Star-Spangled Bride

by Iris Johansen

  "No, I can see how it might get in the way when you're crawling through those damn pint-sized drainage pipes."

  She chuckled. "But you fit, didn't you? And we made it here." Her words sounded slurred even to herself. "Don't be scared. Everything is going to be fine."

  "If you ever shut up and let me sleep."

  "Sorry. Jed says I'm a motormouth. Did I tell you ... I don't remember what I was going to say. But sometimes it helps to talk. ..."

  "Shh . . ." His deep voice reverberated in her ear. "I know. But not now, Ronnie."

  "No, not now..."

  THREE

  Lord, he hated this damn light.

  For six weeks during the first period of his captivity, brilliant lights were kept constantly shining in his face, making sleep impossible. Darkness had become a comfort and a blessing.

  But it was no blessing to Ronnie Dalton.

  His arms tightened around her slim body. Even though she seemed in the depths of sleep, he could still detect faint signs of tension. She was as wired as a coiled spring ready to explode, but with no preconceived direction. Lord, what a bizarre mixture of brash, funny child and world-weary woman. One moment she was full of toughness and bravado and the next she revealed glimpses of uncertainty and softness. Just when he had thought she was completely honest and open, she drew back within herself and he sensed an odd secret loneliness.

  He muttered a curse beneath his breath as his arms tightened protectively around her even more. He hadn't counted on this tenderness barging into his life. In the space of only a few hours she had edged closer to him than he had ever allowed anyone before. She had aroused his body and he could accept that physical reaction, but he hadn't expected to feel this overwhelming sense of possession. She had fallen asleep as trustingly as an orphan child clinging to safety in a dangerous world.

  Lord, and now he was supposed to be Daddy Warbucks to her Orphan Annie.

  She felt soft and small and completely woman in his arms. His body was hardening against her and he drew a deep steadying breath. He had been through more torturous moments than this during the past year, but at the moment he couldn't remember them.

  He closed his eyes and shut out that blasted light.

  It wouldn't hurt him to be Daddy Warbucks for one night.

  But why the hell had no one ever considered how Daddy Warbucks would feel when Annie grew up? There was no natural tie between them ind the two had always been more friends than father and daughter. Even if she turned out ugly as sin, there was still all that bravery and character and vulnerability that stirred deeper feelings man beauty ever would.

  He was beginning to feel damn sorry for the bastard.

  She awoke to find Gabe Falkner sitting quietly in a chair across the room watching her sleep. "What time is it?" She sat up and swung her feet to the floor, casting a hasty glance at the window. Only a pearly light was glowing in the sky, she realized with relief.

  "It's a little after six," Gabe said.

  She jumped out of bed. "I slept like a log."

  "No, you didn't." He stood up and stretched. "You were restless all night. It's surprising you slept at all."

  He obviously hadn't done the same. She could sense the charged alertness, the taut awareness that lay beneath that lazy facade.

  "I'm used to sleeping in war zones." She moved toward the bathroom. "But then so are you."

  "I want out of this particular war zone." His voice was suddenly layered with repressed violence. "Now."

  She grinned at him over her shoulder. "Can you wait until I brush my teeth?"

  "Maybe." She could see him relax a little and a faint smile curved his lips. "If you don't floss."

  She stopped at the bathroom door. "We'll be out of here in fifteen minutes. You'll have to put the contacts and beard back on. Fatima will bring you a native robe and a burnoose and sunglasses."

  "Won't the sunglasses look too much like a disguise?"

  "Not in an open Jeep. Everyone wears them in desert country."

  "And what role are you playing this time?"

  "I'm your driver." She made a face. "Complete with draperies and a smothering veil. You have the easy part."

  "A woman driver in a Middle Eastern country?" he asked skeptically.

  "Oh, men aren't above teaching women modern skills that will serve their august masculinity," she said. "Women chauffeur men all over Said Ababa." She added, "But, of course, no woman is allowed to drive without a man in the car or written permission from the closest male relative.

