Dangerous to Hold (19 page)

He grinned. “So come.”

Maggie shoved a hand through her hair. She was tempted.
Lord, she was tempted. The thought of facing Adam held her back. She was going to have enough difficulty explaining to him how her simple extraction mission had expanded so dramatically.

“I'd better not,” she said ruefully. “I'll stay here and help clean up.”

He stepped forward and curled a finger under her chin. Maggie swallowed—hard!—at the impact of his stunning masculinity at such close quarters.

His thumb brushed her lips. “Perhaps we will work together again sometime, my Chameleon.”

“Perhaps we will,” she answered, more than a little breathless.

His thumb traced her lips once more, and then he was gone. Maggie watched him climb aboard a Cartozan helicopter. Stifling a small sigh, she went to back to work.

The prisoners—including Jake's middleman, a coldly furious
patrón,
and a superficially wounded Che—were herded aboard waiting choppers.

Gleeful at the rich haul, Maggie greeted Jake with a sweep of one hand. “Do you believe this?”

Fully expecting Jake's usual quiet words of praise after a successful mission, Maggie gaped when he stalked past her toward the open hatch of the helo.

“Jaguar! Wait, what—?”

He reached inside, grabbed a fistful of black skirt and hauled the pseudosister out the open side hatch. She tumbled down into his arms, apparently not at all averse to his rough treatment. The three children scrambled out after her, followed by a heavyset woman.

Maggie watched in astonishment as Sarah Chandler wrapped her hands around Jake's neck and smiled up at him. Her eyes were luminous in the glare of the searchlights, and shining with an emotion that sent a spear of envy through Maggie's heart. She dismissed it immediately. If anyone deserved to win a look like that from a woman, it was Jake. Self-contained, quiet, controlled Jake. A man who had put his
duty and his dedication to OMEGA ahead of his own life for so many years.

It occurred to Maggie that she wouldn't have thought a woman with Sarah Chandler's background would tumble into love with someone like Jake. But there wasn't any doubt from the expression on her face that that was exactly what she'd done. Of course, what Maggie had seen tonight made her realize that the senator's daughter was one heck of a lot tougher than her fragile, delicate appearance suggested.

Jake didn't seem to be appeased by the glowing look in Sarah's remarkable eyes. His dark brows were drawn into a slash, and he glared down at her.

“If you ever—
ever
—do anything as harebrained and idiotic as that again, I swear I'll…I'll…”

Maggie, the three children and assorted strike team members all waited with interest to hear what exactly he would do.

So did Sarah. When he appeared unable to articulate his precise intentions, she laughed up at him.

“What you need to do, Mr. Gringo-Creighton-Jack-Jaguar, is consider your options. You can stand here and sputter at me. You can put me down. Or you can kiss me.”

Jake gave a strangled groan and bent his dark head.

Maggie folded her arms across her chest and rocked back on her heels, thoroughly fascinated by this new, previously hidden facet of Jaguar's personality. She'd worked with him for two years, seen him operate in every conceivable situation. Except this one. Evidently he was as thorough and as skilled in his lovemaking as he was in everything else, she thought in amusement, wondering when either of them was going to come up for air.

The little girl beside Maggie watched in smug complacency, a strange-looking doll tucked under her chin.

“Sarita is not the
religiosa,
you understand,” she explained earnestly. “She just wears the robes. She and Señor Creighton are going to be married. By a padre. A
real
padre.”

“I have to make the pee-pee,” the smallest child announced.

 

The helicopter ride back to Cartoza City was considerably less hair-raising than the one that had brought Maggie out. She held the squirming little three year old in her lap. Once assured that they weren't going to die, he squealed in delight every time the aircraft banked, and bounced on her thighs. Maggie noted with some interest that although the little girl clung to Jake like a limpet, he managed to hang on to Sarah's hand, as well.

One of Colonel Esteban's aides met them at the military airstrip outside the city. He came screeching up in a Jeep loaded with an assortment of supplies and a dapper little man in a neat, dark suit and discreet red tie. Maggie jumped out, waiting while Jake unloaded the children. She smiled as the precise, prissy little man wiped a handkerchief across his damp, balding forehead, folded it in neat squares, then tucked it into his breast pocket, leaving an exact half inch showing.

When Jake lifted Sarah out of the chopper, he stepped forward.

“I can't tell you how relieved I am to see you safe, Miss Chandler.”

