Assuming she lived.
Marcus looked down at the smirking publicity still and up at his commander. Id like to request two weeks personal leave, sir. Effective immediately.
Granted. Woods smiled. Theres a C-130 prop transport taking off for Gaeta at nineteen-hundred hours. Assuming you can be ready to leave tonight.
Tonight was good. The sooner the better.
Marcus just hoped it would be soon enough.
It was too soon to know.
The limo pulled away from the gray-and-white edifice of the National Assembly in Belagna. Red roofs flashed in the hot sun. The narrow streets were bright with flower boxes and kiosk signs, noisy with scooter motors and bicycle bells.
In the cool, closed interior of the car, Samantha leaned back against the cushioned headrest and shut her eyes, holding the silence inside her like a secret.
Did she even want to know? Maybe it was better to hope. And plan. And dream
Madam Ambassador? Maam?
She blinked, disoriented. She must have fallen asleep.
Her driver raised his voice. Were here, maam. Do you need any assistance?
She tightened her grip on her briefcase and her dignity, and smiled at the young marine holding open her limo door. She was so tired lately.
And she still had to get through the party tonight. Ostensibly, the two hundred thirty-nine guests had been invited to toast her official confirmation as United States ambassador to the Republic of Delmonico. But the real purpose of the evening was to wine, dine and flatter the accords supporters in the National Assembly. Thankfully, the bulk of the preparations had fallen on Nancy Vander-court, Samanthas steel-willed, iron-haired social secretary. But Samantha was the one who would be judged by the success of the evening. And the evenings success depended on more than the food or the flowers or the band. It depended on Samanthas ability to charm, to connect, to observe and to communicate with her guests.
She needed a nap.
She trudged up the stairs and crossed the marble foyer, stepping out of the way of a junior staffer wheeling a potted orange tree into the ballroom. With appreciation, she noted the sparkling crystal drops on the chandeliers, the fresh flower arrangements on the tables.
Philip and Nancy pounced as she approached her suite on the second floor.
Maam, if you could sign this
Maam, would you approve this.
Maam, do you want this
She signed, approved, excused, dismissed. Then she opened the door to her suite with a sense of escape, unbuttoned her jacket with a sigh of relief.
And whirled, her heart pounding in her chest, as a voice rumbled from the direction of her French windows.
Youve got to be more careful, babe. The security in this place sucks.
She looked good.
Yeah, good and scared.
And maybe in the back of his mind, in some shadowed corner of his soul, he wanted to scare her. Maybe that was why hed climbed to her room like a thief, like an assassin, testing the limits of the embassys security and his own hearts defenses. Testing the limits of her trust.
But after that one second of shock, when her eyes went wide and her face went white, she whispered his name. Marcus?
Her hand went to her heart. She said it again, louder. Marcus.
And then, before he could apologize, before he could begin to retreat or explain, she flew across the room and flung herself in his arms.
She was smiling, crying, touching him, his chest, his shoulders, his face. Youre here. Marcus, Im so glad youre here.
She embraced him like a wife, like a sweetheart waiting for her sailor lover after a six-month tour at sea.
It was the welcome hed watched and never had.
The acceptance hed yearned for and never felt.
The love hed craved and never expected.
It washed his disciplined, lonely soul and flooded his aching, empty heart. He could no more resist her than the restless tide could resist the pull of the moon.
Wrapping his arms around her, he buried his face in her hair.
Samantha felt his surrender. It thrilled her. She held him tight with both hands, trying to reassure herself that he was safe, that he was here, that he was hers.
She had thoughtfearedthat his pride and guilt would combine to keep him away. She hadnt reckoned on the power of her love and the force of his need. She felt him pulse against her, heard the ragged rasp of his breath and the pounding of her own heart. Love and need coupled and twined inside her. She threaded her fingers with his and drew him toward the bed.
Nice bed. His voice was husky.
It was a great bed, a square four-poster from the seventeenth century with white silk hangings and a white down duvet like a cloud. But she would have taken him on the floor of Jimmys barn.
Im glad you like it. She tugged on his shirt.
I didnt come here for this.
Her hands stilled. His skin was so warm under her hands. His breath shuddered in and out.
Why did you come? she asked.
I forget. His smile almost crept into his eyes. When you touch me, I forget my name.
Ill have to keep touching you, then, she whispered, and did.
