To Love a Thief

by Merline Lovelace

  "We're searching all automobiles leaving the area," Picard said in answer to his queries, "and have put officers at the train station, the ferry dock and the airport. Monsieur Danov, however, thinks the countess remains right here, in Nice."

  All eyes turned to the Russian. Leaning his good side against the back of a chair for support, he talked through his rationale.

  "Dianthe is no fool. She doesn't know I'm FSB, but she certainly suspected my motives enough to put a bullet into me." His dark eyes locked with Nick's. "I think she must also wonder who you and Mademoiselle Blair work for, Jensen."

  ‘‘We work for the president of the United States. Ms. Blair provides my communications support. My title, as I suspect you're well aware, is special envoy."

  "Is that your only title?"

  Nick didn't so much as blink. He wasn't about to confirm OMEGA's existence to an FSB opera­tive.

  "The only one," he answered blandly.

  Danov clearly had his doubts. So did Picard. She glanced from one man to the other, making no ef­fort to disguise her impatience.

  "Whoever you all work for, please understand that the Nice Prefecture of Police has not relin­quished jurisdiction in this case."

  She shot Alexander a fulminating look. He re­turned it with something less than his usual cyni­cism.

  Mackenzie glanced from one to the other. She could almost feel the heat leaping between them.

  Good Lord! They hadn't wasted any time. Not that she could blame Giselle Picard. The man was walking, talking sex.

  "If Monsieur Danov would be good enough to tell us where he thinks his mistress may be hiding at the moment," the inspector snapped, "perhaps we may wrap matters up."

  "Former mistress," Alexander corrected. "The position is presently unoccupied."

  Not for long, if those smoldering looks meant what Mackenzie thought they did.

  "So where is she?" Nick asked, losing a little of his own patience. "It's time to end this farce."

  "She rents a flat in Old Town, for when she wishes to get away from the staff and enjoy more, shall we say, private liaisons. I discovered the lease when I was going through her papers."

  "Lovely work, this spy business."

  He ignored Mackenzie's muttered aside. "The flat is on the rue des Jardins. Perhaps you know it, Jensen?"

  "No, but I'm familiar with the street. There's a phone kiosk at about the eighteen-hundred block. Europol's had it under surveillance for some days now."

  "Ah." Nodding, Danov fitted together his own pieces of the puzzle. ‘‘The attack she talked about? The one in Washington? It was arranged from this kiosk?"

  "That's our guess."

  "She's clever, our Dianthe. If nothing else, she's very, very clever."

  She was also shark-bait once Mackenzie got hold of her. Almost as impatient now as Giselle Picard, she grabbed her purse.

  “I have a score to settle with your Dianthe. How about we get this show on the road?"

  When the SWAT team Picard hastily assembled kicked in the door of the apartment on the rue des Jardins, it wasn't the countess they found waiting inside. It was her lawyer.

  The little toad sat in a stiff-backed chair. His an­kles were crossed, his hands clutched a leather briefcase, and he wore a pained expression, as though he'd forgotten to drink his prune juice this morning. He said little beyond identifying himself until the apartment had been searched and a thor­oughly disappointed Picard dismissed the SWAT team.

  "Countess d'Ariancourt has authorized me to act as her agent in negotiations regarding any charges levied against her."

  "There's nothing to negotiate," Picard said flatly.

  "But there are charges?"

  The inspector ticked them off on her fingers. "Conspiracy to commit murder. Kidnapping. Fe­lonious assault with a deadly weapon. Other charges may follow. Until they do, and until we know the full extent of her crimes, we make no deals."

  "Perhaps you should allow your supervisor to decide that," the attorney said. "Or one of these gentlemen."

  His gaze shifted to the two men. The countess's young lover he dismissed with a sniff, but Nick held his attention.

  “I am informed you wield considerable influence with your president, Monsieur Jensen. So much you might convince him to request clemency on behalf of my client."

  "Why the hell should I do that?"

  "The countess indicates you're quite anxious to learn the identity of the person or persons who sab­otaged the Saudi oil refineries. In her quest to pro­tect herself, she uncovered some interesting infor­mation in that regard."

