The Bodyguard Contract

Ian tugged Lara toward him until she sat on his lap. Gently he eased her head onto his shoulder, then settled back into the couch.

“Is this all necessary?” she whispered.

“If we’re going to do this, I want to be comfortable,” he murmured, massaging the back of her neck.

The exhaustion crept up on her, taking advantage of her relaxing muscles. “We should be downstairs, tailing Novak,” she grumbled halfheartedly.

“Not for a while. They’ll become suspicious if we keep disappearing on them.”

“Ian?” She yawned against his neck. “You never once asked me to prove the baby is yours.”

“Because I know it’s mine.” Ian paused. “Because what happened between us wasn’t ordinary, Red. It’s our baby.”

And come hell or Irish temper, he would protect his family.

The Bodyguard Contract

Donna Young

To Donald Prager, I love you, Dad

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Donna Young, an incurable romantic, lives in beautiful Northern California with her husband and two children.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Lara Mercer—A government operative determined to stop a biochemical weapon from destroying hundreds of Americans, whatever the price—until she realizes the price might be her child’s life.

Ian MacAlister—An ex-Navy SEAL with a reputation for making the tough calls. But when a mission forces him to choose between saving the world and saving his family—can he walk away from love?

Father Xavier Varvarinski—A Russian double agent with a strong faith but a stronger desire to play God.

Anton Novak—An international arms dealer who controls a biochemical weapon powerful enough to wipe out an entire city—in addition to a government operative or two.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Electricity charged the air, preparing the night for the incoming storm. Black clouds swirled and thundered—a tempest in the midnight sky. From its center, spiraled a pair of sleek, nylon wings.

Lara Mercer ignored the storm and focused on her target—the crest of a concrete roof seventy stories above Central Park West. The wind burst beneath her, shoving her slightly off course. Immediately, she pulled the steering toggle, compensating.

One hundred feet…sixty…twenty. Another quick adjustment. After Lara’s feet hit concrete, her thumb punched the small laser mechanism on her harness. The para wings fluttered, once…twice, then vanished into ash, allowing the brush of the wind to scatter the remains across the concrete and tar. While she had expected the result, her eyes widened in admiration. She crouched, gun in hand. Damn. Doctor Kate D’Amato was getting downright scary with her gadgets.

Lara checked the corners of the rooftop through infrared goggles. The light bounced against, then behind the walls and the air-conditioning units, telling her no one hid in wait.

The storm picked up, torrent gusts of air spitting rain and snow. Lara judged the distance between the Manhattan skyscrapers to be approximately fifty meters.

After moving to the three-foot concrete barrier surrounding the roof, she pointed her cable gun down and squeezed the eject trigger. The steel anchor shot into the cement floor with a loud, clipped chink. After testing the secure anchor, she hooked the loose end—a pulley—to her harness.

Quickly, she holstered her gun and jumped, feet-first. One…two. She eased the brake on the pulley, preventing the cable from jerking. Any movement against the windows triggered a vibration sensor imbedded in its tempered glass.

She braced her feet against the steel of the building, her knees relaxed. The targeting system on her infrared goggles locked on the building across the street—number two in the triad of buildings. Lara aimed the cable gun, pleased when the red stream of its laserscope cut through the falling snow.

Swiftly, she shot another cable, her lips tilting into a wicked grin when she saw she’d nailed her mark—six inches of steel separating twin panes of smoked glass.

Behind the window stood huge cooling units and boilers. The rumble from the machinery made it impossible for the vibration sensors to function properly, so none had been installed. Mechanical floors were located every eighteen stories. This particular window was the closest to her objective—illegal arms dealing information on the hard drive of the corporate computer.

Glancing at her watch, she couldn’t stop a rise of satisfaction. The mission, although difficult, had not proven impossible.

Suddenly, the whir of cable sliced through the wind. Within seconds, Lara’s Glock was in her hand.

“Holster your weapon, Red.” The voice rumbled low through the transmitter in her ear.

