The Mercenary (4 page)

an infamous world hot spot and stick your nose into something you couldn’t even begin to understand.

What’s next? A hike through the Afghan desert or a scenic cruise to the Caspian Sea with a day trip to

Chechnya? Christ, lady, maybe you should read a newspaper or watch a little CNN

before you go flitting

around the world.”

“I wasn’t flitting, I was investigat—How do you know how old I am?”

“I took a wild guess that you and your twin were close to the same age,” he said drily, pushing off the

sofa. He was a good six feet away from her, but she blinked several times as he crossed in front of her

heading for the bar.

Nervous? Good. She had just cause. He turned his back on her and strode across the room. It wasn’t

so much the booze he needed, it was movement. Action. There wasn’t enough damn room in the den.

Not for the two of them anyway.

He could smell her. Female. Flowers. Innocence.

Fuck it.

He needed to be outside, under the open sky. He glanced at the window. Still snowing.

Great. Just

great. It suited his mood perfectly. Cold. Dark. Depressing. He felt trapped here in his house, his castle,

withher. Marc wasn’t sure why, but he felt…besieged. As if the enemy had breached the walls of his

sanctuary.

Carrying the half-empty bottle and ignoring his moronic analogy—hell, she was all of five feet, five inches

tall, and probably weighed in at under a hundred and twenty pounds—he moved back to the fireplace.

Putting the bottle down on the table he crouched to toss in another log. He flicked her a glance as the

new log burst into an explosion of sparks.

“You want me to go and get him, is that it?” he asked mildly as he straightened.

Not him. No way in hell. Butsomeone.

T-FLAC HQ was a hop, skip and jump away from the ranch. One call, and he’d—

they’d—have a

team wheels up, and en route to Italy, and the island of Marezzo.

“Of course. Would I be here if I wanted him to linger in that horrible country? You’re the only one who

can bring him back.”

“Lady, your brother was—”My best friend. A damn fine T-FLAC operative. One more fucking rock in

this suitcase of guilt I’ve been lugging around.

“Is.”

That deceptively soft exterior held a will of steel. “If,” he continued without pause, “he was alive, I

assure you, I’d know it.”I’ll know one way or the other before you wake up in the morning, he thought

grimly. And it would probably be a good idea not to picture this woman sleepy-eyed and naked amidst

crumpled sheets at this time.

“Well he is, and you didn’t,” she countered reasonably. She rose, the coffee table between them. He’d

never known a female over the age of thirteen who blushed as much as this one did. And the suit—the

suit was too damn big. Too old-fashioned. Too—hell—everything was wrong with it.

He’d never met a

woman who was so clueless about how to dress flatteringly. It wasn’t a suit so much as a sack and for

some inexplicable reason, it made him wonder what she was hiding under it.

Her legs were long, and from what he could see of them, well shaped, with incredibly delicate ankles.

Luckily he’d always been a breast man so her legs didn’t have much effect on him. Not much. Had any

man seen her naked? Probably not.

The lush mouth said come here, and the green eyes shouted go to hell.Please, he added with an inward

smile. He stood his ground as she circumvented the coffee table between them.

She tilted her head back to look up at him. Marc felt the shock of her small hand on his arm right

through his thick sweater. He wanted to shake her off. But her touch was as light as a butterfly, and

seductively gentle. She smelled like heaven.

He needed to get a grip. Shake her off and make that call. The sooner the better.

“They have him in Pescarna,” she said quietly, a tremor in her husky voice. “It’s a little fishing village on

the southwest side of the island. He’s in really bad…” Her short nails dug into his arm through the wool,

and she swallowed hard, her eyes suddenly swimming with tears. “They’ve hurt him.

Badly. He—he

didn’t even recognize me.”

Her fingers tightened on his arm. “Please. Help me.”

“No.” He was going to get help forAlex.

For a moment there was silence as Tory stared up at him. “No? You’re saying no?

