Her Secret Agent Man (8 page)

“Why do you ask?” he rumbled warningly.

She typed in her password to the server she usually used. A welcome message flashed on the computer screen. She shrugged. “Just trying to get to know you a little better. I mean,” she added, “it’s not like it’s any surprise to me that you’re single.”

The water cut off abruptly. Damn. He stepped out into the bedroom, shaving cream smeared all over his face. “Why’s
that?
” he demanded indignantly.

She grinned to herself and, accessing a search engine, typed in a search command for Eduardo Ferrare and a bank in Hong Kong.

For the last few weeks she’d been methodically searching
every major bank in every major banking city in the world. That account was out there somewhere. She’d find it eventually. It was only a matter of time.

As the computer hummed, performing the search, she looked up from the keyboard. And leaned back in her chair, captivated by his reaction to her comment. His shoulders were all bunched up around his ears, and she could see his jaw muscles moving, even under a layer of shaving cream. Oh, he was really annoyed. Didn’t like having his romantic prowess questioned, did he?

Amused, she answer lightly, “Well, you’re such a control freak, I can’t imagine any woman putting up with you for too long.”

“A control freak?” he all but bellowed.

She bit back outright laughter. “Well, yes.”

He spun and stomped back into the bathroom. She watched him in the mirror pick up his razor and begin slashing at his face with it.

She commented blandly, “Be careful, there. You wouldn’t want to slit your throat by accident.”

She caught his glare and looked away hastily before she could laugh aloud and further bruise his ego. She noticed information was beginning to scroll across the computer screen. She leaned forward eagerly, scanning the information rolling down the screen.

Bingo. She typed commands furiously and more information popped up. It was true. Eduardo did have a bank account in Hong Kong that he’d tried to hide from her. Her ace in the hole.

She’d stumbled across the account number and password inside Eduardo’s private address book by accident a couple of years ago. That mistake was the only reason she even knew about the account’s existence. What she’d lacked was the
name of the bank. She’d had no way to search for it without being traced through her father’s computer system.

For the last few weeks, she’d searched furiously for the information. With access to that account, plus the thirty million dollars she’d stolen, she could exert enough financial pressure on Eduardo to force him to release Carina.

Today, she’d found the bank in Hong Kong. It had an account in the name of Eduardo J. Ferrare. It had to be her father. How many people with the name Ferrare had VIP bank accounts in Hong Kong, for goodness’ sake?

She entered her father’s password and asked for the total current value of the account. The computer blinked, accessing the information.

She jumped as Dutch turned out the light in the bathroom and stepped into the room behind her. Crud. She had to go. She couldn’t risk Dutch seeing this information. Not yet.

She reached for the power switch to turn off the computer, and as her finger approached the button, an answer popped up on the screen. She stared at it for a millisecond of utter disbelief and then hit the power button.

Oh. My. God.

D
utch thrashed against the tangle around his legs. The damned gillie net wouldn’t let go of him. He had to get moving. One of their guys was down, and a hail of lead was flying over his head.

“Report!” he bellowed into the throat mike over the sound of the gunfire. “Who’s hit? Where are you?”

“It’s Simon. I’m at your—” a gurgling gasp “—ten o’clock. Don’t come—” another liquid rasp “—over here. Too hot.”

That was a death rattle if he’d ever heard one. Dutch cursed foully. Not Simon. Not his kid brother. “Hang in there, you little twerp,” he yelled in his mike. “Don’t you die on me!”

He jumped up and took off running in Simon’s direction. The green-black jungle seemed to stretch on forever around him, slow-motion flashes of hot lead zinging past in a red laser pattern all around him. He zigzagged and leapfrogged
side to side as he fired randomly to his left at the unseen ambushers.

A scream from in front of him. He hit the dirt, rolled, and came to a skidding halt in a firing position with his rifle against his cheek. The scene before him came into focus just as one of Ferrare’s men leaned down, knife in hand, over Simon’s prone body. Dutch barely felt the bullet slam into his own leg, so intent was he on the macabre scene playing out before him.

“Nooooo!” he screamed. He pulled the trigger over and over until the rifle clicked, empty…

Dutch lurched awake, bolt upright in bed. He rubbed his palms across his sweat-soaked face and realized his hands were shaking. Bad. His whole body was shaking, in fact.

Simon.
An agony of loss ripped through him. He’d always known his brother died a violent death. How in the hell could he have forgotten the way his brother had
suffered?
The way Julia Ferrare had set him up to suffer? A need for vengeance sliced through him, as cold and sharp as an assassin’s stiletto.

Her body language at the computer earlier shouted that she’d found some or all of what she’d been looking for. She’d almost suckered him in again. Almost convinced him she was basically a decent person who was just the victim of her father’s machinations. But look what she’d done to his baby brother. Only a viper of the worst kind could do that to another human being and live with themselves.

