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Unfortunately, Radizwell had recently developed a bad case of the hots for the blue-and-orange, bugeyed iguana. He was always trying to hump the hissing, spitting lizard. His enthusiastic efforts wreaked havoc on nearby furniture, had Adam gritting his teeth and made Maggie’s small daughters shriek with laughter. Mackenzie didn’t even want to think about the stories four-year-old Jilly shared with her friends and teachers at nursery school.
When she pulled into the circular drive leading to Adam and Maggie’s two-story home, she saw Nick had already arrived. She pulled up behind his Jag, trying hard not to drool over its gleaming black beauty, and made for the front door. Adam Ridgeway, code name Thunder, answered the tinkling call of the chimes.
Mackenzie gulped. Nick Jensen in tan cashmere and navy slacks was enough to make any woman swallow her tongue. Adam Ridgeway in white tie and tails could make her forget she ever had one.
If Mackenzie hadn’t sworn off men for the foreseeable future…
If this suave, aristocratic Bostonian wasn’t married to her idol…
If he weren’t carrying one dark-haired cherub in the crook of his right arm and had another tucked under his left…
“’Kenzie!”
The squeal came from the youngest, a bright-eyed two-year-old. Thrusting out her chubby arms, she demanded an instant embrace. With a smile for Adam, Mackenzie gathered Samantha into her arms. Her smile took a quick downward tilt when an ear-shattering woof boomed through the hall. Whirling, Adam rapped out a sharp command.
“No!”
Radizwell put out all four paws and tried to stop. He really tried. Claws clicking on the slick tiles, he slid a good three yards before careening past Adam, who managed to dodge him at the last second.
The dog recovered and looked up adoringly at Mackenzie, who’d been known to slip him forbidden delights during previous visits. His near-hairless body quivered from nose to tail. Without his thick, shaggy coat, the poor thing looked more like a newly shorn sheep than a sheepdog, but he was still big enough to knock over a dump truck.
“Downstairs,” Adam ordered, pointing to an open door halfway down the hall. Radizwell gave a long, mournful whine.
“Now!”
Throwing piteous looks over his shoulder, the animal plopped down on his belly and inched across the tiles. He paused at the open door, gave another whine and slunk down the stairs.
Mackenzie watched him disappear with some trepidation. She knew the stairs led down to Maggie’s luxurious office, where her mentor had just finished revisions to her groundbreaking tome on infant phonetics. She also knew Terence the iguana considered the office his personal domain. Mackenzie only hoped the lizard wasn’t currently occupying his favorite perch on Maggie’s desk. The horny sheepdog would go nuts trying to get at him.
“Don’t worry,” Adam said, guessing the direction of her thoughts. “Terence is upstairs in the girls’ playroom. With the door locked. I promise you and Nick a little peace tonight. As much as you can hope for,” he amended, ruffling his eldest daughter’s curls, “with this demolitions expert-in-training and her sister to contend with.”
Jilly giggled at what she obviously considered a high compliment and raised only a token protest when her father firmly closed the door leading to the basement. The sheepdog was her willing slave. She’d ride his back, dress him in her parents’ clothing, spray paint his fur. Tonight, though, she had ’Kenzie to play with. And her uncle Nick.
“Nick and Maggie are in the kitchen,” Adam informed Mackenzie. “The unprincipled rogue is seducing my wife with wild mushrooms.”
“No, daddy,” Jilly protested. “Uncle Nick can’t s’duce mommy. She’s already got a baby in her tummy. You put it there, remember?”
“As a matter of fact,” he replied, grinning at his precocious child, “I do.”
Dodging doll carriages, umbrellas and the tumbled plastic walls of a medieval castle, they made their way past an exquisite bombé chest topped by a gilt mirror that had once reflected the image of a Hungarian princess. An inch-thick Aubusson runner in rich ruby tones absorbed their footsteps.
When they entered the kitchen at the rear of the house, laughter drifted out to greet them, along with a host of tantalizing aromas. Even Mackenzie, whose taste ran to pizza, tacos and the occasional well-done rib eye, sniffed appreciatively. Hefting Samantha higher on her hip, she paused to survey the scene.
As always, the warmth and elegance of the kitchen/breakfast room/family area reached out to grab at her heart. It ran the whole back of the house. Tall French doors opened out on an English garden, complete with brick walks, boxwood hedges, glorious roses and a Victorian-style gazebo where the girls held their tea parties.
Inside the kitchen, everything was blue, white and bright, sunshiny yellow. Delftware plates decorated the walls. Colorful chintz covered the seat cushions and draped the windows. Copper glinted, and a large brick fireplace made her long for cold winter nights and a bright, blazing fire.
Someday, Mackenzie thought. Someday maybe she’d have a home like this and bright-eyed imps like Jilly and Samantha to wrap her arms and her heart around. And a completely besotted husband like Adam, whose interests did not extend to his neighbor’s wife.
Or to supermodels and movie starlets.
