Risky Engagement
Risky Engagement
Merline Lovelace
Risky Engagement
Merline Lovelace
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#uc973300f-1907-51cd-96da-d1f5b86153cf)
Title Page (#uc8bf2c27-f798-5b04-8d3c-fc6a8bce2146)
About the Author (#ulink_d7721435-8191-55a8-81b5-545a88d3f458)
Prologue (#ulink_cf316852-30ea-5d9f-a7ef-1fc69f4976ed)
Chapter One (#ulink_e63c4dd4-f5fb-53fe-8e94-215253874a6b)
Chapter Two (#ulink_20bf5c03-d07e-5e8e-b8b9-4ff0c067e674)
Chapter Three (#ulink_f586774f-0f27-5f0b-9c30-02dce04af0f5)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#ulink_1b4013f0-70d1-57ca-b942-5da6a62b2d51)
A retired Air Force officer, MERLINE LOVELACE served at bases all over the world, including tours in Taiwan, Vietnam and at the Pentagon. When she hung up her uniform for the last time, she decided to combine her love of adventure with a flair for storytelling, basing many of her tales on her experiences in the service.
Since then, she’s produced more than eighty action-packed novels, many of which have made USA TODAY and Waldenbooks bestseller lists. More than ten million copies of her works are in print in thirty countries. Named Oklahoma’s Writer of the Year and the Oklahoma Female Veteran of the Year, Merline is also a recipient of Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award.
Dear Reader,
Have you ever planned the perfect vacation, only to have one disaster after another occur? That’s what happened when we jaunted down to Cabo San Lucas with our best pals, Neta and Dave. But even disasters can turn into fun with the right attitude—and they make terrific fodder for books!
I hope you enjoy this, the latest in my Code Name: Danger series. And be sure to check my website at www.merlinelovelace.com for news, information, contests, and releases yet to come.
Merline Lovelace
Prologue (#ulink_d387e318-575e-5784-a29f-f6fc2a0c91f8)
Sweat trickled down his temple, into his eye. Impatiently, Wolf blinked it away. He and his team had kept the hacienda perched atop a sun-baked cliff under surveillance for two days and two long nights now. From all indications, the bastard who owned it would make his move soon. And when he did, Wolf would take him down.
In the meantime, he was close to broiling under the afternoon sun. Summers in this corner of Mexico’s Los Cabos Peninsula could be brutal. October wasn’t much better. It didn’t help that the azure sea shimmered in the distance, making a mockery of the sweat plastering his camouflage shirt to his back and—
“El Lobo!”
The low exclamation brought his gaze whipping to the man stretched out a few feet away on the dry, baked earth. He was one of Mexico’s elite, handpicked by Wolf’s counterpart for this op. Like Wolf, he was covered from head to toe in desert fatigues and dripping in sweat.
“Someone comes,” he whispered urgently. “A woman. Not from here, I think.”
He edged to one side so Wolf could take his place at the high-powered scope. Tripod mounted and over a foot long when fully extended, the scope packed almost enough power to pick out Neil Armstrong’s footprints on the moon. More than enough to display in startlingly precise detail, the female trudging along the unpaved road leading to the hacienda they were keeping under surveillance.
His jaw locked, Wolf catalogued sweat-streaked, honey-brown hair showing beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat. Oversize designer sunglasses hid the upper half her face, but the lower half showed a mouth set in tight lines. A rumpled linen sundress in a pale green color, bared shoulders showing the first flush of sunburn.
“That’s it,” Wolf growled, when she paused at the gate cut into the high walls surrounding the hacienda’s vast acreage and tipped her sun glasses to peer at the phone box beside the gate. “Com’on, chica. Take ‘em off and give me a good target.”
He centered the crosshairs on her face. Slowly, so slowly, she slid the glasses down an inch. Two.
With a grunt of satisfaction, Wolf nailed her.
Chapter 1 (#ulink_64d76c7a-a554-519e-b82a-4b94f01e5d4e)
Autumn had painted the chestnut trees lining the quiet side street in the heart of Washington D.C.'s embassy district with brilliant color. The blazing reds and oranges and golds lent a festive, almost carnival air to the stately town houses shaded by their branches.
There was nothing festive in the air inside the town house midway down the block, however. A bronze plaque beside the door identified the building as home to the offices of the President’s Special Envoy. Most Washington insiders knew the special envoy was one of those meaningless titles given by various administrations over the years to wealthy campaign contributors who wanted to rub elbows with the country’s movers and shakers.
Only a handful of key presidential advisors knew the special envoy’s real job. The incumbent also doubled as Director of OMEGA, an agency so secret its operatives were activated as a last resort, and then at the personal direction of the president.
One of those operatives was in the field now. And the shot he’d taken just moments ago had sent everyone in the high-tech control center on the third floor of the town house into a frenzy of activity.
Nick Jensen, code name Lightning, had served as OMEGA’s director through three successive administrations. This one, he’d promised his wife and lively twins, would be his last. Until he walked out the door, however, he lived night and day with the knowledge that he put his agents’ lives on the line every time he sent them into the field.
His eyes narrow and intent, Lightning studied the dual images projected onto the control center’s wall-size screen. One was the face of the woman Wolf had captured in his crosshairs, digitized and transmitted back to OMEGA. The second image his people had pulled up after running the first through a highly sophisticated facial recognition program.
“Who is she?” he asked the tense operative standing next to him.
Deke Griffin, code name Ace, didn’t hesitate. He’d acted as Wolf’s controller from the start of this op, and he hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours.
“Dr. Nina Nicole Grant,” he replied, with no trace of his usual Texas twang. “Born Farmington, New Mexico. Graduated high school at sixteen. PhD in biology from University of New Mexico at twenty, followed three years later by an MBA from the same university.”
A muscle ticked in the side of Lightning’s jaw. “Smart woman.”
“Very smart. She served as Director of Biomedical Research at Holbrook Laboratories. Left five years ago to start up Grant Medical Data Systems.”
Ace paused, focusing intently on the left image. They’d pulled it from a 60 Minutes segment on the latest crop of women to make the Fortune 500 list. The video still showed a slender businesswoman in a white blouse and neatly tailored black suit. Her light brown hair brushed her shoulders in a smooth, glossy sweep. Her caramel-colored eyes gazed at the camera with cool confidence.
“According to 60 Minutes,” he related tersely, “Grant is well on her way to becoming one of the most successful entrepreneurs—male or female—under the age of thirty in this country.”
“Smart and rich.” The muscle in Lightning’s jaw jumped again. “Just like DeWitt.”
United States Senator Janice Dewitt, recently deceased. Victim or accomplice in a deadly, high-stakes game of espionage. It was OMEGA’s job to find out which.
“What’s Grant’s connection to the target?”
“We haven’t found one. We’re still running her through the computers. If she and the target crossed paths anytime in the past, we’ll smoke it out.” Ace’s eyes cut to the screen. “Maybe Wolf will have some luck on his end.”
“He’d better,” Lightning said, grimly. “We’re fast running out of time. Tell him to make contact with Grant and nose out her game.”
“Will do.”
Ace flicked the switch on the console that put him in instant contact with Special Agent Rafe Blackstone, code name Wolf.
Wolf acknowledged Lightning’s instructions, even as he kept the woman lined up in his scope. She’d lowered her oversize sunglasses just long enough for him to capture her image and transmit it instantly to OMEGA. The glasses were in place again, shielding her face, but he had her features imprinted on his brain. What he didn’t have were answers to the questions her presence raised.
What the hell was she doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Alone. On foot. In the blazing sun. He tapped an impatient toe while a Hummer rattled down from the hacienda in answer to her call of a few moments ago.
“Paulo.”
The figure stretched out beside Wolf cocked his head. “Sí?“
“Check the road from town. See if the woman has someone waiting for her.”
With a nod, Special Agent Paulo Mendoza stuffed a pair of miniaturized but very high-powered binoculars into his shirt pocket and scuttled backward until he’d dropped below the line of sight of the hacienda’s high-tech security cameras. Crouched low, he used the cover of prickly creosote and cactus to circle the base of the hill where he and Wolf had set up their surveillance. The only sound to mark his passage was a faint rattle of his boots on loose shale.
He returned mere moments later. “I spotted a car pulled over to the side of the road about a mile back. A rental, with the hood up.”
Was it a ploy? A trick to gain entry to the heavily guarded hacienda? If so, it had worked. Wolf’s stomach tightened as Grant climbed into the backseat of the dusty Hummer.
This had to be the rottenest vacation ever!
Forcing a smile, Nina declined her host’s invitation to stay for tea on the tiled terrace overlooking the Sea of Cortez. She was hot and sweaty and in no mood for nice. Even with someone as urbane as the silver-maned expatriate whose men had just radioed in to say they’d reattached the fuel line that had shaken loose in Nina’s rental.
“Thanks,” she said with a smile, “but walking a mile in the sun took all the starch out of me. I’d better head back to town.”
“Are you sure?” Sebastian Cordell’s smile gleamed white against his deep tan. “It’s not often such charming company is stranded almost at the gates of my hacienda.”
“Some other time, perhaps.”
“I shall hold you to that.” Bowing, he kissed her hand with Old World graciousness. “My men will drive you to your car.”
Nina winced as she traded the breeze-cooled shade of the portico for another blast of sun. With a nod to the muscled-up guard holding the Hummer’s door, she climbed into the passenger seat.
Her escort’s all-too-visible shoulder holster had sent her back a step when he’d first climbed out of his vehicle and asked her business. Tough Guy hadn’t appeared the least bit sympathetic to her plight either. He’d checked inside her tote—for hidden weapons, she’d realized belatedly—then demanded to see some ID before he let her get anywhere close to the frigid air blasting from the Hummer interior. Sweat coursing between her breasts, Nina had handed over her wallet.
Not the smartest move, she admitted in retrospect, but this disaster was only the latest in a string of events that had thrown her off stride. The first was getting unengaged from the fiancé she’d discovered had tapped into her computer without her knowledge or consent and tried to milk the business connections she’d worked so hard to establish over the years. Connections that had helped transform her medical data digitization venture into a thriving enterprise with multimillion-dollar contracts.
You would think her employees would understand why she’d put her bruised heart into storage and devoted every waking hour to work. But no! Her entire staff, from her bossy executive assistant to the pimply adolescent who delivered the mail, had threatened to resign en masse if she didn’t get out of the office and decompress, for God’s sake!
So she had to fly down to Baja California. Had to check into an exclusive seaside resort. Had to twiddle her thumbs and force herself to vegetate by the pool for two days until a need to do something—anything—propelled her to jump in a rental car and drive out to view the remote seaside village her guidebook had touted as a “must see.”
Then her rental car had to break down out there among the cactus and sun-baked hills. Where, she discovered, not a single bar popped up on her cell phone. Probably because she’d forgotten to charge the damn thing!
Thank God for the hacienda she’d spotted after a hot, dusty trek—and that the problem with her rental was so easily fixed. All she wanted now was a plunge in the pool at her resort, a frosty margarita, and some of that decompression time her staff insisted she needed.
Bracing herself for another blast of heat, Nina climbed out of the Hummer and thanked the two men who’d been sent to check the car. They sported shoulder holsters, too. Sebastian Cordell took his personal security seriously.
“Muchas gracias.”
She fished a wad of pesos out of her straw tote, but the two men waved away the tip. Stuffing the pesos back in her bag, Nina thanked them again and slid behind the wheel. A dusty half hour later she hit the roundabout on the outskirts of Cabo San Lucas.
