Chapter 1 : Part 1

Still Mr. & Mrs.
by Mary McBride

Their eyes and ears belong to the president.
Their hearts belong to no one.

She's the picture of no-nonsense professionalism. He's a paragon of emotional cool. The cream of the Secret Service, Bobby and Angela Holland are the go-to couple when it comes to protecting America's First Family, but they've missed the mark at preserving their own marriage. Now duty has pulled them from the brink of divorce and brought them back together. Their assignment: pose as husband-and-wife housekeepers to defend the president's mother against sudden danger. As the threats escalate, they'll have to summon all their skills to save the lives of some very important people-and a love that's burning to come in from the cold...

Chapter 1

Angela Holland was disgruntled, and she had a gun. Of course, how she was going to conceal a semiautomatic weapon under a stupid apron was a mystery yet to be solved. This morning when Special Agent in Charge Dolph Bannerman had called her into his office and asked if she'd like to be reassigned to protective detail, undercover no less, Angela had leapt at the opportunity. She'd almost given her supervisor a high five and exclaimed "Would I!" before she bit her tongue and accepted the assignment with a proper and professional "I'd like that very much, sir." It was only after Bannerman had outlined the duty that Angela realized she'd made a big mistake. A real boner.

She was probably looking at weeks, maybe months, of wearing slacks and an itchy, cumbersome ankle holster. She was definitely looking at weeks, maybe months, in the Siberia of the Secret Service, in the musty armpit of the universe-Hassenpfeffer, Illinois.

"Hassenfeld," her roommate called out from the living room, making Angela realize that she'd been grumbling out loud while she trudged back and forth between her closet and the open suitcase on her bed.

"Hassenfeld," she muttered, aligning the sleeves of a linen jacket, folding the garment carefully, and laying it into the already stuffed case. The black linen would be just right for September weather in Illinois. Her wardrobe would be perfect, in fact, as long as this September stint didn't stretch into late October or November.

The timing couldn't have been worse. Just when she was really beginning to enjoy L.A., dammit. Well, enjoy was probably a stretch. Tolerate was closer to the truth. Maybe she was just too uptight for the West Coast, where her colleagues all looked like surfers and tended to call one another "babe" or "dude."

"How long do you think this assignment will last, babe?" Special Agent Suzanne DiCecco, alias Surfer Girl, wandered from the living room to stand in the bedroom doorway, spooning yogurt from a carton, apparently amused by her roommate's rotten disposition. "Are there any leads on the guy who made the threat against the president's mother?"

"None that I know of." Angela was shoulder deep in her closet now, hunting for the scarf that went so well with her eggshell blouse. It wasn't where it should have been, in the top left drawer of the dresser, along with her other scarves.

"Any idea who you'll be working with?" Suzanne asked.

"Nope. I'm guessing that when Bannerman talked to me this morning, they still hadn't found anybody else dumb enough to do it." Like me, she thought.

The opportunity to work undercover had had an immediate appeal, especially when it involved protective duty with the president's mother. She'd been pleased, really gratified, thrilled as hell to be singled out for such an assignment. It was only after she'd agreed to do it that her supervisor had told her she'd be working undercover as domestic help. A freaking maid!

Aha! The sought-after scarf had been left threaded under the collar and lapels of her navy blazer for some odd reason. Angela yanked it out.

"Ask me how much I'm looking forward to playing house with somebody I don't even know in Hassleville, Illinois."

"Hassenfeld."

"Whatever." She smoothed out the wrinkles in the scarf, folded it, and laid it gently between the linen jacket and a pair of slacks. She wrapped the cord of her earpiece loosely around her radio and tucked it gently between several pairs of slacks. As always, her Kevlar vest went in last, although how she'd ever conceal it under an apron was another mystery. "That's it. I'm officially packed."

"So, how long do you think you'll be gone?"

"I don't have a clue, Suze. But don't worry about my half of the rent. I'm going to have them do a direct deposit of my paycheck, so I'll send you as many checks as I need to from Illinois. With any luck, it'll be just one, two at the most."

The buff little brunette shrugged and licked her spoon. "I wasn't worried about that. You haven't been late with your half of the rent since we moved in together. You're the best roommate I've ever had, to tell you the truth. Compared to you, all the rest were total slobs." She laughed. "Actually, compared to you, babe, everyone is a total slob."

Angela, aka babe, smiled as she closed and zipped her suitcase. It was nice, she thought, having someone appreciate her organization. Normally her attention to detail tended to irritate people, to really get on their nerves. Some people more than others. Her siblings called her Miss Prim. Her own mother had once suggested that they might have brought the wrong baby-the offspring of a CPA and a crossword puzzle fanatic-home from the hospital. And then there was Bobby. Bobby. As soon as he entered her head, she banished the thought.

Copyright © 2002 by Mary Myers

About the Author

Mary Myers, also known as Mary McBride, is a native of St. Louis, MO, where she lives with her marathon-running husband. A full-time writer, Mary has written 14 books for Harlequin and Silhouette. Still Mr. and Mrs. will be her first mainstream title.