And Able

by Lucy Monroe

  She looked at him warily, wondering if they were talking marriage again. She saw that as slightly more than a mere job.

  “With our company.”

  “But you’ve already got Josette working for you. You don’t need me, too.”

  “I need you, all right, but so does the company. Josie is good with a computer, but you are incredible.”

  “He’s right, Claire, you are,” Josette said from her chair on the long veranda along the back of the mansion. She didn’t sound in the least offended that Brett had judged Claire’s abilities superior to hers. “Besides, I’m not done with school yet and I don’t want to work until I am. Even then, it’s likely I’ll help Daniel with his architectural design business rather than work for Hotwire and Wolf…”

  “I thought we already had this settled,” Wolf added.

  “But I…”

  “It sounds like a wonderful opportunity,” Brett’s father said. “Anything my son is involved in is going to be a success, and that means this would be the beginning of a really good career for you.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Daddy.”

  “Anytime, son. I guess it’s no secret I’m very proud of the man you’ve become.”

  Brett stared, his mouth opening and shutting. “I think you really mean that.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Thank you.”

  Claire felt happy tears prick her eyes and she blinked at them. Lise wasn’t so reticent. She swiped at wetness on her cheeks. “That’s so sweet.”

  Wolf laughed. “Pregnant women and their hormone-driven emotions.”

  Lise smacked his arm and got pulled into his lap with a brief kiss for her trouble.

  Eleanor and her family had left right after dinner, so it was just the former mercenaries, their wives, her, Brett, and his parents.

  They chatted late into the night, while fireflies danced just beyond the veranda, until everyone agreed it was time to go to bed.

  The next morning, she woke up to find Brett leaning over her with a small white wand. “I have it on very good authority that if you pee on this here little stick, we can find out with ninety-nine-point-eight percent accuracy whether or not you are pregnant.”

  She stared at the stick and then at Brett. “And if I am?”

  “I’ll probably attack your body like a Saracen, so I hope you remembered to take your vitamins yesterday, sugar. But the thought of you carrying my baby makes my dick hard enough to bust the seam on my Levi’s.”

  “You’re not wearing any jeans.”

  “It’s a good thing, then, isn’t it?”

  She did as he wanted and sat staring at the little white indicator for several long minutes after the patch in the window had changed color.

  Brett pounded on the door and she came out, feelings she didn’t understand roiling through her.

  He looked expectant. “Well?”

  “Um…”

  “Pink is for pregnant and blue is for not. Which was it?”

  “You really want me to be pregnant, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but if you aren’t, I think I might enjoy rectifying the situation…with your approval, of course.”

  Oh, gosh…she believed he meant it, but did that mean he loved her or just really loved the idea of being a dad?

  “It’s pink.”

  He whooped loudly and lifted her to spin her around the room. “That’s great news, baby!”

  She buried her head in his neck and clung to him, scared and elated all at once. “Do you really think I’ll be a good mom?”

  He stopped spinning and cupped her face and made her look at him. “The best.”

  “I want to be. I really do,” and that’s what confused her so much.

  She’d never thought to have her own children. She’d always told herself that she spent enough years taking care of her mom, she didn’t need a family of her own. And she’d been afraid…knowing how transitory happiness and family stability could be. So, she’d never considered diapers and the merits of breast feeding, but all she could think about right now was giving birth to a small life that would join hers and Brett’s irrevocably and forever, even if they never got married.

  “I love you, Claire,” he breathed against her lips and then kissed her.

  When he lifted his mouth, she looked at him solemnly. “You don’t have to say you love me just because I’m pregnant with your baby.”

  He stared back at her, not looking the least surprised by her denial—which said a lot, she thought.

  “I’m telling you I love you because I do.”

  She wanted it too much to believe it. “Then why wait until now to say something?”

  “Because I was an A-Class idiot earlier, but I don’t expect you to make it easy on me to convince you. You’re a woman, after all, and I screwed up. I will convince you, though, sugar. You can bank on it.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to respond, but swept her into his arms and took her back to the bed to make love to her with a driving passion that left her breathless.

  They flew out late that morning. Josette and Nitro went with Wolf and Lise, who planned to drop them at the nearest major airport so they could fly commercial home. When Claire asked why they weren’t flying with her and Brett, he told her he was taking her to his home in Montana.

  They didn’t talk much after that, and she found herself dozing before they even reached altitude. Brett kept her awake a good portion of the night before making love and the short hours of rest were catching up with her body.

  He touched her shoulder. “Claire, sugar…”

  Her eyes fluttered open. Man, she was tired. “Uh-huh?”

  “Why don’t you go back and lie down on the bed? You’ll get better rest than sitting up here with me.”

  “And my snoring won’t interfere with the instruments,” she joked around a yawn.

  “You don’t snore, but you are distracting.”

  She laughed. “All right, I’m going.” She unbuckled her seat belt and headed toward the small bedroom in the back of the plane.

