Trisha Telep (ed)

by The Mammoth Book of Special Ops Romance (epub)

  Okay, that was probably not usable advice for a young woman on her first car ride. So he patted her on the shoulder in the awkward manner that he’d seen his pals use to comfort a crying child. “It’s all right,” he said, in what he hoped was a soothing tone of voice. “They’re used to it. Really. We are going to arrive in one piece. Right, David?”

  David Singh, the Sikh driver, nodded. “Oh yes,” he said, shaking his head in typical Indian fashion. “No problem. We’re there in no time at all. Maybe five minutes. The Miss has nothing to fear, nothing to be afraid of. I’m a very good driver.”

  John looked back at Zaleiha. “See? Everything’s under control.”

  At that moment, the car swerved hard to the left, barely missing a wayward cow. Zaleiha’s high-pitched scream had both men wincing. “What control? What control?” she asked, as the car bounced over several packages that fell from the cart ahead. “This is madness! This is a killing field! Why are there cows on the road?”

  “They’re holy. They can go wherever they want.”

  “Look out!” The woman pointed to another cow lumbering toward them, then threw herself against John, hiding her face in his chest as she prayed in her dialect. Her stranglehold on his neck was amazingly strong, and John couldn’t disentangle her hands as she sobbed, soaking his T-shirt. He looked up and caught David Singh’s sympathetic eyes in the rearview mirror.

  John sighed, sinking back into the seat. When they reached Agra, the car would slow down and maybe he could dissuade this woman from making a giant hanky out of him. He’d forgotten exactly why he chose to bring her along . . . oh yeah, to give her back to Kel. Let her be Professor Higgins.

  He forgot about the woman in his arms as soon as they entered the limits of the old city. The head-splitting honking stopped. That was because there wasn’t a moving car in sight. Not a soul walking anywhere. It looked like an abandoned town, but with cars parked haphazardly all over the place.

  “David?” he asked.

  The driver shrugged “We’ll reach the hotel in no time at all – no traffic!” He drove on, obviously unperturbed by the non-activity around them.

  John frowned. He’d been to Agra before, and at the height of tourism, it was impossible to navigate on foot the closer one travelled to the Taj Mahal. Hawkers roamed everywhere selling fake marble items and bad replicas of the tomb. Beggar children literally chased the unwary foreigner all the way from the hotel to the famous site. And there were the thousands of visitors, locals mingling with the very obvious foreigners, taking photographs and buying mementos.

  Where were they? This was the equivalent of walking down Fifth Avenue all alone. For a moment, he thought that maybe some sort of terrorist virus attack had killed off the population. Then he caught sight of a few cattle strolling down the street. Okay, strike virus-attack off the list.

  When they finally arrived at their destination, they found Indian soldiers in front of the hotel. One of them demanded identification as soon as David Singh rolled down the car window. Hot humid air immediately gushed into the cool interior. David exchanged a few words with the soldier, and then turned to John.

  “We aren’t allowed to stay here.”

  John arched a brow. “We have reservations.”

  “Yes, but the President of the United States has a suite here at the moment. Those people in the lounge are all like in the movie Men In Black, you know?”

  “Secret Service,” John confirmed, as he eyed the black-suited, sunglassed, expressionless men. He vaguely remembered watching the news about the President’s travel itinerary for some business summit. Apparently, the Temple was somehow involved. Well, at least he now had an explanation as to why the city was deserted. Probably under curfew.

  “No one is allowed to move around in the city. Soldier said if you give him some rupees, he will make problem go away.”

  John sniffed. He doubted it. The Prez’s blacksuits weren’t going to let an unidentified car slip away without checking him out. “Tell the soldier I’m on my honeymoon, David,” he ordered. “And my wife is suffering from the heat.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The soldier looked through the window and studied John, who was still holding Zaleiha. He shook his head. “Sorry, but security reasons,” he said, apologetically. He shook his head sympathetically when Zaleiha moaned into John’s chest.

