by Cassie Miles
In response, Natalie slowly turned her gaze toward Quint. She was taken, held in thrall by her magnificent Texan. “You remember Quintin Crawford?”
“Yes,” Zahir said curtly. He’d gotten her message and didn’t like it. Too bad. Zahir was supposed to be engaged.
Quickly, he seated himself between his two lady friends and lavished them with little caresses to show Natalie that he, too, was a sexually desirable creature.
But not for her. For Natalie, making love was more than a physical act. She needed honesty, strength of character and sensitivity. She needed Quint.
In any case, she hadn’t come to this dinner to play a sexy game of one-upmanship with Zahir. She wanted to take this time to figure out, once and for all, if his connection to the notorious Sheik Khalaf Al-Sayed of Imad had resulted in the campaign of threatening notes. “Tell us about your home country, Zahir.”
“I was born in America and spent part of my childhood here and in Anbar, but I consider the world to be my home. Anbar is too small for me.” He glanced toward Quint. “A well-traveled man such as yourself must understand.”
“I know that Anbar doesn’t have a lot of acreage. It’s nowhere near as big as Texas. But I don’t think a man ever really escapes his roots.”
“By birth, I will always be Prince of Anbar,” Zahir said. “But my vision is much larger than Texas.”
Natalie glanced toward Quint. To a loyal son of the Alamo state, those were fighting words, but her cowboy maintained his cool. “I heard somewhere that you’ve got a twin brother. Do you ever see him?”
“As little as possible. Family is so tedious.” He winked at the blonde on his right, and she giggled, launching into a chatty story about an incident on her family’s yacht.
After she was finished, the first course of their meal arrived. “French onion soup,” Zahir said. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering for all of us. Hope you don’t mind.”
Natalie minded. A lot. She hated when men ordered for her. But she nodded and said, “I’m sure it will all be delicious. Tell us more about your twin. Do you have that kind of mysterious twin ‘connection.’”
“I have nothing in common with my brother. How’s your soup?”
“But don’t you resemble each other?”
His voice was gelid and cold as aspic. “My brother is treacherous. He turned our father against me and caused me to be cut off without a cent.”
“Oh dear,” Natalie said. “Then, how do you finance your glamorous lifestyle?”
“By my wits.” Again, he used his female companions as buffers. Turning to the brunette on his left, he asked, “Am I not witty?”
She regaled them with an anecdote about the cleverness of Zahir.
During the main course of stuffed pheasant, Quint returned to the pertinent topic. “I reckon your financial problems are pretty much over, Zahir. From what I’ve heard, you’re fixing to be the next ruler of Nurul.”
“Allah willing,” he said smoothly. He turned to Natalie. “It will be most vital for Nurul to sell oil to Quantum.”
“Well, of course,” she said. “There are very few Middle East nations we don’t deal with on a regular basis. Imad is one. It’s very close to Anbar, isn’t it?”
“The neighbor to the north.” He eyed her suspiciously.
“Are you acquainted with Sheik Khalaf Al-Sayed?”
“We’ve met.”
Zahir’s gaze was guarded, but she could see the anger building within him. His jaw was set hard. He seemed to be gritting his teeth.
“Is the sheik as dangerous as everyone says?”
“I find him to be a patient man.”
“Biding his time until he gets what he wants,” Natalie translated. “I’ve heard he’s cruel, even threatening.”
“Only to those who betray him.”
“Or those who stand in his way.” Purposely taunting, she laughed. “I wonder what this little sheik wants? To take over the world?”
On cue, Zahir’s two companions giggled.
“Stop,” he said quietly. There was no mistaking the hostility in his dark eyes. “To disrespect Khalaf is to disrespect me.”
“So sorry,” Natalie said lightly. “I didn’t realize you were so close to Khalaf.”
“There is much you don’t realize. Khalaf is closer to me than my own father. I would do anything for him.”
“Anything,” she repeated. “That covers a wide spectrum.”
“Yes,” he said coldly.