By then, a plunge in the pool had dropped well down her list of priorities. Her resort was another twenty minutes away. Her parched throat cried for something cold and wet—now! With that icy margarita in mind, she whipped the wheel and exited the roundabout. A screech of tires had her wincing and offering an apology to the vehicle that had pulled into the circle behind her.
“Sorry.”
Luck was with her. She made only one wrong turn in Cabo’s narrow streets before she found the multistory parking garage that served the inner harbor. The lower floors were full, but she zipped into an empty space on the fourth floor. Locking the rental car, she took the elevator down to the paved walkway leading to the marina.
According to her trusty guidebook, Cabo’s protected inner harbor attracted sailboats and yachts from all over the world. A forest of tall silver masts validated that claim and acted as beacons to the restaurants, shops and bars lining the marina. Happy hour was in full swing Nina noted as she approached the crowded center. Lively salsa and mariachi music filled the air and souvenir hawkers had turned out en masse to capture the lucrative tourist trade.
She escaped most of the salesmen, but one particularly persistent youngster glued himself to her side. Flashing a grin, he flipped back a sleeve to display a skinny forearm banded with shiny bangles.
“Hola, senorita! You buy a bracelet from me, yes?”
“No, gracias.”
“These very good quality silver. From Taxco.”
Right. Uh-huh. If those bangles were products of Mexico’s fabled silver mines, she was Angelina Jolie.
“They’re very nice,” she replied diplomatically, “but I don’t wear silver.”
“Very good quality,” he chorused again, twisting off a braided band. “Here, you try.”
“No. Gracias. No.”
“You try! You try!”
He grabbed her arm and shoved the braided band at her clenched fist. Half suspecting a ploy to distract her while one of his cohorts lifted her wallet from the tote slung over her shoulder, she tried to pull her arm back.
“No! I don’t—”
“You heard the lady. Beat it, kid.”
The deep growl spun both Nina and the pint-size vendor around. She looked up—not a common occurrence for someone who measured five eight in her bare feet—and felt her stomach do a flip.
Whoa, momma! Not two minutes ago, she’d been thinking of Angelina Jolie. Now here was James McAvoy, Angelina’s sexy costar in Wanted. Same dark hair, same blue bedroom eyes, same chiseled chin.
Only this version was tougher. Leaner. Definitely not into Hollywood chic. His boots had collected almost as much dust as Nina’s sandals. His wrinkled khaki trousers and the gaudy tropical shirt he wore over a black T-shirt, looked as though he’d just pulled them out of a suitcase. And the man needed a shave. Badly.
Nina was no stickler for protocol. Well, maybe a little. Okay, a lot. She expected her employees to present a neat, businesslike appearance at all times. That applied equally to everyone, from her division heads to the medical data-entry clerks.
She was fair about it, though. She held herself to the same strict standards. She dressed well, if conservatively, and worked out regularly to maintain both her health and her trim figure. She was conservative in her makeup, too. A few swipes of mascara was all she needed to enhance her brown eyes. Peach lip gloss did the trick for her mouth—which she now forced into a polite smile.
“Thanks for the assistance,” she said as the kid who’d dogged her footsteps scampered away. “The boy was nothing, if not persistent.”
“You have to learn how to shake ‘em off. Must be your first time in Cabo.”
It was a statement, not a question, but she answered it anyway. “Yes, it is.”
Those blue eyes made a slow descent from her wide-brimmed straw hat to her designer sunglasses to the lips her ex-fiancé had described as all too kissable.
That was before she’d handed the conniving rat his walking papers, of course. During their last, somewhat less than cordial meeting, Kevin had flung other descriptive phrases at her. “Hard” and “stubborn” and “a real ball-buster” came immediately to mind.
“I was just going to have a beer.” The dark-haired stranger hooked a thumb at the open-air bar behind him. “Care to join me?”
Thirst battled with common sense. If Nina hadn’t been thinking of Kevin, odds were she would have turned down this casual invitation, just as she had that of the silver-maned hacienda owner. She never cruised bars, much less let strange men pick her up. But her parched throat and the remembered sting of Kevin’s insults overcame caution.
“Sure. Why not?”
The Purple Parrot looked much like the dozens of other bars in the harbor area. Square tables topped by chipped formica crowded its railed-in veranda. Red and green-plastic chairs added a colorful air, as did the plastic pennants strung from corner to corner. Inside the bar itself were shelves lined with a staggering array of bottles.
“Over there.”
Grasping Nina’s elbow, the stranger steered her toward a just-vacated table with an unobstructed view of the marina. The sudden and totally unexpected sizzle that radiated up her bare arm flustered her so much she barely took in the sea of gleaming white sailboats.
“I’m Rafe,” he said by way of introduction. “Rafe Blackstone.”
“Nina. Uh, Grant.”
Oh, for pity’s sake! The heat must have gotten to her more than she’d realized. Bad enough she’d given in to the impulse to have a drink with a man who looked like a cross between a movie stud and a hood. One touch, and said stud came close to finishing what the sun had started. She was practically melting under her linen sundress.
It had to be that dark stubble on his cheeks and chin. Or the way his black T-shirt stretched across a taut, flat belly when he leaned back in his chair and unfolded his long legs. Or the slow, considering look he gave her through a screen of ridiculously thick lashes that any woman would have killed for.
Whatever it was, Nina responded in a way she’d never responded before to any male, Kevin included. A delicious spark of heat licked at her veins, and she could feel the muscles low in her belly tighten. Surprised and not a little flustered by her reaction, she removed her sunglasses and tipped the man seated across from her another polite smile.
“Where’s home, Rafe?”
“Here and there. Mostly San Diego these days.
You?”
“Albuquerque.”
“What do you do there?”
Before she could answer, a waiter materialized at their table. She ordered a margarita on the rocks, her companion a Dos Equis.
“I own and operate a company that digitizes medical data,” she said when the waiter retreated.
“That so?” He arched a brow. “Given the president’s push to computerize the medical profession, your business must be thriving.”
“It is … now. We had some lean years when we first started out,” she admitted wryly. “Hospitals weren’t exactly anxious to share patient data. Plus, we had to make sure we didn’t violate privacy laws. We got our foot in the door by trending data from local sources and providing it to medical facilities and research facilities across the state.” A touch of pride crept into her voice. “We now harvest information from more than three thousand sources, analyze the input, and supply trends to a host of private and governmental medical research centers across the U.S.”
“Only the U.S.?”
His slouch was the epitome of lazy relaxation, but his obvious interest reassured Nina. She always worried about boring folks with her passion for what she did. Or worse, lapsing into so much technical jargon that she lost her listeners completely.
“We still have to work within privacy laws,” she said, “but I’m hoping to go international soon.”
The seemingly casual comment put a sudden kink in Wolf’s gut. The woman wanted to go international, did she? With the help of Sebastian Cordell, aka Stephen Caulder, aka a half-dozen other aliases?
Or was she after the sensitive, top-secret information Cordell had stolen and intended to auction to the highest bidder? Had she staged her vehicle’s breakdown? Used it as an entree into Cordell’s heavily guarded compound? Was she that good?
Wolf was still trying to decide when the waiter delivered their drinks. The man placed two frosted glasses in front of Grant and earned a surprised look.
“I didn’t order two drinks.”
“This is happy hour, señorita. You order one, I bring two.”
“But …”
“Same price. No problem.”
She gave in with a shrug and a smile.
Wolf had to give her credit. She had that polite half smile down pat. Friendly, but with just enough reserve in it to keep a man at a proper distance.
Nina Grant didn’t know it yet, he thought grimly, but the two of them were about to get up close and very personal.
The muscles low in his belly tightened at the prospect. This is what he did. What he’d done now for almost ten years. Why he kept to himself and trusted no one outside his immediate circle of friends and fellow agents. Over the years, he’d locked horns with too many men and women who’d crossed the line. In more than one instance, it was kill or be killed.
In this one…
He didn’t have a fix on Nina Grant yet, and the uncertainty scraped on his nerves. Extracting the lime wedge from the neck of his beer, he tipped the bottle in her direction.
“Here’s to international cooperation.”
She clinked her frosted glass against the bottle. “I’ll drink to that.”
He let the lager slide down his throat, watching while she licked some salt from the rim before taking a sip of her drink. The small act was completely natural, the way most people tasted a margarita—and disturbingly provocative. Wolf’s belly tightened another notch as he followed the movement of her tongue.
Come on, he urged silently. Drink the damn thing.
He knew from experience that two-for-one happy hour drinks at most Cabo San Lucas dives were usually so watered down you couldn’t even taste the booze in them. The Purple Parrot, however, had a reputation to maintain. That’s why he’d chosen it. Another double round, and he’d have Nina Grant singing like a tanked-up canary.
“How long have you lived in Albuquerque?” he asked to get the ball rolling.
“I got a job there after grad school and decided to stay. I love the climate. The people. The mountains. The incredible sunsets. Seems I’ve spent almost as much time traveling recently as I have at home, though. I almost cringe when I have to get on a plane these days.”
Wolf pumped her for information, subtly, smoothly, and hid a smile of satisfaction when she took another taste of her drink.
“Whew! This is potent.”
“Not that potent. It goes down easier after the first few sips.”
“I’ll bet.” Her nose wrinkling, she set the glass aside. “It’s hitting my empty stomach like a sledgehammer. I’d better stop with this one and head to my hotel.”
So much for his plan to get her sloshed. No matter. He wasn’t about to let her wiggle out of his net now.
“So let me buy you dinner.”
Chapter 2 (#ulink_24832bc9-8309-53d5-81e5-17c140c59f11)
Nina blinked at Blackstone’s unexpected invitation. An automatic refusal formed on her lips. Before she could voice it, his cell phone emitted a low, vibrating hum.
“'Scuse me.” He slipped a sleek little jobbie out of his pocket and held it at an angle. “Sorry, I need to read this text message.”
“No problem.”
His face remained impassive as he scrolled the screen. She couldn’t tell if the news was good or bad, but the brief interruption gave Nina time to reconsider his surprising offer of dinner.
She had to admit it was tempting. Extremely tempting. She didn’t need her string of degrees—or the intent look in this sexy stranger’s eyes—to make the leap from drinks to dinner to a quick tumble into bed.
The mere thought made her throat go tight. It affected other parts of her, too. Parts that hadn’t felt this sudden sizzle in way too long.
No surprise there. She was a biologist by training and a medical researcher by profession. She knew she possessed a normal, healthy sex drive. One that she and Kevin had made the most of. At first.
In the later stages of their engagement, their lovemaking had been less adventurous. It went decidedly flat when she began to suspect he’d courted her more for what she could do for him in the business arena than in the bedroom.
Maybe … Maybe this was just what she needed. An hour or two or three of hot, sweaty, completely mindless sex. What better way to get over the humiliation of Kevin’s lies? How better to revalidate herself as a woman?
Ha! Who was she kidding? Inviting Blackstone back to her hotel had nothing whatsoever to do with validation, and a whole lot to do with his impact on her pulmonary system. The mere thought of peeling off his T-shirt and popping the snap on those wrinkled khaki’s constricted her lungs and put a lump the size of Rhode Island in her throat.
Unfortunately, the biologist in her didn’t have to delve very deep to compile a comprehensive list of diseases she could pick up by exchanging bodily fluids with a total stranger. Even one as hot as Rafe Blackstone. Especially one as hot as Blackstone. With a stab of real regret, she groped for the tote bag hooked over the back of her chair.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass on dinner, too. Let me pay for the drinks.”
