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Surrender In Silk
Susan Mallery
Jamie Sanders was finally turning her back on her secret life as government agent to search for who she really was–as a person, and as a woman. But first she had to take on one final mission. She was determined to help the man who had made her into a lethal killing machine–the man who had also awakened the woman within her….But as she rescued Zach Jones from his foreign captors and tried everything in her power to heal the wounds that scarred him, inside and out, she had to accept what she'd been hiding from for years–that he was what she'd been searching for all along.
Praise for
SUSAN MALLERY
“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.
Surrender in Silk
Susan Mallery
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Prologue
Two rescue helicopters swooped down and broke the silence of the night like noisy birds of prey. Spinning blades kicked up sand, dirt and debris, swirling them into a blinding tornado. The powerful military engines were loud enough to wake the dead.
Worse, they would alert the enemy, but everyone expected that.
Zach Jones crouched behind an abandoned shack, his automatic weapon ready to fire. He squinted against the darkness and the cloud stirred up by the choppers, then made a beckoning motion with his left arm.
“Now,” he called to the dozen men waiting behind him. “Get going.”
They moved as one. A low, dark shape—men hunched over to provide a smaller target—slipping like a snake toward safety.
The first burst of gunfire came from the north end of the compound. Zach spun in that direction and pressed his finger on the trigger. Instantly the gun jerked to life, spitting bullets faster than the eye could see. His men sprinted quicker, lower, then broke ranks when one of their own was shot. Zach couldn’t see who had gone down. Damn. They’d already lost too many men on this mission.
“Grab him and get moving,” he yelled, still firing toward the enemy, giving his men protection as they scooped up their fallen companion and continued their escape.
The first helicopter had nearly reached the hard-packed earth, with the second close behind. The deafening noise had a life of its own. The power of the engine, the whipping of the blades, and the sharp, staccato bursts now coming from the tower at the far end of the compound.
“Dammit all to hell,” Zach muttered. He’d known there would be trouble on this mission. He’d planned for it. Just not well enough. Their intelligence information had underestimated the size of the enemy force by nearly a hundred. They’d had to abort and call in the helicopters early. His group of sixteen men had already been reduced by two. He glanced at the injured man being carried toward the first helicopter. Make that by three.
He touched the radio transmitter in his ear. “All right, Albatross, how bad is it?”
There was a brief scratching of static, then a voice said, “Bad. Three trucks of reinforcements just pulled up. I’ll do the best I can from up here.”
“The hell you will.” Zach stepped out of the protection of the shack and sent a quick burst of gunfire toward the tower, then ducked back to safety. “Get down here now. The choppers are going to be leaving pronto.”
“I can take out at least one of the trucks.”
Zach swore. “They’re bringing in Stinger missiles. If they aim one at the choppers, we can kiss our ride home goodbye. Albatross, move it. Now!”
“Yes, sir.”
But Albatross never made it. Seconds later the southern wall where Albatross had been hiding exploded in a brilliant flash of fire and heat. Zach turned away, as much to protect himself from the blast as to save his night vision. The smell of helicopter exhaust, sand, dust, ash and burning wood flooded him.
He spared a quick glance at the first helicopter. All the men were inside. He pressed another button on the transmitter. “Get the hell out of here,” he said.
“Yes, sir.” The first chopper lifted off immediately and quickly climbed into the night.
There were more bursts of gunfire, followed by muffled shouts. The enemy was organizing. Zach eyed the distance to the second chopper, then wondered how many bullets he would take between here and there.
“Sir, we’ve got you covered,” a voice from the chopper said in his ear. “Anytime you’re ready.”
“Now,” Zach said, and took a step forward.
He never got farther than that. Something fast slammed into the exhaust pipe of the helicopter. The bird exploded.
Fiery debris flew through the night, knocking Zach down, cutting through his clothes and burning his skin. Despite the pain, he tried to crawl away. But his leg wasn’t working. It hurt too damn much to be gone, but he knew he’d injured it badly. He’d hurt something else, too. Maybe his head. The night sky started spinning as the ground rushed up to meet him.
Just before he lost consciousness, he saw several pairs of military boots surround him. The bastards were going to get him alive and they were going to make him pay for what he and his men had done this night. As the darkness claimed him, Zach Jones knew Albatross was the lucky one.
He’d had the good sense to die.
Chapter 1
“You 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.”
