Veronica was ready nearly thirty minutes before the meeting was set to start.

She checked herself in the mirror for the seven thousandth time. Her jacket and skirt were a dark olive green. Her silk blouse was the same color, but a subtle shade lighter. The color was a perfect contrast for her flaming-red hair, but the suit was boxy and the jacket cut to hide her curves.

Joe would call it a Margaret Thatcher suit. And he was right. It made her look no-nonsense and reliable, dependable and businesslike.

So, all right, it wasn’t the height of fashion. But she was sending out a clear message to the world. Veronica St. John could get the job done.

Except, in a few minutes, Veronica was going to have to walk out the hotel-room door and head down the corridor to the private conference room attached to Senator McKinley’s suite. She was going to go into the meeting and sit down at the table without the slightest clue whether or not she had actually gotten this particular job done.

She honestly didn’t know whether or not she’d been able to pull off the task of turning Joe Catalanotto into a dead ringer for Prince Tedric.

Dead ringer. What a horrible expression. And if the security team of FInCOM agents didn’t protect Joe, that’s exactly what he’d be. Dead. Joe, with his dancing eyes and wide, infectious smile… All it would take was one bullet and he would be a thing of the past, a memory.

Veronica turned from the mirror and began to pace.

She’d worked with Joe all afternoon, going over and over rules and protocols and Ustanzian history. She had shown him the strange way Prince Tedric held a spoon and the odd habit the prince had of leaving behind at least one bite of every food on his plate when eating.

She had tried to show Joe again how to walk, how to stand, how to hold his head at a royal angle. Just when she thought that maybe, just maybe he might be getting it, he’d slouch or shrug or lean against the wall. Or make a joke and flash her one of those five-thousand-watt smiles that were so different from any facial expression Prince Tedric had ever worn.

“Don’t worry, Ronnie. This is not a problem,” he’d said in his atrocious New Jersey accent. “I’ll get it. When the time comes, I’ll do it right.”

But Veronica wasn’t sure what she should be worrying about. Was she worried Joe wouldn’t be able to pass for Prince Tedric, or was she worried that he would?

If Joe looked and acted like the prince, then he’d be at risk. And damn it, why should Joe have to risk his life? Why not let the prince risk his own life? After all, Prince Tedric was the one the terrorists wanted to kill.

Veronica had actually brought up her concerns to Joe before they’d parted to get ready for this meeting. He’d laughed when she’d said she thought it might be for the best if he couldn’t pass for Tedric—it was too dangerous.

“I’ve been in dangerous situations before,” Joe had told her. “And this one doesn’t even come close.” He’d told her about the plans and preparations he was arranging with both Kevin Laughton’s FInCOM agents and the SEALs from his Alpha Squad. He’d told her he’d wear a bulletproof vest at all times. He’d told her that wherever he went, there would be shielded areas where he could easily drop to cover. He’d reminded her that this operation had minuscule risks compared to most other ops he’d been on.

All Veronica knew was, the better she came to know Joe, the more she worried about his safety. Frankly, this situation scared her to death. And if this wasn’t dangerous, she didn’t want to know what dangerous meant.

But danger was part of Joe’s life. Danger was what he did best. No wonder he wasn’t married. What kind of woman would put up with a husband who risked his life as a matter of course?

Not Veronica, that was for sure.

Although it wasn’t as if Joe Catalanotto had dropped to his knees and begged her to marry him, was it? And he wasn’t likely to, either. Despite the incredible kiss they’d shared, a man like Joe, a man used to living on the edge, wasn’t very likely to be interested in anything long-term or permanent. Permanent probably wasn’t even in his vocabulary.

Veronica shook her head, amazed at the course her thoughts had taken. Permanent wasn’t in her vocabulary, either. At least not right now. And certainly not when attached to the words relationship and Joe Catalanotto. At least fifty percent of the time, the man infuriated her. Of course, the rest of the time he made her laugh, or he touched her with his gentle sweetness, or he burned her with that look in his eyes that promised a sexual experience the likes of which she’d never known before.

