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Shadow Soldier
Dana Marton


IN HIS PROTECTIVE CUSTODYDespite the fringe benefits of watching over Nicola Barrington, her covert "bodyguard" itched to get back into the fray. Assigned to the elite Special Designation Defense Unit, Alex Rodriguez leaped into action after a disarming moment of smoldering attraction paved the way for a sniper's lethal ambush. Seeking cover from a spray of bullets, Alex and Nicola sped away with trigger-happy assailants hot on their trail. But the danger was far from over. The senator's daughter was a pawn in a diabolical international terrorist attack that could topple the U.S. government. Even with gunshots exploding around them and feverish passion racing through their veins, this Shadow Soldier wasn't about to let his countryѿor his woman–down!









He lived in the shadows…


Not like other people. He no longer had a Social Security number, no service record, no contacts beyond his immediate supervisor and occasional teammates. He didn’t even have a pair of damn dog tags. Nothing that could identify him.

Alex was part of a shadow created by the U.S. government to deal with problems that could not be handled in open daylight. And when the shadow fell on the people who created those problems, they disappeared.

That was what he was trained for, what he was good at. Not trying to act normal, playing house with a senator’s daughter. All he had to do was keep Nicola Barrington from getting too far under his skin in the next couple of days. Shouldn’t take more than that for the rest of his team to pick up the shooter. Damn. He wasn’t used to playing bodyguard. He was more of a seek-and-destroy man.

But guard her he would—at any cost.


Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

To mark a month of fall festivals, screeching goblins and hot apple cider, Harlequin Intrigue has a provocative October lineup guaranteed to spice things up!

Debra Webb launches her brand-new spin-off series, COLBY AGENCY: INTERNAL AFFAIRS, with Situation: Out of Control. This first installment sets the stage for the most crucial mission of all…smoking out a mole in their midst. The adrenaline keeps flowing in Rules of Engagement by acclaimed author Gayle Wilson, who continues her PHOENIX BROTHERHOOD series with a gripping murder mystery that hurls an unlikely couple into a vortex of danger.

Also this month, a strictly business arrangement turns into a lethal attraction, in Cowboy Accomplice by B.J. Daniels—book #2 in her Western series, MCCALLS’ MONTANA. And just in time for Halloween, October’s haunting ECLIPSE selection, The Legacy of Croft Castle by Jean Barrett, promises to put you in that spooky frame of mind.

There are more thrills to come when Kara Lennox unveils the next story in her CODE OF THE COBRA series, with Bounty Hunter Redemption, which pits an alpha male lawman against a sexy parole officer when mayhem strikes. And, finally this month, watch for the action-packed political thriller Shadow Soldier by talented newcomer Dana Marton. This debut book spotlights an antiterrorist operative who embarks on a high-stakes mission to dismantle a diabolical ticking time bomb.

Enjoy!

Denise O’Sullivan

Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue




Shadow Soldier

Dana Marton





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Dana Marton lives near Wilmington, Delaware, and is married to her very own soldier hero. She has been an avid reader since childhood and has a master’s degree in writing popular fiction. When not writing, she can be found either in her large garden or her home library.

She would love to hear from her readers via e-mail at DanaMarton@yahoo.com, or your can send post mail to: Dana Marton, P.O. Box 7987, Newark, DE 19714. SASE appreciated.










CAST OF CHARACTERS


Nicola Barrington—For years, Nicola has managed to stay out of the limelight that surrounded her high-profile father. But when terrorists attempt to kill her, she’s pulled back into the world of political intrigue by the only man who can save her.

Alejandro (Alex) Jesús Rodriguez—Member of a top secret military group (Special Designation Defense Unit) established to fight terrorism. He does whatever it takes to protect his country, even breaking the rules when he has to. Except one—he never gets personally involved.

Senator Edward Barrington—Nicola’s father, ex-U.S. Ambassador to China. He has many enemies, political and personal, and more than his fair share of secrets to hide.

General Meng—Once a top military man, he disappeared from a Chinese prison five years ago. Has he been killed, or is he hunting those he thinks betrayed him?

Du Shaozu—Nicola’s latest client makes it clear he’s interested in more than Nicola’s consulting skills, but is romance what he really wants?

Spike—Alex’s teammate. He came to the SDDU from the FBI’s language program. One of the few men whom Alex trusts without reservation.

Colonel Wilson—Alex’s boss. He’s the leader of the SDDU, reporting straight to the Homeland Security Secretary.


In memory of Sheila Conway,

a true friend and wonderful writer.


Acknowledgments

With many thanks to Adél for her unwavering support.

Also, my sincere gratitude and appreciation go to two wonderful writers, Jenel Looney and Anita Staley, for their endless patience and help, and to the faculty at Seton Hill University, especially Leslie Davis Guccione, mentor extraordinaire.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue




Chapter One


She moved like a symphony.

Her arms extended with elbows slightly bent and palms facing forward, she began by working each major muscle group, then guided her body through her regular poses, ending with her face upturned toward the rising sun.

Watching her practice Tai Chi every dawn turned bearable the job that made Alejandro Jesús Rodriguez want to jump out of his slowly recovering skin at least a dozen times a day. He focused on the balcony, on her upthrust breasts, as she glided into her next routine.

Unfortunately, as much as her curves eased his irritation at the assignment, they also brought their own set of frustrations. After two months of covert surveillance, every tantalizing detail of Nicola Barrington’s body was etched into his mind to torment him whether or not he was looking. Her standard summer wear around the house—tank tops and ungodly short shorts—didn’t help.

Alex swallowed as Nicola bent until her fingertips swept the floor, her mass of dark curls falling around her face, her incredible behind thrust toward the sky. He’d been put on around-the-clock duty a few hours after he’d gotten off the plane from Yemen. Having to watch Miss Barrington’s mouthwatering figure 24/7 made his eyes pop several times a day—his eyes and a certain other body part.

He forced his gaze from the second-story balcony that extended from her bedroom and scanned the rest of the quarter-acre property along with as much of the street as he could see from his vantage point. No suspicious activity.

He had always hated this part of the job—the waiting. Eight weeks of sedate domestic duty was enough to drive him stir crazy even if it was supposed to be good for his recovery. He wanted action. Not that he wished any harm to the woman. He just wished the bad guys would make their move, already, so he could do his job. Or better yet, he wished Colonel Wilson would give the word that the transfer he had requested a few days ago had been approved, pull him off this detail and let him go back into the fray.

Of course, the Colonel might have invented the whole assignment to keep him out of trouble for a while. Alex wouldn’t put it past the man. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. If he ever found out that was the case, he would strangle the overprotective SOB and consider it well worth the court-martial.

He rolled his neck to loosen the stiffening muscles and felt sweat run down his back as he sat on the floor cross-legged and watched. Nicola closed her eyes and pursed her generous lips as if she were humming to herself. Her movements flowed like an intricate dance. Caliente abrasador. Scorching hot. Both the weather and the woman. If he had to watch her much longer he might evaporate.

She took showers without pulling the shades.

