by Cassie Miles
“You’re joking.”
“Hey, partner. You know me better than that.”
Yes, she did. Trevor wasn’t a man who wasted time with cornball jokes. When he said he was going to do something, it usually happened.
“A helicopter?” Zipping to Horton on a chopper seemed like an alien concept in this land of horses, cowboys and rugged outdoors. But she was definitely up for the ride. “I’ve never been in one before. But, wow! I’d love it.”
Being with Trevor was one unexpected adventure after another. As they walked toward the porch, a giddy excitement churned inside her. Ever since he’d ridden into her life on his dappled mustang stallion, things were different. Definitely better. He had pulled her out of a humdrum life of boring jobs and lonely nights. They had a mission, a purpose. It was fun to be on the side of the good guys.
Inside the headquarters, the mood was less cheerful. At a table near the dartboard, the handsome Riley Watson conversed quietly with Joseph Brown, the tracker who apparently had a crush on Princess Veronika of Lukinburg. He’d crossed paths with Prince Nikolai’s beautiful younger sister a few times during the course of their investigation in to the Militia escape. The other men teased him unmercifully about his royal “girlfriend.”
Tony Lombardi from the Bronx, and Mike Clark, who was quiet and smart, frowned at the wide-screen television, where a news commentator was discussing the ramifications of the terrorist attack on the Galleria.
Tony gave her a nod. “Hey, Brooklyn. How are you doing?”
“Not bad for somebody who just got back from the Fortress.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“You bet.”
“Any word on Murphy?” Trevor asked.
“He’s stable,” Mike Clark said quietly. “Off the respirator but still in the hospital. The docs don’t know how badly the exposure to potassium cyanide will affect him. It could screw up his vision.”
“Damn,” Trevor muttered.
His broad shoulders tightened, and she could feel the tension and sadness radiating from him. She glanced around the room. All these men were wound tight. Cameron Murphy was more than their former commanding officer. He was their leader, their hero, the man they looked up to.
“Mia is keeping us posted,” Tony said.
Sierra hadn’t met Cameron’s wife, Mia, or his four-year-old daughter, Olivia. Apparently, the bounty hunters’ headquarters was usually a female-free zone.
“Where’s Powell?” Trevor asked. “We want to use the chopper.”
“Not today.” Riley Watson left the table and sauntered up beside them. “Powell is working with the feds on aerial surveillance. They’re looking for signs of the Militia. After they made their escape from the Galleria, they disappeared like phantoms. Vanished.”
“There’s nothing to track,” Tony said.
“Nothing at all,” Joseph echoed.
A frustrated silence fell over the room, and Sierra pressed her lips together, holding back her inappropriate excitement about riding in a helicopter and chasing the bad guys. It was going to take more than a grin and a chuckle to cut through this morose mood.
On the television, a panel of experts discussed the worldwide war on terrorism, comparing the Militia assault in Montana with ongoing terrorist activity in the Middle East, Russia and Lukinburg.
On the TV, a heavyset man in a dark suit said, “Though the Galleria assault was not part of a larger plot, there are similarities. The despicable targeting of innocent victims. The sophisticated weaponry. The insistence upon making a statement.”
“Are you suggesting a link?” the commentator asked. “Do you believe the Montana Militia is a terrorist cell?”
“Not at all. But their techniques are—”
“They need to be stopped.” A uniformed general with a chestful of ribbons weighed in to the discussion. “All terrorism. Everywhere. It needs to be stopped.”
“Prince Nikolai Petrov of Lukinburg has requested aid from the United Nations and the United States.”
“And he will get it,” the general said.
“A preemptive strike?”
The general lowered his voice. “If the decision was up to me, I’d use an assault team. Skilled and highly trained.”
Tony talked back to the television screen. “You said it, General. Send in the Special Forces.”
“Damn straight.” Joseph Brown strode toward the television. “Send us. We’re ready.”
