Shadow Soldier (3 page)

He went back up and walked around the room to check out a door under the staircase that led upstairs. A small bathroom with a shower, simple and clean. Packages of toothpaste and toothbrushes along with a few disposable razors occupied the medicine cabinet. A monster of a first-aid kit was tucked under the vanity next to a couple of old Playboy magazines. He grinned. Some things never changed. He closed the door and walked back into the living room.

“Now what?” Nicola wrinkled her brows as she turned from the window. The Kevlar hid her curves, leaving only her phenomenal legs for him to admire.
They were enough. He could have spent days on those legs alone. Weeks.

The woman was plenty enough to get under his skin and keep him tantalized. He definitely didn't need the magazines under the sink. Best thing for him to do was to drag his mind from that entire direction. He swallowed. “Now I check out the rest of the house.”

He ran up the stairs, forcing his thoughts to the work at hand. A steel reinforced door—dead bolt on both sides—closed off the upper floor. Whoever renovated the old farmhouse hadn't bothered with anything beyond that. He scanned one room after the other in quick succession. Not much to look at. The windows were good and locked, but everything else had fallen into disrepair. Drywall full of holes and a leaky roof, no sight of furniture, a gutted bathroom—not a pretty picture. He locked the steel door behind him as he walked back down.

“So?” Nicola was checking out the security system next to the door.

“It's tight.”

She nodded, and her silky dark curls slid into her face. She pushed them from her jewel-green eyes. “Are you going to check outside?”

“Not until it gets dark.” He clipped his phone off his belt and opened a blank e-mail. “My turn.”

“For what?”

“Questions. I want you to give me the name of everyone you came in contact with in China, and as much information about them as you can remember.”

“That would take hours.”

“Start in order of importance.”

She rubbed her temple. “Meng Mei, my best friend. We went to the same school. I lost touch with her after coming back to the States. I don't see what this could possibly have to do with—”

“Keep going.” He typed the information into the phone.

“Most of the people I came in contact with worked at the embassy. They went through extensive security clearance, I'm sure. The cooks, the maids, the gardener, the people who staffed the consulate and handled the visa applications.” She rattled off a number of names and he took them down.

“Anyone else?”

She named a few of her Chinese classmates at the English language school.

“How about the people your parents came in contact with?”

“Other than the embassy staff, I wouldn't know. I know my father met with a number of Chinese officials, but he didn't talk much about work at home.”

“That's fine.” The Colonel had probably talked
about that with the senator already. “How about your Chinese acquaintances in this country?”

“About twenty clients currently, but I don't want anyone to contact them.” She fixed him with a stern look. “You said you already checked them out.”

Her generous lips looked even more tempting when she pursed them like that. “That was before the attack. This is a whole new ball game. They're about to be checked out again.” Right down to their great-grandfathers if he had to.

She started to list some names, and he asked as many questions as he could think of, maybe even dragged it out a little. The role felt comfortable, what he was used to. He didn't know what to do after he was done, how to make small talk. It had been years since he'd had to spend more than a night with any one woman, his job not exactly conducive to long-term relationships.

Not that spending a night with Nicola Barrington wasn't more appealing than most anything he could think of. He had spent the past two months memorizing all the spots on her body he would have liked to touch. Seemed harmless at the time, considering they were unlikely to meet. And for damn sure he'd been due some entertainment. Trouble was when night did come, they wouldn't be spending it together in the traditional sense. She would be spending it on the pullout couch while he took brief naps sitting by
the window. He didn't expect it to be a particularly satisfying experience.

And the chances of him being able to touch Nicola Barrington under any circumstances were nonexistent. After the next few days, their paths would never cross again. He had no right to be fantasizing about her. Then again, why the hell not? What else did he have?

Nothing. He didn't even exist. Not like other people. He no longer had a social security number, no service record, no contacts beyond his immediate supervisor and occasional teammates. He didn't even have a pair of damned dog tags. Nothing that could identify him. He was part of a shadow created by the U.S. government to deal with problems that could not be handled in open daylight. And when the shadow fell on the people who created those problems, they disappeared.

That was what he was trained for, what he was good at. Not trying to act normal, playing house with a senator's daughter. He sent off the e-mail to Sylvia, Colonel Wilson's secretary, and watched as Nicola rummaged through the refrigerator. Bet she never had to eat food cooked over a camel dung campfire, or breakfast on coconut grubs in the jungle. Had he ever had a normal life? If he had, he couldn't remember it. Certainly not back in Cuba as a young
child, and not later, either, once his parents had died and he was left in the care of strangers.

Didn't matter now. All he had to do was keep Nicola Barrington from getting under his skin too much in the next couple of days. Shouldn't take more than that for the rest of his team to pick up the shooter. Between the license plate number for the brown van and the bullets the shooter had left in the pavement at the market, he'd be traced before long.

He should have taken out both men right in the parking lot. Could have from where he was parked, but his primary objective was to keep Nicola safe, which meant getting her away from the attackers rather than engaging them. Damn. He wasn't used to playing the bodyguard. He was more of a seek-and-destroy man.

But guard her he would, even if it meant hiding in the country and sitting on his hands. He would do whatever it took to convince the Colonel that he was ready to be shipped out. He just had to sit tight and refuse to allow her to become a distraction. Piece of cake. He could handle it.

 

I
F SHE HAD TO WATCH
Alex do one more push-up, she'd scream. Nicola squirmed on the couch, pretending to read. He did fifty more; with one hand behind his back. Then he started on the sit-ups. She would have had two heart attacks and a stroke by
now if she had to do all that. She wasn't very athletic. The only sport she had ever played was baseball, and even at that she was only semi-successful. She was a great pitcher but lousy at running.