“Does it cover bombings? Kidnappings? Threats?”
Realization flared in Zahir’s eyes. He had said too much, and he seemed to know it. Instead of backing off and spewing denials, he accepted the fact with a quick nod. He leaned back in his chair and stared at her.
“With all due respect, Natalie, has anyone ever told you that you have a big mouth?”
That had been the message in most of the primitive threat notes she’d received. Zahir was as much as acknowledging that he’d been behind the threats. She was about to accuse him, when Quint weighed in on the conversation.
“Zahir,” he said, drawing the attention to himself, “I’ll thank you not to insult this lady.”
“And what are you going to do, cowboy? Challenge me to a shoot-out?”
The chiseled lines of Quint’s profile told her that he’d like nothing better.
In a calm voice, he drawled, “I wouldn’t need a six-gun to take you.”
“Oh?” Zahir sneered. “Should I be afraid?”
Quint stood and helped Natalie rise from her chair. “In any fair fight, a coward will always lose. But I don’t expect that for you fairness has much relevance. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be going after a woman.”
Zahir sprang to his feet. He seemed ready to leap across the table and strangle Quint. “Do you call me a coward?”
“Heck, no. I was just talking in general terms. Do you think of yourself as a coward, Zahir?”
“Please excuse us,” Natalie said as she shoved Quint toward the exit. “It’s terribly late, and I need to work in the morning. Thanks so much for the enlightening dinner.”
As she linked her arm with Quint’s, she felt the tension coursing through him. Quietly, she murmured, “Not here. It won’t do any good to get into a fistfight at one of the better restaurants in Chicago.”
On the street, he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, bringing himself under control. “I didn’t mean to get so worked up.”
“You were protecting me.” Though his behavior bordered on uncivilized, she loved it. “Zahir practically admitted that he was behind the threatening notes. Can we have him arrested?”
“Not on the basis of a dinner conversation.” Quint draped his arm around her shoulder. “But don’t you worry, Natalie. I won’t let him hurt you.”
She absolutely believed him. Though she had never been more under siege, Natalie had never in her life felt more safe and secure.
IT HAD BEEN a long, hard Monday. All day long, Quint had trailed Natalie around while she dealt with the aftermath of the bombing of Quantum and prepared for her trip. Now, she was ready to leave, and he didn’t want to let her go.
At Midway Airfield, far from the passenger terminals, Quint stood outside the hangar where the Quantum fleet of corporate jets was housed. It was dusk. To the north, the lights of the city outlined distant skyscrapers.
He spoke into his cell phone. “Okay, Whitney, tell me again why I should let Natalie get on this plane without me.”
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Whitney said. “The terrorist cell in Chicago is falling apart. The guy they picked up in Grant Park says there were only three of them, and one contact inside Quantum, who we suspect was Gordon Doeller.”
Gordon was a dead end, literally, permanently erased from the picture. This morning, they’d gotten the news from FBI sources that he’d been killed.
Though Gordon Doeller’s murder would probably go down in the books as an unsolved crime, it had the earmarks of an execution. H
e’d been burned alive in his SUV. Though Quint had no love for Gordon Doeller and the part he likely played in terrorizing Natalie, he hoped the traitor had been unconscious before his horrifying and agonizing demise.
“Any new information on the investigation into Gordon Doeller’s murder?”
“Time of death,” Whitney said. “Doeller was murdered last night at the same time you were having dinner with Zahir. You and Natalie are his alibi.”
“Convenient,” Quint said. But not unexpected. Zahir was pretty careful about covering his butt. “I don’t expect the guy in custody has said that it was Zahir who hired him.”
“Not yet.”
“And he hasn’t said why he grabbed Natalie.”
“His only motivation,” Whitney said, “was money. He’s a very small fish. A cut-rate terrorist.”
“Which is all Zahir can afford. I hope you’re right about their operation falling apart.”
Whitney said, “Natalie will be okay in Washington. And we need you here at the Confidential office. Your buddy, Daniel Austin, is coming to town.”
