He spoke quietly, without looking at her.

“There were times when my rage, my determination to find you and get even with you, was the only thing that sustained me.”

She smiled a sad little smile. “I swore never to speak to you again. I vowed to myself never to need you again. Never to ask anything of you.”

When she didn’t go on, he prompted, “And now?”

“I realize you’ll never look at me and see something other than a collaborator with your enemies.”

He peered at her in the dusk, trying to make out the expression in her eyes. But she’d averted her face until all he saw was a glistening track down her cheek.

After a moment, she continued. “If there’s anything I can do to help you catch the people who kidnapped you, I’ll do it. Just say the word.”

He turned over her words for a while. Finally he said gravely, “I do have one request of you.”

“Name it.”

“Kiss me.”

About the Author

CINDY DEES started flying airplanes while sitting in her dad’s lap at the age of three and got a pilot’s license before she got a driver’s license. At age fifteen, she dropped out of high school and left the horse farm in Michigan where she grew up to attend the University of Michigan.

After earning a degree in Russian and East European Studies, she joined the US Air Force and became the youngest female pilot in the history of the Air Force. She flew supersonic jets, VIP airlift, and the C-5 Galaxy, the world’s largest airplane. She also worked part-time gathering intelligence. During her military career, she traveled to forty countries on five continents, was detained by the KGB and East German secret police, got shot at, flew in the first Gulf War, met her husband and amassed a lifetime’s worth of war stories.

Her hobbies include professional Middle Eastern dancing, Japanese gardening and medieval re-enacting. She started writing on a one dollar bet with her mother and was thrilled to win that bet with the publication of her first book in 2001. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted at www.cindydees.com.

The Soldier’s
Secret Daughter
Cindy Dees

www.millsandboon.co.uk

My warmest thanks to Carla Cassidy and Marie Ferrarella for their inspiration and support with this series. You two wear some pretty classy coattails— thanks for letting me hitch a ride on them!

Chapter 1

Jagger Holtz crouched in the dark as the helicopter overhead peeled away, ostensibly to continue tracking traffic jams on the highways below. They’d hovered over the AbaCo building a total of twenty-eight seconds. Just long enough to drop him on a zip line to the roof of the twenty-story-tall glass-and-steel tower. And hopefully not long enough to trigger the intense security of AbaCo Inc., one of the largest—and most shadowy—shipping firms in the world.

Bent over at the waist, he ran for cover, ducking behind a giant air-conditioning vent and taking a quick time check. He’d give AbaCo’s goons three minutes to respond. Then, barring any company on the roof, he’d move on to phase two: infiltrating the building proper. He didn’t expect to find his missing colleagues tonight—Hanson and MacGillicutty were fellow government agents sent into AbaCo undercover months ago. And both of them had disappeared. No messages. No distress signals. No evidence of foul play. They were just … gone. When his superiors had approached him, he’d leaped at the chance to do this risky mission.

It was starting to look as though his rooftop landing had gone unnoticed. He tied off a rope to a sturdy steel grille and checked his rappelling harness one more time. Down the side of the building, in through an office window and then they’d see if the password they’d bought from the snitch worked.

Without warning, all hell broke loose. The heavy steel doors on each of the four stairwells leading to the roof burst open with a deafening crash. Armed men rushed out, sweeping the roof with automatic weapons. They sprinted forward, quartering the roof with brutal efficiency.

Holy crap. Commandos for a helicopter overhead for twenty-eight seconds?

He slammed to the ground just as a high-intensity flashlight beam passed over his position, barely missing lighting him up like a Christmas tree. He was trapped. He gripped the metal grille in front of his face in frustration as they closed in on him. Warm, moist air blew at him like an incongruous sea breeze on this frigid Denver night.

Air. An air vent. It might be a dead end, but it was better than lying here and getting captured or killed in the next few seconds. He grabbed his pocketknife and used the blade to unscrew the nearest fastener holding the vent shut. He lobbed the thumb-sized screw as hard as he could across the roof. It clattered loudly, and shouting and a scramble of men reacted instantly.

The second screw popped loose. It went flying in another direction.

C’mon, c’mon. The last screw finally popped free. He grabbed the bottom of the grille and yanked. Someone was shouting irritably at the guards in German to quit running around like chickens, to form up and to search the roof methodically. Not good. AbaCo’s serious security team was up here if they were speaking German.

Working fast, he slapped the clip from the rope he’d already tied off onto his climbing harness and rolled over the edge. He fell into space, fetching up hard as the rope caught. He bit back a gasp of pain as his groin took a hit from the harness that all but permanently unmanned him. Oww. So much for the glory of being a special agent.

The vent was about six by six feet square. Twisting until his feet braced against the side, he walked backward down the galvanized aluminum wall, doing his damnedest to be as silent as possible. The echo of any noise in here would be magnified a dozen times.

How far down the black shaft he descended, blind and lost, he had no idea. He counted steps and tried to estimate how far he’d gone. But it was hard to focus with periodic bursts of air from below knocking him off the wall and sending him spinning wildly in space, hanging on for dear life at the end of his single, skinny rope.

Hopefully, the AbaCo powers that be would declare the whole thing a false alarm and satisfy themselves with complaining to the radio station about its helicopter parking in their airspace. Otherwise, guards were probably waiting for him at the other end of this shaft, licking their chops at the prospect of nabbing themselves a third hapless federal agent. The idea of failing galled him, not only because he never failed, but also because it would mean Hanson and MacGillicutty were no closer to being found, their families no closer to any answers. Both of them had wives. Kids. Christmas last week had been hard on them all.

He guessed he was about halfway to the ground floor when the main shaft narrowed enough that he was forced to stop using his feet. He lowered himself hand over hand down the rope until his arms went so numb he could no longer feel them. His watch said the descent took twenty-four minutes. It felt like twenty-four hours.

Plenty of time to ponder the symbolism of his descent. Into darkness and silence and utter isolation. The hell he so richly deserved. He pushed away the encroaching panic. He could not afford to lose it now. He was a long way from out of this mess.

The air rushing up at him began to smell of car exhaust. The underground parking garage, maybe? Hmm. It had possibilities. Light began to glow faintly from below. Between his feet, he made out what looked like a metal grille. It was a miniature version of the big one on the roof.

The screws holding it in place were unfortunately on the other side, out of reach. He paused, listening carefully for any sound of humans nearby. Nothing. He damn well didn’t intend to climb all the way back up that rope, some twenty stories. He slammed both feet into the metal panel, jumping on it with his full body weight. The slats bent slightly. He jumped again. And again. After a few more tries, a tiny gap showed at the edge of the grille as the metal began to buckle. He kicked again.

Crud. It sounded like Godzilla tearing a car apart with his teeth. Metal screeched, protesting harshly. This had to be drawing the entire cavalry to the garage. His only hope was to break through fast and get away from here before they arrived.

The grille’s fasteners gave way all at once. He tumbled to the floor below, landing hard on the concrete. He grunted and rolled fast toward the nearest large object, a sedan parked on the slanting ramp, pulling his sidearm as he went. He scrambled under the car, then paused, scanning the area carefully for any feet. The goons weren’t here yet.

He froze as a car drove past his position, winding its way out of sight into the bowels of the parking garage. Hurrying, he unzipped his backpack and pulled out a dark gray tweed suit coat before he stuffed the pack behind a concrete pillar. He donned the jacket over his black turtleneck and black slacks. A quick tug into place, and he was instantly transformed from commando to party crasher.

Now to find a patsy. A single female to walk him past the inevitable security. He glanced around at the cars. Mostly modest domestic cars and the occasional junker. Perfect. The worker bees’ parking level.

The party was scheduled to start at eight o’clock. His watch said it was 8:05 p.m. The guests should be arriving in quantity right about now. He stood in a shadow near the elevator and settled in to wait. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes in case he needed a quick excuse to be loitering here. He didn’t smoke, but the many other handy uses of cigarettes—including convenient cover story—made them a staple in his arsenal of secret-agent equipment.

In a few minutes, he spotted a vaguely human shape coming down the ramp toward him. Pink parka. Scarf wrapped around the face. Mittens. Ski hat under the parka hood. Fleece-lined suede boots. The apparition looked like a four-year-old kid bundled up by Mom to go out in the first big snow of the year to play. But more importantly, the apparition was alone.

Bingo. He had target acquisition. Or at least a way into the party.

Emily Grainger looked up, alarmed, as a tall man stepped out of the shadows next to the elevator. He stopped beside her, staring at the elevator door for a moment before surprising her by speaking. Men didn’t usually speak to her. “Cold night, eh?”

