“I’m trained to handle dangerous situations. You trained me yourself. You and Jaguar.”
A muscle ticked in the side of his jaw. “As best I recall, your training didn’t include rappelling down a forty-story building without a rope.”
“No,” she tossed back, “but it included damn near everything else.”
Which was true. As the first OMEGA operative recruited from outside the ranks of the government, Maggie had run the gamut of a battery of field tests and survival courses. She’d come through them all, disgruntled on occasion and cursing a blue streak after a memorable encounter with a snake Jaguar had slipped inside her boot, but she’d come through.
“Look, Adam, you know as well as I do, this job isn’t just a matter of training. I follow my instincts in the field. I always have.”
“I wondered when we were going to come around to that sixth sense of yours.” He stepped toward her, his mouth hard. “I’ll admit it’s gotten you out of more tight spots than I care to think about, but—”
“But what?” she asked him challengingly.
“But even instincts can fail in certain situations.”
He was so close, she could scent the tincture of blood and sweat that pearled his body. So still, she could see the pinpoints of blue steel in his eyes. So coiled, she could feel the tension escalating between them with every breath.
The heady, frightening feeling of hovering on the edge returned full force. Maggie had caught a brief glimpse of another Adam behind the all-but-impenetrable wall of his discipline. A part of her wanted to poke and probe and test that discipline further, to take him over the edge, and herself with him. Another part held her back. She knew this wasn’t the time or the place. Denise would return with Lillian at any moment.
The time would come, though. Soon. She sensed it with everything that was female in her. With instincts more powerful, more primitive, than any she brought to her job.
Something of what she was thinking must have shown on her face. Adam took another step closer, his eyes locked with hers.
“What does your sixth sense tell you now, Maggie? About this situation?”
She hesitated a moment too long. The sound of a door slamming across the hall cut through the heavy stillness between them.
“It tells me we’ll have to finish our discussion later,” she said, torn between relief and regret.
“We’ll finish it,” Adam promised. “We’ll definitely finish it.”
The murmur of voices in the hall grew louder. With a last glance at her face, he started to turn away.
“Thunder?”
“Yes?”
She chewed on her lower lip for a second. “I’m sorry you were wounded in the line of duty.”
Driven as much by the overwhelming need to touch him as by the urge to dull the hard edge of anger between them, Maggie reached out to brush her fingertips over the swirl of dark hair that arrowed his chest. Avoiding the raw, reddened patch of scraped flesh, she stroked his skin. Lightly. Soothingly.
He’d been wounded before, she discovered. Her fingers traced the ridge of an old, jagged scar that followed the line of his collarbone and passed over a puckered circle on his shoulder that could only have been caused by a bullet.
“Thank you,” she said, dragging her gaze back to his face. “For hauling me back onto the terrace.”
His hand closed over hers, capturing it against his heated skin. Under her flattened palm, Maggie felt the steady drumming of his heart.
“You’re welcome.” The sharp lines bracketing his mouth eased. “Just try to keep both feet on the ground from here on out.”
It was too late for that, she thought. Far too late for that.
He’d almost lost her.
Adam stood unmoving while a shocked Lillian painted his chest with iodine, then covered the scrape with a white bandage. She brushed aside his quiet thanks and left to hurry Maggie into a fresh gown, tut-tutting all the while, in her own inimitable fashion.
With a damp cloth, Adam removed the ravages the stone railing had done to his dress pants. His hands were steady as he slipped on his white shirt, but the damned gold studs just wouldn’t seem to fit the tiny openings. Clenching his jaw, Adam forced the last stud into place. Throughout it all, his mind followed a single narrow track.
He’d almost lost her.
This morning he’d finally admitted to himself how much he wanted Maggie, and tonight he’d almost lost her.
Before he possessed her—as much as it would be possible to possess someone like Chameleon—he’d almost lost her.
The raw need he’d acknowledged less than ten hours ago didn’t begin to compare with the ache that sliced through him now. Seeing Maggie half a breath away from death had effectively stripped him of any illusion that he could control his need for her.
Two weeks, and this mission would be complete, he reminded himself. Two weeks until he could satisfy the gnawing hunger he didn’t, couldn’t, deny any longer. For the first time, Adam doubted his own endurance.
Grimacing at the tug of the bandage on his chest hair, he pulled on his black dinner jacket and left the bathroom. He stopped short at the sight of the towering, beribboned basket resting majestically on a glass-topped sofa table.
He’d take it to Maggie after the banquet. At least one of them wouldn’t go to bed hungry tonight.
He was halfway to the door when his watch began to vibrate gently against his wrist.
“Thunder here.”
“This is Jaguar, Chief. Thought you might want to know we finally cornered Stoney Armstrong’s agent.”
“And?”
“And he passed on the interesting information that his client floated an eight-figure ‘loan’ just a week ago. Seems Armstrong decided to produce and star in his own film. The funds went through half a dozen holding companies, but we finally traced them to First Bank.”
Adam went still. “First Bank?”
“Yeah. Ready for the kicker?”
“I’m ready.”
