Secret Agent Seduction (2 page)

As Dutch shone his small but powerful NiCad light into the room, Lia removed her military-issue Special Forces helmet, complete with night-vision goggles and headlamp, and tucked it underneath her arm. Guided by Dutch's light, she walked over to their captive and unceremoniously ripped off his mask.

The face that stared back at her was the same one that appeared in the dossier she'd received last week, but nothing could have prepared Lia for the searing intensity of amber-colored eyes that reminded her of a tiger's, heavy-lidded and rimmed with a thick fringe of black lashes. The photographs had revealed a darkly handsome man with hard cheekbones, a square jaw and mahogany skin, but the camera lens had not captured the overwhelming sensuality of his mouth, the lush fullness of his bottom lip.

Lia cleared her throat, feeling strangely off balance. “Armand Magliore, I presume?”

He nodded once. Those feral eyes watched her with a kind of probing intensity that made her want to place her hands over vital body parts, as if he could see through her body armor.

“And you are?”

She quickly recovered her composure. “Special Agent Lia Charles. This is my team. We're here to—”

She broke off in midsentence at the expression on Magliore's face. As she watched, he looked incredulously at her and the other three agents.

And then, without warning, he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

Lia bristled. Under normal circumstances, she might have enjoyed the deep, sexy, rumbling sound—if it wasn't coming at her own expense, as she suspected.

“What's so funny?” she said through gritted teeth.

“No offense, Mademoiselle Charles,” Magliore drawled insolently. “But your government must not be serious about stopping Biassou if they have sent a woman to keep me alive until the hearing.”

Dutch and the others took umbrage. “Hey! What the hell—”

Lia held up a hand. “That's all right, fellas,” she said in a mild tone. She refused to give Armand Magliore the satisfaction of knowing his sexist remark had gotten under her skin. Besides, it wasn't the first time someone had underestimated her because she was a woman, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

“Mr. Magliore is entitled to his opinion,” she said coolly. “However asinine it may be.”

Dutch snickered. “And speaking of asinine, ask him why he attacked you a minute ago. Doesn't he know we're the good guys?”

“Apparently not,” Lia said wryly.

Magliore met her gaze unflinchingly. “I had to be sure you weren't Biassou's henchmen. I apologize if I hurt or frightened you, Miss Charles. Although,” he drawled, reaching up to touch the fresh wound above his right eye where Lia's boot had connected, “it would seem that
you're
the only one who came away from the skirmish unscathed.”

“Too bad I didn't inflict more damage,” Lia muttered under her breath.

Magliore laughed. “Now
that's
what I want to hear from the woman who's been entrusted with my life.”

His words, though teasing, sobered Lia at once. What the hell was she thinking, threatening the man? Armand Magliore was her protectee. No matter how infuriating he may be, or how utterly attractive she found him, she had to remain focused and behave like the trained professional she was. His life—
and
her career—depended on it.

“Where are your soldiers?” she asked him.

“They're not here.”

“I can see that,” Lia said levelly, striving for patience. “They were supposed to be here with you this evening. That was the plan.”

His gaze turned coolly belligerent. “I sent them away.”

“Why?”

“There was no need for them to be here.
I'm
the one you were coming for, not them.”

“Which is why you were instructed not to alter your routine in any way that would compromise the extraction,” Lia said tightly. “The sudden absence of your men would arouse suspicion in anyone who's been monitoring the cabin over the last several months—namely Biassou.”

Magliore's expression hardened. “My men have been fighting for me, and alongside me, for the last two years. They've repeatedly put their lives on the line and risked the safety of their families for a war
I
started! I instructed them to stay away from the cabin today because I didn't want to risk their lives any more than I already have. If I die tonight trying to leave Muwaiti, there's no earthly reason they should perish with me.”

Lia stared at him, torn between two warring emotions. On one hand she admired his unselfishness and fierce devotion to his men, but on the other hand she was furious that he'd willfully defied their instructions and possibly compromised the entire operation.

“We've got company,” Javier Garcia announced from the open doorway of the cabin. “We just spotted three jeeps heading down the road.”

Galvanized into action, Dutch and the others rushed out of the cabin, weapons at the ready. When Magliore moved to follow them, Lia reached out quickly, grabbing his arm to detain him.

He scowled down at her. “What are you doing?”

