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Till Death Us Do Part
Rebecca York
Undercover FiancеMarissa Devereaux discovered that paradise wasn't all it was cracked up to be when she was abducted by extremists on the Caribbean island of Costa Verde…. But things only got worse when Jed Prentiss showed up, claiming to be fiancе.A Wedding Ruse?While Marissa was glad that her new friends at 43 Light Street had teamed up to come to her rescue, she wondered if marriage to the gruff, abrasive Jed was her only salvation.After all, how could she trust this man with her life, if she couldn't trust him with her heart?
Till Death Us Do Part
Rebecca York
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Readers,
An author’s heroines and heroes are like her children. They have their faults. And sometimes they give us fits. But we love them dearly, and want the best for them.
Of course, there’s always a lot that happens in a 43 Light Street book before the payoff. You’ve probably noticed that we put our characters through terrible trials—to bring them to an emotional peak and force them to display their heroic qualities under enormous pressure. But we also introduce them to a soul mate—the perfect someone with whom they can live happily ever after.
That’s why we’re so thrilled to be writing Jed Prentiss’s story. In the third Peregrine book, In Search of the Dove, we put Jed through the tortures of the damned. We hoped we’d get to write his story in a fourth Peregrine novel. But he’s had to wait almost ten years for his own book. We’ve had a long time to think about the perfect woman for him. She had to be strong, so she could stand up to him. She had to be spirited to attract him. And she had to be vulnerable to bring out his protective instincts. We think Marissa Devereaux fits the bill. And we hope you agree.
All the best,
Rebecca York
(Ruth Glick and Eileen Buckholtz)
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Marissa Devereaux—She’d walked into a deadly trap. Now only one man could save her, if she dared accept the bargain he offered.
Jed Prentiss—The former Peregrine agent had taken an assignment that might get him killed.
Miguel Sanchez—The general had an iron grip on San Marcos. How far could Marissa and Jed trust him?
William Johnson—What was the Texan really doing in San Marcos.
Louis Rinaldo—The tough-looking Minister of Development had worked his way up from street-gang member to cabinet officer.
Thomas Leandro—The balding professor spouted Marxist doctrine, but where were his loyalties?
Pedro Harara—The banker was waiting for Marissa to make a false step.
Madre Flora—How much influence did the wise old woman wield on General Sanchez’s fiefdom?
Clarita Sanchez—Was the general’s daughter jealous enough to kill Marissa?
Contents
Chapter One (#u156ad528-275a-51ed-9b3b-ddd1275b18ee)
Chapter Two (#uf975406a-a25e-5b18-a489-efb2fc56ac60)
Chapter Three (#u6e539ee4-c1e8-51c4-9006-653f0e582190)
Chapter Four (#ucc6dd6f9-bb73-5f4a-bac3-6c3ab7393e03)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
It required effort to keep the smile on his face.
With his thoughts in sudden turmoil and his fingers tightening dangerously around a tumbler of planter’s punch, Jed Prentiss stared across the crowded room at the woman with the upswept golden curls. Was that Marissa? Here to screw things up for him—again.
The minister of economic development asked him a question, and he replied automatically in Spanish. At the same time he shifted slightly to the right to catch another look at the blonde through the crowd.
She turned with a graceful motion to put a champagne flute down on a passing waiter’s tray, and he got a glimpse of her face. He was right. It was Marissa Devereaux. He’d recognize that silky hair anywhere. It crowned a heart-shaped face with innocent-looking blue eyes, a petite nose and a mouth that could twist facts and half truths together so adroitly you didn’t know you’d been had until the middle of the next week.
In fact, she was almost as good at undercover work as he was. Except that she took foolish chances. As if she had nothing to lose.
Damn! She was the last person he wanted to see. What the hell was she doing in San Marcos—much less at a party being held at Miguel Sanchez’s town house? What possible reason would San Marcos’s army commander in chief have for inviting her? Jed couldn’t think of one.
After promising that he’d talk with the minister about mining loans later in the week, he excused himself and made his way across the room. The nearer he got to Marissa, the more burningly aware of her he became. He couldn’t possibly be close enough to smell her perfume, yet he imagined the scent of gardenia drifting toward him. She was wearing a little black dress that she probably didn’t think of as sexy. But it emphasized her narrow waist and sassy little hips. He hadn’t seen the front, but he knew it would be clinging to her high, firm breasts.
He scowled. He’d better keep his mind on business.
He could see she was finishing a conversation with Thomas Leandro, the outspoken university professor who’d made his reputation with pie-in-the-sky blueprints for turning the Central American republic into a socialist paradise. The professor was on Jed’s list, too. But he could wait.
When Leandro went off toward the buffet table, Jed stepped into Marissa’s path. Her cheeks took on a hint of heightened color, and her blue eyes widened and darkened: but the momentary lapse was her only betrayal of surprise—or anything else.
No matter how many times they met, he was never prepared for her reaction to him. As if she were suppressing strong emotions she didn’t want him to read—or couldn’t acknowledge. Whenever he’d tried to find out what was going on below the surface of those beautiful blue eyes, they had iced over. The rebuffs had hurt his ego. He’d vowed never to let it happen again.
“Jed. How nice to see you. Are you here on behalf of the Global Bank?”
Smooth, he thought. As if they were nothing more than friendly colleagues who traveled in the same business circles.
“Yes,” he replied, matching her coolness.
They studied each other carefully.
What was she planning for the evening, he wondered. Did she already know he’d be prowling the same turf? Or was she as unpleasantly surprised as he had been? Only one of them was going to leave the capital city with the evidence he’d come to steal. He was going to make damn sure of that.