“I’ll get them.”
“Really, I want to. I’ve enjoyed our—”
“I’ve got it covered.”
Oooh-kay. She dropped her wallet back into her tote. That was twice today she’d stepped on it: first with the guys who’d fixed the fuel line on her rental, now with Blackstone. Guess she shouldn’t have let his bristles and rumpled shirt mislead her into thinking he would appreciate a woman who preferred to pay her own way.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
She started to decline the offer. The vendors milling outside the bar, waiting to pounce, changed her mind. With the sun gone down and the crowds of tourists thinning out, they would swarm all over her. Why not let this lean, tough-looking gringo deal with them?
Which he did, with a few well-chosen words. He also took her arm to weave a path for her through the grumbling souvenir hawkers. His hold was loose but oddly possessive. To Nina’s consternation, the feel of his callused palm raised goose bumps over every exposed inch of skin.
She covered her involuntary reaction with a nod toward the rapidly darkening sky. “Cools off fast when the sun goes down, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” he replied, and promptly tucked her closer into his side.
His scent enveloped her. The seductive blend of sun-warmed skin and healthy male sweat retriggered the erotic sensations Nina was so determined to repress. Gulping, she tried to focus on the dramatic red-and-gold streaks in the dark sky, the raucous beat of music coming from the restaurants, anything but the man beside her.
She failed miserably and breathed a distinct sigh of relief when they reached the parking garage. Easing free of his hold, she punched the button for the fourth floor.
“Thanks again for the drinks.”
“I’ll ride up with you.”
She turned to him with a polite but firm no on her lips. He spiked it with a shrug and casual remark.
“This part of town is usually pretty safe, but a couple of tourists were mugged in this garage a few days ago.”
Common sense prevailed. Parking garages in any part of the world could be risky. No sense tempting fate.
Which was exactly what she was doing by prolonging her brief association with Blackstone. She wasn’t fooling anyone, herself included. The tingling awareness of his proximity, the delicious feeling of temptation rode all the way up to the fourth floor with her.
They stepped out into cavernous gloom. Their footsteps echoed as Nina led the way up the ramp, glad now that she’d accepted Blackstone’s escort. The garage had emptied considerably since her arrival. Probably because most of the businesses in town that didn’t cater exclusively to the tourist trade had closed for the day. Her rental now sat by itself at the end of the row.
Digging the keys out of her tote, she clicked the remote. The lights flashed, the locks popped, and she turned to her escort once more. He was close. A little too close. She put on a cool smile.
“Thanks again. I enjoyed—”
“Let me have the keys.”
“Excuse me?”
“Give me the keys. I’ll drive you back to your hotel.”
Okay, enough is enough. Lifting her chin, Nina shook her head.
“Look, I don’t know what signals you think I sent there at the bar, but you read them wrong.”
“Give me the keys.”
When he took a step closer, crowding her against the car, fright exploded in her chest. How stupid was this? How stupid was she?
She threw a wild glance down the ramp. Nothing moved. Not a single person walked to or from a car. No headlights stabbed through the gloom. She was on her own here.
Her throat clogged with fear, she tried to recall any of the moves from the self-defense courses she’d taken over the years. All she could remember, all she could think of was to yell her head off and gouge her attacker’s eyes with her car keys.
She fumbled the pointed ends between her fingers, balled her fist, and screamed for help. Or tried to. She didn’t emit much more than a squeak before Blackwater clapped a hard hand over her mouth. His other hand batted away the arm she’d brought up in a vicious arc.
She fought him, using every bit of her strength, but he was too big, too strong. Reaching behind her, he ripped open the car door and shoved her inside.
Her heart hammering in terror, Nina landed in a sprawl across the driver’s seat. Pure instinct brought her knee up and her foot lashing out. Blackstone dodged the kick aimed at his groin, and took it on the outside of his thigh instead.
“Calm down!” he got out with a grunt of pain. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Right. Uh-huh. Sure.
She wasn’t about to take his word for it. With his unyielding presence blocking the exit, she scrambled over the center console and made a desperate lunge for the passenger door. Cursing, he dropped into the driver’s seat and wrapped fingers of steel around her upper arm. A swift yank jerked her back down.
“Listen to me. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Then let me go!”
“Not yet. And not here.” He kept her in place with an iron fist. “We need to talk, Dr. Grant.”
Dr. Grant?
The title penetrated her wild fear. She hadn’t used the honorific in conversation. She was sure she hadn’t. She rarely did, and then only in professional circles. So how did he know?
“Who are you?” she panted. “What do you want to talk to me about?”
“I’ll tell you at the Mayan Princess.”
Oh, Lord! He knew where she was staying. Had he followed her from the resort? Been following her the entire day?
He couldn’t have! She would have spotted him out on that winding, dusty road before her rental broke down.
If it had broken down. What if he’d sabotaged her car? Anticipated that she’d be stranded out there in the middle of nowhere? Which she would have been, if she hadn’t trudged a mile through the hot sun to Sebastian Cordell’s hacienda. Or was that part of his diabolical plan, too?
The questions hammered at her as he eased his brutal grip, but she decided not to stick around for the answers. She made another grab for the door handle, only to hear the door locks snick.
“Child protective locks,” he commented laconically as she tugged futilely on the handle.
Grinding her teeth in frustration, she sank back against the seat. Her cell phone was in her tote, she remembered. With a dead battery. Her last hope she thought as her abductor keyed the ignition, was the garage attendant.
Except there wasn’t one. The booth where she’d forked over a fee when she’d entered was now empty. Apparently, anyone who drove in after the main businesses and shops closed got to park free.
Nor was there a police officer anywhere in sight when they pulled out of the garage and hit the streets. Nina seriously considered hammering on the window to attract the attention of the people out for a late evening stroll. A return of her common sense—and gradual subsiding of panic—subdued the impulse.
Blackstone said he didn’t intend to hurt her. He also said he’d tell her what he wanted from her at the Mayan. That meant he had to pull up at the entrance to the posh resort, where the extremely well-trained parking valet, doorman and desk clerks all knew her by name. Blackstone could hardly waltz into the resort with her and waltz out again, leaving behind her dead and/or mutilated body and a small army of people who could ID him.
Could he?
She’d more or less reassured herself on that point by the time the resort appeared in the distance. She’d also worked up as much reluctant curiosity as distrust. What the heck did this man want with her? She was pretty sure now it wasn’t sex, and was shocked by the contradictory feelings that realization generated.
“Turn here,” she muttered as they approached the long, winding drive that led up to the resort. When he flipped on the directionals, the lingering remnants of Nina’s fear eased. He really was taking her back to the Mayan. She let out a low sigh of relief.
The resort was the latest in a string of San Cabo resorts that included Westin and Ritz Carlton and other high-priced escapes. Constructed to resemble a Mayan temple, the main building sat on a cliff overlooking the sea. Tall palms lined the drive leading up to it. Lit by floodlights, they provided an exotic approach to the stunningly dramatic pyramid gleaming against the night sky.
As Nina had anticipated, a valet came forward when the car rolled to a stop. He had to wait for Blackstone to hit the lock release to open her door. When he did, she scrambled out with considerably more haste than dignity.
“Buenas tardes, Dr. Grant. Did you have a good drive this afternoon?”
“I’ve had better, Ramon.” Determined to establish a record of events, Nina pointed to the driver rounding the front end of the car. “This is Señor Blackstone. Rafe Blackstone. He’s visiting me. For a short time.”
Ramon took the hint. “Buenas tardes, Señor. Will you need this car when you leave? If so, I will park it here by the entrance instead of taking it down to the lot.”
“Here’s good.” Blackstone slipped him a folded bill with the car keys and took Nina’s elbow. “Lead the way.”
She did, making sure to repeat his name to the doorman and the clerks on duty in the breezeway that served as a reception area.
“There’s a waiter over there by the pool,” Blackstone drawled. “You want to introduce me to him, too?”
“You think this is funny?” she huffed. “Somehow, I don’t find kidnapping amusing. Neither, I suspect, would the local police.”
“Police down in these parts take a different view of things, but you can call them if you want. Ask for Chief Inspector Mannie Diaz. Tell him you’re with me.”
“Well, for …!”
Thoroughly indignant, Nina came to a dead stop. Hands on hips, she faced her tormentor.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re a cop back there in town instead of scaring the crap out of me?”
“I’m not a cop.”
“Oh. Well.” That set her back a bit, but she recovered quickly. “So what are you?”
“We’ll talk about that in your suite. Where is it?”
“You don’t know?” she said snidely. “You seem to know everything else.”
Ignoring the comment, he urged her through the open-air lobby to the pool beyond. It was one of four at the resort. Two catered to families, the other two to adults only. The one on this level was an infinity pool, its floodlit waters seeming to flow over the edge and drop straight into the sea far below.
Instead of booking her into the main hotel, Nina’s superefficient assistant had reserved one of the casitas that clung to the cliffs behind the pyramid. They were quieter and more private—qualities Nina had very much appreciated until this moment.
Some of her nervousness returned as she led the way down several flights of steps and around bougainvillea-draped walls. The only sounds to disturb the evening quiet were the soft music emanating from hidden speakers along the walkways and the ever-present murmur of the sea.
By the time she’d reached her casita, however, her indignation had returned. Along with it came a healthy bout of anger. Fishing her key card out of her tote, she unlocked the door and marched inside. The spacious, beautifully decorated unit featured tile floors, a fully equipped kitchen, one bedroom with a master bath to die for and a small Jacuzzi tucked in a corner of the balcony that was suspended over the sea.
Nina didn’t give her uninvited guest time to admire the ambience. Flinging her tote on a sofa covered in muted jungle print, she folded her arms across her chest.
“All right, Blackstone. If that’s really your name. What’s this all about?”
“It’s really my name,” he confirmed, glancing around. When those laser blue eyes came back to Nina, they sliced into her like a scalpel. “And this is about your friend, Sebastian Cordell.”
“Huh?”
Of all the things she’d expected … Okay, she hadn’t known what to expect. But this certainly wasn’t it.
“Are you talking about the older gentleman I met this afternoon?”
“I’m talking about the man who invited you into his hacienda this afternoon.” His jaw hardened. “As for whether or not he’s a gentleman, you tell me.”
This was getting way too bizarre. Frowning, Nina tapped a foot. “Before I tell you anything, I want some answers. Who are you and who do you work for?”
“I told you my name. Most of the time I run a marine construction company.”
“Other times?”
“I do independent consulting. Hazard elimination. Debris removal. That sort of thing.”
The sideline seemed legitimate. It was just the way he said it. As though there was more to removing debris than hauling it off in dump trucks or barges.
Nina’s foot tapped again. “I want to see some ID.”
With a sardonic shrug, he extracted a well-worn leather wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open to a California driver’s license.
There he was. Rafael Conall Blackstone. Height, 6’2’. Hair: black. Eyes: Blue. Weight: a really buff 180.
“‘Conall’?”
“My grandmother’s Irish.” A gleam flickered in his eyes, quickly come and just as quickly gone. “It translates to ‘strong wolf'.”
For some reason, the fact that he had a grandmother made him seem more human. Less dangerous. Which she knew was really absurd. Like murderers and rapists didn’t?
“My turn.” He slid the wallet back into his pocket. “What were …”
“Not so fast, Blackstone. I’m not finished yet.”
Impatience rippled across his face. Making an obvious effort to contain it, he hooked one of the high stools from the marble counter separating the kitchen from the dining area and swung it around.
Nina gave a huff of disgust. “Make yourself comfortable, why don’t you?”
