Once she’d turned over the new graphics to the Agency, she’d expected to hear from Roman. Perhaps even see him. How hard would it be to run into him in the Agency’s headquarters? But he’d not only made himself scarce, she’d also had no further dealings with Amelie Tremayne. None of the other agents seemed to know how to contact Roman, and this time Rachel didn’t feel like chasing him.
She’d done her bit as the hunter. Might be nice to be the prey again. Maybe she’d find someone new in Puerto Rico. Someone whose career didn’t interfere with pursuing a real life with real lovers and real relationships. Someone who would tell her his real name the first time they met. Someone who would be honest that their affair would last only a few hours or a few days, instead of playing her by her heartstrings. Not that Roman was guilty of all that, but the longer they remained separated, the worse his crimes and misdemeanors would become. It was the law of ex-lovers.
“Ms. Marlowe?”
Rachel looked up into the serious gaze of a rather official-looking airline employee. A woman. At least, Rachel was almost sure she was female. The gruff tone and boxy suit made it hard to tell.
“Yes?”
“Could you come with me, please?”
The please, while tacked on, definitely held no graciousness.
“Why?”
The employee curled a strand of her short hair around her ear, revealing a small earpiece like the ones worn by the agents Rachel had been working for all week.
“The delay will be minimal, I assure you. Please.” The woman gestured toward the hallway, and from the wide-eyed stares of her fellow passengers, Rachel was fairly certain her travel mates had pegged her as some sort of terrorist moll. Did terrorists even have molls?
She grabbed her backpack and laptop, glancing around for Mario and Iris, who were nowhere to be found. She hadn’t been around these Agency types much, but she figured the disappearance of her friends had been no accident. She had no idea why the Agency wanted her again-their business had been concluded. But this imposing woman’s attitude unnerved her and she had to fight the instinct to flee.
The people around her murmured and stared, but no one said anything. The blond guy in the baseball cap made a motion toward her, but then stopped before she could make eye contact again. Even as she walked away, she spun around to glance back at him, experiencing a vibe that denoted more than idle curiosity. But he had his back to her, with his cell phone glued to his ear.
False rescue alarm, she supposed. Probably best for both of them.
After a short walk down the terminal, the so-called airline official led her to an unmarked door. She slid a card key through the lock and pushed it open. Rachel walked through and the door was shut soundly behind her. The hallway was narrow and dark, with only weak fluorescent lighting lining the path to another door at the end. That revealed a staircase that conveniently only went down. Rachel ventured into what she imagined were the bowels of the airport. When she emerged, she saw only one door to the left. She took a deep breath and walked through, not entirely surprised to see Amelie Tremayne sitting comfortably in a well-appointed luxury suite sporting a full bar, several plush couches, a small conference table and fine art on the walls.
Rachel always wondered where celebrities hung out when they flew commercial. She figured this was it.
“Please, come in, Ms. Marlowe.”
Rachel paused with her hand on the doorknob.
“Do I have a choice?”
Tremayne smiled, and the effect was as sharp as steel. “Not if you plan on leaving the country in half an hour, no.”
“Technically,” Rachel said, closing the door behind her, “Puerto Rico is part of the United States. You’d think someone in your high-ranking position would know that.”
Tremayne toasted her with a highball glass filled with an amber liquid Rachel would bet big bucks was ginger ale. “I should be more specific. If you wish to leave the mainland, then I’ll need a few moments of your time.”
Rachel tossed her backpack on the nearest table. She really didn’t have much choice. But she’d already told the Agency where to shove their long-term job offer. She just wanted to get away.
“You’ve got five minutes,” Rachel said.
“What makes you think I’ll let you go in five minutes?”
Rachel sighed wearily. “Oh, you can keep me here as long you want. But any offer you make me after five minutes won’t be listened to with an open mind, so I suggest you start talking.”
“You’ve gotten much bolder than when Roman first reported on you.”
She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, hating the idea that he’d reported back to this woman about their interactions, but knowing that until very recently, their personal relationship had been a well-kept secret, even from this super-spy. Besides, the bitch was probably just jealous, anyway.
“You’re wasting my time and yours.”
“As you know, your graphics did the trick,” Tremayne said. “We were able to direct the leader of the sleeper cell to a rendezvous point. We identified him, and we’re in the midst of an operation that we’re certain will result in not only his arrest, but the capture of his cohorts.”
Rachel yawned. It had been a long day. “Good for you.”
“Good for you, as well. The higher-ups in the Agency believe that your expertise is needed to continue the success of this mission.”
“I taught your tech how to do what I do.”
“Yes, but for whatever reason that completely eludes me, they want you.”
Rachel grabbed the strap on her backpack. “Not interested.”
“We’re willing to increase your level of both compensation and security clearance.”
Rachel glanced at her watch. “You know what I want.”
“Agent Brach is currently on assignment elsewhere. And besides, we can’t negotiate with the love lives of our operatives.”
Rachel laughed. Loudly.
Tremayne placed her iced drink on a coaster, then stood, straightening her slim, tailored slacks. “Perhaps you’ll be more amenable after your vacation.”