Alex closed his eyes and swallowed a groan. She probably didn’t know anyone could see in her second-story bathroom window. She had no idea an SDDU soldier had made her neighbor’s kid’s treehouse his nighttime surveillance headquarters. Neither did her neighbors. Aside from a select few, nobody in the world knew the SDDU existed. The Special Designation Defense Unit was America’s latest secret weapon in the fight against terrorism.

He wanted to be in the fight, not in a damn treehouse in a suburb of Philadelphia.

Carefully manicured gardens, mature shade trees and well-kept houses with swimming pools were the features of Devon, a town on the fashionable Main Line. He had seen places like this on TV as a kid—never figured he would see one up close. He wouldn’t have believed anyone back then who’d told him it would be under these circumstances.

His gaze followed Nicola as she finished her Tai Chi and moved inside her two-story Federal-style home to start the business part of her day. She spent most of her time either working on her computer or meeting clients, growing her consulting company, Barrington International Trade Services, Ltd. The most action he’d seen in the past two months had been following Nicola from office to office as she conducted her appointments. She wasn’t going anywhere today, though, nothing but phone calls on her schedule. He made sure to check her calendar every night when he sneaked in to secure the premises.

The house needed all the help he could give it. He liked the quaint brick exterior, but not the quaint security. Lack of security was more like it—one could hardly count the single dead bolt on the front door. The sliding glass doors to the small flagstone patio were as good as an invitation, same as the internal door connecting the garage with the laundry room, armed with only a twist knob. The windows were even more hopeless, originals from about fifty years ago when he estimated the house must have been built.

Alex wiped his forehead again as a brown van drove by for the second time. Not from the neighborhood. He knew every car within a three-block radius and to what driveway it belonged. Even with his binoculars, he could only make out shapes through the tinted windows—two people, a driver and a passenger.

Probably nothing to worry about. Could be house hunters, checking out the property for sale at the end of the street. He pulled out his cell phone, punched in the license plate number and saved it. When he reported in at noon, he would ask the Colonel to have his secretary run it. Just in case.

The garage door opened. Nicola. Alex watched as she backed out of the driveway, then he swung out of the tree and made a dash for his SUV parked one street down. He settled into a comfortable two-car distance behind her by the time she reached Route 30, the local thoroughfare. The woman drove like a ninety-year-old. I Brake for Finches proclaimed the bumper sticker on her late model Bonneville and that about summed it up.

He turned on the air conditioner full blast. Eastern Pennsylvania in July was murder. A hundred degrees at least today and no breeze in that treehouse. Not that he wasn’t used to heat, he’d spent more than enough time in the desert, but the humidity got to him. If the air became any thicker he could give up breathing and start to chew and swallow.

She turned left into the first shopping plaza, crowded with designer-dressed yuppies stopping off for their caffe lattes on their way to work. He backed into the far corner of the parking lot for a clear view of both the cars and the building and left the motor running. He didn’t have to follow her, knew exactly where she’d be going—to the Devon Farmers’ Market. Hell, he could probably predict with ninety-nine percent accuracy what she’d be buying. All of it organic.

It wasn’t right—watching a woman grocery shop.

One of the most highly skilled soldiers in the country, and this was what they used him for. His jaw clenched from frustration. Already anticipating the excuses, he unclipped his cell phone from his belt to check on the transfer. He couldn’t imagine anything happening on this assignment. Ever. Nicola Barrington didn’t live that kind of a life. He wanted off the job.

He caught sight of the brown van from the corner of his eye as he punched the last number. Nicola was almost at the market door. He slammed his foot on the gas. The van’s window rolled down in slow motion. The glint of metal caught his eyes. Madre de Dios, they were going to mow her down where she stood.

Two things flashed through his mind simultaneously: she was going to die, and it was his fault. He should have seen them coming from a mile away. Would have, if he hadn’t gotten so damn complacent, having a pity party in the car instead of paying attention. What the hell was wrong with him? Tires squealing, he pulled to a stop between her and the first spray of bullets, and threw open the passenger-side door.

She crouched on the pavement, her head pulled down, her arms protecting her face—probably in too much shock to do anything else. Did she even notice him?

“Get in!” he yelled as the store windows exploded behind her.



PROPELLED BY ADRENALINE and a healthy survival instinct, Nicola leaped forward in the gunshot-peppered air and dove into the waiting SUV. The driver reached over and slammed the door shut behind her as the car surged ahead. Head down in the plane-crash-emergency position, she didn’t look up until they were out of the parking lot, racing down the back streets.

“Thank you,” she said finally when she found her voice and could stop shaking enough to sit up and look at the driver. The familiar face eased her panic somewhat. She’d seen him at the gym. For the past two months, they’d been on the same workout schedule. She wondered if he’d even noticed her. She’d noticed him of course. Every woman in the place had. Even the grandmothers.

“You have to turn right at the next light for the police station.” She was far from calm, but functioning.

He ignored her and drove straight through the intersection. Probably couldn’t slow down in time to make the turn.

“That’s fine. Just take the next right and we can loop back.”

He turned left. On red.

Unease pooled on the bottom of her stomach. A flock of confused thoughts circled in her head, too fast for her to grab and articulate any. “Who are you?”

“Put on your seat belt. Did you get a chance to look at them?”

“Not really.” She’d been thinking about her grocery list when she’d heard the first bullets and got down. She hadn’t had time to look around. The only things she could remember were the silhouettes in the van’s window. “I think they wore masks.”

“Keep your head down.” His deep voice was hard, his face tight with concentration, as in a fluid motion he reached over her with his well-muscled arm and pulled a gun from the glove compartment into his lap.

She congratulated herself for not peeing her pants on the spot, then ducked as she’d been told and peeked around from her awkward position. The car was suspiciously free of holes. Bulletproof? She’d been in enough of them, during another life as the sheltered daughter of a U.S. ambassador, but why did the guy from the gym have a bulletproof car? And who was shooting at him?

Who was shooting at her? He had only darted into the picture to supposedly save her—or was he doing something far more sinister? Her father was a senator now. She considered for a moment whether the man’s appearance out of nowhere had been a coincidence or part of a well-orchestrated plot.

“Am I being kidnapped?” She straightened again, determined not to follow any more of his instructions until she assured herself they were for her benefit.

He glanced at her, surprise flashing across his hard-set face, and swore. “No. Damn it, Nicola, keep your head down.”

He knew her name.

She swallowed and sat on her shaking hands. No need to let him see how scared she was. He’d probably been stalking her at the gym. God, how stupid could she be? She had liked him, had even entertained some thoughts of walking up to him someday and maybe getting to know him better.

She glanced at the gun. Sinister-looking firearms had definitely not been part of her plan.

As a kid, during her father’s ambassadorship in China, they’d lived under constant guard, and she had often daydreamed about what she would do if something like this happened. She had imagined rebels breaking through the embassy gates. Since she was the smallest person in the compound, only she could escape, crawling through vent holes to the roof. She would go for help and save the hostages inside. Then her father would have come to her in tears of happiness and gratitude to tell her how proud she made him.

So much for the childish fantasy. Her limbs numb with fear, it took all her willpower not to whimper.

