Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | Mountain Retreat

Mountain Retreat
Cassie Miles
Her fiance, a Marine held captive for months in a war torn country, is back on American soil . . . with secrets. For six agonizing months, Sidney Parker had no idea if her beloved fiance, a U.S. Marine Captain, was alive or dead. Held captive in a South American dictatorship, Nick Corelli is suddenly back home in Texas. But instead of the romantic reunion Sidney expects, Nick is working with the CIA—and another mysterious agency—on a covert mission. One that places Sidney’s life in jeopardy. When even the safe house meant to protect them is compromised, Nick rushes Sidney to a mountain retreat and this time she wants answers. Yet their greatest enemy is lying in wait for the ultimate showdown.


Her fiancé, a marine held captive for months in a war-torn country, is back on American soil…with secrets.
For six agonizing months, Sidney Parker had no idea if her beloved fiancé, a US Marines captain, was alive or dead. Held captive in a South American dictatorship, Nick Corelli is suddenly back home in Texas. But instead of the romantic reunion Sidney expects, Nick is working with the CIA—and another mysterious agency—on a covert mission. One that places Sidney’s life in jeopardy. When the safe house meant to protect them is compromised, Nick rushes Sidney to a mountain retreat…and now she wants answers. Yet their greatest enemy is lying in wait for the ultimate showdown.
Nick. It was really him.
Sidney couldn't see his face, but she knew it was him.
She took off running. She crashed into the glass wall. Her palms splayed against it. “Nick.”
He turned. His hands met hers against the glass.
Sweet Lord, was this possible? She stared, unblinking. If she closed her eyes, she was afraid he'd disappear.
He came around the wall through the door and reached toward her. She latched on to his hand, laced her fingers through his. He was thinner than the last time she'd seen him. His complexion was pale as though he'd been ill, but this was definitely her fiancé.
She lifted her hand toward his face and touched the V-shaped scar on his jaw.
“Oh, Nick, I missed you so much.”
“It's okay. I'm here. I'm back.”
But there was something different. When she peered into his eyes, she didn't see the man she had once loved with all her heart.
Nick Corelli looked back at her with the eyes of a stranger.
Mountain Retreat
Cassie Miles


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CASSIE MILES, a USA TODAY bestselling author, lives in Colorado. After raising two daughters and cooking tons of macaroni and cheese for her family, Cassie is trying to be more adventurous in her culinary efforts. She's discovered that almost anything tastes better with wine. When she's not plotting Mills & Boon® Intrigue books, Cassie likes to hang out at the Denver Botanical Gardens near her high-rise home.
CAST OF CHARACTERS (#ua8c9d2ed-29a9-52b3-9452-393a86f88810)
Sidney Parker—Her eidetic memory tortures her with painful details about her kidnapped fiancé.
Nick Corelli—He never purposely wanted to hurt Sidney. But as a Marine, duty comes first.
Tomas Hurtado—The dictator of the oil-rich South American country of Tiquanna.
Elena Hurtado—The exotic and beautiful wife of the dictator.
Rico Suarez—He works for Dictator Hurtado. Or does he?
Miguel Avilar—The dashing leader of the rebel forces is determined to overthrow Hurtado.
Victoria Hawthorne—The CIA special-agent-in-charge struggles to control the situation.
Sam Phillips—The CIA special agent helps Sidney. What does he want in return?
Randall Butler—As a Marine Corps intelligence officer, he keeps a close eye on Nick.
To my kids and friends and docs and therapists and everybody who made it possible for me to be sitting here at my computer. And, as always, to Rick.
Contents
Cover (#u84a17c10-ddcd-5693-8544-5b1a8584657a)
Back Cover Text (#ua56c21cf-5b36-565f-aad6-f3d3e6b3f7ad)
Introduction (#u6091f97e-b156-5ece-aaa9-41d5f9ea0461)
Title Page (#u4278a9a5-c1a5-5990-9cdc-49e97ece0166)
About the Author (#u04701325-0481-5cbb-8c07-9434710ca37d)
Cast of Characters
Dedication (#u4b82c2d5-4504-5ff7-bdf9-e84f04e20766)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ua8c9d2ed-29a9-52b3-9452-393a86f88810)
Working as a barmaid at the Silver Star Saloon in Austin put Sidney Parker’s eidetic memory to good use. She could easily remember the drink orders for this table of twelve. With thumbs hooked in the belt loops of her thigh-high jean skirt, she faced the group of well-dressed young people who were still wearing their security badges from the state capitol.
“What’ll it be?” she asked.
They could have answered in one voice: beer. But the Silver Star was a designer brewery with products ranging from Amber Angel to Zoo Brew. Sidney mentally recorded the order and gave a nod.
“Wait a minute,” said a woman with platinum blond curls. “Change mine from Chantilly Lace to Raspberry Rocket.”
“Got it.”
“Are you sure? You didn’t write anything down.”
Sidney inhaled a breath and repeated their order. “We’re starting over here with two Pale Tigers, then a Blue Moon, a Lucky Ducky, Thor’s Hammer Lite...” She continued around the table and ended with the redhead. “And you’ll be having the Raspberry Rocket.”
The gang applauded, and she swept a bow before heading to the huge central bar to fill her tray.
Keeping her brain occupied wasn’t the greatest benefit of Sidney’s part-time night job. The country-and-western sound track, the conversation and general clamor at the Silver Star provided her with a much-needed distraction during those lonely hours before dawn when tears swamped her pillow.
Behind the bar, Celia Marshall ducked down so the customers couldn’t see her adjust the red gingham uniform shirt to better contain her cleavage. “I swear, I’m about to have a wardrobe malfunction.”
“That’s a problem I don’t have.” Sidney never needed to worry about her cup running over; her breasts were small and well behaved.
“I’d trade my chest in a minute for your mile-long legs.”
“No deal.” Sidney liked being tall. In her cowgirl boots, she was almost six feet. She gave her friend a closer look and noticed the puffiness around her eyes. “Something wrong?”
“Ray and I are fussing at each other again.” Celia shook her head and frowned. “I always feel like a class-A whiner talking to you about man problems. Nobody has worse luck than you.”
“It’s not a contest.” Sidney tucked a strand of her long, straight blond hair behind her ear. “And there’s nothing I can do about my situation. You have options.”
“Any word on Nick?”
“Not yet.” She couldn’t bear to think of Nick Corelli, her fiancé. The mere mention of his name conjured up a mental image of a tall, handsome marine with thick black hair and deep-set eyes the color of fine cognac. Her perfect memory filled in all the blanks as she recalled his wide grin, high cheekbones and strong jawline.
If she allowed herself to think about him, she’d be sobbing in a minute. So she pushed his image aside and asked, “What’s up with you and Ray?”
“It’s all about his stupid hunting plans.”
Sidney listened while she loaded her tray. It was going to take a couple of trips to serve her big table, and the domestic drama of Celia and Ray gave her something else to think about. They were both good people, understandable people with normal relationship issues. Not like her and Nick.
As she stood behind the bar, she spotted two men with impeccable posture and serious expressions enter the saloon. They weren’t in uniform, but they might as well have been marching shoulder to shoulder, wearing their marine dress blues.
She set her tray on the bar. “Celia, you’ll have to take over for me.”
After a quick explanation to the shift manager, she fell into step between the two marines. She knew the drill. They were here to escort her to an interview with a CIA agent or someone high up in Marine Intelligence. She’d taken part in sixteen of these interrogations during the past six months after her fiancé went missing in a South American dictatorship. She always hoped that her marine escorts would be bringing good news.
They never did.
* * *
IN A DULL beige room at the local CIA field offices, Sidney paced back and forth behind the table. The heels of her boots clunked on the tile floor. In her barmaid uniform with the short denim skirt and gingham top, she felt a little ridiculous but not intimidated.
The first time she’d been sequestered in a room like this, her anxiety level was off the charts. The shock of possibly losing Nick had been staggering, and she’d been desperate for information. She’d begged, wept and pleaded.
The only facts she’d been able to pry from the case officer, CIA Special Agent Sean Phillips, were that her fiancé was MIA in the South American country of Tiquanna, his body hadn’t been found and he was probably being held by the rebels. There had been no ransom demands.
That was in early May, six months and four days ago. Nothing much had changed in the details she’d been given, but her attitude had transformed. When she first came here, she was a nervous kitty cat. Now, a lioness.
