Her Secret Agent Man Read online

  “How are you at jumps?” he called.

  “Not great, but I’ve done a few,” she shouted back.

  “Lean back and stay vertical!” he instructed.

  And then he disappeared over the edge of a cliff. Without any more warning than that, her skis dropped out from under her and she plunged over the edge of a nearly vertical drop. Had Dutch not said something, she’d no doubt have broken her neck.

  As it was, her adrenaline surged and she struggled to keep her weight back as the slope fell away from her in a dizzying descent. She mimicked Dutch, twisting her skis from side to side as she dropped from ledge to snowy ledge. She dodged a nasty rock outcropping and kept on going, doggedly following his red back down the impossible slope.

  When her legs were screaming in protest and her nerves at the breaking point, the near cliff gave way to a gentler slope and heavy woods. Dutch pulled up short and waited for her to join him. She schussed over the last couple of moguls and swiveled to a stop beside him.

  “Lady, you are one hell of a skier,” he panted.

  She nodded back, too out of breath from the exertion and the altitude to speak.

  “Well, that was fun. Took care of a whole lot of my pent-up energy,” Dutch huffed. “How ’bout you?”

  She spared a glance over her shoulder for the mountain they’d just traveled, and shuddered. It looked like a nearly vertical cliff, peppered with rock outcroppings and drops. Not the kind of hill approved for any human in their right mind to ski down.

  “I must have a death wish to have followed you down that monster,” she panted.

  “No doubt. You called me, didn’t you?” he retorted.

  Good point. She’d never considered herself much of a risk taker. The one time in her life, ten years ago, that she’d done something dangerous, it had turned into a total nightmare and a man had died. Ever since, she’d sworn off anything more exciting than transferring funds from bank to bank to hide their origin. Until the last few weeks that led her back to Dutch.

  “C’mon,” Dutch said behind her. “I’m hungry.”

  Dutch picked a medium-difficulty, scenic route through the woods. It felt like a walk in the park after that cliff of doom. The snow slid like velvet beneath her feet, soft and sleek as they skied between towering stands of pine and aspen. Dutch stayed beside her, matching his speed to hers. He was smooth and powerful and flowed down the mountain as if he’d been born on it. For a little while, she put aside their dangerous dance of cross-purposes and lost herself in the freedom of gliding between the majestic rows of snowbound trees. They came out onto a prepared ski run. Although the snow wasn’t groomed, it was clear that this broad path through the trees was artificial.

  A few minutes later, Dutch surprised her by veering off onto a remote side trail. It was a narrow, winding course that traversed an arcing fissure down the mountain face. Long shadows striped it in patches of darkness and light. This trail was quite a bit more difficult than the last one, and she paid close attention to her skiing.

  In front of her, Dutch called out, “Follow me.”

  Oh, Lord. Had he seen something she hadn’t? A threat of some kind? Adrenaline shot through her, and her knees went weak. He veered off to the left and she followed him into a side ravine. The trail was barely wider than a single pair of skis, and snow-laden boughs brushed her shoulders. The dim tunnel of trees went on for several minutes. Abruptly, they popped out into a wide clearing. It housed a large, log structure and a nearly full parking lot of cars. They skied up to the building’s double front doors.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  It was a restaurant! “Famished,” she replied enthusiastically. They checked their ski equipment and slipped on felt slippers provided by the restaurant. She padded to their table, a booth, actually, with Dutch.

  She slid into her seat, vividly aware of how he completely filled the intimate space. “How did you know about this place?” she asked.

  He smiled at her, robbing her of breath. “Like it?”

  “If the food matches the decor, I’m going to love it!” The rough, log cabin-style interior, complete with antlers and old-fashioned snowshoes on the walls, belied the understated elegance of the crystal stemware and fine china on the tables. The menu confirmed the gourmet underpinnings of the place. She ordered a stuffed shoulder of veal while Dutch chose the roasted free-range pheasant.

  “So, do you vacation here often?”

  He shrugged. “Haven’t had a day off in five years. Until this week, of course.”

  “Five years?” She tsked. “Is the world that unsafe for democracy or are you just a workaholic?”

  He laughed aloud. The sound was rusty, as if he didn’t make it often. “A little bit of both, I suppose. Since I’m unattached, I take extra missions so the married guys can get a little more time with their families.”

  No surprise there. Since they seemed to be operating under a temporary truce, she asked a question she’d been curious about for years. “Why do you do this job?”

  “Because I like it.”

  How could anybody like the stress and danger of being a Special Forces operative? She prodded, “What’s your favorite part?”

  He answered without the slightest hesitation. “Saving the lives of innocents.”

  “Do you do that often?” she asked, surprised.

  “Often enough to keep me coming back for more.”

  She’d never thought about Charlie Squad as a rescue outfit before. She’d always thought of them as more of a death squad. But maybe that was because she’d been working with the criminals.

  He startled her by asking a question of his own. “When are you going to trust me and tell me what you’re hiding?”

  Trust him? Now, there was a novel concept. She already trusted him enough to put her life in his hands. For now. Wasn’t that enough?

  Apparently not, the way his blue gaze was boring into her.