A little crease formed between her brows as her glance went to the tall, broad-shouldered chef working his magic at the cooking island. Nick had shed his tie and jacket, but his deep tan, monogrammed shirt and knife-pleated gray slacks screamed wealth and sophistication. It was hard to picture him burrowing through mud and under concertina wire to take down a gunrunner. Harder still to imagine him giving up his string of pricey restaurants and globe-trotting lifestyle to become a stay-at-home dad, as Adam Ridgeway had done the first few years after Jillian’s birth.
Mackenzie could, on the other hand, easily picture him in the role he seemed so well suited for. If even half the stories in the tabloids were to be believed, Nick Jensen was a world-class lover. Every cover girl and screen goddess he’d been paired with over the years gushed about his seductive charm, his generosity, his solicitous attention. In and out of bed.
Not that she was the least interested in that particular aspect of her boss. Even if she wasn’t still cautious after her divorce, her years in the navy had conditioned her to avoid anything that smacked of fooling around within the ranks. She’d have to be crazy to even think about wrestling the man down to the floor and having her way with him.
Nick looked up at that moment and caught her frown. “Don’t worry, Comm. You’ll like it.”
For a startled moment, she thought he’d read her mind. “Huh?”
“The appetizer,” he said, nodding to a laden silver tray. “This is my own recipe for sherry mushrooms en croûte. You’ll like it.”
“Don’t believe him!”
Maggie rounded the counter. Eight months pregnant and stunning in a floor-length gown of royal blue, she held out a toothpicked appetizer.
“You’ll love it! Here, sink your teeth into this.”
The featherlight pastry melted on Mackenzie’s tongue. If those were mushrooms inside, they sure fooled her. The succulent morsels had a dark, rich flavor she’d never tasted before.
“And to think we’ll be dining tonight on under-cooked prime rib and overcooked broccoli.” Sighing, Maggie speared another pastry and popped it into her mouth.
Nick gave her an amused look. “You should have convinced the awards committee to hold the banquet at my restaurant, as I suggested.”
“Are you kidding? Despite your offer to feed us at cost, not even the International Monetary Fund can afford dinner for three hundred at Nick’s.”
Adam glanced pointedly at his watch. “Speaking of the IMF…”
“I’m coming, I’m coming!”
Snagging another of the flaky tidbits, Maggie chewed, swallowed and rattled off last-minute instructions.
“The girls have had their supper and their baths. They’ll be ready for bed about the time Nick says your dinner will finish cooking. Jilly’s eardrops are on the nightstand beside her bed. One squirt in each ear. Don’t let Samantha have any more apple juice. It goes right through her. If Terence gets loose…”
“God help you,” Adam muttered.
Shooting her husband a quelling look, Maggie grabbed her evening bag. “We both have our cell phones. Call if you need us. Bye, Nick. Bye, Mackenzie. Bye-bye, sugar pies.”
She planted noisy, smacking kisses on the cheek of each girl. Adam waited patiently, then took his turn. A few minutes later, the garage door rumbled up, then down. Before their vehicle had cleared the front drive, a low, mournful howl drifted up from the basement. Another followed, longer and louder than the first. The third rose to an earsplitting crescendo.
“Radizwell doesn’t like it when Mommy and Daddy go off and leave him in the basement,” Jilly informed Nick and Mackenzie between yowls. “He can go all night,” she added with some pride.
“I’d better let him up,” Nick muttered. “Brace yourself.”
Nodding, Mackenzie plunked Samantha on the countertop and took a wide-legged stance. Nick made sure she was ready before he opened the hall door.
Neither one of them could have known it at the time, but by that simple act he saved both their lives.
Chapter 2
The attack didn’t come until almost two hours later.
Looking back, Mackenzie would always marvel at how blissfully unaware she’d been her life was about to take a sharp turn into danger and international intrigue. Nothing in those hours leading up to the murderous assault gave any warning of what was to come.
The time was filled with nothing but noise and laughter. Shrieks of delight as Jilly and Samantha used the family room sofa as a springboard onto Nick’s prone body. Loud grunts when they landed feet first on his midsection. Earsplitting protests from Radizwell, who danced around the threesome wanting in on the fun.
Mackenzie kept a wary eye on lamps, books and silver-framed photographs and generally stayed out of the fray. She did, however, get suckered into playing the part of Bad Bunny when Jilly dragged out a set of plush hand puppets and a folding cardboard stage. With the air of a general marshaling her troops, the pint-size director issued orders to her cast and crew.
“You put the stage together, Uncle Nick. Fold the tabs over like this. See?”
“Got it.”
“’Kenzie, you sit here. Samantha has to sit in your lap ’cause she’s just a baby.”
Her sister’s rosebud mouth puckered at the disparaging remark. “Nuh-uh.”
“Yes, you are. A silly little baby.”
Tears welled. A chubby fist closed over a puppet in the shape of a bear. Before Mackenzie could stop her, Samantha swung.
Screeching, Jilly swung back. Radizwell set the windows to rattling with his bark.