She was half a tick away from going to Tiquanna herself, marching into the palace compound of dictator Tomas Hurtado and demanding an army to storm the rebel camps. She’d met Hurtado three years ago when he consulted with the oil company she worked for in the engineering department. Along with her boss at Texas Triton, she had actually traveled to the small country that was intent on developing its natural resources.
Sometimes, she wondered if that trip was the reason Nick had been selected for the assignment. When he told her that his platoon was being sent to Tiquanna, she’d given him all the inside information on Hurtado and his stunning wife, Elena.
The door opened and Special Agent Phillips entered. Sidney had heard that CIA agents liked to look anonymous so they could fade into crowds. If true, that meant Phillips was a CIA superstar. He was the most average-looking guy she’d ever met. With his thinning brown hair, brown eyes and average build, he was as plain as a prairie chicken.
“Why am I here?” she asked.
“Nice to see you, Sidney.”
“Do you have news?”
A second person entered the room. Special Agent Victoria Hawthorne was higher in rank than Phillips, always dressed in black and as thin as a greyhound. Her dark hair was slicked back in a tight bun. She pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table and sat. “Have a seat, Sidney.”
“Am I being interrogated?” Still standing, she purposely kept her anger going. “This looks like an interrogation room with the closed door and the table and the big two-way mirror on the wall.”
Special Agent Hawthorne scowled. Her thin lips pulled into an upside-down U. “You’ve been in this room before.”
“And I’ve answered a million questions,” she said. “I’ve been totally cooperative, and I think it’s time I got an upgrade to a comfortable chair and, maybe, a room with windows.”
Ignoring Sidney’s demands, she asked, “Have you been in contact with anyone from Tiquanna?”
“Of course not. If somebody contacted me, I’d tell you immediately.”
Hawthorne regarded Sidney through slitted eyes. “I have information if you’re ready to hear it.”
Hope flickered inside her like a pilot light that refused to be extinguished. “I’m ready. Tell me.”
“On one condition. You must promise not to act on this information. Trust us to do our jobs without your interference. Is that clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Hurtado and his wife will be in Austin next week along with several other South American leaders.”
This was big news. Sidney might have a chance to hear firsthand what was happening to Nick. “I want to see them.”
“I can’t promise,” the thin-lipped agent said. “We’ll do everything in our power to make that happen.”
“Where will they be staying? How long will they be here?”
“You don’t need to know.” As she rose from her chair, Special Agent Hawthorne maintained steady eye contact. Her gaze was a warning. “If they agree to meet with you, we’ll be in touch.”
She turned on her heel and stalked from the room, leaving Sidney with a complicated tangle of anger, frustration and fear. She was afraid to expect too much, but she couldn’t give up. It would be foolish to antagonize Hawthorne, but Sidney’s anger demanded release.
Special Agent Phillips took Hawthorne’s seat at the table, opened a folder and took out four photographs of men in camouflage fatigues. Three of them had beards. “Recognize anyone?”
“Do you think she’ll let me talk to Hurtado?”
“I can’t rightly say,” he said in a Texan drawl.
Over the months, she and Phillips had developed a bit of rapport. He’d seen her at her worst when she broke down into hysterical tears, and she sensed that he was more sympathetic toward her than the other agents.
“I could negotiate with the rebels,” she said. “I know it’s against CIA policy, but I could—”
“C’mon now, Sidney girl.” He poked at the photos. “Let’s do this thing.”
She didn’t want to be a good girl. A lioness would tear these photos to scraps and throw them in his face. She was too docile. Nothing was getting done.
But what choice did she have? Could she single-handedly take on the whole intelligence community? She huffed a frustrated sigh before picking up the photos. This was part of their routine. Because of her memory, the CIA used her to identify men whom she might have met when she visited the country. Thus far, there had been only four familiar faces.
These unposed pictures had been taken in a forested setting. “It’s hard to tell with the beards. I don’t think I know them. Who are they?”
“Rebels,” he said.
“When I was in Tiquanna, I never left the palace grounds. Why would you think I’d know rebels?” She didn’t expect him to answer. “Is it because the palace guards are defecting? Are they joining the rebels?”
“Let’s just say that Señor Hurtado ain’t exactly winning any popularity contests.”
And the CIA wanted to keep Hurtado on their side. Though the dictator had a terrible record on civil rights for his impoverished people, he supported US programs and happily accepted our aid. More important, he was working with neighboring countries to form an oil and natural gas distribution system functioning with US companies.
When Phillips pulled out several aerial photographs of the palace grounds, she groaned. “Not again,” she said. “I’ve told you everything I could about the palace.”
“Focus on this area.” He pointed to a far corner in the walled compound.
She stared. “It looks like the wall is broken. Was it an explosion?”
“Yep.”
A wave of guilt washed over her. In a similar tactic, Nick had disappeared. Six months and four days ago, there had been an explosion targeting the front gates. Two marines had been injured. The last anyone had seen of Nick was when he was trying to rescue them.
Before he left on this deployment, she’d told him not to be a hero, which was impossible advice for a marine. The man lived to protect others. His courage was as much a part of him as his arms and legs. Oh, God, she missed him so much. Without him, her life was empty.
Her fingers gripped the back of the chair. Her knees were weak. Though she wanted to be fierce, the weight of her sadness dragged her down. She sank into the chair.
“Please,” she said, “you’ve got to tell me something about Nick. Those pictures you showed me are snapshots. They were taken from surveillance at the rebel camp, weren’t they? Your people have infiltrated the camp.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. For Phillips, that slight change of expression was more than she’d seen from him in weeks. Sensing a possible crack in the stone wall that kept information from her, she asked, “Do you have photos of Nick?”
“You know how this works, Sidney. I’m here to get intel from you.”
“I just want to know if he’s all right.”
“There’s reason to believe that your fiancé is well.”
The tiny flicker of hope burst into full flame. Something was different about Phillips. He knew something.
She asked, “Is Nick well enough to be rescued? What do you CIA people call it? Extracted. Can he be extracted?”
He pushed the aerial photo toward her. “We need to know about this part of the compound.”
There was nothing to tell. She hadn’t visited that part of the palace grounds, hadn’t noticed anything about the far corner. For the first time, she wondered if it would serve her better to lie and build up the importance of that corner in the hope that she could get more information. But she wasn’t about to play games with the CIA. They were on the same side. She needed to cooperate.
“I was never near that part of the grounds.” She rose from her chair. “I’ve got nothing against you, Phillips. But I need more. Is there anybody else I should talk to? Anything else I can do?”
He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest. “If you left the room right now and went down the corridor to your left, I wouldn’t stop you.”
“Why? What does that mean?”
“You heard me.”
She took the cue, not knowing what she’d find. Hoping for the best and fearing the worst, her fingers closed on the doorknob and she yanked the door open. Had it always been unlocked? She didn’t know; she’d never tried it before.
After hours, there was no one else in the hallway. One side was all windows, and the other was closed doors. The route she’d always followed when escorted into the building was in the opposite direction. She’d never been this way before.
Moving fast before Phillips changed his mind, she rushed down the carpeted corridor. At the far end, a double doorway opened into a honeycomb of cubicles encircled by offices with glass walls. She heard voices to her left and turned.
In the farthest office, Special Agent Hawthorne stood behind a desk and spoke to four men. One stood apart from the others. His left hand was in the pocket of his gray suit jacket. He was tall with black hair and wide shoulders. Sidney couldn’t see his face, but she knew him.
She took off running. Dodging around file cabinets and desks, she flew across the room. Her feet barely touched the floor. She crashed into the glass wall. Her palms splayed against it. “Nick.”
He turned. His hands met hers against the glass.
Sweet lord, was this possible? She stared, unblinking. If she closed her eyes, she was afraid he’d disappear.
He came around the wall through the door and reached toward her. She latched on to his hand, laced her fingers through his. He was thinner than the last time she’d seen him. His complexion was pale, as though he’d been ill, but this was definitely her fiancé. She lifted her hand toward his face and touched the V-shaped scar on his jaw.
“Oh, Nick, I missed you so much.”
“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m back.”
But there was something different. When she peered into his eyes, she didn’t see the man she had once loved with all her heart. Nick Corelli looked back at her with the eyes of a stranger.