She had to turn her whole upper body to see him out of her deep hood, and she did so awkwardly. She caught her first good look at him and started. Men like him definitely didn’t speak to her. “Oh!” she exclaimed softly. “Uh, yes. I guess it is. Cold, that is.”

She looked away, embarrassed at the way she was staring. He wasn’t so much handsome as he was intense. His cheeks were deeply carved, his skin tanned as though he spent most of his time outdoors. His eyes were pale blue, nearly colorless, and as intense as the rest of him. His mouth was a little bit too wide, his nose a little too big. But still, it was a face a person would struggle to look away from. The man looking out through those intelligent, all-too-observant eyes was captivating.

He looked ready to explode into motion at the slightest provocation, just like … just like James Bond. He gave off that same restless, devil-may-care charm guaranteed to sweep a girl right off her feet. And he’d just said hello to her! Well, then.

She stared straight ahead at the stainless-steel elevator door. It threw back at her a blurry reflection of a pink whale.

Her entire life, she’d dreamed of meeting a man like this. Of becoming a different kind of woman—adventurous, bold and sexy—the kind of woman a man like this would fall for. And here he was. Her dream man in the flesh. She wasn’t fool enough to believe a man like this would come along twice in her lifetime. This was it. Now or never.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” he murmured. “What department do you work in?”

“Uh, I’m in accounting,” she managed to mumble in spite of her sudden inability to draw a complete breath. The elevator dinged and the steel panel started to slide open.

“Accounting. That’s interesting.”

Liar. Accounting wasn’t interesting at all. It was boring. Safe and predictable and orderly. She couldn’t count how often she wanted to jump up from her desk in her neat, bland little cubicle and scream. What she wouldn’t give to be a sexy international spy like James Bond courteously holding the elevator door open for her now.

Her imagination took off. He had no idea who she was. She could be that other woman with him tonight. Flirtatious. Aggressive. The kind of woman who went after men like him and seduced them with a snap of her fingers. She envisioned ritzy casinos, champagne flutes and diamonds. Lots of flashy diamonds.

“What’s your name?” James Bond murmured.

“Uh, Emily. Emily Grainger.” Lord. Even her name sounded boring and safe. And it was too late to lie and call herself something exotic and alluring.

He smiled at her.

Stunned, she turned to face the elevator’s front and about fell over her own feet. Ho. Lee. Cow. He had the greatest smile she’d ever seen. It was intimate and sexy and dangerous—all the things she imagined Bond’s smile would be and more. It drew her in. Made her part of his secret double life. Promised things that no nice girl dared to think of.

“I’m Jagger,” he murmured. “Jagger Holtz.”

The name startled her. He didn’t look like one of the Germans of the heavy contingent of them within AbaCo. And yet she probably shouldn’t have been surprised. He had that same leashed energy, the same self-contained confidence that all the German security types within the firm had. But the way he’d pronounced it had been strange. Her understanding of the German language was that Js were pronounced like Americans pronounced a Y. So shouldn’t his name have been Yagger? Why would he Americanize the name when none of the other Germans in the company bothered to do so?

She turned her whole upper body to look at him again. “What nationality is that name?”

He grinned self-deprecatingly, a lopsided, boyish thing that charmed the socks right off her. “I’d like to say it’s a German name, but the truth is my mother was a Rolling Stones groupie. I think I’m actually named after Mick Jagger.”

Her laughter startled her. A girl wasn’t supposed to laugh at James Bond, was she?

The door opened, and she jumped when he reached out to steady her elbow. “Watch your step,” he murmured.

Electricity shot down, or rather up, her arm, skittered across the back of her neck and exploded low in her belly. Whoa. Did James Bond have this effect on all the girls? No wonder he landed whoever he set his cap for! One touch from him and the women were putty in his hands!

Breathe, Emily. Breathe. Or more accurately, stop hyperventilating, Emily.

How she made it out of the elevator without falling over her feet, she had no idea. Her lower body had come completely unhinged from her central nervous system thanks to that devastating touch on her elbow. Not to mention that clutzy was her middle name. Particularly when she was flustered. And Jagger Holtz definitely flustered her.

“Maybe you’d better just take my arm,” he said.

Good call. Give James credit for knowing a damsel in distress when he saw one. Or maybe he just knew he had that effect on all women.

She’d have been embarrassed, except he offered her his forearm with such obvious pleasure at the prospect of her touching him that she was more stunned than anything else. Was he blind? Or so hopelessly nearsighted he didn’t realize how plain she was? How … completely average?

Of course, he hadn’t actually seen much of her, truth be told. She was wrapped up like a mummy and only her eyes and the tip of her nose were visible. She sighed. He’d figure out soon enough that she was a mousy little thing and not even close to flashy enough to be seen with him. He was the sort of man who would look at home with a supermodel on his arm. The fantasy had been fun while it lasted, at any rate.

They stepped into the lobby of the AbaCo building. The soaring atrium, nearly eight stories tall, was decorated from top to bottom with metallic silver Christmas decorations. Personally, she didn’t like them. They seemed too cold and impersonal.

Hard, even. But then, that wasn’t a bad approximation of the personality of her employer, she supposed.

The shipping firm was intensely German, although it had offices in a dozen major cities around the world. But AbaCo took its Teutonic persona very seriously. There were rules for everything, the rules got followed and the cargo got where it was going on time. Or else heads rolled.

“Can I hang up your coat for you?” Jagger asked pleasantly.

She looked up from bending over awkwardly as she tried to pry off one of her boots. She’d brought a pair of shoes to change into for the party, in her bulky purse. “Uh. Wow. That’s really polite of you. I guess so.”

She postponed her boots and straightened. He was behind her immediately, slipping her parka off her shoulders as gracefully as if it were a mink coat.

“Nice dress,” he murmured on cue.

Man. He didn’t miss a trick. He’d clearly aced Date Etiquette 101. Whoa. Back up. Date? They’d met in the parking garage and ridden up in the elevator together. She’d indulged in a momentary fantasy, and that was about as close to a date as they were ever going to get. He was already striding away from her, in fact.

Although in defense of her fantasy, he was carrying her coat to the cloakroom for her. Presumably, he would return with a ticket for her to pick it up later. So he would have to speak with her at least one more time tonight. One more moment to indulge in the idea of a “them.” Her and James Bond. She smiled blissfully. In her world, these little fantasies were about as close as she ever got to the real thing, so why not enjoy them?

If only she had the guts to turn her daydreams into reality.

One thing AbaCo did very well was throw a party. Caterers had set up a buffet line at the far end of the atrium, and she knew from previous New Year’s Eve parties that the food would be delicious. A band was playing background music at the moment but would shift into dance music as midnight approached. And then there was the open bar, of course. Bartenders ranged behind it, ready and waiting to serve nearly a thousand employees and their guests at this, the North American headquarters for the company.

Jagger was back almost before she’d had time to slip into the daring pair of red stilettos she’d given herself for Christmas. She would never dream of wearing them to work, but she hadn’t been able to resist them when she’d seen them. They reminded her of Dorothy’s shoes from The Wizard of Oz, but naughtier, with their open toes and sling backs. She was suddenly fiercely glad she’d splurged on them as Jagger strode back toward her. Her hands went to her hair nervously, smoothing the static electricity from her hat out of its silky brunette length.

His mouth quirked into a smile as if he enjoyed her sudden self-consciousness. Laughter jumped into her eyes in response. After all, it really was a very good joke to think that he might actually find her attractive.

His gaze rather improbably slid lower as he moved toward her. Right. As if there was anything to look at in her drab body. She supposed she was reasonably proportioned, but she was no supermodel. She actually had breasts and hips, and her legs, although shapely, weren’t a mile long. She barely topped five foot four.

Even more improbably, a slow grin spread across Jagger’s face as he took in the view, from her slinky red dress all the way down to her sexy shoes and back up again. Oh. My. Goodness.

He must be drunk. He was acting as though he actually found her attractive.

He held both hands out to her as he reached her, taking her hands in his. “You look fabulous,” he declared. A security guard had drifted over toward them and Jagger turned to the guy. “Have you ever seen Emily look so fantastic?”

The guard, Horace Lighterman, grinned and nodded at her. “You do look great tonight, Miss Grainger.”

Okay, so the male half of the human race had all gone mad. But she was willing to roll with that. Especially if by some strange miracle the madness included her suddenly being perceived as cute. Or even hot.

In keeping with the party spirit of the evening, she replied playfully, “Thanks, Horace. You’re looking pretty spiffy yourself. I love the hat.” The guy had on a pointed cardboard affair that looked utterly ridiculous with his police-style uniform. The silliness of the combination somehow poked fun at AbaCo, and she found that immensely appealing. Her employer could stand to be ridiculed now and then. Any other day of the year, Horace wouldn’t have dared to wear that hat, and she wouldn’t have dared to find it funny. But New Year’s Eve was about letting loose. About taking chances. About new starts.

