by Tarah Scott
“Will these young people be returned to their families?” the reporter asked.
“The ones who have families,” the officer replied. “Some, like the boy, have no one.”
“What will happen to them?”
“The underage kids will enter Mexico’s Social Service system. The rest will try to return to normal life. The young boy might be one of the lucky ones. Officer Harerra over there,” she pointed to the officer to her left, “believes she knows someone who will foster the boy.”
“Someone in Mexico?” the reporter asked.
She nodded. “Yes.”
Officer Harerra nodded to Ben and the blonde, and they pushed their way through the reporters to a waiting sedan. He opened the door and the female officers slid into the back seat, then he closed the door and got into the front passenger side. Liz stared at his profile as the car rolled forward. He twisted in his seat and looked back at the female agents, his left profile toward the camera. His mouth lifted in that same smile that haunted her. Her heart twisted and tears pressed at the backs of her eyes. If he had pursued her, she would have sent him home. But none of that changed the fact she cared for him—despite her best efforts. And the knowledge didn’t stop the pain.
* * *
Liz set the vase of Prickle Poppy, Indian Paintbrush, Bachelor’s Button and Firewheel on the sideboard in her office beside the other flower arrangement she’d received an hour ago. She ran a finger over the burnt orange of the Indian Paintbrush then lifted the card from the arrangement and read,
Liz,
We received the dress. Our Belinda will be wearing it tomorrow night as planned. She looks smashing. We already have customers begging for Abducted by Desire. There has even been a bit on the news about the story behind the dress’ name. Of course, only the most discerning of customers will be allowed to purchase the dress.
Abducted by Desire is a hit.
Martin
Liz shifted her gaze to the dress hanging from a hook on the wall, left of the glass wall looking out across the admin and designers workspaces. Martin was right. Abducted by Desire was a hit. A big hit. As much as she wanted to believe the instant popularity was due to the design—it was a damn good design—she knew they’d struck gold because of the notoriety of her kidnapping.
When LaRouche had ordered the dress with the stipulation that it be named Abducted by Desire, Liz had been caught between laughter and tears. The name was just too ridiculous not to laugh, but she couldn’t escape the memory of Ben the dress evoked. The kidnapping and near death at the hand of Carlos Sanchez seven weeks ago seemed like a distant dream. But Ben remained clear and ever-present in her mind. Too often, tears still got the best of her. Her chest tightened with the memory of seeing him on the news two weeks ago.
She’d told herself a thousand times her feelings were ridiculous, but that just didn’t matter anymore. With a sigh, Liz laid the card on the table. Her gaze caught on the card in the other arrangement. She reached for it, then let her hand drop to her side. Today’s delivery of flowers made seven since LaRouche let slip the fact they were the only boutique to sell the coveted Nina Bruno design. Other boutiques were begging for the dress and any other Nina Bruno design they could get their hands on.
Her office door opened behind her.
“If there are more flowers, Becky, just leave them on the desk,” Liz said without turning around.
“I was kind of hoping to give them to you personally,” Ben said.
Liz spun. He stood in the doorway, a bouquet of red roses cradled in his left arm.
“What are you doing here?” she blurted.
“I told you I would come for you.”
“You went back to Mexico,” she said. God, what was wrong with her?
He lifted a brow. “I would have told you I was going away on assignment, but you didn’t return my calls.”
She stared, unable to think of another thing to say, and wished he were anywhere but there; wished they were alone together anywhere but here. She was going to embarrass herself by crying.
“You look good, Liz.”
Her cheeks warmed and she became uncomfortably aware that her assistant and two designers stood at a nearby desk staring.
He started toward her and Liz froze.
He reached her side and laid the roses on the nearby table. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch you before you left. I was sequestered by a dozen agencies.”
She shook her head, unable to speak.
“Did you miss me?” he said.
“I saw the news report and was worried,” she managed.
“Only worried?” He grasped her shoulders.
Her mind went blank when his warm fingers touched her skin.
“I missed you like crazy,” he said.
“You couldn’t have missed me. You were working.”
“I missed you.” He tugged her closer. “You can’t do that again, Liz.”
“Do what?”
“Not return my calls. It had me distracted, and that’s bad when I’m in the field.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” she said.
“I’m being serious,” he replied.
“You’re too young for me,” she blurted, and couldn’t stop from adding, “and a long distance relationship is out of the question.”
“Two points we’ll discuss later.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. I—”
He cut her off with a kiss. Her mind muddled with the press of his warm mouth against hers. He drew her closer and her heart began to pound faster. She’d worked hard to forget the night he’d made love to her, but when her breasts pressed his hard chest, her knees weakened and her desires—and fears—brought a threat of tears. His tongue flicked her lips and she threw her arms around his neck and pressed closer as she opened for him.
His tongue swept inside as his arms tightened around her and Liz was sure she couldn’t breathe. He turned her and backed her up until her shoulder met the cool surface of the wall. Ben slid a hand into her hair and fisted it, then gently tugged as he slid his mouth down along her neck.
