by Donna Young
Quickly, she slipped inside. Closed curtains kept the room in darkness. Lara switched on her penlight. She hadn’t the space in her small threefold case to bring her infrareds.
“I’m in Davidenko’s suite.” Lara moved, searching for another way. “It’s his sitting room, not the office.”
“Look for a connecting door.”
“I am.” On quiet feet, Lara crossed the room, found another entrance. “Found one locked.” Quickly, Lara pulled Ian’s cell phone from her pocket, placed it by the electronic keypad and punched the talk key. A low series of tones sounded. Within moments Lara heard a soft but audible click. “I’m in.”
“Okay, you’re doing fine. Our guy is still by the elevator.”
Lara crossed to the desk, ignoring the monitors and sat in front of the computer. “Let’s hope this works.” She inserted the disk, then booted up the computer.
“You’ll know in a second,” Ian warned. “If it doesn’t, I want you out of there five seconds after.”
Lara didn’t respond. Instead she watched while the program started running passwords through the computer. Thousands of words passed through. If Davidenko had used a combination number-letter password the program wouldn’t work.
Minutes passed. Lara started opening drawers, searching for anything that might provide a clue to the password.
Suddenly, the screen blinked, then loaded. “No way. He used Moscow,” she said shocked. “It worked, hotshot. I’m in.”
“Okay, the information will be somewhere filed on his hard drive.”
“Ian, I’ve got access to all his business. His accounts. His shipments. Even his payoffs,” she noted. “Hell, it looks like he owns half the drug enforcement agency.”
“That will take too long to download, Red. Stick to the plan.”
“I’m not going to get another opportunity.”
“Damn it. Find the formula first.”
Lara ignored him and initiated the download of Davidenko’s records.
“Our guy is on the move,” Ian said, his voice low. “He’s making rounds. Get the hell out of there.”
“Hold on. I haven’t found the Katts Smeart files,” she whispered. Seconds ticked by, but Lara had lost all track of the time as she focused on the screen. Systematically she opened file after file. “It’s not here, Ian. He must have it in a safe somewhere.”
“Too late. Too late. Alexei’s coming through the front in three…two…” Lara hit the computer shutdown, heard the whir of the hard drive snap off. She dropped to her knees and rolled under the desk.
The door clicked open. Slowly, she pulled the chair into the desk. A second later, light flooded the room.
Lara slid her hand up her thigh until she felt the warm metal of the switchblade she’d strapped there earlier.
Blood pounded in her ears. Slowly, she took a deep breath. If the guard came around the desk, she’d be cornered.
A bead of sweat rolled between her shoulder blades.
“Alexei!”
Lara stiffened at the shout from the guard’s walkie-talkie.
“Yeah?” Alexei’s voice rumbled above the desk.
Lara’s breath backed up in her chest. Careful to make no noise, she released the blade from its sheath.
“Report to security. Someone shut down the surveillance system.”
Ian, Lara thought.
“On my way.”
She heard Alexei’s footsteps retreat, then Ian’s voice thundered in her ear.
“Get the hell out of there!”
“WHAT WERE YOU DOING?”
“My job, Ian. I have enough evidence to roast Davidenko, Anton Novak and half the government officials from coast to coast.”
“I don’t give a damn about them. Your job was to get the Katts Smeart files. Not to take chances with your life.”
As it turned out, Lara’s escape had been less complicated. After Alexei left, Lara double-checked the desk—fixing everything she’d disturbed before slipping out.
With Alexei gone, no one else appeared at the elevator. It had taken her less than an hour to lose the maid disguise and return to the hotel room.
“It’s my life.” Lara regarded him sharply, daring him to disagree. “But it’s not me you’re worried about, but the baby.”
“You weren’t thinking about the baby. Only getting the information.”
“Trust me, Ian, I’m always thinking about this baby.” Too restless to sit, she moved to the window. A French countryside lay at her feet. Winding paths banked with a palette of pastel flora and foliage. Any other time, she would’ve enjoyed the view. Now it was just a grim reminder of what she couldn’t have. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve figured out what I’m going to do with it.”