The car swerved, and she hung on for dear life. She was only twenty-five. Too young to die. Then do something about it, her mother’s voice said in her head. Her mother had been the strong one in the family. Strong enough even to stand up to her father. But she hadn’t inherited much of her mother’s character. Maybe if they had spent more time together, some of it would have rubbed off. But there hadn’t been time. Breast cancer had ripped her mother out of her young life with ruthless efficiency.

What would her mother say if she could see her now? Don’t let him intimidate you, the little voice spoke again, and it certainly sounded like her mother. Nobody had intimidated Lillian Barrington. Nicola looked at her kidnapper. “Who are you?”

“I’m here to protect you.”

“Right. What’s your name?”

“Alex,” he said it in a way that discouraged further inquiry.

She took in his wide shoulders and well-built body, the scars on the back of his hand, the gun. “Where are we going?” she pushed.

He grabbed his cell phone, flipped it open and dialed. “We had an incident at the Devon Farmers’ Market. Shooting. She’s fine. Brown van, 1990 Ford Econoliner. New York plates.” He glanced at his phone and punched a button then read off a plate number from the screen.

When did he have the time to get that?

“Still in pursuit, going north on Route 202. Got anything open?” He paused. “Will do.”

“Who was that?” she asked as he hung up the phone.

“My boss.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To a safe house, once we lose the tail.” He swerved to the left.

It sounded utterly ridiculous. He looked the opposite of safe. She considered opening the door and hurling herself onto the pavement.

The passenger side mirror blew out, and she slid further down in the seat.

“The main body is bulletproof but the rest isn’t.” He swerved again. “I’m going to have to pick up some speed to get rid of them. Don’t want to give them a chance to shoot out the tires.”

He took a sharp turn and she slammed against the door, the seat belt cutting into her stomach.

He barely spared her a glance. “Nothing to worry about. I work for the United States government. I’m here to ensure your safety.”

For a second, confusion so overwhelmed her she couldn’t process his words. Then in an awful moment of comprehension it all began to make sense. She would have preferred a kidnapper. “Does my father know about this?”

“Senator Barrington is aware we’re in a situation where something like this may develop.”

Of course he was. He was bloody aware of everything. He handled everything. Behind her back. Who cared if it concerned her life? At that moment she hated him more than she hated the men shooting at her.

“I don’t want your protection.” She despised the idea of getting sucked back into her father’s life again.

“Let me take you someplace safe, bring you up to date. Then, if you still want, you’re free to go.”

“I am?” She stared at him, the wind taken out of her sails. He was logical and had given her the freedom of choice, two things she valued above all others.

“You’re not a prisoner.” He looked at her, and for the first time she noticed his eyes. They were black or nearly so, bottomless pools devoid of emotion. She looked away first.

“Where are we going?”

He crossed two lanes of traffic, ran off the road, crossed the few yards of grass that served as divider and got on Route 202 going the opposite direction without once putting his foot on the brake. “Lancaster.”

She looked back just in time to see the brown van follow and nearly flip over as it hit the divider. Unfortunately, the vehicle slowed for only seconds before resuming the pursuit at full speed. Her fingers fused to the edge of her seat. “To the Amish?”

“Kind of.” Swerving across lanes, he executed one evasive maneuver after the other, with the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.

He probably liked his job. The thought seemed incomprehensible, but must have had at least some truth to it. People usually chose occupations they enjoyed.

Oddly, the smile did not soften his formidable looks. Neither did his worn jeans that stretched over his well-muscled thighs, nor the long-sleeved black T-shirt. He looked very different up-close-and-personal, the deliciously intriguing image of him she had developed during their morning workouts forever ruined by the handgun resting on his thigh.

Her girlish daydreams of him seemed ridiculous now. He was probably a Secret Service agent, everything she didn’t want in a man. The bullets bouncing off the hatch window were a good reminder.

The car swerved to the right. He swore in Spanish as he brought it back to the road and steadied the vehicle. “They got the tire.”

Her brain held only one thought—it bounced screaming inside her skull. I am going to die.

The two men were close behind them, with two guns and a van that would now easily outspeed Alex’s SUV. And Alex couldn’t even shoot back, it took both hands to keep them on the road with the flat.

“Can you take the wheel?” He threw her an assessing glance.

What other choice did she have? “Yes.”

She grabbed on, and they swerved for a moment when he let go and the vehicle jerked to the right. She corrected and brought it back straight and steady.

Alex still had his foot on the gas and kept the speed, much faster than what she would have been comfortable with even if it weren’t approaching rush hour, and they didn’t have a flat tire and she weren’t driving from the passenger seat. Nicola gripped the wheel. She had to handle the car. Their lives depended on it.

Alex rolled down the window and leaned out, his foot steady on the gas pedal. He fired one shot, then sat back inside and took the wheel from her.

She turned to see the brown van come to a halt in the ditch, its front window shattered.

“How long can we go on a flat?”

“Over thirty miles on these tires.” He drove by an exit.

“Shouldn’t we get off the highway?”

“Next exit. They’ll expect us to take the first.”

“You think they’ll still come after us?” She felt the blood leave her face at the thought.

“He. The driver is out.”

She watched her hands tremble as she rolled down the window a finger width to gulp some fresh air. It didn’t help. Nothing would, short of waking up and realizing all this was a dream.

“Are you okay?”

No! She wanted to scream, but was in too much shock to even speak. A couple of seconds went by before she could respond. “You must feel even worse than me. You had to kill a man and it doesn’t even have anything to do with you.”

Another exit came up, and he took it at the last second without signaling. “You don’t have to worry on my account.”

His tanned face never flinched. His sharp gaze was fixed on the road before them, but the muscles in his jaw were relaxed, as was the rest of his body. She was having a heart attack and he looked as if he was on his way to breakfast. Of course, the driver of the brown van was probably not his first casualty. The thought did nothing to settle her stomach.

“If they caught up with us, they would have done the same.” He spoke to her in an even voice, much like an EMT or policeman trying to calm an upset citizen.

“I know.” She closed her eyes, trying to get a grip on what was happening to her life. “It’s just that—I’m not used to people getting killed in connection with me.”

He nodded as he turned on the global positioning system and rolled onto a narrow country road, raising a billowing cloud of dust behind them.

“How close are we?”

“Not close enough to get there on a flat, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Her hands began to shake again, as her brain downgraded her already-not-too-optimistic forecast for survival. They’d have to walk. And somewhere out there the shooter was still after them.

Alex flipped the car into four-wheel drive then rode off the road into a field of wheat, following what looked like tractor tracks. As the SUV rattled over the uneven ground, she prayed they would reach the cover of the trees before the brown van reappeared on the road behind them. But when they finally got to the trees, finding cover proved to be harder than she had anticipated.

Precious seconds flew by as they searched for an opening in the thick tall brush. Then Alex found it. He pulled the car inside the small patch of woods far enough so they wouldn’t be seen from the road, then turned the vehicle so anyone coming after them would be met head-on. When he got out, she followed his example.

“You stay inside.” He walked to the back.

“Are you leaving me?” She hadn’t considered that. She had thought they would walk to the safe house together. “Are you going for help?”

He looked at her as if she were crazy. “I’m changing the tire.”

“Oh.” She sagged against a tree.

