Agents Under Fire

by Dana Marton

  Marnie came by and put a gourmet Angus burger with sweet potato fries on the counter in front of Claire, along with a large fruit salad and a bottle of water.

  “Thank you, Ma’am.” She flashed the woman a look of pure gratitude. When somebody feeds you like that, you better appreciate it. She’d eaten enough freeze-dried food, MREs, in the Army to know a good thing when she saw it.

  The presentation was so pretty, for a second she considered taking a picture of the food instead of eating it. It was a short second. Her stomach growled and she dug in.

  Mitch leaned closer. “A couple of friends and I are sneaking into the nature preserve for some extreme white water rafting this afternoon. Come with us. We’ll drive up as far as we can, then hike the rest of the way in. Rough terrain.” His eyes sparkled. “You can’t tell anyone. My brother is obsessed with keeping me from causing scandal. But if the chance is there, why not try everything? Life is too short to spend it in an office.” He winked.

  His white-toothed smile looked bright as the noon sun, his enthusiasm contagious. Like the Congressman, he had a larger than life personality.

  She flashed him a friendly smile. “Already saw enough excitement to last me a lifetime. Thanks anyway. Just got back from my last tour of duty in Afghanistan a month ago. Ever been there?” she asked conversationally, pretending to pay attention to her food, but watching him from the corner of her eye.

  The smile slid right off his movie-star-handsome face. “A little while back. Quick business visit. Barely saw anything of the country.” He slid off the chair and beat a retreat, calling a, “see you around,” from the doorway.

  He seemed so harmless and was perhaps the most attractive man she’d ever met. Yet she would have taken Troy’s somber eyes and raspy voice over Mitch’s flair any day of the week. Mitch seemed to live by the motto of “do whatever you want as long as you’re having fun.” She couldn’t relate to Mitch.

  She could relate to Troy. He had seen some seriously messed up business, judging by his scars and the hard look in his eyes. Unlike her, he didn’t let it get to him. Maybe, if they hung around each other long enough, she could learn that skill from him.

  For a second she wondered if the rest of his body was as scarred as his face. The image that popped into her mind made her choke on her fries. Not because it was scary. Just the opposite.

  She washed down the food with some water, then made a mental note not to think of Troy again without his clothes. She didn’t need that kind of distraction.

  “Handsome devil, our Mitch,” Marnie said. “Are you ready to take on all that heartbreak?”

  “No, Ma’am.”

  “Smart girl.” Marnie turned to the sink.

  Claire tackled the fruit salad, her thoughts circling back to Troy. Whatever scars he had on the outside, and she wasn’t going to think about that any further, he definitely had scars on the inside, too. He’d lost the woman he loved.

  At least she’d never had to suffer through that kind of pain.

  She had no intention of giving her heart and falling in love. No way. Her parents had a marriage from hell. Her brother was divorced, dragged through the mud by his ex-wife. Most women she knew in the army who hooked up with guys while deployed, regretted it. Her best friend’s husband divorced her and took the kids while she was overseas.

  She’d seen the thing people called “love” and decided she didn’t want any of it.

  She shoved in the last of her food, thanked Marnie again then headed back to the gate.

  Brian jumped up as soon as he saw her coming, his face and movements tense. “Good. I have to go.” He practically ran by her.

  “Are you okay?” she called after him.

  He didn’t answer, but strode to the mansion’s side door and disappeared behind it. As she watched, Billy came from around the building and followed with the same tense expression on his face.

  Claire tapped her earpiece. She hadn’t heard any call going out from Nick. How on earth did she keep getting these faulty units?

  * * *

  He worried about her. He didn’t like the feeling.

  He more than didn’t like it. He resented it.

  And while he appreciating her saving him, truth be told, Troy even resented that a little. He didn’t like the idea that he’d messed up so bad that he had to be saved by a girl.

  Furthermore, he resented that he could still clearly recall her long legs, her lean figure and the bow shape of her mouth.

  He ran up to her second story apartment. The staircase didn’t have enough lighting, the walls marred by graffiti. It certainly didn’t look like she was on her way to becoming a millionaire on her security guard salary.

  The door to her apartment stood ajar, the lock busted. His pulse leapt as he pushed through and found himself face to face with a well-executed karate kick she pulled back at the last second. He could feel the wind of it.

  “Sorry.” She stepped back. “I didn’t expect you this early.”

  “What happened?” He looked around and took in the turned over furniture, pots and pans lying on the kitchen floor in a heap.

  “I don’t exactly live in a high security building.” She shrugged. “They were looking for drugs. They took the microwave.”

  Only that? The place was so sparse it looked like somebody had backed a truck up to the door. She must not have had much to begin with.

  “Want a soda?” She stepped over to the fridge. “Sorry, I don’t keep any beer on hand. When I got back from overseas… I figured I better keep clear of alcohol. I wasn’t in a good place.”

  He nodded, liking the forethought and the self-discipline, as well as the honesty, the unflinching way with which she admitted her problems. No games. “A cold soda would be great.”

  She opened the fridge door, and her eyes narrowed. “They took my leftovers.” Anger flushed her cheeks. She grabbed two sodas then slammed the door. “My favorite Chinese takeout, dammit.”