  “I do trust you. It’s just that—”

  She broke off as he pinned her with yet another piercing stare. Okay. So she didn’t trust him that much.

  He snapped his napkin off the table and unfolded it deliberately in his lap.

  She asked in a rush, “Do you have any idea why I triggered your blackout?”

  “Do you?” he challenged. Again that saber-sharp, sapphire stare.

  Guilt slammed into her. It probably had something to do with that disastrous ambush ten years ago when her father almost managed to wipe out Charlie Squad. That had been the first time her father had threatened to kill Carina if Julia didn’t do his bidding. She’d hated setting up the Americans, but she’d had no choice. No choice at all. The hard edge faded from his gaze and she blinked, startled. He was afraid of his blackout. As tough as he pretended to be, as in control as he usually was, he was scared. Alone. How was it that she felt sorry for the man who’d sworn to kill her?

  As she continued to watch him cautiously, something desperate flickered at the back of his eyes. She blinked. There it was again! There was no mistaking it. He was terrified. The sight of this man scared unnerved her more than the idea of being chased by a gang of paid killers. A visceral need to reach out to him, to hold him and comfort him, took shape low in her belly.

  As if he’d just realized he’d given away too much, he looked off quickly. His phenomenal self-control slammed back into place.

  The salads arrived and he commented calmly, as if that raw, revealing exchange hadn’t just happened, “So. What have you been up to for the last ten years?”

  “Not much. Just running the financial end of a global crime empire,” she replied with light bitterness. “It has been a real picnic, let me tell you.”

  His gaze snapped to hers, his blue eyes blazing in fury for a moment before he clamped down on the reaction. What a pair they made, circling around each other like a couple of prize-fighters, each one waiting for an opening to land the knockout punch.

  “Tell me about it,” he said quietly.

 
Right. Like he cared about just how hellish it had really been. The constant danger of discovery, the fear of being murdered by her father’s enemies, her anguish over the innocents who were hurt or killed every day by her father’s actions and, indirectly, hers. Nobody could understand how she was as much a victim as the people her father killed. They saw her living in a big house with servants and luxury all around her and didn’t see it for the beautiful, deadly cage it was. They didn’t know about the blackmail, the constant, subtle threats to kill Carina, her beloved Carina.

  No, Dutch wouldn’t understand. She dug into her salad of baby greens. “How about we enjoy this amazing food and talk about serious things later?”

  He nodded briskly and then picked up his water glass. “A toast. To good snow, fine food and beautiful women.”

  Her face went inexplicably warm as she picked up her glass. Sheesh. It wasn’t as if nobody’d ever told her she was beautiful before. Except it mattered when this man said it. She wanted him to think she was pretty.

  Their glasses touched with a musical chime, and their gazes touched over the sparkling crystal. A hot spark leaped in his eyes and in an instant raised the temperature in the room about twenty degrees. She was too mesmerized to tear her gaze away. For a moment, they were back in the jungle, dark and dangerous, and the beautiful and brave American soldier who’d stolen her heart was coming to meet her. Her heart pounded and the old anticipation filled her.

  Ah, to be that young and innocent again. To still have hope that a man like him could fall in love with her and sweep her away to a new life of safety and joy.

  The restaurant came back into focus around her. But Dutch’s gaze never wavered. The intensity of those azure eyes hadn’t changed one bit in the last ten years.

  She sighed. As much as she wanted this man, she couldn’t have him. Their past had already doomed them. She tore her gaze away and blindly cut into her salad.

  “So,” he said painfully politely, “tell me about your hobbies.”

  And just like that he bottled up all that sizzling sexual attraction. She’d give her right arm to know how he did it. But at the same time, a kernel of pity for him formed deep in her heart. What must it be like living that way, always shut off from his feelings, isolated from the rest of the human race?

  True to his word, Dutch steered their conversation strictly to inconsequential subjects. Nonetheless, he had interesting opinions and observations on everything from Cuban art to international lending practices. His raw intelligence and body of knowledge reached the point of being downright frightening. How was she ever going to outsmart or outmaneuver this man?

  As she savored a scrumptious crème brûlée to top off the spectacular meal, he murmured, “It’s later.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You said we’d talk about serious things later.”

  She stared down at the crisp, golden layer of caramelized sugar coating her custard. Composure. Breathe. Living with her father for so long had taught her how to lie convincingly. She could do this.

  “What do you want to know?” she managed to ask.

  “What are you hiding from me?”

  Well, obviously, she thought, I’m not going to tell you every detail of my life. Just as you’re not going to tell me every detail of yours. “I’m not keeping anything from you that will affect our deal. I swear. You keep me alive, and I’ll give you my father’s financial records.”

  “Why haven’t you handed over the records to me already?”

  “Because I have to get them first,” she lied.

  “Where are they now?”

  “I uploaded them onto a secure Internet site. I have to retrieve them.”

  “So all you need is access to an Internet-capable computer and we’re finished?”

  She gulped. “It’s not quite that simple. They’re hidden behind several layers of encryption. I can break through it, but it’ll take a little while.”

  “Define a little while. Are we talking a couple of days, or are we talking weeks?”

