Texas Hero

by Merline Lovelace

  Ellie waggled her fingers, marveling at the fiery sparkle. She couldn't quite believe so much was hap­pening so fast!

  "I've got a gift for you, too," she told him. "Nothing near as beautiful as this ring or my brace­let, but... Well... Wait here a minute."

  Hurrying into the sitting room, she retrieved the silver concho.

  "I thought you might like this as a souvenir. It's the concho you found at Mission San Jose."

  Pleasure softened his features as he worked his thumb over the intricate design. "Don't you need it to substantiate your findings?"

  "Not with Josiah's letter and Dome's DNA sam­pling."

  "Then I'll keep it."

  Sliding the concho into his breast pocket, he drew her forward. His kiss was long and hard and went a long way to calming Ellie's jittery nerves. The re­assuring smile he gave her helped, too.

  "Time to go. Are you ready?"

  She drew in a shaky breath. "As ready as I'll ever be."

  Nick's more than lived up to its reputation.

  The restaurant occupied the entire top floor of one of San Antonio's tallest buildings. An outside glass elevator whisked patrons upward while providing stunning views of the Riverwalk and the floodlit Al­amo. Guests stepped out of the elevator into an ea­gle's aerie with a spectacular three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the city. Floor-to-ceiling glass panels stood open to the night to allow easy circulation be­tween the dining area and the mist-cooled balcony.

  Ellie had never been to a Nick's, but understood they were famous for incorporating local culture and cuisine. This particular establishment offered the best of Texas with a distinctly Hispanic flavor. Discreetly lighted niches displayed museum-quality pieces of sculpture and art depicting the rich heritage of the area. The wine cellar, she'd been told, stocked some fifteen hundred labels, including a number of rich, hearty Texas reds bottled in Hill County vineyards.

  For tonight's bash, the lush greenery that provided diners an illusion of privacy without impeding then-view had been removed, as had most of the tables. This was a stand-up reception with an open bar and a lavish spread of hot and cold delicacies, subsidized by the restaurant's owner. Good thing, as Ellie knew the pitiful bit of funding that remained in the project kitty wouldn't have covered the drinks, let alone suc­culent Gulf shrimp sauteed in a white wine sauce, bourbon seared beef tenderloins, and a carne asada with the most delicate, delicious aroma she'd ever sniffed.

  A good number of guests in black tie and guttering cocktail dresses and gowns had abeady assembled. Conversation hummed. Ice clinked in glasses. Tux-clad waiters floated between groups refilling glasses and plates. Her palm clammy where it rested in the crook of Jack's arm, Ellie skimmed a quick glance over the assembled guests in search of Mackenzie and her escort.

  Foster had picked Mac up at the hotel twenty minutes ago. Ellie had been kept out of sight, but Nick, Jack, Claire and Colonel Esteban had observed the pickup from different vantage points. Claire and Luis had trailed the couple in Luis's rented Lincoln. Both couples should have arrived by now.

  A fact that obviously played on Nick's mind when he greeted Ellie and Jack.

  "Comm's playing her part to the hilt," he in­formed them. "She managed to talk Foster into a detour on the way here, ostensibly to show her an­other building he constructed."

  Annoyance darkening his blue eyes, Lightning flicked the cuffs of his dress shirt. If the stark black and white of formal dress tamed Jack's rugged good looks, Nick Jensen wore his like he'd been born to them.

  "From the tenor of the transmissions we're re­ceiving," he said with something less than his usual urbane charm, "she's succeeded in upping the man's pucker factor by several degrees."

  She was certainly upping Ellie's. The delay set her nerves snapping and sparking like downed electrical lines. She longed to snatch one of the crystal cham­pagne flutes from the tray a smiling waiter presented, but she knew she had to keep a clear head.

  Instead, she sipped at the glass of Perrier Nick procured for her with a single word to the waiter. The overhead lights shot brilliant sparks off the diamonds on her hand as she lifted the heavy crys­tal goblet. Nick's glance went to the ring, then to Jack. A smile played at his eyes, but he said nothing.