  ‘‘Let me get this straight. Are you saying Dianthe wants to trade information about the sabotage for her own neck?''

  "Not just her neck. There's also the matter of the million-dollar bounty. She'd like it deposited to a Swiss account. I'm authorized to accept the funds for her and make the necessary transfer."

  Mackenzie gave a snort of disbelief. "You can't really think we'd go along with this ridiculous scheme."

  ‘‘But I do, mademoiselle, as does my client. She is perfectly sincere in the offer, I assure you. In fact, she recognizes you suffered some duress at her hands and wishes to share a portion of the bounty with you. I believe one percent was the amount she mentioned."

  In eight succinct words, Mackenzie told the at­torney what the countess could do with her one per­cent.

  Highly offended, he rose and addressed Nick. "You have two hours, Monsieur Jensen. After that, my client will sever communication with me and, of necessity, disappear forever."

  Nick returned to the Negresco to transmit the countess's outrageous offer to the president. Giselle Picard detoured to the precinct to report to her su­periors. Alexander melted into the night, presum­ably to do the same.

  The president and his advisors mulled the offer over for all of a half hour. Mackenzie had already figured out what the answer would be.

  "Let me guess," she said when Nick terminated the secure satellite connection. "Keeping the pipe­lines open is more important than nailing the woman who tried to make toast of us, not once, but twice."

  "You got it."

  "Damn!" Thoroughly frustrated, she folded her arms around her middle and turned to gaze at the inky black bay. "I hate to see the witch get away with this!"

  Nick strolled over to join her. Wrapping his arms over hers, he drew her against him. His breath stirred her hair. His long, hard length stirred a whole lot more than her hair.

  "Who said she's going to get away with any­thing? How do you feel about a honeymoon in the Swiss Alps?"

  Wiggling around, she searched his face and dis­covered he was serious. "A couple of hours ago, we were talking about engagement rings and wait­ing until Maggie has her baby and comes back to work."

  "That was a couple of hours ago."

  "So what's changed?"

  "The fact that we're not going back to Washing­ton just yet, and when we do, the issue of whether or not Maggie returns to work might be moot."

  "Huh?"

  "Never mind. Just answer the question."

  "What question?"

  His arms tightened, molding her to his thighs and chest. "How do you feel about honeymooning in the Swiss Alps?"

  For a heartbeat or two, Mackenzie experienced exactly the same sensation she had in those awful seconds before the limo came out of its inverted hang and careened down the cliff.

  Then the wild panic evaporated and she knew, she absolutely knew, she had no reason to fight the emotions tearing through her. She loved this man. Had trusted him with her life. She'd be ten kinds of an idiot not to trust him with her heart.

  Sliding her palms up his shirtfront, she hooked them around his neck. "A honeymoon anywhere sounds pretty good to me."

  Chapter 16

  A cold breeze rustled the leaves that had floated down from the chestnut trees lining the quiet side street just off Massachusetts Avenue. Mackenzie snuggled her chin down into the collar of her coat and pulled into a rese
rved parking space in front of the town house set midway down the block. Sep­tember had given way to an unseasonably cold Oc­tober during the weeks she and Nick had been in Europe. Unfortunately, those same weeks hadn't seen Maggie's pregnancy give way to a birth.

  "I can't believe it," her former boss grumbled, grabbing Mackenzie's hand and using it to lever out of the passenger seat. ‘‘Two and a half weeks late.

  If I blimp up anymore, they're going to strap TV cameras on me and float me over the RFK Stadium to cover the Monday night game."

  "That's a sight I'd pay to see."

  Tucking her arm in Maggie's, she half supported, half hauled her up the short flight of stairs.

  "You laugh," her mentor grumbled as she wad­dled through the front door, ''but wait until you and Nick decide to start a family. Incidentally, when are you and Nick going to start a family?"

  "Hey, we're still on our honeymoon."

