Dakota Montgomery has spent her life looking under the surface to find the truth and writing award-winning stories about the international events the world needed to hear. With her new assignment covering the U.S.-Japan trade talks, she's been asked to help find a traitor. With the clock ticking and the suspect list ever growing, can she keep her focus and complete her story when everyone has something to hide?

Blake Holland never dreamed of a life outside of his work. Having grown up on the wrong side of the blankets and on the poorest side of the tracks, he managed through hard work and determination to amass both a fortune and considerable global political clout. Now the newly appointed Assistant U.S. Trade Representative must help avert a trade war while keeping the reputation of his team from being compromised by press. But will his growing obsession with a beautiful reporter lead to his downfall or his freedom?

 

Prologue

 

Blake Holland sat underneath an old oak tree that stood next to the remnants of his mother’s vegetable garden as he remembered the way she’d spent hours bent over with a hoe, tilling the soil and planting seeds. He shook his head slightly, remembering how his mother convinced him that gardening was a privilege and not a chore.

Drawing a deep breath, Blake’s gaze swept over the place that used to be his home. The house looked dilapidated but had a nice front porch, and a stream going through the side yard that was concreted to channel the mountain run-off in the spring. His uncle had constructed a little curved bridge over the stream with a place for picnics hollowed out of the hill with stone benches and floor.

He remembered his Uncle James saying, “It’s a big world out there, Blake. Got good people and plenty of bad. You gonna find it one day.” Drawing in a deep breath of the cool air, he let it out of his lungs and watched the steam curl. For the past decade, he’d traveled the globe on business, sacrificing everything for this career. Since he’d left home for college, Blake had attained his master’s degree in international finance, Jurist Doctorate, and become a member of the District of Columbia Bar. He’d parlayed all that hard work into the executive-level position as the Global Head of Trade at Citigroup Inc. But after successfully running the division for five years, he was leaving it all behind to start anew.

Blake tipped his head to the side slightly when he caught the sound of car tires crunching over gravel. Within a few moments, the car door opened and slammed shut, and he breathed deeply knowing that the faint sent of vanilla would hang in the air. A sharp wind cut through the air, and he was grateful for the hat on his head as he looked to see a smartly dressed young woman in an ankle-length wool coat walking in his direction. He watched her walk, and it was like looking in a mirror. She possessed the same long legged self-assured stride, stubborn chin, light brown eyes and deep caramel skin.

Physically, they could have been identical twins, but mentally they were different on many levels. Not that any of that mattered. They had both discovered at a young age that only family mattered and only money could make things happen and garner respect. Although he’d only been six years old at the time, Blake could recall the hour of Caroline’s birth because he’d been the one holding his mother’s hand before and after the midwife’s arrival. The screams and smell of blood had kept him awake nights, standing at the foot of his mother’s bed, watching them sleep. He couldn’t help but grit his teeth when he thought about how his sister’s birth had been a shock to their small community. People couldn’t get over the fact that Nadie Holland had birthed another bastard child.

He drew in a deep breath and focused on his sister’s approach. “Morning,” he called out.

“It’s cold out here, Blake,” Carolina said, coming to a stop a few feet from him.

“Just the way I like it.”

“Why do you always come here?”

“Why do you insist on following me when you’ve got a husband to take care of?”

She shrugged and slowly moved to sit down. Blake narrowed his eyes at the way she carefully took a seat next to him under the tree. “Scoot over please.”

Smiling at the childlike undertone of her voice, he moved to the right and let his little sister sit in the warm spot he’d created.

“Yesterday my team closed a fifty million dollar project with the Department of Defense. Tomorrow Scott and I are closing on a seven-bedroom, six-bath colonial brick in Prince George, and I’m up for another Image award this year. But why is it I still don’t feel like I’ve got enough, Blake?”

“You don’t yet. Give it seven months.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Damn. I told him not to tell anyone, but that ass went behind my back.

Wait until he gets back from New York tonight. He’s going to be sleeping in the guest room.”

“He didn’t tell me anything, little sister. It’s the end of winter, and your skin is glowing.”

“Oh.”

“Your husband isn’t doing his job very well is he?”

“What does Mike have to do with this?”

“He promised me he’d keep you in check.”

