by Meryl Sawyer
He was on a mission.
Finding Jordan Walsh was the only thing on his mind. He sipped a mineral water with lime. The thought of Scotch soured his stomach. Just thinking about Jordan turned his stomach, too. What a smart-ass bitch.
Just wait. She would get hers.
He scanned the room for the redhead, but didn’t see her. It was early, though. Jordan would walk in any minute. He’d rehearsed over and over what he was going to say to her. Of course, he wouldn’t let Jordan know how royally pissed he was. After all, she might willingly sell him the car.
Horst Trensen IV sauntered up to him with what appeared to be a Scotch in his hand. Trensen stopped beside Brock, and he smelled the odor of a Highland malt—probably Glenfiddich or Glenlivet. Brock’s stomach went into a free-fall, then leveled off.
“Another show. Another show,” the president of the Gull Wing Association said as if he were supremely bored.
Brock knew better. The association was Trensen’s life. He’d always held some stupid-ass position, and now he’d risen to president. It was a three-year term. After that Trensen would join the powerful advisory board for five years. When Brock retired and had the time, he intended to hold a position with the association himself.
“Have you seen Jordan Walsh?” Brock asked casually. “I noticed her Gull Wing in the program. It’ll be displayed not far from mine.”
Trensen’s hooded gray eyes blinked. “Poor Jordan. Her workload is killing her. She had to scratch.”
His words were like a knee to the groin. Scratched! How could the bitch do this to him? Another, more disturbing thought hit him. Had Trensen spoken with her? Probably just an e-mail to the association.
“When did you talk to her?” Brock asked, testing.
“This morning. That sweet thing is exhausted.”
Fury knotted inside Brock’s chest, and he struggled not to show it. Not to this pompous ass. Jordan hadn’t returned his calls, but clearly, she’d been talking to Trensen. “What kind of business does she own?”
Trensen swigged his single malt before answering. “Didn’t you have dinner with her in Miami?”
Brock was tempted to slug Trensen’s stomach where it rolled slightly over his belt. “We didn’t discuss business. It was cars and…you know,” he said, implying sex.
Trensen didn’t get the hint. “Jordan’s special. She’s built an Internet empire on ladies’ lingerie.”
“How much money can there be in undies? There’s a Victoria’s Secret in every mall. What department store doesn’t have a huge underwear section?”
With a smug smile, Trensen took another sip of Scotch before leaning toward Brock and saying in a low voice, “Jordan makes most of her money in, you know, supplies to go along with the lingerie.”
Brock got it. Vibrators. Sex toys.
“What’s the name of her Web site?”
Trensen considered this for a moment. “XtremeX.” He winked. “You’re not going to believe the lingerie…and stuff.”
Brock mustered a smile. “I’ll bet.”
“Gotta go,” Trensen said. “The board wants me to go to dinner with them.”
Brock walked to the window and gazed out at the lights illuminating the St. Louis arch. Unfuckingbelievable! The bitch had blown him off in favor of a prick who didn’t have Brock’s looks or his smarts.
Just wait. Just wait.
XtremeX. Now he knew how to find the bitch. A Web site could exist in cyberspace and be untraceable, but if it sold product there was a warehouse somewhere. If not, they had an office that dealt with vendors who shipped their products.
Jordan Walsh, it’s all over.
Of course, Samantha Robbins was his first priority. But that situation was in hand. His agents were rolling. It wouldn’t be long.
CHAD DROVE HIS PORSCHE back toward Devon’s apartment. She would take the things that were important to her and some clothes. Why was she leaving? She couldn’t possibly know he was on to her. She was running—unexpectedly—for some other reason.
He drove toward the back of Devon’s apartment where she would park. Airhead Shelby had indicated Devon had at least a five-minute head start. If she wasn’t already here, she would be here soon. Her car wasn’t in her parking place. Chad found a spot up the street where he could see Devon when she drove in.