He did, with one long leg braced against the floor tiles and the other propped on the stool’s rung. “What else do you want to ask me?”
“Oh, just a few little things. Like how you knew I hold a PhD. And where I’m staying. And that I met Sebastian Cordell this afternoon. Oh, yes—one more. There’s also the question of why in hell you didn’t ask me about this guy in town instead of kidnapping and scaring the crap out of me!”
He had the grace to look a little ashamed. Not much. Just enough to suggest he didn’t go around abducting women every day of the week.
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry about that. To tell the truth, I planned to pour a couple more margaritas down you, get you loose, and pump you for information there at the Purple Parrot. When that didn’t work, you forced me to resort to more direct measures.”
“What information?”
“For starters, how you know Cordell.”
“I don’t know him! Or I didn’t, before my car broke down this afternoon.”
“Pretty convenient, how you arranged for it to break down so close to his compound.”
“'Convenient'?” Nina echoed, incredulously.
“'Arranged'?”
Thoroughly flummoxed, she groped for the other bar stool and yanked it closer so she could plop down. This whole thing was becoming more absurd by the moment.
“Why would I ‘arrange’ a breakdown?”
The rueful note disappeared from his voice. Hard and sharp-edged, it cut through the air between them.
“Maybe because Sebastian Cordell has something to sell. Something you might want,” he added, his eyes locked on hers. “You and a number of other entrepreneurs.”
The small sneer accompanying the last word brought Nina’s chin up with a snap. She’d worked damn hard to establish her company. She’d sunk every penny of her savings into start-up costs, then borrowed heavily to purchase the building Grant Medical Data Systems now operated out of. The first months—the first years—had been scary as hell.
But she’d pulled it off. By sheer luck and perfect timing, she’d gotten in on the ground floor of a burgeoning and very necessary industry, and now turned an extremely healthy profit. One no one could sneer at!
Bristling, she poked a finger at Blackstone’s chest. “You listen to me, fella. I’m going to say this one time and one time only. I did not arrange to have my car break down. I did not use it as a ploy to meet Sebastian Cordell. And I am not interested in whatever the man has for sale.”
“Then why …”
The shrill ring of the phone sitting at the end of the counter cut him off.
“That,” Nina announced, with fierce satisfaction, “is most likely Ramon, checking to see if he should move the car to the parking lot. I’ll tell him to call you a taxi.”
“Not yet.”
“Yes, yet! This conversation is over.” Glaring at him, she snatched up the receiver. “Hola.”
The smooth, cultured voice that came through the earpiece made her swallow. Hard. With a helpless look in Blackstone’s direction, she responded to the gracious inquiry.
“Yes, Mr. Cordell, I made it home safely.”
Every muscle in Blackstone’s body went taut. His narrowed gaze drilled into Nina as she clutched the receiver.
“What? Lunch tomorrow at your hacienda? I … Uh …”
Chapter 3 (#ulink_255c8783-7e15-5dc3-9d0c-ed925bccc3b7)
Wolf’s gut twisted. Cordell! The prey he’d been sent to take down. The same bastard suspected of extracting top secret information from a United States senator. Now oozing his poisonous charm into Nina Grant’s ear.
And here Wolf had come so close to believing the woman. Almost swallowed her tale of a breakdown. Damn near let her air of righteous indignation and melting, brown-sugar eyes convince him she’d flown down to Cabo on vacation as she claimed.
Yet.
The terse message Ace had texted a little while ago indicated they’d come up empty at their end. OMEGA could access a host of databases, public, private and otherwise. Wolf knew damn well they’d run Nina Grant through every one. Yet none of the agency’s wizards had been able to turn up a connection between Grant and Sebastian Cordell. As far as they could tell, she was clean.
Until this moment, everything in Wolf concurred with that assessment. He’d lived on the razor’s edge so long he’d learned to trust his instincts where people were concerned. The short time he’d spent with her had him ninety-nine-percent convinced Nina Grant was the busy exec on vacation she claimed to be. The finger she’d poked in his chest moments ago had just about clinched the matter in his mind.
He had only a second to decide whether to go with his gut-level assessment. A mere heartbeat, while she looked at him, wide-eyed and stuttering, to come up with an answer to Cordell’s invitation.
“Yes,” Wolf hissed. “Tell him yes!”
He could see the doubt in her face, the distrust. Her knuckles were white on the receiver, her body taut with indecision. He was sure she would refuse his urgent request when she cleared her throat.
“Lunch sounds delightful, Mr. Cordell.” Her eyes remained locked on Wolf’s. “Twelve-thirty it is. No, no need to send someone to pick me up. I’ll drive myself. What? Oh. Right. I guess I do need your phone number in case I get lost or stranded again. Let me get a pen.”
Wolf had Cordell’s numbers. All of them. But he kept silent while she hunted down a pencil and jotted a string of digits on a paper napkin.
“I’ve got it. Thanks. I’ll … I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He was in! Or she was. Wolf contained his fierce elation as she hung up the receiver and stared at it blankly for a few seconds.
“I can’t believe I just did that.” Her eyes lifted to his. “Why did I just do that?”
“I can’t speak to the why,” he said slowly, “but I’ll tell you this. A whole bunch of folks will be real happy that you did.”
“At the risk of repeating myself … why?”
He sifted the details in his mind, sorting out what he could and couldn’t tell her, and decided on the varying shades of the truth.
“I told you I freelance on occasion.”
“Right.” Her forehead crinkling, she repeated the line he’d given her. “At which time you specialize in eliminating hazards and removing debris.”
“One of those hazards is Sebastian Cordell.”
“Aha!”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, a grin tugged at the corners of Wolf’s mouth. “Aha"? Who said “aha” these days, outside of a slapstick comedy? Dr. Nina Grant, apparently.
She looked indignant again, like a tabby cat who’d been about to pounce and got its whiskers pulled instead.
“So that story about being into marine construction was just that?” she huffed. “A story?”
“No, that part’s true. I do this as a sideline.”
“Some sideline!” Frowning, she chewed on her lower lip for a few moments. “So why do you consider Sebastian Cordell a hazard?”
“We suspect he courted and seduced the senior senator from Maine.”
“Janice DeWitt?” she gasped. “The senator who died in a car accident a few weeks ago?”
“There’s some question,” Wolf said carefully, “whether it was an accident or a suicide.” Or something else.
So far the FBI and Secret Service had managed to suppress the evidence indicating that a member of the U.S. Congress had deliberately driven her vehicle through a guardrail and over a rocky cliff. Likewise the gut-wrenching e-mail she’d sent the President Pro Tem of the Senate, confessing that a disk encrypted with highly classified information might have been compromised by the man she’d taken as a lover.
“We also suspect,” Wolf continued soberly, “Cordell may have used the senator to gain access to extremely sensitive top secret information.”
Nina took a step back, and her shock that a popular, charismatic senator had indulged in an extramarital affair and possibly committed suicide took an instant and very personal turn. The information Kevin had downloaded from her personal computer certainly wasn’t top secret, but it had been crucial to her business. She would have shared it with him if he’d asked. Not all of it, of course, just the nonproprietary data that might have been useful to his financial planning and investment operation. That he’d dug into her private files without her knowledge or consent had stunned her. That he’d leveraged the data he’d extracted to benefit one of her competitors had royally pissed her off.
“Bastard,” she muttered.
“Yeah, he is.”
Pulled back to the present, she blinked. “I was referring to the jerk who pulled almost the same thing on me.”
Blackstone cocked his head. “How so?”
It embarrassed her to admit how blind she’d been. She had to force herself to recap the sorry details.
“My fiancé stole proprietary information and sold it to a competitor. Correction, make that exfiancé.”
She wasn’t looking for sympathy. Good thing, because the man seated on the bar stool a few feet from her didn’t display so much as a trace of it. Instead, a gleam of satisfaction leapt into his blue eyes.
“Then you understand why we’re so anxious to nail Sebastian Cordell.”
“I understand it,” Nina replied cautiously, “but I don’t see how my having lunch with him will help.”
“We’ve been trying to get someone inside the compound. Unfortunately, Cordell’s goon squad take their duties very seriously.”
“I noticed.”
“But Cordell just issued you an engraved invitation. We can fit you with a hidden camera, have you—”
“Whoa! Hold on there, Blackstone.”
With the shoulder holsters strapped onto the goons he’d just mentioned all too vivid in her mind, Nina scrambled off her stool and backed away.
“I’m not into playing spy games.”
“This isn’t a game,” he fired back.
“Yes, well, whatever it is, I’ll leave it to the pros like you.”
Blackstone vacated his stool and followed her into the living area. Like the rest of the casita, the room was elegantly furnished. A three-section sofa in muted colors formed a conversation pit, with a monster slab of white-veined black marble in the middle to serve as a coffee table. Facing the sofas was an entertainment center containing a sixty-inch flat screen TV, a DVD player, an assortment of recent movies and an iPod dock.
Nina’s iPod and earbuds were still in her straw tote, so the only sound in the room, as she faced Blackstone was the restless murmur of the sea below the balcony, just off the living area.
“We need your cooperation, Dr. Grant. Cordell plans to auction the information he stole to the highest bidder. If it falls into the wrong hands—an unfriendly government or a terrorist organization, for instance—it could seriously jeopardize U.S. national security.”
“Oh, sure. Lay the safety and security of the United States on my shoulders, why don’t you?”
Nervously, Nina swiped her palms down the side seams of her linen sundress. She’d always considered herself a good citizen. She paid her taxes on time, donated to a number of charities, gave blood regularly and volunteered at a homeless shelter one weekend a month.
She did not, however, in any way, shape or form, see herself as a modern day Mata Hari. The prospect of entering Sebastian Cordell’s heavily guarded compound with a camera hidden somewhere on her person made her break out in a cold sweat.
“Look, Blackstone, I’d like to help. I really would. This just isn’t my area of expertise.”
“We have from now until tomorrow noon. I’ll make sure you know what you’re doing before you go in.”
Her palms froze in midswipe. “From now until tomorrow noon?” she echoed. “What are you planning to do? Camp out here tonight?”
“If that’s what it will take to make you comfortable with the operation.”
If anything, the prospect of spending the next twelve-plus hours in close quarters with Rafe Blackstone made her twice as nervous.
“It won’t work,” she told him firmly. “I’m the world’s worst liar. Even a little social fib makes my face turn red, and I can’t look people in the eye.”
“Must be tough to conduct business negotiations,” he drawled.
“Not particularly,” she snapped, her chin coming up. “I conduct negotiations fairly and honestly.”
The icy reply knifed through the air like a blade. Blackstone dipped his head in acknowledgment of the hit and hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his wrinkled khakis. The movement swung open the flaps of his jungle print shirt and gave Nina an unobstructed view of black cotton stretched across a muscled chest, but she was too miffed to appreciate the view.
“About those negotiations,” he said, with a considering look. “Didn’t you tell me earlier that your company supplies medical trend data to a host of private and governmental research centers?”
“Yes. So?”
“So I’m guessing government contracts must account for a sizable chunk of your business.”
Nina drew in a swift breath. Government contracts accounted for more than a chunk. They constituted almost half of her business base.
“You’d better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking, Blackstone!”
“If you’re thinking those contracts can be cancelled with one phone call, I guess I am.”
He didn’t so much as blink. The bald-faced effrontery of it, the sheer gall, made Nina gasp.
“I don’t believe this! You’re actually trying to blackmail me into helping you?”
