Winter Warriors

by Denise A. Agnew

  “How long?” Mac asked.

  “An hour, maybe less.” Mikhail disposed of the needle and his gloves in the hazardous waste receptacle. “Until then, all we can do is hope.”

  Before she could think about the torture of waiting an hour, a murky cloud passed over her vision and snuffed out all awareness.

  * * * * *

  “Destiny? Destiny, come on. Speak to me.”

  At first she wasn’t sure Mac’s voice spoke to her in reality, or if she was dreaming. Nightmares plagued her for what seemed a generation, and she struggled to leave the dark place where demons chased her, and Medusa-headed creatures slashed with razor-sharp claws.

  Her body felt heavy and limp, her extremities weighted down. Her head throbbed a little at the temples.

  Deep, yet soft, Mac’s voice pleaded again. “You’ve been gone too long. Come on. You’re scaring me. I need you to wake up and kick my ass. You’re pretty damned good at it. Then we can make up all night long.”

  That got her attention.

  Kick his ass? Make up? Hell, yes.

  She snapped to awareness with a gasp, her eyes popping open. “Mac?”

  He clutched her right hand to his chest, then brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them reverently. “Oh, man. It’s good seeing your eyes open again. How do you feel?”

  An IV dropped fluids into her left arm. Bright sun spilled through the hospital room. Snow no longer drifted from the clear sky, but she could see drifts out the window.

  She swallowed hard, and her sore throat made her wince. “Where is this?”

  He smiled. “SIA’s medical facility.”

  She sat bolt upright. “What? How long have I been out? What happened at the lab? What—”

  “Whoa, whoa.” He eased her back. “It’s all right. You passed out in the lab and when we couldn’t wake you up, we called it in to SIA through my satellite phone. After the blizzard died down, they sent a helicopter in and got us out.”

  She covered her eyes with her other hand and sighed. “How long have I been here?”

  “Forty-eight hours.”

  When she peeked between her fingers in astonishment, he smiled.

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Nope. Like I said, you scared the shit out of me, Destiny. Don’t ever do that again.”

  Niggling fear remained and she tightened her grip on his fingers. “Wait a minute. The antidote must have worked.”

  His grin went broader. “That’s right. The doctors can’t find any trace of the Black Widow Formula left in your system. You’re free and clear.”

  Profound relief washed through her as she sighed and closed her eyes. She kept her grip on his hand. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course. Now that you’re awake I’m even better.”

  He leaned closer, and simmering passion deepened his eyes, along with a warm love that filled her soul. With a soft brush of lips against lips, he kissed her.

  His small tribute made her feel warmer and more alive than she’d ever experienced. “What about Mikhail and Anthony?”

  “They’re great. In fact, they’re being hailed as heroes. Who knows? They may end up as employees of SIA.”

  She rolled her gaze to the ceiling. “They’d want to work for us after all that happened?”

  “Apparently so. I think they like the secret agent man mystique.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  “Then there’s Arlinda and Henrick.”

  “What about them? Are they all right?”

  “Their Hummer made it down the mountain, but when they tried to explain to the police what happened, no one believed them. They even gave my badge number, but the authorities didn’t listen for several hours.”

  She frowned. “What about Xander?”

  “After a sweep through the lab, SIA discovered…um…parts of him here and there. I think he was Jordan’s last meal. Literally.”

  Her stomach lurched and she made a face. “That’s awful. What about Catronia?”

  “So far there’s no sign of her, dead or alive.”

  They went silent for a moment. Finally, she spoke. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “What if Catronia was also infected?”

  “Right. She could attack someone. This nightmare could start over.”

  Mac lifted her hand and kissed it again. “One case at a time, please. I’ve got to recover from this one.”

  The door opened and in walked Quinton. “Destiny, you’re awake.” After he hugged her and planted a kiss on her forehead, he blushed as red as a tomato.

  “Hey, keep your hands off my girl,” Mac said, then smiled.