“It’s not an it, Lara. It’s a human being. A tiny life growing inside you. Most consider that a miracle, you know.”
“No, anyone can have a baby. The miracle is in the parents. I can’t even imagine where to begin raising a decent human being,” Lara said. The admission hurting the deepest part of her heart. “Look at the two kids who tried to rob us earlier. They couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen.”
“Lara, most kids turn out civilized, given the right guidance.”
“That’s easy for you to say, MacAlister. Your family is the damn Brady Bunch,” Lara retorted, knowing her frustration stemmed from the fact that she’d fallen in love with him, long before. And everything that made him who he was.
His sense of family, his moral convictions. The backbone of integrity underlying both. His automatic acceptance of their child. The soft edge of his humanity.
Everything, Lara admitted, she wasn’t.
“Your sister’s a genius. Cain’s the director of Labyrinth and head of MacAlister Securities, a Fortune 500 company. And his wife, Celeste, is a national hero.” Lara waved her hand in the air. “And you, you…”
“I’m what?” His voice dipped into seductive mode.
What I can’t have. “Never mind. I’m not in the mood to feed your ego.”
Ian’s lips twitched. He’d never seen Lara this unnerved. A sudden desire to protect her had him shifting closer. “We’ve had our problems.”
“What? Chicken pox? Maybe an ingrown toenail or two?” She didn’t try to hide the sarcasm.
“My dad wasn’t born rich, Lara. And my mother worked hard to put herself through medical school.”
“My point exactly. Look how much they’ve accomplished. Your mom is one of the finest plastic surgeons in the world. Not the country, but the world. And your dad runs his whiskey empire.” She swung around from the window to face Ian. “One, I might add, he can’t wait to pass on to you.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Kate told me about your passion for making whiskey.” The fact was that Ian hadn’t told her. She’d never experienced that much intimacy. The sharing of one’s thoughts or feelings.
“Kate talks too much,” Ian said dismissively. “I haven’t decided anything yet.”
But he would, Lara knew. She’d seen anticipation light his eyes at the mere mention of the possibility. The question was when. Tomorrow? Five years from now? “The bottom line is, you can’t relate to what I’m talking about. It’s been ten years since I first met your parents and they haven’t changed. You’re lucky to be part of such a wonderful, loving family.”
“Then give me the baby,” he suggested, his tone hushed.
Pain sliced through her. She’d thought about it. A hundred times. But he was an operative right now. Could she trust him to walk away from it all? “Ian, you’re in the same career…my dad—”
“Your dad’s choice won’t necessarily be mine. Besides, your dad loves you, Red.”
“I know he does,” Lara retorted. “But this isn’t about love, Ian. This is about being there.”
“He was a government agent. He couldn’t risk your life.”
“And what about my mother? The one I’ve never met?” She sank into a nearby chair a
nd pulled her feet into a lotus position. “Her choice by the way.”
“And so, you’re going to prove them right, by doing the same thing? By walking away from the baby?”
“I understand better than anyone what my dad went through—what he gave up. He had no choice, but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept.”
Her voice wavered, and Ian understood. “You think you’re too much like your father and mother to raise a child.”
It was more than that. Lara wasn’t idealistic, wasn’t into sugarcoating the harsh realities of life. She met life on her terms, head-to-head. And she understood deep down, if this child was ever going to have a chance, it would be with another woman.
“Besides the fact that my maternal gene pool is nonexistent—I am my father’s daughter. And being spies is what we do.” There wasn’t a note of apology in her tone. She’d made her decision long ago, and refused to offer excuses now. “And we do it better by not getting attached. Hell, my dad almost died two months ago and I was the last to know about it. Can’t get more unattached than that.”
“You were the last to know because we had to insure Jon’s safety,” Ian responded matter of fact.
