“Good enough. In the meantime, I’ll work the final details on the package.”
“You’d damned well better work on getting some accurate intelligence on the situation in Qatar,” Jack shot back. “I’m not going in blind, and I’m sure as hell not leaving my people in danger if the whole country’s about to blow. And, Trey...?”
“Yeah?”
“This is the last time.”
A brief, charged silence spun out while McGill digested that.
“What’s going on, Wentworth?”
Jack thought of the answers he could give. He’d met someone. Fallen for her, hard. Wanted her with a ferocity that had exploded into a shimmering, illusive emotion he’d never experienced before, never really believed in until Sabrina.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to respond to Trey’s question. McGill supplied his own answer.
“It’s that Jensen woman, isn’t it? She’s gotten to you?”
“Yes.”
The silence this time was longer, and razor-edged with the memory of Heather. Finally, Trey blew out a low, shaky breath.
“I hope she knows what she’s getting into.”
Jack’s glance went to the hall and the dark bedroom beyond. “She doesn’t, but I’ll make sure she does before we take it any further.”
“Yeah, well...good luck.”
“Thanks,” Jack said quietly.
He cut the connection, then immediately dialed the twenty-four-hour Wentworth operations center. Tersely, he instructed the on-duty controller to put their people in Qatar on highest alert and to get the Learjet fueled and readied.
He dressed quickly. As always before these operations, his heart pumped pure adrenaline. This time, it also pumped a steady measure of regret. He bent a knee on the bed, smiling at the tight ball of woman in the center of the mattress.
“Sabrina.”
She didn’t stir. Didn’t so much as blink. Gently, he shook her arm.
“Something’s come up, sweetheart. I have to go.”
“Mmm.”
Still deep in slumber, she twitched and brought her knees up under her chin. Jack’s mouth curved into a grin. He hadn’t understated matters this afternoon. When this woman slept, she slept. Bending, he dropped a kiss on the tangled silk of her hair.
“I’ll be back.”
He carried her mumbled “mmm” out of the room and into the night.
Stars glittered like diamonds in the indigo sky as Jack drove the empty roads to Tulsa. He left the truck in the underground garage and took the elevator to the top floor of the Wentworth Building. The security guard on duty tensed when the doors hummed open, then immediately relaxed. He was too used to seeing Wentworth Oil’s CEO at all hours to do more than nod and smile.
Less than fifteen minutes later, Jack had showered, shaved and changed in the private bath just off his office. He was knotting his tie when an unshaven but otherwise impeccably dressed Peter Hastings strolled through the door to the executive suite, pen and steno pad in hand.
“You didn’t have to come in.” Jack voiced the protest, although he knew it was useless. “I planned to dictate instructions for you.”
“The ops center called me,” Pete said calmly. “What do you want me to do?”
Squaring the Windsor knot on his tie, Jack fired off the list he’d formulated during the quick drive to Tulsa.
“I didn’t want to disturb my grandfather this early. Call him later this morning and explain about the attack on the refinery in Qatar. Tell him I’ll contact him as soon as I’m comfortable with the security arrangement for our people.”
“Done.”
“Tell Hannah to expect me when she sees me.”
“That will break her heart,” Pete commented dryly.
Grinning, Jack tossed his briefcase onto his desk and snapped it open. He knew full well that his housekeeper would dance in delight at having the Tulsa apartment to herself for the foreseeable future.
“Make sure the ops center maintains real time communications link with our on-site supervisor in Qatar. I want to be advised immediately of any deterioration in the situation from their perspective.”
Trey would provide State’s assessment, as well, but Jack had learned long ago to pull in his own intelligence sources whenever possible.
He ran through the rest of his short list, then yanked open his desk drawer to retrieve his passport and the nickel-finished nine-shot Marakov he’d taken off a disgruntled Iraqi officer some years ago. Pete waited patiently while Jack checked the chamber, the clip and the spare magazine.
