by Cindy Dees
What she ought to do was call a halt to her plans and get the heck out of here before he woke up. All her doubts and fears crowded forward. It was, without question, insane to ask for protection from a man who had reason and skill enough to kill her. This scenario had disaster written all over it, and that was before he’d collapsed at her feet.
Her fight-or-flight instinct was definitely in full flight mode. Every second she lingered here put her, and by extension, Carina, in more danger. But Julia couldn’t walk out on him when he was defenseless. She’d led these guys to him, after all.
Marshaling her scant courage, she searched him, groping for the gun she’d seen him reach for in the coatroom. Under his arm, cool metal met her touch. She pulled out a blocky, heavy pistol.
She’d seen plenty of handguns before—how could she not have, growing up around her father?—but she’d rarely touched one. Eduardo had always been adamant that his daughters not handle weapons of any kind. Maybe he’d known the day would come when they’d finally turn on him, and he’d known better than to allow them to learn skills they could use to take him out.
She sat back on her heels, considering the unconscious man before her. She had to convince him to play ball with her. Convince him not to kill her or hand her over to the FBI. At least not until she’d completed her deal with her father. She must not fail. Her sister’s life depended on her pulling this off. But first she had to wake him up.
Dutch stirred. He groaned faintly. Thank God.
She scrambled backward, fumbling with the gun, managing to point it clumsily at him while she clambered to her feet. So much violence had swirled around her for so long it made her faintly ill to even touch a handgun. Her heart pounded, and the heavy weapon wavered in her grasp.
She knew the exact second when Dutch regained consciousness. His blue eyes were blank and glassy one second, and the next they glittered with frightening intelligence. His piercing gaze narrowed as he took in the sight of her pointing his pistol at him. He sat up slowly.
“Easy, there. I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmured. “We have to talk, remember?”
His voice was deep. Soothing. Tempting her to let go of her terror and trust him. But she knew better. She wasn’t some gullible, frightened animal to be lulled into his net.
She took another step backward. “Don’t move,” she demanded sharply.
He frowned. Focused his attention on the gun. “When I got off the ski lift and saw you, something weird happened to me. But why am I lying on the floor now?”
“There was a guy in here when we arrived. He clocked you on the back of the head. He looked like he was only here to have a look around though.”
He reached up and fingered the back of his head gingerly. “Probably here to plant a few bugs. Your father is always looking for ways to infiltrate the Blackjacks. The guy most likely wasn’t after you. No big deal. We’ll get out of here as soon as you put that gun down.”
She ignored the suggestion. “What happened to you on the mountain?” she asked cautiously.
He shrugged. “A blackout or something.”
“What caused it?”
“I have no idea,” he answered. “I was hoping you could tell me.” His gaze was steady and unafraid as he watched her. Like a man who’d had a gun pointed at him before. A lot.
“Well, I certainly don’t know why you blacked out!” she retorted. She needed him operating at full strength if he was going to protect her from Eduardo’s goons. The only other person she knew who might have the skill to keep her safe was the Blackjacks’ commander, Colonel Foley. But the way she heard it, he’d been seriously injured the last time he came to Gavarone—the tiny South American country that was her home—and tangled with her father. Foley was out of the field for good. Eduardo had gloated about his victory for weeks.
Eduardo was going to go nuts when he found out she’d handed herself—and everything she knew—over to his worst enemy. They had to be far away from his men before that happened.
If only the entire Blackjacks team could be brought in to protect her. Then she might actually be safe from her father.
Unfortunately, the Blackjacks, as a team, were compromised. She ought to know—she was the accountant who cut the cashier’s checks for the informant inside the team. The mole was probably someone innocuous on the Blackjacks’ support staff, someone who’d slipped in beneath the radar.
Hence, the call to Dutch’s private phone and this rendezvous far from the rest of the team. There was no way he had actually turned. He was a fanatic. Committed to truth, justice and the American way—to the death.
Besides, the payments to the mole were too small to impress a guy like Dutch, who came from money and made officer’s pay, to boot. The bribe amounts were downright modest by comparison to some of the bribes her father dished out to government officials around the world.
Dutch startled her with a question of his own. “Why were those men chasing you? Who are they?”
Odds were they were her father’s men. Of course, there was an outside chance the FBI had spotted her coming into the country a couple of weeks ago and hoped to arrest her and make her testify against her father. Not that it really mattered whether the men were FBI or hired thugs. Daddy dearest had the FBI in his back pocket, too.
She shrugged. “They were probably my father’s men.” She ducked his other question about why they were after her.
His eyebrows shot up. “Your old man is trying to capture you? Maybe you do have something interesting to tell me, after all.”
She didn’t walk through the giant opening he’d just given her. Now that she was faced with Dutch and his seething hatred for her, serious doubts about her plan were erupting like Mount Vesuvius. She chewed her lower lip anxiously.
He leaned back against the front of the sofa and propped an elbow across one bent knee. Man, he was a cool customer. “So. What are you going to do now? Shoot me? Tie me up?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted in the face of his steel-nerved composure. “I want you to stay over there, out of reach.”