The heat was oppressive even this early in the day, a physical presence pushing down on her. For days she’d been hoping for a good storm to break the heat wave, some much-needed rain to cool everything off, but according to the weather service there was no relief in sight. She wiped her forehead as she watched the man. If the soaring temperature bothered him, he didn’t show it.

He pulled the spare from the back then grabbed the jack. Dappled sunlight glinted off his black hair as he moved with fluid motions. “Get in the car.”

Too drained to bristle at being ordered around, she did as she was told, but left the door open so they could talk and she could breathe. The air stood still in the small grove of trees. “Do you think he’ll come after us?”

“Probably.”

“Will he find us?” Stupid question. The man, Alex, wasn’t a fortune teller. But she was desperate for reassurance.

“Not likely,” he said and looked away too quickly.

“But?”

“Nothing.”

“If you were him, could you track me down?”

“If someone is determined enough, they’ll always find a way.”

Great. Bloody peachy.

He snapped the jack into place. “I’m going to make it as hard as I can for him. Don’t worry. I think we lost him for now.”

He was probably right. It would have taken the shooter a while to move his partner from the wheel, break out the shattered windshield so he could see, and get the van back on the road. Most likely, Alex and she were out of sight by then and the man could only guess where they had gone. Alex had been checking the rearview mirror the whole time. He would have seen the guy if he had managed to catch up with them.

She had to think positively. Couldn’t afford to give ground to the panic that fought to take her over, wouldn’t allow it to distract her. Not now. She could do this. She had to. She needed to remain calm and ready for whatever was to come.

She felt the car lift from the ground and wanted to offer to get out. She was about to ask but then changed her mind. He had made it clear where he wanted her, and she did feel safer inside. Marginally. She might never feel completely safe again. People were trying to kill her. She wanted back her sane, ordinary world where things like that didn’t happen.

He was done in minutes and back in the driver’s seat next to her. “Are you ready?”

She wasn’t ready for any of this, but they couldn’t stay there in the middle of a field. She nodded.

He wiped his dirty hands on his jeans, then turned the key in the ignition, bringing the engine to life. He put his right hand on the wheel. His left held his gun out the open window, the barrel resting on the top of the side-view mirror.

The gesture had such a movie-like feel, she had trouble grasping the reality of it. Just that morning she’d been thinking how well her life was coming along. Sure, she was nobody’s idea of a perfect woman and would probably never fit into size-four pants, but she’d learned to live with that. She had a great house, two argumentative zebra finches, and a smoothly running consulting business she’d built with her own two hands.

“I keep thinking I’ll wake up to find all this was a nasty dream, brought on by eating too much chocolate before going to bed.”

Only when Alex turned to fix his attention on her, his dark eyes intense, did she realize she had spoken out loud. He hesitated for a second, as if weighing her words. He probably thought she was a complete idiot.

But he didn’t scoff at her. “That’s not going to happen, Nicola. I need you to be able to deal with the here and now.” His voice was calm and serious, the expression on his face somber.

She took a steadying breath then nodded as the truth of his words sunk in. She would handle whatever came their way. Because her only other option was to die.




Chapter Two


The General’s grip tightened on the phone at his ear. “What happened?” How was it possible that the girl had gotten away?

He leaned back in his leather armchair and rubbed the awakening ache behind the barely visible burn marks on his temples where the electrodes had been placed during the endless torture. Since then, when he got tense, he was prone to violent headaches.

“Forgive me, General. There was a man—”

“Get rid of the car and the body.” He stumped out his cigar. If someone saved her, it meant she had been watched, protected. He hadn’t expected that. A tactical mistake. His enemy was shrewd and the men behind him many. “And don’t come in.”

“Yes, General.”

He got up to pull down some of the bamboo shades, the glaring sunlight aggravating the headache. “Make sure you are caught soon. You know what to say.”

“Yes, General.” The answer took longer to come this time, but he had no doubt his men would follow his orders—even to their death.

He hung up the phone and looked out into the courtyard patrolled by his soldiers. Today’s mission had failed, but the rest of his small team was safe. The authorities would never find them. He knew what he was doing—he was a Meng, descendant of the famous fugitive.

His men would locate the girl again, and this time they would know what they were up against. An armed bodyguard. Maybe more. It didn’t matter. They would be ready. He had plans that would change his country, as well as the United States of America. Indeed, they might change the world.

But first he needed Nicola Barrington.



“THIS IS IT?” Nicola stared at the dubious-looking farmhouse as Alex pulled behind the building. The paint on the wood siding had peeled away years ago, only a few brownish-green patches hung on for dear life here and there. At least a third of the roof shingles had permanently departed, window blinds hung broken, and the porch railing appeared to have lain down to rest. The weeds they passed in front were respectable enough for a small jungle. The backyard was no better, dominated by an ancient oak and a dilapidated barn.

The uneasy feeling that had begun somewhere around her midsection when Alex had slowed the car in front of the place grew until tension stiffened her muscles and balled in her stomach. “Do we have to go in?”

“Yes.” His foot barely touching the gas, he let the car roll forward on the narrow path of gravel. “It’s safer inside. Get down. I’ll be right back.” He stopped the car and got out, leaving the motor running.

After a split second of hesitation, she did as she’d been told, knowing his orders were for her protection. She didn’t have to wait long before he came back and pulled the car into the barn.

He shut off the motor and got out to open the door for her. “We’re going in. Stay behind me.” He brought two Kevlar vests from the back of the car and handed her one. “Put this on.”

She tested the weight—surprisingly light. She had expected it to feel like old-fashioned armor, with steel plates inside, or something similar, but the vest didn’t feel like it held metal panels. The material was flexible. She fumbled with the Velcro.

“Hang on.” He stepped closer, his voice, despite having kept it low, echoed in the empty barn. “Lift your arm.”

She looked away while he secured the bulletproof vest on both sides. The large open space of the barn with all its shadows and smell of moldy hay made her nervous, though she knew he had checked it out before they pulled in. And having him in her personal zone made her jumpy, too. Massive in the shoulders, he towered at least a full foot over her.

She tended to be self-conscious about her height and weight. Richard, her ex-fiancé, had teased her plenty about both. She was “easier to jump over than run around,” he used to tell her. She’d stayed with him too long, wanting to please her father. God, she’d been stupid. Nothing she’d ever done pleased the man.

“There.” Alex stepped back then put on his own Kevlar before moving outside. He closed the barn door behind them but didn’t start out at once. He stayed motionless for several seconds while he surveyed their surroundings. Gun in hand, he led her across the small backyard, always one step ahead of her, shielding her from the road.

When they reached the house, he pushed her to the side, the gun in his right hand, his left on the door. It opened silently and did not, as Nicola had expected, fall off the hinges. The small entryway was dark. She could just make out the second door, solid steel by the looks of it.

Alex pushed a couple of buttons on the numeric keypad under the doorknob. “This way we don’t have to worry about a key.”

She followed him into the main part of the house and watched as he disabled the security system. He took off his vest and tossed it in the corner, shaking his head when she wanted to do the same. Weren’t they safe?

She looked around in the room that showed none of the neglect that plagued the exterior of the building. Tall ceilings, gleaming wood floors, spotless modern furniture and an entertainment system that would have made her own cry in envy. She had expected a card table with folding chairs and maybe a mattress on the floor. But despite the niceness of the place, she couldn’t relax. Maybe the house had bad feng shui. She stole a glance at Alex. “Do you come here often?”

