“And this is Sabra Jacobs.”
“A merc?” He heard the disbelief in his voice. As soon as the words were out, he was sorry he’d said them. Her slightly winged, thick brows drew down in displeasure, her eyes mirroring irritation. Despite her expression, he liked the way her thick, black hair fell gracefully around her proud shoulders. A strand dipped prettily across her brow, further emphasizing her oval face and high cheekbones. For a moment, her cheeks flushed a dull red at his unfortunate comment, and the flash of anger in her eyes stunned him. Why did it surprise him that her emotions would be revealed in them? Maybe, somewhere in his Neanderthal mind, he thought beautiful women were always poised and never showed their true feelings. Craig almost laughed at the absurdity of his clashing thoughts. Like every other man in the military, his ideas regarding women had come under fire. He was trying his best not to look at them in terms of their relative beauty of body or face, but it was nearly impossible not to appreciate Sabra Jacobs on that level.
Disgusted with his weaknesses, which were many, he disengaged his gaze from hers and returned his attention to Randolph, who seemed to be in charge. “What’s going on? Where’s Morgan?” Morgan always greeted returning teams, no matter what time of day or night they came in from a mission. It was one of many things Craig admired about the man—a sign of his abiding loyalty to his people. Not many bosses felt that level of care and responsibility toward their employees.
Jake opened his hands. “Talbot, a lot has happened in the past few weeks. Ramirez, a Peruvian drug lord, sent a team up here and kidnapped Morgan, his wife, Laura, and their son, Jason. The good news is we pulled an outside team together to rescue Laura, who is back home with us. Now we’ve got a lead on where Jason might be.”
Craig sat up, stunned. His mouth dropped open. He snapped it shut. Though he remained silent as Jake filled him in on the kidnappings, his weary eyes betrayed his shock.
When Jake had finished the initial briefing, he gestured to Wolf, who leaned forward and shoved a sheet of paper across the table. “This is Garcia’s estate. We got a fax of the floor plan from Honolulu FBI. Every developer that builds there has to apply for a building permit and submit a copy of the plans. This place is situated on roughly three acres of rich Maui real estate on the side of an inactive volcano. You been to Hawaii?”
“No.” Craig blinked his burning eyes and tried to focus on the paper in front of him.
“Sabra’s been there,” Jake said, “so that’s good. Anyway, we want you two to fly there, take up residence at the Westin Kaanopoli, then drive to Kula, set up your long-range cameras and keep watch. We need confirmation that Jason is there, which may mean manning cameras twenty-four hours a day on a hillside near Garcia’s estate. We’ve got the necessary credentials in order, including confirmation of the assignment by Parker Publishing in New York, should anyone get snoopy.”
Craig looked up at Randolph. “So say we spot Jason—then what?”
“Then you’ll go in and rescue him.”
Scowling, Craig said, “I don’t do high-risk missions.”
“I know that’s usually the case,” Jake said steadily, “but what you have to understand is that all the high-risk teams are tied up with assignments. We can’t break any of them free. Sabra is a high-risk merc, but her partner isn’t available. You’re the first person to come off the line. We’re sorry about Jennifer’s accident, and I’m sure you’re as upset about her loss as we are. But right now we’re operating under emergency conditions, Talbot, and you’re the only merc we’ve got.”
Craig sat straighter, feeling his gut begin to tighten, a rolling, painful sensation. He wanted to lean forward to ease the pain, but all eyes were on him, the gazes seeming to eat into his raw emotional state. “So, you want to pair me with a high-risk merc for a high-risk mission?”
“If Jason’s there,” Jake said reasonably. “He may not be, and if he isn’t, then this is classified a medium-risk assignment. You may not have to do more than sit on a Hawaiian hillside and watch through a lens. There’s no danger in that.”
“But if we spot the kid, we go in,” Craig persisted.
Jake nodded, watching him warily. “We have grave concerns that Garcia might shoot the kid up with cocaine and hook him on the drug as part of getting even with Morgan. When we rescued Laura, she was drugged so heavily that we nearly lost her. If we hadn’t had an emergency medical team standing by on that Coast Guard cruiser, she would have died. The boy is in danger.”
