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She wasn’t a wilting flower, but she also wasn’t stupid. So she’d run. She’d even been willing to move to a hotbed of political unrest in the Middle-Eastern country of Rubistan to stay alive. At least in Rubistan no one thought it might be a nifty idea to kill her simply because she couldn’t bear him children.
Visions of her Georgia home chilled the sweat sealing her silk shirt to her skin. Come on, come on, come on. Open the damned box.
The sides closed in with claustrophobic pressure. She shoved away the need to run. For the boys. The precious warm weights beside her who smelled of chocolate and sunshine and dreams she would never have.
The crate tipped. Mary Elise and the children slid, wedging into the corner with the minimal padding of a couple of blankets.
“Tag, go easy there,” Daniel called. “Wouldn’t want to crack a keyboard now, would we?”
“No worries, sir.” A voice sounded beside them as the box jerked to a stop. “I’ll treat it like one of my own.”
A mechanical drone built. The dim streaks of light faded. The load-ramp shutting? The world faded around her to near black until the ramp clanked closed.
She forced her breathing to regulate. Maybe they needed privacy to open the crate. That made sense. Then they could slip her back off the plane under the cover of darkness. Not ideal. But doable.
Lazy footsteps picked up speed along the metal floor. A final thump sounded on the planked top. “Lock it down tight, Tag.”
“Roger that, Captain.”
The thud of boots faded. Chains jangled in the time fugue of waiting. Was it safe to talk? Engines roared and grew louder. Forget waiting.
Mary Elise opened her mouth and shouted. And couldn’t hear herself over the engines.
Her heart hammered her chest. The boys wriggled closer. She screamed. A soundless shriek swallowed by the din.
The crate vibrated, joggled as the plane moved. Faster. Forward. Picking up speed. The roar built, swelled. Tension clenched her chest until each breath became a struggle like Trey with his asthma.
The box tilted back. Gravity slid her with the boys until she landed against the wooden wall as the plane…
Went…
Up.
Oh, God. They were airborne.
Airborne. And not a damned moment too soon.
Captain Daniel “Crusty” Baker maxed the throttle. Level at twenty-eight thousand feet. Time to plow through the night sky out of Rubistanian airspace so they could crack open the crate. He’d tried to keep the takeoff as smooth as possible for the boys and their nanny, but he couldn’t risk letting them out.
Not while a pair of enemy MiG-21s flew an ominous escort in the star-studded sky.
Swiping aside the unopened bag of licorice, Crusty switched to closed interphone frequency. “Hold tough in back, we’re almost over the border.”
Where he hoped the MiGs would peel away.
“Roger, sir,” answered Senior Master Sergeant J. T. “Tag” Price, loadmaster for the mission. “We’re hanging in there.”
Relief pilot, 1st Lt. Bo Rokowsky, loomed, strapped in behind Daniel, restless energy filling the cockpit.
Copilot, 1st Lt. Darcy “Wren” Renshaw, worked from the right seat, punching numbers into the navigational system. “Five minutes and counting down.”
No room for error with those MiGs hungry for an excuse to pop them with an infrared missile. Damn, but he owed this crew. Sure the mission had been CIA sanctioned—barely. Approved in a sped-through process that would likely leave heads rolling later when their new squadron commander returned from TDY—temporary duty.
Renshaw had signed on out of friendship. Tag out of honor. Rokowsky out of craziness. The wild-eyed lieutenant constantly gave new meaning to their squadron motto of Anything, Anywhere, Anytime.
Daniel adjusted airspeed, keeping his eyes trained on the holographic HUD—heads up display—perched at the bottom of his windscreen. He owed Renshaw double. Her boyfriend, who worked for the Air Force’s Office of Special Investigations, had used his old CIA contacts to push through paperwork for this embassy run in less than forty-eight hours after the call from the economic attaché. The final mission orders had even included a couple of the Air Force’s elite security forces, Ravens, to accompany them.
Who couldn’t offer protection against the MiGs keeping pace alongside.
Daniel’s gun weighed like lead in his pocket. The Rubistanians knew. Of course they knew. But their government couldn’t search without concrete evidence the boys were in that crate.
His half brothers. A couple of kids he’d only seen a handful of times. Sure, he could blame that on being oceans apart, but he knew damned well it had nothing to do with distance in miles. It had everything to do with the distance between his father and him that had started eleven years ago. His father had been a senator in those days. Full of himself and his power, the old man had dumped his wife for a hot young translator from Rubistan and started a new family.
Later his father had assumed the position of ambassador to Rubistan so his wife could be near her family. Of course, then the old man had decided to dump her for a newer hottie model—until a blown-up embassy Mercedes had preempted the divorce.