“First time.”

“Oh.” She sat on the edge of the sprawling tan couch and gathered herself. “I’m ready to hear whatever it is you have to say.”

“As I told you before, I’m here for your protection.”

“I’d like to know your full name.”

“Why?”

Good question. To make her feel better? As a reassurance that he and all this was real and she hadn’t somehow crossed over into the twilight zone? “Please.”

He watched her for a moment. “I can’t.”

At least he hadn’t said, If I told you, I’d have to kill you. “Have you been following me long?”

“Two months or so.”

Of course. That was about how long he’d been coming to the gym. “Must have been convenient to get a nice workout and keep an eye on me at the same time.” She took a deep breath. “I want to know why.”

He leaned against the waist-high counter that separated the living room from a modern and well-equipped kitchen. “We came across intelligence that a U.S. senator and his family might be the target of a terrorist attack. Further investigation picked up your father’s name.”

Concern leaped in her chest. “Is he okay? Was he attacked?”

He shook his head. “He’s being watched 24/7. Any ideas why you’d be a target?”

The word target had that cold-knife-in-the-chest feel to it. She rubbed her solar plexus. “Not really. I’d assume it has to do with his position on some hot-button issue. There are always fanatics out there. Did he vote on anything controversial lately? I don’t follow his career.” She wasn’t about to apologize for it or explain further.

“We believe the threat is international.”

“China?”

He nodded. “Did he make any enemies while he was there? Anything you remember could be useful.”

“He wasn’t a popular ambassador.” Or rather, the U.S. had been unpopular at the time due to its protective edicts on Taiwan. Her father had been merely the messenger. She swallowed. Wasn’t there a saying about shooting the messenger? “He could probably give you more information. I was too young at the time to pay much attention.”

“I’m sure he already filled in the case investigators.”

She blinked as her brain raced to catch up. Investigators. Right. There’d be those. And God knows what else. Probably press. If there was one thing she hated, it was the media, but under the circumstances that would hardly be avoidable. The events of the morning played in her head in a never-ending loop. “How long do you think I’d have to stay here?”

“Until the shooter is dead or in custody and we figure out whether there are others involved. But even if there are, I don’t think another attack is likely. They rarely try to hit the same target twice.”

“I vote for that.”

He fiddled with the window locks. “In general, terrorists make their point by sowing terror, disrupting people’s lives. Sometimes they use the media attention to promote their cause. Whether or not the target dies is almost irrelevant.”

“How nice.” Good to know there were distinct guidelines to the business.

“Except, of course, for large-scale hits where the magnitude of damage is what they’re after and body count is more important. Individual cases like yours tend to be either warnings or revenge related.” His expression was sober, his eyes assessing every inch of the room while they talked.

“So which one do you think this is?”

He considered for a second. “Warning. I’m guessing you haven’t done much in China that would call for revenge. Your father maybe, but then they’d be going after him. By targeting you, I think they’re trying to send him a message.”

“To vote one way or the other on some issue of Chinese interest?”

“Possibly. I’d say they’re done with you now.”

She knew he was lying from the way he wouldn’t look at her. Probably standard procedure to say something like this to calm down the people being protected—made things easier on him if she didn’t become hysterical.

“Great.” She could stay under house arrest or risk walking into another hail of bullets as soon as she left. Lovely choices. Alex was right about the “interrupting people’s life” part. She was a business owner. How many clients would she lose if she didn’t turn up at scheduled meetings and didn’t return phone calls for a week? Her business, assisting reputable Asian companies to break into U.S. markets, was her livelihood. Even if the terrorists didn’t come back for her, they could ruin her by simply forcing her into extended hiding.

“Maybe it’s not about my father. What if it’s related to one of my clients? An unsatisfied customer?” Although, for the life of her she couldn’t think of one.

“I don’t think so.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I checked them all out. Thoroughly. And the ‘chatter’ we came across distinctly indicated the senator.”

He had checked out her clients. Without her consent. She tried not to get upset over that. The man was following orders—probably her father’s. And she had to hand it to him, he seemed competent at his job. As much as she hated this whole situation, she was glad she had him on her side. “Am I allowed to get in contact with anyone while I’m here? Can I use the phone?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t make any calls from this location.” He moved from window to window like a black shadow as he checked out the front yard.

Staying here in isolation was going to cost her. Big-time. She was supposed to sign the deal of her career on Monday. She had put six months worth of work into convincing CEO Du Shaozu that she was the right consultant to help him bring his innovative game software to the States.

“If you’re worried about your business, I might be able to get someone to cancel your appointments as long as you can provide names and phone numbers.”

“You could?” His understanding caught her off guard. “Only one that’s urgent. I have a meeting first thing Monday morning. It should be canceled today—nobody will be in their offices over the weekend. I don’t know the number by heart.” But maybe whoever was going to call could look it up. “The name is Du Shaozu at Du Enterprises.”

“Right.” He nodded, and she had the feeling he knew a lot more about her than he let on. “Anyone else?”

“A half-dozen meetings that I can think of off the top of my head and a few phone conferences.”

“Anyone else from China?”

“Several. I’m an international commerce consultant specializing in the Far East. Look, I don’t want my clients to be harassed.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“And there are a couple of friends and my neighbors. They’ll definitely notice that I’m missing.” She would have to ask someone to feed her finches, although the birds should be fine for today and tomorrow at least.

He shrugged. “Can’t risk calling everyone around. They’ll just have to worry for a couple of days.”

She didn’t like it but she understood. “This is serious, isn’t it?”

He looked at her for a long moment, probably searching for something reassuring he could tell her. His face was somber as he spoke a single word. “Very.”

“I appreciate your honesty.” She hated the catch in her voice that made her sound like a frightened schoolgirl. Of course, she was frightened. But he probably saw a lot of that in his type of business, had guarded more than his share of frantic women. She would have to try her best not to become one.

“You don’t have to worry. You’re safe with me,” he said.

Her gaze slid over his wide shoulders, the biceps that stretched his black shirt on his arms. He was physically fit, no doubt about that. But even if she didn’t have an armed terrorist after her, feeling safe or even remotely comfortable with Alex in the same room would have been impossible.



ALEX SURVEYED THE ROOM for anything he might have missed on the first run. Rectangular, about twenty feet by thirty, it ran the entire length of the house. The living room and kitchen together, nicely fixed up as far as safe houses went. Two windows looked north in the front, one south by the back entry. He opened the first of two closed doors on the east wall and found a hall closet stocked with clothes and other essentials. Excellent. The other door revealed a steep row of rickety stairs to the basement.

He signaled to Nicola to stay where she was, then walked to the landing and turned, only to find the basement walled off. Looked like the job had been done decades ago. He kicked the stones at a couple of places. Solid. No surprises would be coming from there.

He went back up and walked around the room to check out a door under the staircase that led upstairs. A small bathroom with a shower, simple and clean. Packages of toothpaste and toothbrushes along with a few disposable razors occupied the medicine cabinet. A monster of a first-aid kit was tucked under the vanity next to a couple of old Playboy magazines. He grinned. Some things never changed. He closed the door and walked back into the living room.

