Dangerous to Hold

by Merline Lovelace

  “I’ve cleared his calendar for the next two hours,” Elizabeth said, giving Jake and Maggie a kind, grandmotherly look. “The security folks downstairs have been alerted to seal this floor until I signal.”

  “Two hours, huh?” Maggie shoved a hand through the neat, shining mass of her chestnut hair.

  Elizabeth nodded sympathetically. “He requested it.”

  Maggie threw Jake a quick, wry glance. “Why do I suddenly wish I had stayed in Cartoza for an extended vacation?”

  He laughed and opened the door that led to Adam’s inner office. “Come on, it can’t be too bad. We survived the post-mission debrief last night.”

  “You know he never lets loose in front of the other team members. In fact,” Maggie added gloomily, “he never lets loose at all.”

  She preceded Jake down the short corridor between the inner and outer doors, paying no attention to the lights that pulsed discreetly as she passed. Had they not recognized her, any one of those sensors could have activated a lethal variety of devices that the security people euphemistically, if accurately, termed “stoppers.” Although the second floor was open to the public who came to see the special envoy, the security systems made sure that the public was well screened.

  As always, the sight of Adam upped Maggie’s awareness quotient by several degrees. She frowned, wondering why. While Jake accepted Adam’s offer of coffee and poured himself a cup, Maggie studied her boss.

  He certainly looked distinguished enough in his expertly tailored navy suit and white shirt, but he wasn’t as handsome as Colonel Luis Esteban. Or rather he was handsome in a different way. Where Esteban’s classic male-model perfection could stop a woman in her tracks at fifty yards, Adam Ridgeway’s attraction stemmed not so much from his lean, dark looks as from his aura of cool, unshakable authority. He was a man in charge. Of himself and of the agents he directed.

  Maggie settled comfortably in her chair, knowing that she had a darned good chance of shaking him out of his customary control in the next two hours.

  Adam sat on the edge of his mahogany desk, one knee bent as he scanned the papers in a plain manila folder. Shutting the folder, he laid it aside.

  “All right, Jake. Let’s start with you. I’ve reread the summaries of the debrief you gave us last night, but there are some key points I’d like cleared up.”

  Maggie steepled her fingers while Jake and Adam worked through his phase of the operation, from the initial botched drop to the takedown of the white-faced, stuttering businessman who had just happened to be delivering a shipment of stolen U.S. arms to a Cartozan drug lord. She caught Adam’s brief smile as Jake recounted the “equipment failure” that had led to his periods of noncommunication. Adam nodded once or twice, listening intently while Jake answered each question in precise technical terms.

  Maggie’s admiration for her fellow agent, already profound, deepened as he unemotionally detailed his own decisions during the operation—including the very emotional one to step over that invisible line separating an operative from those he dealt with in the field. Her admiration for Sarah Chandler also increased with every passing moment.

  Maggie wasn’t fooled by the flat, expressionless tone Jake used when he described Sarah’s actions during the days they’d been together. Maggie had worked with him long enough to hear what he tried so hard to suppress. Besides, she’d been part of the appreciative audience that witnessed that spectacular kiss beside the helicopter. A tiny thread of envy wiggled through her veins once more. Someday, she thought, she just might find what Jake seemed to have found with Sarah Chandler.

  “Maggie?”

  Maggie blinked, surprised to realize that Jake had finished and both men were looking at her expectantly.

  Adam listened without interrupting while she ran through her part of the operation. When she finished, he stared at her thoughtfully for a moment.

  “I think you may have left out one or two details.”

  “If I did, they’re irrelevant,” Maggie stated calmly.

  “Perhaps to you, but I’d like just a bit more information.”

  “What is it you need to know?” Maggie was every bit as cool and professional as Adam when it came to her job.

  He reached behind him and lifted the manila folder. Flipping it open, he examined the top document. “Could you explain this interagency memo the State Department forwarded? It requests that we reimburse them for payment, made through diplomatic channels, for a black lace garter belt and, ah, two-inch pink-and-orange spiked heels. Among other things. The bill comes to three hundred dollars.”