  Pushing the door open, something teased at her senses, a faint trace of a smell she recognized but couldn’t quite place. The bed looked so inviting. She stepped toward it.

  “Your nap is going to have to wait, Miss Sharp.”

  She looked to her left where the voice had come from and gasped in shock. A man she’d never seen before stood on the far side of the bed, an ugly black gun in his hand and pointed at her. The wide cylinder at the end of the long barrel was a silencer. She’d seen one on the Internet.

  If he shot her, Brett wouldn’t even know. Then he could shoot Brett, too. The thought sent panic arcing through her. He could kill them both. She had to warn Brett.

  She opened her mouth to scream and he lifted the gun and barked, “Don’t!”

  She stopped…not because he was threatening to shoot her, but because he hadn’t already. He had to have some kind of plan and she wanted to know what it was.

  “William Keely, I presume.”

  The man’s gray eyes widened and then narrowed. “You know who I am.”

  “Yes—what I don’t know is what you are doing on this plane.”

  “I have a couple of problems I need to take care of.”

  “Let me guess…me and Brett?”

  His gray gaze was ice cold. “How did you find out about me?”

  “We found the kill book.”

  “So he did record offers as well as jobs.”

  “Yes.”

  “I was worried he might.”

  “So you killed him?” she asked, feeling sick and furious at the man’s lack of remorse.

  “That would be telling.”

  “Assuming your plan is to kill me and Brett, too, what difference does it make?”

  “Who said I wanted to kill you?”

  “You’ve got a gun pointed at me.”

  “As a precaution.”

  “What I don’t understand is why you haven�
�t used it yet,” she said, ignoring his last comment as total baloney.

  “I don’t want to use it, but that doesn’t mean I won’t. So, don’t get any ideas about screaming. Not that your lover would probably hear you in the cockpit.”

  “But you’re not taking any chances.”

  “No. You’re being awfully cool about this.”

  She shrugged. “Conditioning. You and the men in black have put me through the wringer lately. I finished with panicked hysteria a long time ago.”

  “I don’t remember you ever being struck with it.”

  “You mean the night you tried to smother me with a pillow.”

  The slight flaring of his eyes was the only indication she had that she’d made a direct hit.

  “Your cologne gave you away. It’s very distinctive.”

  He frowned. “How unfortunate, but it’s not a private stock. A lot of other men use the same one.”

  “I guess. I’m not into stuff like that, but I’ve only ever smelled it two times. On you and one of my professors.”

  “I see.”

  Her gaze flicked around the room until it landed on what looked like a backpack in the corner behind him. A parachute pack. Her brain worked feverishly on why it would be there.

  Chapter 23

  H otwire reached altitude and put the plane on autopilot. He started checking the instruments, a sense of unease niggling at the back of his mind. Something wasn’t right. His security checks had been okay before takeoff. None of his alarm systems had indicated anything out of the ordinary, but something still didn’t feel right.

  He went back over their arrival at the airport, seeing the others off, boarding his plane with Claire…she’d been asking him about returning to Portland. He’d been expecting an argument when he told her he wanted to take her to Montana, but she’d surprised him by acquiescing. He’d figured out why it had been so easy a few minutes later when he caught her yawning. Logically, sending her back to take a nap was the right thing to do, but his gut was telling him otherwise.

  Why?

  He scanned the radar and saw an upcoming pressure system. It might get choppy, but he could fly around the system. No, that wasn’t it…

  He went back in his mind to the moment they’d walked onto the plane. He’d had a sense that someone had been in the main cabin, but his security system had verified there had been no entry since he and Claire left it three days ago. He’d looked around the cabin, but not so much as a seat belt had been out of place.

  So, why had he thought someone had been on the plane?

  Then it hit him. He’d smelled a very faint trace of something. It had been so faint, it hadn’t registered with his conscious mind because he’d been too focused on explaining their trip to Montana to Claire.

  He searched his memory bank for the scent…it had been girlie. He was up and running on silent feet to the back of the cabin as he realized what that pseudo-feminine fragrance had actually been.

  The cologne of Claire’s attacker.

  He stopped outside the bedroom. The door was ajar and he could see Claire—not her face, but her body. No one was near her but he heard a man’s voice.

  “What made you suspect me?”

  “You’d been to visit Lester the week before his death. He mistook you for your father, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. I didn’t realize at first what had happened. It wasn’t until he started spouting off about turning down the job that I knew who he was. My father had deplorable sense when it came to hiring the right employees for the right jobs.”

  “You aren’t similarly afflicted, I suppose?” Claire asked, her voice showing no evidence of fear or nervousness.

  He was so damn proud of her, but he was going to kill the son of bitch in there with her. The man had to be holding her somehow, and since it wasn’t physically, Brett guessed the guy had a gun. Otherwise Claire would have come running back to the cockpit.

  “No.”

  “So, who did you hire to help you with this job?”

  “Who said I hired anyone?”

