Shadow Soldier

by Dana Marton

  “Didn’t want to have to fight with you in the middle of a chase.”

  She came to her feet. “You lied?”

  “You should have known better than to start an argument and try to distract me while people were shooting at us.”

  “Of all the highhanded—” She moved toward the back door. As indignation filled her, she didn’t find him nearly as intimidating. “I can walk out of here right now. I don’t need your permission.”

  He threw her a challenging look. “You think you can get through me?”

  Ohh, that did it. “Are you telling me I’m a prisoner and there’s nothing I can do about it?” She welcomed the anger that replaced her earlier mix of confused emotions. She felt much more comfortable being angry at the man than mooning after him.

  “You’re in protective custody. Appreciate it.”

  She stopped and leaned against the wall with her arms folded, noting the small dark triangle of sweat on the back of his shirt. Who the hell did he think he was to order her around?

  His forehead touched his knees with each sit-up, his combat boots planted firmly on the floor. His movements were smooth and efficient; she could almost feel the tightly coiled power in his body. A military man, no doubt, but tougher and older than the Marines who had guarded the embassy in Beijing. She figured him to be in his mid to late thirties.

  “Are you a Navy SEAL?”

  He stopped for a moment and looked at her, his dark eyes assessing, the tone of his voice light when he spoke. “Would that make you more comfortable?”

  “You telling me the truth would make me feel more comfortable.” Although she had less chance of that than a bucket of Häagen-Dazs in hell. That was not how government men operated. Wouldn’t recognize a straight answer if it got elected.

  “I’m whoever you want me to be,” he said, and went back to his workout.

  His fingers linked behind his head, he lowered his upper body to the floor then pulled up twisting his torso to touch his right elbow to the left knee, down to the floor, then back again to touch his left elbow to his right knee. He repeated the exercise over and over again without the slightest sign of strain.

  He was ignoring her. Frustration tightened her jaw. “You sound like a cheap prostitute.”

  She was sick of not being told the truth for her own protection. She had worked hard to get away from the suffocating life she had, courtesy of her father. And now somehow she’d gotten sucked back again.

  Alex sat on his haunches like a jungle cat ready to pounce. His dark gaze held hers, cold and unyielding. “Is that what you want?”

  What was he talking about? She had to search her brain to think what she’d said. God, had she just called him a prostitute? “It’s not what I meant.” She watched, rooted to the spot, as he unfolded his enormous frame and moved toward her.

  And kept moving closer. “I—” She tried to step away, but it was too late. They were nose to chest, an arm braced on either side of her. She couldn’t do anything but stare at the muscles that bulged under his shirt in front of her face. How did he get there so fast?

  “Do you have a problem with me, Nicola?” His voice was velvety smooth.

  She lifted her chin, and their eyes met. Holy Mother and the Trinity. He’s a business opponent, he’s a business opponent, he’s a business opponent. This is a professional discussion.

  “No. Of course not.” She tried to wiggle away. Even in business, there were times when the best course of action was to step back a little.

  His gaze swept her face. He was measuring her up, testing her. She stiffened her spine and gave him a level look. “No problem at all.”

  “Good,” he replied without letting her go. “Because we are going to have to work together.”

  Dear Lord, his lips were close. Great lips, but too close. Not at all what you’d expect in a strictly business-type situation.

  Chapter Three

  She had to focus on something else. Nicola let her gaze slip to his neck, to the tail of what she supposed was a tattoo of a snake disappearing under his shirt. The tail seemed to wiggle with each pulse of the artery underneath and she felt mesmerized by it. She didn’t like snakes. Snakes ate birds, and she loved birds. She was definitely losing her mind.

  “The finches.” She said the first thing she could think of. “They’re all alone.”

  He stepped back.

  “We have to get them. What if the terrorists hurt them?” Now that she thought of it, the possibility horrified her. Would they go that far? If they were willing to kill her, they probably wouldn’t balk at doing in a couple of defenseless birds. “What if they’re kidnapped?”

  He pulled up a black eyebrow and watched her closely as if he were trying to determine whether she was serious. “I don’t think that’s a worry at this stage.”

  “It is for me, damn it! I’m not going to sit here safe and sound while who knows what’s happening to them.”

  A slight grin played on his lips. “Politically motivated assassinations of small birds are a relatively rare occurrence.”

  “I’m not kidding. At the very least, I need to call my friend to go over and get them.”

  He shook his head. “Not a good idea. I don’t want anyone in the house.”

  Right. In case the terrorists were hanging around to blow it up. The thought took a moment or two to digest. Her brain wasn’t used to running along those lines. She had to keep her girlfriend Sheila out of this.

  “I want my babies. My Tweedles need me.” She hung on to the issue, knowing in the back of her mind that she was probably using the birds to take her thoughts—and his—off more immediate things.

  “Tweedles?”

  “Umm…Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.” Shouldn’t have said that. Should have stuck with “birds.” Okay, so they were stupid names, but when she had first gotten the birds from Richard as a surprise present, she had hated them. With time she had grown to love the bickering pair, but by then the names had stuck.