  Quinton brushed his palms down the lapels of his dark blue blazer. “Your girl? I’d say from the way you’ve been acting the last couple of days, she’s more than that. Everyone was worried.” He gestured around the private room. “By the number of flowers here, I’d say you had a lot of people upset.”

  Destiny’s eyes filled with tears. “The flowers are beautiful. I mean, I’m not exactly the most popular agent in this organization.”

  Quinton shook his head and made a tsking noise. “I beg to differ. Your reputation precedes you as the…” He tipped his head to the side. “What did other agents around here say yesterday?”

  Mac filled in. “The biggest bad-ass agent in town.”

  She laughed.

  “SIA is considering a promotion and commendation for you both,” Quinton said. “And posthumously for Phyllida.”

  “Now there was a bad-ass agent,” Mac said.

  Destiny nodded. “She tried to protect us.”

  Mac squeezed her hand gently. “She did protect us. Somehow she knew.”

  Quinton started back toward the door. “I’ll see you later.” He winked. “Carry on.”

  As the door swished shut, she realized she was grinning from ear to ear. She shouldn’t be happy when people had lost their lives, but she couldn’t wait to start a new chapter in her life with the man she loved.

  She reached up and slipped her fingers through the silky texture of his hair, then drew his head down until they almost touched noses. “If Quinton ever asks us to take on another assignment during a snowstorm in the Colorado Mountains at some hell-hole lab, don’t let me go, okay?”

  “If there’s one thing I learned, Tremayne, it’s that you’re the best agent I know. Do you think I’d have much success stopping you from doing anything?”

  She shook her head. “Not likely.”

  “Damn right.” He peppered her lips with sweet kisses until she drew him closer and he deepened the embrace.

  When his hand came up to cup her breast through the hospital gown, she gasped and released him. “Mac!”

  His mischievous grin warmed her heart. “We missed Christmas.” He transferred his attention from her breast to cradle her face in his palms. “I thought we’d celebrate, though, as soon as I can get you out of here. How does a four-day vacation in a secluded, luxury hotel near Breckenridge sound? Maybe seriously wicked sex in a big hot tub?”

  “Heavenly.” She reached up to feel the softness of his hair again.

  His mouth took hers, and moments later he broke away. “I thought I’d lost you, Destiny.”

  “You couldn’t lose me, Mac. You’re stuck with me forever.”

  Another tantalizing, deep kiss kept them quiet for a while until he again released her. “There are questions left unanswered. Like where LaCroix disappeared to, and how Phyllida was infected.”

  He shook his head. “We may never know. This isn’t an action flick with the answers tied up nice and pretty at the end.”

  “True, but I feel a new case brewing for us.”

  He groaned. “No way. I think I’m through working twenty-four seven without some rest and recreation. I’ve got a woman in my life now.”

  A smile flirted with her lips, but she kept a straight face. “What does this woman think of being in your exciting, thrilling, danger-filled life?”

 
He shrugged. “She loves me.”

  She returned the affection, cupping his face in her hands and caressing his jaw. “Yes, she does. Very much.”

  He whispered against her lips, “Good. I think there’s this fever I need you to take care of. It needs extensive treatment.”

  “Then hurry up and kiss me, special agent man.”

  “Mmm…” His reply was smothered against her mouth.

  The End

  Solstice Surrender

  by

  Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Chapter One

  Despite every table in the coffee shop being filled to capacity, Jenna still heard every contemptuous word the man in the taupe wool coat said. Each cutting phrase rang clear despite three tables and the blended babble of French, English and Japanese that separated them. And if she could hear perfectly well, then the petite brunette sitting next to him must be benefiting from a Dolby surround sound experience.

  Shadows dusted the skin under the woman’s eyes, and she kept her gaze on her big round coffee cup. Occasionally she sipped it. Otherwise she left her hands in her lap.

