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  He wasn’t sure his voice or anything else on his beat-up body worked. His attempt to say her name came out a raspy whisper. She didn’t hear him. Hell, what was she still doing here? She needed to get out of this place and pick up where she’d left off. Look up that son-of-a-bitch in Charleston. Not be sticking around here out of pity or thinking he might straighten up his act. Marriage, cottage, roses, and all that crap.

  Gun wanted to be upbeat, but he couldn’t. The reality of her flying away to a happy, safe relationship made him ache inside. She stood looking out the only window in the room and appeared to be deep in thought.

  He held his reaction down to a low simmer when she finally turned around to look at him. God, she was beautiful. Face scrubbed clean, no makeup, no big hair. Just a gleaming, shiny face and enormous blue eyes.

  “Donavon. You still here?” Great start, you dumb bastard.

  A soft light filled her eyes, and she smiled at him. Her soft, warm-as-a-kiss smile.

  “Gun.” She came to his bedside and touched his hand. “Of course I’m still here.”

  “When are you leaving?” Yeah, tell me when I should start getting nervous and lonely. His thoughts were pretty damned crazy, but she made him nuts. “You look great, Donavon.”

  She eyed his full upper torso bandage. “You look good, too.”

  He managed a laugh. “Sure.” He had to say it, get it off his chest. “Thanks, Donavon. I owe you.”

  “We’re even.” She pulled a slip of paper from her pants pocket. “My telephone number and address in Charleston.”

  Her phone number, for Christ’s sake. “Sure.” His voice had been nice and flat. “What else do you want?”

  Fight charged into her fabulous eyes, and he wanted to squall like a kid.

  “Oh, I see. Now I’m supposed to cry like a baby because you’re being an asshole.” She sounded tough, but he read hurt in her eyes.

  “You know how I am, Donavon. I don’t want any ties to hold me down.”

  “You misunderstood my meaning. It was only a gesture of friendship. Ex-partners and all.” She stepped back from his bed, looking bored.

  He tossed the slip of paper toward the nightstand and waved at her. The damned paper floated to the floor, and he wanted to dive after it. “Get out of here, Donavon. These flyboys won’t wait for you when they get ready to leave.”

  She looked as if she would like to slug him, but turned on her heel instead and walked out of his room, out of his miserable, fucking life.

  From his bed, he could look out and see the military cars and vans coming and going from the hospital. True to his natural good luck, he caught sight of Donavon walking to a car with a driver. She was on her way to Bogotá and a plane ride home.

  What he had said and done to her in the last few minutes was the lowest thing he’d ever done. He didn’t want to hurt Donavon. But she was too much woman to stay with a fuck-up like him, so it was best to sever all connections now.

  Sever had been the correct word. His wound was bleeding again. Hell, the blood was probably coming from his heart. What heart? He was over her. Get back in the race, man. Too many women to pine over one. He hit the nurses’ call button.

  “Hey, good-looking. I’m bleeding to death in here. Want to come in and fix me up?”

  Chapter 25

  Ali made the long flight back to the States in stone silence, speaking only when necessary. She isolated herself from the huge transport plane’s crew. The men were respectful and allowed her the privacy she needed to meditate on the useless ache in her heart.

  Now, back in Charleston on three weeks’ leave, she tried to be part of the family fun, but eventually wound up alone, drifting away in her private misery. She couldn’t believe the tingle of restlessness had already begun to set in, making it impossible to lounge idly under a quilt and stare at the big old-fashioned Christmas tree in one corner of the living room. There were things on that tree she and her brothers had made twenty years ago.

  Out of boredom, she wandered into the hallway, where the ancient answering machine blinked red. She pushed the button on the message center and then grabbed the table for support. A voice she didn’t recognize informed her she was expected to check in at the number the voice rattled off. Her fingers numbly gripped a pencil while she took down the number.

  Her mother called from the kitchen, “A gentleman called for you this morning.” She dug in her pocket and handed Ali a slip of paper. “Oh, dear, I forgot to tell you when I got busy in here.”

  Ali’s heart thrashed around in her chest. Gun!

