Mac's Angels: The Last Dance: A Loveswept Classic Romance

by Sandra Chastain

  She felt a smile curl her lips. “I’m the only fool wearing a fur-lined hood and tinted glasses in New Orleans.”

  He laughed. “Lose the glasses, Sterling, and wait for me. And Sterling, if anyone threatens you, start screaming and don’t stop.”

  Sterling sat in the other corner of the bar, hiding behind the server’s stand, slowly sipping lukewarm coffee. Her eyes were tightly focused on the doorway. She’d identified herself to Mac, but he’d failed to give her a description of himself.

  How would she know him?

  Would he arrive before the police returned? Sterling wouldn’t think about what might happen if he didn’t. For more than a year after she’d been shot, she’d relived that horrible morning when a lone gunman had entered the office of Commonwealth Securities, killed her boss, a senior partner, and then shot her in the back.

  She’d been in the copy room, printing and collating brochures about a new stock offering. Arms full of brochures, she’d backed into his office, straight into the robber. Mr. Eldon was lying on the floor, bleeding to death, and his killer was emptying the safe. He turned a gun on her. And then she saw those cold eyes, the eyes of a murderer. When she screamed and whirled to run for help, he swore and pulled the trigger. As she’d lost consciousness the imprint of those hard, blue-gray eyes had etched themselves forever in her brain and eventually her nightmares.

  They never caught him. The bearer bonds he’d stolen were unmarked and never recovered. And Sterling was left unconscious with a bullet lodged dangerously near her spine.

  Now, ten years later, the fear and pain had returned. The man who’d shot her had become a senator’s aide, possibly in a position to influence national policy. A murderer was the assistant to a man headed for the presidency? He’d killed a man ten years ago. What would he do to protect the life he’d built? She didn’t want to consider the possibilities.

  A glance at her watch told her that fifteen minutes had passed.

  What if Mac didn’t come?

  But he did. Striding into the bar, a man wearing a baseball cap and a leather bomber’s jacket stopped in the center and looked around, and then he saw Sterling. With a quick nod, he slid into the booth beside her. “I’m Mac.”

  “Yes.” You certainly are, she wanted to say, but didn’t. “I’m Sterling.”

  Compact, with a nose that might have been broken once, Lincoln McAllister was nothing like Sterling expected.

  He was much more.

  His deep, calm voice was deceptive, designating only the persona he created for the public. She would have recognized that voice anywhere. It didn’t match the man.

  But neither did the lifestyle she knew he lived; His clothes were casual, yet expensive. His hair, a dark blond, was showing hints of silver at the edges. It was thick and long, curling to the collar of his blue denim shirt. Everything about him spoke of power. He was like some old-world warrior ready to do battle in an arena.

  “Sterling,” he was saying. “Listen to me. We have to move quickly. I saw the suits searching the airport for you. They’re not even trying to hide their efforts.”

  It was obvious that he didn’t know. She wanted to explain her problem to him, but all she could do was stare. She must look like an animal, frozen in the headlights of an oncoming car. “Mac, I …”

  “Don’t try to explain. Right now I don’t care why they’re looking for you. We have to get you out of here without giving them a chance to take you into ‘protective’ custody.”

  She nodded approvingly, grateful and relieved that Mac was by her side.

  “Now, here’s what we’re going to do. You and I are going to the private area of the airport. My plane is refueling and getting ready for takeoff. We’ll tell them we’re flying home to Aspen for the holidays. All we have to do is walk down the concourse into the private area and board my plane. They won’t be expecting that.”

  She nodded again.

  “All right, let’s go. We don’t want to look rushed, but we’d better hurry.”

  Sterling swallowed hard. Hurry? “I—I can’t, Mac.”

  “Why not? Are you hurt?”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  “Then we have to go. Now.” He stood.

  “Mac, you don’t understand. I—I can’t walk. Not anymore. I need my wheelchair from baggage claim.”

  He sat back down, a confused look on his face. “You can’t walk?”