Someone called for Horace from the security desk just inside the lobby and he turned away from them.

“Come on,” Jagger announced. “Let’s go have fun.”

Let’s? As in him and her? As in wow. There must be definite magic in the air tonight. Either that or a hallucinogen in the water supply.

They’d barely stepped into the atrium proper when there was a ruckus behind her. Several plainclothed AbaCo security guards clustered at the front door, looking like angry wasps. One of them was holding what looked like a black backpack.

“Dance with me,” Jagger announced, more of a command than a question.

His arms went around her and he swept her into a waltz, spinning her effortlessly across the dance floor. Most of the couples dancing were older, executive types. She recognized several vice presidents and their wives, and frankly, she felt a little funny out here with them. But Jagger was such a spectacular partner that she rapidly lost all self-consciousness. He guided her exactly where she needed to be, kept her precisely on the beat and whisked her around the room like Cinderella. Who knew waltzing could be so much fun?

She wasn’t sure what made her dizzy. It could have been the swooping, turning flight he took her on around the dance floor, or maybe it was the way he smiled down at her—as if she were the only person in the entire world and the two of them were alone at their own private ball. Either way, it was pretty sensational.

The dance ended, and he walked her off the floor, steering her toward the bar and a cool drink as if he could read her mind. She sipped at the gin and tonic he brought her. She never drank under normal circumstances. But in the past ten minutes, she’d already established that tonight was anything but normal.

“How come I haven’t seen you around here before?” she asked curiously. Which was to say, how on earth had she missed spotting or at least hearing about a hunk like him if they worked in the same building?

He laughed easily. “I was just thinking the very same thing about you.”

“Ah, well. I work in my little cubicle most of the time. They hardly let me come up for air, let alone poke my nose outside of the Special Cargo Department.”

His gaze flickered, but his smile never faltered. He murmured, “Let’s not talk about work tonight, shall we? Tell me more about you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I guarantee you, I have led the most boring life in the history of mankind.”

“A woman who wears shoes like those? I find that very hard to believe.”

She laughed. “Busted. I never wear shoes like this. They were an impulse buy. Pure foolishness.”

“I like the impulse.”

His eyes sparkled with laughter, but his voice slid across her skin like forbidden sex. It sent a shudder through her that bordered on orgasmic. This wasn’t happening to her! She looked up at him, perplexed.

“What?” he asked, immediately serious.

“Are you for real?”

One eyebrow lifted and the devil-may-care grin was back. “Does it matter? Or shall we both just lose ourselves in the moment and see where it leads us?”

A very James Bond-like response. No wonder the Bond girls never held out for a long-term commitment from him. He was so attractive they were willing to settle for a night or two with him rather than never be with him at all. Of course, the possibility of something more than a one-night stand wasn’t off the table between her and Jagger yet, either. Heck, she was thrilled that the prospect of a one-night stand was even on the table!

Which was to say, the world had definitely gone mad this New Year’s Eve.

She sipped her drink and smiled back at him coyly. “The night is young, isn’t it? Let’s see where it goes, indeed.”

Chapter 2

Jagger was staggered by Emily Grainger. Not in his wildest dreams would he have guessed that a parka could unwrap to reveal this jewel. She was perfect. And scary as hell. He didn’t go for real women, the hearth-and-home kind a guy could envision having his babies and keeping a home with. Oh, no. She was not his type at all.

So why, then, was he so attracted to her he could hardly keep his hands off her?

Not good. Not good at all.

The first thing he noticed about her was her flawless, translucent skin. Contrasted against her lush brunette hair, the combination was beyond striking. Her eyes were big and dark, her lips ripe for the kissing. He preferred her rosy mouth after the first gin and tonic lifted away that pale pink lipstick. She looked eminently more kissable now.

But what absolutely blew him away was the look of delighted wonder in her eyes. Her gaze was so innocent, so guileless, so … pure, he almost felt inappropriate touching her. In his world, the people were hard. Cynical. Out to stab you in the back before you stabbed them. All the playfulness, all the innocence had been burned out of men like him—of him—long ago. But she had both. In spades. And they drew him in as effortlessly as a spider coaxing a fly into its web. The world’s most innocent spider.

He’d accuse her of being childlike if it weren’t for the intelligence lurking just below the surface of that warm chocolate gaze. He could all but hear the wheels turning as she processed and analyzed everything and everyone around her. It was a strange dichotomy. But no doubt about it, he sensed a first-class mind at work. Thankfully, she seemed in total ignorance of men like him, however.

His mouth turned down cynically. He was a user. He took what he needed from the people around him and then threw them away like so much discarded trash. A girl like Emily certainly deserved better than that. But as sure as God made little green apples, he was going to use her anyway. It was who he was. He didn’t know how to do anything else.

But a warning vibrated deep in his gut. This woman might leave an indelible mark on him. She was a permanent kind of woman who could shake the very foundation of his impermanent world.

He yanked his mind back to the job at hand. If and when the AbaCo security team finally relaxed a little, he’d sneak off and make his way up an elevator and into the offices above. He’d break into the company’s computers and download everything he could find on the company’s shipping operations. And hopefully, somewhere in there, they’d find a lead on his missing fellow agents. If he was really lucky, his colleagues would find something criminal with which to charge AbaCo and launch a wider investigation of the secretive company’s practices.

But until that moment when he had to bail out on her, he could make this a night to remember for Emily Grainger. It was the least he owed her for her unwitting help. Not to mention, he seemed compelled to flirt with the danger this woman represented to him. He fed her compliments, laughed with her and did his very best Prince Charming imitation for her.

As she continued to dance and talk with him, he plied her with equal parts alcohol and enticement until her eyes blazed with utter infatuation. And somewhere along the way, his plan of attack changed. Why ditch Emily after a few hours to take a one-shot stab at breaking in tonight when he could play out this thing between them and potentially turn her into a long-term infiltrator of AbaCo from the inside?

Hypocrite. He just wanted an excuse to spend more time with the girl.

No, dammit, that wasn’t all this was about. It was good business to turn the girl.

Nonetheless, his gut twinged. Did he have it in him to make a pawn out of sweet, trusting Emily? Hell, a woman like her should never look twice at a man like him. He really should warn her off. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. God, he was a jerk. He didn’t deserve Emily Grainger.

“Are you okay?” A soft hand rested on his chest, jolting him back to the present. Damn, she was perceptive.

He grinned bleakly at her. “Yeah, sure. I was just pondering what New Year’s resolution I should make this year.”

“Hmm. That’s a good question.” Laughter twinkled in her warm gaze. “Mine is going to be to wear more red shoes.”

“Gonna take more chances, huh? Gonna try living on the edge?” he teased. The thought of her existing in a world like his was ludicrous. But he couldn’t begrudge her the dream, he supposed. The reality was so much darker than a woman like her could ever imagine.

She nodded firmly. “Yup. That’s me. Danger Girl.”

He laughed, genuinely amused. She had no idea just how dangerous to him she was. He commented lightly, “Well, then, my resolution is to help you make your resolution come true.”

Her gaze snapped to his. Not slow on the uptake, his Emily. She hadn’t for a minute missed the implications of that. He was talking about continuing to see her after tonight. He looked her in the eyes, losing himself in their sweet depths. To have a woman like this for himself, to bathe himself in all that goodness, to soak up her innocence and generosity, to be loved forever by someone like her—

He cut the fantasy off cold. Danger Girl, indeed.

“Wanna take a walk?” she murmured. “Get a little fresh air?”

He grinned. “I think that’s supposed to be my line. Then comes the part where I drag you into some dark corner and try to make out with you.”

She grinned back. “Who says I’m not trying to drag you into the corner to make out with you?”

He nodded his amused acquiescence. “Lead on. My body is yours to ravage.”

He was shocked when she led him over to the elevators and punched the up button. She wasn’t going to take him up to her office—in the Special Cargo Department, no less—was she? Surely this op wouldn’t be that easy.

He leaned down to murmur in her ear, “Are you planning to throw me down on your desk and have your way with me?”

A fiery blush leaped to her cheeks. “Good Lord, my cubicle will never be the same now that you’ve planted that image in my mind!”

“Think how much fun work’s going to be on Monday morning,” he teased.

“I was thinking that we could go out to the water garden and stroll around.”

Ah. The building’s tenth floor was not a floor at all. Rather it was an open-air terrace sporting massive columns and housing an elaborate outdoor modern art collection interspersed with, as she’d already alluded to, a bunch of fountains. All the good stuff in the firm was above that. It was the reason he’d come in through the roof—or at least tried to until that plan went completely to hell.

