Slicing through the green water, she aimed for the rapidly approaching hydrofoil. Nick swam with her, his strokes strong and sure, his elbow still hooked under Danton's chin. They left a thin, swirling trail of red behind them, generating a new and entirely different worry in Mackenzie's mind.
Did sharks swim in these waters?
"Lord, I hope not!"
She'd no sooner muttered that fervent wish than the water around her began to churn. Gulping, she searched the roiling surface for sail-like fins. It took a few frantic moments before she realized the waves were generated by the downwash from a chopper.
She hadn't heard the helo's approach above the roar of the hydrofoil, hadn't noticed its shadow skimming across the bay. But there it was, hovering fifty feet above the sea, close enough to whip up the water, but far enough that the waves didn't swamp her or Nick.
A uniformed crewman hung on to a handle beside the open hatch with one hand and tossed out life preservers with the other. Just behind him, Mackenzie caught a glimpse of a thin face topped by short, spiked red hair. Only then did she notice that the helo's markings identified it as belonging to Nice's Prefecture of Police.
She squirmed into one of the buoyant donuts, then helped Nick with Alexander. When she tugged one arm to force it through the preserver, the younger man groaned. He opened his eyes, stared at Mackenzie in dazed confusion. His lips moved again, but his words got lost in the deafening whump-whump of the helo's rotors.
At Nick's signal, the uniformed crewman keyed his mike. The chopper dropped until its skids kissed the waves. Hooking a second line to his safety harness, the rescuer took a wide-legged stance at the open hatch.
"This one!" With a combination of shouts and gestures, Nick signaled for him to take Danton first. "Careful, he's wounded."
Hand over hand, the crewman reeled Alexander in. Mackenzie went next. She got a foot on the skids, grabbed a reaching hand, and scrambled aboard.
Nick followed moments later. He flopped onto the chopper's corrugated metal deck, water dripping from his hair. The remains of his scorched shirt were plastered to his shoulders and chest. He skimmed a quick look down Mackenzie's equally bedraggled person and flashed her a rueful grin.
"That's one limo and one yacht, Blair. We're leaving quite a trail of burning hulks behind us."
"No kidding," she shouted back. "With our luck, this helo won't make it to shore in one piece."
The words were hardly out of her mouth before the Sea Nymph exploded. The blast produced waves of concussed air that tipped the chopper over onto its side. Its right skid went into the bay. The overhead rotors sliced water. While the passengers in the back scrabbled frantically for handholds, the pilot fought the controls.
When he finally had his craft level again, he sent it skimming toward shore. The flight engineer slammed the hatch shut, reducing the whine of the engines from a high-pitched scream to a muted roar, and grabbed a first-aid kit. The countess's lover was still bleeding from the bullet wound. His blood mixed with seawater to form rivulets of pale pink. Inspector Picard knelt next to the crewman and looked the injured man over.
Mackenzie caught her flicker of stunned amazement and remembered Alexander had been out playing tennis when the inspector and Nick interviewed the countess and her staff. This was Picard's first glimpse of Danton's muscular body, dark, curly hair and sensual mouth. Even half-drowned and swimming in his own blood, the murdering bastard could cause heart palpitations.
Regaining her composure, the inspector addressed Mackenzie.“I listened in to your transmissions, Mademoiselle Blair. Europol made the connection, through an unidentified agency in Washington."
Yes! Her people had come through.
"I'm unclear, though, how you came to be aboard the Sea Nymph, chained to a bed."
"The chains were compliments of Countess d'Ariancourt. And this guy."
Picard glanced at the prone man again, her expression carefully neutral this time. "He is the countess's lover, I presume. Alexander Danton?"
"You presume right."
"I promised you I would run inquiries," Picard said to Nick. "There is no Alexander Danton matching this one's description. He does not exist."
Her words penetrated the injured man's haze of pain. Grimacing, he opened his eyes. The cords in his throat worked as he ground out a few hoarse words.
