second thoughts about letting Josephine go. Or maybe rethinking his reasons for letting her go.

Immediately, Mark shook it off. He didn’t have regrets. Regrets were a waste of time.

The only thing that mattered now was the note. While Sophie played with Ben and Anna’s baby—the one area of common ground Sophie and Mark shared was taking pure enjoyment out of Kelly—Mark was free to pick Ben’s brain about the note.

“She said she didn’t do it,” Mark answered.

Ben lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes, I believe her. She’s moody. She’s petulant. She’s constantly pissed at me. But as she told me when I asked, she’s not a nut-job. If she wanted to scare me, she could find other ways to do so.”

“You’re sure the threat relates to her?”

“Who else could it be? Sophie’s the only she in my life.”

“What about the grandparents? Maybe it’s a subtle warning that if you don’t work harder to improve the relationship, you’ll lose her.”

Mark shook his head. “Not their style. Dom sternly lecturing me about what I’m doing wrong—yes, that is their style. They’re too vocal about their disappointment in me as a father to do this.”

Ben scowled. “Then we need to think of other possibilities.”

That was the problem. Mark didn’t want to think of other possibilities. Other possibilities potentially meant old enemies who were now in the U.S. and watching him. Threatening his daughter.

You’re going to lose her.

Mark could think of a lot of Taliban leaders who would love nothing more than to cut open his chest and rip his heart out. But even if any of them were in the country, any note they left would include explicit details about their intentions for her. It didn’t make sense. The government saw to it that the Taliban couldn’t enter the country. Besides, now that Mark was no longer a player in the game, why would they want to hurt him? They had their hands filled with active U.S. military and paramilitary agents. He had no information that wasn’t almost a year old. Information that old was useless.

Mark thought of assets he’d turned during his years on the job who might have gotten turned back. But they, too, were all overseas. There were the cases he’d solved in the year since he’d opened his business. People he’d put in jail—some fairly high-profile.

A criminal Mark had brought to justice for a scam-artist ring he’d run for years. A missing girl he’d found dead. The Anderson case. Except that Jack Anderson was dead by his own hand before he ever saw the inside of a jail cell.

With the sound of women’s voices approaching, Ben turned. “There are my girls.”

“Sophie is hired,” Anna said. “She just changed her first poopy diaper and she didn’t even flinch.”

The girl sat on the couch with the baby in her arms. “I’m not going to lie. It was gross.”

“I don’t know that Sophie needs extra babysitting money. She’s doing pretty well with her music.”

Pretty good meant that any college in the country she wanted to go to was already paid for. He knew her plans included Stanford, Stanford and Stanford. In other words, the school farthest from him.

“I wouldn’t charge them. I would do it because I like Kelly. You’re so coarse, Mark.”

Another mistake. He thought he was making an offhand joke. She thought he was an asshole. Typical.

“Can I hold her?” Mark asked. At least while holding the baby he could pretend that a child actually liked him.

Reluctantly, Sophie handed Kelly over and he cradled the nearly five-month-old in the crook of his elbow. She’d been almost a month early and to Mark she still looked impossibly small, but the doctors had all declared her perfectly healthy. Kelly seemed to be deciding whether to cry or coo so Mark helped that decision along by bouncing her gently. The cooing continued and he watched as she broke out into a large, wide smile.

So little. So precious. Mark remembered holding Sophie when she was even younger. He remembered it, because it was the last time he saw her before he left for Langley. The next time he’d seen her she’d been five years old.

Closing his eyes, he brought the baby close and smelled how fresh and lovely she was. How had he been able to leave Sophie as a baby? When he felt as possessive as a Neanderthal with her now. Now when she hated him rather than adored him as she had when she’d rested in his arms.

“Please,” Sophie said. “Don’t even pretend you’re all about Kelly. We know what you think of babies, Mark.”

Mark didn’t respond to his daughter’s jab. He was starting to become immune to them. Anna walked over with a sympathetic smile and took her daughter from him. “Time and patience,” she whispered.

He smiled back. “Look, we should be going. My daughter probably has some more nasty things to say to me and I would rather we not subject the baby to it. It could corrupt her subconsciously. Ben, you’ll continue thinking about our problem.”

“I’m on it. But it might not hurt to have extra help. You should show it to JoJo.”

“Who?”

“JoJo. The detective I sent to you. You said you were going to interview her. I’m assuming you hired her, so have her look into the matter. According to Tom, she’s one of the best he’s ever worked with.”

Mark frowned. “I didn’t hire her.”

“Why not?”

His doubt surfaced as he once more tried to put his finger on his problem with her. “She wasn’t what I was looking for. I was hoping for someone more conservative. I’m trying to create a serious agency with serious agents.”

“Yes. I know. She has serious talent. It’s why I let you have first crack at her.”

Mark struggled with how to identify his specific issue with her. “She’s got tattoos.”

“You have a tattoo.”

“You do?” Sophie stood with her arms folded.

Mark scowled at Ben. “It’s since been removed.”