Rachel leaned her weight on one hip. “Unless you plan on making Roman Brach materialize on a sun-drenched Puerto Rican beach, I doubt it.”
“Did it ever occur to you that perhaps Roman doesn’t want you?”
Did it ever occur to her? Who was this woman kidding?
She snapped up her backpack and swung it jauntily over her shoulder. “Nope, never crossed my mind.”
She was inches from the door when it swung open, a somber operative attached to the knob. Rachel sashayed past him and made her way back through the maze until she emerged in the terminal again. Her flight, not surprisingly, had already begun to board. She had to sprint to make it to the gate, just in time for the attendant to glare at her. After waving her boarding pass beneath the scanner, the guy forced a smile and waved her through. The doors were pulled shut behind her before she’d even taken ten steps inside.
By the time she made it to the aircraft, nearly everyone was seated. She spotted Mario and Iris canoodling in the bulkhead row. She expected a seat beside them, but glancing down at her boarding pass, she realized she wasn’t seated in Coach, but First Class.
Let the Agency suck up. She wouldn’t change her mind.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” a handsome flight attendant said from behind her. “You need to find your seat.”
She turned, ready to aim a sharpened barb at the guy for stating the obvious, but decided he wasn’t worth her ire. He was just doing his job. Instead, she smiled, apologized for her tardy arrival and headed into the front of the plane. There was an empty window seat beside, of course, the blond guy in the baseball cap. An empty seat that corresponded with the number and letter on her boarding pass.
He stood up, allowing her to pass, though the spacious seats made his gesture unnecessary. As she skimmed by him, his cologne caught her attention. Warmed by his skin, the subtle citrus scent teased her with a
hint of mint. Completely unlike the haunting, smoky musk tinged with patchouli and sandalwood that Roman wore, the aroma aroused her curiosity. She fought the urge to glance at his face, explore the depths of his eyes, assess whether or not the man fate had deemed worthy of sitting beside her might not make an interesting way to wash the missing Roman out of her hair.
Not that she really wanted him washed out, but what choice did she have? She’d denied Tremayne’s suggestion that Roman hadn’t returned from his assignment because he was avoiding reconciling with her, but most of that had been bravado and good, old-fashioned pride. Didn’t mean the heart-crushing thought hadn’t occurred to her more than once.
She busied herself with stuffing her backpack under her seat, fastening her seat belt and accepting a hot, wet hand towel from the flight attendant to wipe the grime of the long wait off her hands, arms and neckline, dipping deep into her V-necked blouse to remove the collected sweat.
“You’re killing me, you know that, right?”
The voice was unmistakable. A chill breezed over her freshly moistened skin, and in a daze, she dropped the towel on the flight attendant’s proffered tray and turned slowly to the man beside her.
His hair was blond. His eyes were…green? She leaned in closer, determined to see the telltale rim of colored contacts. The scar dipping into his top lip threw her off for a moment, and the new, thinner shape and lighter color of his eyebrows nearly changed her mind, but the rugged shape of his chin, the texture of his skin, the curve of his smile finally gave him away.
“You son of a bitch,” she whispered.
She moved, but Roman caught her hand and held it fast to the armrest. Smart man. She had the incredible need to slap the smug smile off his face.
“Not exactly the greeting I expected,” he said.
She tugged her hand away, gluing her gaze to the seat in front of her as the plane roared down the runway. “I don’t know why you expected anything more. Or less. You left.”
“I was deployed to complete the mission. I couldn’t have succeeded without you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Clearly. My life would have been a hell of a lot easier over the past few days if you just would have been honest with me and asked for my help rather than playing all these games, including the ones that nearly got me shot.”
His fingers tap-danced on the armrest, and she couldn’t help but give them a cursory glance. If he touched her, she’d kill him. Then she’d kiss him. But killing definitely came first.
“That sounds very fair and self-righteous, but you know as well as I do that things couldn’t work that way. As romantic and grand a gesture it would have been if I’d stayed behind to hold your hand at the Agency, that’s not who I am. And it’s not who you need me to be.”
Had he spoken those words a few weeks ago, Rachel wouldn’t have been so sure of the honest truth in his assessment. Wrapped up in her own life and career, Rachel hadn’t given two thoughts to how much she might need a man until Roman’s continual abandonment drove her to secretly follow him and enlist her friends in carefully planned schemes to trap him and force him to tell her…what? That he loved her? That he couldn’t live without her?
But now she’d gotten her life back, her strength. She’d wanted him back, yes, but she hadn’t been willing to pay any price. She’d helped her country, that was a perk, but most important, she’d returned to her original groove of an independent woman open to the possibility of love, but not bound to it.
She turned in her spacious seat, giving a little yawn she covered daintily with her hand. Her ears popped as the plane ascended to cruising altitude. “So why are you here?”
He looked down into his lap, his expression sheepish. “What can I say? I can’t resist you.”
“You’ll lose your job,” she pointed out. “I don’t think Tremayne likes the idea of you and me together, especially if I keep turning down her job offers.”
