Surrender in Silk

“Susan Mallery is warmth and wit personified.
Always a fabulous read.”

—New York Times
bestselling author Christina Dodd

“Ms. Mallery’s unique writing style shines via vivid characters, layered disharmony and plenty of spice.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

“A gifted storyteller, Ms. Mallery fills the pages with multi-faceted characters, solid plotting and passion that is both tender and sizzling.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

“If you haven’t read Susan Mallery, you must!”

—New York Times
bestselling author Suzanne Forster

SUSAN MALLERY
is a
USA TODAY
bestselling author of over eighty books and has been a recipient of countless awards, including the National Reader’s Choice Award. Her combination of humor, emotion and downright sexiness has made her a reader favorite. She makes her home in Southern California with her husband, her very dignified cat and her not-so-dignified dog. Visit her Web site at www.SusanMallery.com.

“Y
ou can’t leave him there,” Jamie Sanders said, then shoved her hands into her jeans pockets so no one would see that she was shaking. She wasn’t sure if it was caused by rage or fear.

Probably a little of both.

“Zach Jones is dead,” Winston Danville III stated calmly.

“You don’t know that. According to the men who got away, he wasn’t in the second helicopter when it exploded.”

Winston leaned back in his leather chair and stared at her. Jamie had always thought his combination of pale blue eyes and white blond hair made him look like a Hollywood casting director’s idea of the perfect villain—cool, confident, in control. Winston’s reputation did nothing to dispute that image.

“Three weeks, Jamie,” Winston said softly. “Three weeks in one of their prisons, being tortured several times a day. If Zach Jones wasn’t dead, he is now.”

Her stomach rolled at the thought. She desperately needed him to be alive, but the thought of him having to endure that
kind of suffering was more than she could bear. The word
torture
wasn’t just a casual phrase to her. She was intimately familiar with the inhumanity of deliberately inflicting pain on prisoners. Surely death would be a kinder fate.

But Zach wasn’t dead.

She crossed the richly decorated room and sank into one of the leather chairs opposite her boss’s desk. She stared at him, meeting his cold gaze with an equally determined stare of her own. She’d trained at the hands of a master. She knew how to intimidate as well as anyone in the agency.

Surprisingly Winston looked away first.

Before she could pounce on her unexpected advantage, there was a quick knock at the door. Winston’s pretty, young assistant stepped inside and brought them each a mug of coffee.

Jamie accepted the cup with a muttered “Thanks” and took a sip. The assistant glanced at her, then left. Jamie knew she looked out of place. The worn jeans, scuffed athletic shoes, faded tank top and the flannel shirt she wore instead of a jacket didn’t fit the dress code of the office. She had never been the suit-and-high-heels type. She filed away the feeling of discomfort, knowing she would deal with it at another time. All that mattered now was Zach.

“He’s not dead,” Jamie repeated.

Winston raised one eyebrow. “How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“I see. Well, fine. I’ll write up the report and quote your intuition as the source. I’m sure the director will be convinced.”

Jamie set the coffee on the desk and rose. “I’m going in, Winston, with or without your permission.”

“No, you aren’t. You still work for me and you’ll do what I tell you.” He paused and raised his pale eyebrows. “Unless you plan to resign. Isn’t that what you’ve been talking about?”

He was right. She
had
wanted out. The last mission was supposed to have been her final one. She even had the letter of resignation typed up at home. But she hadn’t turned it in. A voice inside of her, a voice Zach had taught her to listen to, had whispered to wait. Now she understood why.

“That was before I knew about Zach.”

Winston motioned to the chair. Jamie hesitated. Since finding out what had happened to Zach Jones, she’d been on the move. She’d flown directly to Washington on the first flight she could get. Once in the capital, she’d made a few phone calls and come up with a plan. All she needed was Winston’s cooperation.

Sitting down felt too much like giving up, but her boss was stubborn enough not to talk to her if she didn’t at least pretend to go along with him. Grudgingly she perched on the edge of her seat.

He reached for his coffee and took a sip. “I wasn’t aware you and Zach were so close.”

Jamie grimaced. “You know we aren’t. Zach took me through training and my first assignment. He made me the best. I owe him for that.”