  That would give her ideas above her station. It's really a charming country."

  "I've found it so."

  Ronnie remembered the video shot of Gabe bruised and defiant and felt the same surge of anger she had known the first time she had seen it. "This is going to be a piece of cake. I've got forged papers that can't be faulted, if we're stopped. They won't be able to touch you again. I promise, Gabe."

  He smiled at her, a warm genuine smile that held neither irony nor sarcasm. "I feel greatly comforted. With such a fierce protector I'm certain I'm as safe as in my own hometown. That being the case"—he made a gesture with his left hand that was both grandiloquent and regal— "you may floss."

  "I told you there wouldn't be any trouble." Ronnie pressed on the accelerator and the Jeep picked up speed. "Smooth as oil."

  "Oil isn't all that smooth when it gushes out of the ground." Gabe glanced back over his shoulder at the town receding in the distance. "And it tends to be explosive. We're not home free yet. We got through the checkpoint and I don't see any ground pursuit, but the Red December has helicopters."

  "They won't be able to spot us once we reach the hills." She jerked off the heavy veil and wig and threw them on the floor. "Lord, those things are hot. You wonder how the Said Ababan men manage to survive those veils."

  He lifted his brows. "It's the women who wear them."

  "But it's the men who make the women wear them. You can bet if I had to spend more than twenty-four hours in one, I'd go gunning for the male chauvinist who put it on me."

  "Dear me, how savage," he murmured. "Have you considered that it may only be our poor male chauvinists' insecurity that makes us veil our women from other men?"

  "That's their problem." She shot him a glance. "And you shouldn't include yourself in that lot. You're not a chauvinist or you wouldn't send women reporters into war zones."

  "I have my protective moments, but I try to fight them." He smiled. "For instance, at the moment I'm fighting the impulse to tell you to put on that veil again."

  She stiffened. "You are?"

  "Don't get bent out of shape. I merely think you should cover your head before this desert sun takes its toll."

  "Oh!" She picked up the veil and draped it over her head. "I didn't think. You're right."

  He looked at her in surprise.

  "Well, I may be independent, but I'm not an idiot," she said in answer to his unspoken question. "Recovering from sunstroke isn't what I have planned for the next few months."

  "What do you have planned?"

  "I don't know. Yugoslavia maybe."

  She saw him stiffen. "Why doesn't that surprise me? You do know snipers are still shooting newspeople over there."

  "I make a small target." She grinned. "And I'll leave my bull's-eye sweatshirt at home."

  "Very funny." He didn't sound amused. "Why don't you give it a rest for a few months . . . prodding you get out of here without being shot."

  She shook her head. "I get restless."

  "So you go looking for guerrillas to shoot at you."

  He sounded definitely uptight. "No, I go looking for pictures to take," she corrected. "And Yugoslavia should provide some dandy opportunities."

  "I don't doubt it. With any luck you'll find yourself tossed in a secret concentration camp or raped or taken—"

  "Luck goes in cycles," she interrupted. "I figure I've had my bad luck for the next five years." "Yeah, sure," he muttered. "Geez, what are you be
efing about? You've had your own Yugoslavias and I'm not one of your people."

  "Aren't you?" He gave her a glance of exasperation and frustration. "I think you're very much mine."

  Possessiveness. She felt a strange breathless-ness that had nothing to do with the desert sun. She had known he was possessive, but it felt odd being sheltered under that umbrella herself. "You forget I'm strictly free-lance. I have no intention of hooking up with your network."

  "Why not? I can offer you excellent money and unlimited opportunities."

  She shrugged. "I'm free-lance," she repeated. "I like it that way."

  "And I don't," he said flatly. "At least, if I was your boss, I could monitor your movements and know what the hell you were up to." She shook her head. "Dammit, take the job." "Dammit, I won't. I know you're grateful to me, but you don't have to do anything to show it." She added lightly, "I'll have my Emmy."

  "So you're just going to walk away."