“I couldn’t let you leave without seeing you, and I knew you’d be here.”

“And how is that?”

“You always come back here when you’re about to do something big. It’s like you want Momma to see it.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Or maybe I want to see how far I’ve come.”

“Mike and I still can’t believe you’re actually leaving Citigroup.”

He shrugged and looked away. A part of him had been reluctant to give up the salary and prestige he’d fought so hard to gain. But even as he drove his BMW through the newly revitalized town and turned right at the old church, his chest swelled with righteousness. Despite all the townspeople’s predictions that the Holland boy would come to a bad end, he’d proved them wrong. Moreover, although she hadn’t lived to see it, his mother would have been proud. “I’ve earned more money than I can spend in a lifetime, and it’s gotten old. I needed a new challenge, and this is an opportunity to work on another level.”

“And gain even more power and influence,” Caroline added.

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” He grinned. As the head of the United States Trade Team, his mission was to settle a dispute over American construction industry exports to Japan.

“I just want you to be happy, and I would love it if you were close to home.” She placed a gloved hand over her stomach and said in a low voice, “I’m terrified, Blake.”

He softened and curled his left arm over her shoulder and placed his right hand atop her own. His mother had had a difficult time giving birth, and it had taken her months to recover. Blake wasn’t a very religious man, how could he believe in a God that would punish the innocent? Yet, he still prayed to God for his mother and sister while asking the devil to damn his father. “I’ll always be here if you need me.”

“That will be a little difficult with the fifteen hour flight,” she wirily replied.

Blake sat back and grinned. Both he and his sister were no strangers to international travel, but while marriage and pregnancy had restricted her business travel, his new position as chief negotiator for the United States Trade Representative office would lead to an increase in his time spent outside of the U.S. borders.

““When will you return?”

“Depends on the negotiations, a minimum of three weeks if the talks go well. Very rarely does the conference continue over the scheduled timeframe. But I should be there as little as three weeks or for more than a month.”

“Do me a favor?”

“Anything,” he said. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for his little sister, and he knew in his heart she felt the same. Growing up, she’d helped him fight when they were teased at school because of their clothes or their being borne out of wedlock. Caroline had not only been his little sister, but his savior. There had been many nights that the only reason that kept Blake from running away from home was the thought of leaving her alone unprotected. He loved his little sister to distraction.

“Stay safe and try to have a little fun please.”

“Where’s the fun in playing it safe?” he teased.

Caroline sighed heavily with all the drama she could muster. “I’ll miss you.”

“Back at you.” He pulled his little sister into his arms and kissed her on the top of her head. He recalled doing the same things numerous times when they were children. Kissing her goodnight, kissing the scraped skin, and wiping away the tears. He remembered playing in the stream, running in the woods and all the fun they’d had together. But he also remembered the cold walks to school, and the terror of her getting sick because his mother didn’t have enough money to pay a doctor. Blake made a mental note to get all the names of the premier obstetricians and pediatricians and forward them to his sister’s husband. Nothing would ever harm his sister. She was the only family he had left.

 

Vatican City, Italy

 

“I need you to go to Tokyo.”

“What?” Dakota replied. She held her cell phone closer to her ear and put her finger in her other ear in a futile effort to block out the roar of the crowd. St. Peter’s Square in the center of Vatican City was filled with a sea of humanity. Only minutes ago as the pope's death was announced, people fell to their knees and wept and sang. Standing alongside hundreds of her journalist colleagues, she’d been witness to the passing of Pope John Paul II. She’d been in the middle of an interview, when the news of the Pope’s imminent death had been released. Not a person to be idle, she’d immediately gotten on the phone and picked up a contract to cover the unfolding story.

“Catch a flight to Tokyo,” her bureau chief shouted. “You’ve been re-assigned to cover the upcoming U.S.–Japan trade talks.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dakota snorted. “I’m in the middle of one of the most important events Rome has seen since Caesar’s death, and you want me to watch paint dry at a trade meeting?”

“Trust me. It’s going to be a helluva lot more interesting than paper shuffling. This is big, Dakota.”

