Bullseye

by Jessica Andersen

  Isabella had once dreamed of having a loving, stable family of her own, but it hadn’t happened. Now, at thirty-five, she protected other people’s families and considered it a patriotic trade-off. Even the low-grade maternal urges had mostly faded over the years. She told herself she was only feeling them now because she’d been spending so much time around Becky and Tiff. She told herself it had nothing to do with being in Montana, with knowing that the Big Sky Bounty Hunters were quartered nearby.

  But she was lying to herself, and knew it. Damn Jacob Powell. Thirteen years later she still couldn’t stop herself from keeping track of him. She’d even located the Big Sky headquarters on a map and checked how long it would take her to reach the cabin.

  Not that she’d drop in for a visit. No way, no how. Their relationship had burned comet-bright, and when it had crashed, she’d been left cratered. Nearly destroyed.

  She had grown up and grown out of the breakup damn quick, but that didn’t mean she’d feel comfortable seeing him again. Besides, what was the point? They were different people now, with different agendas.

  He probably barely even remembered her.

  And heck, it wasn’t as though she thought of him on a weekly basis now, or even yearly. It was being in Montana that had brought him to mind. Montana and the little girls and the foolish dreams she’d once had.

  Secretary Cooper and Prince Nikolai stopped on the wide pathway outside the Coopers’ chalet, bumping Isabella out of her unproductive, unprofessional thoughts.

  “I will leave you here, my friend,” Prince Nikolai announced.

  The men shook hands and parted, the prince returning up the walkway and passing near Isabella. She caught a faint whiff of his cologne, felt a whisper of his sheer animal magnetism and held herself professionally distant when he stopped a breath away and looked down at her with dark, almost ebony eyes.

  “Keep him safe, Agent Gray,” the prince said in his trademark low, sexy voice. “I need him. My people need him.” He glanced back. “And he is a good man.”

  “He’s my protectee,” Isabella said simply, refusing to credit the fine buzz running along her skin, which served only to remind her how long she’d focused on being a Secret Service agent rather than a woman.

  The prince held her eyes for a moment more before nodding. “I leave him in your care, then.”

  She watched him go. Part of her appreciated the aesthetics of his rear view while another wondered why the sexy prince brought nothing more than a pleasant buzz when Jacob—there he was again, darn him—had brought roaring heat that had charred her from the inside out and left her hollow and filled at the same time.

  Irritated with her lack of focus, she followed Secretary Cooper into the chalet, scoped out the three-thousand-square-foot vacation palace and checked the perimeter motion detectors to make sure nothing had changed in the hour they’d been gone. As she did her job, she shoved the distractions to the back of her mind.

  Nothing seemed out of place. When she returned to the stone-accented great room, King Aleksandr scowled out of the flat screen TV that dominated the opposite wall.

  Secretary Cooper cranked up the volume.

  “…a traitor to my blood and to my family,” the king shouted, red-faced. “The American people should be warned!”

  A frisson worked its way through Isabella’s gut at the near-threat. The ornate stonework and tapestries visible in the background indicated that Aleksandr was still holed up in his palace in Lunkinburg, but too many incidents in recent years had shown that evil men could cause trouble from afar.

  Aleksandr leaned close to the microphone, bringing his flinty gray eyes and heavily lined face into sharp focus. “If Louis Cooper brings war to my country, then his family and the American public will suffer the consequences.”

  The shiver worked itself into full-blown battle readiness. Isabella locked eyes with Cooper, who warned, “That bastard better not touch Hope and the girls.”

  “Agreed.” She reflexively checked the semiautomatic pistol she carried in a holster at the small of her back. “I’m going to call the Great Falls field office. To hell with them being short staffed, I need backup.” She frowned. “I think we should return to Washington. The Service can protect you and your family better there.”

  God knows her hands were tied out here, with most of the active protection agents either overseeing the President’s fund-raising efforts or keeping tabs on the last of the UN diplomats as they left the country.