  "No, you're going fly away. Once we reach Sedikhan, I'll go my way and you'll go yours."

  "I don't like that scenario."

  "Too bad," she said. She was silent a moment and then burst out, "Look, you don't have to pay me back. I owed you. Now we're even, okay?"

  "You owed me?"

  She nodded. "And now we're even, so stop worrying about it."

  "And what did I do to incur this debt?"

  "Never mind." She shot him a sly glance. "Maybe you were my inspiration. Pygmalion to my Galatea."

  "First Daddy Warbucks and now Pygmalion," he muttered. "And I don't believe a word of that crap."

  "That's your choice."

  "Why do you owe me?"

  She didn't answer.

  "I'm going to find out, you know," he said softly. "I'm not going to stop until I do."

  And Gabe Falkner's determination was legendary. She had made a mistake. She should have left it alone, but she had been afraid his sense of obligation would be stronger than his curiosity. "We'll see. You'll probably forget all about it when you get back to the States."

  "I won't forget. Not about Said Ababa and not about you." He paused. "You definitely top my list of unforgettable people."

  He topped her list of unforgettable people also. She suddenly knew she had wanted him to be less than the larger-than-life man she had studied all these years. Maybe the reason she had been so determined to free him was that she, too, had wanted to be released from bondage. Instead she was finding herself drawn even tighter, closer.

  "I'm flattered, but that would be pretty stupid of you. You'll have to work on it. There's no sense dwelling on people who are no longer in your life." She pointed to the hills in the distance. "You see that hill with the bald top? There's a small plateau just behind it where a helicopter can land. We'll set up camp, radio your people in Sedikhan, and then wait for the helicopter."

  "Oh, will we?"

  That hadn't pleased him either. She sighed. "Cripes, what do you want me to do? Put on that blasted veil again and meekly let you handle everything? It's a good plan."

  He suddenly smiled. "I know it is. Sorry, you ruffled my feathers again."

  His smile was warm and as rare as the man himself, and she felt a sudden despair. It was hard to keep a distance from a man who could admit he was wrong. How the devil was she going to forget the bastard, if he kept showing her facets of himself she found appealing?

  "Well, I guess your feathers aren't as easily ruffled as some I've run across. I suppose I'll forgive you."

  His smile deepened with amusement. "I'm most gratified."

  Ronnie looked up from the fire she was building as Gabe turned off the radio. "Who's John?"

  Gabe strolled over, then dropped down on the ground on the other side of the fire. "John Grant."

  "Have you been together a long time? He was all choked up."

  "Seven years. He was the producer of my first television news show. He's executive vice-president now." He swallowed. "And I'm pretty choked up myself. I wasn't sure if I'd ever see him again."

  No macho denial of emotion. She liked that. Dammit, she was afraid she was beginning to like everything about him. "When I set up the pickup, I talked to a Daniel Bredlowe."

  "Dan is my executive assistant."

  "They like you." She made a face. "Of course, it's easier to like a boss who's cooped up in a prison than underfoot all the time."

  "True, but I really think they don't actually detest me even when I'm around. Of course, I could be wrong."

  The fire was burning brightly now and she sat back on her heels. "No, they jumped on the chance of getting you out. Bredlowe even offered to come with me."

  "You should have let him. Dan's good in a tight corner."

  She giggled as a thought occurred to her. "But where would we have put him in the bordello? Under the bed?"

  "Certainly not in it." His voice was suddenly thick. "There wasn't room for anyone between us."

  Her cheeks flamed as she remembered him pressed against her, her legs clinging to his naked hips. "No, there wasn't." She looked away from him. "I didn't want outside interference. Evan was nervous as it was." She stirred the fire. "The helicopter won't get here for an hour or so. My instructions were not to come until full dark. If you like, I could make some coffee."

  "Not unless you want some. I'm too wired for caffeine at the moment. I have enough adrenaline running in my veins to run the generator at Hoover Dam."

  He didn't look wired. His big body was sprawled catlike on the ground, his head resting on his hand, his gaze fixed intently on her face.