It took a moment or two for Nick and Mackenzie to separate the combatants. They emerged from their brawl with sulky expressions that melted instantly into happy smiles when Nick suggested ice cream after they finished their theatrical production.
Finally—finally!—eight o’clock rolled around. Breathing a heartfelt sigh of relief, Mackenzie rinsed out the ice-cream bowls while Nick carried Samantha upstairs on his shoulders. Jilly raced ahead to select the books she wanted to read before lights out.
A half hour later, the girls were ear-dropped, pot-tied, story-taled and snuggled in. Nick dropped kisses on their cheeks and went downstairs to stir his pots, leaving Mackenzie to deposit their various items of discarded clothing in the hamper.
When she opened the door to the bathroom, though, an ominous hissing sound greeted her. Evidently Terence the iguana had heard the sounds of the toilet flushing and decided to migrate from the playroom next door. He had now taken up occupancy in the bathtub.
Radizwell, who’d plopped down beside Jilly’s bed, went on full love alert. Hastily, Mackenzie yanked the door shut, separating him from the bug-eyed creature in the tub.
“Sorry,” she told the quivering sheepdog. “I don’t think he’s in the mood for love right now.”
She just wished she could say the same!
Only now, with the girls tucked in and Nick downstairs, could she catch her breath and put a name to this tingling, prickly sensation she’d been experiencing for the past few hours. The sensation had intensified each time Nick grinned at the girls’ antics. Or sprawled loose-limbed and feigning exhaustion while they climbed all over him. Or solemnly danced his grasshopper hand puppet across the cardboard stage.
Mackenzie had seen a different side of Nick Jensen tonight—gentler, funnier, more relaxed. The disconcerting glimpses of the man behind the handsome mask had totally skewed the image she’d constructed of him over the past years. As OMEGA’s chief of communications, she’d monitored Lightning’s operations in the field. She knew how good he was. And how lethal.
She’d also monitored his activities when not in the field. It wasn’t difficult to keep up with them. The paparazzi followed him like hounds after a sleek, handsome fox. According to the tabloids’ various “reliable sources,” he could have his pick of the half-dozen gorgeous beauties reportedly madly in love with him.
Although…
Mackenzie could have sworn she’d caught a speculative gleam in his eyes when he looked at her lately. Part of her wanted to believe it telegraphed a very definite male interest. The rest of her got clammy at the thought.
Nick Jensen was out of her league. Correction, out of her universe. And despite the fact he’d spent hours tussling with kids and their near hairless sheepdog on the floor, she’d be a fool to believe he possessed any more homing instincts than her philandering ex.
Or so she tried to convince herself as she and Radizwell made their way downstairs.
Seeing Nick in his natural habitat didn’t exactly reinforce her theory. He looked right at home at the stove, darn him! Far more than Mackenzie herself did on the rare occasions she attempted anything more esoteric than nachos or microwave popcorn. He’d even set the table. Candles flickered amid the blue-and-white crockery and tall-stemmed cobalt goblets.
“Almost ready,” he assured her.
“I know it’s a little late to ask, but what can I do to help?”
“Why don’t you do the honors with the wine? I uncorked it but was waiting for you to come down before pouring.”
Extracting the bottle from the crystal ice bucket, Mackenzie gave its label a curious glance. “Mt. Blaze?”
“It’s a small vineyard on New Zealand’s Gold Coast. Their late-harvest Riesling won Wine Enthusiast’s best vintage award three years running.”
“Oooh-kay.”
Detouring around the recumbent sheepdog, Mackenzie brought two filled goblets to the cooking island. “What shall we drink to?”
Nick swirled the pale liquid, savoring its light, fruity bouquet. His glance caught hers.
Dammit, there it was again! That indecipherable look. The message she couldn’t quite interpret. Mackenzie’s breath hitched and that damned jittery sensation returned with a vengeance.
“How about our first dinner together?” he suggested.
How about their last!
She wasn’t a fool. Or dead from the neck down. She could recognize healthy, old-fashioned lust when it shivered through her. She just wasn’t ready to deal with it.
“To dinner,” she echoed faintly.
He clinked her glass softly, took a sip and turned back to the stove to stir a thick, creamy sauce.
Mackenzie blew out a slow breath. Maybe he hadn’t noticed that little blip on her internal radar screen. Sliding one hip onto a cane-backed stool, she eyed the slowly bubbling froth he was stirring.
“What’s that?”
“Béchamel.”
“And béchamel is?”
“A seafood-based white sauce used in a number of Mediterranean dishes. I seem to remember promising you the real thing a few weeks ago.”
He had, she remembered. Right after hand-delivering one of the countless pizzas she’d ordered while working late at the control center.
“Want a taste?”
Mackenzie studied the little blobs in the sauce with something less than enthusiasm. She wasn’t averse to trying new dishes. She merely preferred to have a general idea what they were first. Still, he had gone to all this trouble to cook for her. The least she could do was be gracious.
“Sure.”
