"Fine." She winced as it tumbled out much too early.
His soft chuckle washed down her cheek and neck. "Don't you even want to know what my conditions are?"
Plural? As in, more than one?
"What I meant was, I'm sure they're fine." Good recovery, Shale. She felt his nod, and then she felt the tips of his fingers as they brushed the side of her neck; moments later they were loosening the tortoiseshell clasp that held her French twist in place and were slipping beneath. The next thing she knew, her hair was tumbling down her back. He slipped his arm around her waist and tucked the clasp into her hand.
"Wear it down when I'm around."
Of all the—
"Fine. Is that all, Mr. Wild?"
He combed the hair from her neck slowly, sensuously. Possessively. "No. But why be hasty? I'm sure we'll be running into each other a lot in the near future. I believe I'll hold on to my second condition, save it for a while." His lips grazed her hair. Seconds later, his soft rumble filled her ear. "Unless you'd like to stay and discuss the possibilities with me over…dessert?"
She opened her mouth. To her horror, nothing came out. Somehow she managed to shake her head.
Relief seared through her as she felt his shrug. "Fine by me. I can wait. Hell, it's usually better that way. But know this, Ms. Shale. Whatever condition I end up deciding on, I won't take no for an answer. You owe me, honey, and I intend to collect." A second later, the door popped open. Before she could blink, he sealed a brief, scorching kiss into the curve of her neck and nudged her through the doorway. She stood there, stunned, as the door snicked shut behind her. When she finally managed to rouse herself from her stupor, she did the only sensible thing she could think of.
She fled.
Chapter 3
Would the real Anna Shale please stand up?
Tom stared at his door as it snapped shut, stunned by the uncanny range of the performance he'd just witnessed. He'd never seen a woman go from calm, cool poise and ironclad self-possession to not-quite-carefully-masked desperation that smoothly and that believably in his entire career. In his entire life. Stoned, Anna Shale was good. Sober, she was a veritable acting savant. For a moment there, he'd actually forgotten where he was. Who she really was. What she'd done.
He no longer wondered how Luis had managed to get the drop on Manny. He knew. Two brief meetings with the woman and he'd found himself questioning the combined conclusions of the top three intelligence analysts at the Special Operations Command. Worse, he'd questioned his own instincts. By the time those heady brown eyes had darkened with panic, he'd been completely sucked in. He'd honestly wanted to protect her. Until he'd remembered the rest.
It had been impossible to miss. Her pupils might not have been fully dilated in his room just now, but they were sluggish. Anna might not have been as high as she'd been earlier this evening, but she was still on something. And the hit was fresh. Despite his hopes, her afternoon binge hadn't been a one-time event. The knowledge should have strengthened his resolve, but it didn't. Even now, he still couldn't quite kill this inexplicable urge to head out after the woman and draw her in close, to ease the terror that radiated off her before he'd agreed to keep her tawdry secret from her cousin. Not only had he wanted to protect her from the man, he'd wanted to protect her from himself. That chilled him to the bone.
Worse, for a moment there, he'd actually been turned on. By a murderer and a traitor. Who was he kidding? Not only had he been turned on; he still was. Uncomfortable with the fallout from his own acting, Tom leaned down and grabbed the towel at his feet, jerking it about his waist as he stood.
Just in time, too.
He caught the muted knock again, but he didn't open the door. It hadn't been but a minute, maybe two. Barely enough time for the woman to reach the elevators at the end of the hall, much less her cousin's ocean-side lair outside the city.
Had she changed her mind about "dessert"?
Doubtful. Not given that downright skittish reaction of hers when he'd decided to take advantage of her condition and demand one of his own—namely, her hair. It drove him nuts to see it up. And not for the reason she thought.
He should have dealt with it.
He clenched his fingers as he worked to purge the ghostly sensation from the tips. He failed. He could still feel the thick, heavy silk. It had taken a disturbing amount of control to keep from plowing his fingers in deep as the length spilled down her neck. Releasing that clasp himself had been a mistake. And then he'd compounded it. He'd caved in to the impulse to touch her again…with his lips. Fire flashed through his groin at the memory of the one-sided kiss that had followed. He tightened his grip on the ends of the towel and stomped out the flames. Whether he was ready or not, it was time. He'd forced the woman to wait long enough.
