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

by Sandra Chastain

  SEVEN

  Mac watched Sterling leave the pool. Unaware that she was being observed, she leaned heavily on the rocks, wincing with every step. He had to force himself not to help her. A silent oath slipped through his lips. Spying on her was bad enough, offering his help would be the ultimate insult.

  How had she managed to get away from Dawson at the airport? She’d walked a long way, not once but twice. Until now, he hadn’t realized how difficult a simple movement was for her. He doubted that Conner knew the extent of her pain. No wonder she never left her building.

  He could almost feel the agony. Experiencing such a personal connection to a woman was new and confusing. There was no reason for him to be drawn to Sterling, but he was. Though she claimed to be independent, that independence depended on someone else providing the kind of safe boundaries in which she could live alone. That dependence must rankle her, yet she didn’t complain.

  For most of his life he’d been surrounded by women who needed his help, beginning with Jessie’s mother, Alice, who’d complained bitterly. Actually, he hadn’t chosen Alice, at least not intentionally. She’d been chosen for him by his own irresponsibility and the fates. He’d done the right thing and married her. She’d been his wife but never his companion. He hadn’t loved her, not the way a man ought to love the woman he married, and she’d known. But he respected her and cared for her. In the end, the death wish that raged inside her head had been more than she could control.

  But she’d given him Jessie. Now Jessie, the sweet child who’d claimed his soul, was grown up. For so long she’d been unable to put her mother’s death behind her, taking on the responsibility for it in ways even she didn’t understand. With all the help and money he had at his disposal, he’d never known how to make her strong. He hadn’t been able to save Alice. And Jessie’s future was still to be defined. Becoming angel to the world had been safer than becoming angel to his family.

  Now, he’d threatened his private sanctuary by bringing another woman who needed care into his life.

  What made her different?

  Her independence? Maybe, but he thought it was as simple as his genuine concern for her. During their telephone conversations over the years, he’d never formed a picture of the physical woman. He’d responded to her gentle voice and reassuring words. There’d been no expectations. They didn’t know each other, so he could be himself. She never complained. She scolded him when he needed it, laughed at his silly jokes, offered a sympathetic ear when he just wanted to talk to someone who didn’t judge him. He hadn’t realized how emotionally attached he’d become to this woman.

  Now that he’d met her, he’d learned that she was more than just bright, determined, and, in spite of her physical limitations, fiercely independent. She was a fighter who looked after herself, and if there were situations she couldn’t handle, she avoided them.

  That, apparently, included men.

  Looking back, it was clear that from the first time they spoke on the phone, they’d made an immediate connection. Sparks flew. He just hadn’t realized it until he touched her. That was the thing that stunned him. Desire came out of nowhere, and every time he was close to her, it grew.

  The exterior Lindsey was as prickly as a spiny lizard, giving off don’t-tred-on-me signals at every touch, yet underneath it all she hurt as much as he. He’d promised to help her when he’d sworn never to be responsible for keeping a woman safe again. He knew that kind of overwhelming responsibility. He’d failed once and he’d lived with that failure. He didn’t think he could do that again.

  When Sterling was in his office, Mac spent the time driving his staff crazy. Though she hadn’t asked for his help with her medical problems, he had his staff retrieving her records and researching her condition. Conner had assured him that Sterling’s condition was irreversible, but Mac wanted to be certain.

  Deep in his gut, he knew that he was building a nest for a woman who would likely fly away as soon as she was allowed. All this, when he should be worried about Vince Dawson. A stab of regret pierced him as Sterling coiled her damp towel into a turban around her hair and rolled herself out of view.

  That regret suddenly became stark loneliness, an emotion he’d held at bay for a long time.

  The door closed behind Sterling. He could see little wisps of fog rising from the pool as the heated water reached for the cool evening air near the ceiling. The beauty of the solarium still existed, but without someone to share it with, the artificial moonlight seemed cold.