Chapter Two (#ulink_e1ad4770-70bc-5934-a299-6d81b4051eb4)
Nick folded his arms around her and held her in a warm embrace. Tucking her head beneath his chin, Sidney gasped, trying to suck oxygen into lungs that felt paralyzed. She was frozen in time. Her world had stopped spinning.
“You’re trembling,” he said.
“I know.”
She desperately wanted to kiss him, but she was afraid to look into his eyes again. What if he’d changed? What if he was no longer the Nick she’d built her life around? She needed reassurance, needed to know that this was her Nick, her fiancé, her lover.
“They told me it was better to wait,” he whispered in her ear. “They said it would be easier for you.”
“They were wrong.”
And he should have known that. He should have realized how much she had needed to know that he was safe. Every moment he’d been missing, she had feared the worst.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t say that.” It wasn’t right for him to apologize. He’d been through hell. “It’s not your fault.”
“You know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
“I know.”
“Forgive me, Sidney.”
A burst of anger shattered her fear. Her blood surged. Her muscles tensed. She pushed away from him, whirled and stalked into the office to face the CIA agents, who had been joined by Phillips. “I blame them.”
Special Agent Hawthorne had lied to her only minutes ago. The woman was a monster. If Sidney truly had been a lioness, she would have pounced on the skinny agent, thrown her to the carpet and torn out her throat. Why had they kept Nick from her? What was their plan?
She didn’t really care, didn’t want to know. She’d happily leave spying to the professionals. All that mattered was Nick. He was alive. Everything else was water under the bridge.
“We’re leaving now,” she informed them. “Nick and I are leaving. Together.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Hawthorne said. “Nick will be staying in a safe house until after the visit from Hurtado and his wife.”
“Is he in danger?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation.” Hawthorne’s tone was brisk. “Captain Corelli is a marine. He has his orders.”
“Ma’am.” A man with a thick neck and a body builder’s shoulders stepped forward and shook Sidney’s hand. “I’m Lieutenant Randall Butler. I want you to know that we appreciate what you’ve gone through.”
“Is that so?” Anger pumped molten lava through her veins. “You knew he was safe. I should have been informed.”
“Marine Intelligence has been working with the CIA on this mission. Special Agent Hawthorne is taking the lead.”
In spite of her searing fury, she understood what he was saying. “It was Hawthorne’s decision to keep me uninformed. Why?”
Hawthorne unbuttoned the black jacket of her severe pantsuit and leaned against the edge of her desk. The plain office suited her dull, uncluttered personality. The bookshelves were arranged in order, a few diplomas—including one from Harvard—hung on the walls, and nothing seemed out of place.
Hawthorne’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Part of my job is to assess your psychological profile. Though you’re an intelligent woman who is capable of logic—”
“An engineer,” Sidney said. “It doesn’t get much more logical than that.”
“Your behavior—especially when it pertains to your fiancé—is highly irrational. Therefore, I concluded that you would not be brought into the loop until after Captain Corelli’s assignment is over.”
Clenching her jaw to keep from screaming, Sidney replied, “I resent your assumptions.”
“They aren’t meant as criticism.” Hawthorne arched an eyebrow. “It’s clear that you care so much about Captain Corelli that you aren’t capable of behaving in a dispassionate manner.”
No one had ever accused Sidney of being too passionate. Her engineering work put her in contact with all-male crews who never showed emotion, and Nick was the only man she’d ever had a serious, long-term relationship with. In her twenty-eight years, there had been two other men she’d fallen for, but she had ultimately ended things with them.
Sidney wasn’t going to waste time arguing with Hawthorne, who thought she was doing the right thing. Instead, she pointed out the obvious. “The situation has changed.”
“Yes, it has.” Hawthorne scowled.
“Keeping me in the dark is no longer an option. I’m here. What are you going to do about it?”
“You leave me no choice but to take you into protective custody.”
“You’re arresting me?”
“There’s no need to be melodramatic. The only restriction is that you won’t be allowed to talk to anyone. You’ll be kept in comfortable accommodations, and it will only be for about a week.”
Overwhelmed by rage, she saw red. “You can’t do that.”
“Actually, I can.”
“What about my work?”
“We’ll handle it,” Hawthorne said. “This is inconvenient for all of us. It would have been easier if you’d just stayed in the interrogation room.” She shot an accusing glance toward Phillips.
“Don’t blame him,” Sidney said. “After I saw the photos you took in the rebel camp, I took off running. I had a question for you.”
“Go ahead and ask.”
“I wanted to know if you’d seen my fiancé.” She turned toward Nick, who had remained silent throughout this exchange. “The answer is obvious.”
He came toward her and slipped his arm around her waist, a familiar gesture. Leaning against his chest, she was more comfortable than she’d been in half a year. Their bodies fit together so nicely.
His deep voice rumbled. “There’s no reason for Sidney to be detained. She doesn’t know anything about my assignment, except that I’m back in town. Hurtado and the rebels are aware of that fact.”
“I don’t want her talking to anyone.”
“A simple instruction,” Nick said. “She can handle it.”
“Unacceptable,” Hawthorne said. “I don’t believe she can be trusted. She’s a civilian.”
“Which is why you can’t take her into custody against her will,” Nick said. “You’re right about me. I’m obligated to follow orders. But Sidney wants to be home.”
She appreciated the way he was taking care of her, putting her comfort ahead of his own. She tilted her head back so she could see him. “I haven’t done much with the house.”
Before he’d left, they’d purchased a bungalow together. She had intended to use the time while he was on deployment to do some decorating, but when he’d gone missing, she couldn’t bear to make any new purchases. Cardboard boxes still packed with their belongings were stacked in every room of the house. In spite of a lovely walk-in closet, she was living out of a suitcase.
“I’ve been dreaming about our house,” he whispered, “coming home and finding you waiting for me in the bedroom.”
The tone of his voice hit precisely the right chords inside her. His words were music that touched her soul. She knew there was only one way she could be certain that everything was all right between them. She needed to kiss him.
“Try to understand,” the lieutenant said. “The CIA is running this show. We need to do all we can to help them.”
“Yes, sir,” Nick said, “and I’m not refusing. But I want Sidney to be comfortable. She’s been through enough.”
“I agree,” the lieutenant said. “It’s important to be sensitive to the needs of the family.”
“What if she’s in danger?” Phillips asked. “The rebels could kidnap her and use her to influence you.”
“If that’s true,” Nick said, “why wasn’t she under protection before?”
She listened with half an ear to their discussion. The rest of her mind focused on one goal: kiss him, kiss him, kiss him. If she could feel his lips on hers and know their relationship was okay, she could handle anything.
Special Agent Hawthorne stomped around her desk and took a position behind it. The only overt signs of her anger were the flaring of her nostrils and a sharp gleam in her flinty eyes. Her voice was low, monotone. “I will agree to send Ms. Parker home while Captain Corelli stays in protective custody. There will be no communication between them unless it’s cleared through me. Phillips will accompany her and keep an eye on her. Is that satisfactory?”
“It works for me,” Nick said.
“And for me,” she said.
She shifted her position within his embrace, turned toward him and tilted her head upward. Her eyelids closed, and her lips parted. The office wasn’t an appropriate place for their first kiss, but she couldn’t take the chance that Hawthorne would tear Nick away from her.
When his mouth joined with hers, a sweet rush of warmth spread through her body. His lips were firm. His taste always reminded her of honeysuckle. His scent was a pine forest after a rain. He held her with a perfect balance of strength and gentleness.
Even on a bummer day when he wasn’t in the mood, Nick was the most irresistible kisser she’d ever known. Though his lips pressed against hers and invited her to respond, he seemed...detached. This kiss wasn’t exactly right.
Silently, she cursed her eidetic memory that had recorded every nuance of their lovemaking in indelible detail. She missed the light scrape of his teeth against her lower lip, the quick stroke of his tongue and the fire.
Embarrassed, she pulled away. What had she been expecting? He certainly wasn’t going to give her the kind of kiss she wanted while standing in an office surrounded by intelligence agents. This was no basis for judgment.
* * *
IN THE BACKSEAT of an unmarked SUV, Sidney sat beside Nick on their way to drop her off at their house. An agent she’d never met before was driving, and Phillips sat beside him in the passenger seat.