Lara pushed her goggles down, leaving them dangling around her neck. A figure, male, dressed in a black Lycra bodysuit identical to hers, slid into position beside her. Even with his face hooded, Lara recognized the wide shoulders, the lean waist and hips. She took a deep breath, resisted the flutter in her stomach.

“Damn it, Ian. You almost got yourself shot.” Lara snapped the infrared specs back into place and shoved her pistol into her side holster.

“And here I thought you’d be glad to see me.” Like Lara, Ian MacAlister braced himself against the building, feet spread.

“Get the hell out of here. This is my operation.” Dismissing him, she linked her anchor cable to the one she’d just shot across to the second building. “I don’t need you hovering like I’m some new trainee.”

“You’re acting like one. This is a level four mission,” Ian said. His tone remained light, but his stance tightened. “Requires a minimum of two operatives.”

“The recommendation is two operatives,” she snapped, checking the lock on her harness, making sure it wouldn’t move down the cable until she was ready. “It’s not mandatory.”

“Still trying to prove something to Daddy, Red?” Ian aimed his cable pistol and fired. She didn’t have to look to know he’d placed the anchor close to hers.

Lara’s back teeth slammed together. For the last few months, she’d dealt with Ian. Ever since he’d been attached to Labyrinth—an elite black ops division of the CIA.

At seventy stories, they both knew she wasn’t in any position to stop him from joining her. And she wasn’t about to scrub the mission.

Irritation gnawed at the base of her neck. The man looked harmless enough—a white muted figure through her infrared goggles—but experience had taught her that Ian MacAlister was dangerous. And more importantly, her heart had taught her that he wasn’t to be trusted.

“I don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Ian.” It was no secret that Lara had to work harder than most Labyrinth operatives. Not because she was a woman, but because up until a few months ago, her father, Jonathon Mercer had been their boss. Now, he was the Vice President of the United States. “I don’t need you to pull this off.”

“Wanna bet?” Ian asked, hesitating, while he adjusted his own line, long enough to shoot her a sideways glance. “A small wager, just to make things interesting.”

“No wager. No nothing. Just get the hell away from me.” Haven’t you done enough? Her mind screamed the question.

“What’s the matter? Afraid?”

The taunt hit home, an arrow piercing the deepest part of her heart and feeding the rage at her own insecurities. Deftly, she attached a small portable winch to her cable and started tightening the gear. Within seconds, her line was taut. “First one in the building wins,” she said, her voice flat, businesslike. But the air between them crackled and this time it wasn’t the storm that created the electricity.

“Winner chooses the prize, Red?” His voice dipped into a slow, smoky burn that touched off a fire in her belly. Damn it. Only Ian MacAlister would consider seducing a woman dangling hundreds of feet above concrete.

“Yes,” she accepted, knowing she’d left herself no other option. It had been months since he’d last worked with her. In that time her skills had sharpened, her strength grown.

A sudden rush of adrenaline shimmied up her spine. Ian was in for the surprise. Lara replayed the mission points in her head. Already, her little interaction with him had cost her time.

It took a few seconds for Ian to secure his line. In those moments, she’d thought about taking a head start, but it wasn’t her way to cheat. She didn’t want to give him any reason to cry foul when she won.

“Ready, sweetheart?”

Lara’s nod was quick, decisive. “Go!”

Air blasted her face, hitting her with bits of ice and snow. Lara tuned it out along with the whine of Ian’s cable beside her. Instead, she focused on her point of contact a few yards ahead.

Without warning, his cable jerked then dropped. He grabbed for his harness lock, catching the mechanism a split second before he dived into a sudden free fall.

The line snapped. An insidious crack exploded against the steel and glass. In the back of her mind, she registered the fact that she had yelled his name into their transmitter. He slammed against the window, took the impact with his shoulder, absorbing the punch with a grunt.

“Damn it, Ian,” Lara bit out. “Hold on, I’m coming down.”

“Stay there. I’m okay.” A quick glance showed the end of his cable lashing through the air like a whip. “My line broke loose from the winch. If I use my suction cups, I should be able to minimize any more vibrations.”