Gooseflesh prickled her skin and she whimpered, “They’re watching.” He flicked his tongue against the hollow of her throat. His erection pressed into her belly and she couldn’t think.
Ben abruptly broke the kiss and her head whirled.
He leaned his arms against the wall on each side of her. “Another minute and I’ll have to touch you, Liz.”
She wanted to scream, ‘Why are you stopping?’ but couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the courage to give into what he was offering.
Over his shoulder, she glimpsed her staff. They had turned away, giving her the privacy they thought she needed.
She allowed her head to fall forward onto his chest and waited several heartbeats before saying, “You’re too young for me, Ben. That’ll never change.”
“That wasn’t the kiss of a woman who thought I was too young for her.”
She shook her head “You’re damned hard to resist.”
He laughed, the low, rich sound she’d longed to hear again and again these past weeks. “Honey, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
“I won’t do a long distance relationship,” she said.
“Who said anything about a long distance relationship?”
Liz snapped her head up. “You’ve come all this way for a one night stand?”
Amusement tugged at the corners of his full mouth. “I want a bit more than that.”
“A weekend? Sorry, I can’t do that.” Her heart was already breaking.
“A weekend’s not enough?” he asked.
Not nearly enough, she wanted to say. She had to stop now before she couldn’t turn back. Before she agreed to a weekend that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
“No long distance relationships. No one night stands. No wild weekends—or weeks,” she quickly added.
“I agree,” he said.
“Then what are you do
ing here?” she whispered.
“I’ve come for you.”
Then she understood. “You think I’ll come to El Paso? You think well of yourself, Mr. Hunter. Go home.” She tried stepping out of his arms, but he didn’t budge. She met his gaze and lifted a brow.
“I’m not going anywhere, Liz.”
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“You.”
“I’m not going to El Paso.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
Tears pricked the backs of her eyes like tiny needles. “Then what are you asking me?”
“I’m asking you to give me a chance.”
She shook her head, aware the tears had finally broken through. “So that my heart will break?”
He put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up. “So that I can love you.”
Liz blinked. “What?” Her heart pounded and she glanced at the open door.
“Don’t even think about running, honey. You can’t hide from a Texas Ranger.”
She swung her gaze back to his face. “It seems romantic now, but after six months or a year of us snatching a day here and a weekend there, you’ll grow lonely and then you’ll feel guilty when you cheat on me.”
“I told you, Liz, I want more than a weekend here and there.”
“I can’t give up my career,” she said. “I can’t leave Nina Bruno.”
“I wouldn’t think of asking you to. That’s why I transferred to the Dallas office.”
“What? You what?”
He straightened from the wall. “Meet the new head of the Dallas office Reconnaissance Team. I’ll be training new recruits.”
“You gave up field work?” she demanded. “Have you lost your mind? You love that job. Plus, even under the best of circumstances, most relationships don’t work out. The chances of us working out is even less.”
“So, you agree there’s an ‘us’,” he said.
“Yes—no. It’s just a figure of speech.”
He shrugged. “I’m here, Liz. I’m not going anywhere. I told you that. Now, are you free for dinner?”
“You’re crazy,” she said.
“Crazy about you,” he said. She started to shake her head, and he said, “I know I’m moving fast, honey, but sometimes that’s just the way it goes. It’s all right if you’re not sure yet. I’m willing to give you forever to figure it out, as long as you figure it out with me.” He leaned closer. “I’m prepared to stand here until you agree to have dinner with me.”
Liz knew exactly where dinner would lead.
“Now, just in case you get any ideas, Ms. Monahan, I want you to know that I can be coerced into kissing on the first date. What do you say, you ready to have that steak I still owe you?”
“You’re insane,” she said.
“Probably. That’s a point we’ll discuss later.” He pulled her flush against his body. “I’m about to kiss you, Liz.” Before she could reply he kissed her.
Liz wrapped her arms around him and melted into his embrace. Then she wished she’d installed blinds on her glass walls.
###
From the Authors
We hope you enjoyed Liz and Ben’s wild ride. We had loads of fun uncovering their story. More is in store for our Texas Rangers. Next, is Hijacked.
For your reading pleasure, we have a couple chapters from the first book in our Phenom League series Chain Reaction.
Enjoy!
Tarah and Evan
CHAIN REACTION
For love of country and a woman, Jordan Pierce must sacrifice his humanity.
Former Chicago Detective Jordan Pierce put his life on hold in order to protect America's secret weapon against the Nazis; The Manhattan Project. But he can't protect himself against the disease eating away at his humanity. Jordan discovers how much of his soul this infection has devoured when he falls in love with the woman who could destroy America. Choosing her, means choosing the monster he's becoming, making him the most powerful man he's ever known.
What you won't find in the history books.
CHAPTER ONE
October, 1942
Tension fermented in the air like a sour mash whiskey. By chance, skill, stealth, and deceit I had kept my secret. But tonight I strode down the halls of Chicago University's Eckhart Hall with a feeling my time had run out.