  “I can, a little, but only for short periods of time. I’ve had to walk so much in the last hour that my legs are … used up. I’ll never make it.”

  He furrowed his brow in thought. “All right,” he finally said. “If you need transportation, you’ve got it.” He ripped off her fur-lined hood, removed his baseball cap, crammed it on her head, then handed her his coat. “That fur is too visible. Wear my cap and stuff this jacket under your sweater. You’re pregnant and you don’t feel well.”

  Sterling followed his instructions, glad that her sweater was oversized.

  Before she knew what was happening, Mac scooped her up and moved quickly through the bar, flagging down one of the motorized vehicles used to carry passengers down the concourse. “Sit here with these folks, darling,” he said, depositing her next to an elderly couple. “She’s all right,” he assured them. “She’s just a little queasy. Don’t know why her morning sickness comes in the afternoon.”

  Mac sat beside her and motioned for the driver to move on. “Thanks for sharing your ride,” he said, giving the elderly couple a wide smile. “We’ve just got to get home for Christmas. The children are waiting.”

  “Oh, you poor thing,” the older woman said, patting Sterling on the knee. “How many do you have now?”

  “One—” Sterling said, ready to strangle Mac.

  “Three—” Mac said at the same time, quickly coming up with names of people he knew. “A little girl—Erica. Erica is just a year old and she’s going to look just like her mother. And twin boys, Conner and Rhett. They’ll be three next month.”

  “My—my, three children with one on the way, and you’re so young. What’s this one going to be? Or don’t you know yet?”

  “Do we know yet?” she asked Mac, a hint of amusement in her voice.

  “No.” He grinned, surprised at how much he was enjoying the exchange with Sterling in the midst of danger. He only hoped the elderly couple’s eyesight was poor. No pregnancy he’d ever seen had quite the contours of Sterling’s sweater. “We like to be surprised. But we’re hoping for another girl. Aren’t we, darling?”

  If he’d been surprised at the lighthearted banter, he was even more surprised at himself when he slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close for a quick kiss that was intended to be a husband’s mark of assurance.

  The moment his lips touched her cheek, his pulse raced.

  Startled by his unexpected physical response, he pulled back, masking his confusion by looking around. Could it be the threat of danger that made a shiver ripple down his spine?

  “You okay, Dad?” Sterling asked. “Don’t tell me you’re going to get sick too.” She flashed the couple a motherly smile. “Every time I get pregnant, he throws up.”

  “It’s a whole new world, isn’t it?” the man said. “In my day men didn’t get involved in having the children. It was the woman’s job; we just supported them.”

  “That’s what I keep telling Barney,” Sterling said. “But he likes being a house husband. That way he can do his quilt designs without the men at the gym teasing him.”

  The old man’s mouth fell open. “You make quilts?”

  “Oh, sure,” Mac said, his humor fading a bit. “While preparing for my next fight. Calms my nerves and, truthfully, the quilting designs bring in as much money as my boxing matches.”

  “Can’t we go any faster?” he asked the driver of the vehicle.

  “And what do you do, dear?” the old woman asked Sterling.

  At that moment Sterling saw the man in the gray suit and his expanded number o
f escorts moving through the crowd, stopping everyone. Behind them, her boss, Conner Preston, raced down the concourse, giving a great imitation of a passenger about to miss his flight. What was he doing here?

  Sterling’s heart sank when she saw the waiter from the bar being rushed toward the man in the gray suit. They talked briefly for a moment, then the aide touched his head and extended his hand as if he were giving an urgent order.

  “Darling,” Sterling said, “I think we’d better hurry. I feel a little odd.” She touched her stomach and bent over, whispering, “The real Conner’s here. How’d he know?”

  “I told my office to call him,” Mac said under his breath, then more loudly, “You can’t have the baby here, darling. We’re almost at our gate.”

  Mac had seen Conner and Conner had just seen them. Though how he managed to get here when he was supposed to be at a luncheon, she couldn’t imagine. He came to a sudden stop and engaged the senator’s aide in conversation. The conversation became heated. Conner suddenly drew back and belted the aide. Instantly, the guards surrounded Conner, turning their backs on the tram.