Sarah swung around, her mouth dropping in surprise. “What on earth are you doing here?”

The man minced forward. There was no other word to describe it, Maggie decided. He definitely minced.

“I came at your father's behest, of course.” He folded his lips in a thin, prim smile. “I was prepared to go into the jungle to search for you, but these gentlemen assured me their colonel would bring you back safely. In fact, they forcibly restrained me.” His nose wrinkled. “In a rather disgusting cell.”

Sarah stepped forward to lay a hand on the man's shoulder. “Thank you for coming for me, Creighton.”

Jake gave a strangled choke.

Sarah ignored him and smiled down at the balding little
man. “I know from past experience that you would've whisked me out from under those guerrilla's noses with the same efficiency you use when you extract my father from the political messes he's forever creating.”

He preened under her generous and quite sincere praise.

Maggie had to admire Sarah Chandler's style. She was good. Damn good. She exuded an aura of charm and elegance, despite the ragged black robe that hung shapelessly around her and her limp, straggling hair. Maggie hid a grin. Jake was
not
going to know what hit him when Miss Chandler got back to Washington and was once more in her own element.

Then again, she thought as Jake stepped forward and slid a proprietary arm around Sarah's waist, maybe he already had a pretty good idea.

“A jet is waiting for you,” the aide informed them, then waved toward the Jeep. “My colonel told me you may wish some fresh clothing and food for the journey. He also sent some gifts for you. And something for the one called Chameleon.”

He reached into the back seat and pulled out a cardboard box. Maggie took it with a smile of thanks, then jumped when the box moved in her hands.

The aide turned to address Sarah. “We have a padre standing by at headquarters to take the children. He will see they are cared for until they find homes. The colonel said to tell you he himself will ensure that the woman finds a place to live and good employment.”

Sarah nodded numbly. She turned, her throat closing at the sight of Teresa standing beside Jack, the root doll dangling from one hand. Eduard, still, silent, brave Eduard, stood at his other side. Eleanora held Ricci in her arms, her face impassive.

“I…” She wet her lips and tried again. “I…”

“We have to go, Miss Chandler,” Creighton—the
real
Creighton—said kindly, clearly understanding her distress. “I've arranged for an air-force jet to take us back to Washington. Your father is most anxious to have you home.”

“Do not worry, they will be well cared for,” the aide assured her.

Sarah ignored both men. Her eyes met Jack's across a few feet of concrete runway. “I can't do it. I can't leave them.”

“Miss Chandler!”

She stepped around Creighton. Two steps brought her to within a heartbeat of the tall, lean mercenary.

“I love you, Jack. I love you more than I ever dreamed it was possible to love in any lifetime. But I can't leave them here.”

He reached for her. “Sarah, I don't want—”

She grasped his arms, her eyes pleading, needing this settled before she walked into his hold. Once there, she knew, she'd never want to leave.

“I know we haven't had time to talk about the future, our future. You're so self-sufficient, so independent, I don't even know if you want me in your life.”

“Just try getting out of it,” he growled.

Her fingers dug into his arm. “Can't you make room for all of us? We've been through so much together. We're a family. We…we need each other.”

He slid his hands around her waist, drawing her up against him. “Sarah, listen to me. I love you, too. I don't want to leave the children or Eleanora behind, either. I have no
intention
of leaving them behind. And there's plenty of room in my life for all of you.”

He tightened his hold. “In fact, I didn't realize how empty it was until I met you and your assorted charges, Sarita Sarah Josepha.”

Sarah stared up into his shadowed eyes, wondering how she'd ever thought them cold and hard. At this moment, they gleamed with a warmth and a love that Sarah knew was reflected in her own eyes.

A small hand tugged at her much-tried black robe. “There is a padre here,” Teresa reminded them both solemnly. “I heard the man with the Jeep say so. If he is a
real
padre, he can make us a
real
family.”

“Yes,” Sarah said slowly, “he can.” She turned back to Jack, a question in her eyes.

“Miss Chandler, really.” Creighton materialized behind Teresa, his mouth pursed disapprovingly. “This is all highly irregular.”

“Go get him,” Jake ordered quietly, his eyes never leaving Sarah's face.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Go get the padre.”

“Now see here, Senator Chandler would hardly approve. I suggest you—”

“Move it, Creighton. Now!”