  The silence grew and her tension with it. "I've never been to Hoover Dam. It's in Arizona, isn't it?"

  He nodded.

  "I try to see at least one national treasure whenever I'm in the States. I went to Yosemite last time and a year ago I did Washington, D.C. Have you ever gone to see the Declaration of Independence?"

  "Of course."

  "There's no 'of course' about it. The guide told me that it wasn't one of the most popular things to see anymore." She shook her head. "I don't understand it. You'd think they'd all want to see it."

  'They?'

  "Citizens," she said with impatience. "You know, 'we the people.'"

  He smiled faintly. "Oh, that 'they.'"

  "They don't know what they've got."

  "But you know?"

  "You bet I do," she said. "I learned it in a dozen countries that never saw a constitution or a bill of rights. Lord, they're lucky."

  "Aren't you using the wrong pronoun?"

  She had made a mistake and rushed to cover it. "We're lucky," she corrected. "I guess I spend so much time out of the country, my viewpoint is a little remote."

  "You didn't sound remote. You sounded passionate as hell."

  She considered it better not to answer. Silence again fell between them.

  "I wish you wouldn't stare at me," she finally burst out. "I feel like a bug under a microscope."

  "You're certainly a very rare species," he said. "And I have to admit I find you a fascinating study."

  "I don't know why. I'm pretty ordinary." She amended quickly, "Except for my work; that's exceptional." She reached into the leather bag on the ground next to her, turned on the camcorder, and focused on him.

  "The freed captive at ease," she murmured.

  "Shut that damn thing off."

  "Oh, all right." She turned off the camcorder and set it down. "I'll wait until the helicopter comes and get a shot of you flying off into the sunset."

  "Moonlight." Then the full impact of her words hit home and he slowly sat up. "What the hell do you mean? How can you take a shot of me flying off if you're in the helicopter?"

  "But I won't be in it," she said. "We part company here. I'm driving the Jeep to Sedikhan."

  "The devil you are. That helicopter will be at Marasef airport within thirty minutes of takeoff. You said yourself it wasn't safe to take the road to the border."

  "That was only because you were along."


  "You're a journalist too. What do you think will happen if you get stopped at the border?"

  "I'll try to slide over without them seeing me, but even if they find out who I am ..." She shrugged. "I'm small potatoes and they're looking for a big fish."

  "Sounds like a smorgasbord," he said caustically. "But I have a hunch you'd be the main course. Now, tell me what reason you could possibly have for going by road."

  She looked into the fire. "Why should I leave a perfectly good Jeep here to rot?"

  "I'll pay for the damn Jeep."

  "Why should you? I can just as well drive it across—"

  "You go one step near that Jeep and I'll tear out the motor and scatter the parts from here to the Mediterranean."

  She set her jaw. "Then I'll walk across the border."

  He stared at her. "Lord, and you'd be stubborn enough to do it." He struggled with his temper for a moment and then said quietly, "You may be stubborn, but you're not stupid. What's the real reason you don't want to go with me in that helicopter?"

  She didn't answer him.

  "If you don't tell me, I'm going to send the helicopter back to Marasef and we'll both drive to the border."

  "You can't do that," she said.

  "Try me."

  Her hands clenched into fists. "You're going to spoil everything. Do you want to end up a prisoner again?"

  "No, and I don't want you to, either."

  She wasn't going to be able to sway him so she gave in. "There will be too much coverage."

  His eyes widened. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Your helicopter will probably be met in Marasef by half the reporters in the Middle East and the CIA and—"

  "What difference does that make? You're a reporter yourself."

  "It's very different," she said fiercely. "No one pays any attention to just one reporter on a news crew, but you'd be in the spotlight and some of it would be bound to spill over onto me. I can't have that."

  "Why the hell not?"

  "I have my reasons."

  "None that are worth your life."

  "That's my decision to make," she said. "And if you really think you owe me something, you can pay me back by getting on that helicopter tonight and stop trying to mess up my life."