  She took the paper in trembling fingers. “Okay, Momma. Thanks. I’ll take care of this later.”

  Forcing herself not to run from the kitchen was a tremendous strain on Ali, but she managed to get a short jacket from the hall closet and leave the house in a sane manner. Her emotions whirled in a crazy spin of joy and anger, embarrassment and a rabid eagerness. Gun! Holding the folded paper in her hand, she got into the rented sedan and shut the door, leaning back to take in a good lungful of air.

  Hands shaking, she opened the note and read her mother’s perfect penmanship.

  Supervisor Hamm called and asked you to return his call at your convenience.

  Being run down by a semi wouldn’t have hit her any harder. Hamm, not Gun. Ali couldn’t keep pulling herself from the gutter of self-pity. Her body moved and she spoke, but she wasn’t alive.

  Stop it, don’t you cry. Don’t you give in. You’re making a fool of yourself. Ali reached in the glove box, found some stale Chiclets gum, and popped three pieces into her mouth. Maybe some day when her life wasn’t such a mess, she wouldn’t want to smoke.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw her brother’s truck parked in the driveway. He always had a bottle of Jack Black under the club seat for snakebite. No, go get your shopping done, and then you can knock back a jolt. Listen to yourself, damn it. You’re not a drunk or a mental case that needs drugs. Face it, you have to get yourself in gear.

  In a last-minute lunge at self-respect, Ali backed out of the double driveway and headed for the downtown shopping area of Charleston. The drive wasn’t far, just horribly quiet. She pushed a CD into the player and wanted to scream when Aaron Neville cried the words to “Don’t Go.” Unable to stand hearing anyone else in pain, she yanked the CD out of the player, opened the window, and sailed the wretched disc into the roadside ditch. That didn’t stop the tears from gathering in her eyes. Okay, you can’t drive in this condition. Pull over.

  She pulled into a rest area and got out of the car. Knowing what she had to do, she carried her cell phone to a picnic table and sat down. Inhaling hard, she punched in the numbers on the slip of paper.

  “Supervisor Hamm.” She could hear familiar sounds of men talking and laughing in the background. “Agent Donavon here.”

  His voice made Ali feel worse, too much of a reminder of being with Gun.

  “Donavon.” He sounded pleased. “How’s the vacation going?”

  “Too fast, sir.” She forced her voice to lift. “How about yourself, sir?”

  “Great, Donavon. Just great.” There was a short pause. “I hear congratulations are in order for you and Gun.”

  The thunder in her ears was her own blood roaring through her veins. “I don’t understand, sir.”

  “I probably should have waited and let the big brass tell you.” He chuckled. “Just seemed more in line for me to tell my two best agents.”

  “I’m not following you, sir.” Ali sensed he was going to bring Gun up and want to talk about him. She simply couldn’t.

  “Good news, Donavon.” He rattled some papers around before speaking again. “You and Gun are getting commendations and booted up the ladder. Congratulations.”

  The lead in her heart could be the reason she didn’t care about the praise or the rung in the ladder. “Thank you, sir. I deserve it.”

  His booming laughter was soothing. “Yes, you do, Donavon.” Now there was something new in his voice.
A cheery teasing, “You’re being assigned a new job in Florida.”

  “Florida? I thought I’d just been promoted.”

  “Not officially taken place yet.” His voice took on its no-bullshit tone. “The department wants you to handle this job. When can I expect you back in St. Louis?”

  “As soon as you need me, sir.” She could only hope her voice didn’t reveal the weight of her deep disappointment. She listened while Hamm rattled off mundane details of her expected arrival in St. Louis. “Got it, sir. I’ll see you in three days.”

  “The department appreciates your cooperation.”

  She burned with curiosity to know her contact’s identity. “Any use asking who I pair up with this time?”

  He cleared his throat. “I don’t have that information, but I’m told he speaks Russian, French, German, and Spanish fluently. Plays the tuxedo crime scene really well, kind of a dandy.”

  Ali didn’t realize she was frowning. “Just as long as we get the job done.” Ali heard him say his goodbye and closed her phone, murmuring. “Just as long as it isn’t Gun.”