“I need to get you out of here,” Lia said authoritatively. “Unless I'm mistaken, those are Biassou's mercenaries approaching the camp, which means we're going to be under heavy fire in less than five minutes.”

“You think I don't know that?” Magliore growled, anger and impatience radiating from his body. He tried to shake off her hand, but Lia held fast. His expression turned ferocious. “Damn it, woman! Give me back my weapons so I can help your men fight!”

“No! I can't risk your life like that! It's too dangerous.” When he tried to charge past her, Lia tightened her grip on his arm. She had the sensation of wrestling with a wild tiger.

“Look,” she ground out. “My men are highly trained operatives with over twenty years of combat experience among them. The fact is, they don't
need
your help, Magliore. But your family does. And so do the people of Muwaiti, who've been suffering under the brutal dictatorship of Alexandre Biassou for years. You owe it to them to make it out of this country alive. You're their only hope, the only one who can ensure that Biassou is removed from power and punished for his crimes. Are you going to let them down?”

Their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills. Leashed fury simmered in Magliore's amber eyes. A pulse throbbed at the base of his jaw, and beneath Lia's hand, his muscles were rigid, primed for action. She understood, even sympathized with his predicament. He was a soldier, trained to fight and defend his territory. He was born for battle, not to watch passively from the sidelines. It would be hard for him to surrender his power to another, let alone a woman. But that's the way it had to be.

At least for the next ten days.

“We have to go,” Lia said, quietly but firmly.
“Now.”

Magliore held her gaze for another tense moment, then relented. “We can leave through the back door. This way.” As he grasped Lia's hand in the calloused warmth of his own, a flutter of heat ignited in the pit of her stomach.

But she was too distracted by the jarring discovery she'd just made to dwell on her reaction.

As Magliore led her quickly through the dark cabin, Lia realized that for the first time in her life, she had met someone whose mind she couldn't read.

T
he sounds of machine-gun fire and men yelling peppered the night air as Lia and Magliore crept stealthily away from the back of the cabin. After scanning the surrounding brush to ascertain that Biassou's mercenaries were not lying in wait to ambush them, Lia signaled to Magliore, and together they quickly struck off into the deep jungle.

Lia had returned Magliore's weapons to him so that he could defend himself if they came under attack. He brought up the rear as she navigated through the thick foliage, her rifle set to burst pattern, her eyes fixed on the green-tinted shadows in her night-vision goggles as she searched for signs of other men on foot. She knew the mercenaries would be in hot pursuit once they realized that Magliore had managed to escape undetected from the cabin.

All around them the dense, sultry jungle throbbed with plant and animal life. The air was damp and heavy with the scents of fecund earth and flowers that bloomed only in the dark. There was little visibility to the sky above, except where natural openings and thin spots in the forest canopy let in shards of moonlight. Wet leaves on the ground absorbed their footfalls, but the clay mud beneath the leaves made their footing tenuous, and every slime-covered log posed a hazard. Although Lia had been to Muwaiti once before, never could she have imagined the sheer vastness of the jungle.

As they traveled farther away from the base camp, the sounds of the firefight grew quieter. Lia didn't allow herself to contemplate, even for a second, the fate of her team members. She had to remain focused on the mission that had brought her to Muwaiti: to get Armand Magliore safely to the United States. That was her first, and only, priority.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Magliore was still shadowing her, his fingers clutching the barrel and stock of the AK-47 slung across his chest, ready to neutralize any threat. The rifle seemed an innate extension of him, as familiar to him as the rugged jungle terrain they were traversing. Lia could easily imagine him leading an army of brave soldiers into battle, conquering his enemy with a ruthlessness borne of pride, not cruelty.

Catching her eye, Magliore inclined his head in a nod, barely perceptible. Lia turned away, irritated with herself for romanticizing the man, as if she had nothing better to do.

She pulled out her GPS to check the approximate coordinates of the site where the chopper was to pick them up. The intermittent GPS readings on the incandescent screen confirmed that they were heading in the right direction. They should arrive at their destination in twenty minutes, barring any complications.

No sooner had she completed the thought than Lia heard a faint rustling in the trees to their right.

She froze, her heart thudding in her chest. Her finger tightened on the trigger of her M16.

Had the rest of Biassou's mercenaries caught up to them? Or had her team members made the rustling noise as they crept through the dark jungle to meet her at the rendezvous site?