  “Why on earth you thought it necessary to order breakfast for five a.m. defies analysis.” He stirred his latte with violent flicks of his fingers. Yeah, he was a real prince. “I booked the guide for this afternoon and I don’t know why I should have to get out of bed before eight a.m. for anyone. My porridge was as cold as a wet herring. A complete waste of food and money.”

  It was the second time he’d been through this diatribe since Jenna had been drawn to the sound of his rich English baritone and begun to listen.

  Jenna looked up at the big clock behind the five girls tripping over each other behind the counter, as they rushed to fill orders. Breakfast for even the most layabout person in the world would have been three hours ago.

  She glanced back at the bowed shoulders of the woman beside ‘The Prince,’ and shoved her distaste for the man up to active dislike.

  “I’m sorry, Nigel.” The woman seemed to whisper compared to his penetrating bass. “I thought we might go window shopping before the hike…”

  “Shopping?” He almost dropped his coffee cup in his amazement. “We come half way around the world on the trip of a lifetime, to the most stunning mountains on the North American continent and you want to shop?” The contempt in his voice would have withered the ego of Madonna. The woman shrank into herself even more.

  Jenna’s top lip tried to curl up in disgust.

  The woman picked up her coffee cup. Her hand trembled a little.

  Dump the coffee on him, Jenna silently urged her.

  The Prince rolled on as if his companion hadn’t spoken. “Your utter lack of a brain is ruining this entire tour. I should have left you at home, but then you would just get yourself into even deeper trouble there, wouldn’t you? If I didn’t dance attendance every hour…good lord, you’d probably die of cold because you’re too stupid to restart the oil heater, or something or other.”

  Pressure built up in Jenna’s temples as she stared at the woman. Her gut clenched, roiling with anger. Dump the goddamn coffee in his lap! The powerful mental urging worked Jenna’s throat as if she had actually cried it aloud.

  The woman swung her hand around in a ninety-degree arc until the coffee cup hovered over his thighs. Deliberately, she turned it upside down, emptying it of a steaming half-liter of rich brown mocha.

  Jenna’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened.

  All hell let loose.

  The Prince bounced to his feet with a roar of pain, and cracked his thighs against the edge of the table with a wet slap. The impact produced a sharper scream of agony, and he plopped back down with the suddenness of a puppet whose strings had been severed. Only his chair wasn’t there anymore—his abrupt rise to his feet had pushed it back out of the way.

  He hit the floor, and the thud jarred the ancient beams. Jenna felt the impact reverberate through her table and chair.

  The Prince stayed down this time, while the room of tourists gasped and exclaimed in their native tongues. From across the room, Jenna heard a single snigger, quickly muffled.

  The woman looked even more amazed than Jenna felt. She still held her cup out at half-mast, upside down, drops of coffee beading on the rim. She stared at it as if it had suddenly come alive in her hand.

  Those nearest The Prince dived to help him as he flopped about on the floor, simultaneously trying to lift his soaked, steaming trousers away from his crotch and massage his bruised thighs.

  But Jenna’s satisfaction over the swift turn of events died as she watched the woman. The brunette lowered the cup to the table with the same care one used to handle an antique crystal decanter…or a rattlesnake.

  She stepped away from the cup as if it might leap at her. Then she crouched beside the man, and patted him with her napkin. “Nigel…I don’t know what to say. I have no idea how that happened. It was like watching someone else do it.”

  Others around her smiled, amused. They didn’t believe her any more than the princely Nigel likely would.

  Jenna had watched her pour coffee all over him. Of course the woman had done it herself. Because if she hadn’t acted from her own free will, then what had just happened here? Jenna glanced around to see if anyone stared at her, if anyone thought she had anything to do with this.

  A man lounged at the table by the door, a day-old Calgary Herald in his hands. He was watching her, his face bereft of even a hint of the hilarity that gripped the rest of the room.

  Her stomach clenched and a strong urge to flee the café gripped her. She drained her coffee cup, then moved towards the only exit—the door the man sat beside.