  “Of course.” Cooper nodded shortly. “I hate to interrupt our vacation, but my family’s safety comes first.” He spun on his heel and left the room.

  “Yeah,” Isabella said into the empty space. “I know.”

  And she shouldn’t envy that. She had chosen her path, and though it might not have been the happily-ever-after she’d envisioned in college, the lifestyle fit her like a second skin now, one that she wasn’t sure she would want to peel off if offered the chance.

  Frankly, she wasn’t sure she could.

  Cooper returned moments later and gave her a sharp nod. “We’ll be ready to go in an hour. Hope is making the necessary arrangements.”

  “Fine,” Isabella said, already forming a mental list of the calls she needed to make. “I’ll just—”

  Boom! A catastrophic explosion ripped her words away and flung her across the room. She slammed into the wall and lost her breath, her senses. After a moment her vision came back, gray and fuzzy.

  Louis Cooper lay flat on the floor, unmoving. Hope reeled from the bedroom, blond hair flying wildly, red-painted mouth open in an O of horror, hands outstretched toward her husband.

  Percussion bomb, narrow focus, Isabella’s brain supplied, quickly naming the device. The ringing in her ears faded within moments and her arms and legs twitched with returning consciousness. Heart pounding, she dragged herself up and fumbled for the gun at the small of her back. She shouted, “Hope, get back! Get the girls!”

  At least she thought she shouted the words. She couldn’t hear a thing over the buzzing and the rush of blood through her body.

  Three men charged into the room, heavily armed and running low. Their faces were cloaked in rubber Halloween masks of former Presidents Johnson, Clinton and Nixon, which gave the scene a surreal feel.

  Nixon and LBJ reached for Secretary Cooper.

  “Get away from him!” Isabella yanked up her weapon and fired in one smooth move, but her target jerked aside at the last possible moment. The shot ricocheted off the fieldstone fireplace in the sunken living room and spent itself in a bullhide sofa.

  She squeezed off a second round and hit Nixon in the leg. He cursed and went down as she struggled to her feet.

  Clinton rushed at her. “Bitch!”

  She spun in a dizzy circle and fumbled to bring her weapon up even as the knowledge beat in her veins— I’ve got to protect Cooper and his family.

  Her third shot went wild. LBJ closed in from the other side, reversed his weapon and swung it at her head in a deadly arc. She aimed between his eyes and—

  Blackness.

  IN HIS SMALL OFFICE on the second floor of the Big Sky headquarters, Jacob scrubbed his hands through his short, spiky brown hair, hoping to take away his headache with the gesture. No dice, but maybe he deserved the pain. He’d pretty much pushed himself into the ground since that afternoon, first with a long, hard run through the woods, then with an impromptu sparring session in the gym that Cameron had finally halted due to one too many bloody noses.

  Maybe it wasn’t pain he was feeling in his head, Jacob thought as he rolled the chair back to the computer and pulled up his e-mail messages, hoping for a lead. Maybe it was anger.

  Over the past thirteen years he’d learned to keep his emotions in check, learned to—mostly—control his temper.

  But one sight of Isabella and there it was, front and center in his soul.

  Anger. Guilt. Regret. Relief.

  He hadn’t seen her since the day after they had both gradua
ted from Georgetown. The day he had ended a relationship that had been too intense, too overwhelming for him to stay in and not lose himself.

  He cursed and pushed away from the computer and the pitiful amount of information he’d managed to amass in an evening of data mining and phone calls.

  Why was he thinking of her at all? How could a single glimpse of her put him back in that roiling, all-consuming place where he barely knew his own name? A place he intended never to go again.

  She was nearby. That was why he was thinking of her. It was bad enough he’d glimpsed her on TV and felt the lightning bolt hit his gut. It was worse to learn she’d accompanied the Secretary of Defense on his annual vacation, where Louis Cooper invariably rented the same chalet at the same expensive adult playground.