  The tram came to a quick stop. Mac lifted Sterling out of the car and dashed down a corridor, leaving the old man and his wife in stunned disbelief.

  “Sorry,” Mac called behind. “We have to hurry. We’re having our baby at home. In—Aspen.”

  “Aspen?” Sterling repeated, breathless from being in his arms. “I’m sorry, Mac. But Aspen?”

  “Sure,” he said, pushing through the double doors and past a desk where two pilots were studying charts. “What’s wrong with Aspen? I like snow, don’t you?”

  “Not a bit.”

  He moved through another set of doors, then nodded at an employee at the foot of the steps leading up to a sleek silver jet. “Fine, once the baby comes, we’ll move to Hawaii,”

  There was no sign of the policemen, but Sterling knew it was only a matter of minutes before they’d show up. She tried to hide her fear by keeping with the silly conversation Mac had started.

  “Okay, Mac. Hawaii, it is.”

  Mac climbed the stairs without a hint of strain. “Close the doors, John. Let’s get out of here while we can. The posse is right behind us.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. McAllister.”

  By the time Mac had deposited Sterling in one of the luxurious leather seats, the plane was taxiing across the tarmac, headed toward the runway.

  “Are you all right?” Mac asked Sterling.

  “Well, my stomach has settled down, but I’m having trouble with this ‘baby’ poking into my ribs. I think his skin is made of leather.”

  “Complaints, complaints, that’s the way with you pregnant women. Here, let me fasten your seat belt.”

  She could have done it herself, but for now she was content to let him help her. Until he leaned forward and reached for the belt behind her. Big mistake. Her body felt as if it were the object taking off into the sky and not the plane.

  “Mac, if you’ll let me deliver our … baby first, it’ll be easier.”

  “My mama told me that I should never take the easy way out.” He pulled the long end from beneath her bottom, snapped it into the buckle, then adjusted the location of the belt.

  “Mine too. But she also said if you want a thing done right, you’d better do it yourself.”

  “And everyone knows that Sterling Lindsey is a do-it-herself, in-charge-of-her-fate woman, don’t they?”

  “Yes, she is.” Sterling caught his hand and held it for a moment. “Mac, thank you. You probably saved my life.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. We’re not off the ground.”

  She was much too close, too trusting, and as his mother might have said, he was treading in shark-infested waters. Helping people was one thing. But this was different. This was rapidly becoming personal. And his record with women he cared about was so bad that he’d sworn never to become emotionally involved with one again.

  Mac leaned back, removing his hand from Sterling’s. “Are we cleared for takeoff, John?” he called out to the pilot.

  “Yes, sir. Just delaying till you got aboard.”

  “Then get us moving before they have time to stop us.”

  “Sure thing, sir.”

  The engines climbed to a steady roar and the plane moved forward. Once they were airborne, Mac moved to the cockpit to confer with the pilot.

  Sterling pulled the jacket from beneath her sweater. There was no longer a need for a disguise. No more family hurrying home for Christmas. No more little girl and no more twins. She let out a sigh. The fantasy had been fun—for a while.

  Mac soon returned and sat down beside her. “All right, I’m ready to listen. Who is the man in the gray suit?”

  TWO

  The time had come for Sterling to tell Mac the truth.

  “Give me a minute,” she said as she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. Every bone in her body ached. But it wasn’t physical pain that paralyzed her now; it was the emotional anguish that drained the movement from her body. She didn’t ask where they were going or how Mac intended to get away. All she cared about was that for now she was safe.

  As if he understood her mental exhaustion, Mac didn’t press her. Instead, she heard him rise once more and walk over to the cockpit, to have a quiet conversation with the pilot. Moments later she heard the clatter of glass hit the counter. A door—a cabinet opened and closed. Then footsteps.

  “Sterling? Drink this.”

  She opened her eyes.

  Mac was sitting beside her, holding out a glass of burgundy liquid. “It’s whiskey.”

  “Oh, I’m not much on hard liquor.”

