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  He got to his feet, leaning over to pick up her hat. When he looked at her with his midnight eyes, Ali felt her body tense in preparation of escape. She mentally shook herself for being a fool. But she couldn’t lose the feeling that Jack Gunnison was a cold, dangerous man. Her mouth felt dry when he spoke at last.

  “Hell, you’re still pissed off about what happened in the alley.” He laughed a soft, teasing laugh, tossing the headgear back to her. “I enjoyed it, and I thought you did, too.”

  Acting was not her forte, but she couldn’t let him know how much he shook her reserve. She kept her remarks on a level that suited him and the subject. “Okay. You and the good old boys had your little joke, Gunnison.” She scrunched her cap in her cold fingers and made her intent clear. “I’m going to Colombia with or without you.”

  He didn’t address her comment, chose to treat her like a skirt.

  “You’re shaking.” His smile was close to being sympathetic. “It’s okay to be afraid.”

  Damn him. The devil had called her a coward. He made her feel like she had to save face, and that didn’t sit well on her empty stomach. “Get this, hotshot. We’re supposed to be going as a team, but if you pull anything stupid to prove what a real man you are and endanger the mission, I’ll leave your ass hanging in a banana tree.”

  “Ouch.” Gun ended his long study of her mouth to her eyes and grinned. “That’s mean talk. You look like a soft kitten. Not a tiger.”

  “I’m a Black Bird agent. I’m not one of the guys, and I’ll not be treated with anything less than respect.” To hide her frustration at his attitude, she yanked a pair of gloves from her jacket pocket and tried to ease the tension between them. “Do we leave for Colombia together, or do you want to meet up in Bogotá?”

  His silent and steady gaze made her nervous. What the hell did he see that fascinated him so much? She shifted from one foot to the other, listening to her handcuffs jingle softly on her belt. She quieted them with her palm.

  “Can you put a bullet in a guy’s head and kick him after he falls?” His single, telling question crashed through the lengthy silence.

  “Before you can spit.” Her voice had been strong. She felt strong.

  He turned back to stare out the window, drumming his fingertips on the frosty pane of glass. Humor vanished from his voice. “If you screw up, I’ll leave you where you fall.”

  She believed him. “I’d expect nothing less.”

  He looked at her over his shoulder before walking back to stand face to face with her. “This is no joke, Donavon.”

  “I never joke about killing a man.” She leaned back a millimeter after catching a hint of his exotic scent.

  “I don’t want to see you sunbathing or checking your bikini wax job when we are setting up our position.”

  “Ditto for you on shacking up with the ladies or getting loaded in the local bars.” Damn. She tasted his scent, and it trickled over her nerve endings. “Anything else?”

  “I’ll expect one-hundred-percent cooperation from you. No matter the situation, no matter what I ask.” His brow lifted. “Get my meaning?”

  Now he was speaking to her like he would his pet spaniel.

  “Loud and clear, and you’ll get exactly what you deserve.” She still wanted to roll in his sheets after he slept in them.

  He seemed to be moving in on her. Pressing her until she stepped backwards to plaster herself against the wall. He didn’t touch her, but his male presence seeped into her skin like the heat of the sun. She couldn’t look away when he spoke.

  “Let’s get this straight between us. You haul your own weight. I won’t be pulling your ass out of fires, and you had better not be a screamer.”

  Her lips twitched in telltale amusement. Hell, yes, she was a screamer, but that wasn’t what he meant. “I’ll be there to pull the trigger if you can’t.”

  He moved away from her and headed for the door. “I’ll see you in the morning, Donavon. That is, if you decide you really want to go.”

  “Go to hell, Gun.”

  * * * *

  Gun couldn’t believe the discussion he’d just had with Donavon in the conference room. Talking with her about whether she really wanted to die in the jungle or not. It wasn’t his usual ending to an evening with a desirable woman like Donavon.