“How hard did you hit the glass?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” They both knew he could’ve already set off the silent alarm. “Check the perimeter.”

“I am.” Lara tugged her mini computer out of her utility belt and scanned its screen. “So far we’re secure,” she advised, her tone flat but not convinced. “No hostile movement toward our position.”

Ian grabbed the suction cups from his utility belt. A combination of rubber-rimmed steel and polyurethane, the suction cups locked over hands and knees allowing an individual to scale any smooth surface within minutes.

“Hurry up, Ian.”

“I am—”

Ian dropped another floor. But this time when he grabbed for the rope, the suction cups fell to the street below. “Lara, my anchor slipped. I’m guessing my fall broke it free of the cement. It must have caught on the roof’s railing. If I’m right, the anchor’s not going to hold for long.”

Lara swore. “Just hang tight. I’m repositioning myself, then I’m going to cut my cable.”

“No! I’ll climb my line. I think I can make it before—”

Time took the luxury of rapelling out of the equation. Ignoring him, she unlocked her cinch and plunged into a free fall.

Seconds later, Ian dangled only a few feet away. “Take my hand!” she yelled.

He reached, grabbed. His anchor gave way. Lara braced her legs and absorbed the jerk of his fall.

“You okay?”

“Yes.” She ignored the painful burn in her shoulder and reached for her knife. Quickly she cut him loose from the damaged cable.

His upper body flexed, then strained with the reach. He clipped his harness to her line. “I need to get above you for better traction. Slide onto my back.”

She sheathed her knife. Using her free hand, she grabbed his shoulder and levered herself onto his back. Her fingers dug into his flesh, the firm muscles beneath soothing her fear.

In the distance, thunder rumbled and Lara froze recognizing the sound for what it was. “Chopper.”

“Get in front of me, Red.”

“No.” She was literally covering his back, and from his tightened muscles against her chest, he wasn’t pleased about it.

Ian swore. “That aerial’s coming in fast. You can bet that any ammo it shoots will be armor piercing and kill us both, whether you’re on my back or not. These bulletproof suits won’t protect us one bit.” Ian shifted, using one free hand to hike her higher on his hips. The whop, whop of a helicopter rose behind them. “On my shoulders! Now!”

Quickly, she hoisted herself up his back, knowing with each move, she left bruises. Sitting on his shoulders, she slid her harness up her rope, locked it in place above his harness, then braced her feet against the glass.

“Run!” Ian ordered before bumping her off her perch. Both sprinted using the rope tension to keep them perpendicular to the building.

Bullets strafed behind them, blowing out windows in their path.

“Jump!” he yelled.

The couple leaped in unison, the momentum creating a pendulum out of the rope, swinging them back behind the line of fire. Lara threw out one of her suction cups and anchored it above one of the blown-out windows.

Without words, he caught the edge of the sill. Muscles straining, he pulled himself up and in.

“He’s coming around again,” Lara shouted.

Ian hoisted her in next to him. She flopped, belly first to the floor.

Neither spoke. Shards of glass bit her hands. Ignoring it, she dived with Ian behind a huge oak desk. Bullets peppered the ground around them.

“Get ready.” Lara palmed her gun and waited. Soon the helicopter hovered in front of the blown-out window.

Ian grabbed a miniature rocket from his utility belt, attached it to his cable pistol and fired. The whine of the missile pierced the air, hanging only a brief moment before it hit.

The helicopter exploded in a rush of flame and heat. Fireworks of metal and sparks rocketed through the room.

“So much for the silent approach,” Ian yelled over the din, ignoring the spew of smoke already receding from the shattered window. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Lara answered. Alarms sounded—huge foghorns that blasted through, shaking the floor beneath them.

She scanned the room, ignoring the howling gusts of wind from the missing windows. Like most executive offices, the decor was no more than sterile layers of chrome, leather and glass. Double doors in front. Single door at the side, just beyond a fully stocked bar. Probably to the private bathroom. She tugged off her goggles and pulled out a miniature, palm-sized computer again.