  “Three hundred dollars!” Maggie screeched. “Surely those dunderheaded bureaucrats didn’t pay that. Don’t they know they’re supposed to haggle? The shopkeepers probably weren’t expecting a tenth of that.”

  “Yes, well, it appears the United States government doesn’t haggle when presented with a bill through diplomatic channels.”

  “Well it had better learn how, if I’m going to be operating in the field. I appropriated those clothes as part of the disguise that got me into the Café El Caribe. Where,” she added pointedly, “I contacted Colonel Esteban.”

  “Ah, yes. Luis.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “We’ve met,” Adam said noncommittally. He pulled out another document. “This is an official intergovernmental communiqué. On the advice of his chief of security, the president of Cartoza has requested that a certain agent, code name Chameleon, be detailed to a special inter-American task force he’s forming. Our president has asked for my recommendation as to whether you can be spared. For an indefinite period of time.”

  Maggie felt her breath catch somewhere in midchest. She knew that Adam would support the request if she wanted it. Did she want it? She met Adam’s eyes, telegraphing a silent message.

  He slipped the document into the folder. “I can’t spare you.”

  Maggie sagged in relief, only to discover she’d relaxed too soon.

  Adam pulled yet another document out of the damned folder, this one a faxed memo of some kind.

  “Customs is rather upset with us. It seems one of their new, rather inexperienced agents tried to process an international flight that landed at Andrews Air Force Base last night. When he attempted to confiscate a certain…” Adam referred to the fax. “When he tried to confiscate a certain agamidae iguanid, an agent assigned to this organization told him in rather forceful terms to back off.”

  “It…it was a gift,” Maggie explained, biting down on her lower lip.

  Adam’s brows rose as he referred to the faxed page. “A rather repulsive-looking one.”

  “It’s all in the eye of the beholder,” Maggie responded, grinning. “Actually, I’m told these lizards make great house pets. They grow to about the size of a small dog, and can snatch a fly off the wall with their tongues from halfway across a room.”

  “Just don’t ask me to baby-sit the thing for you when you’re in the field,” Jake said, laughing.

  Adam wasn’t quite as amused.

  Maggie pushed her shoulder-length fall of brown hair behind one ear. “The lizard changes colors, Adam. It can blend into any environment. Like me.”

  “I see. That explains it, then.” He slipped the fax inside the folders. “What it doesn’t explain, however, is why an agent whom I directed to focus on one specific aspect of her mission managed to expand that mission to include an extraction, a takedown, and a major drug bust.”

  Maggie shrugged. “I couldn’t let that tripleheader pass, Adam.”

  “She brought in three for the price of one,” Jake put in quietly. “That’s what makes Maggie one of your best, Chief.”

  Adam nodded. “I’m not disputing—”

  The phone on Adam’s desk chimed discreetly. He arched a dark brow, clearly not pleased at the interruption after having left specific instructions. He lifted the receiver.

  Saved by the bell, Maggie thought in relief.

  “Yes, Mrs. Wells?”

&nb
sp; Adam listened for a moment, then nodded. “Send them in.”

  Maggie and Jake glanced at each other in surprise.

  OMEGA’s director stood and fastened the monogrammed button of his navy suit. His blue eyes glinted. “We’ll finish later, Chameleon. Right now, it seems Jaguar has more pressing business to attend to.”

  Maggie and Jake both turned as the inner door opened and Sarah Chandler swept in, followed by what seemed to be half the population of Washington D.C. The children filed in after her, followed by Eleanora in a flowered, lace-trimmed dress. Maggie’s favorite, the chubby little Ricci, squealed a rough approximation of “Cammie” and toddled over to her side. She scooped him up, duly admiring his purple-and-green Barney shirt. Although she cuddled the boy until he laughingly protested, Maggie’s attention was on the big, bluff senator and his fussy, oh-so-efficient chief of staff.