  "There's the mayor," he commented. "As host for tonight's event, I'd better greet him."

  "And I should look over the layout for the pre­sentation," Ellie said to Jack.

  Nodding, he led her to an area cordoned off by black velvet ropes. Rows of straight-backed chairs emblazoned with a gold N faced a raised platform. A wall-size screen would be lowered from the ceiling behind the podium on the platform.

  Gulping, Ellie clutched her little silver lame eve-rung bag. Inside were a lipstick, a compact and a CD in a thin plastic case. She'd boiled down all her weeks of work, all the hours at the dig and at the Alamo, all her team's collective research into a dra­matic slide presentation. It was astounding how much history could be crammed onto a single CD.

  Her fingers tightened on Jack's arm. "Do you think I'll actually get to present the findings to­night?"

  "Yes. Just play this out the way we rehearsed. Exactly the way we rehearsed."

  She felt like a Ping-Pong ball bouncing between the public drama of her presentation and the very private, very tense drama with Foster.

  "I just hope the rest of the team arrives in time," she said nervously.

  Orin Weaver had made arrangements to fly to San Antonio. Janet Dawes-Hamilton was driving down from Waco. Sam Pierce had indicated he'd show, too, and had coerced the National Park Service re­gional director into coming with him. Ellie had made sure invitations went to each of the volunteers, as well. The only member of the team she hadn't been able contact was Eric Chapman. The grad student was on the road somewhere between San Antonio and Albuquerque and not answering his cell phone.

  If her team was still arriving, most of Jack's was already in place. Nick circulated among the crowd, greeting the mayor and other dignitaries with an ease that astounded Ellie considering the fact that he was also receiving a steady stream of transmissions from his headquarters. She couldn't begin to imagine how he separated the mayor's polite patter from the voices feeding into his right ear.

  She spotted Detective Harris on the far side of the room, tugging a finger at the tight black bow tie encircling his neck. Jack had indicated upward of a half dozen more of SAPD's finest would be in attendance tonight. Ellie thought she recognized one of the FBI agents she'd met yesterday. The other was here, as well, but she couldn't see him in the growing crowd.

  The media had turned out en masse. Banks of TV cameras stood ready opposite the podium. Reporters with mikes and Minicams vied for space and the best backdrops in the roped-off area reserved for inter­views. They understood Ellie and her team wouldn't be available until after the presentation but were managing to capture other VIPs on tape.

  "Guess we'd better circulate," she murmured, dragging in a shaky breath. ‘‘At least until Macken­zie and her date make an appearance."

  They arrived less than ten minutes later. Claire and Luis Esteban drifted in almost on their heels.

  Ellie sensed rather than saw their entrance. Jack's arm went taut under hers. The skin pulled tight across his cheeks. Gulping, she saw his eyes narrow as he tracked his prey.

  She turned slowly, searched the crowd milling at the entrance for a glimpse of a midnight blue gown. Mackenzie floated into view a second later, clinging like a burr to Dan Foster.

  The builder's face was ruddy above his black tie. Even from this distance, Ellie could see the sheen of sweat at his temples. His eyes darting around the restaurant, he dragged a folded handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead.

  Across the room, his gaze locked with Ellie's. His hand froze in mid dab for a second, maybe two. Abruptly, he stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket and turned away.

  After so many hours of clawing tension and dread, trapping Daniel Foster in the net he had woven proved embarra
ssingly easy. Almost anticlimactic.

  Mackenzie played her role to perfection. While the entire team watched from various vantage points, she snuggled up to Foster, whispered coyly and did ev­erything but stick her tongue in his ear to add to his obvious edginess.

  Nick Jensen, Ellie saw in a quick glance, didn't appear to fully appreciate her performance. Like Jack, he tracked the builder's progress around the room with narrowed eyes.