"I... am... Danov. Alexander Danov. FSB."
Mackenzie's jaw dropped. The guy was an agent, working for Russia's Federal Security Bureau, successor to the old KGB?
No way!
She threw an astonished glance at Nick, who appeared more thoughtful than surprised.
"I must have missed something here?" she exclaimed. ‘‘Has the Cold War heated up again? Best I recall, U.S. and Russian agents haven't been in the business of bumping each other off since Khrushchev."
"I would not...have let you die." Danton— Danov—pulled his lips back in a grimace that was meant as a smile. "But I would have...much enjoyed... performing for Dianthe...with you."
"Pervert," Mackenzie muttered, although an answering grin tugged at her lips.
Nick didn't appear to find the exchange particularly amusing. "Good thing you didn't perform, Danov. If you had, you'd still be aboard the Sea Nymph, fried to a crisp by now."
"Of that I have no doubt."
"What's your connection to the countess?" Nick asked him. "Other than the obvious."
‘‘My mission was to discover how... she acquired the refinery plans." The explanation obviously cost him. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he struggled to continue. "My country...is anxious...to plug the leak. Appease the Saudis. We need their oil."
‘‘Who does not?'' Picard interjected dryly. ‘‘It is no wonder Countess d'Ariancourt resorted to such extreme measures to cover her role in the destruction of these refineries."
"Speaking of the countess..." Nick slewed around to the inspector. "If you were listening in to the transmissions, you know she's escaped. Perhaps you should get on the radio and put out an all-points-bulletin."
"I have already issued the alert. My people are searching the harbor as we speak."
"She took the ship's launch and rounded the cliffs to the west. I believe there's a fishing village just beyond the promontory. Belle Sur, isn't it?"
"Oui. Belle Sur."
Reaching for the radio clipped to her waistband, the inspector issued instructions to expand the search to the west immediately.
"We shall apprehend her," she promised Nick when she'd finished, "and prosecute her to the full extent of the law. We have little tolerance for murderers in Nice. Or," she added, "for thieves."
Uh-oh. She'd heard that part of the transmission, had she? In all the excitement, Mackenzie had forgotten all about it.
"About these stolen emeralds, monsieur..."
"Why don't we discuss them later?" Nick suggested with a bland smile. "After we get this man to a hospital and have the countess in custody."
"As you wish. But discuss them we shall."
Medical attendants and a wheeled gurney were waiting when the police chopper touched down on the helo pad at Nice's L'Hopital St. Roch. The attendants ducked under the whirling blades to retrieve their patient, then rushed him to the E.R.
Mackenzie accepted the loan of a hospital robe to cover her still drenched and rather revealing white silk slacks and top, but shook her head when
Nick suggested a doctor take a look at her rope burns.
"I'd just as soon not go into another explanation of those ropes and chains, thank you. But I would like to check on Jean-Claude while we're here. This is the same hospital he was brought to, wasn't it?"
Inspector Picard confirmed the driver was upstairs, in I.C.U. "I'll remain with Monsieur Danov. I have a number of questions for him. And for you, Monsieur Jensen, when you're prepared to answer them."
Nodding, Nick escorted Mackenzie out of the E.R. His rubber-soled deck shoes squeaked on the
white tile floor. Dragging in a breath heavy with the scent of antiseptic, Mackenzie shook her head.
"I knew someone would recognize those damned emeralds. You'll have to give them back, Nick."
"Too late. I've already given them to you."
"Then I'll give them back. I don't have any desire to go home and try to explain to the president of the United States—not to mention Maggie and Adam—how I left OMEGA's director sitting in the bastille."
"The necklace is paid for, Mackenzie."
"Huh?"
Grinning at her somewhat less than articulate response, he slid his hands under the lapels of her borrowed robe. "I made the necessary arrangements the morning after I lifted the emeralds from Gireaux's hidden safe."
"Why?"