Tom swung the door wide. The sight that greeted him doused any lingering heat. Instantly.
"Nice towel."
For a moment, Tom wasn't sure if he should be pissed—or relieved. He settled on the latter as he glared up six foot five inches of hulking half Hispanic, half Samoan muscle attached to the ugliest mug he'd ever had the misfortune to work with. "Shut up and get in."
Juju wisely and silently complied. Why not? The man's smart-ass smirk said it all as he ambled across the room and lowered his bulk down to the edge of the bed as if he owned the place. Not bloody likely. The bar Juju maintained thirteen blocks away might not sink into the dive range, but it was nowhere near the class of this joint. Tom snapped the door shut and threw the security bolt, allowing his glower to deepen as he leaned against the frame.
"Well?"
Juju's answering grin was painfully white and twice as annoying against the backdrop of his swarthy, overgrown jaw. He cocked his dark head toward the door. "That photo you e-mailed doesn't do her justice. You don't get the full effect with that one till you see her in person."
Tom sighed. "That wasn't what I was looking for."
Juju shrugged as he pulled a box of his namesake out of the pocket of his neon-blue Hawaiian shirt. He popped several of the gummy candies into his mouth as he shrugged. "Don't have much more to tell you, amigo. She had a bodyguard loitering at the elevator. Thought about following, but I figured you'd rather I banged on your door instead of playing bloodhound." The man opened his trap wide and tossed another couple Jujubes into the mix. "But if you've got the overwhelming urge to sniff after her, I can always head back to the club."
Tom scowled at the taunt, because it hit its mark. Juju must have seen his face as he'd nudged Anna from the room. Tom waited until he popped another namesake. "You ever gonna learn how to close your mouth and chew at the same time?"
"My, my, someone's in a foul mood tonight." He gave a lone candy undue consideration. "Dessert not go your way?"
God dammit, he'd been eavesdropping, too. "Screw y—"
"Yeah, yeah. Save it for someone you love." That blasted grin surpassed Cheshire proportions as Juju tossed the candy home. "Or at least, someone you like."
Tom turned his back on one of the few men he truly trusted to protect it and headed for the bathroom—and his shorts. By the time he'd donned them and returned to the room, Juju had finished the box. Not a good sign. He frowned down at the man he'd shared a room with during their plebe year at West Point. "What?"
"You okay on this one, Wild Man?"
Damn. "Did I say I wasn't?"
That pitch-black stare sharpened and held his hostage.
Tom finally sighed. "I'm fine." Like hell he was. The unexpected complications on this stank. In light of the info he'd requested from Juju the hour before, they both knew it.
"You want to talk about it?"
"Nope." He wanted to talk about her.
Juju displayed his enduring wisdom once more as he leaned back on the bed, bracing his elbows on the bedspread as he shrugged. "Like I said, not much to tell." Disgust pinched his buddy's frown in deep. "We can't even prove her cousin's smuggling coke for the Colombians, much less get a fix on
which group he's dealing with on the illegal arms. The Russian mob, the Chechens, the Serbs, Al-Qaeda, Shining Path—your guess is as good as ours. Collective gut instinct is on the Chechens, but without hard evidence, who knows? Ol' Louie's bought off too many politicians and Canal bureaucrats for anyone to be sure. All I can tell you is Luis doesn't indulge in his product or anyone else's. A cursory check says the cousin doesn't indulge either, much less that she's hooked."
"Your source is wrong."
For a moment, Tom swore he was going to argue. He didn't care. Juju might be undercover DEA now, but they both knew Tom knew a thing or two about addicts himself. His buddy finally backed down, flattening the empty box of jujubes. "Sure would help to know which angle you're coming from on this. Might narrow my focus."
Tom didn't bother responding. He couldn't afford to.
SOCOM's brass would pop the pin in their collective grenade when they discovered he'd brought Juju in this far. All he'd dared do was pose a brief inquiry regarding a former, disgraced U.S. Navy lieutenant and her drug use. It was up to Juju to decide what information he could and couldn't offer.