“You should reconsider. Because if you’re not hiring her, then I will. She’s too good to let go. I figured I was repaying you for stealing Anna away.”

“You didn’t steal me away,” Anna countered. “I chose not to go back to work because of Kelly. You two can be so full of it.”

Ben waited until Anna was distracted with the baby to give Mark a small nod that said he still thought he was right about JoJo.

“I don’t know if she’s still in the area. She said she was sticking around for a few days before heading to D.C. for another interview, but who knows.”

“Then you better act fast. The next person who sees her résumé won’t be so foolish as to let her go because of a couple of tattoos.”

“They’re on her neck.” Mark winced as he tried to imagine why a young woman might do that to herself. It had to hurt like hell.

“Totally cool,” Sophie muttered.

“Don’t even think about,” Mark warned. “Okay. Let’s make a stop on the way home.”

* * *

JOJO LOOKED AT the movie list and considered what would kill time better—an engrossing thriller or some eye candy in the form of Ryan Gosling. In truth, neither was very appealing. Pounding her hand on the mattress, she considered what her next move would be.

She’d been so damn sure she would get the job with Sharpe. In her mind she had already adopted Philadelphia as her new home. She’d had a Geno’s cheesesteak. What was that if not commitment?

Now she really would have to follow up on opportunities in other cities. She had exaggerated slightly when she told Sharpe he was one interview in a long line of them.

Okay, so it was a total lie. She hadn’t contacted any of the other agencies she had researched because she didn’t think she had to. Tom knew Ben Tyler and Ben Tyler was a man with significant influence. Since he had recommended JoJo to Mark, it should have been a lock.

Apparently not for Mark. Because he’d seen the tattoos.

JoJo got up from the bed and walked to the mirror. She’d removed the ponytail hair extension and her jet-black hair was again short and spiky. She had dyed it black a long time ago, and it brought out her blue eyes better than her natural blond. She kept it short to accent her smallish face and because it was easier to care for and to cover with a wig when she was in disguise.

Did she look a little too badass? Yes. There were times when that was an asset. Sometimes having an edge helped when she was interrogating a criminal or interviewing a witness.

But other times badass tattoos cost you a job. Two, if she counted Tim Reid’s reaction to her. He never liked her, despite the quality of her work. While she blamed it on his sexism, it probably also had something to do with how she defied the conventionalities to which he adhered.

Tim had a lot in common with her father. When it was announced Tim was taking over the agency, she knew she could not work for him. They would drive each other crazy.

So where to next?

The phone rang, which startled her. There weren’t a lot of people who knew she was even in Philadelphia. It was probably one of those stupid surveys about the hotel service, and she answered it out of sheer boredom. “Hello?”

“Oh, good. I caught you. Ms. Hatcher, this is Mark Sharpe.”

JoJo pumped her fist in the air. Then calmly answered, “Yes, can I help you?”

“I’m downstairs in the lobby. I’ve had second thoughts and was wondering if I could talk to you again.”

“Sure. Uh...” JoJo considered her appearance. She could change out of the jeans and sweater and into something more appropriate, but it would take her at least ten minutes to redo the hair extension. Oh, hell, it wasn’t like the disguise worked anyway—he hadn’t bought her conformist costume for one second. If they were going to work together, she would have to show her true self eventually. It might as well be now.

She even left the nose stud in.

* * *

MARK WATCHED THE elevators for Josephine Hatcher. When he spotted a woman with short dark hair walking toward him, he did a double take.

He would never have thought she was the same woman who had been in his office if it weren’t for the tattoos around her neck. The way her hair stuck up from her head at different angles should have made her look like she’d just woken up. Instead it made her look chic and hip. She wore skinny jeans with knee-high black boots and a bulky sweater that moved with her body. Ms. Hatcher was efficiency in motion, with an edge.

She stopped in front of him and held her arms up, clearly communicating that this was the woman beneath the conservative turtleneck. The woman he would get if he hired her.

Everything in Mark recoiled. Not that she wasn’t attractive in a certain sort of way, but she was so not what he needed in his life right now. Yesterday, he’d thought she was trouble. Now he knew she was more than that. She was dangerous. He could imagine what kind of example she might set for Sophie—who was already staring at the woman with awed admiration.

“Mr. Sharpe, you wanted to talk?”

Now what was he supposed to do? His gut and his brain were at war. This never happened. What was crazier was that his gut and head seemed to be taking opposite sides from what they ought to. His head should have told him that this woman was not employable and his gut should have said to take a chance on her. Instead his head was remembering her résumé, line by line, and his gut was churning with...something.

Ben said this woman was the best. Seriously?

“Uh...sorry to drop by like this unannounced, but I had second thoughts and didn’t want to miss you.”

“I’m glad you stopped by. Who is your sidekick? She looks a little young to be head of the HR department.”

“This is my daughter, Sophie. Sophie this is Josephine Hatcher.”

“JoJo,” she corrected.

Sophie gave him that look of hers. “Why do you have to introduce me as your daughter? Why can’t you just say I’m Sophie?”

“Well, most people like context and the crazy thing is, you are, in fact, my daughter.”