  The Golf Resort. Half an hour away by Jeep, less by horse if he cut up and over the mine-riddled ridge.

  Not that he would do any such thing. Why would he? They were nothing to each other now. Ancient history. A bad taste at the back of his mouth.

  But damn, she’d looked good on that TV screen. Good enough that several hours, one run and three mock fights later, his body still revved on overdrive from the sight of her, from the memories he’d tried to forget over the years.

  Memories of sexual delirium. Sensual oblivion.

  The ding of an incoming e-mail message was a relief and Jacob swung back to the keyboard just as voices rose outside the small office. It sounded as though the other bounty hunters were starting a new game of Bull, but he wasn’t in the mood anymore. He wanted to work.

  He opened a message from Aimelee, a friend at the dispatcher’s office. Though he’d flirted briefly with the busty blonde when she’d moved to the area, nothing had come of it. She didn’t do the casual thing and he didn’t want anything else. So they’d become, surprisingly, friends.

  No sighting of the fugitives, her e-mail reported, but a small walk-in clinic was broken into a couple of hours ago. Normally we’d think drugs, but mostly bandages and supplies were taken. Maybe that’s something?

  Maybe. Jacob typed a quick thanks while his mind poked at the new information.

  The fugitives were still in the area—or had been a week earlier when they’d derailed a train carrying a handful of UN diplomats. He bet they were still in the area. Where else would they go? The Montana mountains formed their home base. But where were they hiding? And why the medical supplies?

  Perhaps they were nursing wounded from the train sabotage. Or perhaps—

  He heard a loud shout outside the office. Running footsteps. A barked command muffled by the closed door. His heart rate picked up.

  What the hell?

  He was out of the computer chair and halfway across the office when Tony Lombardi yanked open the door. “Get out here. Now.”

  Jacob followed his teammate out to the main room. There were only a half dozen bounty hunters in the HQ at that moment, but the knot of men near the front door seemed made up of twice that. He paused at the edge of the crowd. “What’s wrong?”

  Then he caught a glimpse of auburn hair and a softly rounded cheek. A flash of green eyes. Kissable lips tipped down in a frown of pain, of worry.

  The air backed up in his lungs and something hot and mean and messy fisted in his chest. The others moved aside, but he remained paralyzed. “Isabella?”

  Even as his brain grappled with her presence, he noted the dusky bruise spreading along her cheek, the unfocused glaze in her eyes. Her clothes were clean, as though she’d taken time to change before finding him. But someone had roughed her up. Hard.

  Primal, pure rage roared through him at the sight of an injured woman. At the sight of this injured woman. He bit off a curse. “What happened? Who did this?”

  Her eyes focused. Flashed. She reached out toward him, then hesitated and glanced at the others. She let her hand drop and said, “Jacob. I need to speak with you. Privately.”

  Her voice was lower than he remembered. Huskier. Her face and slight body still held hints of the same arcs and sweeps of curve and line. But the edge was new. As was the strength that kept her upright against her injuries.

  Aware of his teammates looking on, Jacob reached out and touched a spreading bruise. “Tell me who did this. I’ll kill them.”

  In the moment of silence that followed his declaration, he realized two things. One, he meant every word of it. He’d gladly kill whoever had laid a hand on her. And two, the whip of heat and power that flared up his arm and exploded in his chest warned him that it was still there. The thing that had brought them together over a game of darts in Smiley’s Pub in D.C. hadn’t died.

  God, he wished it had.

  He yanked his hand away and scowled. “Names. I want names.”

  Thirteen years ago she would have told him everything in a rush. He expected the same now, because when you came down to it, people didn’t change that much over time.

  Instead she narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t for public consumption. Can we go someplace more private?” When he didn’t budge, she hissed a curse. “Why did I even bother? I knew I shouldn’t have come here.” She spun and took two steps toward the door.

  And collapsed.

