Hot Soldier Spy

by Cindy Dees

  She closed the door with a quiet snick and turned to look at the carnage. Both men sprawled, unconscious, at her feet. A trickle of blood dripped from one guy’s broken nose onto the hardwood floor. She stared at Dutch, reeling at the display she’d just witnessed. His eyes were as brittle as ice and danger oozed from every inch of him.

  His voice was as cold as his eyes when he stated, “Like I said. I can protect you.”

  No kidding. Her stomach rumbled with faint nausea.

  Silently, Dutch held a hand out to her.

  She stared at his big, callused palm. Those fingers were capable of so much violence. But she’d also seen them reach out to her as he went down on the living-room floor, begging for help. Seen him allow himself to be tied to a chair—not like that had ever actually restrained him, as it turned out—so she would feel less afraid. If she was going to survive the next couple of weeks, she had to trust someone. Why not him? It wasn’t as if there was anyone else.

  Acting on sheer gut instinct, she stepped forward, bypassing his hand and straight into his arms. In reluctant reflex, he wrapped them around her.

  Relief unfolded inside her, bathing her in warm comfort. Lord, she’d missed human contact. His sweater was warm and scratchy under her cheek, the man beneath it hard as steel. But in spite of the rigid way he held himself, he made her feel safe. She hadn’t felt that way in a long time.

  “Do you recognize them?” he murmured into her hair.

  “No,” she sighed against his chest. “What are we going to do with those two?” It was so nice to let someone else worry about things for a change.

  Dutch leaned back enough to look down at her. He actually grinned. “Now we get to have a little fun.”

  She blinked rapidly. That smile of his still could knock a grown woman right off her feet. “Fun? Are you kidding? These guys just attacked us and there are more of them where they come from!”

  Dutch merely stepped over to a kitchen drawer and pocketed a gadget that looked suspiciously like a lock picking gun one of her father’s men had shown her a few months back. Then he bent over and hoisted one of the guys over his shoulder. He said casually, “Open the door for me and make sure the hall’s clear, will you?”

  She missed the feel of his arms around her, but the sense of comfort lingered. She did as he requested and stood aside as he hauled the man out. At his head jerk, she followed him down the hallway. They ducked into an alcove that housed an icemaker and a couple of vending machines. Dutch dumped his burden on the floor.

  He murmured, “Keep an eye out and let me know if anyone comes this way.”

  She peeked into the hallway while he worked behind her. She glanced over his shoulder and saw him at an unmarked door, inserting the lock gun in the lock. Apparently breaking and entering was also part of his repertoire. A man of many talents. The door opened and he hauled the unconscious thug into what looked like a storage room for the maid’s cleaning carts.

  “Hold this door open while I go get the other guy.”

  She nodded and did as he directed. In the eternity he was gone, maybe a minute, she prayed fervently that the goon lying on the floor wouldn’t wake up.

  “Here we go.”

  She jumped violently as Dutch materialized beside her. He moved as silently as a big cat on the hunt. He dumped the second man beside the first one. “Grab me some sheets, will you?”

  She handed him a stack of linens. With quick jerks of powerful muscles, he tore them into thick strips and tied the men’s hands tightly behind their backs. He secured them to heavy cleaning carts on opposite sides of the room from each other and locked the brakes on the cart’s wheels. He tied their feet to two more carts. Leaning back on his heels, he surveyed his work.

  “Too bad I can’t legally kill these guys on U.S. soil.”

  She shuddered at the cool calm with which he said that.

  He stood up, searching around the room. She watched, frowning, as he grabbed a complimentary pad of hotel stationery and a pen and scribbled a note. He laid it on the floor in front of the door. “There. That ought to keep them busy for a while, don’t you think?”

  She looked down at the note’s block letters and grinned. It read, Call the police. These are criminals.

  He tore up one last sheet, stuffing pieces of it into each of the men’s mouths and tying the gags in place with more strips of cloth. He straightened beside her. Goodness, his height was imposing. Ah, but it was nice to have all that brawn on her side for once.

