Hot Soldier Spy Page 7

  She nodded, appropriately wide-eyed at his vehemence. He stalked into the bedroom, his adrenaline pumping hard. He needed to do something strenuous to burn it off. Like have sex. Hot, sweaty, wild sex. Dammit. He turned on the shower to cover the noise of his conversation and pulled out his cell phone. He punched out the number for Blackjacks Ops.

  “Go ahead.”

  Dutch recognized the voice of his teammate, Joe Rodriguez, aka Doc. The guy had been named acting commander of the Blackjacks in Colonel Tom Foley’s absence. Tom was on his honeymoon at the moment. He bit out, “Dutch here. I need a favor.”

  “You name it. And how’s the snow, by the way?”

  Dutch answered impatiently, “Packed powder until this morning. But it’s blowing like a motherfucker out there now. Zero visibility and thirty below zero wind chill.”

  “Bummer. So, what can I do for you?”

  “I need to extend my leave for a while.”

  “Dutch! I’m so proud of you! Your first vacation in five years and you’re actually enjoying yourself. Who’d have guessed?”

  He flinched at Doc’s mirth. “Can I have, say, another week of leave?”

  “Hell, make it two, buddy. We’re down in a training evolution and not a blessed thing is happening around here. The boss will be so pleased to hear you’re taking a break he’ll probably give you a month off. What happened? No, wait. Let me guess. You met a girl. She must be a babe and a half.”

  Might as well let his teammates think it was a woman. And after all, technically, it was. “Yeah, she’s gorgeous,” Dutch replied.

  “Who is she?”

  He winced. “Mind if I pass on answering that one?”

  Doc chuckled. “Nah, go ahead and be a gentleman. Just don’t catch any diseases, eh?”

  For some reason, the casual remark set Dutch’s teeth on edge. “Thanks for extending my leave,” he ground out.

  “No sweat,” Doc replied.

  Damned if he didn’t hear laughter in his teammate’s voice. Dutch disconnected the phone and tossed it on the bed in disgust. He stomped into the bathroom to take a shower for real. A long, cold one, dammit.

  Julia listened to the water turn on in the bathroom. Every fiber in her being screamed for her to take this opportunity to run. But where would she go? What would she do? She believed Dutch without reservation when he promised he would keep her safe until her father was behind bars. He was nothing if not a man of his word. In the light of morning, she could see it was best to go ahead as planned for now. She would keep trying to contact Eduardo and make a deal.

  In fact, now that she had Dutch’s protection, it was probably time to apply a little pressure to daddy dearest. And she knew exactly how to do it. She grinned at the idea that had popped into her head when she woke up this morning. She could transfer the money she’d taken from him into the Blackjacks’ bank account. Surely they had some sort of quick-draw checking account for use during operations in the field. If she could find that account number, she would tweak her father’s nose in a big way. A way guaranteed to draw his attention. Eduardo would rupture something when he found out.

  Now, where would Dutch keep something like a bank account number? The sort of offshore account she was looking for typically had up to a twenty-digit numbered access code. She gave him a couple of minutes to get settled into his shower and then slipped into the bedroom.

  She glanced around and spied his cell phone lying on the bed. She reached for it, then hesitated.

  What had her decision to run away from her father turned her into? Here she was, sneaking around like a criminal, invading the privacy of a decent guy. She pictured Carina’s face. All this was for the sister she’d raised like her own daughter. And she had to stop their father, once and for all.

  She snatched up Dutch’s cell phone and flipped it open. Drat. Not a model that stored dates or notes, or more to the point, bank account numbers. She’d have to look somewhere else.

  Thoughtfully, she punched the redial button on Dutch’s phone to bring up the last number called. Her hands began to shake as she stared at the digital display. The letters BJ glowed up at her. The Blackjacks. The phone number burned into her brain. Oh Lord. Had he told his team about her? Called for backup maybe? If so, she would be in custody or dead within a matter of hours.

  Her breathing raced frantically and she grew light-headed. She’d be killed before she ever got a chance to save Carina and the countless other people her father would harm or kill someday. The water in the bathroom turned off and she nearly dropped the phone. She replaced it quickly on the bed and raced from the room.

  She buried her nose in a random book from the stocked shelf in the living room. Frozen in terror, she forced her eyes to travel across the page as if she was actually comprehending the book she held numbly.

  Thankfully, Dutch paid no attention to her ruse. He spent most of the day reading and resting, as well. She wouldn’t call it relaxing, exactly. He varied between states of action and inaction, but he never let down his guard.

  The vicious winds finally let up in the late afternoon, leaving behind a blanket of soft powder snow, perfect for skiing. She eyed it wistfully for no more than two minutes before Dutch spoke up behind her. “Wanna hit the slopes?”

  She looked over at him eagerly. “Really?” Lord, she could use a physical release of the tension that had been churning inside her all day. “But won’t that be dangerous with my father’s men looking for us?”

  He shrugged. “This place has its own mountain. A private one. They won’t find us.” He added casually, “I don’t know about you, but I really could use the exercise.”

  “Let’s do it,” she said eagerly.

  She could swear he checked his left armpit before he ushered her out the door. Armed, was he? His casual gesture restored the constant, edgy fear she lived with these days at the same time that it reassured her.

  The resort’s ski pro outfitted them for boots and skis and whisked them up the mountain in the resort’s sleek helicopter. It landed on the summit and they climbed out into blindingly bright sunlight glittering off pristine snow. Nary a ski track marred its smooth perfection.

  Dutch pulled out a pair of mirrored shades and slipped them on, neatly covering his gaze. He grinned, sharklike, and set off down the mountain. At first, it was smooth going, a wide expanse of snow over the gradual slope of a glacier. The occasional mogul and gully made it an intermediate-or-so slope.

  But then the trail split. He turned his skis sideways, skidding to a stop and throwing up a rooster tail of powder. “Do you like to live dangerously?” he asked her.

  Why the heck not. She was a dead woman walking, anyway. “Sure,” she retorted.

  He set off to the left, choosing one more isolated route after another. She followed him downward as the mountain got steadily steeper and trickier. Without warning, Dutch significantly picked up the speed. He let his skis race flat out over the snow. She crouched in a racer’s tuck to eke out every last bit of speed from her own skis to keep up with him. The slope leveled out, but with their accumulated speed, they managed to keep momentum over the wide, flat area. She’d just started to pole her way forward when Dutch looked over his shoulder.

  “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 would 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 screa
ming in protest and her nerves were 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 his 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 led her down 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.

  They came around to the front, and she spied a parking lot and a sign announcing that 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 operator? 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 the Blackjacks 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 the Blackjacks. 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 would 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?”
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br />   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 sapphire 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 would 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.”