MURDOCK'S LAST STAND

by Beverly Barton

  And of course, there was Ellen, who was an enigma. Ultra feminine. Beautiful face. Built like a brick outhouse. Yet tough, shrewd and a match for any man.

  When Jack proposed a final toast, this one to the lovely Ellen, Murdock lifted his beer mug and joined in the good-natured fun. Despite her knockout good looks, Ellen fit in with the crowd of macho men as if she were one of them. She could outdrink, outcuss and outsmart every last one of them and they all knew it.

  Murdock had learned about Dundee's from an old buddy, Gabriel Hawk, who had once been a freelance CIA operative and with whom Murdock had occasionally worked on assignments, especially in the Caribbean and Central and South America. He and Hawk spoke Spanish like natives.

  Hawk had left the agency after marrying his last assignment, a former missionary who had tamed one of the baddest of the bad boys when she landed Hawk. Murdock never thought he'd live to see the day a woman would be able to wrap Hawk around her little finger. He'd been wrong.

  Murdock had been kicked more than once where it hurt, the first time as a teenager, the last time as a grown man who should have known better. After Barbara, a society beauty who'd used him for "a walk on the wild side", he'd sworn off relationships.

  With the check paid and the last round of beers drunk, the agents began milling around the room, shaking hands and saying their good-nights. Murdock enjoyed a social occasion from time to time, but usually he preferred the solitude of his loft apartment in an old renovated building. Sometimes Cassidy would drop by for a game of pool or several of the guys would come over for poker, but the rest of his free nights, Murdock spent alone. He liked to read, a passion of his since childhood. And sometimes, when he had the urge, he'd find himself a willing woman. One who didn't mind that he'd leave afterward, long before daylight, and probably wouldn't call her for a second date.

  As they headed out the door, Murdock laid his hand on Cassidy's back. "I hear you got stuck with teaching the ropes to the new Dundee recruits."

  "Yeah, I drew the short straw."

  Cassidy grinned, something Murdock had seldom seen the man do in all the years he'd known him. Cassidy was a somber man, with some sort of demon chasing him.

  "You on for pool tonight?" Murdock asked.

  "Not tonight," Cassidy replied, the smile still in place. "I have all-night plans with a lady."

  "A lady, huh? Well, be careful, Bubba. Ladies are the most dangerous kind of female known to man."

  "Speaking from experience?"

  "A gentleman never gets kicked where it hurts and tells." Murdock slapped Cassidy on the back as the two men chuckled.

  The cool autumn air hit Murdock the minute he stepped out onto the Atlanta street. He threw up his hand to wave goodbye to Cassidy and the others, then headed for his Camaro.

  The drive home to Locklin Street

  took less than fifteen minutes. He parked the Z28 in the tenants' garage that took up the entire ground level of the old building. Besides his loft apartment, there were four other apartments below him, two each on the second and third floors. Using the service elevator, which none of the other residents used, Murdock headed upward. The moment he emerged from the elevator, a sense of unease hit him square in the gut. He lifted his jacket back over the hip holster and unbuckled the flap. He hadn't lived forty-six years, most of it in life-threatening situations, without acquiring a keen instinct for danger.

  "No need to draw your weapon," the familiar voice said.

  Recognizing the voice, Murdock released a tightly indrawn breath and turned to face his former CIA contact. "What the hell are you doing here, Burdett?"

  After glancing around at the darkened corridor, Burdett nodded toward the door of Murdock's apartment. "I just drove over from Huntington, Tennessee, and I've been waiting for you here nearly an hour. Before we talk, I need to see a man about a dog and then I wouldn't object to a drink or two."

  Murdock chuckled as he unlocked the door and ushered Burdett inside the open expanse of his private domain. After flipping a light switch that controlled the recessed wall fixtures and illuminating the huge living room, he locked the door behind them.

  "Bathroom's through those double louvered doors." Murdock used his thumb to point the direction. "Jack Daniel's is all I'm drinking these days."

  "Fine with me. Make mine neat."

  While he prepared the drinks and waited for Burdett to emerge from the john, Murdock wondered why a CIA Deputy Director was paying him a nighttime visit. He hadn't seen or heard from Rick Burdett in nearly two years.