  “You got past Brett’s security measures. That took some doing. I don’t see you being a computer specialist.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then…” She was fishing and he was impressed at how well she did it. If she could just keep him talking another couple of minutes, they should hit that pressure front and the plane was going to get jiggy damn fast.

  Hotwire would make his move then.

  “Tell me who else believes I’m responsible for the old man’s death and I’ll tell you who I hired.”

  “You go first.”

  “I decline.”

  Claire gave an exaggerated sigh. “You’re not going to like hearing this, but maybe it will make you reconsider your plans for me and Brett. The suits in Washington know all about you and one of them is really annoyed with you.”

  Keely swore. “They don’t have anything linking me to the old man’s death.”

  “There’s the kill book.”

  “Which is embarrassing, but not any kind of proof I killed a geriatric.”

  “Then there’s your cologne…and the fact that you attacked me.”

  “You can’t be sure it was me.”

  “You left footprints outside my house.”

  “My shoes aren’t handmade, either.”

  Claire shrugged. “Tell me who sold Brett out.”

  “You’re so sure it was someone who knows him?”

  “My acquaintances are mostly going senile and dealing with the aftereffects of hip replacement surgeries and the like. None of them knew about Brett, either.”

  “I didn’t, either, until he attended the funeral with you. From there, it was relatively easy to get the intelligence I needed to track you two down.”

  “Who gave it to you?” Claire repeated, with a stubbornness Hotwire recognized and applauded.

  Another couple of seconds and he could move in.

  Keely said a name that made Brett frown. It was another merc, a man who was as good with the computer as he was deadly. He had no scruples and even less conscience. He would kill his own family for the right price. Brett had been on a couple of missions where he’d been a member of the team, and he’d refused to work with the other merc after the second time.

  He wasn’t surprised at all that the other merc had helped a slimeball like Keely, but he was pissed as hell that he had been able to overcome Hotwire’s security measures.

  The plane jerked and dipped.

  Claire cried out and fell, and Keely swore just before another bump sounded from the other side of the bedroom.

  Claire crawled out of the bedroom at speed, surging to her feet as she gained the main cabin. Hotwire grabbed her and shoved her into the tiny galley. Keely came rushing from the bedroom, gun first. Hotwire knocked the gun out of his hand and then coldcocked him with a single punch.

  “Secure him,” he shouted at Claire as he ran for the cockpit. The plane was shaking wildly and he needed to make evasive maneuvers fast.

  He got the plane settled and rushed back to Claire, to find that she had tied Keely and was trying to drag him toward the closet.

  Hotwire gently pushed her out of the way and took care of dumping the man in the closet after making a thorough search for weapons, particularly anything sharp enough to cut his bonds.

  “I already did that. I put what I found over there,” Claire said, indicating the small table between two of the seats.

  Hotwire didn’t bother to look before jamming the closet door shut so it could not be opened. “That will hold him until we land.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  He took her into his arms and held her so tight she squeaked. He forced himself to loosen his grip…a little. “Sugar, that was one scary few minutes.”

  “Tell me about it. I was scared to death he was going to get bored talking and decide to shoot me and then you.”

  “I’m damn glad he didn’t, but I don’t understand why
not.”

  “He wanted it to look like an accident. He had two syringes with him. I bet it’s the same stuff he gave Lester to induce a heart attack. He brought a parachute pack…I think he planned to kill us with the poison and let the plane crash, making it all look like an accident.”

  “It sounds like you had it all worked out, sweetheart.”

  “Everything but how to get away from him and warn you.”

  “Turbulence worked nicely.”

  “Yes, it did, but I’m surprised you didn’t fly under it or something. You’re really good at avoiding that sort of thing, I noticed on the flight out.”

  He told her about his realization that something was wrong and his plan to use the turbulence to make his move. Then he led her back to the cockpit, where he settled her into her seat before heading the plane for the airport near D.C. that he’d landed in the day before.

  Once he reached the ground, he called Ethan on his cell phone and arranged for pickup of the prisoner. He and Claire had to make statements, and it was late the next day before he was allowed to take her to Montana as he’d originally planned.

  Claire was relieved to discover that Brett’s house was nothing like his parents’ home. It was a simple, single-story ranch and she liked it. A lot. The living areas all had a sense of spaciousness that she really enjoyed and thought would be great for a family.

  The décor surprised her, though. He preferred geometric lines and bright spots of color with warm overtones. The artwork on the walls was a mixture of his and other artists’, but all of it was striking.

  “Where do you paint?” she asked as he led her through the living room.

  “My studio is in the back of the house. Would you like to see it?” There was an undertone in his voice she didn’t get.

  She looked at him questioningly, but said, “Yes.”

  He nodded, his own expression so serious and intent that it would have scared her if she hadn’t had all the fear squeezed out of her the day before on a flight no one would call uneventful.

  She followed him through a doorway into a huge room. It ran almost the entire length of the back of the house and was easily fifteen feet deep. This man took his need to relax through art seriously. Multiple skylights bathed the room in bright natural sunlight while the walls were covered with paintings in different stages of production.