“Careful!”
Directing the operation from the ground, Sabrina paced and peered and chewed anxiously on her lower lip. The pulley the men had rigged to lower the double-sided marquee into Hank’s truck groaned and creaked. The sign swung farther to the right, over-corrected to the left, almost hit the side of the truck. Sabrina’s heart stopped, then restarted with a kick when the marquee finally settled on a thick mat of folded pads.
“The eagle has landed,” she crowed.
“Some eagle,” one of the volunteers scoffed. “Looks more like crow bait to me.”
Admittedly, the sign’s rusted metal struts, peeling paint and fly-speckled neon tubing appeared even scruffier up close and personal, but Sabrina pictured it clean and glowing. While her recruits secured the massive marquee with additional pads and ropes, she dashed back into the diner to grab her purse.
“I’ll be back in a few hours,” she called.
Hank waved a tattooed arm. “Take your time. Peg and I can handle the supper crowd.”
Humming happily, she drove slow and easy all the way into the city. She could find her way around Tulsa well enough, but it took some time to locate the north-side brick warehouse that housed Brite Lites Commercial Signs. The owner whistled when he saw the condition of the proposed job. With a promise to do his best, he called an assistant. Straining and cursing under their breath, they winched the sign out of the truck bed.
Sabrina decided to take advantage of the light mid-afternoon traffic on the way back. Humming along with George Strait, she cut through the downtown streets. Bright June sunshine shafted through the glass towers of the business district. Between the tall skyscrapers nestled shops that displayed elegant summer suits and Stetsons. Restaurants beckoned businessmen and women for high-powered deals made over aged beef and bourbon.
Someday, Sabrina mused as she braked for a red light, she just might house her corporate headquarters in one of these glass towers. Her gaze swept the main plaza, decorated with sleek sculpture and lined with peeling, white-trunked river birches. The light changed from red to green. She’d started to hit the gas when a discreet bronze plaque caught her eye.
Wentworth Oil Works.
She might not have stopped if a car hadn’t angled out of a parking space right ahead of her. On a whim, Sabrina pulled into the empty spot. She had some time on her hands. Hank had said he didn’t need her. She’d just take a peek at the lobby.
The electric doors whooshed open, and Sabrina stepped out of the June heat into a climate-controlled, light-filled atrium. Stunned, she drank in the beauty like a desert traveler would the cool shade of an oasis. Everywhere she looked, brass gleamed. Fountains splashed. Remington bronzes and Russell oils took her breath away.
Mesmerized, Sabrina wandered inside for a closer look at the mural that filled the far wall. In four huge panels, the painting depicted the Glenpool oil field at its peak. The raw intensity of the colors dazzled her eye. Even more powerful was the awesome scope of the work.
Derricks dotted a landscape that seemed to stretch into infinity. A small city of tar paper shacks nestled among towers. Model Ts and flatbed trucks threw up clouds of dust as they cut across endless stretches of red earth pooled with glistening black puddles. An early version of the Wentworth logo, Sabrina saw, showed prominently on the truck sides.
Impressed and just a little intimidated, she turned to leave. She was halfway to the front entrance when the bell beside one of the elevators dinged. The gleaming brass doors slid open, and Jack Wentworth walked out.
A different Jack Wentworth, she saw with a gulp. Just as tall and broad-shouldered, but this time his shoulders were covered in hand-tailored charcoal gray gabardine. Just as handsome, but with the added edge of sophistication that comes with money and power.
“I think we should go after those leases,” he was telling the suited executive with him. “The market is riding a wave right now, but I—”
He stopped abruptly. Surprise chased across his face, followed by a smile of genuine pleasure.
“Sabrina! Were you coming up to see me?”
Embarrassed, she fingered the strap to her shoulder bag. “No. I was in town on business and, uh, just happened to be passing by.”
She winced inwardly. Talk about your basic lame excuses!
“Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”
His smile was warm and friendly, as though they hadn’t parted with a decidedly cool goodbye three nights ago. Regaining her composure with an effort, Sabrina hitched her purse up higher on her shoulder.
“No, but thanks for the offer. You’re on your way out and I—”
“I was just going out to look at some leases we plan to acquire.” He sent the man beside him a quick glance. “We can reschedule, can’t we, Don?”
“Sure.” The older man’s reply was easy enough, but his expression said clearly that he wasn’t pleased. “I kept the owners dangling, though, while you were up in Alaska this weekend inspecting that pipeline. They called again yesterday, hoping for an answer when you got back this morning.”
Alaska. That explained why he hadn’t called her—not that she’d expected him to! Still, the smile she gave him came close to matching his.
“Please don’t change your plans on my account. I, uh, have to get back anyway.”
Another lame excuse, but he didn’t need to know that. His gaze roamed her face, sparking little pinpricks of pleasure everywhere it touched. Without turning aside, he sent his associate off.
“Give us a minute, will you, Don?”
The older man nodded. “I’ll wait for you in the limo.”
While the broker’s footsteps faded into the background, Jack drank in Sabrina’s wide green eyes and full mouth. He’d thought about that mouth during the past three days. More than once! Hell, he’d had plenty of time during the long flight up and back from Alaska to think about every part of this prickly female. He’d arrived back in Tulsa early this morning, convinced he’d made the right move when he’d pulled back and attempted to put the skids on his growing fascination with her.
The fierce pleasure that had knifed through him when he’d caught sight of her a moment ago convinced him otherwise.
He’d take it slow, he swore. He wouldn’t make any promises he couldn’t keep, or let things get too deep, too fast. He wouldn’t make the same mistake he’d made with Heather. But neither could he let Sabrina turn around and walk out of his building and his life.
“I planned to call you this week,” he told her. “To apologize. I guess I came across sounding like a pompous ass the other night.”
“As a matter of fact...”
His mouth kicked into a grin. She hadn’t forgiven him, but she was willing to let him grovel for a while. He took that as a positive sign.
“I’d suggest we start over again, but I’ve already tried that approach once.”
“So, what approach are you going to try this time?”
“Something more direct. How about dinner tonight at the Petroleum Club?”
She hesitated, clearly tempted, then dragged out the age-old feminine lambent
“I don’t think I’m appropriately dressed for dinner at that bastion of the rich and powerful.”
In Jack’s opinion, Sabrina in jeans and a stretchy knit tank top could walk into any room in any town in any country and knock its occupants right back on their heels. If he tried to tell her so, however, he’d no doubt come off sounding as patronizing or as pompous as he had the other night.
“You look fine to me, but we can go somewhere else if you’d prefer.”
“Well...”
She nibbled on her lower lip for a moment. Jack swallowed, hard, and pulled his eyes from the wet satin of her mouth.
“My sister was on my case this morning about jazzing up my wardrobe. Maybe I’ll do a little shopping while you’re out grabbing up gas and oil leases.”
Jack had the sense to keep his mouth shut. He’d felt the rough edge of Sabrina’s pride a
few times already. He knew darn well she’d chew him up and spit him out in small pieces if he offered to underwrite a visit to one of the exclusive and very expensive Tulsa boutiques that his sister, Josie, frequented.
“Would you like to use my office to change and freshen up after your shopping expedition?” he offered instead. “We can go to the club from here.”
She flashed a quicksilver grin. “As long as I’m going to spend the rest of the afternoon in the big city, I might as well go for broke and get my hair done, too. I’ll meet you at the Petroleum Club.”
“Seven o’clock?”
“Fine.”
Jack escorted Sabrina through the lobby and stood beside the waiting limo, watching as she hooked her purse over her shoulder and sauntered off. Her long, slender legs ate up the pavement, and her trim bottom caused more than one male head to turn when she passed. Jack’s fingers tightened on the open car door.