  When Burdett came out of the bathroom, he glanced around the apartment, his gaze taking leisurely note of everything from floor to ceiling. "Don't tell me you decorated this place yourself."

  "All right, I won't tell you." Murdock handed Burdett his whiskey. "So, are you going to tell me what you're doing here or are we going to play nice-nice all night?"

  Burdett took a sip of the liquor, then without invitation, sat on the tan leather sofa that rested on the wooden floor, squarely in the middle of the large room.

  "Lanny McCroskey is alive."

  "What?" Murdock felt as if he'd been hit on the head with a sledgehammer.

  "Lanny didn't die twenty years ago the way we thought he did, the way you said he did." Burdett took another sip of whiskey. "We figure he was wounded. Hurt pretty bad. But he lived, God bless his damned soul. He's spent the past twenty years in a Zarazaian prison."

  "How do you know? Hell, don't answer that! Just tell me if you're sure. One hundred percent sure."

  Rick Burdett pulled a photograph from his coat pocket and handed it to Murdock. "This was taken less than a week ago."

  Murdock studied the snapshot of a skinny, old, gray-haired man. If not for the eyes, he wouldn't have recognized his former sergeant. "God! He'd have been better off if he'd died."

  "Have you been keeping up with the latest news on the Zarazaian civil war?"

  "Yeah. I know Juan Sabino's kid has taken over where his old man left off and he's whipping Ramos's ass."

  "Ramos is preparing for the worst and he wants to make sure that if he has to abdicate his position, he can take as much money with him as possible. He's asking $100,000 in exchange for Lanny."

  "Jeez!" A hundred thousand was a lot, but by cashing in some bonds, emptying his savings and, if necessary, selling his new Camaro, he could scrape up the cash. "I can get my hands on that much, but it could take me several days."

  "Lanny's daughter has the cash and she's willing to pay for his release."

  "Lanny's daughter?" Murdock frowned, remembering. "Oh, yeah. He talked about her all the time. Her and her mother. He really cared about his ex-wife and about his kid, too. So, the girl's all right, huh, if she's willing to help—"

  "Catherine Price is no girl," Burdett said. "She's thirty-six, a widow and was reluctant at first to even talk to me about her father."

  "Thirty-six. Damn. Guess I still thought of her as a young girl."

  "Here's the deal," Burdett said, as if he didn't want to waste any more time. "Ramos is demanding the money in cash."

  Murdock let out a long, low whistle. "That's a lot of money for one of your men to carry around in a briefcase all the way to Zaraza."

  "There's a bigger problem. One of my men won't be taking the money. Catherine Price will be."

  "Why the blue blazes would you—"

  "Ramos's stipulation. He's demanded Lanny's daughter bring it herself. For each prisoner, Ramos has asked that a specific family member bring the ransom money. He's a wily old fox trying to cover his ass by not getting any governments directly involved in the exchange." Burdett paused momentarily, but when Murdock didn't respond, he continued. "I told Ms. Price that you would accompany her to San Carlos for the exchange. She'll arrive tomorrow evening, escorted by one of our agents, who will turn her and the hundred thousand over to you."

  "I don't like it. Taking Lanny's daughter into that cesspool. The last thing he'd want would be for that girl of his to put her li
fe in danger to save him."

  "She's going to Zaraza to get her father out of prison. She's the type of woman who's doing this because it's the honorable thing to do, not because she loves Lanny. But regardless of her motivation, she needs a bodyguard. I was sure you'd want to be her protector."

  "What time does her flight arrive?"

  "Five-thirty." After finishing off his whiskey, Burdett set the glass on a brown marble coaster that rested on the big, square, oak coffee table. "You two will fly straight to Peru day after tomorrow. Arrangements have been made to then take you and Ms. Price, by private plane, directly into San Carlos. One of our contacts will meet you at the airport down there."

  "And I suppose since she'll have cash on her, Ms. Price will be under my protection from the moment she arrives tomorrow. Which means Lanny's daughter will be staying here with me until our flight for Peru."