  Mac wasn’t the only one who enjoyed Sterling’s presence. Elizabeth liked her too. According to Burt, Jessie had spent several hours having lunch with Sterling. And they’d laughed. Burt—Mac smiled. Since Sterling’s arrival, Burt had turned into a singing chef, bellowing operatic renditions in very bad Italian. Apparently, Sterling had brought out the lighter side of everyone.

  Laughter in Shangri-la was rare.

  Until Sterling.

  Vincent Dawson paced the balcony overlooking the senator’s courtyard in New Orleans’s Garden District. Vincent prided himself on his careful planning, covering all the possibilities, being prepared. What had happenned ten years before had nearly cost him everything he’d worked for. Killing the securities broker had been necessary, though unplanned. The girl was a different matter.

  Sterling Lindsey could have ruined him. Still could. The office was supposed to be empty; that had been the condition he’d insisted on with the old fool who thought he was dealing with a reclusive millionaire. The young woman’s appearance in the office had been a surprise. She couldn’t have identified him because of the ski mask, but he’d reacted before he’d thought. If the damned bullet had done the job, he wouldn’t be in this mess right now. Instead of killing her, it had left her in a coma and paralyzed. Recovery had seemed unlikely. And when nothing had happened after she had recovered, he’d gotten lazy.

  How in hell had this happened? What were the chances he’d run into her again? And what were the chances that she’d even recognize him? A million to one? Yet it had happened and it was apparent that in spite of the ski mask, she’d remembered. No doubt about that. He’d seen it in her eyes. Neither time, nor dyeing his hair, nor any other physical change had saved him from being identified.

  And, even with all the men under his command, she’d gotten away. A woman in a wheelchair had managed to escape. But she’d had help. Given his political connections it hadn’t taken long to identify her champion—Lincoln McAllister, the one man in the world who might be as powerful as Vincent Dawson. He started to pace, then turned and moved behind the desk Senator March had provided. The man seated in the chair opposite him was worried too.

  “You know, going up against McAllister won’t be easy,” he said. “His complex has more security than Fort Knox. He has plenty of grateful friends in high places. And the amount of money he has at his disposal is unbelievable.”

  “Michael, you’re in charge of security. I—the senator pays you for quiet solutions, not for problems. I don’t accept that there is no way to penetrate this man-made fortress in the New Mexico mountains. I expect answers from you.”

  “We’re working on it, Mr. Dawson. But our files are pretty complete. Shangri-la is impenetrable. McAllister is a genius.”

  “No place is impenetrable. We have the power of the United States government behind us. Use it!”

  “The only way we’ll get inside that mountain is to bomb it. Is that what you want?”

  Yes, he started to say, then held back. From his desktop he picked up a paperweight. Inside the glass object was a medieval castle, complete with a moat. Idly, he shook it, stirring up a miniature world of frothy snow.

  “No, don’t use force,” he said. “I have an idea. If Muhammad won’t come to the mountain, we’ll have the mountain come to Muhammad. Thank you, Michael. Get Jonah for me.”

  “Jonah?” The seated man questioned. “Isn’t that a bit extreme?”

  “Not nearly as extreme as it’s going to get
.”

  Sterling found Mrs. Everett in her quarters after her swim. “Would you like to have dinner in the family dining room, or here in the apartment?” the older woman asked.

  “Here, I suppose. I’m rather tired. But I feel bad about having someone cook for me. I really can prepare my own food.”

  “And deprive Burt of your compliments? He’d personally turn us both into shish kebabs. He’s convinced you’re a lady who appreciates good food.”

  Sterling looked down at her plump breasts, spilling over the top of the swimsuit. “That’s what it looks like,” she admitted. “He’s right. I’ll never look like the Danish babe.”

  “Excuse me? Danish babe?”

  “Never mind. Say, would you care to join me?”

  “I would, but I’ve already eaten. I’ll send in a tray for you.” She started to leave, then said earnestly, “I know you had lunch with Jessie today. I wonder … do you think she’s … all right?”