"They match your eyes. I want you to have them." He tugged on the lapels, brought her up on her toes. "More to the point, I want you."
His mouth brushed hers. Gently at first. Then not so gently. When he raised his head, Mackenzie's pulse hammered and her heart thumped painfully against her ribs.
"Let's go see how Jean-Claude's doing," she got out breathlessly. ‘‘After that, we go back to the Negresco. As I recall, we have some unfinished business to take care of."
A half hour later, Nick was sprawled flat on his back.
Mackenzie straddled his hips, her face flushed, her hair a damp tangle. Palms planted on his shoulders, she tightened her muscles. Slowly, she raised up on her haunches. Just as slowly, she came down.
Nick broke out in a sweat, but resisted the urge to dig his fingers into the taut curve of her butt and accelerate the action. He'd sensed her need to take the lead almost from the moment the door to their suite closed behind them. She was making up for those hours of helplessness aboard the Sea Nymph, he guessed, and he was more than willing to help her get them out of her system.
If he didn't die first.
He came damned close to doing just that when she raised up on her haunches again. Her breasts swung a tantalizing few inches from his mouth. Her eyes gleamed as deep and dark as a glen hidden deep in a primal forest. Slowly, so slowly, she sank down again.
His low growl curved her lips in a feline smile.
"You have a problem, Nick?"
"You know damned well I do. How long you planning to stick to this pace?"
"As long as it takes," she purred.
Which turned out to be shorter than either of them anticipated. Another slow slide, and her breath started to come in little pants. One more, and Nick satisfied a few of his own needs. His hands planed over her flanks, her bottom, the smooth line of her waist. Wrapping an arm around her middle, he brought her close enough for his tongue to touch and taste and tease.
When his teeth closed over one nipple, she gave a little gasp and bent down to give him better access. The contortion wedged her hips into his, shredding the last of Nick's restraint. He surged up, she came down and a wild, glorious free-for-all ensued.
Somewhere in the middle of it, Nick managed to rein himself in enough to thrust his hands into her hair. Breathing hard and fast, he stilled her frantic writhing.
"Mackenzie..."
"What!"
"I meant what I said in the police chopper. If Danov had hurt you, I would have left him aboard the Sea Nymph to fry."
"I believe you."
"Dianthe's neck is still on the chopping block."
"Okay. Good. Whatever." Squirming, she tried to pick up the rhythm again.
Nick's fists tightened in her hair. "Hold on a minute!"
"Why?"
"I'm trying to tell you I love you, dammit."
"I love you, too. Now can we get back to..."
"What did you say?"
Thoroughly exasperated, she quit wiggling. "I said I love you, too."
"Since when?"
Quivering with impatience, Mackenzie creased her forehead. Her mind was mush, her body screamed with need. She tried, she really tried, but couldn't quite organize her thoughts enough to pinpoint the exact moment she'd tumbled into love with Nick Jensen.
"Since I don't know when," she finally admitted. "Somewhere between being so pissed I zapped you with that cattle prod and ten minutes ago, I'd guess."
"That's good enough for me," Nick responded with a grin. "And speaking of prods..."
Rolling her over, he pressed her into the bed and buried himself in her wet, satiny flesh.
The afternoon had faded to dusk when a loud, protesting rumble broke the stillness.
‘‘Is that you or me?'' Nick asked lazily.
Mackenzie raised her head, turned to face him, and flopped back down on the pillow. She didn't have an ounce of strength left in her body.
"Me."
"Want to get dressed and go out to dinner? You've yet to sample Nice's haute cuisine," he reminded her.
"I don't think I could crawl out of this bed if it was on fire."
"Stay right where you are then. I'll take care of feeding you."
He meant that literally, she soon discovered. She dozed off while waiting for room service to deliver their meal and only woke when Nick wheeled a cart crammed with silver-domed plates into the bedroom.
"Voila, madam. We have here a sample of Nice's finest dishes."