“Special Agent Phillips,” she said, leaning forward to speak to him. “Thank you.”
“It didn’t feel right to keep you in the dark,” he said. “I’m surprised y’all got Hawthorne to make a concession.”
“She’s a hard nut to crack.”
“Just doing her job,” Phillips drawled.
Though wearing her seat belt, her shoulder rubbed against Nick’s and her naked thigh grazed the fabric of his trousers. She could feel him watching her.
“Interesting outfit,” he said, “I never thought you went in for gingham.”
“I have a new job at the Silver Star Saloon, night shift.”
“Why?”
“It’s kind of fun,” she said, avoiding the sad truth. “The place is a microbrewery with ninety-nine different brands of beer, and I like to take big orders and show off by remembering every last one of them.”
“You wanted to keep yourself busy,” he said. “My God, Sidney, I’m so damn sorry.”
There were so many things she wanted to know but was afraid to talk about. What had happened to him while he was held captive? Was he hurt? How was he rescued? Instead, she kept the topic light.
“I should warn you about the house.” Quickly, she glanced up at him and then looked away. His nearness was also having a sensual effect on her. Did she dare to try another kiss? “I haven’t done much with it, with the house.”
“But you had such big plans for decorating.”
“I wanted you to help me make up my mind. I haven’t even painted the disgusting turquoise in the kitchen.”
“What colors are you thinking about?”
Decisions that had seemed impossible yesterday became clear. “I like a soft beige with dark gold and brown granite countertops.”
“And in the bedroom?”
“Blue,” she said.
“Like the Colorado skies you grew up with.”
He knew her so well. At this time of the year, in early November, they usually took a ski vacation in Colorado, where her parents had a vacation cabin. “I don’t mind Austin, but I love my mountains.”
“Tell me about this bar where you’re working.”
“Should I recite the ninety-nine varieties of beer?”
“Please don’t.”
Their conversation was cozy and natural and deliberately avoided dangerous topics. She felt as if she was walking through a minefield. They talked until they pulled up to the curb outside the one-story, redbrick bungalow with shrubs under the windows and a live oak in the front yard. The grass was a little raggedy in winter.
“It’s even cuter than I remembered,” Nick said as he unfastened his seat belt.
“Whoa,” Phillips said. “My orders are for you to stay in the vehicle while I escort Sidney inside.”
“You’re going to have to hog-tie me to keep me from going into my own house.” Nick clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Hand in hand, they walked up the sidewalk together. Being separated from him again would be hard, but she was willing to put up with a few days now that she knew he was safe. “You’ll call me, won’t you?”
“Every day.”
“I wish you could stay here.”
“Me, too.”
She noticed that the porch lamp was dark. She thought she’d turned it on before she’d left for work. The bulb must have burned out. But there were two bulbs in the fixture. What were the odds of both burning out at the same time? “I must have forgotten to turn on the porch lamp.”
As she reached toward the lock with her key, the front door yanked inward. A barrage of gunfire erupted.
Chapter Three (#ulink_09eb8cf1-fb6d-5557-bb85-5220804116b0)
Before the bullets flew, Nick had suspected trouble. His beautiful, brilliant Sidney never forgot anything, especially not the locking-up procedures when she left the house. She knew to leave a light burning.
His right arm flung around her slender waist. He scooped her off her feet and pulled her against him as he flattened his back against the brick wall beside the front door. Bullets tore through the opened door and cut into the night.
Still holding Sidney, he stepped off the concrete stoop and ducked into the space between the shrubbery and the red brick wall. “Stay down,” he said as he drew a Glock 9 from his ankle holster. He fired two shots toward the open door to let the intruders know he was armed.
It had taken a lot of negotiation to convince Hawthorne to allow him to carry a firearm, and his talk had been worth every minute. The gun felt good in his hand. When it came to survival, Nick trusted himself more than anyone else.
Special Agent Phillips and the other Fed who had been the driver were out of the vehicle and moving toward them.
“You good?” Phillips called out.
Nick gave him a silent okay signal and then motioned him toward the live oak at the far left side of the front yard. He assumed the two agents would know enough to avoid the sight line from the front window. After he turned Sidney over to their protection, he’d go back to the house and catch the sons of bitches who set up this ambush. Shielding her with his body, he crept under the window ledge toward the corner of the house.
“Where are we going?” she whispered.
“I’m taking you to Phillips. He’ll get you to safety.”
She balked. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”
He hadn’t expected resistance. “It’s better if you’re out of the way.”
“Not if I’m armed. I can help.”
His attitude shifted from mild surprise to downright shock. Six months ago, Sidney hadn’t known how to handle a weapon.
A fresh blast of gunfire exploded behind them. Shards of glass from the shattered front window rained over them. He looked down at the delicate, pale oval of her face. Her jaw was set. Her clear blue eyes showed no fear.
“You don’t know how to shoot,” he said.
“I learned,” she said, cool as ice. “It’s not a difficult skill, and I have excellent hand-eye coordination.”
“Why?”
“I thought I might have to go to Tiquanna and rescue you. Learning to handle weaponry seemed prudent.”
The idea of Sidney charging into the palace of a Third World dictator gave him pause, but he didn’t dismiss the notion. She was a remarkable woman. “For now, let’s do it my way.”
“I’m tired of people telling me what to do,” she said, “and that includes you, Nick. I’m part of this operation.”
“I won’t let you risk your life.”
“Ditto.”
“We can’t stay where we are.” He nudged her forward. “Stay low and run toward the live oak where Phillips and the other agent are waiting. I’ll cover you.”
“And you’ll follow me,” she said. “Promise that you’ll be right behind me. If you aren’t, I’ll come back for you.”
“Just go.”
As she stepped out from the shrubbery, he dodged to the right and fired into the house through the shattered front window. From the corner of his eye, he saw her make it to the tree. Though he would have preferred heading to the rear of the house, he ran behind her.
Sheltered by the shade tree, Nick took command. “Phillips, you stay here and keep them pinned down. I’ll go around to the back door and do the same. I want to take these guys alive.”
“I assume that Special Agent Phillips has already called for backup,” Sidney said, again surprising him with her savvy comprehension of a dangerous situation. “If we keep the gunmen contained in the house until the others arrive, we’ll have the manpower to take them.”
Phillips gaped at her, and then stared at Nick. “What the hell’s going on with y’all?”
Nick didn’t have time to explain. “Get her to safety.”
“I can help,” she said. “Give me a weapon.”
In her short denim skirt and gingham shirt with her blond hair tucked behind her ears, she looked about as dangerous as Cowgirl Barbie. But he knew better than to doubt her abilities. “There’s no reason for you to take any risks.”
“I could say the same to you.”
But this was his job. He’d been trained for combat. He knew how to handle himself. “I’ll stay safe.”
After another burst of gunfire from the house, Nick separated from the others and emptied the bullets from his Glock 9 into the front of the house. He loaded a fresh clip and ran, returning to the left side of the house, where he ducked down. Remembering the floor plan of their little bungalow, he knew that the windows above him opened onto a dining room that attached to the kitchen. The only exits from the house were the front entry and the kitchen door. He eased toward the rear of the house.
Stark, silvery moonlight glistened across the backyard patio and the waist-high chain link fence. Nick was painfully aware that he wasn’t in a simple village in Tiquanna, where danger was a way of life. The complications of being in Austin were wide and varied. When lights went on in the house next door, he prayed that his neighbors had the good sense to stay inside. From down the street, he heard dogs barking. If this firefight continued, there were sure to be casualties.
Scanning the yard, he decided that the best vantage point for watching the kitchen door would be at the far side of the backyard, but that area offered little in the way of cover, and he wasn’t carrying another ammunition clip. Every shot had to count. His best option was to stay where he was and fire at anyone who came through the door. He wanted to take these men alive, to find out why they were coming after him.
If this attack had been arranged by the underfunded Tiquanna rebels, he didn’t expect sophisticated weaponry. They’d wear bulletproof vests but not body armor. How many of them were there in the house? He’d seen flashes from at least two weapons.
He heard more gunfire at the front of the house. The longer he waited for the gunmen to make their move, the greater the risk that somebody was going to get shot. Nick had to take the fight to the rebels.
Ignoring the chronic ache from a sprained ankle that hadn’t healed correctly, he vaulted the chain link fence and approached the kitchen door. The interior of the house was dark. There were shouts from inside and more gunfire.
