Mackenzie's Pleasure (22 page)

her name.

"Eventually. It'll take a while, though. We have a substantial grace period."

"Maybe not." She bit her lip. "I overheard Dad talking to Mack Prewett this morning.

Mack's CIA, deputy station chief in Athens. Dad told him that he wanted this finished, that

he never meant for me to be involved."

Zane lifted his eyebrows. "I see."

She supposed he did. If her father was working with the CIA in anything legitimate, he

would have been able to protect her through legal channels. Mack Prewett's involvement

changed the rules. He would have access to records that ordinary people wouldn't have. Even

though the CIA didn't operate within the United States, the tentacles of influence were farreaching. If Mack wanted to know if she'd taken a flight out of either of the major area airports,

he would have that information within minutes.

"If they were sharp enough to get the license plate number on the car, they'll have my

name very shortly,' he said. "If they didn't get the number, then they won't have a clue about

my identity. Ether way, it's too late to worry about it now. They either have it or they don't,

and there's no need to change our immediate plans. We'll take the flight to Las Vegas and lose

them there, at least for a while."

"How will we lose them? If Mack can get access to your records..."

"I resigned my commission. I'm not a SEAL anymore."

"Oh," she said blankly. She struggled to adjust to yet another change. She had already

been imagining and mentally preparing for life as the wife of a military officer, with the

frequent moves, the politics of rank. It wouldn't have been much different from life in the

embassy, just on a different level. Now she realized she had no idea what kind of life they

would have.

"What will we do, then?" she asked.

"I've taken the job of sheriff in a county in southern Arizona. The sheriff died in

office, so the governor appointed me to complete his term. There are two years left until new

elections, so we'll be in Arizona for at least two years, maybe more."

A sheriff! That was a definite surprise, and the offhand manner with which he had

announced it only deepened her sense of unreality. She struggled to focus on the important

things. "What your job is doesn't matter," she said as evenly as possible. "It's your training that

counts."

He shrugged and wheeled the car into the entrance of a parking garage. "I

understand." His voice was flat, emotionless. "You agreed to marry me because you think I'll be

able to protect you." He let down the window and leaned out to get the ticket from the

automatic dispenser. The red barrier lifted, and he drove through.

Barrie wound her fingers together. Her initial flush of happiness had given way to

worry. Zane had come after her, yes, and asked her to marry him, but perhaps she'd been

wrong about the attraction between them. She felt uprooted and off-balance. Zane didn't

seem particularly happy to see her, but then, she had certainly tossed a huge problem into his

lap. He would become a husband and a father in very short order, and on top of that, he had

to protect them from an unknown enemy. He hadn't even kissed her, she thought, feeling close

to tears, and she was a little surprised at herself for even thinking of such a thing right now.

If he was right and someone had been following them, then the danger had been more

immediate than she had feared. How could she worry about his reasons for marrying her?

After all, the baby's safety was one of the reasons she was marry ing
him. "I
want you to

protect our baby," she said quietly. "There are other reasons, but that's the main one." Her

feelings for him were something she could have handled on her own; she wouldn't take that

chance with her baby's safety.

"A damn important one. You're right, too." He gave her a brief glance as he pulled the

car into a parking slot on the third level. "I won't let anything hurt you or the baby."

He pulled off his sunglasses and got out of the car with a brief "Wait here," and strode

off toward a pay phone. When he reached it, he punched in a series of numbers, then turned so

he could watch her and the car while he talked.

Barrie felt her nerves jolt and her stomach muscles tighten as she stared across the

parking deck at him. She was actually marrying this man. He looked taller than she

remembered, a little leaner, though his shoulders were so wide they strained the seams of his

white cotton shirt. His black hair was a bit longer, she thought, but his tan was just as dark.

Except for the slight weight loss, he didn't show any sign of having been shot only a little

over two months earlier. His physical toughness was intimidating;
he
was intimidating.

How could she have forgotten? She had remembered only his consideration, his passion,

the tender care he'd given her, but he'd used no weapon other than his bare hands to kill that

guard. While she had remembered his lethal competency and planned to use it on her own

behalf, she had somehow forgotten that it was a prominent part of him, not a quality she

could call up when she needed it and tuck away into a corner when the need was over. She

would have to deal with this part of him on a regular basis and accept the man he was. He

wasn't, and never would be, a tame house cat.

She liked house cats, but she didn't want him to be one, she realized.

She felt another jolt, this time of self-discovery. She needed to be safe now, because of

the baby, but she didn't want to be permanently cossetted and protected. The grueling episode

in Benghazi had taught her that she was tougher and more competent than she'd ever thought,

in ways she hadn't realized. Her father would have approved if she'd married some up-andcoming ambassador-to-be, but that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted some wildness in

her life, and Zane Mackenzie was it. For all that maddening control of his, he was fierce and

untamed. He didn't have a streak of wildness; he had a core of it.

The strain between them unnerved her. She had dreamed of him finding her and

holding out his arms, of falling into them, and when she had opened the door to him today

she had expected, like a fool, for her dream to be enacted. Reality was much more

complicated than dreams.

The truth was, they had known each other for about twenty-four hours total, and most of

those hours had been over two months earlier. In those hours they had made love with raw,

scorching passion, and he had made her pregnant, but the amount of time remained the same.