The elevator opened, and she punched a security code into the number pad inside. He memorized the six-digit number as a matter of course. Emily Grainger was the brass ring and then some for getting the inside scoop on AbaCo. She so far surpassed his wildest expectations for this op that he could hardly believe his luck. And all he could do was imagine different ways to bed her. He was a cad. A sharp knife of guilt stabbed him.

While he admonished himself to get over it and concentrate on his job, she reached out shyly to loop her fingers in the crook of his elbow. He gazed down at her intently and the smile faded from her face. She stared back at him, her pupils dilating until her eyes went black as she correctly interpreted his expression.

The elevator dinged and the door slid open. She shook herself free of their mutual reverie first and stepped toward the exit. Rocked at the effect she had on him, he followed her outside. The wind was howling tonight, but glass panels mounted at intervals all around the edge of the terrace shielded the garden from the worst of it. Nonetheless, he took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

He caught the surreptitious sniff she took, inhaling his scent. And something moved deep within him. Something protective. Possessive.

They’d only walked a dozen steps forward before he spotted the first surveillance camera. This place was a freaking fortress, all right. All the more reason to give up on a simple break-in tonight. Better to cultivate Emily as a long-term asset, to spy for him from the inside.

Distracted by thoughts of all those secret meetings they’d need to have with each other, he ducked his head away from the camera out of long habit, and immediately could’ve kicked himself for having done it. Dammit. If the camera operator was half as good as the rest of the AbaCo team, Jagger had just sent a big red flag up the pole. No innocent civilian reacted that way to a surveillance camera. But a spy most certainly would.

He sighed. Nothing to do now but brazen it out. “Are you warm enough?” He smiled down at Emily.

“It is chilly. But I enjoy the quiet.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, tucking her close against his side. “Better?”

“Mmm,” she murmured. She sounded like a kitten after lapping up a bowl of warm milk. “Are you warm enough?”

He chuckled. “I love cold weather. This is bracing.”

She shook her head. “Give me a tropical beach every day of the week and twice on Sunday.”

“I gathered that from the way you were bundled up when you arrived.”

She laughed ruefully. “My mom always told me to dress like I expect my car to break down and be stranded for hours. I confess I have been known as a compulsive safety girl before. But no more, of course. I’m Danger Girl now.”

He heard the whoosh of an elevator door behind him and held himself still, not reacting. He studied a red metal abstract sculpture in front of him. “That looks like a Calder,” he commented, ignoring the guards he felt approaching in the sudden twitchiness of his shoulder blades.

“I think it is. I’m not too much into modern art, I’m afraid. I like my art old—and the subject identifiable.”

He laughed quietly as two pairs of footsteps became audible.

“You there!” a male voice called out sharply.

He and Emily turned as a single unit, which had the effect of making the maneuver look nice and casual. “Can we help you?” Jagger asked smoothly.

The two men halted, eyeing him suspiciously. “How did you two get up here?”

Emily laughed. “We crawled up the side of the building using our supersuction fingers and spider silk. We took the elevator, of course.”

“Who’s the gentleman with you, Miss Grainger?”

Emily glanced up at him in surprise. “Why, Jagger Holtz, of course.”

The men frowned. “Mind if we see a little identification, sir?”

He frowned as any innocent man would at such a request, but shrugged. “Not at all.” As he dug out his wallet and passed over his driver’s license, he asked, “May I ask what this is all about?”

“Routine security check, sir. Would you mind coming with us?”

His frown deepened as he swore mentally. He’d had such a good thing going with Emily, and now he was going to have to run again. And this time without a rope. He let his arm drop off Emily’s shoulder and he tensed to charge the two men. He’d take the smaller one on the right first and spin him into his bigger, more dangerous-looking buddy.

Emily spoke up without warning. “Actually, we would mind. Mr. Holtz and I are trying to enjoy our New Year’s Eve here. There’s no law against walking around the water garden.”

The bigger one replied, “We’ve had a security breach tonight, and we’re looking for a man dressed in all black and matching the general height and build of your … friend.”

“I see,” she replied frostily, shrugging off Jagger’s coat and handing it back to him. “Now you can see that my friend is not wearing all black. He was merely being a gentleman and loaning me his coat.”

God bless her. He couldn’t have asked for a better cover story if he’d prepped her himself.

The smaller guard opened his mouth, but Jagger interrupted him, impatiently now. The average innocent guy with a few drinks in him and a hot chick beside him would be getting all kinds of irritated, so he let a hint of testosterone-induced posturing creep into the exchange. “The lady and I arrived together. You can ask Horace down at the front desk.”

The smaller guard glowered but murmured into his coat collar. The reply was swift. A finger to his ear and the guard nodded reluctantly at his partner. Both looked more than a little disgruntled. “Horace remembers the two of you arriving. Sorry to bother you. Have a nice night.” With that, the guards turned and left.

Emily complained, “I know this place can be a police state, but good grief.”

Jagger steered her toward the elevator. “Let’s go back inside. You’re shivering.”

“It’s not the cold. It’s those thugs. They give me the creeps.”

“You’re going to have to get used to facing down thugs if you want to live a life of adventure and mayhem, Danger Girl.”

“I don’t need mayhem. Just some naughty shoes and a little adventure with a hot guy now and then.”

His lips curved upward. Hot, was he?

They rode the elevator down to the party in silence. In a single sweeping glance of the room, he spotted no less than twelve men with earpieces carrying themselves like more of Emily’s thugs. The back of his neck started to tingle. He didn’t like how they were arrayed around the room. It looked for all the world like an ambush about to be sprung. With him as the main course. Time to blow this popsicle stand.

Smiling casually for the thugs’ benefit, he murmured, “Speaking of adventure, what say we relocate this party to someplace less thug-infested?”

She looked up at him in surprise. “What did you have in mind?”

“How about my place? We can take your car and that way you can leave whenever you want.” In his experience, the safer a woman felt about her ability to leave a place, the more she was inclined to stay. He added, “I don’t need all these security guys eyeing me like I’m some criminal for the next two hours.”

She glanced around. “Good point.”

“No pressure, Em. Just a bottle of champagne and a bite to eat. I don’t expect any more than that.”

She blinked up at him, her mouth and eyes round. Was she so innocent that it actually hadn’t occurred to her that he might be propositioning her for sex when he invited her to his place?

She nodded in sudden decision. “As my first act of daring in the almost new year, I, Danger Girl, accept your invitation. Let’s go.”

He grinned, enormously relieved. He dared not let her leave his side until he was well clear of this place, lest the security team swoop in and grab him. He picked up both of their coats, and he made a humorous production of mummifying her in her scarf, hat, parka and mittens. It culminated with her sticking her tongue out at him and yanking her scarf up over her face. Ah, sweet Emily. She had no idea what a good act she was putting on for the cameras. He could kiss her.

Hell, he could kiss her and it wouldn’t have a damned thing to do with AbaCo’s uptight security team.

The two of them took the elevator down to the parking garage and walked quickly to her car. He never once glanced in the direction of the pillar where he’d stashed his gear earlier. He hadn’t spotted a camera, but there undoubtedly was one down here. And just as undoubtedly, someone was watching for his reaction to the hiding place of the suspicious backpack the security team had found earlier.

“The roads aren’t in great shape. Would you like me to drive?” he offered. “I have a lot of experience on ice.”

“Uh, okay,” she replied. He opened her door for her and then went around to the driver’s side of her car. He eased the vehicle out of the parking space and started up the ramp.

“Where’d you learn to drive on ice?” she asked.

He couldn’t very well tell her about his numerous illegal forays into Russia. “Alaska,” he replied blandly. In point of fact, he’d done some Arctic training up there that had happened to include some offensive driving classes. Doing donuts on sheet ice was a kick for the first dozen revolutions or so. Then it just made a guy sick to his stomach.

“Cool. I’ve always wanted to go there,” she said brightly.

“So take a vacation there this year, Danger Girl.”

She looked over at him, her eyes sparkling like diamonds. “Maybe I will.”

He maneuvered confidently through the traffic, wary of drunks. But it wasn’t midnight yet, and the majority of partygoers wouldn’t hit the highways for another couple of hours. He turned the heat up full blast, and it had the desired effect. Before long, Emily had shed most of her outer layers. The view was much better now. Despite how slender she was, she had a nicely proportioned cleavage, not huge, but full and round and tempting.

“Wow. You are a good driver,” she commented.

“It’s all about being decisive and knowing what your tires can do.”