From the street at the front of the house, he heard a police siren and winced. He could have handled the situation with two other marines. Now he’d be dealing with cops, Texas Rangers and backup from the CIA...and Sidney. He couldn’t help being proud of her. She’d learned to shoot and had been planning to take on the whole country of Tiquanna to engineer his rescue. He regretted every minute he’d been away from her and every lie he’d ever told her.
Red and blue cop lights flashed like fireworks through the branches of the trees, lighting up the neighborhood. There were shouts and more chaotic gunfire. The situation was slipping out of control. If he hoped to take these guys alive, he needed to rein it in.
A young, fresh-faced Texas Ranger with a handgun appeared at the back gate.
“Don’t shoot,” Nick said. “I’m on your side.”
“Put down your gun.”
Nick couldn’t blame the kid. If they’d traded places, he would have done the same. Another Ranger joined the first. Now there were two of them, yelling at him to disarm himself.
“Stand down.” The order was barked with the authority of a marine. Lieutenant Butler had joined the Rangers. “He’s on our side, boys.”
There was an explosion at the front of the house. It sounded like a grenade, but Nick guessed it was a flash-bang device that made a lot of noise and fired off thick smoke to drive the gunmen from the house.
The kitchen door flung open and two men wearing balaclavas rushed through. Nick was caught between the Rangers and the masked men. He pivoted and aimed at the rebels.
Bracing himself, he shouted, “Drop your guns.” He repeated the command in Spanish. For a moment, it looked as if they might obey. Then three other armed cops came around from the front and opened fire. Nick dropped to the ground.
When the smoke cleared, the two masked men were sprawled facedown on the concrete patio. Two of the Rangers had also been shot. Their cries and moans struck a familiar chord in Nick’s memory. The stink of blood and gunpowder dragged him back in time to other battles, other attacks. Adrenaline pumped up his senses. He staggered to his feet.
He didn’t seem to be injured. By some miracle, he had been spared. Stumbling, he approached one of the downed rebels and yanked the mask from his face. He’d been shot in the head, but enough of his features remained for Nick to identify him. His name was Rico.
Agent Phillips dashed into view. “I don’t want you to worry, Nick. She’s going to be all right.”
Sidney. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.
* * *
SIDNEY WASN’T HAPPY about the blatantly obvious police presence in front of her house. Most of her neighbors were still strangers, and this wasn’t how she wanted to be introduced. Still, making a bad first impression might be the least of her worries. Number one was, of course, that she and Nick had been targeted, which validated Special Agent Hawthorne’s insistence on safe houses. Number two, Sidney had been injured. She sat on the rear step bumper of one of the two ambulances with a bandage wrapped around her upper left arm.
A bullet had grazed her. Though the EMT told her she needed stitches, he also assured her that the wound wasn’t serious. She clenched her jaw, telling herself that it didn’t hurt even though the straight slash across her biceps stung like hellfire. The EMT had given her something for the pain, but it hadn’t kicked in yet. If only the bleeding would stop... Her bandage was already soaked through. Nick was going to be upset.
When she saw him plowing through the mob of law enforcement officers like a running back crashing toward the goalposts, she stood and adjusted the black POLICE windbreaker draped over her shoulders so he couldn’t see the bandage.
His thick black hair—though neatly trimmed—stuck out in spikes. The lines in his face seemed to be etched more deeply, and he looked much older than his thirty years. This was a part of her fiancé that she didn’t know. She’d never seen him in action. The battle-tested marine who had experienced the devastation of war and who risked his life on a daily basis was a good, brave, admirable man. She wanted to be closer to him, but he kept his warrior spirit hidden.
As he approached, she could tell that he intended to embrace her, which was really going to hurt her arm. She held up a hand, bringing him to a halt.
“This wasn’t my fault,” she said. “Phillips wouldn’t give me a weapon, and I was trying to obey orders and go back to the vehicle, but others kept arriving and—”
“Were you wounded?”
“It’s nothing serious.” She turned away from him, hoping to hide the bandage. “A couple of stitches and I’ll be good as new.”
Gently, he removed the windbreaker. When he saw the bandage, he inhaled a sharp gasp. “You need medical attention.”
“Several other people have been wounded. The EMTs have their hands full.”
“You’re pale, Sidney. Have you lost a lot of blood?”
“I don’t think so.” But she did feel a bit dizzy and unsure on her feet. “I took a pill.”
“You could be going into shock.” He wrapped the windbreaker around her again and held her against his chest in such a way that her left arm was untouched. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so damn sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I never should have left you alone.”
Agent Victoria Hawthorne, wearing her own black windbreaker with CIA stenciled across the back, charged toward them. “Get in the back of the ambulance, both of you.”
Glaring at her, Nick gestured toward the battlefield on their front lawn. “How the hell did this happen?”
“A misjudgment,” she snapped. “Do what I say. I need to get you both out of here.”
“Where are we going?”
Angrily, she gestured to the back of the ambulance. “Let’s move. We’ll talk on the way.”
After Sidney refused to lie on the gurney, Hawthorne shoved it out of the way and they sat on plastic-cushioned seats with minimal seat belts. Wall space and drawers held an array of medical equipment, including oxygen tanks, defibrillators and stethoscopes. She reached for a blanket to cover her bare legs and settled back on the seat as they pulled away with the siren blaring.
Hawthorne barked into her cell phone, snapping out instructions to her staff. Sidney figured that if anyone should be offering an apology, it was the thin, angry senior agent. She was the one who gave the okay for Sidney to go home without having her house checked out first.
Her skeletal hand, holding the phone, dropped to her lap. She spoke loudly so they could hear her over the siren. “The only way this operation could be arranged so quickly was with prior knowledge. We have a leak, a mole.”
“At the CIA,” Nick said.
“I don’t know. Several other agencies are involved in this operation, including Marine Intelligence.” With a disgusted snort, she shook her head. “I never should have allowed you to come to the house with your fiancée.”
“Thank God you made that misjudgment.” His voice was cold, hard and angry. Sidney had never heard him speak so harshly. “If I hadn’t been along, she would have walked into this ambush by herself, defenseless and vulnerable.”
Hawthorne pinched her lips together. “Not necessarily.”
“They would have taken Sidney hostage, used her to get what they wanted.”
The ambulance careened around a corner, and she was thrown against his shoulder. Her wound still ached, but she appreciated the warmth of the blanket over her knees and the jacket around her shoulders. A comfortable heat spread through her, and she felt her eyelids begin to droop. Though she had plenty to say to Hawthorne, it was a struggle to merely stay alert.
“There’s been a change in plans,” Hawthorne said. “We’ll swap vehicles shortly, and you will be taken to the safe house.”
“I’m not going anywhere without Sidney,” he said.
“Understood.” She gave a terse nod. “For now, you’ll be staying together.”
Chapter Four (#ulink_7ffde4a9-4c79-5578-a80d-3e144532cffd)
Propped up against several pillows, Sidney wakened slowly, cautiously. She peered through heavy-lidded eyes at a dimly lit bedroom with pine furniture. Where am I? Her legs stretched out straight in front of her on a king-size bed with a dark blue comforter. Not my bed.
Wiggling her butt to get comfortable, she winced at the sharp pain from her left arm. I was wounded.
Her memory began to kick in. She heard the echo of an ambulance siren. She remembered being moved into the backseat of a car, looking out the window. And there had been horses and open fields and moonlight. And Nick, she’d been with Nick.
“Not possible,” she whispered. Her throat was dry and scratchy. Her tongue felt swollen. She couldn’t have been with Nick because he was in Tiquanna.
Carefully, she turned on her side so her arm wouldn’t rub against anything. Nick wasn’t here, and she had to accept that fact. All the denial in the world wouldn’t make a difference. She closed her eyes. If the only way she could see him was in her dreams, she wanted to sleep forever.
In her mind, she sorted through her memories as though picking from a jewelry box to choose the shiniest bauble. She selected the day they’d met at the mountain cabin that her friend and colleague, Marissa Hughes, and her new husband had purchased in the mountains outside Deckers in Colorado.