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Merline Lovelace
Risky Engagement
Merline Lovelace
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#uc973300f-1907-51cd-96da-d1f5b86153cf)
Title Page (#uc8bf2c27-f798-5b04-8d3c-fc6a8bce2146)
About the Author (#ulink_d7721435-8191-55a8-81b5-545a88d3f458)
Prologue (#ulink_cf316852-30ea-5d9f-a7ef-1fc69f4976ed)
Chapter One (#ulink_e63c4dd4-f5fb-53fe-8e94-215253874a6b)
Chapter Two (#ulink_20bf5c03-d07e-5e8e-b8b9-4ff0c067e674)
Chapter Three (#ulink_f586774f-0f27-5f0b-9c30-02dce04af0f5)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#ulink_1b4013f0-70d1-57ca-b942-5da6a62b2d51)
A retired Air Force officer, MERLINE LOVELACE served at bases all over the world, including tours in Taiwan, Vietnam and at the Pentagon. When she hung up her uniform for the last time, she decided to combine her love of adventure with a flair for storytelling, basing many of her tales on her experiences in the service.
Since then, she’s produced more than eighty action-packed novels, many of which have made USA TODAY and Waldenbooks bestseller lists. More than ten million copies of her works are in print in thirty countries. Named Oklahoma’s Writer of the Year and the Oklahoma Female Veteran of the Year, Merline is also a recipient of Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award.
Dear Reader,
Have you ever planned the perfect vacation, only to have one disaster after another occur? That’s what happened when we jaunted down to Cabo San Lucas with our best pals, Neta and Dave. But even disasters can turn into fun with the right attitude—and they make terrific fodder for books!
I hope you enjoy this, the latest in my Code Name: Danger series. And be sure to check my website at www.merlinelovelace.com for news, information, contests, and releases yet to come.
Merline Lovelace
Prologue (#ulink_d387e318-575e-5784-a29f-f6fc2a0c91f8)
Sweat trickled down his temple, into his eye. Impatiently, Wolf blinked it away. He and his team had kept the hacienda perched atop a sun-baked cliff under surveillance for two days and two long nights now. From all indications, the bastard who owned it would make his move soon. And when he did, Wolf would take him down.
In the meantime, he was close to broiling under the afternoon sun. Summers in this corner of Mexico’s Los Cabos Peninsula could be brutal. October wasn’t much better. It didn’t help that the azure sea shimmered in the distance, making a mockery of the sweat plastering his camouflage shirt to his back and—
“El Lobo!”
The low exclamation brought his gaze whipping to the man stretched out a few feet away on the dry, baked earth. He was one of Mexico’s elite, handpicked by Wolf’s counterpart for this op. Like Wolf, he was covered from head to toe in desert fatigues and dripping in sweat.
“Someone comes,” he whispered urgently. “A woman. Not from here, I think.”
He edged to one side so Wolf could take his place at the high-powered scope. Tripod mounted and over a foot long when fully extended, the scope packed almost enough power to pick out Neil Armstrong’s footprints on the moon. More than enough to display in startlingly precise detail, the female trudging along the unpaved road leading to the hacienda they were keeping under surveillance.
His jaw locked, Wolf catalogued sweat-streaked, honey-brown hair showing beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat. Oversize designer sunglasses hid the upper half her face, but the lower half showed a mouth set in tight lines. A rumpled linen sundress in a pale green color, bared shoulders showing the first flush of sunburn.
“That’s it,” Wolf growled, when she paused at the gate cut into the high walls surrounding the hacienda’s vast acreage and tipped her sun glasses to peer at the phone box beside the gate. “Com’on, chica. Take ‘em off and give me a good target.”
He centered the crosshairs on her face. Slowly, so slowly, she slid the glasses down an inch. Two.
With a grunt of satisfaction, Wolf nailed her.
Chapter 1 (#ulink_64d76c7a-a554-519e-b82a-4b94f01e5d4e)
Autumn had painted the chestnut trees lining the quiet side street in the heart of Washington D.C.'s embassy district with brilliant color. The blazing reds and oranges and golds lent a festive, almost carnival air to the stately town houses shaded by their branches.
There was nothing festive in the air inside the town house midway down the block, however. A bronze plaque beside the door identified the building as home to the offices of the President’s Special Envoy. Most Washington insiders knew the special envoy was one of those meaningless titles given by various administrations over the years to wealthy campaign contributors who wanted to rub elbows with the country’s movers and shakers.
Only a handful of key presidential advisors knew the special envoy’s real job. The incumbent also doubled as Director of OMEGA, an agency so secret its operatives were activated as a last resort, and then at the personal direction of the president.
One of those operatives was in the field now. And the shot he’d taken just moments ago had sent everyone in the high-tech control center on the third floor of the town house into a frenzy of activity.
Nick Jensen, code name Lightning, had served as OMEGA’s director through three successive administrations. This one, he’d promised his wife and lively twins, would be his last. Until he walked out the door, however, he lived night and day with the knowledge that he put his agents’ lives on the line every time he sent them into the field.
His eyes narrow and intent, Lightning studied the dual images projected onto the control center’s wall-size screen. One was the face of the woman Wolf had captured in his crosshairs, digitized and transmitted back to OMEGA. The second image his people had pulled up after running the first through a highly sophisticated facial recognition program.
“Who is she?” he asked the tense operative standing next to him.
Deke Griffin, code name Ace, didn’t hesitate. He’d acted as Wolf’s controller from the start of this op, and he hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours.
“Dr. Nina Nicole Grant,” he replied, with no trace of his usual Texas twang. “Born Farmington, New Mexico. Graduated high school at sixteen. PhD in biology from University of New Mexico at twenty, followed three years later by an MBA from the same university.”
A muscle ticked in the side of Lightning’s jaw. “Smart woman.”
“Very smart. She served as Director of Biomedical Research at Holbrook Laboratories. Left five years ago to start up Grant Medical Data Systems.”
Ace paused, focusing intently on the left image. They’d pulled it from a 60 Minutes segment on the latest crop of women to make the Fortune 500 list. The video still showed a slender businesswoman in a white blouse and neatly tailored black suit. Her light brown hair brushed her shoulders in a smooth, glossy sweep. Her caramel-colored eyes gazed at the camera with cool confidence.
“According to 60 Minutes,” he related tersely, “Grant is well on her way to becoming one of the most successful entrepreneurs—male or female—under the age of thirty in this country.”
“Smart and rich.” The muscle in Lightning’s jaw jumped again. “Just like DeWitt.”
United States Senator Janice Dewitt, recently deceased. Victim or accomplice in a deadly, high-stakes game of espionage. It was OMEGA’s job to find out which.
“What’s Grant’s connection to the target?”
“We haven’t found one. We’re still running her through the computers. If she and the target crossed paths anytime in the past, we’ll smoke it out.” Ace’s eyes cut to the screen. “Maybe Wolf will have some luck on his end.”
“He’d better,” Lightning said, grimly. “We’re fast running out of time. Tell him to make contact with Grant and nose out her game.”
“Will do.”
Ace flicked the switch on the console that put him in instant contact with Special Agent Rafe Blackstone, code name Wolf.
Wolf acknowledged Lightning’s instructions, even as he kept the woman lined up in his scope. She’d lowered her oversize sunglasses just long enough for him to capture her image and transmit it instantly to OMEGA. The glasses were in place again, shielding her face, but he had her features imprinted on his brain. What he didn’t have were answers to the questions her presence raised.
What the hell was she doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Alone. On foot. In the blazing sun. He tapped an impatient toe while a Hummer rattled down from the hacienda in answer to her call of a few moments ago.
“Paulo.”
The figure stretched out beside Wolf cocked his head. “Sí?“
“Check the road from town. See if the woman has someone waiting for her.”
With a nod, Special Agent Paulo Mendoza stuffed a pair of miniaturized but very high-powered binoculars into his shirt pocket and scuttled backward until he’d dropped below the line of sight of the hacienda’s high-tech security cameras. Crouched low, he used the cover of prickly creosote and cactus to circle the base of the hill where he and Wolf had set up their surveillance. The only sound to mark his passage was a faint rattle of his boots on loose shale.
He returned mere moments later. “I spotted a car pulled over to the side of the road about a mile back. A rental, with the hood up.”
Was it a ploy? A trick to gain entry to the heavily guarded hacienda? If so, it had worked. Wolf’s stomach tightened as Grant climbed into the backseat of the dusty Hummer.
This had to be the rottenest vacation ever!
Forcing a smile, Nina declined her host’s invitation to stay for tea on the tiled terrace overlooking the Sea of Cortez. She was hot and sweaty and in no mood for nice. Even with someone as urbane as the silver-maned expatriate whose men had just radioed in to say they’d reattached the fuel line that had shaken loose in Nina’s rental.
“Thanks,” she said with a smile, “but walking a mile in the sun took all the starch out of me. I’d better head back to town.”
“Are you sure?” Sebastian Cordell’s smile gleamed white against his deep tan. “It’s not often such charming company is stranded almost at the gates of my hacienda.”
“Some other time, perhaps.”
“I shall hold you to that.” Bowing, he kissed her hand with Old World graciousness. “My men will drive you to your car.”
Nina winced as she traded the breeze-cooled shade of the portico for another blast of sun. With a nod to the muscled-up guard holding the Hummer’s door, she climbed into the passenger seat.
Her escort’s all-too-visible shoulder holster had sent her back a step when he’d first climbed out of his vehicle and asked her business. Tough Guy hadn’t appeared the least bit sympathetic to her plight either. He’d checked inside her tote—for hidden weapons, she’d realized belatedly—then demanded to see some ID before he let her get anywhere close to the frigid air blasting from the Hummer interior. Sweat coursing between her breasts, Nina had handed over her wallet.
Not the smartest move, she admitted in retrospect, but this disaster was only the latest in a string of events that had thrown her off stride. The first was getting unengaged from the fiancé she’d discovered had tapped into her computer without her knowledge or consent and tried to milk the business connections she’d worked so hard to establish over the years. Connections that had helped transform her medical data digitization venture into a thriving enterprise with multimillion-dollar contracts.
You would think her employees would understand why she’d put her bruised heart into storage and devoted every waking hour to work. But no! Her entire staff, from her bossy executive assistant to the pimply adolescent who delivered the mail, had threatened to resign en masse if she didn’t get out of the office and decompress, for God’s sake!
So she had to fly down to Baja California. Had to check into an exclusive seaside resort. Had to twiddle her thumbs and force herself to vegetate by the pool for two days until a need to do something—anything—propelled her to jump in a rental car and drive out to view the remote seaside village her guidebook had touted as a “must see.”
Then her rental car had to break down out there among the cactus and sun-baked hills. Where, she discovered, not a single bar popped up on her cell phone. Probably because she’d forgotten to charge the damn thing!
Thank God for the hacienda she’d spotted after a hot, dusty trek—and that the problem with her rental was so easily fixed. All she wanted now was a plunge in the pool at her resort, a frosty margarita, and some of that decompression time her staff insisted she needed.
Bracing herself for another blast of heat, Nina climbed out of the Hummer and thanked the two men who’d been sent to check the car. They sported shoulder holsters, too. Sebastian Cordell took his personal security seriously.
“Muchas gracias.”
She fished a wad of pesos out of her straw tote, but the two men waved away the tip. Stuffing the pesos back in her bag, Nina thanked them again and slid behind the wheel. A dusty half hour later she hit the roundabout on the outskirts of Cabo San Lucas.