  He took the can she handed him. “Have you called the police?”

  “This is the third time the place got tossed since I moved in. The cops never do anything. It’s the neighborhood I live in.” An odd look crossed her face.

  “What is it?”

  “Probably nothing, but— We had four break-ins in the last couple of months. Three times out of four, they hit my place. It’s just coincidence, right?”

  “Any other coincidences you noticed lately?”

  She pressed her lips together for a second. “I keep getting faulty earpieces at work. I miss a lot of what’s being said by the rest of the team.” She ran her slim fingers through her hair. “But they can’t possibly know that I’m involved in what you’re doing.”

  The muscles in his jaw tightened. He drank then put the can down as he moved to the living room, which was adjacent to the kitchen. He set the furniture straight, ignoring his cracked ribs, then picked up the clothes from the floor and dumped them in the ancient reclining chair. She could hang those back up in the closet when she was ready. She stayed in the kitchen and put the pots and pans away.

  When she moved to the bedroom, he followed her, the two of them working side by side silently. He let her handle the spilled dresser drawers, turning the other way and busying himself with the ripped off curtain while she reclaimed her underwear. Then he helped her make the bed. And tried not to picture her in it, even if he more than liked the lean body that went with her brave heart.

  Since she didn’t have much, restoring the place took all of twenty minutes.

  Utilitarian, but clean, he decided when they were done and sitting in the kitchen, finishing their drinks. No pink, no frills. He felt comfortable here with her, not as if he’d entered some alien girly landscape. She definitely wasn’t some helpless socialite. But he still hated the thought of leaving her here alone.

  “I’ll take you to my place.”

  She arched an eyebrow.

  “We’ll have more privacy to talk. Can’t even close the door here.
I can probably scare up a couple of microwave dinners,” he added, as extra incentive.

  And after a long second, she agreed. He helped her wedge the door shut before they left.

  “Security doesn’t log every vehicle that comes and goes,” she said when they were in the car, turning onto the boulevard. “They didn’t log the van last night. Their official story is that the FBI got you this morning. We’re all under gag order. Nobody saw you. You were never there.”

  He nodded. It didn’t exactly surprise him.

  By the time they reached the docks, she had filled him in on her day. She searched the water, and he knew what she was looking for without her having to say anything. But the fishing boat with the bodies was gone. The FBI had taken it by the time he’d gotten back from dropping Claire off at the mansion that morning.

  “I’ll have a better chance to find out something tomorrow. I’ll be on house duty,” she said as she jumped on board of old Betsy and glanced around. “Looks different in the daylight.”

  “Not as bad as you first thought?” He showed her below deck, to the kitchen.

  “Maybe. But it’s still in way too much water.”

  “I take it you’re not a great fan of all things marine.”

  “I don’t see what there’s to like about the water. It smells like fish.”

  He grinned as he walked to the fridge. “Soda or coffee?” She looked like she could use another boost of caffeine.

  “Soda. It’s my only addiction.”

  He tossed her a can, and she closed her eyes briefly as she took the first long swallow. “My mother would kill me if she saw me do this,” she told him. “Ladies never drink from the can or the bottle. Glasses are required. Lead crystal, preferably.”

  He pulled some ground meat and an onion from the fridge, then a couple of peppers and tomatoes, a small zucchini and an even smaller summer squash. He felt like cooking, suddenly. “So how does a Montana socialite end up in the Army?” He’d read the full report on her while he’d been at the FBI headquarters this morning. He knew about her cattle baron father.

  “Who are you calling a socialite? I believe the term the local media likes to use is Cowgirl Princess.”

  He could picture her much easier on the back of a horse, wearing a Stetson, than in a ball gown with a tiara. He could definitely picture the two of them riding together. “I grew up on a farm. My father was the foreman.”

  “Where are your parents now?”

  “Both gone.” He washed the tomatoes. “What did your parents think when their little princess joined the Armed Forces?” He grabbed a pot to put on some water to boil.

  “My father threatened to disown me. My mother wanted to have me committed.” She gave a flat smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  He watched her for a second. “Nobody runs from money. You had to have a reason.”

  She shrugged.

  “Impossible to meet expectations?”

  “That, too.” She hesitated, then squared her shoulders and that oh-what-the-hell expression came onto her face. She looked him straight in the eye. “At a garden party my parents gave, a wealthy business partner of my father nearly raped me in the pool house. When I told my parents about it, my father wouldn’t believe me, and my mother told me I needed to play my cards right, be nicer next time and maybe the guy would marry me.”

  His fingers clenched into fists, breaking the bag of spaghetti he was holding. He dumped the contents into the boiling water. “That’s messed up.”

  “Welcome to my family.”

  He couldn’t image what that must be like. His parents hadn’t been wealthy, but he’d been loved and protected as a kid.

  “So you turned yourself into a fighting machine to make sure nobody messed with you in the future.”

  She turned and walked away, stopped at the window, since she couldn’t get too far in the small space. “Go analyze someone who needs it.”