  Foster was obviously searching the crowd, looking for one face in particular, growing more tight-jawed by the moment when he didn't spot it. Since a good number of guests had drifted onto the balcony to en­joy the view, it didn't take much work on Macken­zie's part to steer her escort there, as well. With seemingly effortless ease, she maneuvered him to the corner Jack had chosen earlier. A bend in the build­ing left that particular niche shielded from view of most of those inside. The wrought-iron lampposts scattered around the balcony cast only a dim spear of light in that direction.

  It was barely enough to illuminate Mackenzie as she withdrew her arm from Foster's and pantomimed powering her nose. Distracted, he gave a terse nod. A moment later, a stunning figure in midnight blue floated past Ellie and Jack on her way to the ladies' room.

  "All right, you two. He's all yours."

  Swallowing, Ellie swiped her hand down the sides of her dress. Her damp palms slid over the guttering metallic material. Too late, she realized that she'd left smears of the makeup she'd used to cover the ugly scabs on her hands.

  Wondering how in the world she could even think about such trivia at a time like this, she started for­ward.

  Jack held her back. ‘‘Remember how we rehearsed it. If he lifts so much as a finger, you hit the deck."

  "Don't worry! I'll go down like the Titanic. Now let's get this over with."

  The scene that followed might have been scripted. When Ellie moved into the circle of dun light cast by the wrought-iron lamppost behind Foster, the builder reacted just as Claire had predicted he would.

  His eyes turned wary. His shoulders went taut un­der his tux. But no one watching from more than a few feet away would see anything but affability in his smile.

  "Mr. Foster?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm Elena Alazar. I understand your wife was one of the leading contributors to the Alamo Resto­ration and Preservation Foundation. I just wanted to say how very sorry I was to hear about her tragic death."

  "Thank you."

  "I know there's been some concern on the part of other foundation members about my team's findings. I just wanted to assure you that..."

  With a show of concern, Ellie took another step forward. That was as close as she dared get to the man whose knuckles had gone white where his hand gripped the balcony rail.

  "Mr. Foster? Are you all right?"

  His glance was riveted on something just beyond her. She didn't have to look around to know it was the gleam of a long, lethal silencer.

  "Are you crazy!" Foster whispered, frantically searching the shadows behind the gun. "Not here! Not with me standing two feet away from her!"

  "Mr. Foster, what in the world? Oh!"

  Ellie froze as something hard jabbed into the small of her back.

  "Don't make a sound," a deep voice rasped from behind her. "Or a move. One twitch and you're dead."

  She didn't have to fake the ice that crystallized in her veins. The press of that gun barrel against her bare skin was all too real. The voice so eerily like the one at the Alamo that Ellie couldn't breathe, much less twitch.

  Foster fed on her fear like a jackal feasted on car­rion. With a snarl, he pushed away from the railing.

  "For Christ's sake, keep her here in the shadows until I get across the room. Then do it right this time and blow the bitch away."

  "If I blow anyone away," Jack answered in his own voice, "it'll be you."

  His jaw dropping, the builder whirled back. "What the hell...?"

  "Take one step." With a savage smile, Jack stepped out of the shadows. "Just one."

  The beefy contractor was no fool. He froze right where he was. With a grunt of acute disappointment, Jack raised his voice.

  "Did you get that, Comm?"

  Mackenzie sailed through the glass door. Nick, Claire, Esteban, Detective Harris and the FBI man crowed right on her heels. Behind them, TV crews scrambled frantically to aim their cameras and lights.

  "We ah got it," she announced, shooting Foster a look of utter scorn. "I broadcast the murdering bastard bye."

  Epilogue

  Washington, D.C.'s muggy July had given way to a surprisingly pleasant August when Renegade ush­ered his new bride up the steps of an elegant town house set halfway down a shady street just off Mas­sachusetts Avenue.

  Ellie had already met a good number of Jack's friends and colleagues. Men and women with curious code names like Jaguar, Cowboy, Artemis, Chame­leon and Thunder had converged on San Antonio, families in tow, for the wedding that had taken place at Mission San Jose the day after Ellie gave a name and a history to the solitary soldier who'd died so many years ago on mission grounds. In addition to that lovely group, a whole contingent of Marines showed up unexpectedly. Square-shouldered and spit-shined, they stated emphatically that they had to see their old Gunny take the plunge with their own eyes.