By then, a plunge in the pool had dropped well down her list of priorities. Her resort was another twenty minutes away. Her parched throat cried for something cold and wet—now! With that icy margarita in mind, she whipped the wheel and exited the roundabout. A screech of tires had her wincing and offering an apology to the vehicle that had pulled into the circle behind her.
“Sorry.”
Luck was with her. She made only one wrong turn in Cabo’s narrow streets before she found the multistory parking garage that served the inner harbor. The lower floors were full, but she zipped into an empty space on the fourth floor. Locking the rental car, she took the elevator down to the paved walkway leading to the marina.
According to her trusty guidebook, Cabo’s protected inner harbor attracted sailboats and yachts from all over the world. A forest of tall silver masts validated that claim and acted as beacons to the restaurants, shops and bars lining the marina. Happy hour was in full swing Nina noted as she approached the crowded center. Lively salsa and mariachi music filled the air and souvenir hawkers had turned out en masse to capture the lucrative tourist trade.
She escaped most of the salesmen, but one particularly persistent youngster glued himself to her side. Flashing a grin, he flipped back a sleeve to display a skinny forearm banded with shiny bangles.
“Hola, senorita! You buy a bracelet from me, yes?”
“No, gracias.”
“These very good quality silver. From Taxco.”
Right. Uh-huh. If those bangles were products of Mexico’s fabled silver mines, she was Angelina Jolie.
“They’re very nice,” she replied diplomatically, “but I don’t wear silver.”
“Very good quality,” he chorused again, twisting off a braided band. “Here, you try.”
“No. Gracias. No.”
“You try! You try!”
He grabbed her arm and shoved the braided band at her clenched fist. Half suspecting a ploy to distract her while one of his cohorts lifted her wallet from the tote slung over her shoulder, she tried to pull her arm back.
“No! I don’t—”
“You heard the lady. Beat it, kid.”
The deep growl spun both Nina and the pint-size vendor around. She looked up—not a common occurrence for someone who measured five eight in her bare feet—and felt her stomach do a flip.
Whoa, momma! Not two minutes ago, she’d been thinking of Angelina Jolie. Now here was James McAvoy, Angelina’s sexy costar in Wanted. Same dark hair, same blue bedroom eyes, same chiseled chin.
Only this version was tougher. Leaner. Definitely not into Hollywood chic. His boots had collected almost as much dust as Nina’s sandals. His wrinkled khaki trousers and the gaudy tropical shirt he wore over a black T-shirt, looked as though he’d just pulled them out of a suitcase. And the man needed a shave. Badly.
Nina was no stickler for protocol. Well, maybe a little. Okay, a lot. She expected her employees to present a neat, businesslike appearance at all times. That applied equally to everyone, from her division heads to the medical data-entry clerks.
She was fair about it, though. She held herself to the same strict standards. She dressed well, if conservatively, and worked out regularly to maintain both her health and her trim figure. She was conservative in her makeup, too. A few swipes of mascara was all she needed to enhance her brown eyes. Peach lip gloss did the trick for her mouth—which she now forced into a polite smile.
“Thanks for the assistance,” she said as the kid who’d dogged her footsteps scampered away. “The boy was nothing, if not persistent.”
“You have to learn how to shake ‘em off. Must be your first time in Cabo.”
It was a statement, not a question, but she answered it anyway. “Yes, it is.”
Those blue eyes made a slow descent from her wide-brimmed straw hat to her designer sunglasses to the lips her ex-fiancé had described as all too kissable.
That was before she’d handed the conniving rat his walking papers, of course. During their last, somewhat less than cordial meeting, Kevin had flung other descriptive phrases at her. “Hard” and “stubborn” and “a real ball-buster” came immediately to mind.
“I was just going to have a beer.” The dark-haired stranger hooked a thumb at the open-air bar behind him. “Care to join me?”
Thirst battled with common sense. If Nina hadn’t been thinking of Kevin, odds were she would have turned down this casual invitation, just as she had that of the silver-maned hacienda owner. She never cruised bars, much less let strange men pick her up. But her parched throat and the remembered sting of Kevin’s insults overcame caution.
“Sure. Why not?”
The Purple Parrot looked much like the dozens of other bars in the harbor area. Square tables topped by chipped formica crowded its railed-in veranda. Red and green-plastic chairs added a colorful air, as did the plastic pennants strung from corner to corner. Inside the bar itself were shelves lined with a staggering array of bottles.
“Over there.”
Grasping Nina’s elbow, the stranger steered her toward a just-vacated table with an unobstructed view of the marina. The sudden and totally unexpected sizzle that radiated up her bare arm flustered her so much she barely took in the sea of gleaming white sailboats.
“I’m Rafe,” he said by way of introduction. “Rafe Blackstone.”
“Nina. Uh, Grant.”
Oh, for pity’s sake! The heat must have gotten to her more than she’d realized. Bad enough she’d given in to the impulse to have a drink with a man who looked like a cross between a movie stud and a hood. One touch, and said stud came close to finishing what the sun had started. She was practically melting under her linen sundress.
It had to be that dark stubble on his cheeks and chin. Or the way his black T-shirt stretched across a taut, flat belly when he leaned back in his chair and unfolded his long legs. Or the slow, considering look he gave her through a screen of ridiculously thick lashes that any woman would have killed for.
Whatever it was, Nina responded in a way she’d never responded before to any male, Kevin included. A delicious spark of heat licked at her veins, and she could feel the muscles low in her belly tighten. Surprised and not a little flustered by her reaction, she removed her sunglasses and tipped the man seated across from her another polite smile.
“Where’s home, Rafe?”
“Here and there. Mostly San Diego these days.
You?”
“Albuquerque.”
“What do you do there?”
Before she could answer, a waiter materialized at their table. She ordered a margarita on the rocks, her companion a Dos Equis.
“I own and operate a company that digitizes medical data,” she said when the waiter retreated.
“That so?” He arched a brow. “Given the president’s push to computerize the medical profession, your business must be thriving.”
“It is … now. We had some lean years when we first started out,” she admitted wryly. “Hospitals weren’t exactly anxious to share patient data. Plus, we had to make sure we didn’t violate privacy laws. We got our foot in the door by trending data from local sources and providing it to medical facilities and research facilities across the state.” A touch of pride crept into her voice. “We now harvest information from more than three thousand sources, analyze the input, and supply trends to a host of private and governmental medical research centers across the U.S.”
“Only the U.S.?”
His slouch was the epitome of lazy relaxation, but his obvious interest reassured Nina. She always worried about boring folks with her passion for what she did. Or worse, lapsing into so much technical jargon that she lost her listeners completely.
“We still have to work within privacy laws,” she said, “but I’m hoping to go international soon.”
The seemingly casual comment put a sudden kink in Wolf’s gut. The woman wanted to go international, did she? With the help of Sebastian Cordell, aka Stephen Caulder, aka a half-dozen other aliases?
Or was she after the sensitive, top-secret information Cordell had stolen and intended to auction to the highest bidder? Had she staged her vehicle’s breakdown? Used it as an entree into Cordell’s heavily guarded compound? Was she that good?
Wolf was still trying to decide when the waiter delivered their drinks. The man placed two frosted glasses in front of Grant and earned a surprised look.
“I didn’t order two drinks.”
“This is happy hour, señorita. You order one, I bring two.”
“But …”
“Same price. No problem.”
She gave in with a shrug and a smile.
Wolf had to give her credit. She had that polite half smile down pat. Friendly, but with just enough reserve in it to keep a man at a proper distance.
Nina Grant didn’t know it yet, he thought grimly, but the two of them were about to get up close and very personal.
The muscles low in his belly tightened at the prospect. This is what he did. What he’d done now for almost ten years. Why he kept to himself and trusted no one outside his immediate circle of friends and fellow agents. Over the years, he’d locked horns with too many men and women who’d crossed the line. In more than one instance, it was kill or be killed.
In this one…
He didn’t have a fix on Nina Grant yet, and the uncertainty scraped on his nerves. Extracting the lime wedge from the neck of his beer, he tipped the bottle in her direction.
“Here’s to international cooperation.”
She clinked her frosted glass against the bottle. “I’ll drink to that.”
He let the lager slide down his throat, watching while she licked some salt from the rim before taking a sip of her drink. The small act was completely natural, the way most people tasted a margarita—and disturbingly provocative. Wolf’s belly tightened another notch as he followed the movement of her tongue.
Come on, he urged silently. Drink the damn thing.
He knew from experience that two-for-one happy hour drinks at most Cabo San Lucas dives were usually so watered down you couldn’t even taste the booze in them. The Purple Parrot, however, had a reputation to maintain. That’s why he’d chosen it. Another double round, and he’d have Nina Grant singing like a tanked-up canary.
“How long have you lived in Albuquerque?” he asked to get the ball rolling.
“I got a job there after grad school and decided to stay. I love the climate. The people. The mountains. The incredible sunsets. Seems I’ve spent almost as much time traveling recently as I have at home, though. I almost cringe when I have to get on a plane these days.”
Wolf pumped her for information, subtly, smoothly, and hid a smile of satisfaction when she took another taste of her drink.
“Whew! This is potent.”
“Not that potent. It goes down easier after the first few sips.”
“I’ll bet.” Her nose wrinkling, she set the glass aside. “It’s hitting my empty stomach like a sledgehammer. I’d better stop with this one and head to my hotel.”
So much for his plan to get her sloshed. No matter. He wasn’t about to let her wiggle out of his net now.
“So let me buy you dinner.”
Chapter 2 (#ulink_24832bc9-8309-53d5-81e5-17c140c59f11)
Nina blinked at Blackstone’s unexpected invitation. An automatic refusal formed on her lips. Before she could voice it, his cell phone emitted a low, vibrating hum.
“'Scuse me.” He slipped a sleek little jobbie out of his pocket and held it at an angle. “Sorry, I need to read this text message.”
“No problem.”
His face remained impassive as he scrolled the screen. She couldn’t tell if the news was good or bad, but the brief interruption gave Nina time to reconsider his surprising offer of dinner.
She had to admit it was tempting. Extremely tempting. She didn’t need her string of degrees—or the intent look in this sexy stranger’s eyes—to make the leap from drinks to dinner to a quick tumble into bed.
The mere thought made her throat go tight. It affected other parts of her, too. Parts that hadn’t felt this sudden sizzle in way too long.
No surprise there. She was a biologist by training and a medical researcher by profession. She knew she possessed a normal, healthy sex drive. One that she and Kevin had made the most of. At first.
In the later stages of their engagement, their lovemaking had been less adventurous. It went decidedly flat when she began to suspect he’d courted her more for what she could do for him in the business arena than in the bedroom.
Maybe … Maybe this was just what she needed. An hour or two or three of hot, sweaty, completely mindless sex. What better way to get over the humiliation of Kevin’s lies? How better to revalidate herself as a woman?
Ha! Who was she kidding? Inviting Blackstone back to her hotel had nothing whatsoever to do with validation, and a whole lot to do with his impact on her pulmonary system. The mere thought of peeling off his T-shirt and popping the snap on those wrinkled khaki’s constricted her lungs and put a lump the size of Rhode Island in her throat.
Unfortunately, the biologist in her didn’t have to delve very deep to compile a comprehensive list of diseases she could pick up by exchanging bodily fluids with a total stranger. Even one as hot as Rafe Blackstone. Especially one as hot as Blackstone. With a stab of real regret, she groped for the tote bag hooked over the back of her chair.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass on dinner, too. Let me pay for the drinks.”
“I’ll get them.”
“Really, I want to. I’ve enjoyed our—”
“I’ve got it covered.”