“Armstrong refused the loan when he discovered that First Bank was putting up the cash. Seems he’d heard some rumors about the institution and didn’t want his name connected to it.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“Nothing specific, but the agent hinted strongly that it might be doing business with some questionable characters in Central America. Said Armstrong didn’t want anything to do with it.”
The fact that the brawny star had a few scruples buried under those bulging muscles didn’t particularly impress Adam.
“Put a team on First Bank, Jaguar. I want to know the source of every dollar it takes in, and every possible connection between the bank and the vice president.”
“I’ve already got it working. Will get back to you as soon as I have anything.”
“Fine. Anything else?”
“No.”
Adam flicked a glance at the dial of his watch. “I’d better sign off. The vice president is waiting.”
Jaguar chuckled. “How’s Chameleon holding up in this role?”
The memory of Maggie’s shaky grin after her brush with oblivion filled Adam’s mind.
“Better than I am,” he replied grimly.
The banquet went off without a hitch.
Stoney Armstrong failed to make an appearance, which didn’t surprise Adam. From the determined set to Denise Kowalski’s chin, he guessed the agent wasn’t about to release the star until she was fully satisfied with his statement.
Maggie, stunning in a two-piece turquoise silk sheath beaded in silver, charmed the men seated on either side of her. From his place across the round table, Adam watched as she picked at the elaborate chef’s salad she’d been served. Every so often, her eyes strayed to the succulent rack of lamb on her neighbor’s plate.
Remembering the cellophane-wrapped basket in his suite, Adam smiled. The thought of feeding Maggie, bite by bite, the various delicacies snaked through his mind. Sudden, erotic images of what could be done
with red beluga caviar and soft Brie made his hand clench around the stem of his wineglass. He kept his smile easy and his conversation with the women seated on either side of him lively, but he couldn’t keep his body from tightening whenever he looked at the woman separated from him by a wide expanse of white linen. Adam knew that each lingering glance he gave Maggie added more grist to the rumor mills about the vice president’s latest romantic interest.
He also knew that he’d long since stopped playing a role.
When the banquet finally ended, they made their way slowly through the crowded ballroom. Denise and her squad cleared the way, and Adam followed a step or two behind Maggie as they both greeted various guests. As much as it was possible in this press, he kept her body between his and the agent in front of her.
She was incredible, he thought, watching her work the crowd. The people who caught her ear didn’t notice that she listened far more than she spoke, or that she waited for them to drop clues about their personal agendas before she gave a noncommittal response.
His gaze traveled from the auburn curls feathering her neck, down the slender back now encased in turquoise silk, to the swell of her hips. The modest slit in the back of her long skirt parted with each step, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of shapely calf. Maintaining her role had to be a tremendous physical and emotional strain, but she didn’t allow any sign of it to show in her demeanor or her carriage.
Until they reached the elevator.
When Denise turned to issue a last-minute instruction to the task force leader, Maggie slumped back against the brass rail for a second or two. Adam caught the way her shoulders sagged and her eyelids fluttered shut. With a wry inner smile, Adam abandoned his plans to feed her in erotic, exotic ways.
As it turned out, Denise Kowalski had her own plans for them for the rest of the evening. After a quick but thorough security check, she joined Maggie and Adam in the sitting room.
“We still have to do that postmortem, Mrs. Grant.”
Maggie glanced at the clock on the white-painted mantel. “It’s almost 3:00 a.m., Washington time. Why don’t we get together in the morning, before we leave for the cabin?”
“It’s best if we go over what happened while the details are still fresh in your mind,” the agent insisted politely but firmly. “Mr. Armstrong’s statement, and his subsequent polygraph, substantiate your belief that he didn’t intend you bodily harm, but I need to hear exactly what happened. You could have been killed.”
“I know,” Maggie replied, with a gleam in her eyes that Adam recognized instantly. “I was the one about to add a new, indelible splash of color to the Avenue of the Stars, remember?”
She realized her mistake almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth. The flippant tone and gallows humor were far more characteristic of Maggie Sinclair than of Taylor Grant.
Denise frowned, and Maggie recovered without missing a beat. Curving her mouth into Taylor’s distinctive smile, she tossed her beaded bag down on the sofa.
“Look, I know you’re just trying to do your job. I guess I’m a little tired.”
A touch of reserve entered the agent’s voice. “I’m sorry to badger you this late, but I’m charged with protecting you. I can’t do it without your cooperation.”
With one hand tucked casually in his pants pocket, Adam eyed the two women. Denise Kowalski was every bit as strong willed and determined as Maggie when it came to her job. She wasn’t about to back down, any more than Chameleon had earlier.
Maggie gave in with good grace, recognizing a pro when she saw one. “You’re right, of course. Why don’t we sit down?”
“Would you join us, please?” Denise asked Adam. “I’d like your input, as well.”
“I didn’t intend to leave. Mrs. Grant and I have a few matters of our own to discuss when you’re though.”
Ignoring Maggie’s quick sideways glance, he joined her on the buttery-soft sofa.
The Secret Service officer was too well trained to allow any expression to cross her face. But as she moved forward to take the seat opposite them, she slanted a quick look at the open connecting door.