  “Look, here are one thousand rupees.” John handed over the money. “My wife really needs some fresh air. If we could just rest up at the restaurant for an hour, then maybe she would feel better. Besides, we aren’t allowed to move around the city, so how are we supposed to find other accommodations?”

  The soldier pocketed the bill. “You are right, sir. No travelling because of curfew, so you have to at least stay here until I find out what to do.”

  “Thank you,” John said, wryly. He whispered in Zaleiha’s ear, “Keep it up.”

  When the soldier opened the door, John climbed out with Zaleiha in his arms. He took the stairs and walked into the lobby. The Secret Service men spoke to the soldier John had bribed. The one in charge approached.

  “How is your wife, Mr . . .?”

  “Dallas. We didn’t know about this or we wouldn’t have made the four-hour trip from New Delhi, I assure you.”

  “Why don’t you sit down here and we’ll get some water for her?” the man said. “I need to ask a few questions before I can let you through, I’m afraid. Every guest in this hotel has to be accounted for, and identified. Can I see your reservation papers?”

  “No problem,” John said. “I understand thoroughly. Can you pull the envelope out of my pocket? My wife is still feeling rather weak. Here honey, let’s just follow this man and sit down in the lobby for a few minutes, okay?”

  The man glanced through the papers, then looked up quickly, new respect in his eyes. “You’re John Dallas, CEO of Black Knights, Inc.? Your executive secretary is already here, I believe. She signed up for a whole suite and left instructions for you. You’re late for the Taj Mahal, I’m afraid, but the President is scheduled for another quick tour to Asoka’s tomb.”

  John nodded. Interesting how things could change just like that. He must be getting more important in the Temple’s standings, meeting with the President of the United States now. When you didn’t know what the hell was going on, the golden rule was to go with the flow. “Yes, I’m aware of that. My delay was unintentional.”

  “We’ll call up to your suite to announce your arrival. Just pick up the keys at the front desk and go straight up, Mr Dallas. Sorry that your wife feels so sick.”

  “She’ll be fine.” John wondered whether she had fallen asleep, she was so still.

  They went to the registration desk and the Secret Service agent gave the papers to the clerk, nodding his approval. “He’s on our list. He can come down and sign in later,” he instructed. “Let him get Mrs Dallas upstairs first.”

  John thanked the man and took the electronic key cards in the small folder. John Dallas. Kel Dallas. His heart skipped a beat. More and more interesting, he thought.

  There was a weapon detection device just outside the elevator. John didn’t put Zaleiha down, smiling apologetically at the security guard who waved them through. The elevator door closed before he spoke again. “Are you awake?”

  “Of course. But it feels good to be carried.” She looked around her.

  The elevator door opened and, lo and behold, who was waiting for them outside but his dear wife. The real Mrs Dallas. John scowled at her. Arms folded, she scowled back.

  “Carrying your wife across the threshold, Dallas?” Kel greeted with heavy sarcasm.

  The tone of her voice perked John’s attention. My, but he finally got some positive reaction – he took note of the glare, the glint in those golden eyes, the set of her lips. Yes, yes, all the signs of a jealous woman.

  He stepped out of the elevator. “Do show me the bridal suite, dear executive secretary.” He smiled.

  Kel continued glaring a
t him, then turned around, marching down the carpeted hallway. John followed, his smile widening as he studied the stiff back of the woman ahead. She was wearing a pair of old jeans that clung to her in all the right places, and he eyed them appreciatively. He used to love seeing Kel in jeans. Guessed he still did.

  The suite was huge. He immediately noticed that it had several bedrooms. He settled the very quiet Zaleiha on to the expensive-looking brocade sofa. Her eyes were still round as saucers as she looked about her.

  Kel leaned against the well-stocked bar nearby, her eyes glittering. “Nice, dutiful husband,” she mocked. “The call from the lobby a moment ago said that Mrs Dallas was suffering from the heat. I don’t see any such thing.”

  “She was hysterical.”

  “Sure she was. Heat can make a woman like that. She sure looks hysterical now too,” Kel came back, disbelief in her voice.