Silence fell between them and he pulled out his cell phone, dialed his hotel one-handed and asked for room service. When a female voice came on the line, he responded, “This is Mr. Holtz from room 2467. I’d like surf and turf for two in my room with all the trimmings, plus the Dom Perignon 1983. And a dark chocolate fondue for dessert. Extra strawberries, please. I’ll be arriving at the hotel in a half hour. Anytime after that will be fine.”

He disconnected the call. Emily was staring at him as if he’d grown a third eye in the middle of his forehead. “What?” he asked.

“Are you sure you’re not James Bond?”

Okay, then. That cut a little too close for comfort. He kept forgetting that beneath her playful innocence lay an intelligent and observant woman. He laughed lightly. “Thanks for the comparison. I’m afraid I’m just a regular guy.”

Emily wondered about that, though. Jagger danced like a god, handled a car like a Formula One driver and ordered fancy midnight dinners as if they were an everyday occurrence in his world. Why wasn’t she surprised when he pulled up in front of one of the ritziest hotels in Denver, flipped the car keys to a valet and casually passed her the ticket for her car?

As he escorted her through the lobby his hand came to rest in the small of her back, and he leaned in close as though he was claiming possession of her to any and all who looked. That crazy electricity thing happened again, and it was all she could do to walk across the lobby without falling on her face. Honestly. It was enough to turn a girl’s head.

Enough to make her willing to bust out of her shell and try to become the kind of woman this man might want for longer than one night.

Of course, his room turned out to be a suite with a magnificent view of Denver and the black void of the mountains looming in the distance. Nothing but the best for Jagger Holtz, no, sir. So where did that leave her? Tonight’s consolation prize? Except he hadn’t even looked at another woman at the party. She’d barely taken her eyes off him all evening. She’d have noticed if he was checking the room for other fish.

She was Danger Girl, dammit. She was not about to let her complete lack of self-confidence overtake her now. She’d come this far … she could go the rest of the way toward making years’ worth of fantasies come true.

Jagger took her ridiculous coat from her and hung it up in the front closet while she wandered over to the window to admire the view. She flung the question over her shoulder, “Why me? You could’ve had any woman in the place tonight.”

He strolled up behind her, hands fisted in his pockets. He stopped just behind her shoulder, gazing at her reflection in the black window. “Why not you?” he countered. “You’re beautiful, charming, intelligent, fun, an interesting conversationalist.”

She got hung up on the very first adjective. “Beautiful? Me? I don’t think so.”

“Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder,” he murmured. “I find you positively magnificent.” Tension suddenly poured from him. “Emily,” he half whispered, “I can’t take my eyes off you.” The words sounded torn unwillingly from his gut.

“But why?”

It was as if she’d dug one layer too deep and hit a nerve. The deep restlessness that she sensed ingrained in him went still. His body froze for a moment. His face went blank. It was as if his entire being just … shut down.

It took him several seconds to look up at her reflection and smile crookedly at it. “Can’t you just accept my … compulsion to be with you … at face value?”

He had a compulsion? To be with her? Cool. As long as it didn’t turn out to be some sick obsession. Although he hadn’t given her the slightest hint of any aberrant impulses.

Their dinner arrived, and he lit the tall white candles between their silver-covered plates. The candlelight twinkled off the shiny sterling flatware, lending an unbearably romantic air to the table and to the entire room. He extinguished the other lights until only the twin candles lit the room, leaving the space mysterious and sexy around them.

Jagger murmured, “Like most women, you look ravishing by candlelight.”

She smiled widely. “Like most women, I know it’s all about the lighting and not me.”

“Untrue. Even the most perfect of lighting can only improve mediocrity so much. You’re beautiful, candles or no candles.”

She sighed. “You’re so good for a girl’s ego.”

“I try,” he murmured as he reached for her plate with a pair of lobster pliers.

He served her himself, pulling her lobster from the shell and even ladling dressing onto her salad for her. How was a girl supposed to resist all this pampering? By the bottom of her second glass of champagne, she was beginning to wonder why she should try. And then the fondue arrived. He fed her chocolate-dipped ladyfingers, red raspberries the size of her thumb and strawberries. Mmm, the strawberries. They were decadent.

By the bottom of the third glass of champagne, all thoughts of resisting his charms had flown right out of her head. And yet all he did after the meal was put on a smooth jazz CD and commence dancing with her. Not the big, flashy waltz of before but rather a slow and subtle swaying, just the two of them, body to body. It was … nice. Okay, maybe not nice. More like naughty. Luscious. Sexy. Fabulous.

His restraint made her feel safe. In control. And yet a little voice in the back of her head told her she was already wildly out of control. But hey. Tonight was all about taking chances.

“What kind of accounting work do you do?” he murmured as they continued to talk about anything and everything.

“I track special shipments and document the money trail from pickup to delivery.”

“What kind of stuff constitutes a special shipment?”

She smiled up at him. “I don’t ask, and the clients don’t tell. Stuff in boxes, mostly. Commercial containers. Usually heavy and sealed airtight.” She shrugged. “I figure it’s illegal arms shipments.”

“Seriously?” he blurted.

She laughed. “No, I’m joking of course. I have no idea what it is. I just make sure it’s paid for and gets there on time.”

“Do you do anything else?”

“Well, sure. Sometimes they need me to do other stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“You know. Exciting stuff. Like order food and toilet paper for ship crews. Or relay the fuel load a ship plans to take on when it comes into port.” Her tongue wasn’t cooperating quite as well as she’d like, and rather than sound tipsy, she threw the conversation back in his lap. “What do you do?”

“Stuff.” He laughed down at her.

“I don’t suppose I have to ask anyway. Everybody knows what James Bond does.”

He laughed under his breath. “Are we talking about in the bedroom or out of it?”

She giggled up at him. The bubbles from the champagne had definitely gone to her head. “Personally, I think ol’ James was a little deficient in that department.”

Jagger’s eyes popped wide open. “How so?”

“Well, think about it. All those women, and not a one of them ever got pregnant. And you have to admit, he isn’t the kind of man who’d have a vasectomy. He’s too macho to be that responsible. Which means—” she sighed for dramatic effect “—that the legendary Double-O-Seven shoots blanks. If you catch my meaning.” She waggled her eyebrows exaggeratedly just to make sure.

Jagger all but doubled over in laughter, and she puffed up at the notion that he was laughing at her. “What’s so funny?” she demanded.

“That an innocent kitten like you actually thinks about such things.”

“I’m not innocent,” she asserted indignantly. “Far from it.”

He drew her closer, murmuring, “Hmm. That remains to be seen.”

Not to be distracted from the subject at hand, she mused, “I suppose if a girl was looking for a sperm donor to give her a baby, James Bond wouldn’t be a bad candidate—if all the equipment worked, of course. He’s smart, handsome, charming, accomplished …” She batted her eyelashes up at him.

Jagger rolled his eyes. “I highly doubt James thought that far ahead. Guys like him live in the moment. They don’t even think about surviving beyond the current mission.”

“You say that like you know something about it.”

“Not me,” he replied blandly.

They danced in silence for several more minutes, and then he abruptly strode over to the television and turned it on. A timer was counting down the final seconds to the new year. She’d completely lost track of time in his arms.

Three. Two. One.

“Happy New Year,” he murmured …

… and then he kissed her.

Chapter 3

Emily gasped. From the first moment their lips touched, it was magic. It was as if she’d been waiting for him all her life and, having now found him, had known him deep in her bones forever. He lifted his mouth away from hers and her eyes fluttered open.

He was staring down at her. In open shock, if she wasn’t mistaken.

“Wow.” Her heart was having no part of beating normally.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. What you said.”

She laughed in wonder. Happy New Year, indeed.

And then he all but inhaled her. Of course, she all but inhaled him back. The explosion of lust between them was instant and hotter than the sun. It sizzled across her skin, searing away everything in its path, every consideration of why not to jump into bed with him, every ounce of common sense, everything but him. Just him.

She needed him just as she needed to breathe. More.

“What have you done to me?” he muttered against her neck as he bent down to reach for the hem of her dress.

The slinky fabric slid off her body with a sexy glide of fabric on flesh. “I don’t know, but you did it to me, too.” She fumbled at the hem of his turtleneck, tugging it over his head to reveal a chest fully as gorgeous as hinted at under his clothing. “Do it some more,” she urged.

His laugh was low and charged.

Score one for Danger Girl. Heck, score a million. Game over, Danger Girl won this round, hands down. Why, oh, why hadn’t she discovered this side of herself years ago? How could she have hidden in the pink cocoon of her safe little world for so long? She’d never dreamed this was out there waiting for her. A man like Jagger. This wild pleasure that was a fire in her blood.