“Now what?” Nicola wrinkled her brows as she turned from the window. The Kevlar hid her curves, leaving only her phenomenal legs for him to admire. They were enough. He could have spent days on those legs alone. Weeks.

The woman was plenty enough to get under his skin and keep him tantalized. He definitely didn’t need the magazines under the sink. Best thing for him to do was to drag his mind from that entire direction. He swallowed. “Now I check out the rest of the house.”

He ran up the stairs, forcing his thoughts to the work at hand. A steel reinforced door—dead bolt on both sides—closed off the upper floor. Whoever renovated the old farmhouse hadn’t bothered with anything beyond that. He scanned one room after the other in quick succession. Not much to look at. The windows were good and locked, but everything else had fallen into disrepair. Drywall full of holes and a leaky roof, no sight of furniture, a gutted bathroom—not a pretty picture. He locked the steel door behind him as he walked back down.

“So?” Nicola was checking out the security system next to the door.

“It’s tight.”

She nodded, and her silky dark curls slid into her face. She pushed them from her jewel-green eyes. “Are you going to check outside?”

“Not until it gets dark.” He clipped his phone off his belt and opened a blank e-mail. “My turn.”

“For what?”

“Questions. I want you to give me the name of everyone you came in contact with in China, and as much information about them as you can remember.”

“That would take hours.”

“Start in order of importance.”

She rubbed her temple. “Meng Mei, my best friend. We went to the same school. I lost touch with her after coming back to the States. I don’t see what this could possibly have to do with—”

“Keep going.” He typed the information into the phone.

“Most of the people I came in contact with worked at the embassy. They went through extensive security clearance, I’m sure. The cooks, the maids, the gardener, the people who staffed the consulate and handled the visa applications.” She rattled off a number of names and he took them down.

“Anyone else?”

She named a few of her Chinese classmates at the English language school.

“How about the people your parents came in contact with?”

“Other than the embassy staff, I wouldn’t know. I know my father met with a number of Chinese officials, but he didn’t talk much about work at home.”

“That’s fine.” The Colonel had probably talked about that with the senator already. “How about your Chinese acquaintances in this country?”

“About twenty clients currently, but I don’t want anyone to contact them.” She fixed him with a stern look. “You said you already checked them out.”

Her generous lips looked even more tempting when she pursed them like that. “That was before the attack. This is a whole new ball game. They’re about to be checked out again.” Right down to their great-grandfathers if he had to.

She started to list some names, and he asked as many questions as he could think of, maybe even dragged it out a little. The role felt comfortable, what he was used to. He didn’t know what to do after he was done, how to make small talk. It had been years since he’d had to spend more than a night with any one woman, his job not exactly conducive to long-term relationships.

Not that spending a night with Nicola Barrington wasn’t more appealing than most anything he could think of. He had spent the past two months memorizing all the spots on her body he would have liked to touch. Seemed harmless at the time, considering they were unlikely to meet. And for damn sure he’d been due some entertainment. Trouble was when night did come, they wouldn’t be spending it together in the traditional sense. She would be spending it on the pullout couch while he took brief naps sitting by the window. He didn’t expect it to be a particularly satisfying experience.

And the chances of him being able to touch Nicola Barrington under any circumstances were nonexistent. After the next few days, their paths would never cross again. He had no right to be fantasizing about her. Then again, why the hell not? What else did he have?

Nothing. He didn’t even exist. Not like other people. He no longer had a social security number, no service record, no contacts beyond his immediate supervisor and occasional teammates. He didn’t even have a pair of damned dog tags. Nothing that could identify him. He was part of a shadow created by the U.S. government to deal with problems that could not be handled in open daylight. And when the shadow fell on the people who created those problems, they disappeared.

That was what he was trained for, what he was good at. Not trying to act normal, playing house with a senator’s daughter. He sent off the e-mail to Sylvia, Colonel Wilson’s secretary, and watched as Nicola rummaged through the refrigerator. Bet she never had to eat food cooked over a camel dung campfire, or breakfast on coconut grubs in the jungle. Had he ever had a normal life? If he had, he couldn’t remember it. Certainly not back in Cuba as a young child, and not later, either, once his parents had died and he was left in the care of strangers.

Didn’t matter now. All he had to do was keep Nicola Barrington from getting under his skin too much in the next couple of days. Shouldn’t take more than that for the rest of his team to pick up the shooter. Between the license plate number for the brown van and the bullets the shooter had left in the pavement at the market, he’d be traced before long.

He should have taken out both men right in the parking lot. Could have from where he was parked, but his primary objective was to keep Nicola safe, which meant getting her away from the attackers rather than engaging them. Damn. He wasn’t used to playing the bodyguard. He was more of a seek-and-destroy man.

But guard her he would, even if it meant hiding in the country and sitting on his hands. He would do whatever it took to convince the Colonel that he was ready to be shipped out. He just had to sit tight and refuse to allow her to become a distraction. Piece of cake. He could handle it.



IF SHE HAD TO WATCH Alex do one more push-up, she’d scream. Nicola squirmed on the couch, pretending to read. He did fifty more; with one hand behind his back. Then he started on the sit-ups. She would have had two heart attacks and a stroke by now if she had to do all that. She wasn’t very athletic. The only sport she had ever played was baseball, and even at that she was only semi-successful. She was a great pitcher but lousy at running.

She exercised regularly, her Tai Chi and at the gym, but it was nothing like what Alex was doing now. She envied his sinuous body. And lusted after it. In the worst way.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if he weren’t wearing those stupid butt-hugging Army fatigues he had changed into from his blue jeans and the unnecessarily tight long-sleeved black T-shirt. She, of course, had to make do with an oversize gray drawstring sweatsuit that made her look like a pregnant elephant. Who the hell stocked these safe houses, anyway?

Okay, so maybe it was partially her fault. She had spilled the stupid Ramen noodles on her lap. Not completely without provocation—she’d been severely distracted. He had been taking off his dirt-and grease-covered jeans in the bathroom to put on a pair of complimentary pants from the hall closet. She had found it hard to concentrate on her bowl when the man was getting naked next door.

At least he had let her take off the vest. She had thought she would have to sleep in it. Which brought to mind the sleeping arrangements. She couldn’t think of any scenario she felt comfortable with.

Now that she had a chance to calm down, this morning’s events didn’t seem as scary. The terrorists had made an attempt and missed. The one who still remained would know she was watched and protected. It would be stupid of him to come back.

She wanted her life to return to normal as soon as possible. “Do you think this is really necessary?”

He gave no indication that he heard her.

She hated to be ignored. “If you’re my bodyguard that means I am the boss, right?”

He threw her a look that started out as amused, then turned into something else entirely. “If I was your maid or your chauffeur, you’d be the boss.”

She thought his voice was unnecessarily sharp. Maybe it was her imagination, but the air seemed to have been charged with electricity between them all day. She had half expected her hair to start standing up. As much as Alex had assured her that he was there to protect her, every time he came near, her instincts screamed, Run for your life.