Despite the fact that

he’s your best friend and partner, you won’t go in and rescue him?” Her jaw ached with fury and

frustration.

Marc stepped away from her and leaned an elbow against the oak mantel, looking as relaxed as a cat.

The silly diamond winked in his ear. She’d like to twist that lobe, as Grammy had done to her when

she’d been naughty, until he stopped being so macho and actuallylistened to what she was telling him.

“It’s nice to know you have such a good command of the English language, Miss Jones.

You got it in

one. Your brother was/is a good operative, and like all good operatives, he went in knowing the odds

and the consequences.”

Her heart was beating much too fast. He couldn’t refuse, he just could not refuse. “But you thought he

was dead. Now that you know that he isn’t—”

“Makes absolutely no difference. I told you. I don’t work for T-FLAC any longer. I don’t have access

to any intel. And even if I did—”

“What kind of man are you? They’retorturing him. How can you just stand there so complacently and

not care? Even if youdon’t work for them anymore, you still have the experience, the skills, the contacts,

don’t you?”

One moment he was completely relaxed, the next he was right in her face. “‘No’ is a complete sentence.

Want me to spell it out for you?”

A tidal wave of panic threatened to drown her. Her knees locked and her insides did somersaults at his

nearness. Lord he was big. Big and mean looking, long hair and earring notwithstanding.

The muscles in

her stomach constricted as if she could at least draw that small part of herself away from the

overwhelming menace of him. His whisky-scented breath was hot on her face, animosity radiated off him

like a force field. She’d give everything she owned to have that much confidence. That much power.

Not particularly brave or adventurous in the first place, she’d been running on sheer nerves and bravado

for days.

“This ranch is the only thing that keeps me marginally sane and reminds me I’m still part of the human

race,” he told her grimly. “Just because your brother gave you my name does not give you the right to

barge into my home and demand anything. Got that?” He was so close, Tory could see the pale squint lines beside his eyes and smell the faint scent of soap on

his skin. The fiery heat of his body, so close to hers, made her dizzy. She flinched, her trembling fingers

touching her throat as he looked down at her, his eyes narrowed and hard.

When she remained mute he said softly, “I spent almost half my life in hell so that people like you can

sleep safe and sound in their beds at night. I’m just not interested anymore in saving a damsel in distress,

whatever her problem.”

His words stunned her. Alex had called this man the best friend he’d ever had. “You heartless son of

a—I can’t believe that anyone could be so—so unfeeling.Alex thinks of you as a close friend.”

“In this business I don’t have any friends.”

“I can certainly see why. With a friend like you, who needs enemies?” Okay. That was probablynot the

way to get this cold-eyed man motivated.

Tory felt the wild thundering of her pulse and swallowed hard. Her eyes focused on the subtle plaid of

the wallpaper and for several seconds she counted the horizontal lines. She wasn’t up to his sparring

weight. Not tonight at any rate. She knew she wouldn’t be up to his weight even if shewere in tip-top

physical condition. Which she wasn’t at the moment. She was beyond exhausted, out of her mind with

worry. And flat-out terrified.

None of that mattered. She couldn’t fail Alex. No matter how tough, how mean, how unmotivated this

man was, she had to get through to him. Tonight.

This was the only shot she had.

“That leaves me with only two choices.”

“I can assure you, I don’t want to know what they are. Time for you to leave. I’ll give you directions to

the local Motel 6 if you like.”

“One,” she said firmly, ignoring him as best she could. “I can go back again, and try to find him by

myself…”

His laugh sounded rusty and not terribly amused. “How’d that work for you the first time around? If you

could have gotten him out, you wouldn’t be here now.”

“Two,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I can go into town and talk to the nice people at the local

newspaper.” She looked at him with guileless eyes. “There is a newspaper in Brandon, isn’t there? I’m

sure they’d love to have the scoop. Do the townspeople have any idea you’re a mercenary?”