“How are we looking so far?” Ian asked, yanking off his own night goggles. The office was semidark but the hallways would be lit.

Lara glanced up from the green display. “We’ve got a minute max. I show six goons coming up the stairs. One in the elevator. Two more just outside the front doors.”

In theory, they still had a mission to complete. The question was, could they succeed and still save their skin? Ian gestured toward the entrance, indicating he’d take point. Lara covered.

Within seconds, two men burst through the double doors. Their Uzi semiautomatics strafed the room, ripping through paintings and leather upholstery. The bar’s mirror exploded. Glass shards sprayed across their heads.

Lara dropped, rolled, came up on her knees, catching the farthest gunman off guard. When he swung back, she fired. But she’d misjudged the quickness of his reflexes. Pain exploded in her stomach, the impact knocking her back. She gasped as white-hot fire spiked her from belly to chest.

Ian jerked when she fell but didn’t turn until the two men dropped, dead, on the ground. Quickly, he grabbed their guns. “How bad?”

She clutched her stomach, covering the bullet wound. Fear rose, coating her tongue with acid and bile. “It’s nothing.” She moved, using the desk to stand. Lara fought off the wave of nausea and weakness. “Let’s finish this,” she whispered. Blood soaked her suit. She could feel the warm stickiness against her skin. She shifted her weapon to her left hand and braced her legs apart to keep them from shaking. “Options?”

“Stairs.” Ian snagged her computer and glanced at the screen. “I’ve got four more closing in.”

Lara nodded, only to stop when the room tilted. The loss of blood was already making her light-headed. “Let’s go.”

She staggered a few steps, then recovered long enough to reach the wall next to the double doors. Light from the hallway spewed into the office, its glare almost painful to Lara’s blurring vision. Taking short shallow breaths, she waited for Ian to give the go-ahead.

“Get ready, Red.”

“I’m ready.” She gripped the weapon tight to cover her trembling. With a jerk, she slid closer to the door.

Ian glanced back at her and swore.

Lara followed his gaze. Blood streaked the wall behind her.

The bullet had gone completely through and out her back.

Angry with herself for not realizing, she said, “There’s nothing you can do, Ian, except get us the hell out of here.”

Lara wasn’t a woman who relinquished control. She’d learned long ago that doing so would only bring pain. This time, ironically, pain was forcing her to do just that, leaving her no choice but to trust Ian to save them. “You’ve got about five minutes, hotshot. Then you’re going to have to carry me.”

“When this is over…” Gun raised, Ian used his foot to kick the double door open. The ding of the elevator ricocheted through the white hallway. “Get down!” he ordered, then grabbed a compact explosive, the size of a small metal hockey puck, from his belt. He tossed it directly into the path of the elevator and shoved Lara into a nearby doorway, shielding her body with his.

The explosion rocked the floor. A burst of heat surrounded them, rancid smoke of burned tile and plaster filled her lungs. Lara coughed, tasting the blood and bile.

Ian eased back, his eyes finding hers. “Can you make it?”

“I’m tougher than I look,” she whispered through the viselike pain that squeezed her chest, then prayed she was right.

Without help, Lara reached the stairway door first, but it was Ian who yanked it open.

Somewhere below the slap of running shoes echoed through the circular concrete stairway. Ian motioned her up the stairs.

Her legs grew weaker, shaking uncontrollably. She grabbed the railing to pull herself up the steps, but her hands, slick with sweat, slid. With a cry, she fell facefirst onto the concrete. Pain exploded in her chest, seared her belly.

“Lara.”

“Go,” she rasped. Blood bubbled up her throat, making each breath an effort.

Ian grabbed her by the shoulder, his arms braced to lift her.

“No!” The fire in her gut intensified. Weakly, she lifted her hand, showing him the steel puck clutched under her fingers. “Get out of here.”

Before she set the timer, Ian’s hand covered hers.

Too weak to tug free, she didn’t even try. “Let go, Ian. I’ll detonate it when they reach me. By the time their friends realize you’re not here, you’ll have the files and be long gone.”