Running his hand around the smooth surface of the heavy white coffee mug, Craig tried to think coherently. The part of him that wasn’t injured wanted this mission. He’d always had a soft spot for kids. “The son of a bitch shouldn’t be hiding behind a little boy,” he muttered angrily.
“Only a drug dealer would,” Killian intoned.
“Normally,” Jake said, “you don’t interface with drug dealers as the high-risk mercs do, Talbot. Believe me when I tell you from personal experience that Ramirez and his worldwide cartel are just about the worst kind of human beings you’ll ever run into.”
“I’ve had dealings with Garcia,” Sabra interjected, “and he’s like an Israeli viper—lethal.”
Craig looked up at her, surprised by the sudden change in her face from utter serenity and confidence to emotional intensity. She was leaning forward, her elbows on the table. Again he was struck by her beauty, the black hair framing her face to emphasize her slim nose, soft mouth and riveting eyes.
Reluctantly returning his gaze to Randolph, he said, “Who would be in charge of this team?”
“Sabra would.”
Craig frowned.
“She’s got five years of experience on high-risk assignments,” Jake said.
Craig looked at her. “And has she headed up a team before?”
“No,” Sabra said steadily, “I have not.”
“Well, I have.”
“Look,” Jake said more firmly, “Sabra will be in charge. She has knowledge of Hawaii and of high-risk assignments.”
“Then I’m not taking the mission.”
Sabra gasped and stood up. “You’d let the fact of a woman in charge get in the way of a little boy’s life? Where are your morals?”
Craig glared at her. “Lady, my personal integrity is none of your business.” He hated his own icy, defensive tone. If he hadn’t been so tired, so emotionally beaten by the sudden loss of Jennifer, he might have handled this situation better. At least, he wanted to. But, as usual, he was a miserable failure; the thought wounded him as nothing else could. He saw her mouth snap shut, her gray eyes blazing with hurt disbelief. She stood tensely, tall and proud, and he could find nothing to dislike about her, even in her anger and disappointment. Sabra took his breath away, though it panicked him to admit it, even to himself. Why was he turning down the assignment? Fear of dying? Yes. A fear of her? He sighed. Yes. Or, more accurately a fear of himself—his naked, raw response to her. That was the truth, and that was one thing Craig still had; his honesty with himself, even when the truth hurt.
Sabra felt as if she’d been stung. She halted just across from her would-be partner, who glared up at her with a defiance that made her want to slap his insolent face. “Admit it—you don’t like having a woman for a boss,” she challenged.
“That’s part of it.”
Her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. She wanted to hate Craig for his decision. In her book, no one worthy of being called human would turn away from saving a helpless child, whatever the risk. “How can you?’ she demanded. “How can you sit there when there’s a vulnerable boy at the mercy of a bastard like Garcia? Have you no heart? No soul?”
Fury shot through Craig, and he slowly stood, holding her blazing glare. Her cheeks were bright red, flushed with righteous anger. Sabra was at least five feet seven, maybe a little taller, and probably weighed around a hundred and thirty pounds, if he was any judge. She was tall, graceful and defiant. No matter what she did, he couldn’t dislike her. She was too
beautiful, and maybe that would prove to be his Achilles’ heel. “Look,” he rasped unsteadily, “I’m sorry Jason got kidnapped. I don’t like it any more than you do, but—”
“Then come with me on this mission!” Sabra said huskily. “Forget that I’m a woman. Just hold this boy’s plight in front of you and know that you’re doing it for him.”
The urgent plea in her low voice tore at Craig. He could feel it—and see it in her large eyes, her huge black pupils ringed by a thin crescent of gray. She held her hands in front of her, clasped to her small breasts.
He looked away from her. “I’ve never been on a high-risk mission. I’d be a detriment to this assignment, and everyone here knows it,” he said, struggling to keep the bitterness from his tone.
Jake sighed and asked Sabra to sit down, then returned his attention to Craig. “Please take a seat,” he entreated him in turn. “Yes, there are problems in pairing a high-and medium-risk merc. But we don’t have the time to wait for another high-risk team to come in, Talbot. I know it’s not the best of all worlds, but Sabra is right—there’s a little boy who is completely blameless in this whole thing, standing in the middle. Can’t you put aside your personal prejudice for his sake?”