  “Birds are born to survive under rough circumstances. They make it in the wild through periods when there’s no food.” His voice was full of studied patience, almost to the point of sounding gentle. It was scary.

  “Are you crazy? They were born in a cage. Their grandparents’ grandparents were born in a cage. They have no fortitude, they have no instincts. Tweedle Dee once tried to hatch a red peanut M&M for over a month.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.” She wasn’t about to explain the nesting instinct to a man who had so little regard for birds. She had to push him into going somehow. Even if only for a little while, she needed to get out of this house. “I’m going if I have to hitchhike.”

  He shook his head, not at all looking as if he was buying her false bravado. “Listen to me, lady. You are not going. I am not going. We are not going. Understood?”

  “You’re scared?”

  He swore.

  “You don’t think you can protect me? That doesn’t make me feel all that secure, you know. Maybe you should call for backup.” Now that she had miraculously found the strength to stand up to him, she wasn’t about to back down.

  Color crept up his neck to his face.

  “Do you feel incompetent about keeping me safe in general, or only if we have to leave this house for any reason? I’m really not happy about this. I think I need to talk to my father.”

  Not that she would ask her father for a favor in the next hundred years or so, but Alex didn’t have to know that. It seemed important that she regained some semblance of control, that she won at least this one argument.

  The vein in his temple bulged as he reached for his cell phone and dialed.

  “We’re going to need backup.” He listened for a few seconds. “Very funny. The lady wants her damn birds. What’s the earliest you can get someone to the house? Tell them to give me a call when they get there.” Alex closed the phone and clipped it back on his belt. “Anything else you desperately need?”

  She g
ave him a list.

  HE COULD TELL it took all her self-control not to gloat. Smart woman. He respected self-control in anyone. He certainly got to exercise his a lot since he’d been around her. His hands itched to glide over those maddening curves that taunted him with her every move.

  He turned from her to open the fridge, welcoming the cold air that hit his face. Nothing in there but partially used bottles of ketchup and mustard, and a lonely fuzz-covered pickle in a glass jar on the bottom shelf. He went through the cabinets—Ramen noodles, coffee, tea, sugar, powdered milk, a couple of packages of pasta, paper plates and plastic utensils. Looked dismal so far. Then he hit the jackpot. A double-door cabinet full of MREs. He pulled out a pack with beef stew as the main entrée.

  “Would you like one?” He pointed to the stack of boxes.

  “What are they?”

  “Meal ready to eat. Military rations. Beef stew, beef ravioli, black bean and rice burrito, meat loaf, chili with macaroni.” He rattled off a few more options, but she didn’t appear particularly impressed.

  “Anything organic?”

  The worst part was, he knew she wasn’t joking.

  “It’s not gourmet food, but it’ll keep you alive.”

  The expression on her face spoke volumes.

  “If you think this is bad you should have seen the old C-rations.” He made an attempt at joking.

  She showed no sign of appreciation. “No, thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.” He opened the package then ripped the foil open and made a show of eating his stew as if he enjoyed it, even took the time to reconstitute the dessert with some hot water.

  She paged through a stack of old magazines—all on fishing and hunting—on the coffee table, trying not to look at him. He bit back a grin as she failed over and over again. She might have been mad at the sudden turn of events in her life, but she wasn’t about to roll over and play dead. She was wrestling for control with him. Cute, in a futile sort of way.

  She took a deep breath, put on a stern face and set down the magazine she was holding. “When is the reinforcement coming?”

  He took his time chewing and swallowing the stew that had the consistency and flavor of soggy cardboard. “About two hours.”

  The FBI was probably sending a couple of extra agents along with the bomb squad from Washington. In an emergency, his backup would have come from the Newtown Square FBI Field Office, but the finches hardly warranted the rush. A select group at the FBI headquarters who already knew and worked with the SDDU was preferable to bringing new people into the operation.

  Had he needed more substantial help than that, Colonel Wilson might have reassigned other SDDU team members currently on domestic duty, although that would come about only in the direst of circumstances. They were deep undercover in terrorist cells around the country. Pulling them out would have required steep justification.

  But of course, he could tell none of this to Nicola, no matter how desperate she was for information. She would never know about his real life, nor the SDDU, of which only two dozen or so—out of the 112 men and six women—served on domestic duty. The rest were scattered around the world trying to stop terrorists before they reached U.S. soil. He couldn’t wait to get back.

  She cocked her head to the side. “Other than the gym, I haven’t seen you around. Where were you?”

  He could tell her that much. Didn’t see what it could hurt at this point. “Treehouse.”

  She blinked her gorgeous green eyes. “Zak McKenzie’s?”

  He nodded. “Too old for playing fort, too young for necking, too smart for sneaking joints.”

  “He’s a good kid.”

  Better than I was, that’s for sure. Alex finished his meal, down to the nutrition-packed power bar, and tossed the packaging. “Neat treehouse. Whenever I can, I take higher ground. The empty place on your other side was tempting, though. It has air-conditioning.”

  “The Slocskys’? They’re on vacation,” she said. “Who else was watching?”