  “It was the ride from New Delhi that frightened her,” John explained amiably. He was enjoying this jealous Kel a lot.

  “We came this close to hitting some cows!” informed Zaleiha, thumb and finger emphasizing the danger they’d been in. “I was so frightened, and John comforted me. He is a very nice man to hug.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Kel.

  “I’d better go down to reception to finish signing us in,” John said, knowing that this was the perfect moment to let the woman stew. Now Kel knew how he’d felt for the last few days. “Care to fill me in about what I need to do?”

  Kel’s sideways glance was expressively clear about what she thought he needed to do. He grinned. Things were looking up; he was the one screwing with her mind this time. “I can do that later,” he continued, and studied her luscious figure, “but business before pleasure, and all that.”

  “Did you check up on your next assignment?”

  “I did a lot of checking up,” John told her, and this time he watched her closely. “I have quite a few questions for you, Kel Dallas.”

  She blinked at the sound of her married name. It sounded strange to him too, but certainly not as strange as he’d thought. And, most importantly, she hadn’t mentioned anything about changing it back to Kel Grant.

  “Questions later. You’re a VIP guest here,” Kel said, as she walked into the room. She handed him an envelope. “All the IDs you need right now. What did you tell them about the fact that you weren’t here for the Taj Mahal trip?”

  John shrugged as he tore open the envelope. “Delays, whatever. Why are we here to meet POTUS?”

  “Side negotiations. We’re actually dealing with a Mr Dante. When you’re downstairs, leave a message for him too.” She handed him an envelope. “It’s important to write that message in exactly the same way as it’s written in here, symbols and all.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I want to do things exactly your way.”

  She snorted. “I doubt that’s what you want, Dallas.”

  He wanted to kiss her, actually. But that wasn’t in the instructions. He had a feeling if he kissed her right now, he would forget to go downstairs. Besides, there was Zaleiha. “We’re finally here, Za. Where is your big hug for your friend Kel?”

  Zaleiha was looking at them like they were both wild beasts. “You had better make some coffee for her,” she advised. “She has the same evil look in her eyes that you did the morning I first met you.”

  “Like a drunk donkey?” John asked helpfully. When Zaleiha nodded, he added wickedly, “Sorry, Za, coffee won’t do it. There’s only one way to soothe Kel.”

  Zaleiha’s face went red. “Oh,” she squeaked. Kel was scowling again.

  Oh, he was enjoying this. Let’s see Kel stew in her own juices.

  “See ya both in a bit,” he called out, as he strode out of the suite.

  The moment he was in the elevator, he pulled out the envelope. The information was the usual deal. His next job. Yet, there was an odd feeling about the whole thing. His instincts told him that the last few assignments were connected somehow. If only he could see past the obvious. But he must be doing something right, or they wouldn’t have sprung Kel on him. Twice. Twice, after three years. He chewed on his lower lip, as the lift descended back to the lobby.

  Did she know how much she affected him? Was that why they sent her – so he might be distracted for a while? He frowned at that thought. Mostly because he had been distracted.

  There were several bedrooms up there and he’d lock both of them in one. The elevator door opened with a quiet hum and he exited, giving the security guard an absent-minded smile, his mind on the woman upstairs. He had plans for his own personal version of an information exchange.

  It took him quite a while to get to the registration desk. Security was tight, what with so many important people within the walls of the hotel. He wondered whether the people working at the desk were really employees; their smiles of welcome were a bit too fixed.

  John copied the message inside the envelope on to a piece of hotel paper, folded it, and asked the desk clerk to make sure to put it in Dr Dante’s box. He gave the man a tip for his trouble. If the clerk was really an undercover agent and snuck a peek, it’d read just like an innocent business message. This Miklos Riman Dante guy sounded familiar.