There was more, of course, but Winston didn’t need to hear about it. Their boss prided himself on knowing every detail of his operatives’ lives. This was one detail he hadn’t been able to claim. Not that it mattered. Seven years was a long time for anyone to remember. She was reasonably sure Zach had been able to forget, even if she hadn’t.

“According to my records, you’ve never worked with him since. That’s a long time to carry a debt,” Winston said.

She shrugged.

“Interesting.” He leaned back in his chair. “And touching. But the answer has to be no.”

She was on her feet in an instant, her hands braced on his desk. “Listen to me, Winston. Short of arresting me, you can’t keep me from going after Zach. You can make it easy or you
can make it hard, but I’m doing this.” She glared at him, ignoring the frosty look in his icy blue eyes.

“You’ll end up just as dead as he is.”

“I’m willing to take the chance.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

“Maybe, but I’m a determined fool. Besides, if you’re right and I do get killed, how are you going to explain my body?”

“Terrorists don’t send bodies home.”

“What if they do this time?”

His thin lips twisted in disapproval. “I’ll handle it the way I’ve handled other problems.”

“I’ll leave a letter with my lawyer explaining everything and exposing the agency.”

“Don’t threaten me, Sanders.”

She knew she was playing with fire, but she didn’t have a choice in the matter. She
had
to convince him. “I have a better chance of surviving with your help than without it,” she told him. “But it doesn’t matter what you say or do. I’m going in after Zach and I’m going to bring him home.”

“I suppose you’re just going to walk in there and take him from under their noses,” Winston said. He reached for his mug and cradled it in both hands.

Jamie sank into her seat. “Exactly.”

He stared at her for a long minute. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but she refused to let the silence make her squirm. She was an expert at waiting. She had to convince him. Winston was her only hope. She would go in without agency assistance, but without the backup, the odds for success were almost zero.

Finally he nodded briefly. “Explain.”

Relief crashed through her. She had him. He was going to agree. Once he heard her plan, he would be convinced—she knew it!

She pushed aside the momentary flush of victory and concentrated on the task at hand. She grabbed a pen and the blank
legal pad poking out of the pile of papers on his desk. Working quickly, she made a sketch of the compound, based on the aerial photographs she’d seen and what she knew about the area.

She drew the low, one-story building where Zach was probably being kept. A quarter mile away was their munitions storage.

When she finished, she slid the paper toward Winston. “Zach is here,” she said, trying to sound as if she really knew where he was being held instead of just guessing. “It’s not a main training facility, which is in our favor. Also, Zach’s men were there less than a month ago. The debriefing information should still be accurate. The plane will drop us off about thirty miles away, and we’ll drive until we get within sight of the perimeter.”

“We?”

She nodded, trying to act casual. “Rick Estes is coming with me.”

Winston was a pro. He might wear expensive suits and silk ties, but there had been a time when he’d been the best field agent in the agency. Not by a flicker of his pale lashes did he give away what he was thinking.

“Why Estes?”

“He owes Zach, too.”

“I wasn’t aware Agent Jones inspired such loyalty.”

She didn’t bother commenting on that one.

After a few moments of silence, Winston shook his head. “It won’t work.”

“But we—”

“No, Jamie. I’m not the heartless bastard you think I am. I didn’t abandon Zach to those animals. He’s a good man and a friend. I’ve already sent in a team. Half the group couldn’t get close, the other half suffered fifty percent casualties. Enough people have died. I’m not risking any more just to bring home a corpse.”

She hadn’t known. She could feel the blood draining from her head. The room tilted, but she didn’t give in to the weakness.

She swore under her breath. “We have a better plan.”

“Backed by that famous intuition of yours?”

She ignored the sarcasm. “You sent in a team. This time there’s just going to be the two of us. Rick will create a diversion, and I’ll get Zach out. We’ll rendezvous at the jeep, then meet the plane.”

“Sounds simple. Why didn’t we think of that?” He glared at her. “Jamie, you’re not stupid. What do you think you can do that hasn’t already been tried?”

“We’re going to blow up the munitions.”

That got Winston’s attention. He leaned forward in his executive leather chair. “Are you crazy?”

“I’m aware of the potential problem.”

“Problem? Problem? We don’t know what’s there, Sanders. That’s a hell of a lot more than just a problem.”

