Loe raamatut: «Soldier of Fortune»

Chapter Two

Gabby had seen J.D. in a lot of different moods, but none of them could hold a candle to the one he was in now. He sat beside her as stiff as a board on the plane, barely aware of the cup of black coffee he held precariously in one big hand.

Worst of all was the fact that she couldn’t think of anything to say. J.D. wasn’t the kind of man you offered sympathy to. But it was hard just to sit and watch him brood without talking at all. She’d rarely heard him speak of his sister, Martina, but the tenderness with which he described her had said enough. If he loved any human being on earth, it was Martina.

“Boss…” she began uneasily.

He blinked, glancing toward her. “Well?”

She avoided that level gaze. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” Her long, slender fingers fidgeted with the skirt of the white suit she was wearing. “I know how hard it must be for you. There’s just not a lot that people can do in these kinds of situations.”

A peculiar smile touched his hard features for a moment. He swallowed a sip of coffee. “Think not?” he asked dryly.

“You aren’t serious about not contacting the authorities?” she persisted. “After all, they’ve got special teams for these sorts of things….”

He glanced down at her. The look stopped her in midsentence. “Those special teams, Darwin, they are not infallible. I can’t take risks with Martina’s life.”

“No,” she said. She stared at his hands. They were so gracefully masculine, the fingers long and tapered and as dark olive as his face, with flat nails and a sprinkling of hair, like that curling around the watch on his wrist. He had powerful hands.

“You aren’t afraid, are you?” he asked.

She glanced up. “Well, sort of,” she confessed. “I don’t really know where we’re going, do I?”

“You should be used to that by now,” he reminded her dryly.

She laughed. “I suppose so. We’ve had some adventures in the past two years.”

He lifted the coffee cup to his lips, staring at her narrowly over the rim. “Why aren’t you married?” he asked suddenly.

The question startled her. She searched for the right words. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I suppose I just haven’t bothered to get involved with anyone. Until almost four years ago, I was living in a small town in Texas. Then I came up here to work for a cousin, he died, you needed an assistant…” She laughed softly. “With all due respect, Mr. Brettman, you’re kind of a never-ending job, if you know what I mean. It just isn’t a nine-to-five thing.”

“About which,” he observed, “you’ve never once complained.”

“Who could complain?” she burst out. “I’ve been around the country and halfway across the world, I get to meet gangsters, I’ve been shot at…!”

He chuckled softly. “That’s some job description.”

“The other assistants in the building are green, simply green, with envy,” she replied smugly.

“You aren’t an assitant. You’re a paralegal. In fact,” he added after another swallow of coffee, “I’ve thought about sending you to law school. You’ve got a lot of potential.”

“Not me,” she said. “I could never get up in front of a courtroom full of people and grill witnesses like you do. Or manage such oration in a summing up.”

“You could still practice law,” he reminded her. “Corporate law, if you like. Or deal in estates and partnerships. Divorces. Land transfers. There are many areas of law that don’t require oratory.”

“I’m not sure enough that it’s what I want to do with the rest of my life,” she said.

He lifted his chin. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

He shook his head, studying the chignon, the glasses she used for close reading and now had perched on top of her head, the stylish white linen suit she was wearing, the length of her slender legs. “You don’t look it.”

“In about twenty years could you repeat that?” she asked. “By then I’ll probably appreciate it.”

“What do you want to be?” he asked, persisting as he leaned back in the seat. His vested gray silk suit emphasized the sheer size of him. He was so close she could even feel the warmth of his body, and she found it oddly disturbing.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she murmured, glancing out the window at the clouds. “A secret agent, maybe. A daring industrial spy. A flagpole sitter.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Of course, those jobs would seem very dull after working for you, boss. And do I ever get to know where we’re going?”

“To Italy, of course,” he replied.

“Yes, sir, I know that. Where in Italy?”

“Aren’t you curious, though?” he mused, lifting one shaggy eyebrow. “We’re going to Rome. To rescue my sister.”

“Yes, sir, of course we are,” she said. It was better to agree with maniacs, she told herself. He’d finally snapped. It was even predictable, considering the way he’d been pushing himself.

“Humoring me, Miss Darwin?” he asked. He leaned deliberately past her to place the now-empty coffee cup on the tray table that was open in front of her. His face was so close that she could smell the spicy cologne he wore, feel the warm, smoky scent of his breath. As his fingers left the cup, he turned his head.

That look caused her the wildest shock she’d ever felt. It was like an earth tremor that worked its way from her eyes to the tips of her toes and made them want to curl up. She hadn’t realized how vulnerable she was with him until her heart started racing and her breath strangled in her throat.