Juju sighed. "Like I said, I'm not done poking. I might have more tomorrow. As agreed, I put the word out among the help that you're an old Army buddy. Stop by the club around six or so. We'll grab something to eat before things heat up."
Tom shook off his frustration. "Can't. I've got a meeting with Loony Louie tomorrow, followed by dinner. Late okay?"
Juju shrugged. "Fine by me." His grin returned. "Better for you anyway. With Shrove Tuesday and Lent breathing down the city's neck, the college girls will be in full force by the time you show—lock, stock and chemically primed to head back to this posh suite and celebrate Carnaval."
Tom laughed. Juju knew he hadn't celebrated with a woman that young in years, and he'd never celebrated with one while she was primed. "I'll pass."
The grin faded as Juju folded his flattened box over. "Figured you might." He tucked the cardboard square into his shirt pocket as he stood. "Bring Anna, then. If she's in as deep as you suspect, the white powder activity might shake something loose. If only in the ladies' room."
"I doubt it." A woman that terrified her cousin would find out about her habit would never use in a public place. Not unless she was truly in over her head. That, he hadn't sensed. Yet.
Juju stepped up to the nightstand and snagged the shot glass with the second shot of Scotch Tom had poured hours before still inside it. "You gonna finish this, Wild Man?"
He never did. But again, his old West Point Beast barrack's roommate knew that. And again, his buddy had no such qualms. Tom waited patiently as Juju lifted the glass, briefly saluting him before he downed the Scotch in a single swallow.
"Smooth, very smooth. No surprise there." Juju lifted the bottle, shaking his head as he retrieved the cap and screwed it in place. "How a man can be such a fine judge of whiskey and such a sorry waste of a nickname is beyond me."
Tom let the slam slide as Juju tucked the bottle under his left arm and headed for the door. "I'll let you know when I have something. Until then, you might want to give the woman the benefit of the doubt."
Tom stiffened.
Unfortunately, Juju held up a hand before he could open his trap. "I know, amigo. You do know what you're looking for. I also know what I saw in the woman's face, in her eyes, when you opened the door and kicked her out."
"Then how can you doubt me?"
"Because I also saw her after you closed it."
* * *
It's about time you checked in.
Anna winced as the reprimand spilled out across the pocket computer's microscopic three-by-six-inch screen, mainly because she deserved it. She'd meant to e-mail her sorority sister the night before, right after she'd returned from Tom Wild's hotel room and a meeting which, except for her body's humiliating response to those dangerous lips, had gone better than she'd hoped. Unfortunately, her rushed surgery and interrupted recovery had caught up with the absolute relief of escaping Tom's room with her cover intact. By the time her taxi returned to the hacienda, she was too out of it to remember the keystroke sequence Sam had rattled off during her postsurgery fog. Heck, it had taken her three tries to get the hidden, real-time communications link to connect upon waking this morning.
Anna glanced up at the full-blown rays of sun streaming in through the French doors and second-story balcony beyond.
Make that afternoon.
She turned back to the antique desk Luis had given her at Christmas and forced herself to ignore the piercing throb in her chest as she dragged the microcomputer closer. Samantha was still waiting. From the way her friend had pounced on her tentative hello, Sam had been waiting for her to sign on, too. Odd. She could have left e-mail. In fact, she should have. Instead, the woman had opted for vigilance and instant messaging shortly before a major inspection was scheduled to commence half a continent away at one of the U.S. military's most secure nuclear weapons labs. An inspection during which Sam was scheduled to serve as lead scientist.
Fear fisted Anna's stomach. She crowded her fingertips over the keys and tapped out a response. What happened?
Eve called.
The cursor throbbed in the silence, transforming the tiny period into an exclamation mark. At least in Anna's gut.
Eve Paris.