He resisted the urge to stare at his watch. When he left the service, he’d bought the Breitling Colt Ocean, which had been designed specifically for Special Forces. After what he judged to be five minutes he checked the Breitling. Dead on the money. Almost five minutes to the second.
Where was Devon?
The light dawned. Dumb shit! Why hadn’t he realized it sooner? There hadn’t been a suitcase in her apartment. She must have already packed it. She had to be on her way to the airport. Wait a minute! She claimed to have returned to America by sailing into a private yacht harbor. She could very well be leaving again the same way.
Somehow he doubted it. If she planned to use a boat as an escape route, Devon was too smart to have tipped her hand by telling him. He decided not to take a chance. While he drove through the snarled traffic to Honolulu International, he called Dave Keliliki, Ala Wai Harbor Master. Ala Wai was the only marina on Oahu that had yachts large enough to make the long voyage back to the mainland or to the South Pacific.
“Hey, aikane.” Chad greeted his friend. “Any yachts leaving port this afternoon for the States or SP?”
“Nah. There’s a major squall out there. No one’s sailing today. They’ll have to hold off until tomorrow. More likely the next day. Why?”
“I’m looking for a friend. Could you give me the names of the boats scheduled to depart?”
There were only three of them. Chad thanked Dave and reached Eddie on his cell. He knew Eddie was nearby, working on a disabled Cat. Eddie could check to see if Devon had signed on to one of those crews.
“Eddie, do me a favor.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“A couple of yachts, Pipe Dream, Blarney, and Wind Spirit are heading for destinations in the South Pacific. See if Devon is crewing on one of them.”
“Pono!” Crazy. “Why would she do that?”
“I haven’t got time to explain. Just trust me. Check those boats. If you find her, call me.” He hung up without giving Eddie a chance to ask another question.
Chad parked in the airport lot. He prepared to board a plane with Devon if necessary. He left the Lockaide in the trunk of his car. It looked too much like a gun to get it though airport security. He’d need a bag, too. Security agents became suspicious of passengers traveling without luggage.
He took the special ops duffel and headed into the terminal. He stopped at the ATM. He always carried a fair amount of cash, but in this case, he might need more.
Honolulu’s airport wasn’t big compared to many cities on the mainland, but searching for Devon was going to be a bitch. He scanned the crowd lined up at the counters and those at the security check points. He didn’t see her, but then, he didn’t expect to. She could already be through the security check if she’d gone directly to the airport from Aloha’s offices.
Chad stood in front of the departures board and analyzed the flights leaving in the next two hours. He skipped over the inter-island trips and concentrated on flights bound for the mainland. L.A., Chicago, Miami…Miami.
Something clicked in the back of his mind. How well he remembered the look on Devon’s face as she explained that her brother-in-law, Steve, hadn’t been able to go with Tina to the Lamaze sessions, when Devon’s sister was pregnant. Devon had flown to Miami each weekend to help her sister. She’d been in the hospital room when her sister had delivered.
Something wistful in Devon’s voice and fond expression convinced Chad this story had been true. He’d been deceived by this woman too many times to count, but he decided to trust his gut on this one. Since Devon had made up the Nathan Albert story, he had to assume she’d made up the friend, too. He was convinced her sister
existed, and Devon truly loved her.
The Miami flight was already boarding. The only way he was going to get on it this late was with a first-class ticket. He raced to the first-class line and filled out a luggage tag from the counter for his duffel while the agent ticketed the two people ahead of him.
“Flight 1782 to Miami,” he told the agent when it was finally his turn.
“I’m sorry sir,” replied the perky attendant. “It’s already boarding.”
Chad knew he could charm just about any woman when he tried. “It’s an emergency. My mother’s in the hospital in Miami.” He held up the small special ops bag he was pretending was luggage. “I rushed here with little more than my toothbrush and a fresh shirt.”