  “Isabella!” Jacob caught her on the way down. When the others surged forward to help, he swept her up into his arms and tried to brace himself against the feel of her lithe, toned body against his chest. “Stand down, I’ve got her.”

  “That’s the chick we saw behind the Secretary of Defense,” Tony said. “The one who made you miss the Bull.”

  “No kidding.” Jacob carried her to the stairs and started up with no real plan.

  “Has something happened to Louis Cooper?” Cameron Murphy asked, his voice carrying the weight of leadership and surprising Jacob, who hadn’t even noticed the boss’s arrival.

  “You’ll know as soon as I do.” But the thought of it grabbed at Jacob’s guts and wouldn’t let go. If the Secret Service had been protecting Cooper, it was because he was in danger.

  And given that Cooper’s protection agent was unconscious half an hour away from the resort—

  It didn’t look good.

  Chapter Two

  Isabella couldn’t believe she’d fainted. How embarrassing. Worse, she was pretty sure Jacob had seen her hit the floor.

  But that was nothing compared to the ultimate shame. She’d failed her protectee. She made a small sound of distress and clamped her eyelids shut against the remembered images.

  “I know you’re awake.” Jacob’s low, half-familiar voice seemed to come from far away, making her aware of the yielding surface beneath her and the sense of being in a quiet space amid action. “You said you wanted to talk privately. So talk.”

  She wanted to tell him to go away and leave her alone. But she had come to him, not the other way around, and she still couldn’t talk herself out of the logic.

  Within an hour of the attack, she’d found herself kicked out of Cooper’s chalet and cut off from all the official options. Refusing to give up on her duty, she’d decided she needed an unofficial option. And Jacob Powell, ex-Special Forces airstrike pilot and current high-stakes bounty hunter was about as unofficial as it got.

  More importantly, from what she’d heard over the years—not that she’d been keeping tabs on him, of course—having him on her side was like having an entire private army at her disposal. That, more than anything, had compelled her to make the drive to the bounty hunters’ headquarters in the mountains. If she could have avoided this awkward reunion, she would have. But duty—and failure—had made it a necessity.

  So she opened her eyes and shoved herself upright on the couch in one smooth move that left her head reeling and her stomach fisting on a slap of nausea.

  God, she hated percussion bombs. She’d caught the edge of a relatively mild flash-bang during training and her ears had rung for a week. The one in the chalet had nearly flattened her. Then LBJ had finished the job with one blow of a gun butt.

  By the time she�
�d come to, it had all been over. Secretary Cooper had been unconscious, tied to a dining room chair.

  And Hope and the twin girls had been gone.

  Kidnapped.

  “Isabella.” Jacob’s voice softened on the word, sending a spear of pain straight through her chest. “Talk to me.”

  Because he was why she’d turned away from the airport and headed into the hills, she opened her eyes. And nearly closed them again.

  He stood across the small office, shifting from foot to foot. When she’d thought of him over the years—and she’d thought of him as little as possible—her memories had been of constant motion and unflinching intensity. That hadn’t changed.

  But other parts of him had. He was bigger than she remembered. Not taller, though at five-eleven, he’d always topped her by a good four inches, but broader. More solid. More muscular—and the Jacob she remembered had been plenty muscular to begin with.

  Remembering those muscles, and the masculine skin that covered them, she twisted to put her feet on the floor, clutching the edge of the leather-covered sofa cushion for balance.

  Jacob frowned. “You should stay down. You’re pretty banged up.”

  “I’m fine.” In reality, she had a hell of a headache, but Cooper had begged her not to alert the resort’s medical staff. She glanced at Jacob. “I need your help.”

  He stilled. “What happened?”

  She fought the urge to close her eyes again, to block out the things she’d seen once she’d regained consciousness. The quiet chalet. Louis Cooper tied to a dining room chair with a message written across his naked chest in his own blood.

  Images of failure. Of danger. Of a possible national crisis in the making that she was forbidden to speak of.

  But damn it, she wasn’t going to let something like this happen. Not on her watch.