“I know why you want to go to Lukinburg,” Tony teased. “To impress Princess Veronika.”
“That’s got nothing to do with the way I feel about terrorists.” Joseph scowled. “I can’t even think about that sweet gentle lady at the same time I’m—”
“Quiet!” Riley snapped. He pointed to the television screen. “The general is sending a message. I’ll bet there’s already an operation under way. Special Forces is going in.”
Just as he got their attention, the news program concluded, and a commercial about laundry detergent flashed across the wide-screen TV.
Riley turned toward them. “Mark my words, gentlemen. A skilled and highly trained military team is going to Lukinburg to eliminate the terrorist threat.”
“It ought to be us,” Joseph said with a quiet vehemence that was more intense than a shout.
The barely suppressed rage of the bounty hunters simmered, at the edge of a boil. The temperature in the room seemed to rise by several degrees. In the stone fireplace, the burning logs snapped and crackled. Sierra drew closer to Trevor, instinctively seeking shelter.
Mike hit the mute button on the remote before he turned toward them. “Gentlemen, we need to take it down a notch. We’re no longer in Special Forces. We’re bounty hunters.”
“Once a soldier,” Joseph said, “always a soldier.”
“He’s right,” Tony exclaimed. “This is about a whole lot more than nabbing a bounty. People died at the Galleria. Innocent people. And Murphy’s in the hospital. We won’t let the terrorists win.”
“We need to keep emotion out of this,” Mike said. “We can’t afford to be less vigilant, especially now that the Militia know who we are.”
“I hope they come after us,” Joseph muttered.
Trevor stepped forward. His voice was calm and controlled. “In the meantime, Sierra and I have a clue to track down.”
“What’s that?” Riley asked.
“Lyle Nelson’s safe deposit box.”
“What’s in there?”
“Don’t know,” Trevor said. “But he went to a lot of trouble to keep the location a secret. There might be something in that box that could lead to the Militia.”
“Stay in touch,” Mike said.
“I’ve got my cell phone.”
Trevor took Sierra’s arm and led her from the room. As soon as she stepped outside, she took a deep breath. The brilliant afternoon sunshine and the clean, fresh air were a relief. She murmured, “I’m glad the bounty hunters are the good guys, because you’re a bunch of scary dudes.”
“Highly skilled and trained,” Trevor stated. “Just like the general said on TV.”
“Have you done that kind of stuff before? Sneaking into a country on a special mission?”
“Only when it was necessary. A well-trained platoon is more effective than a regiment.”
“Like I said. Scary dudes.”
AT THE MILITIA HIDEOUT, Boone Fowler listened with half attention as his men told and retold the story of their exploits at the Galleria. The bomb explosion. The taking of hostages. The final escape.
The men were happy. As far as they were concerned, their assault was the stuff of legend.
Unfortunately, Boone could not wholeheartedly join in their self-congratulations. The burden of leadership lay too heavily on his shoulders. He was concerned about the Puppetmaster.
The prearranged time for the Puppetmaster’s call was near. Boone stared at his cellular phone, which was rigged to bounce the signal from satellite to satellit
e in an untraceable pattern. He was unsure of what to expect.
On some counts, he expected a reprimand. The Puppetmaster had wanted a death count in the hundreds. But the explosion rigged in the food court hadn’t been powerful enough to knock down the support beam. And the hostages had escaped unharmed. Damn Sierra! That was her fault. From an insider account, Boone had heard that she and that half-breed bounty hunter had managed to spring the hostages in the nick of time before the potassium cyanide was released.
And now they were up to something else. According to Perry, she’d taken off on some other wild-goose chase.
His phone rang.
He went to the far end of the bunkhouse and answered, “Yes?”
“You failed, Boone.” The voice of the Puppetmaster was harsh and furious. “I ordered disaster and chaos. An attack worthy of the Militia.”
