Mackenzie's Pleasure (17 page)

But when she'd asked one of the Marine officers stationed at the embassy to make some

inquiries about Zane, it was Admiral Lindley who had gotten back to her instead of the captain.

The dignified, distinguished admiral had come to the ambassador's private quarters less

than an hour before. Barrie hadn't yet returned to her minor job in the embassy, feeling that

she couldn't keep her mind on paperwork, so she had received the admiral in the beautifully

appointed parlor.

After polite conversation about her health and the weather, the admiral came to the

point of his visit. "You've been making some inquiries about Zane Mackenzie," he said kindly.

"I've kept abreast of his condition, and I can tell you now with complete confidence that he'll fully

recover. The ship's surgeon was able to stop the bleeding, and it wasn't necessary to remove his spleen.

His condition was stabilized, and he was transferred to a hospital. When he's able, he'll be sent

Stateside for the remainder of his convalescence."

"Where is he?" Barrie had demanded, her eyes burning. She'd scarcely slept in three

days. Though she was once more impeccably clothed and coifed, the strain she'd been under had

left huge dark circles under her eyes, and she was losing weight fast, because her nerves wouldn't let

her eat.

Admiral Lindley sighed. "William asked me to keep that information from you, Barrie,

and I have to say, I think he's right. I've known Zane a long time. He's an extraordinary warrior.

But SEALs are a breed apart, and the characteristics that make them such great warriors don't, as a

whole, make them model citizens. They're trained weapons, to put it bluntly. They don't keep

high profiles, and most information about them is restricted."

"I don't want to know about his training," she said, her voice strained. "I don't want to

know about his missions. I just want to see him."

The admiral shook his head. "I'm sorry."

Nothing she said budged him. He refused to give her even one more iota of information.

Still, Zane was alive; he would be all right. Just knowing that made her feel weak inside, as the

unbearable tension finally relaxed.

That didn't mean she would forgive her father for interfering.

"I love him," she now said deliberately. "You have no right to keep me from seeing him."

"Love?" Her father gave her a pitying look. "Barrie, what you feel isn't love, it's heroworship. It will fade, I promise you."

"Do you think I haven't considered that?" she fired back. "I'm not a teenager with a

crush on a rock star. Yes, I met him under dangerous, stressful circumstances. Yes, he saved

my life—and he nearly died doing it. I know what infatuation is, and I know what love is, but

even if I didn't, the decision isn't yours to make."

"You've always been reasonable," he argued. "At least concede that your judgment

may not be at its sharpest right now. What if you acted impulsively, married this man—I'm

sure he'd jump at the chance—and then realized that you really didn't love him? Think what

a mess it would be. I know it sounds snobbish, but he isn't our kind. He's a sailor, and a

trained killer. You've dined with kings and danced with princes. What could the two of you

have in common?"

"First, that doesn't just
sound
snobbish, it
is
snobbish. Second, you must not think much

of me as a person if you consider your money my only attraction."

"You know that isn't what I meant," he said, genuinely shocked. "You're a wonderful

person. But how could someone like that appreciate the life you live? How do you know he

wouldn't have his eye on the main chance?"

"Because I know him," she declared. "I know him in a way I never would have if I'd

met him at an embassy party. According to you, a SEAL couldn't be kind and considerate,

but he was. They all were, for that matter. Dad, I've told you over and over that I wasn't

raped. I know you don't believe me, and I know you've suffered, worrying about me. But I

swear to you—
I swear—
that I wasn't. They were planning to, the next day, but they were waiting

for someone. So, though I was terrified and upset, I haven't been through the trauma of a gang

rape the way you keep thinking. Seeing Zane lying in a pool of blood was a hell of a lot more

traumatic than anything those kidnappers did!"

"Barrie!" It was the first time her father had ever heard her curse. Come to think of it,

she had never cursed at all, until rough men had grabbed her off the street and subjected her to

hours of terror. She had cursed them, and meant it. She had cursed Major Hodson, and meant

that, too.

With an effort, she regulated her tone. "You know that the first attempt to get me out

didn't quite work."

He gave an abrupt nod. He'd suffered agonies, thinking their only hope of rescuing her

had failed and imagining what she must be suffering. That was when he'd given up hope of

ever seeing her alive again. Admiral Lindley hadn't been as pessimistic; the SEALs hadn't

checked in, and though there were reports of gunfire in Benghazi, if a team of SEALs had been

killed or captured, the Libyan government would have trumpeted it all over the world. That

meant they were still there, still working to free her. Until they heard from the team that

the rescue had failed, there was still hope.

"Well, it did work, in a way. Zane came in alone to get me, while the rest of the team

was a diversion, I guess, in case things went wrong. He had a backup plan, what to do if they

were spotted, because you can't control the human factor." She realized she was repeating

things Zane had said to her during those long hours when they had lain drowsily together, and

she missed him so much that pain knotted her insides. "The team was so well-hidden that one

of the guards didn't see Spooky until he actually stepped on him. That's what gave the alarm

and started the shooting. A guard had been posted in the corridor outside the room where they

had me tied up, and he ran in. Zane killed him," she said simply. "Then, while the others were

chasing the team, he got me out of the building. We were separated from the team and had

to hide for a day, but I was safe."

The ambassador listened gravely, soaking up these details of how she had been

returned to him. They hadn't talked before, not about the actual rescue. She had been too

distraught about Zane, almost violent in her despair. Now that she knew he was alive, even

though she was still so angry she could barely contain it, she was able to tell her father how

she had been returned to him alive.