Tory had heard the threat coming out of her mouth—she just couldn’t believe she’d actually had the guts

to make it. Her heart pounded and her palms became damp when he stepped closer.

She refused to be bullied, even though he was well over six feet, and he towered over her. His unshaven

jaw was taut with fury in a face that was too masculine, too hard to ever be handsome.

His nose was an

aristocratic slash between dark brows that were drawn inward. He glared at her, a muscle jumping in his

cheek as he stopped a hairbreadth in front of her.

She swallowed sickly, refusing to back up.Don’t show fear, she told herself grimly.Do not show this man

one inch of fear.

The diamond earring glittered as he shifted to lift her chin with his finger. “You,” he said with lethal

softness, “are either very brave or very stupid.”

Tory gulped. Her eyes felt bone-dry as she forced herself to hold his gaze. The sound of her racing heart

was loud in her ears.

Still tilting her face up he said flatly, “No one knows that you’re here, do they, Miss Jones?” Before she

could even formulate a reply he continued. “Did it ever occur to that agile little brain of yours that you

might know just too damn much?” His fingers tightened around her jaw. “That if I am who you think I

am, I can’t let you leave here?”

His grip stretched Tory’s skin painfully across her cheekbones. Her body was paralyzed as he held her

gaze. “No one would know if you disappeared from the face of the earth, now would they? So if the

‘local newspaper’ needed a story, and someone just happened to find a mutilated body down by the

river—Oh, for God’s sake. Don’t faint—”

He caught her as her eyes rolled and she slumped forward. The cast on her arm banged into the coal

scuttle and he winced as he swung her up in his arms and strode over to the sofa, where he gently laid her

down.

He was a bastard. An asshole, dickhead son of a bitch. He’d never mistreated a woman in his life. And

doing so now, toher, proved just how damned low he’d sunk. When she didn’t open her eyes, he moved

the arm in the cast out of the way, and started undoing the little pearl buttons of her blouse. Her skinwas

silky smooth and warm.

He jerked his hand back when the back of his fingers accidentally—swear to Godaccidentally—

brushed the plump curve of her breast.

Not boxy at all.

Miss Jones was all lush curves and hidden valleys. Marc dragged his hand away, and kept his attention

on her face.

His words had only partially been a bluff.

She knew more than was good for her.

He stopped unbuttoning at the third button. Her breathing was just fine. He was surprised, however, at

how pleasurable it was to touch her skin, and be sitting close enough to inhale the flowery fragrance of

her. She wasn’t plain at all, he thought watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath the

lace-collared white blouse. She had regained consciousness, but kept very still, eyes closed. Playing

possum. Again.

He’d never scared anyone into a swoon before. He found himself not liking that she was his first. She

was pale and limp. He didn’t like that he felt sympathetic, either. That wasn’t who he was. Who he used

to be, hell…

“Unless you want me to administer CPR, open your eyes and take a swig of this.” He wanted her awake

and aware when he booted her out the door. Then he was going to make that call.

He wasn’t going to tell her and get her hopes up, or listen to her opinion on how the retrieval—please

God, there was one—was to go down. She could suffer, preferably in silence, for a few more hours.

When he got news, she’d be the first to know.

If there was even the smallest, most remote chance that Alex was alive, Marc was going to call in the

cavalry to go bring him home.

Her lids fluttered before she fixed her big green eyes on his face. “You are a hateful man.”

“So I’ve been told.” Marc picked up the barely tasted glass of whiskey she’d set on the table earlier. He

ran his hand under the back of her head to lift her so she could drink. Bad mistake. Bad, bad,bad fucking

mistake touching her.

Her hair was thick, and felt like cool silk tangled between his callused fingers. “Drink.” She parted her lips and took dainty sips of whiskey. Long dark strands of her hair escaped in thick

skeins from the bun-thing at her nape to tumble down her back as she sat up, taking the glass from him.

He had an image—a fleeting, foolish image—of burying his face in the waist-length strands. Of feeling

the cool silk draped across his naked thighs…