The attendant wavered and called over her supervisor, a middle-aged man who could’ve taken first, second and third in a chin contest. He eyed Chad, who tried for a hangdog expression. The supervisor nodded curtly and turned away.
Getting through security proved more difficult. Chad had to explain the DARPA gadget. He should have locked it in the safe at his house, but he’d forgotten. He didn’t dare leave it in the Porsche. They were stolen way too often to risk it.
“It’s a GPS,” he told the security guard. “A brand-new one that just came on the market.”
“I don’t know. Looks…strange.” He turned to another guard. “Harry, ever see a GPS like this?”
Harry, who didn’t look more than fifteen, swaggered over. He took the device from the other guard and inspected it. Chad didn’t pray often, but this was one of those times. If they confiscated it, he’d play hell explaining it to Danson.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Sure. See’m all the time.”
Chad grabbed the gadget, raced down the hall toward the gate. He shoved it in his bag and handed the flight attendant his boarding pass.
“You just barely made it,” she said.
Chad rushed down the jetway and into the plane. An attractive brunette with shoulder-length brown hair took his boarding pass. With a flirtatious smile, she directed him to first class.
“How’s it goin’?” Chad asked, flirting back. He might need her help.
“Just great.” She handed him back his boarding pass. “You’re in 2-B.”
While she was talking, Chad used his peripheral vision to check the main cabin. No sign of Devon’s blond head. He would have to wait until they were airborne to really look.
He’d be screwed if she wasn’t onboard—trapped on a nonstop flight to Miami.
DEVON SAT NEXT to the airplane’s window and gazed out at the blue water. They’d taken off a half hour ago. She’d kept her nose buried in a romantic suspense novel by Meryl Sawyer. Normally Lady Killer would have held her attention, but conflicting emotions assailed her.
She had to see her sister, had to know Tina was better. Tina knew how much Devon loved her, but saying it in person—perhaps for the last time—was terribly important. They’d always been close, but now Devon felt a world away. It took so long to fly to Miami, by the time she arrived, it might be too late.
The knife of betrayal lanced through her. Warren Martin had lied. WITSEC had lied. They didn’t want her to know the truth. Tina could die for all they cared. The only thing that mattered to them was keeping her safe until she could testify.
The young Fort Lauderdale couple seated next to her was kissing again. They were flying home after a honeymoon on Maui. They’d been so happy, so in love, when they’d introduced themselves that Devon’s heart ached with something too deep for tears.
Saying goodbye to Zach had been difficult enough, but calling Chad had been wrenching. It was lucky he’d been out of the office. She might have broken down had she spoken to him. She’d blurted out the lie, then something completely unanticipated and unrehearsed.
I love you.
Until that very second, she hadn’t admitted the truth to herself. Of course, she must have known it on some level, but leaving him—knowing she might never return—had made her realize exactly how she felt.
Devon hadn’t treated him fairly. “We’re in this together,” he’d told her more than once. She should have trusted him with the truth. She hadn’t because she thought WITSEC knew best, and she could trust them.
Wrong.
They were lying to her about her sister. No telling what had really gone down in Santa Fe. WITSEC might have known ahead of time or found out later and never told her. There was also the very real possibility—something she’d always suspected—that Rutherford and Ames had bought off a Federal Marshal to “take care” of her.
How vividly she remembered kindhearted Romero sprawled across the floor, his blood pooled around him. She missed him more than she could have imagined when she’d lived in Houston and had many friends. He had been her first friend after a long year of isolation, when she’d walked around, terrified of her own shadow.
Until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand.
The final line of the Irish Blessing unexpectedly popped into her head and she blinked back the sting of tears. Romero was up there, watching over her, telling Devon what she had to do. Don’t you let your concentration waver or you may end up dead. There was always the chance this was a trap. She must to be ready.
“Miss, Miss.” The flight attendant was trying to get her attention.
“Yes?” Devon responded.
“Come with me,” the brunette said with a friendly smile.