For the past couple of weeks, he’d been an unattainable fantasy, a gorgeous stranger she’d discreetly ogled to take her mind off the pain in her thighs as she suffered on the treadmill. And now here they were. Together.

He was too much—too strong, too tall…too sexy. She had no idea what to do with him, how to relate to him. Men like Alex weren’t exactly common in her life. Other than her middle-aged married neighbors, the only men she associated with were strictly business acquaintances. Well, other than Richard, one of her father’s aides. But Richard had never made her feel like Alex did. Like she wanted to jump out of her skin.

As the U.S. ambassador’s daughter in China, she had been watched constantly, left with few opportunities to socialize with boys her age. When her family had returned to the States, her father had shipped her off to a women’s college. Her mother had been gravely ill by then, so she spent her weekends at home missing the coed parties.

Then came Richard the Slime. She must have been pretty pathetic to fall so in love with someone who wanted nothing from her other than her father’s favor. After the breakup she’d sworn she wasn’t ever going to come within a hundred feet of a government man. It scared her how little judgment she had when it came to the opposite sex—Richard first, and now Alex, some kind of a secret agent.

The key was not to think of him as a man she was attracted to. If she pretended he was a business opponent, maybe she would have better luck with summoning her courage to stand up to him.

She was the one with her life at stake. She wanted to be part of whatever decisions were to be made. No, not just part of. She wanted to be the one who made them.

“Could we at least go home to get some of my things? I need to keep my business running.”

He shook his head.

“It wouldn’t take long and you’d be there to protect me.”

He ignored her.

“You said I could leave anytime I wanted.”

“Didn’t want to have to fight with you in the middle of a chase.”

She came to her feet. “You lied?”

“You should have known better than to start an argument and try to distract me while people were shooting at us.”

“Of all the highhanded—” She moved toward the back door. As indignation filled her, she didn’t find him nearly as intimidating. “I can walk out of here right now. I don’t need your permission.”

He threw her a challenging look. “You think you can get through me?”

Ohh, that did it. “Are you telling me I’m a prisoner and there’s nothing I can do about it?” She welcomed the anger that replaced her earlier mix of confused emotions. She felt much more comfortable being angry at the man than mooning after him.

“You’re in protective custody. Appreciate it.”

She stopped and leaned against the wall with her arms folded, noting the small dark triangle of sweat on the back of his shirt. Who the hell did he think he was to order her around?

His forehead touched his knees with each sit-up, his combat boots planted firmly on the floor. His movements were smooth and efficient; she could almost feel the tightly coiled power in his body. A military man, no doubt, but tougher and older than the Marines who had guarded the embassy in Beijing. She figured him to be in his mid to late thirties.

“Are you a Navy SEAL?”

He stopped for a moment and looked at her, his dark eyes assessing, the tone of his voice light when he spoke. “Would that make you more comfortable?”

“You telling me the truth would make me feel more comfortable.” Although she had less chance of that than a bucket of Häagen-Dazs in hell. That was not how government men operated. Wouldn’t recognize a straight answer if it got elected.

“I’m whoever you want me to be,” he said, and went back to his workout.

His fingers linked behind his head, he lowered his upper body to the floor then pulled up twisting his torso to touch his right elbow to the left knee, down to the floor, then back again to touch his left elbow to his right knee. He repeated the exercise over and over again without the slightest sign of strain.

He was ignoring her. Frustration tightened her jaw. “You sound like a cheap prostitute.”

She was sick of not being told the truth for her own protection. She had worked hard to get away from the suffocating life she had, courtesy of her father. And now somehow she’d gotten sucked back again.

Alex sat on his haunches like a jungle cat ready to pounce. His dark gaze held hers, cold and unyielding. “Is that what you want?”

What was he talking about? She had to search her brain to think what she’d said. God, had she just called him a prostitute? “It’s not what I meant.” She watched, rooted to the spot, as he unfolded his enormous frame and moved toward her.

And kept moving closer. “I—” She tried to step away, but it was too late. They were nose to chest, an arm braced on either side of her. She couldn’t do anything but stare at the muscles that bulged under his shirt in front of her face. How did he get there so fast?

“Do you have a problem with me, Nicola?” His voice was velvety smooth.

She lifted her chin, and their eyes met. Holy Mother and the Trinity. He’s a business opponent, he’s a business opponent, he’s a business opponent. This is a professional discussion.

“No. Of course not.” She tried to wiggle away. Even in business, there were times when the best course of action was to step back a little.

His gaze swept her face. He was measuring her up, testing her. She stiffened her spine and gave him a level look. “No problem at all.”

“Good,” he replied without letting her go. “Because we are going to have to work together.”

Dear Lord, his lips were close. Great lips, but too close. Not at all what you’d expect in a strictly business-type situation.




Chapter Three


She had to focus on something else. Nicola let her gaze slip to his neck, to the tail of what she supposed was a tattoo of a snake disappearing under his shirt. The tail seemed to wiggle with each pulse of the artery underneath and she felt mesmerized by it. She didn’t like snakes. Snakes ate birds, and she loved birds. She was definitely losing her mind.

“The finches.” She said the first thing she could think of. “They’re all alone.”

He stepped back.

“We have to get them. What if the terrorists hurt them?” Now that she thought of it, the possibility horrified her. Would they go that far? If they were willing to kill her, they probably wouldn’t balk at doing in a couple of defenseless birds. “What if they’re kidnapped?”

He pulled up a black eyebrow and watched her closely as if he were trying to determine whether she was serious. “I don’t think that’s a worry at this stage.”

“It is for me, damn it! I’m not going to sit here safe and sound while who knows what’s happening to them.”

A slight grin played on his lips. “Politically motivated assassinations of small birds are a relatively rare occurrence.”

“I’m not kidding. At the very least, I need to call my friend to go over and get them.”

He shook his head. “Not a good idea. I don’t want anyone in the house.”

Right. In case the terrorists were hanging around to blow it up. The thought took a moment or two to digest. Her brain wasn’t used to running along those lines. She had to keep her girlfriend Sheila out of this.

“I want my babies. My Tweedles need me.” She hung on to the issue, knowing in the back of her mind that she was probably using the birds to take her thoughts—and his—off more immediate things.

“Tweedles?”

“Umm…Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.” Shouldn’t have said that. Should have stuck with “birds.” Okay, so they were stupid names, but when she had first gotten the birds from Richard as a surprise present, she had hated them. With time she had grown to love the bickering pair, but by then the names had stuck.

“Birds are born to survive under rough circumstances. They make it in the wild through periods when there’s no food.” His voice was full of studied patience, almost to the point of sounding gentle. It was scary.

“Are you crazy? They were born in a cage. Their grandparents’ grandparents were born in a cage. They have no fortitude, they have no instincts. Tweedle Dee once tried to hatch a red peanut M&M for over a month.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” She wasn’t about to explain the nesting instinct to a man who had so little regard for birds. She had to push him into going somehow. Even if only for a little while, she needed to get out of this house. “I’m going if I have to hitchhike.”

He shook his head, not at all looking as if he was buying her false bravado. “Listen to me, lady. You are not going. I am not going. We are not going. Understood?”

“You’re scared?”

He swore.