“Tremayne likes to think of herself as all-powerful, but now that I’ve completed this mission, my clout within the Agency is assured. With the right spin, which I’ve already set in motion, I may just have her job by the end of our vacation.”
Rachel sat back, trying to hide the thrill that sparked through her body. “Our vacation? You sure you didn’t just stowaway aboard in order to seduce me and leave when your pager goes off?”
He leaned forward and dug into the duffel he’d shoved under the seat. He retrieved a small gift-wrapped box and placed it softly in her hands.
“Open it,” he instructed when she seemed more interested in the shiny bronze box rather than the contents of his offering.
She pulled off the top. Inside was his old pager…or at least, what was left of it.
“Anger issues?” she asked, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth.
He shook his head and extended his palm. She placed the box in the middle of his hand and grinned at the mess inside. “I had to show my credentials just to get it through Security. I like to think of this more like frustration. And determination. How long do you plan to stay in Puerto Rico?”
“Well,” she said, retrieving the box and capping it with the bowed top, “I was going to decide after I found out who I met poolside. What’s your schedule like?”
He leaned in, twisting so they faced each other, then took off his hat and stuffed it in the pocket in front of him so he could close in even more. Rachel couldn’t help but run her fingers through his newly dyed hair, which also seemed longer, thanks to what she suspected were extensions. The picture of Roman sitting still for the procedure in some frou-frou salon made her giggle, but when his newly green gaze glittered with curiosity, she tamped down her mirth and instead concentrated on the sudden, overwhelming awareness sparking between them. He obviously would do whatever it took to be an effective agent. And by boarding this plane, he’d proved that he was also willing to do whatever it took to bring her back into his life.
“I’m completely in vacation mode for the foreseeable future. Things are going to shake up at the Agency, and until then, I’m all yours.”
“And what if they call you back?”
“First they have to find me.”
She licked her lips, trying to sate her incredible need to lick his instead. “They are Homeland Security.”
“Are they?”
She arched a brow. “Are you keeping secrets from me, Roman Brach, if that really is your name?”
He leaned sideways so that his smooth, recently shaven cheek brushed lightly against hers. “It is really my name,” he whispered.
Her flesh rippled with goose bumps. “Really? And what other secrets are you willing to share with me?”
“Whatever you need to know to love me again, I’ll tell you.”
“How do you know I ever loved you to begin with?”
“Because you did. No more games, Rachel. No more distractions. Being away from you made me realize I’d lost a shot at something amazing. I love you. I probably have since the moment I spotted you in that television studio, but more than likely since the first time we made love. And I loved you even more when you put up with Tremayne in order to save my project.”
“You love me because I saved your ass?”
“It’s not the only reason, no, but it damned well doesn’t hurt. In this business, saving someone’s ass is serious business.”
“Like us?”
“Like us.”
Rachel closed her eyes in anticipation of Roman’s lips descending on hers to detonate all other thoughts from her brain. They had a lot to talk about, a lot to explore, a lot to admit and a lot to learn. But so long as Roman was willing to lay his heart on the line, so was she. The payoff could be more than she ever imagined that fateful morning when she’d stepped into Mario’s cab and followed Roman into a life she never thought she’d have the fortitude to deal with-until she had.
Luckily, she didn’t have to wait long for the feel of his mouth on hers and the mind-exploding sensation of the kiss she’d longe
d for. With his hands around her waist and his tongue coaxing her into sweet delirium, Rachel cherished his ability to drive her to distraction, en route to delivering her to love.
TAKEN FOR A RIDE by Kate Hoffmann
CHAPTER ONE
THE TINY BRASS BELL above the shop door jangled wildly as Sabina stumbled through, her iced latte clutched in one hand. She kicked the door shut, the click of the latch echoing in the silence. Outside, the temperature was already rising, the weatherman promising at least an eighty-degree day. Hot weather in Manhattan was always good for business, Sabina mused.
Her grandmother said that the spirit world felt closer when the air was thick with heat and humidity. Sabina believed that the stress of summer in the city brought more people into the shop for psychic relief, the same as it did around the holidays. Either way, more business was good business.
She wandered through the familiar interior of the shop, exotic scents mingling in the still air. The tourist guides had called Ruta’s “disarmingly peculiar” and “an odd little establishment” and “a relic of the Village’s colorful past.” For Sabina, it was more than that. It was home.
She’d taken her first steps on the thick Turkish rugs and she’d done her schoolwork on the round table with the crystal ball. Her friends used to play with the stuffed marmot that sat on a shelf above the ornate cash register and she’d learned to add and multiply with well-worn decks of tarot cards.
Sabina had never really thought of her grandmother as unusual, at least not when she was younger. Ruta was like so many other immigrants living in New York. It wasn’t until later that she learned how different her grandmother really was. Descended from Gypsy kings and queens, Sabina’s ancestors had once roamed eastern Europe in wagon caravans, peddling potions and amulets and even curses.
Ruta had come to America as a child over seventy years ago, escaping Hungary months after the war broke out. A stranger in a strange land, Ruta’s widowed mother had told fortunes in Times Square while Ruta sat by her side, learning her secrets.
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