Sarah bit her lip as the little man huffed off and clambered into the Jeep. It roared away into the darkness, leaving them wrapped in silence for a moment.

“You know,” Sarah said softly, “this means you'll finally have to blow your cover. You're going to have a tough enough time convincing the padre to perform a marriage for someone wearing a nun's habit. Somehow I don't think he'll consent to do it if you give your name as Mr. Gringo Jaguar.”

His lips twitched. “No, I guess not.”

She leaned back in his arms. “Well?”

“Jake?”

“Jake what?”

“Jake MacKenzie.”

She shook her head. “Not good enough. I want the whole thing. Exactly as it appears on your birth certificate. The one you had before it was no doubt altered by this agency you work for.”

He grinned down at her. “You sure you're ready for this?”

“I'm ready for anything.”

“Stonewall Jackson Duncan MacKenzie.”

“Oh, my,” she said faintly.

Jake nodded, his eyes gleaming with laughter. “My father was a great admirer of men of action.”

She answered with a smile of her own. “So am I, my darling. So am I.”

A
n afternoon breeze rustled the branches of the oak trees that lined the quiet side street just off Massachusetts Avenue. A small family of tourists wandered down the brick sidewalk, obviously lost. The sandy-haired mother consulted her tour guide, then peered at the discreet bronze plaque beside the door of one of the elegant town houses. She shook her head. The father grimaced, hitching his heavy camera bag higher on his shoulder. Taking one of the towheaded youngsters by the hand, he turned around and headed back toward the main avenue. The mother and the two other protesting children followed.

Maggie watched from the town house's second-story window as the family trudged past. The children looked cranky and bored, the father exasperated and the mother tired. Right now she would have exchanged places with any one of them.

“The special envoy will see you now.”

She swiveled around and returned Elizabeth's smile. Jake rose from one of the high wing-backed chairs placed on either side of an exquisite and extremely rare Queen Anne table.
Maggie, no expert in antiques, knew it was Queen Anne because the knowledgeable, gray-haired Elizabeth had told her so. She could discern for herself the beauty in the rectangular thumb-molded marble top and delicately carved walnut legs.

“I've cleared his calendar for the next two hours,” Elizabeth said, giving Jake and Maggie a kind, grandmotherly look. “The security folks downstairs have been alerted to seal this floor until I signal.”

“Two hours, huh?” Maggie shoved a hand through the neat, shining mass of her chestnut hair.

Elizabeth nodded sympathetically. “He requested it.”

Maggie threw Jake a quick, wry glance. “Why do I suddenly wish I had stayed in Cartoza for an extended vacation?”

He laughed and opened the door that led to Adam's inner office. “Come on, it can't be too bad. We survived the post-mission debrief last night.”

“You know he never lets loose in front of the other team members. In fact,” Maggie added gloomily, “he never lets loose at all.”

She preceded Jake down the short corridor between the inner and outer doors, paying no attention to the lights that pulsed discreetly as she passed. Had they not recognized her, any one of those sensors could have activated a lethal variety of devices that the security people euphemistically, if accurately, termed “stoppers.” Although the second floor was open to the public who came to see the special envoy, the security systems made sure that the public was well screened.

As always, the sight of Adam upped Maggie's awareness quotient by several degrees. She frowned, wondering why. While Jake accepted Adam's offer of coffee and poured himself a cup, Maggie studied her boss.

He certainly looked distinguished enough in his expertly tailored navy suit and white shirt, but he wasn't as handsome as Colonel Luis Esteban. Or rather he was handsome in a different way. Where Esteban's classic male-model perfection could stop a woman in her tracks at fifty yards, Adam Ridgeway's attraction stemmed not so much from his lean, dark
looks as from his aura of cool, unshakable authority. He was a man in charge. Of himself and of the agents he directed.

Maggie settled comfortably in her chair, knowing that she had a darned good chance of shaking him out of his customary control in the next two hours.

Adam sat on the edge of his mahogany desk, one knee bent as he scanned the papers in a plain manila folder. Shutting the folder, he laid it aside.

“All right, Jake. Let's start with you. I've reread the summaries of the debrief you gave us last night, but there are some key points I'd like cleared up.”

Maggie steepled her fingers while Jake and Adam worked through his phase of the operation, from the initial botched drop to the takedown of the white-faced, stuttering businessman who had just happened to be delivering a shipment of stolen U.S. arms to a Cartozan drug lord. She caught Adam's brief smile as Jake recounted the “equipment failure” that had led to his periods of noncommunication. Adam nodded once or twice, listening intently while Jake answered each question in precise technical terms.