“Your purpose was served,” Boone said, forcing himself to be confident. “I’ve been listening to the news. All those fancy-pants pundits are woofing and wailing about how we need to crack down on terrorism and—”
“You promised me death on a grand and horrifying scale. Instead, I have newspaper photos of policemen rescuing puppies from the Galleria pet shop.”
The tension in Boone’s gut tightened into a painful knot. “We discovered the identity of the men who have been thwarting our actions. Cameron Murphy, their leader, is in the hospital.”
“The bounty hunters,” said the Puppetmaster. “Formerly of U.S. Special Forces. Their involvement interests me.”
He sounded somewhat appeased, and Boone tried to build on that tenuous thread of approval. “We could attack them. They could be our next target.”
“Don’t even think about it,” the voice sneered. “You and your pathetic band of misfits don’t make a move until I say. Remember that, Boone. Not one move.”
Static crackled through the cell phone, and Boone listened hard. His very survival depended on the Puppetmaster. Without his financing, the Militia would be dead and their cause—their sacred cause—forgotten forever.
“Never fail me again,” the Puppetmaster said. “Or your fate will be far worse than a trip back to prison.”
“Give us another chance,” Boone said quickly.
“You’ll have your opportunity. There will be another assignment very soon.”
The phone connection went dead. When Boone clicked the off button, he realized that his palm was slick with nervous sweat.
He quickly punched in the cell phone number for Perry Johnson, who was tailing Sierra. As much as they all wanted to see her dead, that wouldn’t happen now. Not until the Puppetmaster gave the order.
Perry answered, “What?”
“Don’t kill her,” Boone said.
“Why not? She’s a thorn in our side. And her half-breed boyfriend is one of the bounty hunters.”
Which might be useful. The Puppetmaster had been interested in that connection. And Boone wanted to strike at those guys. He wanted to hurt Cameron Murphy. To hurt him bad.
Though Boone had been instructed not to make plans until further notice, he thought the Puppetmaster would approve of this action. “Take them hostage,” Boone said. “See if they have information that would be useful to us.”
“Hostages?”
“Keep them alive,” he warned.
“I will,” Perry said. “But by the time I’m done with them, they’ll wish they were dead.”
“CAN I DRIVE?” Sierra asked.
“No.”
She leaned back in the passenger seat of Trevor’s Jeep. They’d been on the road for almost three hours and were now winding along a two-lane road bordered by pine forest on one side and a steep dropoff on the other. The ascent to the top of this mountain pass seemed endless, but she was in no rush. Through the windshield, she watched the last glimmers of sunlight fade into a gentle, gray dusk.
“I love this time of day,” she said. “It’s so peaceful. There’s a park in Brooklyn where I used to go and watch the sunsets.”
“On the East River,” he said.
“Have you been there?”
“No.”
Then how did he know what she was talking about? “Did I mention this place before?”
He nodded. Trevor had a habit of reading her mind, and she figured it wasn’t just skill. She’d told him things in that interrogation room—personal things. “That park on the East River,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”
“A special place,” he agreed.
Her mind flashed back to a hazy moment when she’d been relaxed and dreaming about her special sunsets, and Trevor’s voice had poured over her like warm brandy. The wisp of memory faded, and Sierra shrugged, not wanting to dwell on the ugliness of their first meeting. She liked Trevor now, liked him a lot. More than anything, she wanted to trust him.
“In New York,” she said, “dusk brings an incredible transformation, as the skyscrapers light up. But out here, it’s a miracle. When night falls, the dark comes really fast and then a million stars fill the skies. I can’t believe how many! At night, when I look up, it’s like I’m inside one of those glass balls filled with glitter.”
The lights from the dashboard shone on his strong profile, and she saw him grin. “What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I was imagining you as a little girl, turning a glitter ball upside down. I bet you were a cute kid.”
“No way. I was a pain in the butt. You might have noticed that I’m kind of mouthy.”