  He plucked pistols out of holsters inside both men’s jackets and searched their pockets, coming up with spare magazines of ammunition for each weapon. “Let’s go,” he murmured.

  Apparently, he was accepting her deal. He’d just attacked and subdued two armed men on her behalf. She followed him out of the closet.

  He looked both ways down the empty hall. “Take me to your room. We’re packing your stuff and getting out of here.”

  That sounded like a great idea. In a matter of minutes she stood by the door with her luggage, watching him go through her room, wiping down the place for fingerprints. They went back to his room and repeated the procedure, and before long, his suitcases stood neatly beside hers.

  They carried their bags downstairs to the checkout counter. While she pulled the necessary cash out of her purse, Dutch checked out of his room, as well. However, he asked the desk clerk not to process the transaction on his room until midnight.

  “Why did you delay your checkout?” she asked as he led her to the parking lot.

  “It would look like we’re traveling together if we checked out at the exact same time.”

  He tossed their luggage into the back of a dark green, late-model SUV. “How did you get here?” he asked.

  When her father’s men had nearly caught up with her in Los Angeles, she’d borrowed a car from her college roommate who lived in Malibu. “I drove.”

  “A rental?” he asked sharply.

  “No. I borrowed it from a friend.”

  “That’s probably how your father’s goons found you. We need to ditch it ASAP. Drive your car into town and I’ll follow you. Park in the grocery-store lot and then come get in my car.”

  “What about my skis?”

  “Leave ’em. It’ll make your tails think you fled in haste.”

  “I am fleeing in haste,” she retorted testily.

  He grinned at her. “We need to be seen leaving separately. Can you go get your car by yourself? I’ll keep an eye on you to make sure you’re safe.”

  Of course she could walk to her car by herself. She wasn’t that helpless. She’d gotten to Colorado by herself, hadn’t she? With a nod to Dutch, she headed across the resort’s parking lot.

  Lord, she felt exposed. There were still at least four of those thugs lurking around here somewhere. Her breathing accelerated into a rapid, sucking staccato. Abruptly, a flash of yellow hurtled toward her. She threw herself behind the nearest car, her heart slamming into her throat. A little boy charged past, yelling over his shoulder for his parents to hurry up.

  She leaned against the hood of the car while she regained control of her wobbly legs. Two more rows over to her car. She could do this. She was not a complete wimp. In an act of sheer willpower, she forced herself to move. One foot in front of the next.

  An eternity later, she fumbled at her car door with her keys. She slid behind the wheel, locked the door, and sighed with relief. And then something moved in her rearview mirror. She dived for the seat, lying flat against cold leather. Long seconds ticked past. Nothing happened. She sagged in relief. Her heart couldn’t take much more of this.

  Sitting up, she checked the rearview mirror. Another movement! But then it resolved itself into a woman skier walking past. Sheesh. Get a grip.

  She reached for the ignition key and hesitated. Ever since she’d seen her father blow up a rival with a car bomb when she was twelve, she’d had a thing about starting cars. But if her father wanted her killed, she would already be dead.
And it wasn’t as if she had any choice about whether or not to start the engine. She had to get this car out of here.

  The engine reluctantly coughed to life, not tuned for high altitude and extreme cold. No explosion. Thank God.

  As she pulled out of the parking lot, Dutch fell in behind her and followed her down the mountain to town. She pulled into the grocery-store parking lot and stopped her car. Dutch got out of his vehicle several rows over. She was surprised to see him saunter into the store as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Should she go now? Wait for him to come back? He’d been specific. Park her car and head for his.

  She was developing a real hatred of open spaces. How Dutch lived like this all the time, she had no idea. She’d only been on the lam for a few days and her nerves were shot. She walked quickly toward Dutch’s SUV, barely managing not to break into a panicked sprint. With a quick glance around—nobody suspicious seemed to be watching her—she tested the passenger-door handle of Dutch’s vehicle. Unlocked. She slipped inside, sighing in relief as the darkly tinted windows shielded her from prying eyes.