  Sarah’s father had been at the airport to meet them yesterday, weak with relief at getting his daughter back and ready to whisk her away. Maggie had felt as though she had a front-row seat at ringside when Sarah calmly explained that she had a prior engagement. She’d just discovered that her husband had exactly three hours before he had to report to his headquarters to debrief his mission. If that was all the honeymoon she was going to get, Sarah didn’t intend to waste a minute of it.

  And, to judge from the radiant expression on her face today, she hadn’t.

  If ever there was a woman who looked less like the bedraggled nun Jake had thrown over his shoulder and tossed into the helicopter, it was this one. Poised, confident, stunning in a royal blue suit that hugged her slender figure and deepened her eyes to an astonishing blue-green, she walked over to Jake’s side. Her shining silvery-gold hair was swept up in a French twist that revealed the sapphires winking in her earring.

  “Sorry to intrude like this, Ridgeway,” the senator boomed. “But we have an appointment with the head of Immigration in a half hour. The damn fool insists Sarah and Jake have to sign two reams of documents in front of witnesses and half a dozen notaries. I’ve got to take a look at this refugee processing procedure,” he muttered. “Make a note of that, Creighton.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Maggie hid a grin. She had no doubt that the Immigration Department’s procedures were going to be on the Senate agenda next week.

  “Actually,” Sarah interjected, “we need to make a stop before we go to Immigration.”

  “What now?” the Senator boomed. “We’ve hit every department store and toy store between here and Bethesda.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “I have a new doll,” Teresa put in with a gap-toothed grin. “But I don’t like it as much as the one Señor Creight—” She stopped, a look of confusion crossing her face.

  “Señor Jake,” Sarah reminded her.

  Her lips pursed. “I will call him Papa,” she announced, then sent an anxious look at the tall, quiet man.

  Jake hunkered down before her, his gray eyes alight with pleasure. “That’s fine with me, niña.”

  The senator’s huff broke the silence that gripped the office. He chomped on his cigar, shifting it from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Well, let’s get this caucus underway.”

  Reluctantly Maggie let Ricci slip out of her arms. He waddled across the room, stopped to show Adam his Barney shirt, then reached up to be lifted into Eleanora’s arms.

  “Here, let me, señora.” Creighton stepped forward and lifted the child into his arms. To Maggie’s surprise, the chief of staff didn’t even blink when Ricci tugged his paisley handkerchief out of his pocket and flapped it experimentally.

  “It is not señora.”

  Everyone in the room turned to stare at Eleanora.

  Her dark eyes held a shy smile as they met Creighton’s. “I am not married.”

  “Really?” He smoothed his free hand over his shiny forehead. “Well, you must let me show you some of Washington’s sights. There’s an exhibit of pre-Columbian art at the Smithsonian you may be interested in.”

  He hefted Ricci higher on his hip, took Eleanora’s arm and escorted her out of the office.

  Sarah wasn’t the only one whose mouth dropped in astonishment.

  Senator Chandler gaped.

  “I’ll be damned,” Jake murmured.

  Even Adam snorted.

  Maggie laughed outright. She just might have to recalculate the final success ratio on this operation. It appeared there might have been more takes than she’d originally thought.

  She bid repeated affectionate goodbyes to the children, then sighed as the door closed behind the lively group. Sudden, undisturbed silence descended, wrapping her and Adam in a quiet cocoon.

  “Listen to this,” she said, indicating the quiet room with a wave of one hand. “I don’t think Jake’s going to hear anything like this ever again. Think he’ll be able to handle it?”

  “He’ll manage.”

  Maggie turned at the sound of Adam’s cool voice. “Still torqued about my little adventures in Cartoza? That’s ‘upset’ in oil-field lingo,” she added helpfully.

  His blue eyes rested on her face. “I rarely get upset, and have yet to get torqued.”

  Someday, Maggie thought. Someday.