  "Some honeymoon! Only you and Lightning would stroll into a Swiss bank, somehow manage to gain access to confidential customer account rec­ords and use them to track down the bitch who hired two gunmen to shoot up my kitchen. I sin­cerely hope she went down hard."

  "Very hard."

  The image of the countess's startled face when another SWAT team had kicked in the door, this time to her hired digs in Prague, was something Mackenzie would cherish for a long, long time... almost as long as she would cherish her last sight of the slim, not-so-elegant Dianthe in an orange prison jumpsuit. Grinning at the memory, she es­corted her friend and mentor into the recep­tion area.

  "Hi, Elizabeth. What's so important Nick had to interrupt my lunch with Maggie?"

  "You'd better let him tell you."

  Her grandmotherly face scrunching in concern, Elizabeth Wells rounded the corner of her desk to take their coats. Maggie's barely covered her bulg­ing stomach.

  "You look so uncomfortable, dear. Is there any­thing I can get you?"

  "A puli-puli root would be nice. I read that the women of the Andari tribe in the Malay jungle chew them to bring on contractions."

  "I'll see if I have any puli-puli in the pantry. If not, how about some tea?"

  "Tea sounds wonderful."

  "Go on in and I'll bring it to you. Nick's waiting for you."

  Not just Nick, the two women discovered. Adam was there, as well, summoned from a meeting of the International Monetary Fund. He looked suavely handsome in a charcoal-gray suit, white shirt and red tie, and smiled with loving chagrin as he bent to kiss his wife.

  ‘‘When Nick called me out of my meeting, I was sure it was to tell me you and Mackenzie were on your way to the hospital."

  "I wish!"

  Grinning at Maggie's rueful response, Mackenzie crossed the room and slipped her hand into her hus­band's.

  The four-karat rock Nick had purchased—le­gally, he swore!—glinted on her hand. She hadn't yet grown used to its weight, or to the fact she was actually married to this incredible, scintillating, sexy man. If the rest of their marriage proved as exciting as their honeymoon, the years ahead should prove interesting. Very interesting indeed!

  Still, Mackenzie felt a tug of regret that the hon­eymoon was almost over. Nick had returned to work yesterday. She'd delayed her return another few days to finish moving her things into his Mac­lean town house and give Maggie moral support during her last days of misery.

  The sad truth was, Mackenzie didn't look for­ward to officially returning, only to tell her people that she was leaving OMEGA. As Maggie had con­firmed over lunch, she'd decided not to resume the directorship. Neither she nor Adam wanted to spend the long hours away from their young, growing family required of the head of OMEGA. So the job was Nick's for as long as he wanted it.

  Which meant Mackenzie had to go. Her inbred sense of professionalism wouldn't let her stay. Not with her husband in charge. Aside from the fact that she couldn't see herself taking orders from the man who shared her bed, their special relationship both on and off the job wouldn't be fair to the others.

  She'd miss OMEGA, though. The excitement. The around-the-clock activity. The thrill of getting first crack at every electronic innovation developed by the government.

  Oh, well, this was Washington D.C. The center of the universe, at least in the view of those who lived or worked inside the beltway. She wouldn't have any trouble finding another position. With that thought firmly in mind, she smiled up at her hus­band.

  ‘‘So why did you call Adam out of his meeting and Maggie and me away from lunch?"

  "I thought it would be appropriate for OMEGA's former directors to hear the news first."

  "What news?" Adam asked, his blue eyes curi­ous. "What's going on, Nick?"

  "A major governmental reorganization, with di­rect implications for OMEGA."

  Tucking his wife's hand in the crook of his arm, Nick dug a small remote out of his pocket. One click, and the mahogany panels behind his desk slid open. Another click brought up an organizational wiring diagram. The maze of lines and boxes filled the entire screen.

  "I met with the president this morning and got the green light on my proposal," Nick informed the other three. "In the interest of closer cooperation with the CIA and FBI, OMEGA will fold some of its functions into a new directorate."

  Thoroughly intrigued, Adam studied the complex organizational structure. "I see you've moved In­telligence into this new directorate. And Commu­nications."

  "What?"