  A strange question to ask someone who met Jessie only twice, Sterling thought. “I’m not sure. I really don’t know her very well. But, there is one thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you going to put up a Christmas tree?”

  Elizabeth looked startled. “Well, no. We haven’t done that in several years. It seemed to make the occasion sadder. But—why not? With you here it might work. I’ll have one of the men get one. We have decorations around here somewhere.”

  “Wait. I’m not sure how long I’ll be here. I mean … I wouldn’t want to make false promises to Jessie. I told her that I’d be honest.”

  “Hmmph! I’ve thought for a long time that she’s had enough truth. What she needs is a little make-believe.” Elizabeth took a long look at Sterling. “Maybe that’s what you need too.”

  The woman was right. “Mac too,” she muttered under her breath.

  The voice that answered was firm and a little amused. “Yep, Mac too.”

  The door closed.

  Half an hour later the music began. Christmas carols were being piped through some kind of intercom system.

  In the middle of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,” there was a crackle, followed by Mac’s voice. “By the way, Moneypenny, start making your list.”

  “What kind of list?” she said, wondering if he could hear her.

  “For Santa. But I should tell you, Santa would rather you be naughty than nice. By the way, how’re you doing on those Danish tapes?”

  “Lincoln McAllister, are you watching me?”

  “No. Would you like me to?”

  “You know what I mean. Do you have some kind of hidden camera in this room.” She stood and switched off all the lights.

  “Sure. I tape all my guests’ activities and use them for blackmail. How do you think I can afford all this?”

  “Then you’re out of luck. I’m in the dark and I have no money.” She moved as fast as she could, pulling on a robe and combing the tangles from her hair.

  “Well … we can fix that.”

  “What? You have infrared viewing?”

  “No. I have money. And I have a deal for you. Will you forget about that tray in your room and have dinner with me? I want to talk to you about Jessie.”

  “About Jessie?”

  “Jessie, my daughter. About Christmas.”

  “That’s all? No Danish lessons?”

  “Ah, Moneypenny. Everyone ought to learn a foreign language. Don’t you know Bond never gives up?”

  She smiled. “And Moneypenny never gives in.”

  “There’s still time. Just throw on a robe and I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

  “That’s awfully quick. Where are you?”

  “Right next door.”

  Why had he invited her to join him at dinner? He had initially planned on sharing a rare meal with Jessie, but she had already eaten.

  The medical staff threatened him with amputation of certain parts of his anatomy if he stuck his head into their offices again. That seemed a bit extreme, at least the lower section of his body protested. He didn’t have to be told twice to leave everyone alone. Mac needed someone to pass the time with, and Sterling was the perfect candidate.

  Conner hadn’t responded either to his pager or E-mail, and Mac knew that his Washington friends wouldn’t appreciate him pressuring them any more than he already had. The soonest he was likely to hear anything was morning. The hours from now until then seemed an eternity.

  When he’d sauntered into the kitchen and found Burt whistling merrily over his stove, he had no idea that he’d run straight into a trap. His innocent question—“What’s for dinner?”—brought a lofty answer from Burtram Kazino, the man who owed his life to Mac but all his future earnings to a bookie who was probably still looking for a short-order cook.

  “I’m preparing a special casserole for Sterling, nothing you’d like.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you don’t like casseroles. You always call them leftovers smothered with cheese and served with a strong wine so that you won’t remember that you’ve already eaten it once.”

  Mac opened the door to the oven and took a sniff. “Doesn’t smell like leftovers to me. Is there enough for two?”

  “Actually, I’m preparing this for Ms. Lindsey. It’s supposed to break the ice. Don’t want the courtship to be too forward.”

  “Courtship? What do you mean courtship?”

  “You’ve heard that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?”

  Mac nodded.

  “Well, the way to a woman’s is with a romantic meal; good food, good wine, and … this.”

  Burt opened the refrigerator and removed parfait glasses filled with vanilla and chocolate swirls. “And”—he grinned as he arranged the dessert on a tray—“if all else fails, bring her a gift.” From beneath the counter he drew out a package wrapped in red foil and tied with a silver bow.