  A couple of minutes later, the driver’s door flew open without warning, and she jumped violently. Dutch grinned at her and she scowled back at him. His grin got wider as he tossed several plastic bags of groceries into the back seat and slid behind the wheel. “Glad to see me?”

  “I’m exceedingly glad you’re not the guys who’ve been chasing me. Where to now?” she babbled in her relief.

  “I’ve got the bases covered,” was his enigmatic reply.

  Boy, this guy really bottled his thoughts up tight. Although, given her history of conning him, she couldn’t really expect him to open up. Once burned, twice shy. And she couldn’t blame him since she’d done the burning the first time around. He pointed the SUV back in the direction they’d just come from. She frowned as he started winding up the mountain once more.

  When he turned off onto a narrow road, hardly more than a set of tracks in the snow, she began to wonder. Maybe he had a nice little outing planned for himself out here in the woods—her execution followed by a weenie roast perhaps?

  He drove for a good fifteen minutes on a series of trail-like roads no better than the first one. Finally, he stopped in front of a tall iron security gate in the middle of nowhere. Dutch leaned out the window, punched in a number code on a keypad, and the gate swung open.

  A driveway snaked away into a heavy stand of trees. He followed it for a couple of minutes until the woods opened up before them. In the clearing was a resort unlike any she’d seen in this area before. A cluster of twelve large, log chalets arced around the base of a glorious, snow-covered mountain peak. One large log building stood in the middle, much bigger than the others. A helicopter was parked beside it.

  “What is this place?” she asked.

  “This is a really private resort. Exclusive with a capital E. Which also translates to Security with a capital S.”

  “And how do you know about it?”

  “The Blackjacks rescued the owner’s son from kidnappers a few years back. Saved the kid’s life and saved daddy ten million bucks in ransom while we were at it. We have a standing invitation to visit.”

  And sure enough, when Dutch stepped inside the main building, a woman came out from behind the registration counter immediately and planted a big hug on him. She called out to a man in the back, and in a matter of seconds, he was pounding on Dutch’s back effusively. Julia smiled at how uncomfortable the display of affection made Dutch. The poor guy looked ready to turn around and run for cover.

  Finally he managed to get a word in between the couple’s expansive welcomes. “Do you happen to have a room for us for the night?”

  “Of course,” the man answered. “Come with me.”

  He led them outside to one of the chalets. Its interior was as gorgeous as the scenery outside, and they were settled in it in no time. A staff member brought their luggage in and announced, “The first helicopter leaves at 9:30 a.m. tomorrow.”

  Dutch grimaced. “We don’t have skis with us.”

  The kid answered easily, “No problem. Come on up to the lodge and we’ll outfit you. The powder’s awesome on the high slopes.”

  Dutch glanced over at her, and she gave him a hopeful look. She’d never helicopter skied a wild mountain at the higher elevations. She’d heard it was pure skiing heaven. She’d skied the Alps in Switzerland and the Andes in Chile, but her father frowned on extreme sports and had never let her out of the confines of traditional ski resorts.

  He looked back at the kid. “Pencil us in for a couple of seats on the first flight.”

  “You’ve got it, sir. Will you be eating at the lodge tonight?”

  Dutch shook his head. “No. We’ll cook for ourselves.”

  The young man nodded and left.

  Julia remarked, “I hope you meant you’d be cooking because I burn water if I try to boil it.”

  Dutch whistled between his teeth. “Wow. That takes real talent. And yes, I’ll cook supper. Why don’t you go take a hot bath and relax. You look a bit…overwrought.”

  Huh. That was a word for it. She might go with strung out. Or wired tight enough to snap. Or scared shitless.

  She smiled gratefully at him. The idea of a hot, relaxing bath sounded absolutely wonderful.

  Dutch’s voice floated to her out of the kitchen over the sound of steaming water filling the spa tub and its dozen jets. “I figure we’ve got a couple of days before your tails circle back into this area to look for us. We’ll stay here until we figure out what we’re doing, and then we can move out.”