A quick glance at her GPS revealed that Dutch and the others were nowhere nearby. Which could mean only one thing.

Behind her, Magliore had stopped walking. Glancing over her shoulder, Lia signaled for him to remain silent. He nodded once.

Turning around slowly, Lia took three steps. Again she heard movement in the trees. This time the noise sounded as if it was coming closer.

Spurred by instinct, she spun around and dove in front of Magliore, knocking him to the ground just as a bullet singed the air above them. Before he could recover from the bone-jarring impact, Lia raised her rifle and fired into the dense foliage. A man's gargled scream told her she'd hit her mark.

Anticipating the return of gunfire, she sprayed the trees with three more rounds of ammo. There were more screams and angry shouts.

Taking advantage of their opponents' confusion, Lia and Magliore scrambled to their feet and ran through the thick undergrowth, keeping low to the ground as shots rang out over their heads.

They took cover behind the broad trunk of a massive tree strapped with vines. The dark jungle was lit with the deafening, staccato blasts of automatic weapons firing into the night.

Magliore returned fire, buying Lia time to reach inside her field pack and pull out a 40mm single-shot grenade launcher. With practiced ease, she attached the device under the barrel of her M16, loaded it with a high-velocity grenade and cocked the hammer. At Magliore's signal, she reached around the tree and fired into the dense brush shielding their enemies. The explosion upended a small patch of trees and sent two mangled bodies hurtling through the air. They were dead before they hit the ground.

“Let's go!” Lia shouted to Magliore.

They took off at a full sprint, slowed only by the tangle of branches and vines and slippery spots on the muddy forest floor. They ran until they reached a clearing in the jungle that stretched approximately sixty feet across, wide enough for a helicopter to land. On the opposite side, at the edge of the clearing, a small rock formation protruded from the ground. It would serve as a shield while Lia set up the flares to signal their readiness for pickup.

“We'll take cover there,” she whispered to Magliore, pointing at the rock formation.

He nodded, and together they started off across the moonlit clearing, keeping their weapons drawn. Adrenaline pumped through Lia's veins, and the fine hairs at the back of her neck tingled. The night had grown unnaturally still and silent, save for the call of birds soaring above the jungle canopy.

Lia clicked her three-way radio. “Dutch, do you read?”

Dead silence greeted her.

She clicked the radio again. “Garcia, what is your position?”

Nothing.

Lia's mouth went dry. Glancing up, she found Magliore watching her, his expression unreadable in the shadowy moonlight.

Looking away, she forced herself to continue walking. She refused to speculate about whether or not her team members had been captured or killed by Biassou's mercenaries during the shootout. Her men were trained professionals who knew the risks involved in such a dangerous operation. They knew, as did Lia, that every time they embarked on one of these assignments, there was a chance they wouldn't make it back home.

Understanding the risks had never stopped any of them from accepting the call of duty.

“We can go back and get them,” Magliore said in a low voice.

Lia gave her head a vigorous shake. “No. My orders were to get you out of that cabin and safely onto the chopper, and that's what I'm going to do.”

“What happens if your men don't make it here on time?”

Lia hesitated. “There's a second chopper on standby. We anticipated the possibility of getting separated.”

When they were halfway across the open stretch of jungle, they heard the noisy rumble of an approaching engine. They whipped around in time to see an open-topped jeep erupt from the dense foliage, as if it had been spewed from a cannon. There were six men inside the vehicle, all dressed in camouflage gear. All but the driver were armed with submachine guns.

As the jeep roared toward Lia and Magliore, the mercenaries stood and began firing at them.

They hit the ground, returning fire as they rolled. Shots cracked in the night air and bullets thudded into metal. Magliore picked off the front passenger, whose bullet-riddled body pitched sideways and toppled from the jeep.

Lia steadied her rifle and squeezed off two three-round bursts. One of her shots shattered the windshield and took out the driver.

Out of control, with no one manning the accelerator or clutch, the jeep veered sharply off course, skidding into a tailspin as the men's panicked shouts rang out.

Not wasting a second, Lia and Magliore hurried to their feet and raced toward the rock formation less than thirty feet away.

They ducked for cover as the jeep, manned by a new driver, made a tight U-turn and began speeding toward them again. Three remaining gunmen in the rear deck fired at Lia and Magliore in rapid succession, the bullets peppering the rock they were using as cover.