Oooh-kay. She dropped her wallet back into her tote. That was twice today she’d stepped on it: first with the guys who’d fixed the fuel line on her rental, now with Blackstone. Guess she shouldn’t have let his bristles and rumpled shirt mislead her into thinking he would appreciate a woman who preferred to pay her own way.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
She started to decline the offer. The vendors milling outside the bar, waiting to pounce, changed her mind. With the sun gone down and the crowds of tourists thinning out, they would swarm all over her. Why not let this lean, tough-looking gringo deal with them?
Which he did, with a few well-chosen words. He also took her arm to weave a path for her through the grumbling souvenir hawkers. His hold was loose but oddly possessive. To Nina’s consternation, the feel of his callused palm raised goose bumps over every exposed inch of skin.
She covered her involuntary reaction with a nod toward the rapidly darkening sky. “Cools off fast when the sun goes down, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” he replied, and promptly tucked her closer into his side.
His scent enveloped her. The seductive blend of sun-warmed skin and healthy male sweat retriggered the erotic sensations Nina was so determined to repress. Gulping, she tried to focus on the dramatic red-and-gold streaks in the dark sky, the raucous beat of music coming from the restaurants, anything but the man beside her.
She failed miserably and breathed a distinct sigh of relief when they reached the parking garage. Easing free of his hold, she punched the button for the fourth floor.
“Thanks again for the drinks.”
“I’ll ride up with you.”
She turned to him with a polite but firm no on her lips. He spiked it with a shrug and casual remark.
“This part of town is usually pretty safe, but a couple of tourists were mugged in this garage a few days ago.”
Common sense prevailed. Parking garages in any part of the world could be risky. No sense tempting fate.
Which was exactly what she was doing by prolonging her brief association with Blackstone. She wasn’t fooling anyone, herself included. The tingling awareness of his proximity, the delicious feeling of temptation rode all the way up to the fourth floor with her.
They stepped out into cavernous gloom. Their footsteps echoed as Nina led the way up the ramp, glad now that she’d accepted Blackstone’s escort. The garage had emptied considerably since her arrival. Probably because most of the businesses in town that didn’t cater exclusively to the tourist trade had closed for the day. Her rental now sat by itself at the end of the row.
Digging the keys out of her tote, she clicked the remote. The lights flashed, the locks popped, and she turned to her escort once more. He was close. A little too close. She put on a cool smile.
“Thanks again. I enjoyed—”
“Let me have the keys.”
“Excuse me?”
“Give me the keys. I’ll drive you back to your hotel.”
Okay, enough is enough. Lifting her chin, Nina shook her head.
“Look, I don’t know what signals you think I sent there at the bar, but you read them wrong.”
“Give me the keys.”
When he took a step closer, crowding her against the car, fright exploded in her chest. How stupid was this? How stupid was she?
She threw a wild glance down the ramp. Nothing moved. Not a single person walked to or from a car. No headlights stabbed through the gloom. She was on her own here.
Her throat clogged with fear, she tried to recall any of the moves from the self-defense courses she’d taken over the years. All she could remember, all she could think of was to yell her head off and gouge her attacker’s eyes with her car keys.
She fumbled the pointed ends between her fingers, balled her fist, and screamed for help. Or tried to. She didn’t emit much more than a squeak before Blackwater clapped a hard hand over her mouth. His other hand batted away the arm she’d brought up in a vicious arc.
She fought him, using every bit of her strength, but he was too big, too strong. Reaching behind her, he ripped open the car door and shoved her inside.
Her heart hammering in terror, Nina landed in a sprawl across the driver’s seat. Pure instinct brought her knee up and her foot lashing out. Blackstone dodged the kick aimed at his groin, and took it on the outside of his thigh instead.
“Calm down!” he got out with a grunt of pain. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Right. Uh-huh. Sure.
She wasn’t about to take his word for it. With his unyielding presence blocking the exit, she scrambled over the center console and made a desperate lunge for the passenger door. Cursing, he dropped into the driver’s seat and wrapped fingers of steel around her upper arm. A swift yank jerked her back down.
“Listen to me. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Then let me go!”
“Not yet. And not here.” He kept her in place with an iron fist. “We need to talk, Dr. Grant.”
Dr. Grant?
The title penetrated her wild fear. She hadn’t used the honorific in conversation. She was sure she hadn’t. She rarely did, and then only in professional circles. So how did he know?
“Who are you?” she panted. “What do you want to talk to me about?”
“I’ll tell you at the Mayan Princess.”
Oh, Lord! He knew where she was staying. Had he followed her from the resort? Been following her the entire day?
He couldn’t have! She would have spotted him out on that winding, dusty road before her rental broke down.
If it had broken down. What if he’d sabotaged her car? Anticipated that she’d be stranded out there in the middle of nowhere? Which she would have been, if she hadn’t trudged a mile through the hot sun to Sebastian Cordell’s hacienda. Or was that part of his diabolical plan, too?
The questions hammered at her as he eased his brutal grip, but she decided not to stick around for the answers. She made another grab for the door handle, only to hear the door locks snick.
“Child protective locks,” he commented laconically as she tugged futilely on the handle.
Grinding her teeth in frustration, she sank back against the seat. Her cell phone was in her tote, she remembered. With a dead battery. Her last hope she thought as her abductor keyed the ignition, was the garage attendant.
Except there wasn’t one. The booth where she’d forked over a fee when she’d entered was now empty. Apparently, anyone who drove in after the main businesses and shops closed got to park free.
Nor was there a police officer anywhere in sight when they pulled out of the garage and hit the streets. Nina seriously considered hammering on the window to attract the attention of the people out for a late evening stroll. A return of her common sense—and gradual subsiding of panic—subdued the impulse.
Blackstone said he didn’t intend to hurt her. He also said he’d tell her what he wanted from her at the Mayan. That meant he had to pull up at the entrance to the posh resort, where the extremely well-trained parking valet, doorman and desk clerks all knew her by name. Blackstone could hardly waltz into the resort with her and waltz out again, leaving behind her dead and/or mutilated body and a small army of people who could ID him.
Could he?
She’d more or less reassured herself on that point by the time the resort appeared in the distance. She’d also worked up as much reluctant curiosity as distrust. What the heck did this man want with her? She was pretty sure now it wasn’t sex, and was shocked by the contradictory feelings that realization generated.
“Turn here,” she muttered as they approached the long, winding drive that led up to the resort. When he flipped on the directionals, the lingering remnants of Nina’s fear eased. He really was taking her back to the Mayan. She let out a low sigh of relief.
The resort was the latest in a string of San Cabo resorts that included Westin and Ritz Carlton and other high-priced escapes. Constructed to resemble a Mayan temple, the main building sat on a cliff overlooking the sea. Tall palms lined the drive leading up to it. Lit by floodlights, they provided an exotic approach to the stunningly dramatic pyramid gleaming against the night sky.
As Nina had anticipated, a valet came forward when the car rolled to a stop. He had to wait for Blackstone to hit the lock release to open her door. When he did, she scrambled out with considerably more haste than dignity.
“Buenas tardes, Dr. Grant. Did you have a good drive this afternoon?”
“I’ve had better, Ramon.” Determined to establish a record of events, Nina pointed to the driver rounding the front end of the car. “This is Señor Blackstone. Rafe Blackstone. He’s visiting me. For a short time.”
Ramon took the hint. “Buenas tardes, Señor. Will you need this car when you leave? If so, I will park it here by the entrance instead of taking it down to the lot.”
“Here’s good.” Blackstone slipped him a folded bill with the car keys and took Nina’s elbow. “Lead the way.”
She did, making sure to repeat his name to the doorman and the clerks on duty in the breezeway that served as a reception area.
“There’s a waiter over there by the pool,” Blackstone drawled. “You want to introduce me to him, too?”
“You think this is funny?” she huffed. “Somehow, I don’t find kidnapping amusing. Neither, I suspect, would the local police.”
“Police down in these parts take a different view of things, but you can call them if you want. Ask for Chief Inspector Mannie Diaz. Tell him you’re with me.”
“Well, for …!”
Thoroughly indignant, Nina came to a dead stop. Hands on hips, she faced her tormentor.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re a cop back there in town instead of scaring the crap out of me?”
“I’m not a cop.”
“Oh. Well.” That set her back a bit, but she recovered quickly. “So what are you?”
“We’ll talk about that in your suite. Where is it?”
“You don’t know?” she said snidely. “You seem to know everything else.”
Ignoring the comment, he urged her through the open-air lobby to the pool beyond. It was one of four at the resort. Two catered to families, the other two to adults only. The one on this level was an infinity pool, its floodlit waters seeming to flow over the edge and drop straight into the sea far below.
Instead of booking her into the main hotel, Nina’s superefficient assistant had reserved one of the casitas that clung to the cliffs behind the pyramid. They were quieter and more private—qualities Nina had very much appreciated until this moment.
Some of her nervousness returned as she led the way down several flights of steps and around bougainvillea-draped walls. The only sounds to disturb the evening quiet were the soft music emanating from hidden speakers along the walkways and the ever-present murmur of the sea.
By the time she’d reached her casita, however, her indignation had returned. Along with it came a healthy bout of anger. Fishing her key card out of her tote, she unlocked the door and marched inside. The spacious, beautifully decorated unit featured tile floors, a fully equipped kitchen, one bedroom with a master bath to die for and a small Jacuzzi tucked in a corner of the balcony that was suspended over the sea.
Nina didn’t give her uninvited guest time to admire the ambience. Flinging her tote on a sofa covered in muted jungle print, she folded her arms across her chest.
“All right, Blackstone. If that’s really your name. What’s this all about?”
“It’s really my name,” he confirmed, glancing around. When those laser blue eyes came back to Nina, they sliced into her like a scalpel. “And this is about your friend, Sebastian Cordell.”
“Huh?”
Of all the things she’d expected … Okay, she hadn’t known what to expect. But this certainly wasn’t it.
“Are you talking about the older gentleman I met this afternoon?”
“I’m talking about the man who invited you into his hacienda this afternoon.” His jaw hardened. “As for whether or not he’s a gentleman, you tell me.”
This was getting way too bizarre. Frowning, Nina tapped a foot. “Before I tell you anything, I want some answers. Who are you and who do you work for?”
“I told you my name. Most of the time I run a marine construction company.”
“Other times?”
“I do independent consulting. Hazard elimination. Debris removal. That sort of thing.”
The sideline seemed legitimate. It was just the way he said it. As though there was more to removing debris than hauling it off in dump trucks or barges.
Nina’s foot tapped again. “I want to see some ID.”
With a sardonic shrug, he extracted a well-worn leather wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open to a California driver’s license.
There he was. Rafael Conall Blackstone. Height, 6’2’. Hair: black. Eyes: Blue. Weight: a really buff 180.
“‘Conall’?”
“My grandmother’s Irish.” A gleam flickered in his eyes, quickly come and just as quickly gone. “It translates to ‘strong wolf'.”
For some reason, the fact that he had a grandmother made him seem more human. Less dangerous. Which she knew was really absurd. Like murderers and rapists didn’t?
“My turn.” He slid the wallet back into his pocket. “What were …”
“Not so fast, Blackstone. I’m not finished yet.”
Impatience rippled across his face. Making an obvious effort to contain it, he hooked one of the high stools from the marble counter separating the kitchen from the dining area and swung it around.
Nina gave a huff of disgust. “Make yourself comfortable, why don’t you?”