The rest of their clothes came off quickly, and the lights went off, leaving only the twin candles still guttering over the remains of their supper. An alto saxophone wailed a smoky blues tune from the stereo, and the air was redolent of chocolate, deep and dark and rich.

He carried her to the bed, laying her upon it and then standing back to look at her. Normally, she’d be absolutely mortified to be examined naked by a man she barely knew. Except this was Jagger. And Danger Girl thought it was glorious to have him look at her like this, as if she was his and he was never letting go of her. Maybe it was just the champagne. Or maybe he brought out the brazen hussy in her. But either way, she wasn’t about to cower in front of this man. She wanted him. All of him. She planned to act out every naughty fantasy she’d ever had, tonight.

She held out her arms to him. “Come here, you.”

He didn’t wait for her to ask twice. He placed a knee on the bed beside her. Then he did a slow-motion press down to her, stopping when their mouths were a hairsbreadth apart.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured. “No pressure. If you want to stop, just tell me.”

She laughed and scowled up at him. “Don’t you dare stop.”

“As the lady commands.” He sank the rest of the way down to her, gathering her close and rolling onto his side. They snuggled for a moment while he seemed to simply savor the feel of her against him. She appreciated the fact that he wasn’t in any rush. That he could take his time and savor every bit of this experience. No green boy was Jagger Holtz, no, sir. He made her feel as though she was in good hands. Confident hands. Hands that were starting to roam up and down her spine and do the most delicious things to her entire body. Who’d have guessed so many nerves in so many places were hot-wired directly to her backbone?

She couldn’t help it. She wriggled impatiently against him.

His chuckle tickled her ear, and he seemed to know the time for teasing her was over. “Show me what you want, Emily.”

And then all that heat and urgency and muscle were hers. She wrapped herself around him like a freezing person embracing a roaring furnace. She kissed his chest, his neck, his jaw. And all the while, his hands roamed over her body, skimming across her skin and leaving a trail of utter destruction in their wake.

He shoved her hands up against the headboard and slid down her body as her urgency increased, driving her crazy with his mouth. He muttered, “What am I going to do with you? This is madness, but damned if I can stop it.”

“More,” she managed to gasp. “I want more.”

She arched up into him, shuddering uncontrollably as his blazing mouth closed on her. He worked his way back up her body, incinerating everything that was left of her. Only then did he plunge into the very core of her, groaning his pleasure.

Their twin suns went supernova then, combusting so bright and hot that the explosion defied comprehension. They rode the incendiary wave, blasting outward from their cores on a solar storm that reached far out into the cosmos, finally flinging them into a void so silent and peaceful, Emily wasn’t sure she was still alive.

“You’ve killed me,” Jagger breathed.

She managed to gather enough breath to laugh. “I was thinking the very same thing.”

“Well, then, I think we’ve established that you are no innocent, Ms. Grainger.”

“Just call me Danger Girl.”

“Right. And a more apt name there never was. You are more than dangerous, my dear. You’re lethal.”

“I hope you mean that in a good way,” she chuckled.

“Indubitably.”

“Thanks, Double-O-Seven.”

His answering smile was serene. Contented. “You’re welcome. And thank you.”

He pulled her across his chest, draping her over his body until they were joined practically as one. His heart still pounded like a jackhammer beneath her ear, belying his outward calm. Had she done that to him? Cool.

She smiled in utter contentment of her own. How had she ever lived without him in her life? This was more than love at first sight. Was there such a thing as soul mates at first sight?

No doubt about it. She’d break out of whatever shell she must to keep this man. She’d move heaven and earth to be with him.

His lips moved in her hair. “You probably won’t believe me, but this sort of thing doesn’t happen to me often.”

Her answer was prompt. “You’re right. I don’t believe you.”

He laughed. “I’m serious.”

She made a colossal effort and lifted her head enough to gaze at him. “You’re telling me a man like you can’t have any woman he wants anytime?”

He laughed. “I don’t want any woman anytime. I have my standards, you know.” He pressed a finger against her mouth as if he knew she’d ask how in the world she possibly met his standards. “But you … you’re incredible, Emily. I think you’ve ruined me for any other woman.”

She laughed. “Now I know you’re lying. But thanks. That’s sweet of—”

His mouth swooped down on hers, and he kissed her with such passion she completely lost the rest of the thought. When she was breathless and clinging to him in panting need, he whispered, “I mean it. You … you’re … magic.”

She knew the feeling exactly.

He continued, murmuring contemplatively, “Would you think I was weird if I said I feel like I’ve been looking for you for a very long time?”

“Not if you promise not to think I’m weird for thinking the very same thing.”

Their laughter mingled as they stared out into the cold night outside the windows. She couldn’t imagine anything more perfect than being here with him, right now, in the relaxed afterglow of their lovemaking. She couldn’t ever recall being more warm and content than she was in this exact second. The peace of it reached deep into her soul. She would never forget this moment as long as she lived. It was perfect. Exactly, totally perfect.

Would he disappear come tomorrow, like James Bond? Would he give her time to become Danger Girl in truth? She doubted most people got even one moment of happiness this pure in their lives, let alone a lifetime of it. Was she greedy to want more? Not that it mattered. She already knew she wouldn’t be able stop herself from trying to hold on to him for as long as she could.

The next time they made love it was slow and lazy, filled with long kisses and intimate whispers. She savored every second of it, doing her darnedest to make a lasting memory of every millisecond. To wrap each piece of it carefully in her mind and pack it away in her heart’s treasure chest. It reminded her of what a honeymoon must feel like. Or a wedding night.

The thought gave her a jolt, and Jagger whispered against her collarbone, “What?”

“Mmm, nothing. Just random delicious thoughts.”

She felt his lips curve into a smile on her skin. He murmured, “You’re delicious. Entirely edible.”

She chuckled. “I thought we’d already established that.”

“Yes, but,” he disagreed, “we haven’t yet established how you taste with chocolate fondue.”

Her gaze snapped over to the fondue pot still warming on the table. “Oh, my.”

In the wee hours of the morning, as she lay limp and utterly sated, she curled into the circle of his arms and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, this was the one place in the entire world she’d most like to be. Forever.

She was home. Danger Girl had found The One.

And with that thought in mind, she finally drifted off to sleep, dreaming of naughty red shoes and chocolate.

Jagger woke up feeling more refreshed in body, mind and soul than he had in years. And the cause of it was buried beneath a pile of blankets with little but her nose sticking out from under the covers. And what a lovely nose it was. He smiled indulgently. Emily might run cold when she was asleep, but she’d been plenty hot enough last night to burn him alive.

To hell with caution. So what if she was a forever girl and he was a one-night guy? She’d become his AbaCo informant and they’d work together for a good long time. Long enough to work this fever for her out of his blood and get back to being the one-night guy his work—his life—demanded of him.

He spied an empty champagne bottle on the coffee table. He hoped she didn’t feel the aftereffects of the bubbly too bad this morning. But just in case, he ought to order up a pot of coffee. Except he didn’t have the heart to wake her just yet. It had been a very long night, and she deserved to sleep in nice and late.

Still, he could use some caffeine. He slipped out of bed quietly, pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and grabbed his ski jacket. He’d just run down to the corner and get them some fresh lattes and muffins. He’d be back long before she stirred, let alone woke up.

The temperature had dropped below zero overnight, and this first day of the new year nipped at his cheeks and forehead with sharp teeth. The streets weren’t exactly deserted this Sunday morning, but they weren’t far from it. He jammed his hands in his pockets, hunched his collar up around his ears and set out for the coffee shop a block from the hotel.

He’d bet she liked her coffee turned into virtual ice cream with cream and sugar. He’d buy her one of every flavor of muffin, too—

Something stung him sharply in the neck, as painfully as a wasp. Oww!

He reached up reflexively to slap at the spot, and he lurched as someone grabbed him from behind. He reacted fast and hard, slamming his elbow into his assailant and whipping around to bring his feet to bear in the fight as his years of martial arts training kicked in. But his elbow blow was blunted by his attacker’s thickly padded jacket, and whatever had been in the needle in his neck was damned fast acting. The street blurred and swam woozily before his eyes. Crap. I’m in deep trouble here.

Something huge and dark screeched to a halt at his side and three more men leaped out of the van to surround him. It was no contest. His legs were already collapsing out from underneath him. Frantically, he looked around for help. Even a simple witness to report his capture to the police. But the attack had been perfectly timed. Not a soul was in sight, let alone within shouting range.

His vision narrowed down to a gray tunnel and then to a single pinprick of light.

“Emily …” he gasped.

And then everything went black.