  He sat in his restored ‘68 muscle car for a few minutes, hoping the cold engine would turn over with one more try. The key turned, but the engine remained quiet. Damn it. The car looked hot as hell with its apple-red paint job, but was cold as a witch’s tit. Now he remembered the antifreeze. Since he had parked in the agency’s lot, he wasn’t worried about his stalled car at the moment. Borrowing one from the agency would be no problem.

  He got out and locked the door before walking back toward the front of the agency’s building. A woman hurrying down the snow-covered steps caught his attention. It was his new partner.

  “Hey, Donavon.” He grinned at her stare of contempt. “Give me a ride to my place, okay?”

  “I’m probably not going in that direction.” She pulled her borrowed parka closer about herself against the biting wind and tried to walk past him.

  “I’ll pay you.”

  “Call a cab.”

  He liked sparring with her. “Come on, honey. I live five minutes from here.”

  “I don’t give a damn, and don’t call me honey.”

  Gun turned the collar of his jacket up and laughed. “I thought of another name, but you’d be pissed off.”

  She scalded him with her glare. “You won’t mind walking since it’s so close, will you, honey?”

  He laid his hand on her shoulder, giving some thought to the idea that she might bite it off. He wanted a better look at her face, partially hidden by the fur collar of her coat. “Okay. I’m a bastard.”

  “You don’t say?” She bunched her shoulders and stamped her snow-covered feet. She looked miserable.

  “Let’s start over.”

  “No.”

  “Hi, there. I’m Gun. I’m stranded.”

  “I’m Donavon, and I don’t give a damn.”

  “Have a heart. Please.”

  She flung his hand aside and grumbled under her breath. “All right.” She looked him in the eye and drew up the rules of the ride. “Don’t say a word in the car, or I’ll kick you down a ravine.”

  He nodded, grinning behind his cupped hands he warmed with his breath. He wouldn’t push her anymore. Tonight.

  He was impressed with how quickly she picked up his hand signals. She drove fast and chewed fruity gum, but didn’t offer him a piece. A woman after his own heart. Donavon was hard as nails and probably lean and mean in bed. Gun liked her hands on the wheel of the luxury sedan. They looked strong, and there was no ring except on her left thumb.

  She glanced his way and caught him staring at her. He didn’t care if she knew he liked her looks. Didn’t mean a fuck. Never would the two meet in the sack, unless she insisted. He leaned in a little toward her and inhaled the light drift of orange blossom that plucked the strings of his sensory glands.

  He gestured to the right, and she drove the big car into the icy courtyard of his apartment building. She scanned the area for a second. Without a word, she flipped the door lock and waited.

  “Can I speak now?” Damn. He’d love to plant a big one on her mouth. It was wet and glistened from the lick of her tongue. “I have instant coffee. Wanna come up?”

  “Get out.”

  He opened the sedan’s heavy door, giving her a final look to see if she had weakened. “How about giving me your phone number? In case our plans are changed.”

  Ali touched the alarm on her key chain. “It’s not much, but it draws attention.”

  “Thanks for the lift, Donavon.”

  He stood in the windy driveway until she left in a cloud of exhaust vapor and what he figured was a fit of laughter. She handled herself damn well. He still wondered if she could stand up to the hell they would be getting into.

/>   Chapter 3

  When she woke, Allie’s first thought was of food. Her second was of Gun. He wasn’t hard to figure out. He didn’t like her much, but would’ve had sex with her. Typical male. She grimaced.

  She climbed out of bed to grab a pair of faded jeans and a cable-knit sweater from the closet. Noticing the hangers swinging in the empty closet reminded her she wasn’t home, but in a mediocre hotel room.

  Uppermost in her mind was the early-morning meeting to hash over the plans for her assignment. Humph. Their assignment.

  Gun. Gunnison. Jack Gunnison. What a bastard. His take-it-or-leave-it attitude was typical male, give nothing, ask for nothing. Ordinary male. Okay, so he wasn’t ordinary. She couldn’t believe how easily and quickly everything he said or did got under her skin.