Crouching beside Lia, Magliore opened fire, his AK-47 spraying a line of holes in the hood as the jeep barreled closer. Keeping her head down, Lia quickly loaded her grenade launcher, sweat rolling down her face and into her eyes, stinging them.

She had one shot, one chance to make it count. She couldn't afford to miss.

When the jeep was within twenty feet of their position, Lia peered around the rock, trained her sights on the target and pulled the trigger.

The 40mm grenade covered the distance in a split second and detonated against the jeep's fuel tank.

The explosion shook the ground, sending flames and black clouds of smoke billowing up into the sky.

Magliore grabbed Lia, instinctively using his body to shield her from flying shrapnel and debris. They lay motionless for several moments, but there were no more sounds of enemy gunfire.

After another moment, Magliore lifted his head and peered into Lia's face. “Are you all right?” he demanded.

She nodded, pulling out of his arms. Her ears were still ringing from the explosion and her right shoulder hurt like hell from knocking Magliore to the ground earlier. But other than that, she was none the worse for wear.

She peeked around the rock at the flaming remains of the jeep. “They're all dead.”

“Thanks to you.” Magliore's crooked grin was a slash of white in the shadowy gloom. “Nice shot.”

Lia shrugged dismissively, ignoring an absurd twinge of pleasure at the compliment. After all, this was the same man who'd ridiculed her government for sending a woman to retrieve him.

In the distance she heard the whirling rotors of an approaching chopper, cutting across the dark jungle canopy as it closed in on their location.

Lia let out a long, inaudible breath.

The cavalry had arrived. Thank God.

But where were her men?

Armand Magliore stared out the window of the sleek government helicopter as it swept over the black jungle, heading away from the small island.
His
island. The only place he'd ever called home.

His chest tightened at the thought of never seeing his country again.

Armand had no illusions about what would happen if he failed to ensure Alexandre Biassou's removal from power. He could never return home, nor could his family. Biassou would have them murdered the moment their feet touched Muwaitian soil, and he would brazenly display their mutilated corpses to send a message to all others who dared to challenge his dictatorship.

Armand suppressed a shudder at the thought. Even though he was willing to be martyred, he couldn't let anything happen to his mother and twin siblings, whom he'd been responsible for since his father died eighteen years ago.

Armand had been only fourteen years old when Jacques Magliore was killed by an armed robber on his way home from work. Armand, the oldest of three siblings, had assumed leadership of the family, knowing this was what his father would have wanted—and expected—of him. It had forced him to grow up fast. Faster than any of his friends, who couldn't understand why Armand had to work in the tobacco fields instead of joining them for a leisurely afternoon of swimming at the beach. Filling his father's big shoes hadn't been easy, and Armand had often felt overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of his responsibilities. But somehow he'd survived, and so had his family.

He'd be damned if he would let anything happen to them now.

Armand took comfort in the knowledge that, for the past two weeks, his mother and siblings had been sequestered in a federal safe house outside Washington, D.C., thousands of miles beyond Biassou's reach. The Secret Service, in brokering the deal with Armand, had insisted that keeping him and his family at separate locations would be safer for everyone because Armand was Biassou's primary target, and his proximity to his family only endangered their lives more. Putting aside his own misgivings, Armand had consented to the arrangement. He'd do anything to keep his mother and siblings out of harm's way. Even if it meant staying away from them for a while.

After he testified before the United Nations Security Council and Alexandre Biassou was found guilty of his crimes, Armand would be reunited with his family. And then he would return to Muwaiti to help rebuild and restore his war-ravaged country to the idyllic paradise of his youth.

But if Biassou somehow managed to escape punishment, Armand would deliver justice for his people.

One way or another, Biassou would pay.

Until then Armand would bide his time, swallow his pride and entrust his life to the United States Secret Service.

Specifically, to the woman seated beside him in the chopper.

Lia Charles wore a calm, meditative expression as she gazed out at the dark expanse of jungle below. Her black hair was pulled back tightly from her face, except for a few stray wisps that clung to the damp skin of her forehead, cheeks and neck. To look at her, one would never suspect that she could kill with lethal precision and force. With long-lashed, dark eyes that tilted exotically at the corners, high cheekbones and a lush, sultry mouth that appeared sweeter than the ripe mangos he had devoured as a boy, Lia Charles looked more like an angel than an assassin.