Craig gripped the coffee mug, staring down at the black contents as he mulled over Randolph’s plea.
Sabra sat very still, holding her breath, praying that Talbot wouldn’t take the mission. She knew she could do this on her own, and she would rather work alone than with someone whose priorities were so mixed-up. Yet, as she stared at Talbot’s darkly bearded face, saw his brow kneading, his mouth compressed as if to hold back pain, she recanted her feelings. Despite the aura of animal danger he projected, a part of her wanted him on the mission. The feral quality in his shadowed blue eyes told her he would miss nothing—that he possessed an extraordinary sentience about him that would work in their favor.
Torn, Sabra kept her mouth shut. She wanted to tell him to forget it, to go home and get some sleep. That tomorrow was another day, a safe day. Her heart told her differently. Talbot appeared excruciatingly bare emotionally as he considered Jake’s request. She saw the man in him, the warrior, but she also saw vulnerability. A crazy urge to lean across the table and smooth those rebellious, dark brown strands of hair off his wrinkled brow caught her off guard.
Wrestling with a turmoil of feelings that seemed too much like an out-of-control roller-coaster ride, Sabra stared hard at Craig, hoping to find the reason for her uncharacteristic confusion. She’d never experienced this strange combination of uncertainty, giddiness and challenge. What was going on?
Talbot was obviously exhausted. She saw the darkness beneath his bloodshot eyes, and the way his broad shoulders slumped—shoulders fully capable of carrying very heavy loads.
Forcing herself to disconnect from him emotionally, she looked at him through new eyes. Talbot was at least six feet tall, with a lean, cougarlike body. He was pure muscle, fit and trim. She took in his navy long-sleeved shirt—then suddenly noticed a lot of small scars on his large-knuckled fingers, and some angry pink skin that covered the backs of his hands and disappeared beneath the cuffs, as if he’d been badly burned. As her gaze ranged upward, she saw a sprinkling of dark hair peeking from the neck of his shirt. His masculinity was powerful—and beckoning.
Sabra swallowed and found that her throat was constricted. Talbot wasn’t pretty-boy handsome. But the photo in his file didn’t do him justice, either, because as he sat opposite her, she felt a powerful, swirling energy emanating from him that was utterly masculine—and utterly compelling to her senses as a woman. She was shocked by her unbidden desire to lightly run her fingers across his arm and feel that latent power. Talbot sent her senses spinning as no man had ever done before.
Reeling at that revelation, Sabra sat back in her chair, more confused than ever. What she saw in Craig and what was in his personnel file seemed diametrically opposed. The man sitting here was all-warrior. So why did he take only the lower-risk missions? And something else was missing. Sabra sat up as she realized that it was his confidence. Yes, he looked strong and capable, but he lacked that gleam in his eyes that she’d seen in other warriors—a look of utter assuredness about themselves and their abilities.
She told herself that he had jet lag, and that his partner had just died—enough to snuff out, at least temporarily, any person’s confidence. Sabra knew how close she was to Terry. Had Talbot been that close to Jennifer? Or perhaps emotionally involved on an even deeper, more-personal level? Sabra had heard how from time to time a man-and-woman merc team would fall in love. Studying Talbot, she could understand how any woman might be drawn to his rugged looks and those dark blue eyes that burned with inner torment. Any woman might choose to know him—to explore him like a dangerous hidden treasure.
Finally Killian leaned forward. “I think you have to separate your personal feelings from what’s important, Talbot. The target is a boy. He can’t protect himself. He can’t escape. He’s too young to realize what’s happened. I’m sure he wonders where his father and mother are, but Garcia could lie to him and make him believe anything. If we don’t get someone in there to help Jason, the boy could be lost to us even if he’s allowed to live. I don’t think you want that to happen.”