Yeah, the old guy sure as hell had been a poster boy for the wisdom of bachelorhood. And damned if he didn’t feel guilty as hell for the crappy, disloyal thought. If only they’d had a chance to come close to understanding each other.
Daniel’s hand clenched around the throttle. Steady. They were almost to the border. The box was locked down tight, with the nanny inside to keep the kids calm and safe. The transfer had gone as smoothly as could be expected.
Except when he’d almost had a freaking heart attack over seeing a long wisp of red hair trailing from a crease in the crate. One glimpse of that strand glinting in the tarmac lights and he’d hauled ass onto the truck to put himself between the auburn thread and the guard. Hand behind his back, he’d given the telltale strand a quick yank—and prayed the nanny would stay quiet.
Daniel flicked at a lone red hair clinging to his sleeve. Again. He’d flung it away more than once, but the thing kept sticking to his flight suit. He shook his hand to dislodge it from his glove and tried not to think about another person with hair that shade of auburn. Why the hell was she right there in his mind today?
Mary Elise.
He damned well didn’t believe in the mystical. He preferred the mathematical precision of his world of dark ops testing. But he’d never been able to explain the connection between himself and Mary Elise that had started over a shared Ho-Ho after he’d beaten the crap out of Buddy Davis for picking on the new kid about her accent.
Years later the connection had frayed because of a night of impulsive sex. Great sex. Impossible-to-forget sex with his best friend.
Then not friends. Not anymore. No friendship. No baby. No connection with Mary Elise. Until today.
The hair drifted across his control panel.
Renshaw keyed up the mike. “Ten seconds and counting down.”
Daniel steadied his breath with each count. Focus. Fly. It must just be his father’s death two weeks ago knocking him off balance. Since he’d been so deep in-country on an assignment by the time the message reached him about his father, Daniel had even missed the memorial service. A miscommunication snafu left out his stepmother’s death, so he’d assumed the boys were fine.
Definitely a hellacious couple of weeks of surprises. At least he was in the homestretch.
“Three. Two,” Wren chanted. “One. Over the Rubistanian border.”
Daniel twisted to check-visual out the window. Like clockwork, the MiGs peeled away.
A collective sigh echoed through the headset.
In the clear. “Okay, Tag, go ahead and break open that crate now.”
He would worry later about what to do with his brothers. Between their nanny and the brand-new pair of Game Boys in his flight bag, he might not even have to figure that one out until morning.
Daniel reached to punch in the radio frequency to notify Ankara center in Turkey that they’d crossed over into their airspace. The charge of having bested the enemy stirred an adrenaline buzz.
“Captain Baker?” Tag clipped through the headset.
“Yeah, Tag?” Daniel’s hand fell away from the radio controls. “Problem?”
“As a matter of fact, there is. I think you’re going to want to come down here and check this out for yourself.”
Tension snapped through the crew compartment.
“Roger. I’m on my way.” Daniel waggled the stick, the fighterlike stick in the C-17 a sleek upgrade from the steering yoke of older cargo planes. “Wren, you got the jet?”
The stick wiggled in his grip in tandem response as she signaled her control. Sweat dotted her brow, dampening her short brown hair to her head, but no hint of stress showed through her concentration. “Roger, Crusty, I have the jet.”
Daniel unplugged his headset and charged down the narrow stairwell into the belly of the plane. Victory-sparked adrenaline ignited into a darker dread.
He may not know these brothers of his, but they were counting on him, damn it. They didn’t have anyone else other than a megalomaniac uncle in Rubistan who wanted their inheritance to funnel into terrorist training camps.
No way in hell would that slime get his hands on Trey and Austin.
Daniel cleared the stairs and entered the cargo hold. His eyes adjusted to the dim glow of lights tracking the roof and illuminating the metal cave. The crate gaped open. Tag stood with boots braced, the bear of a man cradling a tousle-headed three-year-old like a seasoned parental veteran.
Austin.
Relief pounded through Daniel. His eyes jerked to the grouping by the row of seats where Trey sat with his elbows on bony knees. Everyone alive.
Cricking his neck from side to side, Daniel strode toward the cluster hovering around Trey. The two Ravens stood guard in full battle dress camouflage, machine guns slung over their shoulders. Body armor padding their chests, both men scowled down at the willowy woman kneeling in front of Trey.
Red hair trailed down her back.
Daniel shut down thoughts of another woman. Everyone seemed okay and that’s what mattered most. Some a helluva lot more than okay. The woman’s brown silk shirt clung to her slim shoulders, to her elegant arms. And legs. Man, she had long legs, legs encased in tan pants smudged with dirt. Hugging a sweetly rounded bottom that begged admiration.