Every evening I reported for duty as The Manhattan Project's head of nightshift security not knowing what I missed during those midday hours when I lay dead to the world. Along with the bizarre sleep that immobilized me, the strange infection raging through my body made me dislike food and drink, stopped my smoking habit cold turkey, and switched me into permanent high gear. The worst part was the dread I barely kept at bay, knowing the people I worked for would turn me into a lab rat if they discovered the truth.
My gut coiled tighter as I entered Security Chief Lopez's office at six o'clock sharp. Lopez stood in front of his desk, hat in hand, while rifling through a stack of files. He looked over his shoulder and our eyes met.
I halted. His bloodshot eyes told me something was wrong even without the uncharacteristic loose tie and rumpled black suit. He straightened and raked strands of greased hair over the bald spot in the back of his head.
"Pierce," he said, "there's been a security breach."
Relief washed over me. This had to be a repeat of the one and only security breach we'd had a couple of weeks ago. In a fit of depression, Miss Therese Hance, a mathematics major here at Chicago University, had written a poem. I still recalled the verse verbatim:
Dear little neutronian who lives on a nucleus in an atom of my knee, if you do not stop jumping around, you are going to cause an atomic blast and blow up the universe.
With the top-secret race to beat the Germans to the first nuclear chain reaction going on at Chicago University, the poem hit too close to home. When Miss Hance's professor, Dr. Albert, found the poem on her desk here in Eckhart Hall—Dr. Albert had some vague awareness of the research going on—he passed the poem along to Oppenheimer, and Oppenheimer panicked. Lopez and I barely prevented the scientists from having a collective nervous breakdown.
I gave Lopez a not this again look. "Which student wrote another poem? Miss Hance didn't know a thing. It'll be the same this time." Then I added before he could reply, "Don't tell me you bought into the story about how her studies in group theory gave her a subconscious knowledge of the scientific research being conducted here."
Lopez shifted and I caught sight of the bright red, Eyes Only, top-secret folder beside the pile of folders he had been thumbing through. I started. An Eyes Only report could only have originated with General Groves, head of The Manhattan Project. This was no student poem.
"We intercepted a radio message north of the Ontario border last night." Lopez grabbed the folder and extended it toward me. "The code-breakers say the message contains the correct amount of Uranium 235 needed to sustain a chain reaction."
"The true U-235 amounts?" I blurted, mechanically reaching for the folder.
Our big edge over the Nazis was the knowledge of how little Uranium 235 was needed to start a chain reaction. Of the two isotopes of uranium, U-238 and the rare U-235, the Nazi's head scientist, Werner Heisenberg, believed they needed a uranium concentration of ninety percent U-235 to build an atom bomb. According to our head scientist, Enrico Fermi, only a twenty percent concentration of the rare isotope would reach critical mass. The disparity was enough to keep the Germans busy doing nothing but enriching uranium until we drove them back to Berlin. But we had to attain the first nuclear chain reaction to ensure victory.
I dropped my stare to the folder and forced my fingers to close around it as Lopez's hand fell away. A bona fide breach here at Chicago Pile One? No one in the outside world knew what was really going on in Eckhart Hall's Metallurgical Lab. The real liability lay a block away at Stagg Field. The scientists were building an atomic pile in an abandoned squash court beneath the field's west grandstands. Damn it, I'd warned Lopez
someone would get suspicious at seeing scientists constantly running between Eckhart Hall and Stagg Field, briefcases clutched so tightly their knuckles turned white. Suddenly Miss Therese Hance's poem didn't seem so farfetched. Who else had noticed strange activity at Eckhart Hall?
"Who else besides the CP-1 scientists have this information?" I asked.
Lopez's mouth thinned. "You, me, and General Groves."
Groves and Lopez were above suspicion. The transmission had to have come from one of the fifty-two scientists working on the project. They all understood the ramifications of an atomic weapon in the hands of a madman like Hitler. I couldn't believe any of them capable of selling out their country, much less the rest of the world.
I swung my gaze up to Lopez's face. "If the Nazis find out Heisenberg's equations are wrong…"
"And the Nazis get their hands on the correct equations…"
We both let the unsaid words hang: The US could lose the war.
"Any leads?" I asked.
"Nothing. I rang your apartment an hour ago when the report hit my desk, but you must have been out."
I nodded. Here was the reason for the dread I'd experienced tonight. A crisis like this could draw attention to the fact I was always out during the height of daylight hours. My service during the Great War combined with my position as a detective on the Chicago Police Force had gotten me through the security check for this job. Keeping a low profile had kept my secret safe—until now.
"What are our instructions?" I asked.
"Sit tight and observe until the spooks finish their investigation." He nodded at the folder. "It's all there. I've already requested a list of the scientists who have access to the U-235 information, as well as a few other topics so the librarians can't guess who or what we're after."
"When will the report be available?" I asked in a tone I hoped didn't show my disbelief. Waiting for our counter intelligence experts to mull over mounds of information wasn't General Groves’ style. Groves was the kick-ass type who single-handedly spearheaded the construction of the Pentagon, the world's largest office building.