Either Veronica was fighting with Joe, or fighting the urge to throw herself into his arms.

There’d been one or two…or three or so times—certainly no more than six or eight, at any rate—this afternoon, when Veronica had found herself smiling foolishly into Joe’s deep brown eyes, marveling at the length of his eyelashes, and finding her gaze drawn to his straight, white teeth and his rather elegantly shaped lips.

In all honesty, once or twice, Veronica had actually thought about kissing Joe again. Well, maybe more than once or twice.

So, all right, she admitted to herself. He was rather unbearably handsome. And funny. Yes, he was undeniably funny. He always knew exactly what to say to make her damn near choke with laughter on her tea. He was blunt and to the point. Often tactless at times—most of the time. But he was always honest. It was refreshing. And despite his rough language and unrefined speech, Joe was clearly intelligent. He hadn’t had the best of educations, that much was true, but he seemed well-read and certainly able to think on his own, which was more than Veronica could say for Prince Tedric.

So, okay. Maybe now that she and Joe had had a chance to really talk, maybe now he didn’t infuriate her fifty percent of the time. Maybe he only infuriated her, say, twenty percent of the time. But spending twenty percent of her time angry or annoyed or worrying about him was still too much—even for the kind of casual, sexual relationship Joe wanted.

Obviously, Veronica had to continue to keep her distance. Squaring her shoulders, she resolved to do precisely that. She’d stay far, far away from Joe Catalanotto. No more kisses. No more lingering looks. No more long talks about her personal life. From now on, her relationship with Joe would be strictly business.

Still a few minutes early, Veronica took her purse and briefcase and locked her hotel room door behind her. Down at the end of the corridor, she could see FInCOM agents standing outside the royal suite where Joe was getting dressed. More agents were farther down the hall, outside the conference room.

The conference-room door was ajar, so Veronica went in.

This was it. Tonight they would decide whether or not they could successfully pass a Navy SEAL off on the American public as Prince Tedric of Ustanzia.

If the answer was yes, Veronica’s friend Wila would be one step closer to getting her American funding, and Joe would be one step closer to catching Diosdado, the terrorist.

She sat down at the empty oval conference table and crossed her legs.

If the answer was no, Joe would return to wherever it was Navy SEALs went between missions, and Veronica would sleep easier at night, knowing that assassins weren’t trying to end his life.

Except, if Joe wasn’t on this mission, he’d probably be on some other, what he considered truly dangerous mission. So really, whatever happened, Veronica was going to end up worrying, wasn’t she?

Veronica frowned. She was certainly expending a bit of energy thinking about a man she had decided most definitely to stay away from.

Besides, after this meeting, she probably wasn’t ever going to see Joe Catalanotto again. And the pang of remorse she felt was surely only because she’d failed at her assignment. It wouldn’t be long before Veronica had trouble remembering Joe’s name. And he certainly wouldn’t give her a second thought.

Senator McKinley came into the room, followed by his aides and the Ustanzian ambassador and his aides. Both men nodded a greeting, but Veronica’s attention was pulled away by a young woman taking orders for coffee or tea.

“Earl Grey,” Veronica murmured, smiling her thanks.

When she looked up, Kevin Laughton and some of his FInCOM security team had come into the room, along with Admiral Forrest.

The older man caught Veronica’s eye and winked a hello. He came around the oval table and pulled out the seat next to hers. “Where’s Joe?” he asked.

Veronica shook her head, glancing around the room again. Even in a crowd like this, Joe would have stood out. He was bigger than most men, taller and broader. Unless he was crawling across the rug on his hands and knees, he hadn’t yet arrived.

“Still getting changed, I guess,” she said to Mac Forrest.

“How’s the transformation going?” Forrest asked. “You got him eating lady fingers with his pinky sticking out yet?”

Veronica snorted and gave him a disbelieving look.

“It’s going that well, huh? Hmm.” The admiral didn’t seem disappointed. In fact, he gave her a downright cheerful smile. “He’ll get it. Did he tell you, he’s a pretty darn good mimic? He’s got a real ear for language, Joe Cat does.”