“Anything else?”
“No. I...”
Jack’s gaze snagged on the photograph that had slipped to the back of the drawer. Sabrina’s smiling face sent his heart into a quick, fast roll. He drew out the photo. Slowly, tenderly, he brushed a thumb across the glossy finish.
Lord, had it been less than a week since they’d posed for the picture at the Route 66 Blowout? It seemed longer. So much longer. Jack had to stretch to remember a time before Sabrina. A life before Sabrina.
He tucked the photo in one of the pockets in his briefcase.
“Yes,” he told Pete. “There is something else. See if you can locate the owner of the jewelry store in the lobby. Ask him to meet me there in a half hour.”
For one of the few times in their association, the unflappable former panhandler lost his flap. His jaw dropping, he gaped at his boss.
“Huh?”
“I don’t have time to explain now, Pete. Just do it.”
With vivid images of Sabrina as he’d left her tumbling through his mind, Jack scribbled a quick note on his personal stationery. He didn’t know how long he’d be gone, and this time he wasn’t taking any chances that she might think he skipped out on her.
Sabrina—
Our time together was magical. I need to see you, talk to you. I’ll contact you as soon as I possibly can.
J.
With final instructions to Pete to track down Ms. Jensen and deliver the note if events in Qatar kept him out of the country for an extended period, he left the Wentworth Building forty-five minutes later. A sparkling, emerald-cut solitaire nestled in a blue velvet box in his briefcase, along with the Marakov and the picture of Sabrina. When he returned from Qatar, Jack thought with fierce satisfaction, he wouldn’t have to waste time shopping for an engagement ring before making tracks directly to the diner.
He glanced at his watch, smiling when he saw the time. Sabrina’s alarm clock was set to go off in a half hour. He was tempted to call her, just to hear her voice, but he didn’t want to steal what little sleep she had left. He could see her in his mind, almost orchestrate every move in the scenario that would follow the shrill of the alarm.
She’d groan, slam a hand on the nightstand to turn the screech off, then stretch. He saw her uncurl those long, gorgeous legs. Heard her grumble into the pillow. Felt the kick in his gut as he thought about all the mornings he hoped to watch a lazy smile fill her green eyes as she came fully awake next to him.
At precisely four-thirty, a shrill buzz shocked Sabrina awake. Groaning, she stretched out an arm and thumped at the nightstand until she hit the alarm. Mercifully, the buzzing stopped.
She lay unmoving for a few moments, boneless and utterly content. Comfortable silence cocooned her. The rumpled sheets carried the faint scent of Jack’s musky maleness. The pillow had bunched where he’d jammed it under his head. She closed her eyes, imagining him beside her, remembering the incredible night just past. If Sabrina had been asked to describe the way she felt at that precise moment, she would have said well and thoroughly loved.
Jack hadn’t said the actual words. Nor had she, she remembered with a smile. They hadn’t needed to. She’d seen the tenderness behind his smile and tasted hot desire in his kiss. The wellspring of passion she’d found in his arms stunned her whenever she thought about it.
Hazy fragments from the night drifted through her mind. She might have imagined that Jack had
shaken her gently sometime during the night. She could have fantasized a kiss as soft as mist. But she couldn’t have dreamed his whisper that something had come up, that he had to go.
That he’d come back.
Hugging the husky promise to herself, she rolled off the bed and went to shower. She drove to work on autopilot, her eyes on the road and her mmd on Jack. A foolish, almost giddy happiness engulfed her. She felt as though she were the first woman to fall in love. The only one who’d ever glowed from the inside out with the knowledge that she was loved.
The glow stayed with her all through that muggy Thursday at the diner, and the night that followed. It was still warm when the phone at the diner shrilled on Friday morning. Peg snatched the receiver off the hook, then waved it in the air to catch Sabrina’s attention.
“For you, kiddo.”