  When his gaze did not move away from her as she approached, Jenna’s heart picked up speed. She talked to herself firmly. Maybe he just likes your hair, Jenna. In this tourist town casual vacation affairs start quick and end quicker.

  But she couldn’t discount the pandemonium going on behind her. Every other eye in the room stayed glued upon The Prince, who swore as lustily as any dockworker while staff, customers and the brunette worked to soothe him and clean the mess up.

  In a room with a mini-drama unfolding, anyone who could ignore the chaos to focus upon something else was highly motivated.

  So what did he want?

  The habits of her profession kicked in. Jenna took a mental snapshot of the guy’s face, cataloguing the features for future reference. Large brown eyes, thick brows and blond hair trimmed neatly. Strong jaw and neck. The neck was layered in muscle and thick, like a body builder’s. The luxurious overcoat hid the rest of him except for the polished toe of an expensive casual leather shoe. Clearly, snow and slush were not an issue for him.

  One all-encompassing glance, then she lifted her chin, kept her gaze on the sidewalk outside and headed for the door in as confident a don’t-mess-with-me bearing as she could manage.

  And nearly jumped out of her skin when he stood, clearly intending to halt her.

  A hand settled on her shoulder, big and heavy. She felt the body belonging to the hand slide into place on her other side. A quiet voice sounded. “Keep walking, straight past him. Don’t look around. Out onto the street. Quietly, now.”

  Dozens of questions arose, but she pushed them aside, focusing instead on the fact that this voice, this body, intended to help her. Somehow.

  She swallowed, and kept walking as instructed. She didn’t look behind her, because a normal pedestrian wouldn’t. She didn’t look up at him, either, although she was sorely tempted. She could tell from the way his hand rested on her shoulder; he was tall.

  Outside in the street, the guiding hand on her shoulder lifted away. He picked up her hand. “Can you run?”

  Before she could even turn to face him, he surged ahead, shouldering his way through the crowded sidewalk, dragging her with him. All she could see of him was the wide shoulders of a black wool overcoat and black hair that curled over the collar, nothing more.

  She hurried along in his
wake, protected from a lot of jostling by the swath he cut through the people, but because she didn’t have to worry about their direction, she found she automatically monitored their rear. It was a trained reflex, triggered by his haste. In her profession, there was only one reason to run away from something: the something pursued you with hostile intentions.

  She heard behind her the unmistakable sounds of pursuit—hurried footsteps crunching through the snow, a male voice muttering apologies as the crowd re-forming behind them was again pushed aside.

  “Avaon, damn you!”

  Directed at the man holding her hand? Did their pursuer know him?

  Then she heard something that made her blood run cold. The pursuer whistled sharply, two short notes. A signal. A call for help.

  Her adrenaline surging, Jenna put on a burst of speed and gripped the man’s hand with a strength that would defy most attempts to separate them. He’d just saved her from a bad situation and was trying to deliver her to safety. She couldn’t imagine what would happen if she let go and didn’t intend to find out.

  They dodged around clumps of pedestrians, heading for the corner and the traffic lights. A thick group of people stood waiting for the lights to change…they would never get through them.

  But at the last second when she thought he would bowl his way through, sending them all flying into the gutters, he abruptly dodged left, sprinting out into the gearing-up traffic, accelerating now that their lights had turned green. Jenna’s heart leapt and her throat closed up, even as she acknowledged the smart move.

  He stepped around a hood that nosed out over the white line, and she jinked sideways to match him and not break their handgrip. Horns blared one-note insults at them. The driver in the lane she had just cleared floored his gas pedal and his car leapt forward with a snarl of the motor. It neatly blocked off their pursuers.

  A leap onto the opposite pavement, more running, then another unsignaled change of direction, into an arcade that opened to their left, through to a courtyard, then another arcade, onto another street… Jenna lost track of their location. She’d only been in Banff three days, and didn’t know the streets well—there had been no reason to study up with a street map, as she wasn’t here on business. Now she regretted the break with custom.