Eve and Carrie Bishop had rounded out the camouflaged leg of the Sisters-in-Arms military sorority she, Sam and Marine-Corps-to-the-bone Meg Gallagher had formed at the University of Texas. Not only were Eve and Carrie Army, they both flew choppers. The two had reconnected six weeks before in San Sebastián. Three days later, Eve had been piloting a Black Hawk during a routine mission that had turned out to be anything but. By the time Eve's chopper crashed on the wrong side of the San Sebastián border—inside the jungles of neighboring communist Córdoba—Eve was severely injured and Carrie was dead. If it hadn't been for Eve's sole surviving passenger, Eve wouldn't have made it out alive. A week ago, Anna and Sam had learned the accident investigation panel that'd been convened to determine guilt wasn't leaning in Eve's favor.
Suddenly Anna knew the verdict was in. And what it was.
They stripped Eve's wings, didn't they?
Yes.
Something in the pause that followed told her there was more. She'd known Sam too long and too well not to pick up on the vibes, even through wireless cyberspace channeled down into a three-by-six-inch LED screen. Anna crowded her fingertips over the keys and forced them to tap. And? This time, there was no immediate response. Just that blinking cursor. She stabbed the keys. Dammit, you promised not to do this. Whatever it is, I can handle it.
Anna could sense Sam weighing whatever it was she didn't want to say. She couldn't blame her. Yes, she'd been pretty messed up when she'd shown up on Sam's doorstep two weeks before. Who wouldn't be? She'd watched her cousin stab a man in the neck and chest—thirteen times. No matter what Sam had said, and no matter how much of an ass Foster had turned out to be, deep down she knew he was right. It was her fault. If she'd spoken up when Manny had found that goddamned bug—
You'd be dead, too, and you know it.
Anna flinched as the letters spilled out across the screen, as the truth behind them bit. Evidently her sorority sister could read her moods through cyberspace too. It didn't matter. They didn't have time for another makeshift shrink session. Not with this static silence hovering between them. And then, Anna knew. Oh, God. Eve's going back, isn't she?
Please, Lord, let her be wrong.
Yes.
"No!" Anna winced as the denial shot past her lips. She glanced over her shoulder, instinctively checking the lock to her bedroom. Luis had to have been up for hours by now. She was surprised he hadn't already made his way to her room, rapped on her door and gently but insistently demanded to know why she'd missed her morning jog. Anna swung her gaze back to the computer, determined to speed things up. Despite Luis's newfound trust, she knew he still carried the key to her room in his pocket.
If the door opened before she signed off and Luis discovered the wireless communications link and unique encryption package Sam had created in the micro PC, that trust would vanish in a heartbeat.
And if Agent Foster discovered the link?
She refused to even entertain his reaction.
At the moment, however, Luis, Foster—hell, even Tom Wild—were the least of her worries. Six weeks of civil war had forced the communist government of Córdoba to crack down against her democratic rebels and their purported CIA supporters. Less than twenty-four hours back in Panama and she'd already heard the reports. The Córdoban government soldiers now had standing orders to shoot Americans on sight—and they were following them. Sam, you've got to stop her.
Believe me, I tried. She's still going.
Dammit, give me her number. I'll call her myself!
Samantha didn't respond. She hadn't expected her to. They both knew it wouldn't help. Once Eve Paris made up her mind, it was made up. Nor could she fault Eve. Look what she'd gotten mixed up in to salvage her own career. Despite the Percocet she'd swallowed upon waking, her chest began to throb. She ignored it and crowded her fingers over the keys. I'll get her in. I'll go through Luis. The U.S. Army will never know. If they were lucky, neither would the Córdobans.
Are you sure?
Yes. She'd also have to keep Foster out of the loop. With Luis's help, it would be possible. It had to be. She wouldn't put it past the NCIS bastard to use Eve to keep her in line.
That, she couldn't allow. She wouldn't.
With Carrie dead, there were three people left in the world she could truly count on. Three Sisters who'd believe her side of the story, but only when she was finally able to come clean. Showing up on Samantha's doorstep unannounced had proven that. It was Sam who'd helped her pull her head together after she'd fled Panama following Manny's murder. Sam, who'd contacted her cousin and smoothed over her sudden departure. Sam, who'd then contacted Foster and then laid her own Air Force career on the line when she'd threatened to expose Foster's methods unless he took Anna back on their terms. Sam had been there for her. And now, another one of their Sisters needed her. Yeah, she was sure. It was the only thing she was sure of.
A Dangerous Engagement Page 4