An ear for language? With his thick accent? Oh, come on… Veronica didn’t want to offend the admiral by rolling her eyes— at least not outwardly.

“Joe’s a good man,” Forrest told her. “A little too intense sometimes, but that’s what makes him a good commander. You win his loyalty, and he’ll be loyal to the end. He demands loyalty in return—and gets it. His men would follow him to hell and back.” He chuckled. “And they have, on more than one occasion.”

Veronica turned toward him. “Joe doesn’t think this operation is dangerous,” she said. “If that’s true, what exactly is dangerous?”

“To a SEAL?” Forrest mused. “Let’s see… Breaking into a hostile high-security military installation to track down a pilfered nuclear warhead might be considered dangerous.”

“Might be?”

“Depends on the location of the military installation, and how well-trained that hostile military organization actually is,” he said. “Another dangerous op might be to make a HAHO jump from a plane—‘’

“A what?”

“HAHO,” Forrest repeated. “A high-altitude high-opening parachute jump. It’s when you get the green light to jump from the plane at about thirty thousand feet—way up high where the bad guys can’t hear the sound of your airplane approaching. You yank the cord, the chute opens and you and your squad parasail silently to the landing zone. And maybe, when you get there, you rescue fifteen hostages—all children—from a bunch of tangos who wouldn’t bat an eye over spilling the blood of innocent kids. And maybe before you can pull the kids out of there, the op goes from covert to full firefight. So you rock and roll with your HK, knowing that your body is the only thing shielding a nine-year-old from the enemy’s bullets.”

Veronica frowned. “Would you mind repeating that last bit in English? Before you can pull the kids out of there…what?”

Forrest grinned, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “The terrorists become aware of your presence and open fire. You’ve got an instant battlefield—a full firefight. You return fire with your HK—your submachine gun—scared to death because there’s a tiny little girl standing directly behind you.”

Veronica nodded. “I thought that was what you said.” She studied Admiral Forrest’s weathered face. “Are these actual operations you’re describing or merely hypothetical scenarios?”

“That’s classified information,” the old man said. “Of course, you’re a smart girl. You can probably figure out they wouldn’t be classified if they were hypothetical, right?”

Veronica was silent, digesting all he had said.

“Heads up, missy,” Forrest whispered. “Looks like this meeting’s about to start.”

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Senator McKinley said, his voice cutting above the other conversations from his seat at the head of the table. “Where the hell is Catalanotto?”

McKinley was looking directly at Veronica, as were most of the other people at the table. They honestly expected her to provide them with an answer.

“He said he’d be here,” she said calmly. “He’ll be here.” She glanced at her watch. “He’s only a few minutes late.”

Just then, West, one of the FInCOM agents, stepped through the door. “Crown Prince Tedric of Ustanzia,” he announced.

Aha. That was why Joe was late. He was coming to this meeting dressed in the prince’s clothes. The tailor had dropped off several large garment bags late this afternoon. No doubt Joe had wanted to wear one of the resplendent suits to make him look more like Tedric.

Any minute now he’d saunter into the room, wearing a garish sequined jacket and a sheepish grin.

But West stepped back and a figure appeared in the doorway.

He was dressed in gleaming white pants and a short white jacket that clung to his broad shoulders and ended at his waist. There were no sequins in sight, but plenty of medals covered his chest, along with a row of golden buttons decorated with the royal Ustanzian shield. The shield also glittered from the bejeweled ring he wore on his right hand. His gleaming black hair was combed directly back from his face.

It was Joe. It had to be Joe, didn’t it?

Veronica searched his eyes, looking for the now quite-familiar differences between Joe’s and Prince Tedric’s faces. But with his shoulders back, his head held at that haughty angle, and no sign of a smile curving his lips, Veronica wasn’t sure exactly who was standing in the doorway.

And then he spoke. “I greet you with the timeless honor and tradition of the Ustanzian flag,” he said in the prince’s unmistakable faintly British, faintly French accent, “which is woven, as well, into my heart.”