Jon Mercer had been shot by an armed assassin who was after the President. For Jonathon’s own protection, Cain chose at the time to let the world believe Jonathon had died, rather than reveal he’d slipped into a coma.
“I’m a trained government agent. I could’ve protected him. Instead, you kept me away from him. Lied to me about his condition. I won’t have a child live that same life. Our life, Ian.”
“I was under orders,” Ian replied, surly.
“Orders. Did you sleep with me under orders? To keep me occupied?” Lara jumped up, paced. Dealing with her feelings for Ian wasn’t something she faced sitting down.
“If I remember right, there was no sleeping involved.”
Lara swung around. “For God’s sake, you told me my father was dead!”
“He came pretty damn close.”
“I don’t know which was worse.” She crossed her arms to keep from smacking him in the head. “The fact that you lied and let me grieve or the fact that you held me while I grieved.”
“I saved your life. You would’ve gone off half-cocked—after the wrong person I might add—all in the name of vengeance. Cain knew it, I knew it.” At the time, Lara had thought Cain’s fiancée, Celeste, had killed Jonathon—part of a plot to assassinate the President—until the real killer had been identified.
“But my father didn’t.”
“He was in a coma. It wasn’t his decision.”
“We had sex, Ian. On the floor of the VI room. It wasn’t romantic, it was a WWE takedown. I didn’t expect undying love, but neither did I expect betrayal.”
“The sex—as you so delicately put it—happened two weeks before your dad’s shooting. So don’t try and tell me that’s the reason for all this contempt. No matter how it started—”
“It started over your choice of code names remember? And some stupid Greek mythology story.” Her mind burned with the memory, the humiliation when she’d found out.
“Eos’s lust over Orion was just a coincidence.”
“Unrequited lust. She had the hots for him, but he could’ve cared less.” She glared at him.
“Orion was a hunter.” He glared back. “It seemed to fit—”
Lara snorted.
Ian met her eyes. “What we had was amazing, Red, but like you said, it was just sex—”
“I trusted you after that, damn it. And I don’t trust anyone.”
“Trusted me to do what? You’re the one who laid down the rules that night. This is just casual, you said. Scratching an itch.”
“God—” She looked up at the ceiling. “Why didn’t we stop it?”
“Sweetheart, the moment I can stop spontaneous combustion, I’ll retire a millionaire.”
“You’re already a millionaire,” she snapped, not willing to give in to his charm. As one of the three heirs to the MacAlister fortune, Ian stood to inherit quite a lot more than a million dollars.
“That’s beside the point.”
“We agreed to keep it simple—no strings. I didn’t expect…I didn’t want to…” She struggled for the right word, knowing no word existed that wouldn’t give him the wrong impression.
“To what?” He moved then, quick, quiet. Like a cat with a cornered mouse. Still, she didn’t protest when his arms circled her, when his muscles—rock hard—tightened around her. With Ian came the warmth, the reassuring comfort.
Damn it, she wanted the comfort. Needed it.
But only from him.
She’d fought arms dealers, murderers, cartels. Each made her stronger, more determined. Each took a piece of her soul. But whatever battle she’d fought in the past, none had taken more of a toll than fighting her love for Ian.
“To care about you. Okay? I didn’t want to care about you.” Suddenly, her stomach rolled. The tears pricked. “Are you happy?”
Ian’s body tensed. “Lara—”
“Shut up, MacAlister. Your lies destroyed any feeling I might have had for you.” She stepped out of his arms, dealt with the immediate sense of loss. Hoped her statement would come true soon enough. “So let’s just get this over with, all right?”
Ian studied her for a moment, understanding a minefield when he saw one. Normally, he’d take the risk, but something held him back. The stubborn set of her jaw, the fear that threatened to crack the facade.
“All right.” He sighed. “Let’s get naked, then.”
Chapter Eight
Thursday, 1400 hours
Getting naked, as Ian put it, meant going in without cover or backup. Literally, exposing themselves.
And for that reason, Lara had chosen schoolmarm sexy—draped in wealthy chic.