She twined her arms around his neck. She sought his mouth with hers. His kiss was hard and deep, but his hands trembled. He skimmed his wide palms up her back, slipped the jacket from her arms and the skirt from her hips. She didnt feel tired anymore, or nauseated or lonely or afraid. All she felt, all she wanted, was him.
They sank onto the mattress. Outside the high double doors that protected her suite, she heard music playing, a vacuum humming, the clink of glassware and a murmured instruction. Inside, there was only this. Only him, moving over her and then inside her, hot and urgent.
She cried out, it was so lovely, and he kissed her to keep her quiet. He covered her with his incredible body, filling her with his power, sheltering her with his strength. Pleasure coiled deep within her. Her breathing hitched, and her heart pounded. He was moving inside her, thick and slow, and the intimacy of it, the intensity of it, reached along all her nerves and shattered her. She cried out once more and felt him shake with his own release.
When Samantha pulled herself togetherhow many minutes later? two? twenty?she was draped over Marcus like a wet sheet.
I told you security sucked. He sounded disgusted. You screamed and nobody came.
She smiled against his hard, damp chest. You did.
But he was not amused. Besides me.
She pushed her hair out of her eyes, trying to gauge his mood. Thats probably a good thing. It would have been awkward if half a dozen marines burst into the room and I had to explain what you were doing here.
I think they could have figured out what I was doing here, he said grimly.
It still would have spoiled the mood.
Sudden, silent laughter expanded his chest. His arms tightened around her. Yeah.
She rubbed her cheek against his warm, hair-roughened skin. His heartbeat was sure and strong. Marcus?
He st
roked her back. Yeah?
What are you doing here?
I came to protect you.
It wasnt the answer she wanted. Not all of the answer.
Why?
Two days ago German police photographed a man who could be Jerry Baxter at an airport in Munich. Thats less than two hundred miles from here.
She raised her head from his chest. Is that your only reason?
He held her gaze for several long seconds. A muscle worked in his jaw. It ought to be.
Her throat closed. She swallowed. You know, one of these days youre going to figure out you could offer me a lot more than protection.
No, he said. I cant.
Why not?
He didnt answer her directly. Did Jake Ingram tell you about me? About us?
About Code Proteus? She waited until Marcus nodded before she said, Yes.
They were lying naked, pressed together, but she already felt him drawing away from her, retreating into himself.
So you know Im a freak. I have freak genes.
Her heart stuttered. You have normal genes. Maybe the way they were put together wasnt completely conventional, but
You can say that again.
But you had a mother and a father. Siblings. Marcus
My birth name is Mark. I just found that out. About the same time I found out that Im genetically manipulated and hypnotically controlled. Kind of makes me a bad relationship risk.
But with deprogramming
Deprogramming can counteract the effects of indoctrination. In my case, my hypnotic trigger. It cant predict how Ill react in any given situation. And it doesnt change my genetic makeup.
Fear churned under her breastbone. Whats wrong with your genetic makeup?
Im different. Any child I could have might be different, too.
Faster? Stronger?
Different, he insisted.
Special.
Not normal.
She sat up, the sheet sliding down her naked back. She watched his gaze darken as he looked at her breasts, and was fiercely glad. She was fighting this battle with every weapon at her disposal.
You want to be normal? Why? Youre a U.S. Navy SEAL. You think normal people make choices like that? You think your average guy just waltzes through BUD/S? Or do you think you have to have something extra? Not superhuman strength or speed, but loyalty and courage and honor and heart. Commitment. Those things may make you different, Marcus, but they dont make you a bad relationship risk.
He cupped the back of her head with his hand and drew her down to him. He kissed her, with need and sweetness. But he didnt answer her. He didnt believe her.
Hope struggled with panic in her chest. Maybe in time
Oh, Lord, the time.
She bolted upright. What time is it?
He narrowed his eyes. About twenty-hundred hours. Why?
I have a party. Theres a party at the embassy. Tonight. At nine.
Youre kidding, right?
No. I know the timing is inconvenient
The timing stinks. Didnt you hear what I said about Baxter? He could be out there gunning for you.
Oh, I dont think so. Samantha slid out of bed. Nancy Vandercourt went over the guest list very carefully.
Marcus scowled. Honey, this guy infiltrated the State Departments Bureau of Diplomatic Security. Hes not going to have a real hard time crashing your little party.
Eighteen
T he party was on. Marcus understood that neither the hospitality of the United States nor the arrangements of Nancy Vandercourt yielded to the threat of terrorism.