Julia rolled over and mumbled something at him. God, he needed to hurt her. To make her feel the pain Simon had felt. He literally shook with the effort to hold his hands still at his sides. How long he fought himself, he couldn’t say. By the time he finally beat back the violence humming through him, he was drenched with sweat. Exhausted.

Still breathing hard, he tried desperately to remember more
about the ambush, but nothing came back to him. Just a flood of memories of Simon when they were kids, raising hell and becoming men together. Entering Charlie Squad together. He’d always protected his little brother. Taken care of him. Until that night in the jungle. He’d failed Simon big-time then.

He must have dozed off, because he woke with another lurch some time later. He was startled to see light creeping around the curtains. He’d slept through the rest of the night? Thank God. Maybe a couple hours’ sleep would hold at bay any more of those blasted nightmares. Were he not in the habit of being so brutally honest with himself, he’d pretend he wasn’t scared of the damn things. But he was. And it galled him. What kind of soldier was afraid of his own brain?
A crazy one about to be out of a job.

He slid out of bed quietly. Julia was still sleeping peacefully on her side of the king-size bed. Lord, she was beautiful. How could she be responsible for so much hurt and betrayal? A fleeting taste of last night’s rage soured his tongue.

He pulled on his pants and a shirt and shrugged into his coat. He’d slip out and get some breakfast for them. He let himself out of the room quietly, strode down the hallway and trotted down the stairs. He reached for the handle of the exit door and froze.

He spun away from the clear glass, plastering his big frame against the wall. Out of sight of the four men peering in the windows of his SUV.

Son of a—

He slid along the wall slowly, easing away from the door. When he was clear of the men’s sight line, he turned and sprinted for the stairs. He burst into the room and Julia lurched awake. He ordered sharply, “Get up. We’ve got to go. Now.”

Her eyes were huge and black as she stumbled out of bed and pulled on her clothes. He stuffed what little gear they had
into his coat pockets. No time to wipe down the room for prints. Besides, the bastards knew they were here. No need to cover their tracks.

He tucked the laptop under his arm and headed for the door the second Julia’s head emerged from her sweater. He eased the door open and peered out into the hallway. Clear. He stepped out with her close on his heels and headed for the front of the hotel, away from their pursuers. They approached the crossing hallway. The elevator dinged, announcing its imminent arrival on the second floor. A gut instinct honed over years of fieldwork exploded a warning in his brain. He reversed course rapidly, grabbing Julia by the arm and spinning her around to run beside him in the opposite direction.

“Where to?” she gasped.

A long hallway stretched before them. He dared not return to their room. A maid’s cleaning cart stood at the far end of the hall. It was a long distance to cover in a few seconds, but an open doorway stood beside it. If they could just make that door…

He put on an extra burst of speed, stretching his long legs into a full sprint for their lives. He half lifted Julia, propelling her along beside him.

“Jump!” he ordered at the last second before he went airborne.

They dived for the door. He twisted and landed on his shoulder. Julia landed on top of him and he absorbed the impact with a grunt.

He looked up and saw a maid drawing breath to scream. Crap. And then Julia was talking low and urgent in rapid Spanish.

She clambered off him and he climbed to his feet beside her. He listened as she quickly explained to the maid that the two of them were running from Immigration agents who were
after her. The maid nodded sagely, pulled her cleaning cart all the way into the room, and closed the door behind her. Damn, Julia could lie like a pro.

The woman eyed Dutch critically. In Spanish, she said, “He will be a close fit. But I think we can get him out the usual way.”

The usual way? What the heck had they stumbled into here? Some sort of underground railroad?

Julia frowned and gave voice to his thoughts. “The usual way?”

The maid smiled. “You are far from the first illegal to come through here. We take care of our own.”

Julia thanked her with warm sincerity and a graceful offer of compensation for the risks the woman was offering to take. Dutch’s Spanish was fluent, but Julia was working the woman so well that he kept his mouth shut. The maid was visibly responding to Julia’s gentle, compassionate nature. If he didn’t already know Julia’s
true
nature, he’d buy her act hook, line and sinker. Here was full proof that he was standing before a truly accomplished actress.

He tuned back in to what she was saying. “…so we ride in the cart to the hotel’s laundry and then a couple of the maintenance guys will carry us outside? Are you sure they can pick up my friend? He’s pretty big.”

Dutch sighed. The bane of his special-ops career—his size. Sometimes it was damn hard to hide six and a half feet of muscular body.

“Where will they take us once we’re outside?” he murmured to Julia in English.

She turned to the maid and relayed the question. He blinked at the maid’s answer. A Dumpster? Could be damn dangerous if a trash truck came along and tossed them in its crusher. But the maid went on to explain that they’d signal
the driver by tying a cloth to a handle on the Dumpster so he’d know he had human cargo.

Not a bad scam. “What’s it going to cost us?” he asked under his breath. “I’ve got about two grand in cash on me.”

Julia smiled and turned to the maid. “Is a thousand dollars cash thanks enough to all of you for the risk you will be taking?” She added apologetically, “It’s all we can spare at the moment, but we can get you more if you need it.”