“All right,” he agreed readily.
What was she going to do now? The idea was to forge an alliance. She would certainly feel safer offering her deal to him if he was tied up. If her father’s rants about the Blackjacks were even partially accurate, Dutch was capable of breathtaking violence in the blink of an eye. Of course, tying him up meant she might tick him off more than he already was.
“Would you mind if I tied you up?” she asked hesitantly.
He blinked but didn’t miss a beat. “Can’t say as I’m crazy about the idea, but if it would get you to talk, I suppose I’m game.”
It was her turn to blink. What was the catch? She jumped as he began to stand up and she raised the pistol with both hands.
“Honey, would you mind taking your finger off the trigger?” he asked casually. “The safety’s off and that pistol’s got a real light pull. Just lay your index finger alongside the trigger guard. If you want to shoot me you can reach for the trigger fast, but you won’t accidentally kill me in the meantime.”
Yikes! She eased her finger off the trigger carefully. She waved the gun toward a sock-draped chair near the fireplace. He’d obviously brought it in here from the kitchen. It looked like the kind of chair people got tied to on TV. He glanced in the direction of her gesture and moved toward the chair. His legs were long and muscular, his hips narrow as he sauntered away from her. His shoulders were a mile wide, and his back formed an awe-inspiring V that tapered down to a lean waist.
He pushed off the damp socks and sat down. “Got any rope?” he asked casually.
She frowned. Drat. She hadn’t thought of that.
“You can use a couple of my belts,” he suggested.
What the heck was going on here? Why was he being so helpful? “Where are they?” she mumbled, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“In the bedroom closet. I’ll go get a couple.”
He started to g
et up but froze when she trained the gun on him again. A corner of his mouth quirked up. “You follow at a safe distance, and if I pull any funny stuff, you have my permission to blow my head off.”
Blow his head off? She shuddered at the idea. She just wanted to talk to him without all that brawny strength intimidating her half to death. He had to be six foot four. Were he not so trimly fit, he’d look like a nightclub bouncer. Of course, the crew-cut hair and square jaw only added to the tough-guy image.
She followed him into the bedroom, alert for any sort of stunt. But he merely opened the closet and pulled out several leather belts.
She eyed the closet full of clothes suspiciously. “Do you own this place?”
He glanced over at her. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. You didn’t sound like you wanted to meet in the conference room at the Blackjacks’ headquarters.”
Dammit! She’d walked right onto his home turf! She’d remembered this was a place he’d mentioned liking to ski at when she’d booked a ski trip for herself a few weeks back, and she’d hoped meeting here would put him at ease and help him accept her invitation.
She followed him as he carried the belts back into the living room and sat down. While she watched in no little shock, he leaned over and strapped his own ankles to the chair. He sat up and put his hands behind his back, waiting patiently for her to come over and tie his hands.
“You’re sure you’re going to let me do this?” she asked him skeptically.
“Yup.”
“Why?” she asked as she knelt behind him and wrapped the leather around his wrists and the wooden spindles of the chair.
“Because I want to get this conversation over with.”
A shaft of pain sliced through her. Once upon a time, he couldn’t wait to be with her. He’d made excuses to talk to her for a few more minutes. She’d lived for those hurried conversations and stolen moments. But all of that was long gone.
She leaned back on her heels and surveyed her work. He looked well-secured at any rate. Did she dare trust him? He sat quietly, staring back at her, his gaze glacial. This was the most bizarre hostage situation she’d ever heard of.
“Feel better?” he asked coldly.
She frowned at him. “I guess so.”
“Excellent. Now maybe you could tell me why in the hell I’m here. I think I’ve earned that much, don’t you?”
She sat down in the overstuffed armchair facing him. His expression could have been chiseled out of granite. His forehead was smooth, his cheeks were flat planes with aggressively slashing cheekbones, his jaw was strong, He acted completely in control of the situation. Quite the iceman.
“You wanted to talk to me?” he prompted.
She figured her father’s financial records would be a carrot Dutch couldn’t refuse. Not only could the Blackjacks use them to track down and freeze Eduardo’s assets, but they could undoubtedly get a conviction on tax evasion or money laundering or something. She didn’t care what, as long as they put her father away for a good long time.
Of course, the trick was to buy herself time before the Blackjacks captured her father. Enough to get her father to agree to her proposed trade: the cash for Carina. Her plan was to leak the financial records to Dutch a little at a time. As long as it took to negotiate Carina’s release. Problem was, Eduardo had been surprisingly unwilling to talk about a trade so far. He probably expected his men to catch her and bring her in any minute. He believed he had no need to let Carina go. Enter Jim Dutcher.
Belatedly, she said, “I want to make a deal with you.”
“I’m listening.”
“Do you want my father?” she asked.
His eyes blazed abruptly. “Is the Pope Catholic?”
She took a deep breath. “I can deliver him to you. My father. Not the Pope.”