  "Yeah. And you better roll out the red carpet while she's here. Catherine Price is the type of woman who expects first-class treatment. She's a thoroughbred. A Southern lady, through and through."

  "Just like her mother." Murdock remembered how Lanny had gone on and on about his Mae Beth. She's too good for me, he'd said. Don't know what a lady like her ever saw in an ole Tennessee hillbilly like me. But damn if she didn't love me as much as I loved her.

  "You knew Lanny's ex-wife?" Burdett asked.

  "I met her once. After I came back from Zaraza. I went to see her, to tell her about Lanny's last day. And about how much he still cared about her and their child. She didn't shed a tear, but I could tell she was hurting bad. My guess is that she still cared about him, too. Maybe when Lanny comes back, the two of them can—"

  "Mrs. McCroskey died nine years ago."

  "Then Catherine is all Lanny has left." Murdock sighed. With a look of resolve he said, "You can be damned sure I'll take good care of her."

  * * *

  Catherine scanned the airport crowd, searching for Murdock. Although she knew the agent who'd accompanied her would know Murdock on sight, she wondered if she could pick him out from all the other men. A former mercenary. A man like her father, to whom killing was second nature. Surely, that kind of life would show on his face.

  Placing his hand under her elbow, the young agent urged her forward. "There he is," Agent Hendricks said.

  "Where?" Catherine asked.

  "Straight ahead, on the left."

  A dozen men waited for disembarking passengers. After surveying several, her gaze halted on one man. She instinctively recognized Aloysius Murdock. A knot of apprehension formed in the pit of her stomach. And a purely feminine unease settled deep within her. He was everything she had expected. And everything she had feared. Big. Burly. Indeed, a mountain of a man, with enormous shoulders and huge arms. He stood at least six foot six, towering over the others. And there was a world-weary look in his hazel brown eyes as their gazes locked. A shudder rippled through her at his intense scrutiny. And she realized in that one instant that the man who was going to be her bodyguard on a trip into hell had recognized her just as she had him—instinctively.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  He would have known her anywhere. Could have picked her from a lineup of a hundred women. She had class written all over her. Catherine Price might as well have had twenty-two Karat Gold stamped on her forehead. She was the genuine article. He had known enough women in his time to recognize a real lady when he saw one. He remembered Lanny saying his little girl was beautiful, just like her mama, but he hadn't paid much attention to a father's praise of his only child. Murdock had no idea what she'd looked like as a kid, but Lanny's little girl had grown up to be one fine-looking woman.

  Her gaze met his and locked instantly. An odd sensation hit Murdock in the gut, as if a hard fist had knocked the air out of him. Her blue eyes, so much like her father's held him spellbound for a split second. She tilted her head, and he noted an air of snobbery in her expression, as if she'd just encountered something unpleasant and couldn't quite figure out the mannerly way to react. With mixed emotions bombarding him, he shook off the crazy feelings swirling around inside him and marched forward to meet Lanny's daughter.

  Agent Hendricks, carrying a briefcase manacled to his wrist, followed Catherine's quick steps as she headed straight toward Murdock. He realized that, without introductions, she knew exactly who he was. She'd recognized him instantly, as he had her.

  When she drew nearer, he noticed how tall she was, a good six feet in her sensible two-inch navy heels. And although she was trim in her simple navy suit, her hips and breasts were rounded nicely, accentuating her tiny waist. Her shiny brown hair was secured in a large, neat bun at the base of her neck. A pair of large gold hoops shimmered in her earlobes and a heavy gold bracelet dangled on her left wrist.

  "Mr. Murdock?" she inquired as she paused directly in front of him.

  "Just Murdock, Ms. Price."

  Agent Hendricks stepped in front of Catherine and extended his hand. "Brian Hendricks," he introduced himself. "As soon as I see your ID, I can hand Ms. Price and her briefcase—" he lifted his wrist to display the brown leather satchel "—over to you. Just standard procedure."

  Murdock whipped out his Dundee's identification badge. Hendricks inspected the ID quickly.

  "You have the key, don't you, sir?" Hendricks asked.

  Swallowing hard as she broke eye contact with Murdock, Catherine watched his huge hand as it delved into his pocket and produced the handcuff key. Then hurriedly, she rummaged in her purse for the key to the briefcase, wanting to make sure it was safe.