  “This is medicinal, not social. Drink it, Sterling.”

  She sat up straight, accepted the glass, and took a reluctant sip. With a grimace she swallowed it and forced herself to take more. The whiskey acted as a warming agent, accelerating her heartbeat and calming her nerves. With two more sips she emptied the glass and handed it to Mac.

  “I’m sorry, Mac. I’m taking you away from the wedding and putting you in danger. If you’ll just get me on a plane for Virginia, I’d appreciate it. I knew I shouldn’t have come.”

  Then why did you? He wanted to ask. It would have been nice if she’d come because she was just a little curious about him.

  Sterling’s gaze darted away from his, as if she was as uncomfortable about seeing him in person as he was right now. The paleness of her skin and the tight expression she’d drawn on her face truly worried him. She wasn’t as strong as she pretended to be and he very much wanted to protect her and not scare her away.

  In spite of the fact Sterling was on first name-basis with half the powerful people in the Western world, Mac believed that she really didn’t leave her office. What was happening to her now had to be a big surprise.

  For Mac, her need for a wheelchair was an even bigger one. Conner had never once mentioned Sterling’s handicap. It had seemed odd when Conner arranged for her to have living quarters in the building where Paradox, Inc. was located, but Mac too lived where he worked, so it didn’t seem out of the ordinary. Conner gave Sterling a beachside apartment in Virginia Beach, one that was attached to the headquarters and easily accessible to her office.

  What Mac didn’t understand was that Conner never explained why he’d gone through the trouble of creating an apartment for her there. He could only assume that the danger, the chair, and her isolation were connected. Conner was a man with a big heart. If Sterling couldn’t walk on the beach, it would be just like Conner to give her a balcony from which she would enjoy the ocean breezes and the sun.

  But there was no evidence that she’d made use of that sunlight. Her skin was much too milky white. She removed the baseball cap from her head, allowing a mass of dark brown hair to fall over her shoulders and down her back, a casual look that Mac doubted many ever saw.

  What had convinced her to come to the wedding? He knew she’d had other invitations to special events, and they apparen
tly hadn’t drawn her out of her safe, well-organized world. Not even Conner and Erica’s wedding had enticed her. But she’d left Virginia and flown to New Orleans for this one. Perhaps—there it was, Sterling’s own soft-spoken word that so intrigued him—Perhaps I’ll come, she’d said. We’ll see.

  Suddenly it all became clear. He’d challenged her to come. And she had. He’d brought her into danger because he’d wanted to meet her. And now he had the responsibility of removing her from that danger. Nothing new about that. He’d spent the last half of his life trying to rectify problems for others. So far his success rate had been pretty good, for acquaintances and strangers.

  In order to succeed with Sterling, he had to maintain that distance. He couldn’t let this become personal. Personal failure had isolated Mac almost as much as Sterling’s chair had isolated her. They were two of a kind. That was not a reassuring thought.

  As he watched, Sterling seemed to fade visibly. He had to revive her if he were going to find the answers he needed. What was that she’d called him. Barney. He smiled, assuming that she was referring to the Rubbles, not the dinosaur. Barney … what was Barney’s wife’s name. He ought to know.

  Bingo. Betty.

  “Er … Don’t worry about missing the wedding, Betty, a wedding’s no big deal. I’m just worried about … about little Conner and Rhett and Erica. They’ll be so disappointed. We did promise them some wedding cake, didn’t we?”

  Her eyelids flew open.

  She had cat eyes—green, with little flecks of brown that matched her hair. Where they’d been veiled and calm earlier, a liveliness now came rushing back.

  “Betty?” she asked.

  “Why not? Barney is married to Betty, isn’t he? I don’t watch cartoons but I seem to remember The Flintstones.”

  Mac tried to maintain the serious look he was always accused of having. This ongoing exchange of quips was something new. He wasn’t quite certain of its result. He’d never made small talk with a woman. Now, leaning forward, he surprised himself further as he threaded his fingers through hers and laid her hand across her stomach. “And think of the baby.”