  “Just me.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  He shrugged, not much bothered by what she believed. “Up until today the case was fairly low priority.”

  If he hadn’t been back in the U.S. anyway, to take some time to regain his strength, the FBI would have probably taken the case. It wasn’t high risk enough for the SDDU to get involved. More than anything, he was there as a favor from the Colonel, who knew how much he would have hated hanging out at the office and had found a low-key assignment for him.

  “No one watched me when you slept? Doesn’t seem like thorough work.” She pursed her generous lips.

  “The security system watched.”

  “I don’t have a security system.”

  “That you know of.” In reality, her house was wrapped in electronics, hooked to his multitasking cell phone that reported any movement on the premises. During the day, she moved around too much for the system to be of any use, but at night the sensors were his eyes and ears, allowing him to rest his own.

  “You put up cameras?” Outrage gave surprising strength to her voice.

  “Sound and motion sensors.”

  She seemed to relax at that. She’d probably been worried that he had spied on her in the shower. He felt a fleeting moment of guilt but shook it off. Not his fault, she should have closed the blinds.

  “Don’t take this as an invasion of privacy. If I hadn’t been watching you, I wouldn’t have been there in the parking lot this morning.”

  A quick succession of emotions flashed through her expressive face, and made him wonder if she was remembering the bullets, the driver of the brown van.

  “You’ll be fine,” he said. He should have been able to find something more intelligent to say, but for the life of him he couldn’t. He hated the sight of her shoulders sagging as she nodded.

  She took a deep breath in a visible effort to pull herself together. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be treating you like a stalker. You were trying to protect me. I mean, you did. You saved my life. Thank you.” She got up and walked over to him, her right hand extended.

  He took it, so surprised at her frankness he forgot to let it go.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been such a witch. I just—I have no idea what’s going on, and I’m not handling it well, am I?”

  “You’re doing okay.” Another brilliant response. He finally regained his equilibrium and released her hand, immediately missing its soft warmth. “You took it better than most.” Not that he knew what other women did in similar situations. Still, she had kept her cool and, aside from demanding the finches, hadn’t been much trouble.

  Of course, the day was far from over. God only knew what awaited them. That reminded him. “I’m gonna run out to the car. I’ll set the alarm behind me. Don’t open any doors or windows. Don’t turn on the lights.”

  “Will we have to stay in the dark when night comes?”

  He nodded from the door. “We’re trying for the abandoned-farmhouse disguise.”

  He disarmed the system, restarted it, then, gun in hand, opened the door. Nothing moved outside. He stepped out and closed the door behind him before the system armed itself, then walked to the barn, careful to keep in the shadows. The phone on his belt vibrated as he was about to open the barn door. He didn’t answer it until he was inside.

  “’T’s up?”

  “The bomb squad cleared the house,” the Colonel said on the other end. “The birds will be on their way momentarily. Anything else you need?”

  “It would be great if they could grab her some clothes and whatever canned food they can find. Make sure it’s organic, although I doubt she has anything else. Oh, yeah, finch food, too, whatever that is. And her electronic organizer and laptop. They’re on the desk in her office.”

  “Comfy mattress? Kitchen sink? Any other amenities you need, Rodriguez?”

  Alex killed the line. Nobody harassed him. Not even the Colonel.

  NICOLA LOOKED OVER the MREs. Probably sound nutriti
onally, but she didn’t even want to think about the amount of preservatives that must be in each package. Not to mention the calories, designed to fuel the bodies of veritable fighting machines.

  She closed the cabinet door as Alex came in carrying a large duffel bag. He set it on the kitchen table and unpacked a pair of gas masks, the sight of which made her stomach lurch. Then came a couple of hand grenades and several rounds of ammunition, night-vision equipment—at least that’s what she thought it was—and a jumble of electronic equipment she didn’t recognize.

  Everything in the pile was there to protect her. Still, the sight of the stuff made her nervous because it suggested they might need those things. She crossed her arms as she watched him pull something else from a side pocket—a small piece of plastic the size and color of a chick pea, and a short unisex hemp necklace with three wooden-looking beads woven into the design.

  He held them out in his palm for her. “Let’s get you wired.”

  She cast him a dubious look.

  He pointed at the chick pea. “Ear piece.” Then at the necklace. “Microphone.”

  “Oh.” Was he worried that something would happen and they’d get separated?

  “I’ll help you put them on.”

  She wanted to protest, but it was probably a good idea to let him. With her luck, she would have done something backward and then it wouldn’t have worked when she needed it. God, she hoped things wouldn’t come to that.

  She pulled the hair back from her right ear, and he leaned closer to slide the chick pea in. It felt cold at first, but as it took up her body temperature, she barely felt it at all. She turned and held her hair up, away from her neck. Alex’s knuckles brushed against her nape as he fastened the necklace. It seemed to take forever. She could feel his warm breath on her exposed skin. A tingling sensation skittered through her body.

  And still he wasn’t done. He probably wanted to make sure the clasp was secure. His nearness frazzled her. The man had his own force field. She felt zapped every time he came close. “Is something wrong with it?”