They were only meeting for dinner, he reminded himself sternly. A drink or two, and dinner. Yet the thought of that dinner sent anticipation razoring right through him.
It was only dinner, Sabrina told herself fiercely as she paused before the window of a small, elegant shop two blocks from the Wentworth Building. Just a few hours in the company of a man she found...to use his own phrase...intriguing.
She was nuts even to think about going into a pricey shop like this for a dress to wear for just a few hours...despite the fact that the little black number in the window fit Rachel’s description exactly. It was short and slinky, and Sabrina didn’t doubt the price tag carried a figure that was totally outrageous.
She couldn’t afford a dress like that, even if they had it in her size, which they probably didn’t. Any more than she could afford to squander the afternoon and most of the evening playing instead of working or studying. What’s more, it was crazy to waste money on having her hair and nails done. The polish would only chip off tomorrow when she went back to her real world, and no stylist had ever been able to coax her heavy mane into anything more sophisticated than a loose topknot.
The arguments piled up in her head, one after another, then suddenly collapsed.
She couldn’t afford that dress, but she wanted it. Almost as badly as she wanted to spend a few more hours in Jack’s company. And while she was at it, she might as well admit that the budding entrepreneur in her would kill for a glimpse inside the Petroleum Club, where fortunes were made and lost over rare prime rib and aged bourbon.
What the heck!
Throwing caution and common sense to the winds, Sabrina dug in her wallet to make sure she had the charge card she normally reserved only for emergencies, then pushed open the dark green door and sailed inside.
The saleswoman—correction, sales consultant, according to her engraved brass name badge—smiled a greeting.
“May I help you?”
“I certainly hope so.”
Chapter 7
The call came just as Jack was downing a long swallow of Scotch.
He’d arrived at the Petroleum Club with a good half hour to kill. He could have joined several of his friends in the casual lounge with its panoramic view of Tulsa’s skyline. He could have used the offices set aside for patrons to make a few of his more pressing calls.
Instead, he’d opted to wait for Sabrina in the spacious reception area just off the elevators. The oversize leather chairs were every bit as comfortable and the view, while not quite as panoramic as that in the bar, showed the river winding like a rope of pure silver through the city.
Ignoring the discreetly placed TV screen that flickered with the latest stock market quotes, Jack stretched out his legs and raised the heavy crystal tumbler. The Scotch added its kick to the anticipation swirling in his gut. A vision of Sabrina as she’d appeared in the lobby of the Wentworth Building shimmered in his mind. Her hair a silky, windblown tumble. Her nose shiny. Her lips chewed bare of lipstick. And that fantastic, throat-closing body molded by stretchy knit and snug jeans.
A bolt of old-fashioned lust caught Jack right in the chest and headed south. He and Sabrina had hit a few rough spots the first couple of times they’d connected. He intended to see that didn’t happen tonight. His fingers gripped the crystal tumbler. Tonight he’d—
“There’s a call for you, Mr. Wentworth. Would you care to take it here or in the office?”
The crystal tumbler landed on the table with a thunk. Disappointment added a sharp, bitter tang to the taste of Scotch.
She’d backed out.
He’d half expected her to, but the knowledge that his on-again, off-again association with Sabrina Jensen had taken another hit tied a king-size knot in his gut. What was it about this woman?
Keeping his voice neutral, he identified himself. Relief arrowed through him when the irritated male at the other end of the line did the same.
“You didn’t tell me you had laid on a trip to Alaska this weekend,” Trey McGill complained.
Jack shook his head. After all these years, his State Department contact still stewed when real life impinged on the covert operations he coordinated. Trey had a tendency to forget that it was Wentworth business that provided Jack his cover...and his access to so many world leaders that the U.S. couldn’t or wouldn’t officially recognize.
“The trip came up suddenly,” he replied evenly. “A section of pipeline sprung a leak, and I wanted to make sure the crews contained the spill before it caused serious environmental damage.”