  After going through another security point, he strolled down to the lower area of the lobby, taking his time looking through the gift shops and boutiques. It was good to be alone again. He wasn’t good with female company, never had been. The days with Zaleiha had taken a lot of patience. She had so much to learn about life outside a mountain village, and although she was a quick learner, he was not cut out to be her tutor. What the hell was the Temple going to do with her? Undoubtedly, she had to fit somewhere in their maze of plans, or they wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of giving her a new identity.

  Seven years he’d been at this, and he had never even been close to actually stripping the veil of secrecy from the Temple. Everything was perfectly camouflaged, surrounded by layers of different dummy corporations. Hell, it was they who had shown him how to start Knights Inc., an international import-export business, specializing in antiques, even though he was nothing more than a glorified rogue treasure-hunter. He’d plunged into the strange world of finance, stolen artefacts, and government intrigue. The following years had made him very cynical about the power structures that held the world together – most of them, it seemed, controlled by a handful of men.

  On the outside, he was CEO of Knights, Inc., a businessman who dealt in war artefacts, someone who financed a number of archaeological digs around the world, a low-key figure who made his money selling treasures to a selected few who belonged to the élite of the world.

  On the inside, he was a double agent, for the Temple and for Uncle Sam. There was no easy way to describe what the Temple really was. Uncle Sam sure didn’t understand, but what Uncle Sam knew was that it was useful to have someone on the inside. The Temple negotiated for different groups of people who wanted to be anonymous, sometimes for treasure, sometimes for people, sometimes for politics. And the United States government was interested to know the details, or as much information as John Dallas, ex-military, ex-CIA man, supplied them with. He’d discovered that one was never truly retired from covert work.

  Call it the seven-year itch but he’d been getting restless lately. The Temple, in the beginning, was a challenge, a personal Mount Everest. Like with the mountain, operatives had been sent up and defeated. However, nobody had been in there as long as he had – the former military man with an interest in treasure-hunting. He’d introduced himself to them as a modern-day Indiana Jones. Because of his success these past years, he was virtually autonomous in his dealings with them.

  In fact, John had more questions than Uncle Sam. Seven years, and all they’d ever contacted him about was a few weapons exchanges. That wasn’t enough for him any more. So, instead of keeping a low profile and simply following orders, he had star ted to push a little more. Mount Everest wasn’t totally insurmountable. A few people had reached its peak. He ju
st needed to make it his quest. At this point of the game, he didn’t really care what Uncle Sam wanted. He was in charge of a group of highly trained soldiers-of-fortune. He’d even made his own fortune. What were they going to do, fire him?

  Kel heard the door to the suite open exactly one hour twenty-five minutes after John had left. She hadn’t been worried when he departed. John Dallas knew how to get out of any sensitive situation. Plus, she could tell from that evil gleam in his eye that he liked having the upper hand again.

  She looked up from her work at the desk, pretending to be surprised. The evil gleam that shone in those black eyes always managed to give her a girlish shiver. He had a way of looking at her as if he were assessing every intimate secret in her mind. The daredevil glint challenged her every female instinct to yield to him.

  She jutted her chin out as he approached. She wanted so much more from this man, but she wasn’t sure whether he was capable of giving it to her.

  “Worried about me?” he asked, coming to a stop in front of her.

  He was much too close. Whirling the chair from the desk, she tilted her head back and met those eyes again. Dark, devilish . . . and yes, desire was in there too. She remembered that look only too well.

  “Should I be?” she countered. “You’re probably just trying to get back at me for what happened in Pakistan.”

  “Damn right.” He moved even nearer, still not touching her. “What was that all about Kel? Really kinky, but not really a reunion, surely.”

  “Wedding,” Kel reminded him.

  “Wedding, reunion, whatever you want to call it,” John said, his voice soft. “You know you didn’t have to knock me out.”

  “Would you have let me go off the next morning?”

  “You’ll never know now, will you?”

  He leaned forward, putting his hands on either arm of her chair, trapping her. His body heat surrounded her and she breathed in his masculine scent. Why was it that the mere mixture of body temperature and chemical essence could heighten all her senses? When he was near her like this, her sight, her sense of smell, her hearing – every part of her – was focused entirely on his being.