  He sounded so confident. And what he said did make sense. The ever-present burden of fear lifted from her shoulders a bit. It felt great to relinquish responsibility to someone else. Besides, she didn’t have anyplace else to go.

  Dutch ground a touch more pepper into the pasta carbonara and noted the sound of the hot-tub jets cutting off in the bathroom. Perfect. Supper would be ready just about the same time Julia was done primping after her bath.

  Eduardo’s accountant, huh? Who’d have guessed the bastard would use his own daughter to do his dirty work? But then, maybe it made sense in a sick sort of way. Who else could the guy trust with all his money and secrets? Man, he would give his right arm to get a good look at Eduardo’s complete financial records. So would half the federal government. That was the only reason he’d agreed to postpone his plans for Julia.

  Right?

  He frowned as he tossed the salad. Why had Julia come to him rather than go straight to more traditional authorities?

  He didn’t buy for a minute the idea that he was the only person who could keep her safe. Tickling at the back of his consciousness was the disturbing notion that her being here might have something to do with the feelings they’d once shared for each other. As for him, that most certainly had nothing to do with why he was here.

  Right?

  If she was on the up-and-up, the FBI or the Treasury Department would be more than happy to keep her safe in return for her information and her testimony. Nope, his finely honed sense of intuition smelled a rat. She was up to something.

  The best way to lure her into showing her hand was to bait the trap with what she wanted: his twenty-four-hour protection.

  “Wow. That smells amazing.”

  He glanced up at Julia as he pulled garlic bread out of the oven. “Hungry?” he asked.

  “I haven’t eaten a decent meal in weeks.”

  That would explain the unnatural hollowness of her cheeks, the violet shadows under her eyes, the delicacy of her skin. If she ever met his family, his Swedish mother would plow her under with steak, potatoes and thick, hearty stews, griping all the while about putting some meat on her bones. He found her fragile quality disturbing, himself. If she were anyone but Julia Ferrare, it would make him feel…protective.

  He’d moved the small kitchen table and two chairs into the living room in front of the fire he’d built, and he’d scraped up a h
alf-dozen candles from around the cabin and put them on the table. He dished up the creamy pasta and burned his fingers slicing off hunks of garlic bread for them. But her sigh of appreciation as he seated her at the table was worth the trouble.

  “Now, that’s romantic,” she breathed.

  Cripes. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was making a pass at her.

  To get her to talk more, he’d been going for relaxing, not romantic. Although romantic might, indeed, have won him the answers he needed from her, he was not going down that road. Not with her. Even if the thin, white cashmere sweater she wore called up vivid images of her barely covered breasts.

  He frowned at the cozy table set for two. It did look like a seduction scene. Suddenly he felt like a clumsy, oversized bull, tiptoeing around in a cramped china shop.

  Hell, let her think whatever she wanted to. If thinking he’d traded vengeance for romance would make her talk, so be it. He lit the candles, turned off the overhead lights and decanted a glass of wine for her. He waited for her to pick up her fork before he began eating slowly and carefully himself.

  The fire hissed quietly and added its flickering golden light to the glow of the candles. Outside, darkness was falling fast.

  She swirled the ruby red wine in its glass. “A Chilean carmenére. Is this a La Playa 2000 vintage? I haven’t had this since…”

  Dutch carefully kept his expression neutral. Since when? And how in the hell did she recognize a rare wine from one of Chile’s most famous vineyards? Last time he checked, she supposedly spent most of her time in Switzerland when she wasn’t in Gavarone with her father. He practically owned the small, South American country.

  “A wine connoisseur, are you?” he asked casually. Maybe Chile was where Eduardo stashed his millions.

  She shrugged. “Not really. I just used to drink it a lot at…a favorite restaurant of mine.”

  He would bet his next paycheck she’d never drunk a carmenére at any restaurant. The old Bordeaux grape was thought to be extinct until just a few years ago when a few vines turned up in Chile. Wine made from its grapes was still exceedingly rare outside that country and coveted by wine collectors. He’d been amazed to find a bottle at a local wine store when he’d arrived in Colorado.