“You’re a long way from Baltimore,” he remarked.
She hesitated before replying. “Yes.”
“So what brings you to San Marcos?”
“Oh, you know. My usual. I’m scouting out off-the-beaten-track vacation locations for Adventures in Travel.”
“Latch onto anything exciting?”
“I should be able to set up a jungle trip to some partially excavated Mayan ruins. And there are excellent snorkeling and diving opportunities along the coral reef. I think I can guide visitors to a stingray feeding location.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Not when you know what you’re doing.”
“Be careful.”
“Oh, I will.”
“I didn’t realize you knew Miguel Sanchez.”
“I don’t. Ted Bailey at the embassy was kind enough to get me on the guest list.”
“Then you’re on assignment for the State Department?”
“No.”
It was a good bet she was lying. He knew she often mixed undercover work for Victor Kirkland at State with travel agency research. He was about to probe a little further when one of the uniformed staff approached them.
“Se?orita Devereaux?”
“S?.”
“Telеfono para usted.”
She gave Jed an apologetic look. “I’ll see you later.”
“Expecting an important call?”
For a split second she looked as if she weren’t sure how to reply. Then she shrugged and followed the man who had delivered the message.
As Jed watched the servant lead her toward a back hall, he wondered if there was some way he could listen in on the phone conversation.
He’d memorized the floor plan of the house. There was another access to the hall, from a door off the enclosed patio.
As if he had nothing more important to do than get a breath of fresh air, he wandered casually toward the French doors.
When he stepped onto the stone terrace, the tropical night, rich with the scent of flowers, enveloped him. It took several moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. As they did, he went very still. Marissa had come out the side door he’d been heading for and was walking rapidly toward the far wing of the house where the office complex was located. The office complex that was strictly off-limits to everyone except Sanchez and his handpicked staff. Jed had heard stories of summary executions of suspected spies caught there.
Didn’t Marissa know the risk she was taking? For that matter, didn’t she know there was a guard? Jed’s gaze probed the darkness.
There was supposed to be a guard. He didn’t seem to be in sight. Had Marissa taken care of him? Jed cursed under his breath. This was just the kind of audacious maneuver she was so good at pulling off.
He was about to follow her; then, before he could, he saw a figure ooze out of the shadows like a night creature crawling out from under a rock. Without making a sound, the man padded after her.
The hair on the back of Jed’s neck stood on end as if a cold breeze had blown across the patio. Marissa was in deep banana oil. Unless he could stop her before she reached the office wing.
* * *
ABOVE THE SOUND of the mariachi band playing at the party, Marissa thought she heard a voice nearby. Her whole body went rigid while she waited for a large hand to clamp down on her shoulder. When the blow didn’t fall, she sprinted the rest of the way to the office wing. The heavy door was unlocked. That had been part of the deal. Jerking it open, she threw herself inside and stood with her shoulders pressed against the carved mahogany.
The door at her back gave her only a partial feeling of security. Now that she was here, she wished she’d come up with some other plan to get the information Victor wanted. Even for her, this was taking a hefty chance.
But it should work out all right.
She’d paid enough bribes to supplement the San Marcos military budget for six months.
Still, as she struggled to bring her breathing into normal range she peered down the hallway searching for signs of life. The place was as silent as a tomb. The only illumination came from a pair of ornate sconces that looked as if they held fifteen-watt bulbs. Since the electricity in San Marcos was likely to be off for half of any twenty-four-hour period, the low wattage made sense. Probably Sanchez was using his own generating plant and needed the bulk of his power supply tonight for the party.
Her high heels sounded like a flamenco dancer as she started down the polished tile passageway. Slipping off her pumps, she looked nervously over her shoulder, half expecting to see Jed Prentiss behind her striding down the hall to catch up. If anyone bollixed up things tonight, it would be him!
All she’d needed a half hour ago, as she was psyching herself for this raid, was to glance up and discover him stalking his way toward her like a jaguar about to pounce on a tethered goat.
Her hands clamped down so tightly on her evening bag that her fingernails dug into the expensive fabric. When she realized what she was doing, she loosened her grip. She’d come here to do a job. And she would finish it and reappear at the party before anyone noticed she was missing.
As she began to tiptoe down the hall again, shoes in hand, she cursed herself for not knowing more about Jed’s recent activities. Then again, she hadn’t had time to brush up on every agent who’d worked in Latin America before she’d come to San Marcos. She’d better stop obsessing about him before she made some kind of fatal mistake.
With a quick glance at her watch, she saw that three minutes had elapsed since she’d ducked out of the party. That left only a little more than fifteen to get in and out of here with the goods Victor was paying her to bring home.
At least Sanchez’s office was on the ground floor, she thought as she turned the corner and started for the end of the hall. She felt less exposed as soon as she’d stepped into the anteroom and quietly shut the door behind her.
The room was spartan, with a secretary’s desk, a few wooden chairs and some filing cabinets. Marissa gave them only a quick glance. The good stuff was in Sanchez’s private office under lock and key.
Victor had briefed her on the likely places to look, so she went straight to his desk and knelt behind it. His most confidential files were in the two bottom drawers. Willing steadiness into her hands, she extracted a small case from her evening bag. What appeared to be a manicure set was really a set of lock-picking tools. A quick look through the contents of the first drawer told her that she’d struck out. And she only had ten minutes left.
Teeth clenched, she worked the other lock. Then she came across a stack of coded papers neatly filed in manila folders. She couldn’t read the text. But this was what Victor had told her to look for.