Devon unfastened her seat belt and squeezed by the honeymooning couple. “Is there something wrong?”
The flight attendant whispered, “There are a couple of empty seats in first class. These kids will smooch all the way to Miami. You need a break.”
“Thanks.” Devon couldn’t help smiling as she followed the attendant up the long aisle to the first-class cabin.
“Here you go.” She indicated an empty seat.
Devon sat in it, fastened her belt and turned to introduce herself to the man next to her. He’d been gazing out the window when she’d sat down. She hoped he wouldn’t be the talkative type. If he were, she would snuff it by burying her nose in Lady Killer.
“Hi, I’m—” The air siphoned from her lungs, and blood pounded in her ears like a drum.
Chad Langston. How on earth?
“Just who are you? Barbara Ashton is the name you used to get on this plane. You were Devon Summers in Honolulu.”
Like a house of cards, all her lies collapsed around her. The caring man who’d made love to her so tenderly had vanished. There was nothing but hostility and barely leashed anger in Chad’s voice.
How did he know? How had he found her? It didn’t matter, she decided. She couldn’t blame him for being furious. She’d allowed WITSEC to turn her into a liar.
“I don’t blame you for being upset,” she told him. “I can explain.”
He crossed his powerful arms and glared at her. “Shoot.”
She turned and checked the nearly full cabin. No one seemed to be paying attention to them, but they were awfully close. She whispered, “I’ll have to tell you later when no one can hear us.”
He continued to stare at her until the silence between them was as wide as the Pacific. Finally he unhooked his seat belt and stood. “Get up.”
Only a total idiot would have questioned him. The Chad she knew had morphed into a half-tamed animal. Silly Shelby had told her stories about Chad killing men behind enemy lines. Devon hadn’t believed her. Now she fully recognized his potential for violence.
She undid her seat belt and moved into the aisle to let him out. He stepped by her. His large hand latched around her wrist. He hauled her down the aisle.
“Where are we going?”
Without answering, he towed her forward and shoved her into the first-class rest room.
“You can’t do this!” she cried as he stepped in with her.
“Don’t worry,” he said, each syllable etched with sarcasm. “Everyone will assume we’re joining the Mile High Club.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAD SAW FEAR in Devon’s eyes, but he didn’t give a damn. Yesterday, he wouldn’t have believed it possible. He’d wanted to protect her, save her from the man stalking her. Build a life together.
Yeah, right.
He gazed at her delicate face and noticed her full lower lip tremble. This close he caught a whiff of the citrus scent she wore as it rose off her petal-soft skin. It was just the barest trace of fragrance—no big deal—but it was enough to set his nerves on edge. Unexpectedly, heat flushed his entire body.
What in hell?
How could this traitorous pang of desire hit him now? He clenched his eyes shut for a second, hoping to dispel the unwelcome sensation. His body had a more intimate plan. Her sexual magnetism had always aroused him.
“What’s the matter, Devon?” he ripped out the words, reminding himself this woman had deceived him big time. Don’t be a sucker for her sex appeal. “Can’t you think of another lie?”
Devon stared into his furious face, a scant inch separating them. She was almost grateful he had her braced against the wall, his powerful body holding her in place. Her legs no longer seemed capable of supporting her.
Anguish seared her heart. Devon honestly wanted to tell him the truth. She’d been ashamed of herself for obeying WITSEC while they didn’t give one hoot in hell about her. She’d wished she’d confided in Chad.
But this man was a stranger. His jaw was clenched so tight she could see a vein pulsing at the temple near his hairline. His virile appeal had turned unexpectedly menacing. Dangerous.
She couldn’t decide what to tell him. At this point, Chad would refuse to believe her. He might very well call around to confirm her story. If Rutherford and Ames didn’t know where she was, his questions could expose her.
Even as Chad’s lips came down savagely on hers in a dark, primal response to contact with her body, he told himself to let this lying bitch go.