Dutch reared back, rocking onto the chair’s hind legs. He glared icy daggers at her. His voice dripped sarcasm. “Gee. Where have I heard that line before?”
She closed her eyes in agony as his words pierced her heart like poisoned blades. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and met his furious gaze. “Okay. I deserve that. But I’m telling you the God’s honest truth. I’m willing to give you the information you need to put my father away.”
“What information?”
“His financial records.”
“Too damn easy to fake.”
“Not these. I can give you his private books. The ones he doesn’t show anyone.”
“And how do you happen to have access to something like that?”
She looked Dutch square in the eye. “I’m his accountant. I have been for years, now. I’m in charge of money laundering, disguising and dispersing his assets, delivering bribe money, you name it.”
That dropped his jaw. The silence stretched out between them, along with her nerves. Tension stretched tighter and tighter inside her until it finally snapped. She couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to take the bait!
She dug deep for the courage to look him in the eye and say what had to be said. “I’m not walking you into another ambush. I swear. I’m offering to hand over verifiable and incriminating financial information. Any prosecutor worth his salt should be able to lock up Eduardo for the rest of his life.”
Dutch’s face went a shade paler and perfectly still. Not even a flicker of expression or whisper of movement disrupted his frozen features. He looked like a god captured in marble by some ancient Greek master. She could practically hear him evaluating the risks, weighing the options. But of what? Of killing her after he was untied or of continuing this conversation and actually contemplating taking the deal she offered?
He asked grimly, reluctantly, “What do you want in return for this alleged information?”
Here went nothing. “Keep me alive until my father is put away.”
“And?” he challenged.
“And nothing. That’s it. Just keep me alive.”
“What’s the catch?” he asked skeptically.
No way could she tell him about Carina. She had cost him his brother, and she had faith he would leap at the opportunity to cost her a sister. But, she had to tell him something plausible. She’d already decided to appeal to his pride in his skill and his love of a good challenge.
Aloud, she replied, “There’s no catch. But in the interest of full disclosure, I must tell you it won’t necessarily be easy to keep me alive.”
“Does Eduardo know you’ve contacted me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding? He would have his men kill me immediately if he did.”
“So those thugs chasing you earlier are only under orders to bring you home?”
She shrugged. “For now. Once they figure out I’ve come to you, their orders will change.”
Dutch stared at her hard, as if he could look inside her head and see the truth. She wouldn’t put it past him to do it, either. He’d always been able to read her like an open book. She did her best to concentrate on only what she’d told him. She dared not think about her real reasons for doing this or Dutch would pick up that she was holding out on him.
Lord, this was a desperate game she was playing. But it was this or death for her sister. The crushing panic she’d been holding at bay for the past few weeks began to build again behind her eyes. She didn’t know what to do or who to trust anymore. Where to go or who to turn to. She was so tired of being alone and on the run.
“How do you know I won’t just take you into custody and hand you over to the feds? If you’re his bookkeeper like you say you are, you could go to jail until you’re old and gray, too.”
She replied dryly, “I think the odds are much higher that you’ll kill me outright long before you hand me over to any authorities.”
That made him blink.
She continued with a shrug. “But that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
Masking her desperation, she stared at him, letting challenge shine in her gaze. She was willing to risk her life in this unholy alliance. Was he?
Chapter Three
Her heart raced as he stared at her for a long time, not answering. Too restless to sit there one more second under that unwavering gaze, Julia stood up and headed for the coatrack beside the hallway door, shedding her heavy ski sweater as she went. She’d just hung the garment on a hook, when a quiet knock sounded at the door.
“Housekeeping,” a female voice announced. The electronic lock beeped and the handle began to turn.
Dutch shouted from behind her, “No!”
Julia jumped for the door to throw on the interior door lock, but she was too late. The door burst open and two men surged into the suite, lunging at her. She leaped backward, desperately fighting off the grasp of the first guy. The second man circled wide, closing in on her from the back. He grabbed for her legs and she kicked wildly, twisting and turning like a panicked gazelle as they lifted her off the ground.
And then a loud cracking noise split the air. She glimpsed Dutch ripping out of the chair as if it was made of toothpicks. Spindles and chair legs went flying in all directions. He rose like an avenging angel out of the wreckage. He leaped into the fray and delivered a crippling fist to the kidney of the guy trying to grab her legs. Her feet hit the floor and the thug doubled over like a paper doll.
The second man let go of her and turned to fight. Dutch eyed the guy coldly, the promise of death in his eyes. The thug jumped and Dutch slid aside in a blindingly fast move. He stepped forward as the goon spun around to face him and she flinched as Dutch smashed his fists into the man’s face with two lightning-fast blows.
The first guy got up and Dutch spun in a blur, kicking him in the side of the head and sending him crashing to the floor. The second guy was back up on his hands and knees. An open-handed chop to the back of his head, and both men were down for good.
“Close the door,” he ordered tersely.
She jumped to the entrance and peeked out. The maid—or whoever they’d paid to open it for them—was long gone.