For the first time since entering Winston’s office, she was the one to look away. She and Rick had discussed this in detail. Blowing up the terrorists’ ammunition and weapons would be a terrific diversion. There was only one catch. No one knew exactly what was stored there. If their intelligence was correct, then Rick could safely blow it up. If the intelligence was wrong—if the terrorists had more-powerful bombs and explosives—then the blast would not only take out the stash, but Rick, Jamie and everyone else in the vicinity, including Zach.

“It’s a calculated risk,” she said softly. “One Rick and I are prepared to take.”

Winston glared at her. He punched a button on his phone. “Get Estes in here.” He broke the connection without waiting for a reply. “I assume he’s lurking around waiting to hear the outcome of this meeting.”

“Yes.”

Winston swore. “You’re putting me in a difficult position.”

She drew in a deep breath. The relief was as tangible as the chair she sat in. “I’m sorry for that,” she said.

Winston glanced at her. “No, you’re not.”

“I know.”

“You’ll need a transport plane, a jeep. I assume Estes already has his supply list ready.”

She nodded.

“You really think Zach is still alive?”

“I know he is.”

“You could be risking your life for a dead man.”

“It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Come!” Winston called.

Rick Estes entered. Jamie looked up at him and smiled. “We’re in.”

The cell was twelve-by-twelve, but Zach Jones couldn’t appreciate his spacious accommodations. The chain that ran from the floor to the metal collar around his neck was so short, he couldn’t stand without choking. Not that he had the strength to stand anymore.

He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. At least he could lie down if he wanted to. When he lost the will to do anything else, he collapsed onto the dirty straw in his cell and listened to the rustling of unseen creatures.

By his figuring, he’d been a prisoner for about three weeks. He could be off by as much as four days. Some of the “sessions” with his captors left him unconscious, and then the rising and setting of the sun went unnoticed and unmarked. The days they left him alone slipped by easily, aided by the feverish sleep that claimed him. The days they came for him were endless hours of pain and suffering as he struggled to maintain a slim hold on sanity. He’d surrendered his humanity
the first time they’d beaten him with the chains. Now he just wanted to live long enough to get out.

A fly buzzed nearby, but he ignored it, as he ignored the scabs on his face and his cracked lips. He hadn’t had any food or water for over twenty-four hours. He knew what was coming. They starved him to the point of weakness and dehydration, then they beat him. They came when his reserves were at their lowest. Then they left him to heal just enough to endure the torment again.

Every inch of him was bruised and bloodied. He didn’t think they’d broken any bones. At least, not yet. He’d called upon all the training he’d been given in order to survive this ordeal. He hung on to the fact that it wouldn’t continue forever. Either he would be rescued or he would die.

There was no middle ground.

After three weeks of being chained, his swollen, beaten muscles had become so weak he couldn’t walk. He could barely feed himself. The fever came and went. Several sores were infected. He was in bad shape. If they didn’t get him out in the next few days, they might as well not bother.

In his lucid moments, he thought about the various plans they might employ to rescue him. He figured teams had already been sent in and failed. He knew Winston would weigh the cost of his life against the risk to other operatives. Zach didn’t know how much his boss would think he was worth. Maybe that line had already been crossed.

Maybe no one was coming.

He opened his eyes and stared at the small window on the other side of the cell. From his seated position, he could only see a rectangle of blue sky. The cell faced south. If he inhaled sharply, he could catch the scent of the outdoors, a flower of some kind, the hint of warmth in the air. Today it was enough.

He didn’t mind dying. Sure, he had regrets, who wouldn’t? But he could live with them. He’d known it would come to
this. Warriors always died in battle. But, dammit, he would like to go out with a weapon in his hand.

In the distance, a door opened. Despite his desire not to react, he stiffened when he heard the faint laughter of the guards, followed by the metallic clinking of the chains. They had returned to punish him again.

He cleared his mind, forcing himself into a deeper place. One untouched by pain and blood. His breathing slowed, as did his heartbeat. His superior strength and training had kept him alive this long. It would keep him alive a little longer. Sometimes he was pleased, but most of the time he cursed his inability to find release in death.

Jamie checked her utility belt for the fourth time. She knew exactly what was there, but the ritual made her feel better. More relaxed. Pressure built in her ears. She swallowed to relieve it, then glanced out the window. They were descending.