He did, with one long leg braced against the floor tiles and the other propped on the stool’s rung. “What else do you want to ask me?”
“Oh, just a few little things. Like how you knew I hold a PhD. And where I’m staying. And that I met Sebastian Cordell this afternoon. Oh, yes—one more. There’s also the question of why in hell you didn’t ask me about this guy in town instead of kidnapping and scaring the crap out of me!”
He had the grace to look a little ashamed. Not much. Just enough to suggest he didn’t go around abducting women every day of the week.
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry about that. To tell the truth, I planned to pour a couple more margaritas down you, get you loose, and pump you for information there at the Purple Parrot. When that didn’t work, you forced me to resort to more direct measures.”
“What information?”
“For starters, how you know Cordell.”
“I don’t know him! Or I didn’t, before my car broke down this afternoon.”
“Pretty convenient, how you arranged for it to break down so close to his compound.”
“'Convenient'?” Nina echoed, incredulously.
“'Arranged'?”
Thoroughly flummoxed, she groped for the other bar stool and yanked it closer so she could plop down. This whole thing was becoming more absurd by the moment.
“Why would I ‘arrange’ a breakdown?”
The rueful note disappeared from his voice. Hard and sharp-edged, it cut through the air between them.
“Maybe because Sebastian Cordell has something to sell. Something you might want,” he added, his eyes locked on hers. “You and a number of other entrepreneurs.”
The small sneer accompanying the last word brought Nina’s chin up with a snap. She’d worked damn hard to establish her company. She’d sunk every penny of her savings into start-up costs, then borrowed heavily to purchase the building Grant Medical Data Systems now operated out of. The first months—the first years—had been scary as hell.
But she’d pulled it off. By sheer luck and perfect timing, she’d gotten in on the ground floor of a burgeoning and very necessary industry, and now turned an extremely healthy profit. One no one could sneer at!
Bristling, she poked a finger at Blackstone’s chest. “You listen to me, fella. I’m going to say this one time and one time only. I did not arrange to have my car break down. I did not use it as a ploy to meet Sebastian Cordell. And I am not interested in whatever the man has for sale.”
“Then why …”
The shrill ring of the phone sitting at the end of the counter cut him off.
“That,” Nina announced, with fierce satisfaction, “is most likely Ramon, checking to see if he should move the car to the parking lot. I’ll tell him to call you a taxi.”
“Not yet.”
“Yes, yet! This conversation is over.” Glaring at him, she snatched up the receiver. “Hola.”
The smooth, cultured voice that came through the earpiece made her swallow. Hard. With a helpless look in Blackstone’s direction, she responded to the gracious inquiry.
“Yes, Mr. Cordell, I made it home safely.”
Every muscle in Blackstone’s body went taut. His narrowed gaze drilled into Nina as she clutched the receiver.
“What? Lunch tomorrow at your hacienda? I … Uh …”
Chapter 3 (#ulink_255c8783-7e15-5dc3-9d0c-ed925bccc3b7)
Wolf’s gut twisted. Cordell! The prey he’d been sent to take down. The same bastard suspected of extracting top secret information from a United States senator. Now oozing his poisonous charm into Nina Grant’s ear.
And here Wolf had come so close to believing the woman. Almost swallowed her tale of a breakdown. Damn near let her air of righteous indignation and melting, brown-sugar eyes convince him she’d flown down to Cabo on vacation as she claimed.
Yet.
The terse message Ace had texted a little while ago indicated they’d come up empty at their end. OMEGA could access a host of databases, public, private and otherwise. Wolf knew damn well they’d run Nina Grant through every one. Yet none of the agency’s wizards had been able to turn up a connection between Grant and Sebastian Cordell. As far as they could tell, she was clean.
Until this moment, everything in Wolf concurred with that assessment. He’d lived on the razor’s edge so long he’d learned to trust his instincts where people were concerned. The short time he’d spent with her had him ninety-nine-percent convinced Nina Grant was the busy exec on vacation she claimed to be. The finger she’d poked in his chest moments ago had just about clinched the matter in his mind.
He had only a second to decide whether to go with his gut-level assessment. A mere heartbeat, while she looked at him, wide-eyed and stuttering, to come up with an answer to Cordell’s invitation.
“Yes,” Wolf hissed. “Tell him yes!”
He could see the doubt in her face, the distrust. Her knuckles were white on the receiver, her body taut with indecision. He was sure she would refuse his urgent request when she cleared her throat.
“Lunch sounds delightful, Mr. Cordell.” Her eyes remained locked on Wolf’s. “Twelve-thirty it is. No, no need to send someone to pick me up. I’ll drive myself. What? Oh. Right. I guess I do need your phone number in case I get lost or stranded again. Let me get a pen.”
Wolf had Cordell’s numbers. All of them. But he kept silent while she hunted down a pencil and jotted a string of digits on a paper napkin.
“I’ve got it. Thanks. I’ll … I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He was in! Or she was. Wolf contained his fierce elation as she hung up the receiver and stared at it blankly for a few seconds.
“I can’t believe I just did that.” Her eyes lifted to his. “Why did I just do that?”
“I can’t speak to the why,” he said slowly, “but I’ll tell you this. A whole bunch of folks will be real happy that you did.”
“At the risk of repeating myself … why?”
He sifted the details in his mind, sorting out what he could and couldn’t tell her, and decided on the varying shades of the truth.
“I told you I freelance on occasion.”
“Right.” Her forehead crinkling, she repeated the line he’d given her. “At which time you specialize in eliminating hazards and removing debris.”
“One of those hazards is Sebastian Cordell.”
“Aha!”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, a grin tugged at the corners of Wolf’s mouth. “Aha"? Who said “aha” these days, outside of a slapstick comedy? Dr. Nina Grant, apparently.
She looked indignant again, like a tabby cat who’d been about to pounce and got its whiskers pulled instead.
“So that story about being into marine construction was just that?” she huffed. “A story?”
“No, that part’s true. I do this as a sideline.”
“Some sideline!” Frowning, she chewed on her lower lip for a few moments. “So why do you consider Sebastian Cordell a hazard?”
“We suspect he courted and seduced the senior senator from Maine.”
“Janice DeWitt?” she gasped. “The senator who died in a car accident a few weeks ago?”
“There’s some question,” Wolf said carefully, “whether it was an accident or a suicide.” Or something else.
So far the FBI and Secret Service had managed to suppress the evidence indicating that a member of the U.S. Congress had deliberately driven her vehicle through a guardrail and over a rocky cliff. Likewise the gut-wrenching e-mail she’d sent the President Pro Tem of the Senate, confessing that a disk encrypted with highly classified information might have been compromised by the man she’d taken as a lover.
“We also suspect,” Wolf continued soberly, “Cordell may have used the senator to gain access to extremely sensitive top secret information.”
Nina took a step back, and her shock that a popular, charismatic senator had indulged in an extramarital affair and possibly committed suicide took an instant and very personal turn. The information Kevin had downloaded from her personal computer certainly wasn’t top secret, but it had been crucial to her business. She would have shared it with him if he’d asked. Not all of it, of course, just the nonproprietary data that might have been useful to his financial planning and investment operation. That he’d dug into her private files without her knowledge or consent had stunned her. That he’d leveraged the data he’d extracted to benefit one of her competitors had royally pissed her off.
“Bastard,” she muttered.
“Yeah, he is.”
Pulled back to the present, she blinked. “I was referring to the jerk who pulled almost the same thing on me.”
Blackstone cocked his head. “How so?”
It embarrassed her to admit how blind she’d been. She had to force herself to recap the sorry details.
“My fiancé stole proprietary information and sold it to a competitor. Correction, make that exfiancé.”
She wasn’t looking for sympathy. Good thing, because the man seated on the bar stool a few feet from her didn’t display so much as a trace of it. Instead, a gleam of satisfaction leapt into his blue eyes.
“Then you understand why we’re so anxious to nail Sebastian Cordell.”
“I understand it,” Nina replied cautiously, “but I don’t see how my having lunch with him will help.”
“We’ve been trying to get someone inside the compound. Unfortunately, Cordell’s goon squad take their duties very seriously.”
“I noticed.”
“But Cordell just issued you an engraved invitation. We can fit you with a hidden camera, have you—”
“Whoa! Hold on there, Blackstone.”
With the shoulder holsters strapped onto the goons he’d just mentioned all too vivid in her mind, Nina scrambled off her stool and backed away.
“I’m not into playing spy games.”
“This isn’t a game,” he fired back.
“Yes, well, whatever it is, I’ll leave it to the pros like you.”
Blackstone vacated his stool and followed her into the living area. Like the rest of the casita, the room was elegantly furnished. A three-section sofa in muted colors formed a conversation pit, with a monster slab of white-veined black marble in the middle to serve as a coffee table. Facing the sofas was an entertainment center containing a sixty-inch flat screen TV, a DVD player, an assortment of recent movies and an iPod dock.
Nina’s iPod and earbuds were still in her straw tote, so the only sound in the room, as she faced Blackstone was the restless murmur of the sea below the balcony, just off the living area.
“We need your cooperation, Dr. Grant. Cordell plans to auction the information he stole to the highest bidder. If it falls into the wrong hands—an unfriendly government or a terrorist organization, for instance—it could seriously jeopardize U.S. national security.”
“Oh, sure. Lay the safety and security of the United States on my shoulders, why don’t you?”
Nervously, Nina swiped her palms down the side seams of her linen sundress. She’d always considered herself a good citizen. She paid her taxes on time, donated to a number of charities, gave blood regularly and volunteered at a homeless shelter one weekend a month.
She did not, however, in any way, shape or form, see herself as a modern day Mata Hari. The prospect of entering Sebastian Cordell’s heavily guarded compound with a camera hidden somewhere on her person made her break out in a cold sweat.
“Look, Blackstone, I’d like to help. I really would. This just isn’t my area of expertise.”
“We have from now until tomorrow noon. I’ll make sure you know what you’re doing before you go in.”
Her palms froze in midswipe. “From now until tomorrow noon?” she echoed. “What are you planning to do? Camp out here tonight?”
“If that’s what it will take to make you comfortable with the operation.”
If anything, the prospect of spending the next twelve-plus hours in close quarters with Rafe Blackstone made her twice as nervous.
“It won’t work,” she told him firmly. “I’m the world’s worst liar. Even a little social fib makes my face turn red, and I can’t look people in the eye.”
“Must be tough to conduct business negotiations,” he drawled.
“Not particularly,” she snapped, her chin coming up. “I conduct negotiations fairly and honestly.”
The icy reply knifed through the air like a blade. Blackstone dipped his head in acknowledgment of the hit and hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his wrinkled khakis. The movement swung open the flaps of his jungle print shirt and gave Nina an unobstructed view of black cotton stretched across a muscled chest, but she was too miffed to appreciate the view.
“About those negotiations,” he said, with a considering look. “Didn’t you tell me earlier that your company supplies medical trend data to a host of private and governmental research centers?”
“Yes. So?”
“So I’m guessing government contracts must account for a sizable chunk of your business.”
Nina drew in a swift breath. Government contracts accounted for more than a chunk. They constituted almost half of her business base.
“You’d better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking, Blackstone!”
“If you’re thinking those contracts can be cancelled with one phone call, I guess I am.”
He didn’t so much as blink. The bald-faced effrontery of it, the sheer gall, made Nina gasp.
“I don’t believe this! You’re actually trying to blackmail me into helping you?”
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Merline Lovelace
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Risky Engagement, электронная книга автора Merline Lovelace на английском языке, в жанре современная зарубежная литература