  * * * *

  Gun relaxed as the talkative tailor measured his shoulders. The tux and four sport coats the agency had sprung for needed alterations. A tux was not Gun’s idea of work clothes. He thought back to the ratty duds he and Donavon had worn when she dragged him out of the jungle. She crept into his thoughts with regularity. Of course, he wondered what she was doing. And yes, by damn, he missed her.

  “Relax your shoulders, sir. The fit will not be perfect if you stiffen up.” Exasperation threaded through the tailor’s voice.

  “Just habit, man.” Gun figured he should tell the guy his shoulder didn’t want to relax. Hell, would his Colt fit under this monkey suit? He exhaled in his own frustration. What a job. He was itching to take a mission in the Middle East. The action was in that part of the world now, alive with terrorists and people wanting military weapons. Fat chance of going until he wrapped up this dirty-bomb sting in France.

  “Spread your legs, sir.”

  Gun looked down at the balding head of the tailor and scowled. “I have a thirty-six inseam. No need to measure there.”

  The look of cold disgust on the guy’s face made Gun relent. Like most men, he didn’t like another guy fiddling with his crotch. He spread his legs and hummed a tune until it was over.

  “We’re all done, sir.” The guy looked as relieved as Gun felt. “Your garments will be ready by Thursday.”

  “That’s good news.” Gun walked around the shop, checking out the display cases. Six ties, a dozen shirts, and some fine underwear later, Gun left the shop.

  He’d been set up in the ritziest hotel in St. Petersburg and liked the perks that came with it. Plush accommodations, free liquor, hot-looking maids, and a gym near the pool.

  His suite was more like a home, with fine carpeting and high-end furniture. The bar would accommodate a dozen people, and the entire wall behind it glittered with crystal decanters and bottles of booze. The glassware was Fostoria, and the fancy bar mops were linen. Hell, this was the way to live.

  Looking in the closet, he shook his head at the assortment of pussy-looking shoes on the shoe racks. Tassels, for God’s sake. Well, at least there were a couple pairs of wingtips and a good pair of loafers.

  Shutting the door of the closet, he looked at the clock on the wall. Too early for dinner and too late for lunch. His need for action made him look in his shaving kit. Under all the razors, aftershave, and toothpaste, he found a box of gum.

  Slowly, he opened it and took out a piece of the white-coated gum. It was smooth and cool, but warmed quickly in his fingers. Desire to see Donavon rolled over him like a monster wave. He lay down on the bed to close his eyes. Fuck! Would he ever get over her?

  Holding the gum in his fist, he knew he was in deep trouble. No woman had ever stayed on his mind so much as thirty minutes after sex. Angry with himself for being a fool, he tossed the gum into his mouth and chewed. He figured she had gotten into his blood because of the jungle thing. They had gone through a bad time, and she had gone to the mattress for him. Okay, she had saved his life. He owed her, that’s all. It would fade, and he could have sex again.

  He laughed at the memory of the one time since his recovery that sex had been offered to him. A sweet lady lieutenant from the base in Bogotá had seen to it he had plenty of rehab on the walking trail on the hospital grounds. Trouble was, either he had lost interest in women, or Ali was too fresh on his mind. He played dumb and let her suggestions of a quickie in her office slide on by. Whatever, he needed to get laid before long.

  Gun rolled off the bed and left the room, headed for the bar in the lobby. He was to meet a buyer for a dirty bomb that evening. The guy was a real class act. Gun had met the guy and wanted to kick his finicky ass then. Hopefully a couple drinks would make the guy more likable in his discerning eyes. When his cell phone rang, he grimaced and moved to a quiet corner of the plush lobby.

  “Yeah.” He listened to the voice he knew as well as his own. “You don’t say. Okay, Thursday night. I’ll be there.”

  Hamm had been instrumental in getting him on this beginner’s job. He planned to have a long talk with Hamm.

  Clipping his cell phone back onto his belt, Gun strode into the bar. Pretty damn quiet this time of day. The regular trust-fund drunks would stagger in later, and the millionaires’ hookers were still asleep. Ah, the TV had sports on. He sat down at the bar and looked around.