“You need me?” Quint asked. “Why? To translate Daniel’s Texan accent?”
Quint liked and respected Daniel Austin, a former member of Texas Confidential and the founder of the Montana Confidential operation. But he didn’t feel a need to get together with Dan. Not when he had concerns about Natalie.
He saw her signaling to him as she came out of the hangar. The wind caught hold of her black trench coat and the fabric swirled around her. Underneath she was wearing a black pantsuit over a pale pink turtleneck that almost matched the color of her skin. Her long scarf was a swirly pink-and-gray pattern with long fringe, like something a gypsy princess would wear. God, she was pretty.
“Quint?” Whitney’s voice came over the phone.
“I gotta go.”
“We’ll see you back here in an hour.”
He disconnected the call and slipped the cell phone into the pocket of his suede jacket. Today, he had opted not to wear his shoulder holster. With newly installed metal detectors at Quantum and at the airfield, being fully armed wasn’t worth the hassle. Besides, he still had the Derringer in his belt buckle, and the Quantum contingent had acquired two bodyguards as escorts for the duration of this trip to Washington, D.C.
Natalie grasped his hand and tugged. “Let me show you around the corporate jet.”
“I’m coming. Hold your horses.”
When it came to planes, he didn’t expect to be impressed. His attitude was, been there, done that, bought the T-shirt. During his traveling years while he was on wildcat oil explorations, Quint had been transported on every imaginable type of aircraft, ranging from a glider to the transatlantic SST. Also, he was a fully qualified small plane pilot, though he hadn’t been in a cockpit since Paula was killed in his Cessna.
Natalie stopped outside the hangar and looked up at him. “What’s wrong?”
Being this close to the planes, inhaling the smells of oil and grease, brought back memories. If Paula hadn’t taken her first solo flight that day, she’d still be alive.
Though he was trying not to compare the two most important women in his life, he couldn’t help thinking of the similarity in this situation.
“I’m worried about you,” he said.
“I’ll be okay,” she promised. “We’ve got two bodyguards. The security at Midway is excellent. And this jet has an outstanding safety record.”
He pulled her close. Her body relaxed against his. After two nights of intimacy, her shape was pleasantly familiar to his touch. His hand slid easily along her slim torso. He could almost circle her tiny waist with his outstretched fingers.
There was so much more about her that he wanted to explore. He wanted to see all the shadings of her many moods, to hear the full range of her voice and her laughter. If anything happened on this flight…
He couldn’t stand to watch as she flew away from him. “I should come with you.”
“There’s plenty of room,” she said. “Now, come inside the hangar and take a look at this jet. It’s my father’s pride and joy.”
“Sure,” he said. Quint didn’t want their last moments together before she took off to be ruined by his groundless fears. He had to stop acting like a nervous old woman, finding trouble where none existed. “Okay, what kind of aircraft is this? A Falcon? An Aerobus?”
“No way. My father always buys American.”
“Gulfstream,” he said.
“It’s a Boeing, a variation on the 737. Ultralong range. Twin turbojet engines so we can land practically anywhere and a special wide-body construction. It has over nine hundred square feet in the passenger cabin.”
Quint was beginning to get interested. A 737 was large enough for airline use. “Specially outfitted?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Henry is usually a prudent businessman, but he went a little crazy on this jet. After he saw what the Sultan of Brunei did with his private transport, my father wanted something bigger and better.”
She pulled him inside the domed, open-beamed hangar, where the ground crew loaded luggage and the pilots made final safety checks. Two smaller Gulfstream jets were dwarfed by the modified 737 with the Quantum corporate logo emblazoned on the tail.
Quint stood and stared. “Your daddy did himself proud when he purchased this aircraft. It is a thing of beauty and a joy forever.”
Eagerly, he followed Natalie up the stairs to the front entrance behind the flight deck. She played tour guide. “This is the rest area for the crew. Two pilots. We have two attendants on this trip because there’ll be nine of us.”