"While I stayed in our hiding place, Zane risked his life by going out and stealing food

and water for us, as well as the robe and chador for me. He took care of the cut on my foot.

When scavengers were practically dismantling the place around us, he kept himself between me

and any danger. That's the man I fell in love with, that's the man you say isn't 'our kind.' He

may not be yours, but he's definitely mine!"

The expression in her father's eyes was stunned, almost panicked. Too late, Barrie saw

that she had chosen the wrong tack in her argument. If she had presented her concern for

Zane as merely for someone who had done so much for her, if she had insisted that it was only

right she thank him in person, her father could have been convinced. He was very big on

preserving the niceties, on behaving properly. Instead, she had convinced him that she truly

loved Zane Mackenzie, and too late she saw how much he had feared exactly that. He didn't

want to lose her, and now Zane presented a far bigger threat than before.

"Barrie, I..." He fumbled to a stop, her urbane, sophisticated father who was never at a

loss for words. He swallowed hard. It was true that he'd seldom denied her anything, and

those times he had refused had been because he thought the activity she planned or the object

she wanted—once it had been a motorcycle—wasn't safe. Keeping her safe was his

obsession, that and holding tightly to his only remaining family, his beloved child, who so

closely resembled the wife he'd lost.

She saw it in his eyes as his instinct to pamper her with anything she desired warred

with the knowledge that this time, if he did, he would probably lose her from his life. He didn't

want occasional visits from her; they had both endured that kind of separation during her

school years. He wanted her
there,
in his everyday life. She knew part of his obsession was

selfish, because she made domestic matters very easy for him, but she had never doubted his

love for her.

Pure panic flashed in his expression. He said stiffly, "I still think you need to give

yourself time for your emotions to calm. And surely you realize that the conditions you

describe are what that man is
used
to. How could he ever fit into your life?"

"That's a moot question, since marriage or even a relationship was never discussed. I

want to see him. I don't want him to think that I didn't care enough even to check on his

condition."

"If any sort of relationship was never discussed, why would he expect you to visit him? It

was a mission for him, nothing more."

Barrie's shoulders were military straight, her jaw set, her green eyes dark with emotion.

"It was more," she said flatly, and that was as much of what had happened between her and

Zane as she was willing to discuss. She took a deep breath and pulled out the heavy artillery. "You

owe it to me," she said, her gaze locked with his. "I haven't asked any details about what

happened here, but I'm an intelligent, logical person—"

"Of course you are," he interrupted, "but I don't see—"

"Was there a ransom demanded?" She cut across his interruption.

He was a trained diplomat; he seldom lost control of his expression. But now, startled,

the look he gave her was blank with puzzlement. "A ransom?" he echoed.

A new despair knotted itself in her stomach, etched itself in her face. "Yes, ransom,"

she said softly. "There wasn't one, was there? Because money wasn't what
he
wanted. He

wants something from you, doesn't he? Information. He's either trying to force you to give it to

him, or you're already in it up to your eyebrows and you've had a falling out with him. Which is

it?"

Again his training failed him; for a split second his face revealed panicked guilt and

consternation before his expression smoothed into diplomatic blandness. "What a ridiculous

charge," he said calmly.

She stood there, sick with knowledge. If the kidnapper had been using her as a weapon

to force her father into betraying his country, the ambassador most likely would have denied

it, because he wouldn't want her to be worried, but that wasn't what she'd read in his face. It

was guilt.

She didn't bother responding to his denial. "You owe me," she repeated. "You owe

Zane."

He flinched at the condemnation in her eyes. "I don't see it that way at all."

"You're the reason I was kidnapped."

"You know there are things I can't tell you," he said, releasing her hands and walking

around the desk to resume his seat, symbolically leaving the role of father and entering that of

ambassador. "But your supposition is wrong, and, of course, an indication of how offbalance you still are."

She started to ask if Art Sandefer would think her supposition was so wrong, but she

couldn't bring herself to threaten her father. Feeling sick, she wondered if that made her a

traitor, too. She loved her country; living in Europe as much as she had, she had seen and

appreciated the dramatic differences between the United States and every other country on

earth. Though she liked Europe and had a fondness for French wine, German architecture,

English orderliness, Spanish music and Italy in general, whenever she set foot in the States she

was struck by the energy, the richness of life where even people who were considered poor lived

well compared to everywhere else. The United States wasn't perfect, far from it, but it had

something special, and she loved it.

By her silence, she could be betraying it.

By staying here, she remained in danger. Kidnapping her had failed once, but that

didn't mean
he,
the unknown, faceless enemy, wouldn't try again. Her father knew who
he

was, she was certain of it. Immediately she saw how it would be. She would be confined to

the embassy grounds, or allowed out only with an armed escort. She would be a prisoner of her

father's fear.

There was really no place she would be entirely safe, but remaining here only made the

danger more acute. And once she was away from the enclave of the embassy, she would

have a better chance of locating Zane, because Admiral Lindley's influence couldn't cover

every nook and cranny of the globe. The farther away from Athens she was, the thinner that

influence would be.

She faced her father, knowing that she was deliberately breaking the close ties that had

bound them together for the past fifteen years. "I'm going home," she said calmly. "To

Virginia."

Two weeks later, Zane sat on the front porch of his parents' house, perched on top of