Maggie's admiration for her fellow agent, already profound, deepened as he unemotionally detailed his own decisions during the operation—including the very emotional one to step over that invisible line separating an operative from those he dealt with in the field. Her admiration for Sarah Chandler also increased with every passing moment.

Maggie wasn't fooled by the flat, expressionless tone Jake used when he described Sarah's actions during the days they'd been together. Maggie had worked with him long enough to hear what he tried so hard to suppress. Besides, she'd been part of the appreciative audience that witnessed that spectacular kiss beside the helicopter. A tiny thread of envy wiggled through her veins once more. Someday, she thought, she just might find what Jake seemed to have found with Sarah Chandler.

“Maggie?”

Maggie blinked, surprised to realize that Jake had finished and both men were looking at her expectantly.

Adam listened without interrupting while she ran through her part of the operation. When she finished, he stared at her thoughtfully for a moment.

“I think you may have left out one or two details.”

“If I did, they're irrelevant,” Maggie stated calmly.

“Perhaps to you, but I'd like just a bit more information.”

“What is it you need to know?” Maggie was every bit as cool and professional as Adam when it came to her job.

He reached behind him and lifted the manila folder. Flipping it open, he examined the top document. “Could you explain this interagency memo the State Department forwarded? It requests that we reimburse them for payment, made through diplomatic channels, for a black lace garter belt and, ah, two-inch pink-and-orange spiked heels. Among other things. The bill comes to three hundred dollars.”

“Three hundred dollars!” Maggie screeched. “Surely those dunderheaded bureaucrats didn't pay that. Don't they know they're supposed to haggle? The shopkeepers probably weren't expecting a tenth of that.”

“Yes, well, it appears the United States government doesn't haggle when presented with a bill through diplomatic channels.”

“Well it had better learn how, if I'm going to be operating in the field. I appropriated those clothes as part of the disguise that got me into the Café El Caribe. Where,” she added pointedly, “I contacted Colonel Esteban.”

“Ah, yes. Luis.”

“Do you know him?”

“We've met,” Adam said noncommittally. He pulled out another document. “This is an official intergovernmental communiqué. On the advice of his chief of security, the president of Cartoza has requested that a certain agent, code name Chameleon, be detailed to a special inter-American task force he's forming. Our president has asked for my recommenda
tion as to whether you can be spared. For an indefinite period of time.”

Maggie felt her breath catch somewhere in midchest. She knew that Adam would support the request if she wanted it. Did she want it? She met Adam's eyes, telegraphing a silent message.

He slipped the document into the folder. “I can't spare you.”

Maggie sagged in relief, only to discover she'd relaxed too soon.

Adam pulled yet another document out of the damned folder, this one a faxed memo of some kind.

“Customs is rather upset with us. It seems one of their new, rather inexperienced agents tried to process an international flight that landed at Andrews Air Force Base last night. When he attempted to confiscate a certain…” Adam referred to the fax. “When he tried to confiscate a certain
agamidae iguanid,
an agent assigned to this organization told him in rather forceful terms to back off.”

“It…it was a gift,” Maggie explained, biting down on her lower lip.

Adam's brows rose as he referred to the faxed page. “A rather repulsive-looking one.”

“It's all in the eye of the beholder,” Maggie responded, grinning. “Actually, I'm told these lizards make great house pets. They grow to about the size of a small dog, and can snatch a fly off the wall with their tongues from halfway across a room.”

“Just don't ask me to baby-sit the thing for you when you're in the field,” Jake said, laughing.

Adam wasn't quite as amused.

Maggie pushed her shoulder-length fall of brown hair behind one ear. “The lizard changes colors, Adam. It can blend into any environment. Like me.”

“I see. That explains it, then.” He slipped the fax inside the folders. “What it doesn't explain, however, is why an agent whom I directed to focus on one specific aspect of her
mission managed to expand that mission to include an extraction, a takedown, and a major drug bust.”

Maggie shrugged. “I couldn't let that tripleheader pass, Adam.”

“She brought in three for the price of one,” Jake put in quietly. “That's what makes Maggie one of your best, Chief.”