  “Dare I ask what’s in the box?”

  “You do not. This gift isn’t for you.”

  “You’re really having dinner with Ms. Lindsey?” Mac asked, feeling a strange twinge of jealousy.

  “I will be serving her, yes. And if you’re going to join her, you’d better hurry.”

  “Me? But I thought—”

  “You’re always thinking, boss. When you gonna stop that thoughty stuff and live dangerously. Tell her you’ll pick her up in fifteen minutes. I’ve set a table in the library. I’ve selected the food and wine, you pick the music.”

  “But …” Why was he being difficult? Having dinner with Sterling was exactly what he wanted to do. “Yes,” he finally said. “I’ll call her. And Burt, thanks.”

  He started out of the kitchen, a spring in his step that hadn’t been there before. He bumped straight into Elizabeth, who was walking in. “Oh, Mac, I wanted to talk with you.”

  “Right now?” He’d didn’t have time now. Minutes were ticking by. “I … I have an appointment. Can’t it wait?”

  “I suppose. Just answer one question. Sterling thinks that Jessie needs a more traditional Christmas. Do I have your permission to have a tree brought in?”

  “Sure. And tell Jessie if she writes Santa a note, he might pay her a visit.”

  “Tell her yourself, Mac.”

  “I—I just might. It’s been a long time since she sat on Santa’s knee.”

  Elizabeth smiled as Mac moved out of the kitchen and down the hall whistling “Jingle Bells.”

  “What set him off?” she asked Burt.

  “Don’t know. Must be the casserole. Is it getting to you?”

  Elizabeth eyed the chef skeptically. “What are you up to, you overgrown Cupid?”

  “I’m sharpening my arrows, Lizzie, my girl. You’d better watch out. One of Santa’s larger angels is watching you.”

  “And what is this extra-large angel planning to do?”

  Burt took Elizabeth by the shoulders and backed her up to the door. “Look up, Lizzie?”

  She did. In the a
rchway, Burt had tied a tiny sprig of greenery fall of white berries. “Now, Burt.”

  “Now, Lizzie, it’s mistletoe. I haven’t seen any mistletoe in the three years I’ve been here. I haven’t kissed a pretty girl in too long, and I’ll bet you haven’t been kissed either.”

  “You aren’t serious.”

  “Trust me, Lizzie, I am.”

  He was. And by the time he was finished, Lizzie knew exactly how deadly serious a kiss could be. She looked up at the man who towered over her. “You kissed me.”

  “That I did, and I intend to do it again. I’ve put this on top of my list of New Year’s resolutions.”

  “But, Burt, I’m an old woman. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you’ll have dessert with me by the pool, and I’ll tell you about all the gifts that Santa’s bringing you.”

  A flush spread across her face. “I know you’re going to think I’m silly, but I can’t. I mean, I never … I shouldn’t … what kind of dessert?”

  “Chocolate kisses.”

  Too many years had passed since a man had looked at Elizabeth Everett as if she were the dessert. She swallowed hard and said a little prayer for forgiveness before she quipped, “I guess I could indulge in some dessert … just this once.”

  EIGHT

  The Christmas music on Sterling’s intercom faded. She had visions of Mac gleefully manipulating the buttons on some vast control board. And she wasn’t certain that he wasn’t watching her right now.

  Without the music, the complete darkness smothered her. So be it. If Lincoln McAllister was a voyeur, and didn’t get a good enough look the night he undressed her, he was about to see plenty. She turned the lights back on, and waited, expecting his voice to fill the silence.

  Nothing.

  Sterling didn’t know whether she was pleased or angry.

  Water from her wet hair ran down her face. She wiped her forehead, felt the sopping tendrils, and grimaced. Ten minutes? That’s all the time she had to dress and turn herself into someone a man like 007 would want to face across a dinner table. It had been a long time since she’d even considered pleasing a man.