  While she showered, Ali tried to think of ways to avoid being alone with Gun. That, of course, was inane. He was nothing special, and she’d known her share of Jack Gunnisons. Had one of them, gave him her all. It hadn’t been one of her better choices. An especially ugly scene had erupted when she found him with her cousin in the canopy bed that Great-Great-Grandma Donavon had brought from Ireland.

  Damn, the man had torn her heart out and stuffed it down her throat. Never again. Ali dried her body and dragged on her clothes. Rummaging around in her suitcase, she found heavy wool socks to wear with her waterproof ankle boots.

  In a hurry, she brushed her shoulder-length hair away from her face, catching it up in a yellow banana clip. In forty-five minutes she had to be in the briefing room at the agency. First things first, though. The nice little family-style café down the street served pancakes. She decided to walk to work and hoped she wouldn’t be assigned another late-night sting.

  Hurrying around the room, she grabbed the borrowed parka and her keys before strapping her weapon on. She located a warm neck scarf, picked up her wallet, and left for work.

  Outside, it was damp and gloomy, cold enough to make her pick up her pace until she saw the welcome sign in the café’s steamy window. She opened the door and went inside. A crowd made up of men and a few women having a bite before they went to work ignored her.

  The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee and crispy fried bacon made her stomach growl. She sat at the counter and draped her coat over her legs. The waitress brought a cup and a carafe of coffee to where she sat, then took her order. Great place, Ali thought, glancing at the pile of glazed donuts in a glass case.

  While she waited for her food, Ali read the newspaper someone had left. She didn’t look up, but searched her memory for the identity of the masculine laughter coming from a table in the back of the room.

  “Gun.” She shook her head. What were the chances of running into him at this tiny café? Pretty damned good since he lived two blocks east of her hotel.

  As she sipped her coffee, Ali covertly checked Gun out, leaning to one side to look at him. She almost grinned. He wore faded jeans and western boots. Just what she wanted to be hooked up with. A cowboy.

  Once her food arrived, she didn’t look his way again until half the stack was gone. Glancing to the back of the room, she noticed several of Gun’s companions putting their coats on, preparing to leave. Shit. He was getting up too, pulling money out of his wallet. Not wanting to trade shots with him this morning, she took a ten from her billfold and slipped it under her saucer.

  Grabbing a paper cup from the stack provided for carryout, she filled it and quickly jammed a lid on it. When the waitress came over, Ali smiled. “Hey, thanks. I forgot I have to be somewhere else right now.”

  “Better take some of these donuts.” The waitress grinned and dropped several in a brown paper bag.

  “Thanks. I owe you.”

  Some bozo bumped her, and she turned around to face him. Oh, hell. Gun. And he had shaved. So what? You’ve had better. His smile was evil, a perfect match to his personality.

  “Why didn’t you come back to our table?”

  “Didn’t want to intrude.” Hell. She wanted him to leave, but he continued to gaze at her and the sack of donuts the waitress held out.

  “You’d better take those sinkers. Hamm doesn’t let us take a morning break.” He handed the waitress a bill and paid both their tabs, sticking Ali’s ten-spot back into her coat pocket.

  He took the parka and held it up, waiting for her to relent and put her arms into the sleeves. She shoved her arms in and shrugged out of his reach. Once they were outside, she would have to blast him for assuming too damned much. She walked by him and out the door, clenching her teeth to keep from cursing out loud. She might have to anyway.

  “Hey, Donavan. Wait.”

  Glancing over at him, she took the brown bag and coffee he held out to her. Now was as good a time as any to tell him how she didn’t like men taking care of her.

  “I would rather pay for my own food.”

  “I put on the little show of manners for the waitress. Been trying to date her for a month.” He picked up her neck scarf that had fallen at his feet and draped it over her shoulder.

  “Don’t tell me your troubles. I could give a rat’s ass.” She quickly stuffed the scarf in her coat pocket.

  “I could use one of those things.” He pointed to her paper sack.

  “Forget it. I saw the mammoth plate of ham and eggs you ordered.” He had a great laugh, rich, warm, and male. If she didn’t watch it, he would be in her jeans before they got to work.