She wore a slightly off-the-shoulder dress, its sunshine yellow set fire to the honey highlights in her hair, the glint of satisfaction in her eyes.
“How am I doing?” she whispered, but the laughter was there, threatening to bubble forward. The loose cotton skimmed her body, catching provocatively on the soft curves beneath. With each long-legged step, Lara drew more than one appreciative male glance. Ian ignored them all until a soft wolf whistle reached them from the other side of the lobby.
Ian ground his back teeth. “You’re doing just fine.” He grabbed her elbow, staking his claim.
“Can I help you?” A young woman, with chunky streaks of blond hair and a California tan, greeted them from behind the registration desk.
Ian’s frown gave way to a slow, sexy smile. “I hope so,” he drawled, his eyes dipped to her name tag. “Mrs.—”
“Miss,” the woman interjected, almost too hurriedly. “Miss Amoretti.” Her gaze lingered over his designer white T-shirt that hugged and defined, before drifting to the vintage jeans, factory scarred and faded, that rode low on lean hips.
Ian’s smile widened all the way to his wisdom teeth. Amazed, Lara could do no more than just stand there and observe. After all, the man was a champ when it came to manipulating women.
“Well, Miss Amoretti, my name is Ian MacAlister.” He leaned forward, placing a forearm onto the counter, then dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And this is Lara Mercer.”
The young woman blinked, then her toffee-brown eyes widened with recognition.
“Hello, Miss Mercer.”
“Hello,” Lara responded, noting Miss Amoretti’s gaze rested a polite three seconds on Lara before darting back to Ian. “What can I do for you today?”
“We would like your best suite,” he said, then winked.
“A suite,” Miss Amoretti repeated, her expression dazed.
Lara coughed, covering a snort of disgust.
Ian shot her a two-second don’t-you-dare-blow-this glare, before turning back to Miss Amoretti. “The best suite you have.”
The loss of eye contact with Ian must have brought the California girl to her senses. “Mr
. MacAlister, I wish I could, but unfortunately, we don’t have a reservation—”
“Don’t believe in them,” he interrupted easily, ignoring the fact that Lara’s eyebrow arched. “You see, Miss Mercer and I woke up this morning feeling lucky and want to take it out for a spin at your baccarat tables.”
“You woke up…I—I see.” The young woman glanced at Lara, who batted her eyes. “That’s wonderful,” she said, her cheeks flushed. “I mean it’s wonderful that you thought of the Bontecou. Still, I don’t see any way we can accommodate you today. Maybe—”
“Can I be of assistance?” A frail, but cultured voice drifted from behind Lara. Before she could turn around, a little man, no older than fifty, appeared at her elbow.
“Monsieur, mademoiselle,” he greeted them, then bowed his head with an exaggerated pause. “My name is Bernard. I am the manager of Château Bontecou.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Lara responded and extended her hand. She noted the man’s pointed chin, high cheekbones and perfectly thin, straight nose and decided Bernard had formed an intimate relationship with a cosmetic surgeon.
“Thank you.” The older man attempted to shake her hand, but abandoned the gesture after a brief, limp-wristed squeeze of her fingers.
“I couldn’t help but hear your request, Mr. MacAlister. Of course, we’ll accommodate you.”
Apparently the MacAlister name entitled Ian to preferential treatment, Lara thought wryly.
“I insist you stay in the Presidential Penthouse suite at no charge.” He glanced at Miss Amoretti. “Take care of it, Maria.”
“Yes, sir,” Maria answered, relief infusing each word. Quickly, she started typing at the computer behind the desk.
“Thank you for all your help, Miss Amoretti.” Ian winked at Maria, easing the tense edges of her smile.
“You understand, Bernard,” Lara said, careful to find the correct balance of charm—somewhere between Southern friendly and New York haughty. “Mr. MacAlister and I tend to draw crowds. Crowds that own cameras. And although I’m always in favor of free publicity for my father, we’d prefer to have a private few days to ourselves.”