  “You pulled this one off, Maggie, but I don’t want any more tripleheaders. I can’t afford to lose any of my agents. Particularly a stubborn, independent one with a built-in sixth sense as accurate as radar—who always manages to get the job done in her own inimitable style.”

  Maggie offered her version of a salute. It brought a pained expression to Adam’s face. “Aye, aye, Chief. I promise, I’ll be the perfect model of a docile, well-behaved secret agent.”

  She strolled to the door, tossing him a cheeky grin over one shoulder. “Until the next time I go in the field.”

  THE COWBOY AND THE COSSACK

  To Cary and Lori and David, who’ve added such richness and warmth to my life—with all my love!

  Prologue

  Karistan, Eastern Europe

  “There is only you.”

  The low voice, made harsh by the rasp of pain, tore at Alexandra’s soul. She leaned over the recumbent figure. “Don’t ask this of me.”

  Gnarled fingers tightened around hers. “I must.”

  “No. I’m not the one to lead these people.”

  “You’re of my blood, the only one of my blood I can entrust them to. They are your people, too.”

  “But I’m not of their world.”

  In the dimness of the shadow-filled tent, she saw bitterness flare in the golden eyes staring up at her. A hawk’s eyes, mesmerizing even in the thin, ravaged face. Fierce, proud eyes that proved Alexandra’s lineage more surely than the goatskin scrolls used to record the tribe’s births. And the deaths. So many deaths.

  “Don’t fool yourself,” the old man went on, his voice grating. “Although your father, damn his soul, took you away, the steppes are in your heart.” Hatred long held and little lessened by imminent death gave strength to the clawlike hold on her hand. For a moment, the fierce Cossack chieftain of Alexandra’s youth glared up at her.

  “Grandfather…” she whispered.

  His burst of emotion faded. He fell back against the woven blanket, gasping. A ripple of frightened murmurs undulated the circle of women surrounding the aged warrior, tearing Alex from her personal, private battle with the old man. She glanced up and saw the stark fear on their faces.

  He was right, she thought in despair. There was no one else. Certainly no one in this huddle of black-clad widows and young girls. Nor among the crippled old men, as war-scarred and ancient as her grandfather, who sat cross-legged on the far side of the smoldering peat fire. They were so old, these men, and so few. Alex felt a stab of pain for her lost uncles and cousins, men she vaguely remembered from her youth. Bearded, muscled warriors who’d flown across the windswept steppes on their shaggy mounts, at one with their horses. They were gone now. All that remained were these women. A few children. The old men. And
her.

  “We…we wrested back our land when the Soviet bear fell,” her grandfather gasped. “We cannot lose it to the wolves who would devour it now that I…that I…”

  A low rattle sounded, deep in his throat. One of the women moaned and buried her face in her hands, rocking back and forth.

  “Prom—promise me!” he gasped, clutching at Alex’s hand. His lips curled back in a rictus of effort. “Promise me you’ll hold against—aaah!”

  “Grandfather!”

  The golden eyes glazed, then rolled back in their sockets. Alex sat back on her heels, ignoring the ache in her fingers from his agonizing hold, unmindful of the fact that she hadn’t eaten or slept in two days of hard traveling to reach his side. She wanted to scream at him not to leave her, not to desert these people who needed him so desperately. She wanted to run out of the smothering black tent and fly back to Philadelphia, to her own world and all that was familiar. But she did none of these things. With the stoicism he himself had taught her, Alexandra watched her grandfather die.

  Later, she stood alone under the star-studded sky. The distant sound of women keening vied with the ever-present whistle of the wind across the steppes. Low in the distant sky, the aurora borealis shimmered like an ancient dowager’s diamond necklace.

  Slowly, Alex lifted her hand. Unclenching her fingers, she stared at the two objects her grandfather had passed to her. A silver bridle bit, used by a fourteenth-century Cossack chieftain, the host’s most sacred relic of their past. And a small, palm-size black box, a piece of twentieth-century technology that would ensure her people’s future—or spell their doom.

  Curling her fist around the two objects, she lifted her face to the velvet sky.