Perhaps he had been involved with someone else, but a sense of responsibility had driven

him to locate her and find out if their lovemaking had had any consequences. He would do

that, she thought; he would turn his back on a girlfriend, perhaps even a fiancee, to assume the

responsibility for his child.

Again she was crashing into the brick wall of ignorance; she didn't know anything

about his personal life. If she had known anything about his family, where he was from, she

would have been able to find him. Instead, he must think she hadn't cared enough even to ask

about his condition, to find out if he had lived or died.

He was coming back to the car now, his stride as smooth and effortlessly powerful as

she remembered, the silent walk of a predator. His dark face was as impassive as before,

defying her efforts to read his expression.

He opened the door and slid behind the wheel. "Transport will be here in a few minutes."

She nodded, but her mind was still occupied with their personal tangle. Before she lost her

nerve, she said evenly, "I tried to find you. They took me back to Athens immediately, while

you were still in surgery. I tried to get in touch with you, find out if you were still alive, how you

were doing, what hospital you were in—anything. Dad had Admiral Lindley block every inquiry I

made. He did tell me you were going to be okay, but that’s all I was able to find out."

"I guessed as much. I tried to call you at the embassy a couple of weeks after the

mission. The call was routed to your father."

"He didn't tell me you'd called," she said, the familiar anger and pain twisting her

insides. Since she'd been forced off the
Montgomery,
those had been her two main emotions. So he

had
tried to contact her. Her heart lifted a little. "After I came home, I tried again to find you,

but the Navy wouldn't tell me anything."

"The antiterrorism unit is classified." His tone was absent; he was watching in the

mirrors as another car drove slowly past them, looking for an empty slot.

She sat quietly, nerves quivering, until the car had disappeared up the ramp to the next

level.

"I'm sorry," she said, after several minutes of silence. "I know this is a lot to dump in

your lap."

He gave her an unreadable glance, his eyes very clear and blue. "I wouldn't be here if I

didn't want to be."

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

This time the look he gave her was so long that she blushed and concentrated her attention

on her hands, which were twisting together in her lap.

"If I did, I wouldn't have made love to you," he finally said.

Oh, dear. She bit her lip. This was going from bad to worse. He was getting more and more

remote, as if the fleeting moment of silent communication between them when he'd asked

her to marry him had never existed. Her stomach clenched, and suddenly a familiar sensation of

being too hot washed over her.

She swallowed hard, praying that the nausea that had so far confined itself to the

mornings wasn't about to put in an unexpected appearance. A second later she was scrambling

out of the car and frantically looking around for a bathroom. God, did parking decks
have

bathrooms?

"Barrie!" Zane was out of the car, striding toward her, his dark face alert. She had the

impression that he intended to head her off, though she hadn't yet chosen a direction in which to

dash.

The stairwell? The elevator? She thought of the people who would use them and discarded

both options. The most sensible place was right there on the concrete, and everything fastidious

in her rebelled at the idea. Her stomach had different ideas, however, and she clamped a desperate

hand over her mouth just as Zane reached her.

Those sharp, pale eyes softened with comprehension. "Here," he said, putting a

supporting arm around her. The outside barriers of the parking deck were waist-high concrete

walls, and that was where he swiftly guided her. She resisted momentarily, appalled at the

possibility of throwing up on some unsuspecting passerby below, but his grip was inexorable,

and her stomach wasn't waiting any longer. He held her as she leaned over the wall and

helplessly gave in to the spasm of nausea.

She was shaking when it was over. The only comfort she could find was that, when she

opened her eyes, she saw there was nothing three stories below but an alley. Zane held her, leaning

her against his supporting body while he blotted her perspiring face with his handkerchief, then gave

it to her so she could wipe her mouth. She felt scorched with humiliation. The strict teachings

of her school in Switzerland hadn't covered what a lady should do after vomiting in public.

And then she realized he was crooning to her, his deep voice an almost inaudible murmur as

he brushed his lips against her temple, her hair. One strong hand was splayed over her lower belly,

spanning her from hipbone to hipbone, covering his child. Her knees felt like noodles, so she

let herself continue leaning against him, let her head fall into the curve of his shoulder.

"Easy, sweetheart," he whispered, once again pressing his lips to her temple. "Can you

make it back to the car, or do you want me to carry you?"

She couldn't gather her thoughts enough to give him a coherent answer. After no more

than a second, he evidently thought he'd given her enough time to decide, so he made the

decision for her by scooping her up into his arms. A few quick strides brought them to the car.

He bent down and carefully placed her on the seat, lifting her legs into the car, arranging her skirt

over them. "Do you want something to drink? A soft drink?"

Something cold and tart sounded wonderful. "No caffeine," she managed to say.

"You won't be out of my sight for more than twenty seconds, but keep an eye out for

passing cars, and blow the horn if anything scares you."

She nodded, and he hit the door lock, then closed the door, shutting her inside a cocoon of

silence. She preferred the fresh air but understood why she shouldn't be standing outside the

car, exposed to view—and an easy target. She leaned her head against the headrest and closed her

eyes. The nausea was gone as swiftly as it had come, though her insides felt like jelly. She was weak,

and sleepy, and a bit bemused by his sudden tenderness.

Though she shouldn't be surprised, she thought. She was pregnant with his child, and

the possibility of exactly that was what had brought him in search of her. As soon as he'd realized