Daniel scrubbed a hand over his gritty—and damned wayward—eyes. Adrenaline played hell with a man’s libido, especially after two days of no sleep. He did not need to be seducing the nanny, no matter how intriguing the idea of swiping aside all that silk and hair sounded.
He had other, more practical needs for her, rather than testing the waters to see if she might be interested in some uncomplicated sex. Uncomplicated sex was easy to find with any of the string of women who wanted to “fix” him—iron his wrinkled flight suits, make him eat right. Dealing with his brothers, however, would be complicated as hell.
Daniel shifted his attention to his nine-year-old brother. Trey hunched over, hands hooked behind his head on his buzz-cut brown hair as he sucked in gasps of air.
Crap. Daniel strode forward. “What’s going on here?”
Trey jerked upright. “No-thing,” he gasped out.
The nanny’s shoulders rippled under silk. Still kneeling, she straightened her back but didn’t turn.
His hand fell to her shoulder, wavy red hair snagging on his flight glove. A jolt shot up his arm.
Don’t be a sap. There were at least a million women with hair that color. “Ma’am? Is there something we can do for him?”
Slowly her head turned, her fiery hair tugging under his fingers. She looked up at him, and Daniel stared down into the greenest eyes he’d ever seen.
Holy hell.
There might be a million women with hair that color of auburn. But there was only one woman with eyes that particular shade of fresh-mown spring grass.
Mary Elise braced her shoulders with the same defensive bravado she’d worn when telling him the rabbit died.
“Hello, Danny.”
Chapter 2
Mary Elise decided the inside of that box might not be too bad after all. At least in there she could only hear Danny. Now she could hear and see him. All of him. Every damned fine inch of him.
Dim lights filled the gray cavern, glinting off Daniel’s dark hair, casting shadows along the angles of his face. His lanky good looks had hardened into a lean body cut with whipcord strength that stretched just shy of six feet tall.
If only she could distance herself from his appeal, but the day-from-hell wreaked havoc on her normally rigid self-control. Instead, she could only stare at him and soak up the differences wrought by age.
One gloved hand flattened against the side of the plane, he lounged with that same loose-hipped carelessness he’d worn when she’d told him she was pregnant. As if her announcement hadn’t meant the end of his Air Force Academy dream since cadets can’t marry until after graduation.
Except his dream hadn’t ended. He’d won the Academy ring and wore the flight suit now, wrinkled though it might be at the moment.
Attraction be damned, she wanted to flatten him right onto his awesome butt. Care about something. Let it be important to see the woman you almost married. She’d never been head-over-heels in love with him, but she had loved him. Once. He’d been her friend, and the betrayal of how easily he’d let go after she lost the baby had hurt.
His indifference hurt now.
He shouldn’t still have the power to wound her. Her ex had done so much worse to her and she’d held strong. She’d be damned if she’d let Daniel trample her heart with one distant look.
Mary Elise gripped the barred edge of the seat to steady her hands. She might not be able to regulate her pulse or her feelings, but she could control what she did about them. Bigger worries loomed, anyway, far more important than discovering if Daniel Baker still administered the most thorough, long and intense kisses she’d ever known.
“Danny, could you pass me the smaller bag inside the crate, please? The black canvas one. Trey needs his inhaler.”
“Don’t…want it,” Trey insisted.
Daniel’s forehead trenched. “The kid has asthma? Why didn’t someone tell me?” He shifted away, mumbling, “And why didn’t someone mention who the hell would be accompanying them?”
So it bothered him after all. Mary Elise stifled the urge to do an impromptu victory dance and rubbed soothing circles along Trey’s back while Daniel reached into the crate.
His flight suit stretched across narrow hips that veed up his back into broad shoulders. Muscles rippled under taut green fabric with restrained strength. He pivoted around with athletic fluidity, pitching the bag toward her.
“Thank you,” she said, avoiding eyes that told her too well she wouldn’t be able to dodge talking soon.
Mary Elise yanked the zipper open and rifled inside the pouch until her fingers closed around the inhaler. She snapped off the cap and thrust her hand toward Trey.
He brought the medicine to his mouth and pumped once, twice, again.
She prayed they wouldn’t be stranded in the air with Trey in a full-blown attack. “Come on, hon, take one more hit off the inhaler, okay?”
His shoulders heaved with a shuddering inhale.
Mary Elise waited for signs of relief. Years spent tending her chronically ill mother had left her with more knowledge about lung disease than some doctors. Her mother’s illness had also left her unsupervised, free to tromp alongside the neighbor boy. Never once had Danny complained about a pesky tagalong two years his junior. He’d shrugged off any teasing—when had Danny cared what others thought anyway—and labeled her his mascot.