Sabra released her held breath. She didn’t know Killian very well, but she agreed with his bottom line. This wasn’t about Talbot. He had to look to what was really important: a lone, defenseless five-year-old. She moistened her lips, exchanged glances with Jake, then covertly watched Talbot. His expression had changed instantly with Killian’s statement. The anger in his eyes was doused and replaced with—fear? Sabra started to lean forward, but caught herself, forcing herself to sit back and appear relaxed. She knew the value of body language, and Talbot was feeling penned in anyway, without her silent challenge to hurry up and decide.
But why the instant of fear in his eyes? It seemed an odd response to Killian’s reasonable statement. She saw Craig’s mouth work as his hands caressed the mug in front of him. She had to admit he looked absolutely tortured. But couldn’t he put his personal demons aside for the sake of a little boy? Sabra knew she could. A child in jeopardy spurred her to an instinctive, fierce desire to protect. She had to remind herself that almost any woman would respond similarly because it was genetically programmed into them, while some men, she knew, didn’t care much for children. Was Talbot one of them?
Finally, she could stand the tension and silence no longer. Reaching slowly across the table until her fingers were bare inches from the cup Talbot held, she whispered unsteadily, “This mission is more than that for me, Craig. I helped raise Jason. This is personal. I happened to be coming off a task as Laura gave birth to Jason, and I got to hold him shortly afterward. Over the years, I’ve baby-sat him, and later Katy, their daughter. Jason knows me. He calls me ‘Auntie S’….” Tears stung her eyes, and her voice cracked as she said, “Please, put aside whatever personal feelings you have toward me. Jason is what’s important, not you or me or the ghosts we carry with us.”
Talbot’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Sabra felt the intensity, the heat and the torture instantly as his gaze met and locked with hers. She was shamed by the tears that leaked from her eyes and began to trail down her cheeks, but she no longer cared. “I—I’m begging you, as one human being to another, to come with me on this mission. It’s true, I’ve never led a team, and I’ll value your experience and input. Whatever you have to offer to help us get to Jason.” She stretched her fingers toward him. “Please….”
Shock snaked through Craig as he stared down at her outstretched hand. His throat went dry. His mouth tasted bitter. The instant he looked into her lustrous, tear-filled eyes, it was as if she’d torn a layer out of his heart. He felt her pleading. For two years he had felt little, as if caught in an imprisoning cocoon, cut off from his emotions. But looking at Sabra’s begging eyes, as the deep honey of her voice flowed through him like light in the darkness
of his agonizing existence, seemed to pull him—if only for a moment—out of his personal hell.
He gripped the mug hard, feeling all eyes on him. Sabra’s fingers were long and beautifully shaped, the nails blunt cut and without nail polish. If nothing else, she was herself, and Craig respected that discovery. She was confident enough in herself that she needed little outside adornment, he realized, slowly raising his head. As he met and drowned in her lustrous gaze, he felt such an incredible warmth flow through his heart that it startled him—as if the look in her eyes was capable of melting the glacier of ice he’d been trapped in for so long. The past half hour in this room with her had made him feel like living again, reviving a trickle of hope he’d believed destroyed forever.
Craig had no idea how Sabra had unlocked his heart, but he had to acknowledge that she wielded some kind of power. Did she realize her effect on him? No, not judging from the haunted look in her eyes that tore so effectively at him. Was she using her exotic beauty to persuade him? He didn’t think so. There was nothing coy or flirtatious about Sabra. She was bold and straightforward in a way he could admire—and respect.
More than anything, Craig found her diplomacy appealing. She could have acted like a man and told him that whatever she said went, since she was the leader of the team. Instead, she had appealed to him on a personal level, asking for his help and counsel.
Craig delved deeply into her gray gaze, trying to ferret out her reasons for the diplomatic invitation to share her power. But all he found was grief—a plea for a child’s welfare. His instincts told him she wasn’t the kind of person to put on an act.
“I think,” Jake said, rising slowly, “we ought to leave you two alone for a few minutes.”
The other men rose and left the room. The door shut behind them. Sabra pulled her hand back to her side of the table and sat, watching Craig in the gathering silence. He was burdened by something so terrible that he couldn’t get past it to make a decision. She had no idea where that knowledge came from, but she trusted her senses.
Morgan's Son Page 4