Chapter 4

Two years later

Jagger huddled in the tiny room, hugging his knees, drawing the darkness close around him like a security blanket. At least they were leaving him alone more these days. That was better than the constant interrogations and beatings of his first few months of captivity. But sometimes, in the dark of this endless night, he got so damned lonely he almost wished for the thugs to come back. Worse than decent food, worse than a real shower, worse almost than freedom, he craved human company. Someone to talk to him. Just normal, meaningless conversations about normal, meaningless things.

But he doubted his life would ever be normal again. Eventually, he’d catch some disease, or he’d become malnourished, or maybe he’d just give up on living. Then he was a goner. And not a damned soul would know or care. He figured his captors would push his entire crate overboard into the middle of the ocean and call it good. No more Jagger Holtz.

What kind of life was it to have lived where no one would give a crap if he died? There ought to be someone to care. But that would’ve meant having someone permanent in his life. Like Emily Grainger. A forever woman. But people in his line of work didn’t do long-term relationships. At least not often, and generally not well.

If only he had someone to look forward to going home to. Maybe that would help him endure this unending nightmare.

He glanced at the hole he’d punctured in the corner of his crate when he was first thrown into this shipping container to rot. It served as his only marker of the passage of time. Darkness had fallen outside. Another day gone, which made this the seven hundred twenty-eighth day of his captivity. And that would make tomorrow … he checked the math and a bitter laugh rose up in his chest … New Year’s Eve. Again.

For the thousandth time, he relived that fateful New Year’s Eve two years ago. He should’ve seen the signs. His instincts should’ve warned him. But he’d been so besotted with Emily Grainger he’d never seen the trap coming. He’d let his guard down. Gotten distracted by a woman. No wonder James Bond never let himself fall for any of his many conquests. Ol’ James understood the dangers of losing focus, apparently. Lucky bastard.

One thing he knew for sure. If he ever got out of here, if he ever found the people who’d put him into this hellhole, he was going to kill them all. Slowly and painfully.

Emily winced and looked back over her shoulder at yet another AbaCo facility festooned with those awful metallic Christmas decorations. They must be regulation company issue. At least this office had the advantage of being in paradise. She’d leaped at the opportunity to take this exotic position when it had come along. All part and parcel of her campaign to become Danger Girl for real. Jagger Holtz might have run out on her, but she would never forget how he’d made her feel. She’d been fully alive for the first time. She couldn’t ever go back to the way she’d been before, Jagger or no Jagger.

The Hawaii AbaCo office occupied its own private island at the far western end of the chain of one hundred thirty-seven atolls, islets and islands that made up the Hawaiian archipelago. Although it was more of a refueling depot than an actual office. The Rock, as most of the employees called it, boasted a deepwater dock and underground fuel-storage and pumping facilities, plus a small collection of buildings.

Oddly, the staff numbered close to sixty, even though the lone office building here could probably only hold half that number—standing up and tightly packed. Two dozen longshoremen refueled and resupplied the ships, and the security team accounted for another dozen of the tall, silent men on the payroll. She was told that AbaCo put divers in the water for security purposes whenever one of its container ships came into port, which supposedly accounted for most of the rest of the powerful-looking men that made up the staff.

But in the time she’d been here, the actual work getting done and the number of able-bodied men stationed here to do it didn’t add up. There always seemed to be spare guys hanging around the small AbaCo building, going in and out of Kurt Schroder’s office for hush-hush meetings. He was the site manager.

He’d seemed surprised when she’d shown up, letters of introduction in hand from the North American chief of security for AbaCo. But after Schroder read the letter, he merely shrugged and showed her to a desk. Her job here wasn’t so different from what she’d done in Denver. It mostly entailed tracking shipments, making sure they got to where they were supposed to go on time, that the money got into the right accounts and answering a few phones.

The staff rotated in and out of this remote location. Two weeks on the Rock, two weeks off-duty on a Hawaiian island of personal choice. She’d chosen Kauai. It was everything she’d imagined Hawaii to be and more—tropical, lush and laid-back. She’d fallen in love with it from the first moment she’d set foot on it.

She’d even talked her mother into moving out here with her on this once-in-a-lifetime assignment to hold down the fort at the Kauai condo during the times Emily was posted on the Rock.

“There you are,” a deep male voice grumbled from behind her.

Schroder. Dang. That guy could track her down anywhere. Here she was, parked on the far side of the island from the offices, and he still showed up unannounced to check on her. It bordered on creepy. It wasn’t that he had any kind of a romantic interest in her. Two years ago she might have suspected that. But now she knew better. She’d experienced true chemistry once—and she and Kurt Schroder did not have it.

Of course, look where having it with a guy had gotten her. Maybe chemistry-challenged guys were a better bet if a girl wanted some sort of sane, stable life. Still, she didn’t like how Kurt was constantly popping up unannounced when she least expected him.

“There you are, Emily. Strange place to take your lunch break.”

She shrugged. “I was tired. I thought a hike might wake me up. I still have a little work to do this afternoon to wind things up before the New Year’s Eve party.”

She winced as she said the words. Would she never get past her memories of the fateful New Year’s Eve party two years ago that had so completely changed her life—changed her?

Schroder seemed to accept her explanation. “Be careful out here. The rocks can be treacherous, and they get slippery when it rains.” He cast a grim gaze up at a low cloud bank, which was indeed threatening to wet down the tiny island. The Kona Winds were blowing today, bringing in a heavy, muggy air mass and terminally bad hair to this corner of the world.

She sighed, pushed the frizzies out of her face and followed her boss back to the shipping office. So much for a moment of privacy. A person would think that there’d be plenty of alone time to be had on an isolated rock in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, but that person would obviously have failed to figure in the pervasive eye of AbaCo always watching over its employees.

She was due to rotate off the island the day after tomorrow, and she dared not leave much by way of unfinished work for her replacement, a taciturn ex-German Army man who was about as capable with paperwork as she was with a submachine gun. Which was to say, she couldn’t tell the business end of a gun from the…. whatever the nonbusiness end was called.

She filed the last stack of bills of lading and had all but finished matching the latest round of payments received with their various shipments when the bell on her computer dinged to indicate an incoming e-mail. She swung her chair around to face her screen and pulled up the message.

Zhow Min. 3-6-D-15472.

What on earth? She stared at the message for several seconds trying to make sense of it. There was no greeting, no signature block. The e-mail address from which the message originated was MysteryMom. Not exactly the sort of address one of AbaCo’s shipping clients was likely to use. Was this message even meant for her? Emily glanced at her screen again and saw the message was addressed to her personally and not to the AbaCo office here on the Rock.

What did it mean?

The Zhow Min part was obvious. A supercontainer ship by that name was due in from China sometime after midnight tonight. It was scheduled to be in port for twenty-four hours to refuel and take on supplies. The crew would lay over in the dormitory provided for that purpose until tomorrow evening.

But what were those numbers all about? She pulled up the ship’s cargo manifest on her computer and compared the numbers to the various cargo shipments on the Zhow Min. Nothing even remotely resembled the number sequence. Was 3-6 a date? She couldn’t think of anything special about March 6, and a quick search of the Internet revealed only that it was Michaelangelo’s birthday, the siege of the Alamo ended that day and aspirin was patented on that date in history.

She frowned. Who was MysteryMom, anyway? She’d never heard of the woman.

Bizarre.

She deleted the message, shut down her computer and walked slowly across the island to her room in the employees’ dorm to take a nap before tonight’s festivities. But the numbers continued to dance across her mind’s eye, teasing her—3-6-D-15472.

The cryptic message was still tantalizing her when she finally escaped from the New Year’s Eve party later that night, unable to withstand the memories it evoked any longer. Maybe a walk would help clear her mind.

Frankly, she wasn’t a big puzzle kind of girl. And whoever’d sent her that message had been a tad too cryptic for her. If it was important, MysteryMom would just have to suck it up and send her something that a normal human being could comprehend. She wandered down to the island’s tiny, pristine beach, letting the quiet lapping of waves soothe her troubled thoughts. It was hard to stay worked up for very long in this balmy tropical clime.

“There you are.”

Jeez. Did Schroder have a tracking radio glued to her back that she didn’t know about?

“Why did you leave the party?” he demanded.

As if he really cared about that. She knew darn good and well he wasn’t asking because he took any kind of personal interest in her fun. He just got a kick out of controlling everyone’s life around here.

She considered how to answer him. She couldn’t very well complain about not being with her family when, a, everyone else out here was away from their families tonight and no one else was complaining about it, and, b, she’d volunteered for the holiday work cycle and the double overtime pay that came with it.

Reluctantly, she confessed a piece of the truth. “I’m not a big fan of tight places. And all those people crammed in that one room were a little much for me.”