  "Is that the key to the briefcase?" Murdock asked.

  "What?" Momentarily flustered, Catherine hesitated before she replied. "Yes. Why?"

  Without asking permission or making any comment, Murdock took the key from her. His big, callused fingertips brushed over the soft, smooth flesh of her palm. She sucked in a deep breath at the contact.

  "Better let me keep that." He realized that she'd felt it, too. That electrical current snapping between them at a mere touch. Damn! He didn't like this. The last thing he had expected was to be attracted to Lanny's daughter.

  Catherine glowered at him, but didn't respond.

  Hendricks cleared his throat. Murdock hurriedly uncuffed the man and took possession of the briefcase containing a hundred thousand dollars in U.S. bills.

  "Good luck, Ms. Price," Hendricks said.

  "Thank you." Catherine extended her hand to the agent.

  The minute Hendricks took her hand in his, the urge to grab her away from the drooling boy made Murdock act hastily. Without so much as a goodbye, he slid his arm around Catherine's waist and drew her to his side. She tensed immediately and released Hendricks's hand. Before she could voice a protest, Murdock maneuvered her around swiftly and headed her toward the baggage claims area.

  "I don't think it's necessary for you to manhandle me, Mr. Murdock!" Catherine pulled away from him and stopped dead still.

  Oh, but that was where she was wrong, he thought. You started out with a woman the way you intended to go. Catherine needed to realize that, from here on out, he was running the show.

  "I didn't realize I was manhandling you. I saw no reason to prolong your goodbyes to Agent Hendricks." Murdock took a couple of steps forward, then paused when he noticed Catherine hadn't moved. "The sooner we get you and this briefcase out of the airport, the better."

  She moved then, quickly and straight to his side. "You don't honestly think I'm in any danger here in the Atlanta airport, do you?"

  Murdock placed his arm around her again. This time she didn't protest and fell into step beside him.

  "You're safe, as long as you're with me."

  "Confident, aren't you, Mr. Murdock?"

  "Just Murdock, Catherine."

  He grinned when he felt her flinch at his use of her given name. Surely she didn't expect him to call her Ms. Price. He wasn't one of her students and he sure as hell wasn't one of the refin
ed Southern gentleman she dated.

  He liked the fact that she was tall. Most women barely came to his shoulder, even in heels. But standing only six inches shorter than he, Catherine could look him square in the eye. Close enough to spit, he thought. And something told him that during this trip together, the time might come when she'd do just that—spit in his eye! Catherine might have been raised to be a lady by her Southern belle mother, but there had to be something of Lanny in her. Some streak of wildness. He'd bet his last dollar that a hot-blooded woman was hidden beneath that cool, controlled facade.

  At the baggage claim, she pointed out her black suitcase and Murdock lifted it quickly, then hurried her out of the airport and to his car.

  On the drive to Murdock's apartment, their conversation consisted of such mundane matters as the details of their 8:00 am flight to Peru and the weather. When the silence between them reached the awkward stage, Murdock turned on the radio, setting the dial to a jazz and blues station. A mournful voice sang about love, loss and heartbreak.

  Occasionally Catherine stole quick glances at Murdock's chiseled profile. Hard chin and jaw. Clean shaven, with only a hint of a light aftershave. Short, neat, dark-brown hair. Confined alone with him in the small quarters of the car's interior, she felt overwhelmed by his massive size. Aloysius Murdock was huge. And every ounce was pure muscle.

  He was a much larger man than her father, who, although tall, had been lanky. But the aura of danger and power that surrounded Murdock reminded her of Lanny McCroskey. She had adored her big, macho father, even though she'd seen little of him during her young life. He had called her his kitten and even after the divorce, he had remembered her with expensive birthday presents, Christmas gifts and occasional phone calls. She had tried to hate him, had pretended that she never wanted to see him again, but when the news came that he'd been killed in Zaraza, she had mourned his death. Even now, after twenty years, she had conflicting feelings about the man who had fathered her. She both hated and loved him. But despite everything, she was willing to pay a hundred thousand dollars and perhaps risk her life to save him.