She exercised regularly, her Tai Chi and at the gym, but it was nothing like what Alex was doing now. She envied his sinuous body. And lusted after it. In the worst way.

It wouldn't have been so bad if he weren't wearing those stupid butt-hugging Army fatigues he had changed into from his blue jeans and the unnecessarily tight long-sleeved black T-shirt. She, of course, had to make do with an oversize gray drawstring sweatsuit that made her look like a pregnant elephant. Who the hell stocked these safe houses, anyway?

Okay, so maybe it was partially her fault. She had spilled the stupid Ramen noodles on her lap. Not completely without provocation—she'd been severely distracted. He had been taking off his dirt-and grease-covered jeans in the bathroom to put on a pair of complimentary pants from the hall closet. She had found it hard to concentrate on her bowl when the man was getting naked next door.

At least he had let her take off the vest. She had thought she would have to sleep in it. Which brought to mind the sleeping arrangements. She couldn't think of any scenario she felt comfortable with.

Now that she had a chance to calm down, this morning's events didn't seem as scary. The terrorists had made an attempt and missed. The one who still remained would know she was watched and protected. It would be stupid of him to come back.

She wanted her life to return to normal as soon as possible. “Do you think this is really necessary?”

He gave no indication that he heard her.

She hated to be ignored. “If you're my bodyguard that means I am the boss, right?”

He threw her a look that started out as amused, then turned into something else entirely. “If I was your maid or your chauffeur, you'd be the boss.”

She thought his voice was unnecessarily sharp. Maybe it was her imagination, but the air seemed to have been charged with electricity between them all day. She had half expected her hair to start standing up. As much as Alex had assured her that he was there to protect her, every time he came near, her instincts screamed,
Run for your life.

For the past couple of weeks, he'd been an unattainable fantasy, a gorgeous stranger she'd discreetly ogled to take her mind off the pain in her thighs as she suffered on the treadmill. And now here they were. Together.

He was too much—too strong, too tall…too sexy. She had no idea what to do with him, how to relate to him. Men like Alex weren't exactly common in
her life. Other than her middle-aged married neighbors, the only men she associated with were strictly business acquaintances. Well, other than Richard, one of her father's aides. But Richard had never made her feel like Alex did. Like she wanted to jump out of her skin.

As the U.S. ambassador's daughter in China, she had been watched constantly, left with few opportunities to socialize with boys her age. When her family had returned to the States, her father had shipped her off to a women's college. Her mother had been gravely ill by then, so she spent her weekends at home missing the coed parties.

Then came Richard the Slime. She must have been pretty pathetic to fall so in love with someone who wanted nothing from her other than her father's favor. After the breakup she'd sworn she wasn't ever going to come within a hundred feet of a government man. It scared her how little judgment she had when it came to the opposite sex—Richard first, and now Alex, some kind of a secret agent.

The key was not to think of him as a man she was attracted to. If she pretended he was a business opponent, maybe she would have better luck with summoning her courage to stand up to him.

She was the one with her life at stake. She wanted to be part of whatever decisions were to be made.
No, not just part of. She wanted to be the one who made them.

“Could we at least go home to get some of my things? I need to keep my business running.”

He shook his head.

“It wouldn't take long and you'd be there to protect me.”

He ignored her.

“You said I could leave anytime I wanted.”

“Didn't want to have to fight with you in the middle of a chase.”

She came to her feet. “You lied?”

“You should have known better than to start an argument and try to distract me while people were shooting at us.”

“Of all the highhanded—” She moved toward the back door. As indignation filled her, she didn't find him nearly as intimidating. “I can walk out of here right now. I don't need your permission.”

He threw her a challenging look. “You think you can get through me?”

Ohh, that did it. “Are you telling me I'm a prisoner and there's nothing I can do about it?” She welcomed the anger that replaced her earlier mix of confused emotions. She felt much more comfortable being angry at the man than mooning after him.

“You're in protective custody. Appreciate it.”

She stopped and leaned against the wall with her
arms folded, noting the small dark triangle of sweat on the back of his shirt. Who the hell did he think he was to order her around?

His forehead touched his knees with each sit-up, his combat boots planted firmly on the floor. His movements were smooth and efficient; she could almost feel the tightly coiled power in his body. A military man, no doubt, but tougher and older than the Marines who had guarded the embassy in Beijing. She figured him to be in his mid to late thirties.

“Are you a Navy SEAL?”

He stopped for a moment and looked at her, his dark eyes assessing, the tone of his voice light when he spoke. “Would that make you more comfortable?”

“You telling me the truth would make me feel more comfortable.” Although she had less chance of that than a bucket of Häagen-Dazs in hell. That was not how government men operated. Wouldn't recognize a straight answer if it got elected.

“I'm whoever you want me to be,” he said, and went back to his workout.

His fingers linked behind his head, he lowered his upper body to the floor then pulled up twisting his torso to touch his right elbow to the left knee, down to the floor, then back again to touch his left elbow to his right knee. He repeated the exercise over and over again without the slightest sign of strain.

He was ignoring her. Frustration tightened her jaw. “You sound like a cheap prostitute.”

She was sick of not being told the truth for her own protection. She had worked hard to get away from the suffocating life she had, courtesy of her father. And now somehow she'd gotten sucked back again.

Alex sat on his haunches like a jungle cat ready to pounce. His dark gaze held hers, cold and unyielding. “Is that what you want?”

What was he talking about? She had to search her brain to think what she'd said. God, had she just called him a prostitute? “It's not what I meant.” She watched, rooted to the spot, as he unfolded his enormous frame and moved toward her.

And kept moving closer. “I—” She tried to step away, but it was too late. They were nose to chest, an arm braced on either side of her. She couldn't do anything but stare at the muscles that bulged under his shirt in front of her face. How did he get there so fast?