A year and a half ago, it was the summer solstice, June 21, when magic was in the air and young maidens performed candle rituals to see the faces of the men who would be their lovers. Though Sidney didn’t believe in all that mystical stuff, her heart leaped when she was introduced to Nick Corelli, and she went all gooey inside when she gazed into his golden eyes. He shook her hand; the connection between them was palpable. They were meant to be together.
Eight other people had been staying at Marissa’s cabin over the weekend. Sidney could recite all their names and could report on what they were wearing and what they had for lunch, but her attention focused on Nick. They paired up, and she found herself talking more to him than she did with others. She was positively chatty, which was very unlike her. She tended to be quiet and reserved and a little bit shy. An only child, she grew up mostly in the company of her parents, who were both scientists. Sidney had learned from an early age to amuse herself.
Nick invaded her quiet world with his gentle baritone, his laughter and his intelligence. Of course, she appreciated his physically imposing presence. No red-blooded female could ignore those muscular shoulders and tree-trunk thighs. His torso was lean and well-built and begging to be stroked. But she was also attracted to his mind.
Not only did he listen to her, but he actually seemed to care about what she was saying. Her engineering work was too technical to discuss with people who weren’t in the field, and she’d expanded her interests into studies of the lands her firm chose for development, learning the history of the people who lived there and the geological development of these unique places.
During that first afternoon when she and Nick were getting to know each other, the group went tubing. In big rubber inner tubes, they bobbed along a stretch of the North Fork of the South Platte River. The summer sun baked her bare arms and legs while the sparkling, cool water refreshed her senses.
Such a shiny, perfect memory! This brilliant day was meant to be treasured forever.
Lying in the grass beside the river, she and Nick talked about the rock formations and glacial shifts and volcanic activity. Her memory replayed parts of their conversation. She could accurately recall every word, but his nearness distracted her. For long, blissful moments, her overactive brain shut down as she admired this tall man with his easygoing charm. His life experiences intrigued her. Being in the military, he’d seen much of the world.
That night, the group had built a campfire to celebrate the solstice—a night for lovers. At midnight, she and Nick had kissed for the first time.
That kiss, that perfect kiss.
She jolted awake and struggled to sit up on the unfamiliar bed. Her memory filled in the events of what had happened to her in the past few hours.
She’d been at the CIA office, and Nick was there. He was safe. But he was different. And when they kissed, it wasn’t the same. A decent enough kiss, that was for sure, but it wasn’t earth-shattering. She had to know why. She had to save the precious connection with the man she loved.
Throwing off the comforter, she swung her legs off the side of the bed. Sitting up, she was overcome by vertigo and had to lie back down.
They were at a safe house, a ranch outside Austin, being protected by the CIA. Shortly after they arrived, she had been seen by a doctor who stitched up the wound on her arm and gave her meds for the pain. No doubt, the sedatives were making her woozy.
But she couldn’t relax, not while Nick was back and she was unable to comprehend what was happening. She had to regain control.
Struggling, she forced herself to sit up again and waited until the room stopped spinning. Though the curtains were drawn, enough moonlight spilled around the edges of the window that she could see a dresser with a mirror, an overstuffed chair and a bedside table. A digital clock showed the time: 2:37. On a typical Friday night, her shift at the saloon would have ended. She’d be off work and on her way home. Would those intruders have been waiting for her?
If Nick hadn’t been there to shove her out of the way, she would have walked into a blast of gunfire. Or not. If she’d been alone, they wouldn’t have needed guns to subdue her. She could have been taken hostage.
Leaning forward, she balanced on the soles of her bare feet. Her toes were cold. As soon as she shed the comforter, she shivered. All she was wearing was an oversize T-shirt that hung halfway to her knees. The white bandage on her upper arm gleamed in the moonlight.
She practiced taking one step forward and one step back, not wanting to be far away from the bed in case her knees buckled. As she straightened her shoulders, pain from her wound radiated across the upper half of her body. Fighting it, she clenched her jaw.
Her mouth was parched. She reached for a half-full water glass on the bedside table and wetted her lips. The liquid revived her. She drank it all, set down the glass and cleared her throat. Better, she felt better.
Calling out for help was one option, but she didn’t want to be seen as helpless. As an engineer, she worked mostly with men, and she knew they tended to see women as the weaker gender, easily pacified and disregarded. Not this time. Maybe she wasn’t as fierce as a lioness, but she meant to be taken seriously.
At the lower edge of her bedroom door, she saw an outline of light. Outside this room, other people were awake and probably making plans. She would join them and become part of the team.
Easier said than done. Obviously, she had to change clothes. Stumbling into a cabal of intelligence agents in her oversize T-shirt and bare feet wouldn’t gain her any respect. She shuffled to the closet and opened the door. The total darkness inside the closet dissipated when she flipped a light switch at the edge of the door frame. Smart move, Sidney. Turning on the bedroom lights should have been step number one.
With the overhead light on, she searched for something to wear. After fumbling around, she managed to get dressed in a flannel shirt, baggy sweatpants and moccasins that were a couple of sizes too big. Not exactly what she’d choose to confront the precisely groomed Agent Victoria Hawthorne, but this makeshift outfit would have to do.
She opened the bedroom door. To her left was a long hallway with rooms on one side and a carved, wooden balustrade on the other. Below her, on the first floor, was a vast, open room with a two-story moss rock fireplace. Standing at the banister, she looked down into a living room and a dining area where several people sat around a table.
Nick was there.
Her fingers tightened on the polished wood of the banister rail as she looked down at the back of his head. He still wore the trousers from his gray suit but had shed the jacket. His white shirt was rolled up to his elbows, displaying powerful forearms and wrists.
The muscular lieutenant from Marine Intelligence sat beside Nick. Across the table was Agent Phillips. He sat with his elbows on the tabletop and his chin propped on his fist. The poor guy looked exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open. Agent Hawthorne sat at the head of the table, of course.
From this angle, Sidney viewed Hawthorne in profile. Not a hair in her sleek brunette bun was out of place. On the table in front of her were folders and electronic equipment. Her tone was calm, and Sidney strained to hear what she was saying. It sounded like a recap of tonight’s incidents.
At one point, Hawthorne reached over and patted Nick’s arm. Her slender white fingers contrasted with his olive skin and the soft black hair on his forearm. The mere fact that another woman was touching him gave Sidney a pang of jealousy, and she was glad when he jerked away from her.
“In conclusion,” Hawthorne said, “I assure you gentlemen that we will uncover the source of this information leak. I will need full cooperation from each of your services.”
The marine officer shook his head. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll take care of it.”
“I prefer conducting my own interrogations.”
“Not going to happen, ma’am. I have to protect the identities of my undercover operatives.”
“We’ll see,” she said. “None of us like to think we have a traitor, but how else would information about Nick be made available?”
“What’s done is done,” Nick said. “I’m more concerned about what happens next.”
“We proceed as planned,” Hawthorne said. “Three days from now, on Monday, we transfer you into the hotel where Hurtado and the others are staying. You will have private talks and interviews with the oil companies, politicians and investors. At the banquet, you will praise the little dictator. Then, you’re done.”
“Seems like a lot of fuss for public relations,” he said with some bitterness. “Tell me again why this is useful.”
Sidney wanted to know the answer to that question, too. It might be better for her to stay out of sight and listen while they talked. She ducked behind the carved, polished wooden spokes holding up the banister rail.
“How many times do I have to say this?” Hawthorne abruptly rose from her chair and pressed her hand across her forehead as though physically holding back a migraine. “It’s in the best interest of the US to keep Hurtado in power, and the Tiquanna rebels are garnering sympathy. It’s your job to make Tomas Hurtado look like a hero.”
“So the oil development firms will choose to do business with him,” Nick concluded her speech.
“It’s no big deal,” she snapped. “All you have to do is put on your uniform, flash your charming smile and tell everyone about being rescued by Hurtado.”
Those were stories Sidney wanted to hear. While Nick was gone, she’d imagined him suffering a horrible fate and then tried to convince herself that he was off at a picnic in the Tiquanna jungle. After he told her the real version, she might be able to let go of the tears she’d wept and the pain she’d imagined.
She sat cross-legged on the floor and peered down from the balcony. They wouldn’t see her unless they were really looking, but she had a clear view of the table. Her simple surveillance was kind of ironic, considering they were spies.
“You’re not telling me the whole story,” Nick said.
“Of course, I am.”