  In the mirror, he caught a glimpse of a slender woman who made his blood race. He swung around to get a better look at her, but she was gone. He laughed when the bartender asked if he was okay.

  “Sure, just thought I saw an old friend walk by.”

  The bartender brought the shot he’d ordered, and Gun tried to watch the boxing match being re-run on the sport channel. A whiff of strong musk assailed his nostrils, and a soft voice tugged his earlobe. “Hi. Need company?”

  Gun turned his head to look at the walking ad for Revlon. Not that she wasn’t pretty. She was a knockout. “Hey, good-looking. Better not. My lady is meeting me here in a few minutes.”

  Her smile was wobbly, like her saunter, as she left the bar.

  The bartender had stayed away for most of the conversation. When he moved back to his end of the bar, he grinned knowingly at Gun. “She the one you nearly broke your neck trying to see?”

  “No, just my imagination working overtime.”

  Chapter 26

  Ali walked into the hotel lobby at exactly seven fifty-eight on that Thursday evening and took the elevator up to the luxury-only sixteenth floor. The young elevator operator eyed her in the mirror at the front of the elevator car.

  Being a gay mobster’s paid date required a certain amount of capital, and her sugar daddy had laid out plenty in the past couple of months. Splendid as it was, she would never in a thousand years have bought the black fox wrap draped around her shoulders.

  Gaining Frankie Labonte’s attention hadn’t been too difficult. A search through the records of his favorite escort service provided all the information needed to mold her into his perfect woman. Sophisticated, educated, quiet, and clean.

  She spent hours at the spa, enjoying full-body massages and mud bath. Facials, manicures, and pedicures topped off the hard day of blissful spoiling. The glitzy beauty salon had become her second home. Ali had quickly adapted to the extravagant pampering.

  The horny young man spoke, bringing her back to the serious world of being a traitor’s cover to hide his sexual preference.

  “Your floor, ma’am.”

  Ali nodded and walked out into the hallway. She checked her appearance in a large gilded wall mirror, making certain her makeup was flawless, the hem of her short black cocktail dress was straight, and her hose looked smooth as bare skin. She did love the black brocade pumps on her feet.

  Feeling a certain amount of excitement that night, she lifted her hand to press the doorbell. Her contact and partner wa
s supposed to be on the guest list, a guy with rich tastes and a bevy of women. Hell with that. All she knew was that his name for the sting was Martin Armstrong.

  Frankie opened the door personally when she rang the bell. “Hello, beautiful Sophie.” He hugged her and kissed her cheek. “Come in and meet the others. Some of them you may know.”

  Ali didn’t doubt that. Her taste in friends seemed to run to killers and drug heads these days. She had to say something to make him happy, feel needed in front of his pals who stared their way.

  Looking at him without blinking, she quietly explained her tardiness.

  “I’m a bit late, but there was a lovely dress in Queen Anne’s dress shop window.”

  “You should have gone in and bought it.” He kissed her knuckles. “Shame on you for not getting what you want.” He smiled at her like a boy just discovering his crotch. “You’re too lovely, Sophie. Too lovely.”

  She didn’t blush or acknowledge his compliment. He didn’t like that in women. Confidence was his game. He also liked to showcase the fact she was a good four inches taller than him. The higher the heel she wore, the better he liked it.

  He took a glass of champagne from a waiter and took a sip, then handed it to her. His way of showing the real men in the group he was as real as they were, that she was his.

  “Come with me, darling.” He skillfully guided her through the crowd to stand near a group of men engaged in quiet conversation. He leaned into the circle. “Gentlemen. Surely you’re not too involved to meet Sophie.”

  Her smile dazzled and set as he drew her forward. For a moment, she focused on the wall of tuxedo shirts and the masculine rumble of greetings. She glanced at the outstretched hands. Nice wide, long-fingered hands. Above all else, her brain sifted through the scent of cedar and oriental oils. The scent too exotic to ever forget.

  Tensing her muscles to stop a hard shiver, Ali slowly lifted her gaze to look into the depth of blackest seduction and downright seething trickery. Gun. Hold it together, Ali. You and the devil need each other once again.