  Jack's friends weren't the only ones who crowded into the beautiful old church. Ellie's team had showed up en masse. A tab, handsome Marine es­corted a beaming Dorrie Johnson to her pew. The First Lady of Mexico and her sister-in-law occupied the front pew on the bride's side.

  The media had turned out, too. Dr. Alazar, one was heard to proclaim, sure provided great copy. TV Minicams whirred and cameras flashed as the Presi­dent of Mexico escorted his niece down the aisle.

  The wedding supper that evening was held on a string of colorful barges floating along the San An­tonio River. Candles winked in crystal chimneys. A mariachi band serenaded the guests. Nick's catered the food and wine. It was, Ellie had decided, the perfect ending to her visit to San Antonio and her quest to discover the identity of a fallen Texas hero.

  It was also, she thought on a flutter of pure hap­piness, the perfect beginning for her new life with her own particular hero. A beginning that included a honeymoon in the Pyrenees, where she intended to entice Jack into exploring the mysteries of some re­cently discovered ice-age cave paintings.

  First, though, he'd insisted on a stopover in Wash­ington. It was time, he'd stated, she understood ex­actly what he did for a living.

  The tour a smiling Nick Jensen gave Ellie of the offices of the special envoy didn't shed any particular light on the subject. Not until he ushered her and Jack into an elevator hidden behind a walnut panel fitted with a titanium insert and whisked her up to Mackenzie Blair's domain did she grasp the signifi­cance of that bulletproof shield. The door slid open to reveal a state-of-the-art war room.

  "Good grief!" Stunned, Ellie took in digital dis­plays that took up three of the four walls. "What is this? An alternate command center for the Joint Chiefs of Staff?"

  "They wish!" Her eyes sparkling, Mackenzie waved a proprietary hand. "Nope, this is ah mine."

  She caught Nick's hooked eyebrow and made a slight correction.

  "Mostly mine. Come on, I'll show you around."

  Dazed, Ellie was treated to a detailed description of the control center's futuristic array of electronics, a visit to the field dress unit, a view of weaponry at the firing range that would have challenged even the data stored in Discoverer Two, and finally a highly sanitized briefing of OMEGA's charter.

  Enough of its mission came through, though, to make her frown and swing around in her chair.

  "This is what you do, Jack?"

  "It's what I did," he answered quietly. "What I do from here on out depends on you."

  Startled, Mackenzie and the other agents present at the briefing flashed a quick look at Lightning. He shook his head, signaling that this was news to him, too.

  "I don't want you
worrying every time I walk out the door, Ellie, or wondering if I'll come back. I came here today to terminate my membership in this elite club."

  Relief washed through her, followed immediately by the sharp sting of regret. She'd cost Jack one ca­reer. Now he was giving up another for her. Her smile wobbly, she opted to continue this discussion without an interested audience.

  "We'll have two weeks in the Pyrenees. Why don't we talk about it there?"

  The wolfish grin that slashed across Jack's face said more clearly than words that his plans for those two weeks didn't include a whole lot of talking. Nod­ding to the others, he escorted Ellie out of the control center.

  Mackenzie folded her arms. Toe tapping, she stood beside Lightning and watched the two leave. She liked Ellie. Liked and respected her. But she wasn't happy with the idea Renegade might not rejoin the ranks of active operatives. Mac considered each and every one of them her personal responsibility.

  "Do you think he'll really give up OMEGA for her?"

  Nick slanted her an enigmatic look. "Wouldn't you, for the right man?"

  The glint in his blue eyes closed Mackenzie's throat. She had to take in a quick gulp of air before she could inject the right note of nonchalance into her reply.

  "Maybe. Maybe not. Guess I'll just have to wait for the right man to make his move and see what happens."

  Nick's amused glance followed her across the con­trol center. "I guess you will," he murmured.

  * * * * *