“Did you get my message?”
“Yes.”
“Can you talk?”
He made a quick sweep of the reception area. Aside from a portly, gray-haired banker with his eyes glued to the stock market quotes, the place was empty.
“Yes.”
“Hang on while I scramble the signal.”
A slight buzz reverberated against Jack’s eardrum, then Trey came back on. Crisply, he confirmed what he’d reported in his previous, coded message.
“We’ve come up with a complete bust. Neither the FBI nor CIA databases had anything on the two men who almost ran you and the prince down.”
“What about the truck?”
“One fitting the description you gave us was reported stolen last year in Texas. Without the license plate number we couldn’t confirm that it was the same vehicle.”
He paused, and Jack could hear the faint tapping of a pen against a pad or notebook. That kind of nervous habit would give Trey away in a minute if he had to go undercover, Jack thought with a tight inner smile. Good thing McGill’s role in these missions involved coordination and control, not field ops.
“We checked out everyone we could at the diner,” the government agent reported, “including the owner and this Jensen woman.”
“And?” Jack asked softly.
“And they look clean.”
“Look clean, Trey?”
The tapping picked up speed.
“All right, they are clean, at least according to what we’ve turned up so far. But I’m not satisfied. I’m going to dig deeper, and harder...particularly in light of what’s happening in Qatar.”
Jack’s gaze narrowed dangerously. Dammit! Trey had taken his sweet time getting around to the real point of this call.
“Cut to the meat,” he ordered, annoyed and wanting McGill to know it “What’s happening in Qatar?”
“We just got a dispatch from our chief consul in country. It goes on for five pages of not-so-polite bureaucratese, but the essence is that he’s fed up. He wants to know why the government he’s supposed to represent cut him out of the loop by sending some kind of a secret deal back with the prince.”
Jack came straight up in his chair, the phone hard against his ear. He shot the banker another quick look and lowered his voice.
“How the hell did the consul find out about the accord? Ali swore his father would keep it under wraps until he and the rest of the Gulf Corporation Council leaders had a chance to look it over.”
“Yeah, well, someone leaked it
, either in Qatar or at this end. The details haven’t surfaced yet, but rumors are thicker than flies over there. El Jafir has already started making nasty noises.”
Jack swore, long and low. He’d tangled once before with the loose confederation of fundamental fanatics who called themselves El Jafir—the Wind. Determined to blow away the heretical outsiders with the same ferocity the hot winds blew the sands across the deserts, the group had attacked a remote drilling site jointly operated by the Sheikdom of Qatar and Wentworth Oil. Ali had retaken the site, aided by the arms and reinforcements Jack had personally brought in. The victory had raised the prince in his father’s esteem. Unfortunately, it had also made him a target for increasingly vicious attacks by those who decried his close ties to the West.
“If El Jafir learns about your part in the secret accord, they’ll go after something bigger than a drilling site in the middle of the desert,” Trey predicted. “The refinery maybe, or one of Wentworth Oil’s offshore rigs.”
“I’ll get word to our people to increase security,” Jack said, his voice grim.
“In the meantime, we’re putting together an emergency aid package for the emir. We’re also trying to trace the source of the leak.”
“Good idea.”
The acid in the terse reply got to Trey.
“Hell, Jack, you know as well as I do that it could have come from anyone. Why do you think I wanted to check out those two drunks and the people at this diner you stopped at? Maybe the prince let something drop—”
“He didn’t.”
“He was trying to put the make on this Jensen woman, wasn’t he?”
“She’s a waitress, Trey, not an international terrorist.”
“True, but who knows what the prince told her? Or what she told other people who may or may not have been tailing you?”
“Ali didn’t tell her anything,” Jack snapped. “I was with him the entire time, remember?”
Except, he remembered suddenly, for the few moments it had taken for him to retrieve his wallet from the dust beside his truck.
The Mercenary and the New Mom Page 8
