Chapter 1

Chloe awakened with an elbow in her ribs.

She turned over and found herself nose to nose with Jack Quaid, the man she'd been crazy about since the summer she'd turned sixteen but had only connected with days ago when the mob had pegged her for assassination.

Within hours of a drive-by shooting attempt, the press had dubbed her the Bulletproof Princess. Laughable, because all she had done was duck. Yet if she hadn't, it'd be her funeral as well as Marcus's that half of New York City attended today.

Jack's soft snoring stopped, but his eyes remained closed. She stroked his face, his black hair curling on his neck, the seemingly perpetual five o'clock shadow stubbling his strong jaw, and pressed gentle kisses to his wide brow. He didn't rouse, and she looked beyond him to the clock on the bedside table. Marcus's funeral wasn't until two, but she and Emma Bosworth had a meeting with Renee at the Gotham Rose Club at ten.

Chloe crawled out from beneath the luxurious covers and walked to the bath, freshened up, then stepped into a closet that was half the size of her enormous bedroom and wondered. "What does one wear to one's fiancé's funeral?"

Normally, answering that wouldn't be difficult. But considering her fiancé had sacrificed her to the mob to save himself, had drugged and kidnapped her to force her into marriage to save her life because the mob had a rule against harming wives, and then had attempted to murder Jack by burying him in the concrete foundation being repaired in her building, Eleanor Towers, Chloe wasn't sure what to think or feel much less what to wear. All of which explained why she had a meeting with Renee Dalton-Sinclair, her boss and mentor. Renee would help her decide the best course of action for minimal damage and exposure.

Minimal exposure was essential to the Gotham Rose Club.

Of over 200 members who had joined the G.R.C. in its four-year history, Renee had hand-selected nearly twenty to become agents in a top-secret spy organization. While the other Roses didn't know the agency existed, the agent Rose speculated that it had originated high in the halls of Congress or perhaps even in the White House. Renee selected each recruit for a specific reason—Chloe for her title, of course, because it gained her access to places and people mere money couldn't touch. A fact proven on her last two assignments by aristocratic arrests.

The Rose agents were tasked with information and evidence gathering to affect the arrests of high-society criminals who thought they were too rich, too powerful or too smart to be held accountable for their crimes. Once the Roses had done their part, overt authorities such as the police and FBI stepped in and made arrests.

Chloe showered and lathered with the scented signature soap she'd created on her last shopping trip in Paris. She inhaled its spicy scent. She'd chosen the distinctive chompas and patchouli scent to remind her that she wasn't the spoiled heiress her mother believed, but a strong and successful businesswoman inspired by Eleanor Roosevelt. Eleanor had had a fondness for patchouli.

Turning, she let the hot water beat the stress from between her shoulders. Okay, so she had trust issues with men who, until Jack, had never failed to disappoint her. They all wanted her money or her title. Even men like Marcus, who had fortunes of their own. But she stayed grounded and focused on what really mattered. That's the reason she'd bought Eleanor Towers and had been devoted to restoring it. It was physical evidence of her commitment to herself to live a life of substance.

Chloe closed her eyes and remembered the morning Madison Taylor-Pruitt, her sister Rose and a real-estate magnate had called.

"I found it, Chloe. The perfect building for you. It overlooks Central Park and has a wonderful history."

"Tell me about it."

A lilt settled in Madison's voice. "When Eleanor Roosevelt was working on the Human Rights agreement at the United Nations, she stopped in front of this building and told reporters that women weren't weak or ignorant, they didn't lack courage, and every woman should aspire to leave the world better than she found it."

"I remember reading that report!" Excitement flooded Chloe. This had to be the right building for her. "Everyone doubted Eleanor would get sixty-four nations to sign the agreement, but she did, and it changed the world."

"I still think it's a bit idealistic," Madison said, ever blunt. "But way too many in our circle turn cynical young and stay jaded for life, so I guess we need it."

"It's realistic, Madison. It happened."

Madison paused, then skepticism tinted her tone. "Do you really believe every woman changes the world?"

Normally Chloe would keep her opinions to herself, but Madison had asked with a flicker of hope, and Chloe wanted to nurture it. They'd developed a bond of trust, and while a lot had improved in Madison's life, she still grieved her best friend, Claire's, death. That and the subsequent investigation into Madison's family company had led to Renee recruiting Madison into the spy world of the Gotham Rose Club. "I believe every woman changes someone's world for better or worse. If they realize it, maybe they'll try harder to make sure the change is for the better."

"Mmm… So do you want to see the building?"

"I want to buy it."

"It needs to be gutted, Chloe. There've been a lot of haphazard modifications."

"So I'll gut it and then restore it."

"That'll be expensive." Madison reeled off a sum that most would find staggering.

Chloe smiled. "Lock it down. I want it."

Copyright © 2006 by Harlequin Books S.A.