She shook her head. After having worked as a freelance journalist for the past five years, she’d learned the rules of her trade the hard way. It shocked her now that the man who’d taken her under his wing when she’d graduated would ask her to do something without first giving her details. “First rule of journalism: Never trust someone who says ‘Trust me.’ You should know that, Bert, because you told me that my first day.”

With only a quarter of her attention on the phone conversation, her eyes continued to scan the area, taking in the range of emotions, the intensity of the moment. Although she’d adopted the more expedient use of a digital tape recorder, her hand still itched for a pencil and paper to write. She wanted to take in every small detail and paint the scene in words that would convey the enormity of the event.

She pressed a button, and began speaking into the machine while gesturing toward the photographer.

“It is an emotional day here in Rome. Young, old, believers and non-believers gather in St. Peter’s square to mourn the passing of an icon,” she said, and then gestured for the photographer to turn his camera lens toward the sight of a businessman cradling a grandmother as she cried. She had never been a very religious woman. Both of her parents believed in God. Her mother chose to worship in the way of her Sioux ancestors. Her father, raised in the South and brought up in the Baptist church, took Dakota to church on Sunday mornings. Yet although she believed in the presence of a Divine figure, the gruesome stories she’d covered during a two-year stretch of high-risk assignments had tarnished her faith in a benevolent God. Maybe that was why she remained impartial while the entire crowd grieved over the Roman Catholic leader’s passing .

“Find someone else,” Dakota barked, intentionally allowing her increasing annoyance to creep out. Her transition into investigative journalism didn’t keep her from wanting to go back to covering assignments. But the nightmares and psychological stress of confronting horror, whether in investigative files, on war-torn streets or the bombed ruins of an apartment building, or in African streets red with blood kept her from going back. Once Rome finished mourning, she would return to the Finance Ministry and continue her questions. It would take her months before getting the information she’d need to link the ex-CEO of one of Italy’s now defunct Banco di Roma to an American investment corporation.

“I can’t. It has to be you.”

“Why me?”

“I can’t go into it over the phone. I’ve set you up to meet a contact in Tokyo, and he’ll brief you on the rest.”

“No. You’ve got to give me a better reason than it’s big story. I trust you with my career, but this is going too far.”

Bert’s weary sigh stretched over the Atlantic. Dakota checked her watch and calculated the time difference. It was a little after five o’clock in the morning in New York City and knowing her boss, he’d probably just woken up from the pull out couch in his office.

“Fine. I didn’t want to tell you this, but the assignment involves Peter Connor.”

The conversation went from occupying part of her brain to a hundred percent with the mere mention of the man’s name.

‘“What does Peter have to do with trade talks, Bert?”

“I’m not allowed to say anymore, but if you care about him, you’ll be on the next plane to Japan.”

Before she could question him any further, there was a click, and Dakota was left with the steady drone of the phone line. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and whispered, “Peter, what have you done?”

“Everything okay, Dakota?”

She turned and hastily constructed a smile as the photographer lowered his camera and walked to her side.

“I’m sorry, Jack. That was the bureau. I’ve been re-assigned, and I need to leave tomorrow. Can you stay for another hour and send the pictures back to news desk?”

“Sure. Anything specific you want me to try and take?”

“Try a few shots of the crowds from different angles. If you can squeeze in a few of the arriving officials, that would be nice.”

“Will do.”

Dakota gathered her belongings and made her way through the crowd of journalists toward the closest subway entrance. Vatican City had curtailed most vehicular traffic, leaving Dakota without the option of catching a cab. As her feet moved swiftly over the pavement, her thoughts shifted back to Peter Connor, the man she’d loved all her life. When he’d first come into her life, Peter had been fresh out of military academy. As her father’s protégé, he’d spent weeks at their house in the summers. Over the course of a decade, he’d left the armed forces and managed to become one of the most influential politicians in America. Poised to become the next speaker of the Senate and a possible vice presidential candidate in the next election, he couldn’t afford the hint of scandal. Dakota stopped and stood to the side of the entrance to the subway as people poured up the stairs. No matter how many awards, honors, or titles Peter possessed, she’d only thought of him as her friend.

She looked up at clear spring sky and took it as a sign that she could be able to get a flight out. She blinked her eyes as memories flooded her, and she tried to keep the emotions at bay. Nothing would stop her from helping him; no matter what.