“No.” He swung her up into his arms, pausing when she gasped with pain. “Not this time.”

A man yelled from the stairs. Lara heard the blast of gunfire, felt Ian shudder with each bullet’s impact. The warmth of his blood mingled with hers, its metallic scent suspended between them.

Slowly he pressed her back against the wall, his body now more deadweight than not. Still, he protected her.

“Ian,” she rasped, ignoring the movement behind them, the growing echo of feet as the bad guys closed in. Instead, she concentrated on the small flecks of silver in his blue irises, the rapid beat of his heart beneath her fingertips—trying to absorb the strength behind each. “Game over.”

“No, Red, it’s just beginning.” Ian leaned in until his lips hovered only slightly above hers, his breath brushed warm, reassuring against her cheek. Anticipation—and maybe a little panic—rifled through her and came out in a shuddered breath. All she needed to do was lift her chin….

“I breached the building first.”

Chapter Two

“Damn it, MacAlister!” Lara sat up, pulled her hands out of the computer cuffs and tugged off her Virtual Imaging helmet. A cascade of red hair tumbled free. With fast, jerky movements, she disconnected the sensor wires from her training suit. An instant later, lights flashed on and the VI program shut down—leaving all four walls of the lab room an iridescent blue and the air silent. Anger whipped through her. “You sabotaged my operation, didn’t you?”

Ian removed his helmet, tossed it into the leather seat next to him. He ran a casual hand through his chestnut hair, now sweat darkened to a charred brown. Cropped military short, his hairstyle complemented the broad sweep of his cheekbones, the hard line of his jaw and a nose that was a touch off center and, she suspected, had been broken more than once.

“Answer me, MacAlister,” she demanded. Born from a French mother and an Irish father, Lara had more than her fair share of temper. Most times, she kept a tight rein of control over it. Other times…

“I can’t. I’m dead, remember?”

“Funny,” she bit out the word. “Did you or did you not sabotage my operation?”

“Now why would I do that?” His mouth twitched with amusement. “I’m the one who developed the program.”

No one would call Ian MacAlister handsome in a pretty boy sense. But with the strong, striking features of his Celtic ancestors and his laser-blue eyes, no woman could walk past him without a second glance.

“Who better to change it?” she snapped, finding her own eyes lingering, her heartbeat accelerating. Annoyed, she shoved her hair behind her ear and slid from the leather seat.

“All the programs have failure sequences in them,” he responded with equanimity. He disconnected his suit and stood in one long, fluid movement—a jungle cat satisfied after a night on the prowl. “No mission goes smoothly.”

“Usually, it’s a random process,” she argued, cursing herself for letting her guard down. “This time you decided what was going to happen and when. That’s why you made the bet with me. Isn’t it?”

“You decided the challenge, not me. Besides, I didn’t need to reprogram anything to win. The fact that you went in by yourself told me you hadn’t thought the mission through.” He slid the zipper on his training suit down to his waist. He wore no shirt. Lara’s gaze flickered over him, settling on the ripple of movement across his chest as he jerked his arms free. He left the top portion of the suit dangling off his hips.

Her eyes dipped, following each carved muscle that flexed with power under his sun-bronzed skin—remembering from months before how the bare skin gave way to a small, sexy line of sable hair just below his navel. Too damn sexy for her own good, she understood now. Still, the heat danced through her, lighting little fires along her nerves.

His gaze caught hers, and in an instant the planes of his face sharpened, his jaw tightened with awareness.

With effort, she drew one deep steadying breath.

Then just that quick Ian’s features smoothed, the passion sliding under a relaxed, easy smile—an undeniable arrogance.

He turned to retrieve a white towel from the console beside his chair and Lara let out a long hiss.

Ian glanced over his shoulder in understanding. “How’s the damage?”

Welts, raised and vivid, striped his back. “Not too bad for a tough guy like you.” Lara waved a careless hand, not pleased with the chaotic emotions that squeezed her chest like an accordion.

“You had the sensors set too high.”