Evidently being drugged, shanghaied, almost toasted alive and made love to for four mind-blowing hours was enough to give a girl an appetite. Tucking the sheet up under her arms, Mackenzie devoured every morsel of succulent fish, savory vegetables and tangy cheese he placed between her lips. They finished with berries floating in a light, frothy cream.
"So what do you think we should do about it?" Nick asked, feeding her the last strawberry.
"About what?"
"About the fact that you love me and I love you."
She caught a drop of sweet red juice with her tongue and considered the matter.
"Well, I figured I'd get another job in Washington. Maybe with the navy. Not in uniform this time, but as a civilian. Or with the new Department of Homeland Security. I hear they're looking for folks with communications intelligence experience."
Frowning, Nick lowered the spoon. "You want to leave OMEGA?"
"No, I don't want to, but one of us has to, and we both know you're more important to the..."
"Bull."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me. That's pure bull, Mackenzie."
"Okay, what's your solution?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of an engagement than a change of employment."
"Look, Nick, we talked about this. I can't sleep with you and continue to take orders from you. It wouldn't work. Not for me, anyway. Either we go into this relationship as equals or we don't go into it at all."
His sardonic glance took in the scattered pillows, rumpled sheets and empty dishes. "Looks to me like we're already in it, sweetheart."
She bristled, but he stilled further argument by suggesting a compromise.
"Maggie's due to deliver her baby any day now. Why don't we find out for sure when she plans to resume directorship of OMEGA before you start putting out resumes?"
"Well..."
"And in the meantime," he added with a glint in his eyes, "you'd better start thinking engagement rings. I saw one in Gireaux's safe that you might like. Four carats at least and an excellent..."
"Nick! No stolen diamonds! Please! You still have to explain the emeralds to Inspector Picard, you know."
"I will," he promised, sneaking out a hand to yank the sheet tucked under her arms. "Later."
Chapter 15
Using OMEGA's considerable resources, Mackenzie verified Alexander Danov's status as an FSB operative. Still tangle-haired and wearing only a clean, starchy white shirt borrowed from Nick, she was reviewing the data she'd gathered when the front desk called to inform Monsieur Jensen he had visitors. Nick issued instructions to send them up and dropped the antique phone back on its cradle.
"It's Inspector Picard," he advised her, "and your Russi
an admirer."
"You're kidding! Danov lost so much blood. I can't believe the doctors at the hospital have already released him."
"My guess is he didn't give them a whole lot of choice in the matter. He won't want to go back and report to his boss at the FSB that he failed to identify who leaked those technical drawings."
"I suppose you're right. The 'high ranking' lover Dianthe told us about could have moved up the chain over the years, be in a position to do even more serious damage if not identified and contained. Danov will want to be present when the countess goes down."
"Exactly."
"Maybe that's why Picard's here," Mackenzie said hopefully, blanking her computer screen. "Maybe her people have nabbed the countess, and the inspector wants to get all the players back together."
"Knowing Dianthe," Nick drawled, "I doubt it will be that easy."
He was right.
When Giselle Picard strode into the suite some moments later, her face was a study in frustration.
Danov followed more slowly. Deep grooves bracketed either side of his mouth, but he shrugged aside inquiries about his wound.
"I've taken worse injuries."
Mackenzie believed him. She'd just skimmed through a background brief that read like an action/ adventure script written with Sylvester Stallone or Bruce Willis in mind.
"We found the Sea Nymph's launch tied up at Belle Sur's harbor," Picard announced, thrusting a hand through her reddish spikes. "Unfortunately, we have not found the countess."
"Great," Mackenzie muttered under her breath.
She'd had her fill of being staked out and shot at and now just wanted this operation over. In her considered opinion, Countess d'Ariancourt was becoming a major pain in the bohunkus.
Evidently Nick shared her opinion. He masked his feelings behind his usual calm, but she knew him well enough now to pick up the annoyance buried in his cool questions about roadblocks and airport alerts.
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