  Mackenzie leaned forward, frowning at the chart. Like every chief, she was highly territorial when it came to her operation. Any uncoordinated change would have roused her defenses. A major realign­ment like this had her instinctively bristling. Before she could ask just why the heck Nick had proposed such a sweeping change, Adam nodded approv­ingly.

  "Smart move," he commented. "Comm pro­vides the basic infrastructure for all our operations. By aligning it loosely within the Homeland Defense structure, you'll increase both the immediacy of our access and the cooperation between the various governmental agencies."

  "That was my thinking," Nick agreed. "The head of the new directorate will remain here on the premises, but report to the president through the Secretary of Homeland Defense. Think you can handle both the convoluted chain of command and the added responsibilities, Comm?"

  Still trying to take in the details of the new or­ganization, Mackenzie blinked. "Me?"

  "You."

  "Of course I can. But... Well..."

  She couldn't get past the awful suspicion that Nick had realigned his entire organization just to accommodate her. Surely he didn't think she'd ac­cept a position that had been jury-rigged for her by her husband?

  He read the doubt and burgeoning distaste in her face. Smiling, he spiked her guns before she could fire a broadside and scuttle the plan.

  ‘‘This change has been in the works since 9-11. I couldn't tell you, as the president wanted to mull over the various options, but your name was pen­ciled in from the start as the head of the new direc­torate. It means a promotion, by the way." His blue eyes gleamed. "And considerable independence in your operations."

  He knew darn well that would reel her in.

  ‘‘It does, huh? In that case, it sounds like a heck of a plan to me."

  Grinning at her easy capitulation, he turned to Maggie. From the looks of it, OMEGA's former director entertained more than a few reservations about the realignment. Her brown eyes were nar­rowed, and she wore a tight, intent expression.

  "You haven't said much," Nick commented. "What do you think, Chameleon?"

  "What I think," she said slowly, "is that my water just broke."

  Adam spun around. His spine went rigid when he took in the puddle pooled around his wife's feet. Pressing her hands to the sides of her belly, she gave him a lopsided grin.

  "I also think...we're not going to...make it to the hospital."

  Mackenzie gulped. Nick swore. Adam strode for­ward and swept his wife into his arms. Depositing her on the leather so
fa set by the bay windows, he barked a quick order.

  "Call 9-1-1, Nick. Now!"

  "No...time. I'm...crowning."

  Adam's jaw went tight, but he shucked his suit coat with deliberate calm and rolled up his sleeves. His eyes glinted as he positioned himself at the end of the sofa.

  "As always, my darling, you do things in your own, inimitable style."

  "I...try."

  "Nick, get some towels, would you?"

  While he headed for the washroom hidden behind another mahogany panel, Mackenzie raced to the door.

  "Elizabeth! We need you!"

  Whirling, she darted back to Nick's desk and hit the switch on his computer. Within seconds, she'd pulled up a raft of information on home deliveries.

  Exactly fourteen minutes later, a sweat-drenched, beaming Maggie held her son in her arms. Adam had hitched a hip on the arm of the sofa. His naked vulnerability as he stroked his wife's hair put a lump in Mackenzie's throat.

  Wailing sirens announced the arrival of the fire department and EMT vehicles. Mrs. Wells ushered the crews past the crowd of operatives and techni­cians who'd rushed downstairs when they'd heard Maggie was in labor.

  The emergency medical crews surrounded mother and baby. Edging to a far corner of the office to give them room to work, Mackenzie snuggled against Nick's side and linked her hand in his.

  "With Adam and Maggie for parents and us for godparents," she murmured, "what do you think the odds are that the little squirt will one day occupy this office?"

  "I'd say they were pretty good. Unless Jilly or Samantha decide to go for it first."

  "Now there's a thought!"

  "Of course, we should consider another possi­bility."

  "Which is?"

  "You and I might have a shot at producing OMEGA's next generation. We'd have to practice a little more first. You know, make sure we've got the fundamentals down."

  "Hey, I'm all for getting the fundamentals down. When's our practice session?"