“If it’s no big deal, why did the rebels come after me tonight with guns blazing? I deserve a real answer. My fiancée is lying in a bed upstairs with a gunshot wound.”
When he gestured toward the balcony, their heads turned in her direction and she pulled back into the shadows.
Agent Hawthorne slapped her palms on the table and thrust her face toward him. In profile, her nose was as long and sharp as a ferret’s. Her lips drew back from her teeth.
“I was going to ask you the same question,” she said. “Is there something you haven’t told us? Some bit of information you haven’t seen fit to share?”
“My debriefings are complete. I gave you pages of intel on the rebel camps, on where they’re getting their weapons and how their operation is run.”
“How do you know it was the rebels who attacked tonight?”
Nick rose slowly from his chair and towered over her. “You tell me, Hawthorne. How did they know about Sidney?”
“A leak,” she said.
“Could be something else,” Phillips said. “They could have had Sidney under surveillance at the saloon.”
Eager to get away from Nick’s scrutiny, Hawthorne turned on him. “Why would they do that?”
“We haven’t kept it a secret that Nick is here in town. He’s part of the schedule for the Tiquanna meeting. The rebels might have figured that he’d contact his fiancée. And when she left work in the company of two official-looking guys, they’d draw the obvious conclusion.”
Sidney nodded. Though she hated to think of being watched by rebel thugs, Phillips’s explanation made logical sense. She wished that he was in charge of this operation instead of Hawthorne.
The thin female agent returned to her seat at the head of the table. “I knew it was a mistake to pick her up tonight.”
“She would have found out that I was at the meetings with Hurtado,” Nick said, “and there would have been hell to pay.”
Phillips drawled, “Y’all wouldn’t want to make Miss Sidney angry.”
“Oh? Why not?” Hawthorne said.
Nick chuckled. Sidney couldn’t see his face, but she knew he was grinning as he said, “My fiancée was planning a coup on the government of Tiquanna. You’d be wise not to underestimate my woman.”
“Let’s talk about another woman, shall we? I’d like to hear more about your relationship with Elena Hurtado.”
Sidney vividly remembered Elena. An exotic, raven-haired beauty, she played the role of South American bombshell to perfection. Elena was a woman who deservedly inspired envy. If Nick had a relationship with her, Sidney wanted to know.
Not wanting to miss a word, she leaned forward. Her forehead bumped against the spokes holding up the railing. Just a quiet, little thump. But it was enough to draw the attention of the military guy and Phillips.
She was discovered. There was nothing she could do but stand up. Trying to ignore the pain in her arm, she pasted a smile on her face and shuffled along the balcony toward the staircase in her oversize moccasins.
Chapter Five (#ulink_819dc069-1851-594d-a96c-94df01bcdf60)
Nick rushed to the staircase, where Sidney carefully descended, clinging to the banister and taking one step at a time. Less than half an hour ago, he’d been sitting on the edge of her bed watching her sleep soundly. Unable to keep his hands off her, he’d stroked her fevered forehead, brushing aside a gleaming hank of smooth blond hair. He’d longed to kiss her, to make love to her. Hell, he would have been happy just to hold her close.
But she needed her sleep. Her breathing had been steady and regular. The doc had given her enough painkillers to hold her until morning.
He climbed the staircase and slung an arm around her waist for support. “You shouldn’t be up.”
“I was hungry,” she said.
“Let me bring something to the bedroom.”
“I’d rather join the team.”
When she raised her arm to wave to the others, he felt her sag against him. She barely had the strength to stand. Her complexion was pallid. Her beautiful blue eyes were bloodshot. But her determination was intact; she wasn’t going back to bed unless he picked her up and carried her.
He made one more attempt to reason with her. “I’ll come to bed with you.”
She hobbled down another stair. “I’ll be fine.”
“I guess it’s true what they say. You can’t keep a good woman down.”
“Please don’t refer to me as your woman,” she said. “We aren’t Neanderthals.”
Her body was weak, but there was nothing wrong with her razor wit. He returned, “Whatever you say, babycakes.”
“Honey lamb,” she muttered.
“Pookie pie.”
At the foot of the staircase, Hawthorne confronted them with a cold, I-mean-business glare. “How are you feeling, Sidney?”
Nick felt a surge of strength go through her as she straightened her spine. No way would Sidney let Hawthorne know how much she was hurting.
“Don’t worry about me,” Sidney said. “Please continue with your debriefing. I believe you were talking about Elena Hurtado.”
From Nick’s point of view, Sidney’s interruption had come at a good time. He wanted to avoid discussion of Elena until he had more information. He continued down the staircase. “We’re going to the kitchen, Hawthorne. Sidney’s hungry.”
They made their way across the spacious front room and dining room into the attached kitchen, where two armed agents dressed in cowboy gear were drinking mugs of coffee. This safe house outside Austin had once been a working cattle ranch with a barn, bunkhouse and outbuildings in addition to the two-story main house. The kitchen was big enough to cook for twenty or thirty hungry ranch hands.
After he got her seated at a round wood table, he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, placed it on the table beside her and sat. He noticed a tremble in her fingers as she screwed off the lid on the water bottle.
According to the doc, her injury and the resulting loss of blood weren’t particularly serious, but Nick couldn’t help worrying about her. “Are you in pain?”
“My arm hurts a little.” She chugged the water. “Mostly, I’m dizzy. You know how I hate to take pills.”
She didn’t like being intoxicated and losing control. He’d never seen her drunk. “Do you remember getting stitched up?”
“Not very well. I had twelve stitches, right?”
“It’s going to leave a scar.”
She gave him a goofy grin. “Cool.”
Most women would be upset, but not her. “Really? You think it’s cool?”
“I like the drama. If somebody asks about my scar, I can tell them I was injured in a firefight with terrorists. Is that right? Were they terrorists or rebels?”
Nick thought of the man he’d recognized when he pulled off the mask. Rico Suarez was a cool, handsome businessman who worked with Hurtado and had connections with the oil companies. “It’s hard to say who they were or what they were after.”
“Don’t you know?”
“There’s a lot I don’t know.” And more that he couldn’t talk about. He’d spent six months involved in a political dance where the partners seemed to change every day. “What do you want to eat?”
“Something easily digested. I haven’t been nauseated, but I don’t want to push my luck. Maybe crackers or a cookie?”
He asked the other two agents where to find food, and they pointed him in the direction of an earthenware cookie jar. He brought her a couple of homemade sugar cookies on a napkin.
She nodded. “Coffee?”
“That’s a negative,” he said. “You need your sleep.”
She pushed back the sleeves of her plaid flannel shirt. “Do you like my outfit?”
“Very cute.”
“I call it hobo chic.” She picked up a cookie and took a ladylike nibble. A crumb fell onto her chin. He wanted to brush it off but didn’t trust himself to touch her. One simple caress would lead too quickly to another, and before he knew what was happening he’d be kissing her, scooping her into his arms and carrying her up the staircase to the bedroom.
For the past six months, he dreamed about making love to her. Being so close and not being able to taste her mouth or run his hands through her straight blond hair was driving him crazy. He was desperate to feel her sweet, slender body pressed against his.
He had to be careful, had to hold back. Sidney was smart and perceptive. He wasn’t ready for her to know the whole truth, not just yet.
Hawthorne came into the kitchen. Scowling, she announced, “It’s almost three in the morning. We’ll call it a night and start again tomorrow.”
“Agreed,” Nick said. He had considered talking to Lieutenant Butler about Rico. Butler was the closest he had to a confidant. But after tonight’s attack, Nick wasn’t sure he trusted the lieutenant. Butler had arrived at the scene quickly; he’d been in the backyard at the right time to shoot Rico.
Hawthorne pivoted and marched into the other room. The two other agents shouldered their weapons and went out the back door. Nick was alone with Sidney in the kitchen. Not that they were truly alone. This was a CIA safe house; he’d be wise to assume that every conversation was bugged.
Unable to resist her, he moved a little closer. “I missed you. I kept thinking about you and what you were doing every minute of the day. Rubbing lotion on your long legs. Combing your hair. Brushing your teeth while you hummed the Jeopardy theme song.”
“That tune lasts a minute,” she said. “It’s important to spend at least a minute, twice a day, on oral care.”
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, catching a hint of her special scent through all the other odors in the house.