“Who all is going?”
“The only people you know are Maria Luisa and Jerome Harris from Accounting. Two bodyguards. And the others are from Legal and Marketing.” She lowered her voice to confide, “Gordon Doeller would’ve been on this flight.”
“What about the crew?” Quint asked. “Can they be trusted?”
“Relax. They’ve all been on the Quantum payroll for years.”
She pulled him into the lounge area, where leather sofas the color of melted butter and matching recliner chairs surrounded wooden coffee tables that were bolted to the floor.
“Nice,” Quint said. The interior cabin height was over seven feet, so he didn’t have to duck his head, and the furniture was full-size with plenty of leg room.
He followed her through a narrow hallway past a closed door. “What’s in here?”
“That’s the last place I’ll show you.”
At the end of the narrow corridor was a conference room with a large wooden table encircled with comfortable-looking chairs. Jerome Harris and two other people were seated there, working on laptops, papers scattered across the table.
Though Quint maintained his friendly attitude when he was introduced, he eyeballed each of them carefully. Nobody looked dangerous, but you never could tell. The guy from Marketing had been working with Gordon Doeller, and Quint had to wonder if the second in command had any idea about his late boss’s activities.
The next area was a standard two-seat, single-aisle area that resembled the first-class section of a commercial airliner. Maria Luisa and the other passengers, including the bodyguards, were back here.
“Behind these seats which, of course, fold down into sleepers,” Natalie said, “is the service area with galley modules and fully-equipped kitchen for gourmet meals.”
“I noticed them loading the food through the rear cargo hold,” Quint said. “I expect you’ll be having some kind of fancy pasta with gravy.”
“Sauce,” Natalie corrected. “I eat pasta with sauce. You eat biscuits and gravy.”
Maria Luisa flopped into the chair next to where they were standing. As soon as she’d realized that Quint and Natalie were a couple, her flirting came to a halt. Glancing between them, she shook her head. “You two are positive proof that opposites attract.”
“Me and Natalie,” Quint said, “we’re not all that opposite.”
&
nbsp; Behind his back, Natalie made a squeaking noise. Either she was stifling a giggle or she’d sprung a leak. He turned to her and raised an eyebrow. “Did you have something to say?”
“We are so totally different.” Her eyes lifted as if reading from a billboard over his left shoulder. “I shop at Saks Fifth Avenue, and you go to the feed lot. If I mentioned Rodeo Drive, you’d think I was talking about a horse show. I like Spago. You like spaghetti with big meat-balls.”
He snugged a hand around her waist and pulled her close. In a low voice, he said, “I know one thing we agree on.”
Her green eyes took on that dazed sheen that drove him crazy. “You’re right, Quint. We’re not different in the ways that count.”
“Please,” Maria Luisa said, “get a room.”
“My thought exactly,” Natalie said. “There’s one place on the aircraft I haven’t showed you.”
They backtracked through the conference room into the narrow hallway. She opened the door and led him into a private office, decorated in dark rosewood with blue patterned wallpaper. After pointing out the private lavatory and the shower with endlessly recirculated hot water, Natalie took off her trench coat and hung it in the closet. She slipped behind the desk and sat in a subtly patterned chair that faced a matching sofa. She touched a button.
Automatically, the desk disappeared into the floor. The sofa flipped back and the wall descended, creating a queen-size bed.
“Wow,” Quint said. “I got to get me one of these jets.”
In a few steps, she crossed the private cabin and stretched out seductively on the bedspread. “We can share this one.”
He didn’t need more invitation to lie beside her, his hand shaping the voluptuous swell of her hip. How could one woman be so slim and so curvy at the same time? It was like she’d taken all the best parts of femininity and put them together in one succulent package. “You look good enough to eat.”
She touched his lips. “Taste me.”
His mouth claimed hers. He kissed gently, not wanting to become too aroused. Though they were in the private cabin, thin walls separated them from the rest of the Quantum staff and the flight crew.