Her heart jumped. Swiping her palms down the seam of her jeans, Sabrina grabbed the receiver and turned a shoulder on the noisy lunch crowd. She expected to hear Jack’s voice. She hoped that he’d tell her he was on the way back from wherever he’d taken off to, that he wanted her, that he loved her.
Instead, a cool, briskly efficient bank official identified himself. “It’s my pleasure to inform you that your small business loan has been approved, Ms. Jensen.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
Sabrina’s joyous whoop bounced off the diner’s wall. The caller waited until she’d calmed down to continue.
“You’ll have to come in and review the terms and conditions of the loan, of course, but I’m sure you’ll find them most satisfactory. Would this afternoon be convenient for you?”
“This afternoon?” Grinning, she twirled the phone cord around her hand. “When you folks make up your mind, you don’t waste time, do you?”
“Not if we can help it. Of course, we like to expedite matters when the applicant has your connections,” he added unctuously.
She blinked. “What connections? What are you talking about?”
“Let’s just say the instructions to approve your loan came directly from Wentworth corporate headquarters, and since the corporation owns our bank...” His voice trailed off delicately.
“I see.”
“So, what time this afternoon would be convenient for you?”
“I’ll have to get back to you.”
“Fine. I’m at your disposal. May I give you my name and phone number?”
“What? Oh, yes, of course.”
Pulling a stubby pencil from her pocket, Sabrina jotted down the information before clicking the receiver back onto its rack. The elation that had filled her only moments ago now felt a little flat.
Why in the world did it matter that Jack had intervened? The loan was a matter of business, after all. If she was going to succeed in the world of commerce and high finance, she shouldn’t balk at using her connections.
She just hadn’t thought of Jack Wentworth as a connection.
Unable to shrug aside the awkward feeling, she decided to wait to tell Hank about the loan approval until she had a chance to talk to Jack. She’d let him know that she appreciated his help, but...well, she didn’t want to plunge into a relationship by taking advantage of his name. That was the plan, anyway... until Hank pushed through the swinging door late that afternoon.
Sabrina took one look at his face and gasped. Sliding the tray she was carrying onto the counter, she rushed to his side.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m okay, but...”
“But what, Hank?”
“I just heard...on the radio...”
“What?”
He moved his well-chewed cigar from one side of his mouth to the other, then tossed it into the trash can. His face creased with compassion. Groping for her hand, he held on tight.
“It’s that Wentworth fellow, the one who polished the floor with my pork chops the other night.”
“Jack?” she said foolishly, as if she knew any other Wentworth. “What about Jack?”
“He’s dead, Sabrina. He died in a terrorist attack, they said, over in one of those Arab oil countries.”
Chapter 12
Long agonizing weeks later, when Sabrina could think of Jack without sobs tearing at the back of her throat, she would realize that a part of her died, too, in the shocked stillness of that June afternoon. The pain that pierced her when she heard about the terrorist attack and explosion on an offshore rig off the coast of Qatar was so sharp, so searing, that she was sure she couldn’t hurt anymore. She soon discovered how wrong she was.
Her friends tried to comfort her. Hank and Peg and the regulars who’d met Jack at the diner shook their heads. What a shame, they murmured. He seemed like an all right kind of guy, despite his less than stellar performance as a waiter. None of them, of course, had any idea how fast and hard Sabrina had fallen for Jack Wentworth, or how much a part of her he’d become.
Even her twin didn’t suspect. Rachel knew next to nothing about Jack, had no idea how swiftly he’d claimed her sister’s closely guarded heart. She only knew that her twin was hurting.
Then suddenly, just when Sabrina was starting to accept that she’d always live with an aching sense of loss for what might have been, the rest of her world began to crash in on her, piece by piece.
The first inkling of what was to come occurred less than a week after Jack’s death. Sapped of energy by the heat and the constant ache she carried just under her heart, Sabrina drove home from work and pulled into the driveway. The car’s engine rattled and coughed before choking into stillness. She sat for a moment, trying to summon the will to open the car door.