“I hesitated about taking you with me,” he said quietly. “I’d rather have left you behind. But there was no one else I could trust, and this is a very delicate situation.”

She tried to act normally. “You do realize that what you’re thinking about could get her killed?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “But not to act could get her killed quicker. You know what usually happens in these cases, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” she admitted. Her gaze moved down to his broad mouth with its lips that seemed sculpted from stone and back up again to his dark eyes. He looked different so close up.

“I’m doing what I think is best,” he said. His fingers nudged a wisp of hair back into place at her neck, and she felt trembly all over from the touch. “We’re not sure that the kidnappers still have Martina in Italy. Roberto thinks he knows one of them—the son of an acquaintance, who also happens to own land in Central America. I don’t have to tell you what a hell of a mess this could turn into if they take Martina there, do I?”

She felt weak all over. “But how are they dealing with Roberto?”

“One of the group, and there is a group, is still in Italy, to arrange the handling of the money,” he answered. He let his eyes fall to the jacket of her suit, and he studied it absently with disturbing concentration. “We may do some traveling before this is all over.”

“But first we’re going to Italy,” she murmured dazedly.

“Yes. To meet some old friends of mine,” he said, his chiseled mouth smiling faintly. “They owe me a favor from years past. I’m calling in the debt.”

“We’re taking a team?” she asked, eyebrows shooting up. It was getting more exciting by the minute.

“My, how your eyes light up when you speak of working with a team, Miss Darwin,” he mused.

“It’s so gung ho,” she replied self-consciously. “Kind of like that program I watch on TV every week, about the group that goes around the world fighting evil?”

“The Soldiers of Fortune?” he asked.

“The very one.” She grinned. “I never miss a single episode.”

“In real life, Miss Darwin,” he reminded her, “it’s a brutal, dangerous occupation. And most mercenaries don’t make it to any ripe old age. They either get killed or wind up in some foreign prison. Their lives are overromanticized.”

She glowered at him. “And what would you know about it, Mr. Criminal Attorney?” she challenged.

“Oh, I have a friend who used to sell his services abroad,” he replied as he sat back in his seat. “He could tell you some hair-raising stories about life on the run.”

“You know a real ex-merc?” she asked, eyes widening. She sat straight up in her seat. “Would he talk to me?”

He shook his head. “Darwin.” He sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”

“It’s your fault. You corrupted me. I used to lead a dull life and never even knew it. Would he?”

“I suppose he would.” His dark eyes wandered slowly over her. “You might not like what you found out.”

“I’ll take my chances, thanks. He, uh, wouldn’t be one of the old friends you’re meeting in Rome?” she asked.

“That would be telling. Fasten your seat belt, Darwin, we’re approaching the airport now,” he said as the flight attendant collected his cup and put the tray table up before moving on.

Her eyes lingered on his dark, unfathomable face as she complied with J.D.’s curt order to put her seat belt on. “Mr. Brettman, why did you bring me along?” she asked softly.

“You’re my cover, honey,” he said, and smiled sideways at her. “We’re lovers off on a holiday.”

“The way I look?” she chided.

He reached over and took the pins out of her coiffure, loosening her hair. His fingers lifted the glasses from their perch atop her head, folded them, and stuffed them into his shirt pocket. He reached over again and flicked open the buttons of her blouse all the way down to the cleft between her high breasts.

“Mr. Brettman!” she burst out, pushing at his fingers.

“Stop blushing, call me Jacob, and don’t start fighting me in public,” he said gruffly. “If you can remember all that, we’ll do fine.”

“Jacob?” she asked, her fingers abandoning their futile efforts to rebutton her buttons.

“Jacob. Or Dane, my middle name. Whichever you prefer, Gabby.”

He made her name sound like bowers of pink roses in bud, like the softness of a spring rain on grass. She stared up at him.

“Jacob, then,” she murmured.

He nodded, his dark eyes searching hers. “I’ll take care of you, Gabby,” he said. “I won’t let you get in the line of fire.”

“You meant it, didn’t you?” she asked. “You’re going to try to rescue Martina.”

“Of course,” he replied calmly. “She and I, we had a tough time as kids. Our father drowned in a bathtub, dead drunk, when we were toddlers. Mama scrubbed floors to keep us in school. As soon as we were old enough, we went to work, to help. But I was barely fifteen when Mama died of a heart attack. I’ve taken care of Martina ever since, just the way I promised I would. I can’t let strangers try to help her. I have to.”

“Forgive me,” she said gently, “but you’re an attorney, not a policeman. What can you do?”