  She looked him square in the eye. That was one she could answer with total honesty. “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

  He leaned back, studying her with laser intensity. She had the distinct feeling he wasn’t buying her line for a second. But she had to play out this farce. And in his own way, so did he.

  “Where have you lived all this time?” he fired at her.

  “Gavarone. I travel some in the course of managing Eduardo’s money, but mostly he keeps me close by.”

  “Wants to keep an eye on you, does he?”

  She snorted. “More like an iron fist over my head.”

  Dutch said nothing in response to that one.

  The silence deepened as she waited for him to cook up some other horribly awkward question. Her father always said the best defense was a good offense. Maybe it was time to borrow a page out of Eduardo’s book. She leaned forward and fired off a question of her own. “So. What have you been up to for the last ten years?”

  Dutch’s frown deepened. He shrugged enigmatically. “The same old thing. Doing my damnedest to keep the world safe for democracy.”

  She remarked, “That’s become quite a tall order in the last decade.”

  “If it’s not one thing, it’s another,” he replied. “My kind aren’t ever going to be out of work.”

  The conversation lapsed. She ought to keep him talking. Keep him distracted. But she was so relieved to escape the charge of the conversation, she didn’t push.

  The tension between them must have been thicker than she realized, because she noticed a guy several tables over looking at them. As soon as she made eye contact with him, he jerked his gaze to his plate. Creepy kind of fellow. So boringly plain and brown he practically faded into the background and became invisible. Eating alone.

  She murmured to Dutch in quiet concern, “A guy over there was just looking at me.”

  Dutch’s lips curved in a wry smile. “I expect most of the men in this restaurant have been looking at you. You’re a beautiful woman.”

  Flustered by the comment, she made a production of folding her napkin beside her plate.

  Dutch said under his breath, “Let’s get out of here. I’ll have a look at the guy on the way out.”

  He paid for the meal with a credit card, and she eyed it speculatively. A person could access a bank account via plastic, too. She ought to check his wallet for debit cards. She might be able to trace the Charlie Squad account number from one of them.

  Dutch ushered her outside. Night had fallen while they ate. How in the world were they supposed to ski back to the resort up that narrow, dark trail? But Dutch set off confidently, leaving her to follow dubiously. He didn’t take the same trail they’d used before. Although as narrow as the last one, this trail sloped downhill away from the restaurant.

  Initially, the trail passed across reasonably open terrain and she could see the path in the moonlight. But then flanking walls of black pines closed in, casting the trail into pitch darkness. Her right foot lurched. She flailed but managed to maintain her balance. Her ski had caught on something and her binding yanked loose, separating her boot from her ski.

  She called out to Dutch, who was pulling away from her rapidly, “Wait! I popped a binding.”

  Dutch turned around and muscled his way back up the incline toward her. “Can you step back into it yourself?”

  “Tried already. There’s something wedged in the bottom of my boot and I can’t knock it loose.”

  “Hang on.” He made his way to her side and leaned down, touching her leg just above her knee. She jumped at the uncanny familiarity. His big palm slid down her leg and cupped her calf. “Use my shoulder to steady yourself,” he murmured.

  He pried loose a piece of broken tree branch and guided her boot back into her ski. The binding closed with a solid click. He started to stand up but froze halfway to his feet. Abrupt tension flowed through him under her hand. She froze as well. He eased by slow degree
s the rest of the way to vertical. Silence settled around them in a dim, fluffy blanket of black on white. And then something else. The sound that must have made Dutch freeze in his tracks. A sound of something slick, synthetic, rubbing on branches. Like a nylon ski jacket.

  Dutch’s powerful arm swept around her waist, and he tipped her over, half burying her in a deep snowbank. A light dusting of crystalline snow showered down upon her.

  She shook her head to clear the snow off her face and Dutch’s hand clapped over her jaw, halting the movement. His arm lay over her chest, and his body half covered hers. Warm breath touched her ear, and she felt the snow there melt against her skin. She lay in the embrace of the snow and the man, paralyzed by the heat inside her and the cold without.

  A chill began to seep through her clothing, the deep painful kind that went straight to her bones. She did her best to suppress the shivering that set in, but her body had other ideas. She shook like a leaf beneath Dutch and found herself abruptly grateful for his weight pressing down upon her, holding her still.

  And then she heard another swishing noise. This time from skis cautiously sliding across snow. If it was possible, Dutch went even more still. She held her breath and made like a tree. A nice, warm one that didn’t shiver.

  Swish, swish…

  Her entire being hummed with terror as the noise passed by them, not more than a dozen feet away. Dutch eased away from her and looked down. His intense gaze met hers. He didn’t have to say anything aloud. She was to stay quiet, follow his instructions and not do anything foolish. He nodded fractionally and then stood up slowly as complete silence descended upon them again. He stood there for a long time before he finally held a hand down to her.

  She was numb with cold and fear as he pulled her to her feet. Who had that been? Just another tourist making his way back to the resort after supper, or someone more sinister? Her gut said it was the latter. Dutch’s gut must have told him the same thing, because his jaw all but rippled with tension.