The brass carriage clock on the mantel had chimed twice by the time Agent Kowalski finally called a halt to the questions.
“Well, I guess that’s it.” She rubbed a hand across her forehead, then rose. “I’ll tell the folks downstairs to release Armstrong. We’ll keep someone on him for a while, with orders to get real nasty, real quick, if he tries to, uh, approach you again.”
“He won’t,” Maggie asserted.
“No, he won’t,” Adam promised.
The agent glanced from Maggie’s confident face to Adam’s implacable one. “I guess not. I’ll see you in the morning.”
When the door closed behind her, Maggie heaved a sigh. Letting her head loll back against the leather, she plopped her stockinged feet on the brass-and-glass table.
“That’s one tough woman.”
“She reminds me of someone else I know,” Adam commented dryly.
“She does, doesn’t she?” Maggie’s hair made a bright splash of color against the white leather as she turned to face him. “I think we should recruit her for OMEGA after this mission.”
“I may have to consider it. If you pull any more stunts like you did with Armstrong, I’ll have an opening for an agent.”
A gleam of reluctant laughter entered her violet-tinted eyes. “Okay, so maybe dangling above the Avenue of the Stars was a bit extreme,” she conceded.
“It was. Even for you.”
“Even for me. But at least it convinced me that Armstrong’s not our man. I don’t have anything to base it on, except the fact that Stoney didn’t let go—and the sixth sense you took me to task for earlier.”
“As much as it pains me to admit it, your instincts were right. Again.”
She sat up straight. “Really?”
“Jaguar called just before we went downstairs to the banquet.”
With a succinct economy of detail, Adam filled her in on the details of Jake’s call.
“First Bank, huh? Stoney turned down a loan from First Bank because he thinks they might be laundering dirty money?”
“Evidently he was afraid a connection with them might…tarnish his image.”
She grinned. “There’s a lot of that going around lately.”
A small silence settled between them. Reluctant to break it, Maggie slumped back against the soft leather. She and Adam still had matters left to resolve, not the least of which was exactly how she would operate for the next two weeks. But she couldn’t seem to summon up the energy or the intensity that had driven her earlier.
“If we eliminate Armstrong, that leaves only two names on the list of possible suspects,” Adam said after a moment.
“Digicon’s CEO, and the president’s best buddy.”
“Peter Donovan, and James Elliot.”
“Jaguar hasn’t dug up anything on either?”
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
The clock on the mantel ticked off a few measures of companionable silence, broken only when Maggie gave a huge, hastily smothered yawn.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
Adam’s gaze rested on her face for a long moment, and then he pushed himself to his feet and held out one hand to pull her up beside him.
Maggie put her hand in his. Despite the weariness that had dragged over her like a net, a sensual awareness feathered along her nerves at the firmness of his hold. She’d felt Adam’s strength twice tonight. Once when he’d hauled her up to the terrace. Once when he’d hauled her up against his chest.
“You’d better get some sleep,” he told her.
She hesitated, knowing she was playing with fire. “We didn’t finish what we started, out there on the terrace.”
“We’ll finish tomorrow,” he said slowly. “When we get to the cabin.”
Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow, they’d be at Taylor’s isolated mountain retreat. Tomorrow, Maggie would be
rested, in control of herself once more. There wouldn’t be as many people hovering around her. Only Denise and a small Secret Service team. Lillian. The caretaker who lived at the ranch. And Adam.
Tomorrow, she and Adam would sort through roles and missions. Tomorrow, they’d finish what they’d started tonight.
“Good night,” she said softly.
“Good night, Chameleon.”
Leaving the door open behind him, Adam walked through the sitting room of his own suite. With every step, his body issued a fierce, unrelenting protest. But as much as he wanted to, he wouldn’t allow himself to turn around, walk back through the door and tumble Maggie down onto that soft white leather.
She needed sleep. That much was obvious from the faint shadows under her eyes. From the droop of her shoulders under the beaded silk. She needed rest. A few hours’ relief from the strain of her role.
And Adam needed to keep the promise of tomorrow in proper perspective. If he could.
Halfway across the sitting room, the glint of cellophane caught his eye. He halted with one hand lifted to tug at the ends of his black tie, and surveyed the towering collection of champagne, caviar, imported biscuits and cheeses. Somehow he suspected that those damned cheeses were going to figure in his dreams tonight.
Scooping up the basket, he walked back into the adjoining suite. The thick white carpet muffled his footsteps as he approached the bedroom door.
“You’d better eat something before—”
He stopped short on the threshold, transfixed by the sight of Maggie twisted sideways, struggling with the straps of her body shield.
She’d shed the beaded gown, and she wore only the thin Kevlar corset, a lacy garter belt that held up sheer nylon stockings, and the skimpiest pair of panties Adam had ever seen. No more than a thin strip of aqua silk, they brushed the tops of her full, rounded bottom and narrowed to a thin strip between her legs. In the process, they exposed far more flesh than they covered.
When she glanced up, Adam saw that she’d removed her violet-tinted contacts. Those were Maggie’s brown eyes, he saw with a rush of fierce satisfaction. That was her body that beckoned to him.
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