Finally, the heat rising in shimmering waves all around her drove her out of the car and into the house. The quiet dimness inside should have been a relief. Instead, it echoed emptily. She’d no sooner dumped her purse on the kitchen table than she caught sight of the dented Harlow poster and box of light fixtures from the old motor court. She hadn’t had time to do anything with them before Jack’s death. Afterward...
Her eyes closed. Tears burned the back of her lids.
“Dammit!”
Planting both hands on the counter, Sabrina fought the hot splash of tears. She had to get a grip. She couldn’t continue to hurt every time she remembered their short time together. Every time she thought about Jack’s smile, or heard the echo of his laugh, or remembered how her heart had splintered into a million shards the night he’d massaged her aching feet.
She was still fighting the hot sting of tears when the doorbell rang. Shuddering, she drew in a long, shaky breath and went to answer it. She didn’t recognize the sandy-haired man on the porch. Cautious and in no mood for visitors, she kept the latched screen door between them.
“Ms. Jensen?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Trey McGill!‘
“Yes?”
“I’m a friend...” His gray eyes darkened for a moment, then he corrected himself gently. “I was a friend of Jack’s.”
Sabrina’s throat closed. She clutched the door, unable to speak.
“I was with Jack in Washington right before he flew out to Qatar, Ms. Jensen. I thought you might want to know that he was thinking of you.”
That didn’t make it easier, Sabrina discovered as a series of small tremors shook her. Her hand trembling, she unlatched the screen door.
“Did you come all the way from Washington just to tell me that, Mr. McGill?”
“Trey, please.”
He followed her inside and breathed a long sigh of relief as she shut the heat out. Declining her offer of iced tea, he took a swift look around the living room before turning to face her.
“In answer to your question, no, I didn’t come just to tell you that. I’m with the State Department.”
He paused, as if that should impress her or mean something special. When Sabrina simply stared at him, he speared a hand through his short, sandy hair and elaborated on his mission.
“I flew ou
t to Oklahoma to meet with the Wentworths.”
“They must be devastated,” she murmured.
“They are.” Compassion threaded through her visitor’s voice, faintly tipped with its East Coast accent. “And Joseph Wentworth is mad as hell. He seems to think the United States should be moving faster on the identification of his grandson’s remains.”
Sabrina flinched at the stark, disembodied term. Was that all that was left of someone so vital, so full of life as Jack?
She’d watched the early TV reports, hoping, praying they were wrong. A single glimpse of the satellite image of the fiery inferno engulfing the offshore rig had shredded those hopes completely. The blast had been so fearsome, so all-consuming, that it had taken firefighters long, agonizing days to cap the blaze spewing pillars of black smoke into the sky. According to the most recent news reports, identification of the victims had just begun.
Trey caught her stricken expression and cursed softly under his breath. “I’m sorry. This is hard for you. I didn’t mean to make it worse. I just wanted to assure you that Jack cared for you, far more than the others.”
Others? She controlled another flinch. Of course, there had been others. Jack Wentworth didn’t walk the walk or talk the talk of a monk. Sabrina just didn’t particularly want to hear about any women he might have loved right now. Before she could tell Trey so, though, he rushed to reassure her.
“Jack and I went back a long way. I’ve seen him connect with a lot of women. None of them got close to him, though. Not the way you did, Ms. Jensen.”
“Sabrina,” she murmured. “Call me Sabrina. He talked about me? About us?”
“Not directly. Jack wasn’t the kind to talk about his personal life.” McGill’s mouth twisted. “He wouldn’t even talk about Heather to me.”
The question slipped out before Sabrina could stop it. “Who’s Heather?”
Surprise blanked his face. “He didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
He hesitated, obviously wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. Just when Sabrina decided he wasn’t going to answer, he forced out a short, stiff explanation.
The Mercenary and the New Mom Page 14