“That routine pretty much covers what I was doing,” she said. “My days were the same as always, except for when I fell into the panic-and-depression thing, which I don’t intend to talk about. Oh, and I went to a psychic.”
He was surprised. “You don’t usually go for nonscientific explanations.”
“When logic fails, I’ll try other methods.” She finished one cookie and started on the other. “This was a Navajo woman who mostly deals with herbal remedies. She told me we’d be together again.”
Her lips pressed together, and he could tell she was holding something back. “What else?”
“She said something would come between us, but she wasn’t specific or logical.”
Turning her head, she stared at him with wide, curious eyes. Quickly, she averted her gaze. He had the sense that she didn’t like what she’d seen.
Nick had secrets he’d kept from everyone. He’d passed through a battery of interviews from several intelligence agencies, talking to people who were trained to spot deception. As far as he knew, none of them suspected him. But Sidney knew him better than anyone else.
Her voice was soft and subtly persuasive. “Tell me what happened to you in Tiquanna.”
“It’s a long story. We should go upstairs to bed.”
* * *
CLIMBING THE STAIRCASE to the second floor took effort, but Sidney managed. In the bedroom, she kicked off the moccasins and slipped out of the sweatpants, her back to Nick. Too tired to remove the flannel shirt, she crawled into bed and lay on her side with her injured arm facing the ceiling. She allowed herself a little smile. Her scar would be a badge of honor, totally impressive to all the tech guys at work.
Under the comforter, warmth wrapped around her like a gentle cocoon. Sleep beckoned. If she relaxed a tiny bit more, she’d be unconscious. But she wasn’t ready to let go.
Her mind hopscotched from one point to another and back again. Nick was her fiancé, the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. She should be able to embrace him without reservation. The less analytical part of her brain told her to open her arms and accept him. Forget the doubts. Take the kisses. It would all work itself out. Or would it?
She’d never been a woman who would settle for less. Before Nick left for Tiquanna, their happiness had been as close to perfection as she could imagine. They’d bought a house. They were getting married. And now...he was different.
She hadn’t gone through six months of hell, not knowing if he was dead or alive, to end up with a troubled relationship. Until she could look into his eyes and see the truth, she’d keep him at arm’s length. No matter how much she wanted to succumb, she’d resist. No kissing. No touching. Definitely, no lovemaking.
Nick turned off the bedside lamp and unbuttoned his shirt. Her strong resolve crumbled when she saw the outline of his bare chest. Her heart beat faster. She had memorized those swirling patterns of hair and the ridges of hard muscle. Her fingers itched to touch him.
“No,” she said aloud.
In the dim moonlight shining around the edge of the window, she saw him pause. “Did you say something?”
Though she wanted him with all the pent-up yearning of six long months, she said, “Don’t you have your own bedroom? I figured Hawthorne would enforce a no-fraternization policy.”
“There’s another room. But the view isn’t anywhere near as pretty.”
“Maybe you should go there, anyway.”
The mattress bounced as he sat on the bed beside her. Gently, he stroked the hair off her forehead. “Are you throwing me out?”
“I don’t feel good.” She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear looking at him. “Just for tonight, it’s better if I sleep alone.”
“I’ll stay with you until you’re asleep.” His hand caressed her cheek. “It’s been a hell of a day.”
“It has.” She couldn’t help turning her head and lightly kissing his palm.
“I’m sorry about what happened at the house.”
“I can’t imagine what our neighbors think.” Her memory pulled up a grim recollection of police vehicles and ambulances, flashing lights and gunfire. After that circus, she was pretty sure that nobody on their block would ask her to babysit. “We’ll have to make it up to them. Maybe have a barbecue.”
“Yeah, nothing says ‘I’m sorry’ like pulled pork.”
His voice went still. A heavy silence invaded the bedroom. The distance between them spread like a fading echo.
Was she doing the right thing? The temptation was great to put aside her concerns and make love to him, but she had to make things right. She wanted their relationship to be the way it was before.
“As long as you’re here,” she said, “I want to know what happened in Tiquanna.”
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. Then he stood and walked away. She opened her eyes and watched as he went to the window and pulled the curtain aside to look outside. Moonlight traced his profile. “It’s a long story, and you’re tired. Maybe tomorrow.”
He was avoiding the topic. He didn’t want to tell her, but she had to know. “We’ve got time.”
“Okay,” he said. “Remember what the country was like when you visited a couple of years ago? Tropical climate, lush and humid. Rain forests. Villages with thatched roof huts. Tourists in the capital city on the Atlantic coast. Abundant natural resources.”
Her most vivid memories were the heat like a steam bath, the brilliant green of indigenous foliage and odd creatures like lizards and frogs and insects. Less charming was a filthy hospital, beggar children on the streets and a long line of women waiting by a supply truck for freshwater. “I remember.”
“Your company didn’t invest in oil exploration there,” he said.
“Lack of infrastructure.”
He nodded. “Like roads and plumbing.”
Thinking of the children, she said, “More than that. It was a beautiful place but sad.”
“It’s gotten worse,” he said. “Hurtado and his handpicked ministers siphon off all the aid money. Anybody who objects gets tossed in jail. The rebels claim to be representing the people, but they’re nearly as corrupt as the dictator. The level of violence is brutal.”
“Why were you sent there?” she said.
“The ambassador requested a squad of marines to protect the embassy, but we didn’t stay there for long. Hurtado was hosting a bunch of companies that wanted to invest in Tiquanna. These top executives stayed with Hurtado. Pretty soon, that’s where we were stationed. Our job was to add a layer of protection for American VIPs.”
“What happened when you were taken?”
“An explosive device tore a hole in the wall surrounding the presidential compound.”
“Presidential,” she said. “Hurtado became president?”
“A couple of years ago. Sham elections.”
Though she knew better than to get worked up about political fakery, she was disgusted. “Let me guess. He’s president for life.”
“The rebels are making noises about calling for a new election. Each time an opposing candidate steps forward, he’s charged with a crime and ends up in prison.”
She suppressed a shudder. “Let’s get back to you. After they blew a hole in the wall, what happened?”
“A couple of my guys were injured. I went to help them. It was night. Smoke from the explosion streaked the air and stung my eyes. I put on my infrared goggles. In the street beyond the wall, I saw flashes of gunfire. I wanted to shoot back, but the rebels weren’t alone.”
“Who was there?”
“Civilians. I saw women and kids running from house to house, trying to get away. There was no way I could open fire.”
Her heart ached for him. She’d always known his profession, had always been aware of the risks in the military and the hard decisions he had to make. And she had to believe that his sacrifices fulfilled an important purpose.
“After that,” he said, “I don’t know what happened. My mind went blank. When I woke up, I was in a thatched hut.”
“Were you injured?”
“I’ve got a couple of scars I can show you.” He stepped away from the window and went to the overstuffed chair, where he sat, leaning back with his long legs stretched out in front of him. “I was moved from place to place, sometimes in a house and other times in the forests.”
“Was it the rebels?”
“I don’t know.” He hesitated for a long moment. “Who else would bomb Hurtado’s palace?”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“Like I said, I don’t remember. I was a hostage for six or seven weeks before I started making sense of things. There was an old man with a grizzled beard who gave me food and played chess with me. His name was Estaban. He told me that I got beat up pretty badly and almost died.”
Her heart clenched. “Oh, Nick...”
“Stop,” he said. “It’s over. It’s done, and I survived. Probably the worst thing that happened was a stomach infection, probably from drinking the water.”
Peering across the unlit room, she tried to see his eyes. She wanted to hold him and comfort him, but she knew he’d reject anything that smacked of pity. “I noticed you have a small limp.”
“I tried to escape, took off running through the forest. Do you remember those forests?”
“Incredible.” Her mind traveled back to a hike through Tiquanna where she saw intensely green foliage at the edge of the rain forest. The reds and blues were so brilliant that they seemed to vibrate. The birds and animals were remarkable. “Did you see any of the poison dart frogs?”
“Some.”
Those tiny jewel-toned creatures actually were toxic enough to kill. She had heard their venom was used in torture. “What happened in your escape attempt?”
“Long story short, I tripped over a tree root and got a sprained ankle. It’s still not completely healed.”
She heard detachment in his voice, as though he was reciting a story about some other hostage. It was going to take time for him to open up. “Nick, I want you to know—”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/cassie-miles/mountain-retreat/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.