Samantha was on. What had she said when hed kidnapped her weeks ago? I am willing to assume the risks of my job. Just as you are willing to assume the risks of yours. Okay. He could accept that, too.
But he didnt have to like it.
Before she went downstairs, stunning and composed in a floor-length blue silk gown and full ambassador mode, Samantha tried to reassure him. Im not being careless. We have four DS agents, a detachment of marines and half the Delmonican police force providing security this evening.
Marcus didnt remind her that hed gotten by all of them, undetected, to reach her room. Scaring her wouldnt help her do her job. But it sure as hell motivated him to do his.
While Samantha dressed, he made copies of both Baxter photos and distributed them to embassy security. He got a copy of the guest list from Nancy Vandercourt and asked Philip to check off the name of every guest he wasnt able to vouch for personally.
As limos began to pull up to the compound walls, Marcus faxed that list to Jimmy. He hung his uniform in the bathroom to get the wrinkles out while he showered. Dried, dressed, armed and prepared, he left the residence suite.
The marine guard posted outside the door smirked when he saw him coming out of the ambassadors room. How do you like Delmonico, Lieutenant?
Marcus flashed the kid a look that wiped the smile from his face and made him snap to attention. Beats Baghdad for duty, he replied pleasantly. Doesnt it.
Sir, yes, sir.
Satisfied that one mouth at least wouldnt be yapping in the mess tonight, Marcus made his way down the broad staircase.
But the exchange made him think. He was living in the ambassadors house now. He was sleeping in her bed. Somebody was going to notice. Somebody was going to talk.
Did his presence compromise her mission? Would their involvement hurt her?
He would give his life to protect her. But death might be preferable to the fishbowl of embassy existence.
Then he got another look at her under the full glow of the chandeliers, as sparkling as the other womens diamonds, as smooth and gleaming as the pearls at her own ears.
She took his breath away.
She smiled as she saw him coming down the stairs, and it wasnt the warm, polite curve of her lips every other guy got, either. It was her hello, sailor grin, the one that made him shove his hands into his uniform pockets to keep from grabbing her. If she smiled at him like that, it didnt matter how much he glowered at baby-faced marines, people were going to talk.
The idea didnt bother him as much as it should have.
Having a good time? she asked as he reached her.
Absolutely, he lied.
She rewarded him with another smile and turned to greet some short, bearded diplomat with a ribbon across his chest.
And actually, Marcus thought later as he prowled the perimeter of the room, it wasnt so bad for a black-tie-and-champagne affair. Hed grown up with wealth. He respected the rituals of protocol, even if he was more familiar with the military kind. The women were easy on the eye, in the way of women who had the money to make the most of their looks, and some of the men werent boring.
He scanned the room again, looking for anythinga package, a sudden movement, an expressionthat could signal danger. Looking for Baxter. The womens
gowns swayed in time to the music. The curtains framing the French doors rippled in the breeze. Marcus watched while a pretty blonde retrieved her purse from a table, tensed when a stiff-faced officer on the terrace reached for a cigar. A waiter dropped a fork and was practically wrestled to the ground by an overzealous security agent.
Marcus grinned as the luckless waiter bolted for the kitchen and the agent straightened his jacket.
The crowd cleared for a moment, giving Marcus a good view of Samantha on the other side of the room standing withWho was that guy? He was leaning forward, like he was really interested in what she was saying, and looking down the front of her dress. Marcus started toward them.
Movement registered in the corner of his vision, at the edge of the dance floor. Another figure moving toward Samantha, gliding through the crowd.
Marcus turned his head and lengthened his stride, trying to get a step ahead of the guy to get a look at his face. There was nothing suspicious about him; he was just another paunchy, gray-haired diplomat in a monkey suit, with his hand under his jacket like Napoleon.
Or a killer reaching for his gun.
There was barely time to observe. No time to evaluate. No time to intervene.
In one smooth move, in three short seconds, the guest withdrew his hand from his jacket, pointed a gun at Samanthas head and fired.
Samantha spotted Marcus cutting across the ballroom, and her heart skipped in pleased anticipation. Her womb quickened. Among the black-clad men and gorgeously gowned women, he sailed like a great white swan through a flock of geese and ducks.
And wouldnt he be annoyed, she thought, amused, to be compared to a swan?
And then he took off. With incredible speed, he sprintedno, he flewtoward her. And stopped five yards away.
Family Secrets: Books 5-8 Page 22