  She pulled a donut from the bag and ate it, ignoring the hand he held out to her as they quick-stepped to the agency two blocks away. To emphasize her lack of concern for his feelings, she crumpled the top of the bag and crammed it into her coat pocket. Damn, she sure had wanted the rest of those pancakes.

  The short flight of steps to the entrance was iced over again. How happy would she be to leave the cold weather behind? Her toes had been frozen for two weeks. She hurried to open the heavy glass door without help from him. Gun followed, close on her heels.

  She scanned her card and signed in under the watchful eye of the guard in the lobby. His smile was a nice change from some of the goons she had been spending her time with lately.

  While Gun talked with the guard, Ali hurried into the operations room. The place wasn’t vacant. Supervisor Hamm was there, writing on a wall-sized blue message board.

  “Donavon.” He went back to writing on the message board after the cheerful greeting.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  The rising murmur of male voices outside the door made her wonder how he stood all the craziness of the business. Picking Gun’s voice out of the mix wasn’t difficult. She listened carefully, placing the soft accent in the southwest. He was a damned West Texas cowboy.

  Ali spread her belongings out and hunched over the oval table, taking up two spaces. From the corner of her eye, she could see Gun walking around to her side of the table, taking off his heavy coat. Crap. He was going to sit next to her.

  He made a huge show of draping the coat over the back of her chair, leaning over her shoulder to smile into her eyes.

  “It’ll keep you warm. Gets kind of cold in here.” He dropped easily into the chair next to her. “I got my car started. You won’t have to wait for me tonight.”

  “Thank God,” she hissed through a hard grimace. How should she handle this — stomp his instep, or play dumb? He didn’t give a damn about her comfort, and he had brass balls to assume she would be giving him another ride. Then, it hit her. He was trying to charm her out of the assignment. “Gun, I’m going to Colombia.”

  He leaned back in his chair and eyed her with some irritation. “Just what I like. Blood and guts.”

  “What’s wrong? Do I scare you?”

  “Damned right.” He tapped her wrist. “But I like it.”

  Ali considered being friendly to him, but she closed the feeling off.

  Supervisor Hamm sat at the head of the table and put a disc in the DVD player. He began laying out the plans for the special-ops assignment, glancing over his should
er at them.

  “Pay attention.” The horseplay and personal comments ceased, and then he continued. “Agents Gunnison and Donavon will be flown to Bogotá in the department’s private jet. Rance is their handler. He will fly with them, stay in Bogotá to relay any changes in their plans if there are any. The present administration of that country and the military are friendly with us. Our agents are security cleared with the local law enforcement. The military has given them permission to use their private airstrip. They won’t have any problem moving around the country. Rance will separate from Donavon and Gun at the airport and go to his hotel. Gunnison and Donavon will be registered under the names Mr. Greg Sweeney and Bambi Malone at the La Fontana hotel.”

  Ali didn’t bother asking. Yes, she would be sharing a suite with Gun. If he had an opinion about the arrangement, he kept it to himself. She slid a sidelong glance at his profile. Nothing. He was taking notes. What a cold fish. She shrugged, understanding that was a necessary trait in a top agent.

  He looked up only occasionally while Supervisor Hamm took them through dozens of photos. Ali sat forward when a slim-faced man’s image appeared on the screen. She knew his identity before Supervisor Hamm said his name.

  “Rodriquez Armondez.” The supervisor looked around the room, enlarging the photo to full screen size. “He likes money, parties, fast cars and women. You’ll be provided with enough cash to impress him, get his men’s attention. Having agent Donavon with Gun will get them into the party scene faster.”

  The men all gave her the business with wolf whistles and big grins. Everyone except Gun. He looked up at the screen and went back to writing in his notepad. The supervisor scowled, and the hubbub stopped.

  “Gun and Donavon will spend money, party with the big boys. Ask around about drugs to be bought, and his men will lead you to him. He’s like a snake. Hard as hell to see. He also swallows young girls without chewing.”