“You don’t think you can protect me? That doesn’t make me feel all that secure, you know. Maybe you should call for backup.” Now that she had miraculously found the strength to stand up to him, she wasn’t about to back down.

Color crept up his neck to his face.

“Do you feel incompetent about keeping me safe in general, or only if we have to leave this house for any reason? I’m really not happy about this. I think I need to talk to my father.”

Not that she would ask her father for a favor in the next hundred years or so, but Alex didn’t have to know that. It seemed important that she regained some semblance of control, that she won at least this one argument.

The vein in his temple bulged as he reached for his cell phone and dialed.

“We’re going to need backup.” He listened for a few seconds. “Very funny. The lady wants her damn birds. What’s the earliest you can get someone to the house? Tell them to give me a call when they get there.” Alex closed the phone and clipped it back on his belt. “Anything else you desperately need?”

She gave him a list.



HE COULD TELL it took all her self-control not to gloat. Smart woman. He respected self-control in anyone. He certainly got to exercise his a lot since he’d been around her. His hands itched to glide over those maddening curves that taunted him with her every move.

He turned from her to open the fridge, welcoming the cold air that hit his face. Nothing in there but partially used bottles of ketchup and mustard, and a lonely fuzz-covered pickle in a glass jar on the bottom shelf. He went through the cabinets—Ramen noodles, coffee, tea, sugar, powdered milk, a couple of packages of pasta, paper plates and plastic utensils. Looked dismal so far. Then he hit the jackpot. A double-door cabinet full of MREs. He pulled out a pack with beef stew as the main entrée.

“Would you like one?” He pointed to the stack of boxes.

“What are they?”

“Meal ready to eat. Military rations. Beef stew, beef ravioli, black bean and rice burrito, meat loaf, chili with macaroni.” He rattled off a few more options, but she didn’t appear particularly impressed.

“Anything organic?”

The worst part was, he knew she wasn’t joking.

“It’s not gourmet food, but it’ll keep you alive.”

The expression on her face spoke volumes.

“If you think this is bad you should have seen the old C-rations.” He made an attempt at joking.

She showed no sign of appreciation. “No, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” He opened the package then ripped the foil open and made a show of eating his stew as if he enjoyed it, even took the time to reconstitute the dessert with some hot water.

She paged through a stack of old magazines—all on fishing and hunting—on the coffee table, trying not to look at him. He bit back a grin as she failed over and over again. She might have been mad at the sudden turn of events in her life, but she wasn’t about to roll over and play dead. She was wrestling for control with him. Cute, in a futile sort of way.

She took a deep breath, put on a stern face and set down the magazine she was holding. “When is the reinforcement coming?”

He took his time chewing and swallowing the stew that had the consistency and flavor of soggy cardboard. “About two hours.”

The FBI was probably sending a couple of extra agents along with the bomb squad from Washington. In an emergency, his backup would have come from the Newtown Square FBI Field Office, but the finches hardly warranted the rush. A select group at the FBI headquarters who already knew and worked with the SDDU was preferable to bringing new people into the operation.

Had he needed more substantial help than that, Colonel Wilson might have reassigned other SDDU team members currently on domestic duty, although that would come about only in the direst of circumstances. They were deep undercover in terrorist cells around the country. Pulling them out would have required steep justification.

But of course, he could tell none of this to Nicola, no matter how desperate she was for information. She would never know about his real life, nor the SDDU, of which only two dozen or so—out of the 112 men and six women—served on domestic duty. The rest were scattered around the world trying to stop terrorists before they reached U.S. soil. He couldn’t wait to get back.

She cocked her head to the side. “Other than the gym, I haven’t seen you around. Where were you?”

He could tell her that much. Didn’t see what it could hurt at this point. “Treehouse.”

She blinked her gorgeous green eyes. “Zak McKenzie’s?”

He nodded. “Too old for playing fort, too young for necking, too smart for sneaking joints.”

“He’s a good kid.”

Better than I was, that’s for sure. Alex finished his meal, down to the nutrition-packed power bar, and tossed the packaging. “Neat treehouse. Whenever I can, I take higher ground. The empty place on your other side was tempting, though. It has air-conditioning.”

“The Slocskys’? They’re on vacation,” she said. “Who else was watching?”

“Just me.”

“Yeah, right.”

He shrugged, not much bothered by what she believed. “Up until today the case was fairly low priority.”

If he hadn’t been back in the U.S. anyway, to take some time to regain his strength, the FBI would have probably taken the case. It wasn’t high risk enough for the SDDU to get involved. More than anything, he was there as a favor from the Colonel, who knew how much he would have hated hanging out at the office and had found a low-key assignment for him.

“No one watched me when you slept? Doesn’t seem like thorough work.” She pursed her generous lips.

“The security system watched.”

“I don’t have a security system.”

“That you know of.” In reality, her house was wrapped in electronics, hooked to his multitasking cell phone that reported any movement on the premises. During the day, she moved around too much for the system to be of any use, but at night the sensors were his eyes and ears, allowing him to rest his own.

“You put up cameras?” Outrage gave surprising strength to her voice.

“Sound and motion sensors.”

She seemed to relax at that. She’d probably been worried that he had spied on her in the shower. He felt a fleeting moment of guilt but shook it off. Not his fault, she should have closed the blinds.

“Don’t take this as an invasion of privacy. If I hadn’t been watching you, I wouldn’t have been there in the parking lot this morning.”

A quick succession of emotions flashed through her expressive face, and made him wonder if she was remembering the bullets, the driver of the brown van.

“You’ll be fine,” he said. He should have been able to find something more intelligent to say, but for the life of him he couldn’t. He hated the sight of her shoulders sagging as she nodded.

She took a deep breath in a visible effort to pull herself together. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be treating you like a stalker. You were trying to protect me. I mean, you did. You saved my life. Thank you.” She got up and walked over to him, her right hand extended.

He took it, so surprised at her frankness he forgot to let it go.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a witch. I just—I have no idea what’s going on, and I’m not handling it well, am I?”

“You’re doing okay.” Another brilliant response. He finally regained his equilibrium and released her hand, immediately missing its soft warmth. “You took it better than most.” Not that he knew what other women did in similar situations. Still, she had kept her cool and, aside from demanding the finches, hadn’t been much trouble.

Of course, the day was far from over. God only knew what awaited them. That reminded him. “I’m gonna run out to the car. I’ll set the alarm behind me. Don’t open any doors or windows. Don’t turn on the lights.”

“Will we have to stay in the dark when night comes?”

He nodded from the door. “We’re trying for the abandoned-farmhouse disguise.”

He disarmed the system, restarted it, then, gun in hand, opened the door. Nothing moved outside. He stepped out and closed the door behind him before the system armed itself, then walked to the barn, careful to keep in the shadows. The phone on his belt vibrated as he was about to open the barn door. He didn’t answer it until he was inside.

“’T’s up?”

“The bomb squad cleared the house,” the Colonel said on the other end. “The birds will be on their way momentarily. Anything else you need?”

“It would be great if they could grab her some clothes and whatever canned food they can find. Make sure it’s organic, although I doubt she has anything else. Oh, yeah, finch food, too, whatever that is. And her electronic organizer and laptop. They’re on the desk in her office.”




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