His grin spread wider. Though Trevor wasn’t big on talking, he was a good listener. The way he paid attention made her feel as if she was witty and clever—worthy of his interest. Again, she asked, “Can I drive?”
“No.”
“Come on, Trevor. I’m a really good driver, and you’ve got to be tired by now.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “We’re less than an hour away from Horton.”
They had already called ahead and found out that the bank was open from nine to noon. Tomorrow, they’d go there and search Lyle’s safe deposit box. But tonight was an open question. They hadn’t discussed what they’d do for sleeping arrangements. After that kiss yesterday, she had some very sexy ideas.
“When we get down from this pass, we should start looking for someplace to stay.” Like a motel with a soft double bed where two people would fit nicely in each other’s arms.
“We could camp,” he said. “I always carry a tent and sleeping bags in the back.”
“Aren’t you the Boy Scout? Always prepared.”
“When I’m on the trail of a bounty, I don’t want to waste time looking for a motel.”
But he wasn’t actually bounty hunting right now. It was just the two of them. And she didn’t care for the idea of making love for the first time on the hard forest ground with no shower.
Thinking that she might have to throw his tent out the back window, she glanced toward the rear of the Jeep, where his gear was neatly arranged. “What else have you got packed away in there?”
“Tools of the trade.”
“The bounty hunter trade,” she said. “Guns?”
“A rifle with a nightscope. Listening devices. Binoculars.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have one of those global map thingys in the car.”
“I had one but took it out. I didn’t like the idea of someone being able to track my vehicle.” He nodded toward the glove compartment. “I have a handheld GPS locator that I can turn on. In case I need to let the other guys know my location.”
Night descended quickly. The soft light of the rising moon shone through the windshield and illuminated his features. She recognized his Cherokee heritage in his high cheekbones and strong nose.
As she studied him, a little tremor of excitement shot through her. She couldn’t help but admire his virility. Any woman would recognize that Trevor was a desirable man, but she was beginning to see deeper than his thick black hair and his wide shoulders. Inside, he was even more handsome. Honorable and brave. I
n a way, heroic. All the bounty hunters had that aura.
“You guys are more than friends,” she said. “More than bounty hunter business associates.”
“We’re brothers.”
“You’d do anything for them, right?”
“Right.”
“And how do you feel about partners?” she asked. “Like me? Do you think of me as a sister?”
He cast a sidelong glance in her direction. “Not hardly.”
She knew he was attracted to her; his kiss had proved that. But Trevor was hard to read. His interrogator training had taught him how to hide his emotions. She wanted to know how he really felt about her. Was he looking for a quick roll in the hay? Or something more? “When you look at me, what do you see?”
“Your dark eyes,” he said, “shining with life force and energy. Then I see your wild hair, curling like spun gold. And then there’s your body. Your amazing body.”
“It’s not so great,” she said. “I don’t look like a model or anything.”
“You look like a woman. Strong and soft at the same time. When you bend over in your tight jeans, it’s something to behold.”
“Oh, yeah.” She gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “My butt is definitely one of the wonders of the world.”
“And don’t get me started talking about your lips. Your full, lush, beautiful mouth.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Lips that are meant to be devoured.”
Wow! When this quiet man put his thoughts into words, he was pretty darn fluent. “I guess it’s safe to say you don’t think of me as a sister.”
“I wouldn’t be a man if I didn’t admire the way you look,” he said. “But don’t get me wrong. We’re partners, too. I owe you my loyalty, and I’d protect you with my life.”
For once, she didn’t have a smart-aleck comment on the tip of her tongue. His sincere commitment to her as a partner was overwhelming. And his appreciation of her as a woman was somewhat daunting. Trevor was a lot to take after five years without a man. She almost wished she’d had a couple of practice dates with guys she didn’t care about before meeting him. All these little quivers she felt inside were building into a full-blown earthquake inside her. Was she ready? Did she dare give her heart once more?