The maid’s gaping mouth was answer enough. They had their escape route. A few last details were worked out quickly. This maid would leave now with Julia hidden in the bottom of her cleaning cart. Another maid would be by in a little while to pick him up. He didn’t like being separated, but it seemed to be the only way. He pulled the cash out of his wallet and handed it to the maid.

He put a hand on Julia’s arm and stared down at her. “Be careful,” he murmured. “And don’t go anywhere without me.”

She smiled up at him. Healing warmth spread through him whether he liked it or not. She had the damnedest effect on him.

“You, too,” she murmured. A pause. “It’s going to feel strange being separated from you.”

He nodded tersely. “Time to go.”

She clung to his hand for a moment and then stepped back resolutely. He helped her curl up in the compartment that usually stored buckets and other miscellaneous cleaning equipment. How in the hell he was supposed to fit in that tiny space, he had no idea. But he’d find a way. Damned if he was getting left behind. He shut the compartment’s door and nodded at the maid. She opened the hallway door and slipped out with her secret cargo.

And then he was alone. Oddly enough, it felt as though part of himself was missing. Restless, he peered around the edges
of the drawn curtains. As he’d expected. One of Julia’s pursuers from the ski resort was patrolling the parking lot. He had a big fat black eye.

Dutch shifted his surveillance to the hallway door’s peephole. It only took about five minutes for the pair of guys who’d jumped Julia in his hotel room that first day to come into view. They looked grim. Determined.

Dutch pulled his eye away from the peephole once they were past. He felt pretty grim right about now, too. How in the
hell
had these guys found him and Julia so fast? He’d used his nontraceable credit card issued by the government for when he was on Charlie Squad missions to pay for their room. Did Julia’s pursuers have police contacts? Maybe Eduardo’s FBI mole? Who else could have found them this fast? His estimation of the threat to Julia notched up yet another level.

Where were the rest of the guys who’d been chasing Julia? Surely they were around here somewhere. His hackles lifted at the thought of more of these jerks roaming around without him knowing where they were.

The good news was, the thugs couldn’t bust into every room in the hotel looking for him and Julia. The bad news was, they might convince the manager to let them into his and Julia’s original room. Then the bastards would know how close behind the two of them they really were. And there was nothing more persistent than a bloodhound after it acquired a fresh scent.

The pair of men patrolling the hallway passed by twice more. Definitely scouting. Not much he could do now but sit tight and wait for his ride.

He looked around the hotel room. Comfortable as cages went. A strong sense of déjà vu broadsided him as he paced the confined space. He’d done this before. In similar circumstances.

His head started to hurt. He shut the curtains to block out
the painful sunlight and stretched out on the bed. He closed his eyes against the throbbing in his temples.

The room’s walls began to close in on him, and abruptly he was sitting in another hotel room, in another place and time. He’d been waiting for Julia then, too. Waiting to give her final instructions for leaving Gavarone in case she couldn’t get outside before Charlie Squad sprung its trap and she missed her rendezvous with the team.

He’d been too impatient to sit still. So eager to see her he couldn’t think straight. Too in love to breathe.

Whoa.

Dutch sat upright abruptly, back in New Mexico in a rush. He’d been in
love
with her? He knew better than to get involved with a target on a mission. He never let his emotions interfere with his work. He was the iceman. The one everyone accused of being a robot because he held his feelings so tightly in check. Even after his brother’s death.

He subsided against the pillows, shaken. The longer he lay there, the worse his head hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched the headboard until his fingers ached. He focused on the pain, concentrating with all his might on holding back the insidious certainty that, on that particular mission, he hadn’t been a robot. Hadn’t frozen out his feelings. Had let a woman inside his guard.
And it had cost his brother his life.
He couldn’t possibly have been in love with Julia!

But the lightness in his heart whenever he’d thought of her was real. The way he’d craved her presence, the way everything had seemed more vivid when she was with him…it wasn’t his imagination. And dammit, some of those reactions lingered even now, any time she was near. This very second, her absence rubbed at him, a raw spot that demanded relief.

What sorcery had Julia Ferrare performed to get to him
back then? Whatever it was, she was doing it again. How could he simultaneously love and hate a woman like this?

His control was slipping, inch by inch. He had to fight it. To fight her! But how? He’d sworn to protect her until this was over.

He ought to just kill her now and be done with it. Except breaking his word rankled. Stupid, but that was just the way he was. He’d promised.

The abyss retreated. He felt it hovering near, though, laying in wait for another chance to strike at him.

As the wait for his escape dragged out, his normally prodigious patience stretched thinner and thinner. In his line of work, it wasn’t uncommon to sit in the same spot without moving for two days at a time, doing surveillance or waiting for a target to step into his rifle sights. But this separation from Julia was driving him nuts. An overpowering need to see her, to make sure she was safe, rode him.

It was almost two hours later, and he was on the edge of certifiably insane, before a knock finally sounded on the door and a female voice announced, “Housekeeping.”