Adam nodded. “I'm not disputing—”

The phone on Adam's desk chimed discreetly. He arched a dark brow, clearly not pleased at the interruption after having left specific instructions. He lifted the receiver.

Saved by the bell, Maggie thought in relief.

“Yes, Mrs. Wells?”

Adam listened for a moment, then nodded. “Send them in.”

Maggie and Jake glanced at each other in surprise.

OMEGA's director stood and fastened the monogrammed button of his navy suit. His blue eyes glinted. “We'll finish later, Chameleon. Right now, it seems Jaguar has more pressing business to attend to.”

Maggie and Jake both turned as the inner door opened and Sarah Chandler swept in, followed by what seemed to be half the population of Washington D.C. The children filed in after her, followed by Eleanora in a flowered, lace-trimmed dress. Maggie's favorite, the chubby little Ricci, squealed a rough approximation of “Cammie” and toddled over to her side. She scooped him up, duly admiring his purple-and-green Barney shirt. Although she cuddled the boy until he laughingly protested, Maggie's attention was on the big, bluff senator and his fussy, oh-so-efficient chief of staff.

Sarah's father had been at the airport to meet them yesterday, weak with relief at getting his daughter back and ready to whisk her away. Maggie had felt as though she had a front-row seat at ringside when Sarah calmly explained that she had a prior engagement. She'd just discovered that her husband had exactly three hours before he had to report to his headquarters to debrief his mission. If that was all the honeymoon
she was going to get, Sarah didn't intend to waste a minute of it.

And, to judge from the radiant expression on her face today, she hadn't.

If ever there was a woman who looked less like the bedraggled nun Jake had thrown over his shoulder and tossed into the helicopter, it was this one. Poised, confident, stunning in a royal blue suit that hugged her slender figure and deepened her eyes to an astonishing blue-green, she walked over to Jake's side. Her shining silvery-gold hair was swept up in a French twist that revealed the sapphires winking in her earring.

“Sorry to intrude like this, Ridgeway,” the senator boomed. “But we have an appointment with the head of Immigration in a half hour. The damn fool insists Sarah and Jake have to sign two reams of documents in front of witnesses and half a dozen notaries. I've got to take a look at this refugee processing procedure,” he muttered. “Make a note of that, Creighton.”

“Yes, sir.”

Maggie hid a grin. She had no doubt that the Immigration Department's procedures were going to be on the Senate agenda next week.

“Actually,” Sarah interjected, “we need to make a stop before we go to Immigration.”

“What now?” the Senator boomed. “We've hit every department store and toy store between here and Bethesda.”

“Yes, but…”

“I have a new doll,” Teresa put in with a gap-toothed grin. “But I don't like it as much as the one Señor Creight—” She stopped, a look of confusion crossing her face.

“Señor Jake,” Sarah reminded her.

Her lips pursed. “I will call him Papa,” she announced, then sent an anxious look at the tall, quiet man.

Jake hunkered down before her, his gray eyes alight with pleasure. “That's fine with me,
niña.
”

The senator's huff broke the silence that gripped the office.
He chomped on his cigar, shifting it from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Well, let's get this caucus underway.”

Reluctantly Maggie let Ricci slip out of her arms. He waddled across the room, stopped to show Adam his Barney shirt, then reached up to be lifted into Eleanora's arms.

“Here, let me,
señora.
” Creighton stepped forward and lifted the child into his arms. To Maggie's surprise, the chief of staff didn't even blink when Ricci tugged his paisley handkerchief out of his pocket and flapped it experimentally.

“It is not
señora.
”

Everyone in the room turned to stare at Eleanora.

Her dark eyes held a shy smile as they met Creighton's. “I am not married.”

“Really?” He smoothed his free hand over his shiny forehead. “Well, you must let me show you some of Washington's sights. There's an exhibit of pre-Columbian art at the Smithsonian you may be interested in.”

He hefted Ricci higher on his hip, took Eleanora's arm and escorted her out of the office.

Sarah wasn't the only one whose mouth dropped in astonishment.

Senator Chandler gaped.

“I'll be damned,” Jake murmured.

Even Adam snorted.

Maggie laughed outright. She just might have to recalculate the final success ratio on this operation. It appeared there might have been more takes than she'd originally thought.

She bid repeated affectionate goodbyes to the children, then sighed as the door closed behind the lively group. Sudden, undisturbed silence descended, wrapping her and Adam in a quiet cocoon.