  “Sorry.” He stirred the browning meat, then finished chopping the vegetables. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m glad that you made yourself into a strong, capable woman who can defend herself. It’s a good thing.”

  She turned toward him, but didn’t come back. “I don’t usually talk about this stuff. For one, it’s water under the bridge. It was my time to rebel. The jerkwad was just the final push.” She shrugged. “I ran away to the one place where my pedigree and my father’s money wouldn’t gain me any preferential treatment, guaranteed. I was a spoiled brat, tired of the high society thing, wanted to know what it felt like being a real person. I got my wish in a hurry.”

  “Do you regret it?” He strained the meat and dumped the vegetables in the skillet, added salt, pepper and oregano, then stirred.

  She thought about his question for a second. “I can’t. The Army made me into what I am today.”

  He liked her unflinching honesty. It’d been a while since he’d talked with someone like this—all cards on the table, no bullshit.

  “How about you?” she asked. “Any dark childhood secrets?”

  “Family as normal as could be.” He told her about the ranch in Wyoming, the horses they’d trained and the people he’d grown up with.

  “How about I set the table?” she asked when the food was ready.

  “Let’s eat up on top,” he suggested, and half an hour later, when they were sitting in the shade, in the comfortable breeze that came off the water, he was glad he had.

  “Best microwave dinner I ever had,” she deadpanned.

  “I rarely have a guest. Figured might as well go all out.”

  “Where did you learn to cook?”

  “From my mother.”

  “We always had kitchen staff. On a good day, I can boil water for tea. Thank God, they feed us at the mansion. Which reminds me… I saw Mitch at lunch.”

  They talked about the Congressman’s little brother for a while. She kept asking questions. Until she didn’t.

  At one point, when she blinked, her eyes didn’t open back up. She fell asleep slouched down in her seat.

  She hadn’t slept at all last night. He’d gotten her back to the mansion just in time to report for her shift. At least he’d caught a catnap this morning.

  Doing his best to block the pain of his injuries, he picked her up and carried her to his bed, laid her gently on top of the covers. The cabin was warm enough in the late afternoon so she didn’t need a blanket.

  He moved toward the door. Her eyelids began to flutter. He took another step away from her. She tossed, ready to waken. He stopped. She settled right down again.

  He repeated the exercise with the same results.

  Even in her sleep, she seemed to sense his presence and it settled her down. He’d had his own bouts with insomnia and understood some of what she was going through. So he quietly dropped into his reading chair and stayed, letting her nap for an hour or two. He could work on his cell phone until then, checking and answering messages.

  He woke four hours later, to the sound of his phone ringing.

  “Gabe and Jake are back in the U.S. They’re taking the women to a new location as we speak,” his FBI handler said.

  Claire blinked at him sleepily from his bed, her hair tussled. The sight flooded his body with heat.

  “When they’re done with that, they’ll come to you so the three of you can wrap this thing up,” the man went on.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The line went dead, and he set his phone down.

  Claire looked around. “What happened?”

  “You fell asleep.”

  She frowned. “I never just fall asleep.”

  “Maybe it’s the water.”

  Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “And you what? Sat there and watched over me?”

  “You hogged the only bed.”

  She glared at him.

  “I nodded off, too,” he admitted. “We both had a busy night last night.” He stood and stretched. “Are you up now, or do you need a Sleeping Beauty kiss to come fully awake
?”

  He froze. He had no idea what had made him say that. He hadn’t meant to, even if his gaze was straying even now to her lips. It’d been ages since he’d had a woman in his bed. Her being there plain messed with his brain.

  “Not if you value your front teeth,” she said as she got up and pushed by him.

  He should have felt relief that she didn’t take him seriously, but all he felt was disappointment. Better keep things light. “Could have been your lucky day.”

  She stopped in the door and shrugged. “Who says, it isn’t? Mitch Wharton asked me out earlier.” She combed her fingers through her mussed hair. “Must be having a good hair day. Have to make note of the Dollar Store shampoo I’m using.”

  ~~~***~~~

  Chapter Five

  Waking up with him had been weird. Claire couldn’t believe she’d gotten four solid hours of sleep. Stranger yet, she’d only woken because of the phone.

  “Mitch Wharton asked you out?” Troy’s raspy voice dropped an octave, his eyebrows drawing together. “And you didn’t tell me this before?”

  “Didn’t seem related to your op.”

  He reached out and pulled her to him without warning, his long fingers firm and warm on her hips. “Tell the little bastard, over his dead body.” Then he covered her mouth with his.

  She froze for a second, surprise knocking the air out of her. Then heat speared through her, a sudden need that had been lurking somewhere inside her. Her mind fogged as she leaned into the kiss.

  His lips were firm, but gentle. Oh, man, could he kiss.

  Granted, she didn’t have a huge well of experience to draw from, but this was light years beyond anything she’d experienced in a man’s arms before. Holy moly.

  In about a minute, she wanted more. Which was when she knew she was in trouble. She pulled away, then pressed her lips together, not sure what to do with the tingling.

  Then she said, “Look who’s in a rush for dentures,” in her best tough chick voice, just to show him that his kiss didn’t affect her one bit.