Schroder’s gaze flickered as if he was cataloging that tidbit for future reference. Not that she could imagine where it would ever come in useful to him. He was always compiling lists of facts, neatly organized, about everything and everyone.

Schroder spoke in tones just shy of an outright order. “Come inside. The food just arrived. Bratwurst, sauerkraut, Wiener schnitzel and good German beer.”

Ah. That must have been the speedboat she’d heard roar up to the pier a few minutes ago. Supplies were often brought over by boat from Lokaina, the nearest inhabited island. It lay about twenty miles away to the east and boasted not only a small permanent settlement, but even a tiny airport. It was from Lokaina Municipal Airport that workers on the Rock shuttled to and from their homes on the big islands of Hawaii, nearly a thousand miles to the east. Tonight’s German feast had been flown in all the way from Honolulu.

Schroder commented as she hesitated to go back with him, “We’ve only got a few hours until the Zhow Min arrives. Not much time to celebrate.”

Current estimated time of arrival on the ship was sometime between 2:00 and 3:00 a.m. Reminded of that strange e-mail message yet again, she frowned. Schroder’s brow lowered in determination as well. He must have misread her expression to mean she was planning to refuse his semiorder to go back inside. Although she’d much rather skip the heavy German food and stay out here to enjoy the waves and the isolation, Schroder wasn’t the kind of man to take no for an answer. She sighed and turned to follow him back to the party.

The midnight meal, although tasty, was as heavy as she’d anticipated. She was glad to retire to the big dormitory and tumble into her bed as soon as Schroder seemed to think it was acceptable for her to go. Except sleep wouldn’t come tonight. She lay there for over an hour and finally gave up on it. Those damned numbers kept floating around in her head, taunting her with some meaning hanging just beyond her grasp.

It was probably inevitable that as 2:00 a.m. approached she felt a compulsion to get up and go for a hike around the island. And, oh, maybe she’d stroll over and have a look at the Zhow Min when it came in and see if those damned numbers revealed their hidden meaning to her then.

She stepped out into the humid night. She topped the spine of rock marking the center of the island and was immediately assailed by bright lights coming from the massive pier below. The Zhow Min was gliding the last hundred yards or so to the dock. The top-heavy ship, loaded down with rectangular steel containers in huge stacks from stem to stern, was huge and ungainly and reminded Emily of a pregnant whale. The checkerboard of colored containers—each the size of a semitruck trailer—was brightly lit under giant banks of halogen lights that turned night into day all along the pier.

Emily moved off to her right, away from glare of the lights and toward the promontory that overlooked the pier from one side. The behemoth eased the final few feet into its slip in majestic slow motion and shuddered to a halt. Lines the thickness of Emily’s waist thudded ashore to moor the Zhow Min to pilings the size of small cars.

The same layer of clouds that had provided soft gray cover all day obscured the moon now, and the sea was black beneath the featureless sky. From this angle, the Zhow Min was a building-sized silhouette. One moment Emily saw nothing, and the next, she was aware of several black forms—humans—looking like tiny ants next to the gigantic ship, scaling its hull on invisible lines.

Squinting, she counted three black-garbed figures. Were they doing some sort of maintenance? She didn’t remember any being scheduled, and her master database tracked such things. The men didn’t seem to be pausing anywhere on the hull as if to inspect or repair it. They reached the deck and huddled, then moved off in what could be described only as stealth toward the stern of the ship. She noticed that all of them wore backpacks of some kind. The humps on their backs made the men look vaguely tortoiselike as they crept off into the shadows.

What in the world were they up to?

Then the trio did something even more strange. They commenced climbing one of the mountains of containers. The third clump back from the prow of the ship. They climbed to the fourth layer of containers, and then made their way inward six boxes, to stop at a faded green container. Bemused, she moved farther out the cliff to get a better view. The men were hard to see as they clung to the container in the deep shadows. They were definitely acting as though they didn’t want to be seen.

As she looked on, the container’s door slid open. Her jaw dropped as the men disappeared inside, pulling the door shut behind them. This was not a port of entry! Without Customs present, no container was allowed to be unsealed like that! What could they possibly be doing?

She stepped farther forward, craning to see what the men would do next.

A big, blond man standing on the pier beneath a bank of lights pivoted suddenly, peering in all directions. Schroder.

It dawned on her that she was completely exposed up here on the cliffs like this. Emily dropped to the ground, flattening herself in the shadows behind an outcropping of low stones and praying he hadn’t spotted her.

As she peered out from behind the scant cover of the rocks, Schroder held his position on the pier. Surely he’d have barged up here to check out the unauthorized observer if he’d spotted her. She exhaled in relief. Nonetheless, she stayed right where she was, hidden behind her shield of black volcanic pumice.

Within a minute or two, the container door opened again. The men emerged. They retraced their steps in as much stealth as before, rappelling down the stack of containers and sprinting along the rail to where they’d left their ropes hanging overboard. Something was different about them … then it hit her. All three men had lost their backpacks. They must have left them in that container.

What could those men possibly be smuggling in AbaCo containers? A drug shipment would be more bulky than that, wouldn’t it? Illegal weapons would also be bulky and heavy. Jewels would be smaller than the three backpacks. Money, maybe? That might explain it. As she pondered the possibilities, the men shimmied down the hull almost too fast for her to keep sight of, slipped below the edge of the pier and disappeared from sight.

Interestingly enough, Schroder strode off the pier then and headed back toward the office. It was almost as if he’d been acting as a lookout for the men who’d broken into that container. What was up with that? It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that something fishy was going on around here. The question was, could she contain her natural curiosity and steer clear of trouble as any sensible person would?

She watched the Zhow Min for a few more minutes, hoping to catch sight of the men once more. But they were gone. Schroder didn’t return, either.

Frowning, she made a mental note of exactly where on the ship the container she’d seen them enter was located. She ought to be able to find it in the ship’s load plan the next morning. She could cross-reference that with the ship’s manifest and see what was in that box they’d tampered with. It was the sort of thing she might do in the course of her regular job duties. If somebody noticed her poking around, they wouldn’t think anything of it.

It wasn’t as though she could report what she’d seen. Schroder was clearly in on whatever was going on around here, and he was the guy she’d have to report the incident to. If and when she found evidence of anything suspicious, then she’d have to figure out if Schroder’s superiors were in on the racket out here. She could always call Customs—but they’d want hard evidence, too. Better to look into the matter quietly on her own and not make any waves for now.

She turned around to head back to her bed. She’d taken maybe a dozen steps when a dark shape emerged out of the rocks ahead to loom in front of her. She lurched, violently startled. “Kurt! I didn’t hear you coming!”

Schroder was maybe a dozen yards away from her, striding toward her angrily, his eyebrows slammed together furiously. “What are you doing out here?” he demanded.

She blinked, alarmed. “I couldn’t sleep after all that heavy food. I came out for a bit of fresh air.”

He looked over toward the Zhow Min and back at her suspiciously. “What are you doing up on this cliff?”

She was a lousy liar, so she stuck to the truth as much as possible. Meanwhile, alarm bells clanged wildly in her head. “I stopped for a moment to enjoy the view. She sure is a big ship, isn’t she?”

“How long have you been here?”

He asked that as if there was a definite right answer and a definite wrong one. More internal alarms and sirens warned her to answer evasively, “I just got here.” As he continued to eye her angrily, she added, “Too bad it’s not daytime. I can’t see much in the dark. I’d love to watch one of the big container ships dock.”

The stiff set of his shoulders eased fractionally. “A couple more are due in next week. Take a few minutes away from your desk and watch one. It’s a surprisingly delicate maneuver considering how big and clumsy those ships are.”

She nodded and then said lightly, “Well, I’m off to finish my hike around the island before I turn in. Wanna come along? I’ll race you back to the dorm.”

“Since when are you a runner?”

“New Year’s resolution to get into better shape,” she replied cheerfully.

He made no comment, nor did he make any move to join her as she turned to trot back toward her room and some privacy to think about what she’d witnessed and figure out what to do about it.

The next morning, she was no closer to an answer. She opened her cargo tracking database as usual and casually typed up the manifest for the Zhow Min. Third stack back. Sixth column in. Fourth layer high … and then it hit her, 3-6-D. If letters were used to designate the layers of containers, that was the exact location of the container she’d seen those men climb into. The cargo manifest said the container was a climate-controlled box—commonly called a reefer in the shipping business—with a self-contained ventilation and cooling system. This particular reefer was listed as carrying salmon, caviar and live lobsters to San Francisco. Nothing to inspire a middle-of-the-night break-in there.

She frowned at her screen.

“Something wrong?” Kurt asked from the doorway as he entered the building.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.