“Wait and see,” he told her. His eyes surveyed her quietly, approving her elfin beauty. “I’m not in my dotage yet.”

“Yes, sir, I know that,” she murmured.

“Jacob,” he repeated.

She sighed, searching his dark eyes. “Jacob,” she agreed.

That seemed to satisfy him. He glanced past her as the plane started down, and he smiled. “The Eternal City, Gabby,” he murmured. “Rome.”

She followed his gaze and felt her heart lift as the ancient city came into view below. Already, she was leaping ahead to the time when she could actually see the Colosseum and the Forum and the Pantheon. But as she remembered the reason for their being in Rome, her enthusiasm faded. Of course there wouldn’t be time for sightseeing, she reasoned. J.D. was going to be too busy trying to get himself killed.

The drive into Rome was fascinating. They went in on the Viale Trastevere, through the old part of the city, across the wide Tiber on an ancient bridge. The seven hills of Rome were hardly noticeable because of centuries of erosion and new construction, but Gabby was too busy gaping at the ruins they passed to notice or care.

They went right by the Colosseum, and her eyes lingered on it as they proceeded to their hotel.

“We’ll find a few minutes to see it,” J.D. said quietly, as if he knew how much it meant to her.

Her gaze brushed his hard face and impulsively she touched her fingers to the back of his hand. “It really isn’t that kind of a trip,” she said softly.

He searched her worried face. His big hand turned, grasping hers warmly in its callused strength. “We’ll have to pretend that it is, for a day or so at least,” he said.

“What are we going to do?” she asked nervously.

He drew in a slow breath and leaned back against the seat, handsome and rugged-looking in his vested suit. It strained against massive muscles, and she tingled at the sight. J.D. had always affected her powerfully in a purely physical way. It pleased her eyes to look at him.

“I’m working on that. But one thing we’ll be doing in the hotel,” he added slowly, “is sharing a suite. Will that frighten you?”

She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of anything when I’m with you, Jacob,” she replied, finding that his given name was more comfortable to her tongue than she’d expected.

He cocked a heavy eyebrow. “That wasn’t the kind of fear I meant, actually,” he murmured. “Will you be afraid of me?”

“Why would I be?” she asked, puzzled.

He blew out a harsh breath and looked out the window. “I can’t think of a single damned reason,” he growled. “I hope Dutch got my message. He’s supposed to call me later at the hotel.”

“Dutch?” she queried softly.

“A man I know. He’s my go-between with Roberto,” he replied.

“Roberto and Martina don’t live in Rome, do they?” she asked.

He shook his head. “In Palermo. So, for all appearances, we’ll be a couple on holiday, and there won’t be anything to connect us with the kidnapping.”

“Will this man Dutch know if Martina is still in the country?” she asked.

“He’ll know,” he said with certainty.

He was obviously irritated with her, so she didn’t press him with any more questions, contenting herself with staring at every building they passed.

Their hotel was disappointingly modern, but the old-world courtesy of the Italian desk clerk made up for it. He was attentive and outgoing, and Gabby liked him at once. J.D., however, seemed to have misgivings about him. He didn’t share them with her, but he stared aggressively at the poor little man.

He had booked them a suite, with two bedrooms. Gabby hadn’t expected anything else, but J.D.’s behavior was downright odd. He glared at the elegant sitting room, he glared at her, and he especially glared at the telephone. He went out on the balcony to pace and smoke, and Gabby felt as if she were going to fly apart, he made her so nervous. She went into her bedroom and unpacked, just to have something to do. The sudden sound of the phone ringing startled her, but she didn’t go back into the sitting room; she waited for J.D. to call her. Meanwhile, she changed into jeans and a silky green top, leaving her hair loose and her reading glasses in her purse. She did look like a tourist on holiday. That ought to perk up J.D.

He called to her about five minutes later, and she walked onto the balcony to find him staring blankly out at the city. He’d taken off his jacket and vest and opened the top buttons of his shirt. His thick, wavy hair was mussed, and one big, tanned hand was still buried in it. A smoking cigarette was in the other hand, which was leaning on the railing.

“Jacob?” she murmured.

He turned. His dark eyes focused on her slender figure, so intent that they missed the shocked pleasure in her own gaze as she took in this sudden and unexpected glimpse of his body. Where the shirt was loose, she could see the olive tan of his chest under curls of dark hair, and rippling muscles that made her hands itch. Her whole body reacted to his sensuality, going rigid with excitement.

“Dutch,” he said, nodding inside toward the phone to indicate who his caller had been. “Martina’s out of the country.”

She caught her breath. “Where?”

“Guatemala. On a finca—a farm—owned by a terrorist group.”