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  He pressed his hand to her shoulder.

  “You want something different?” She was so damned great to be with, he just might ought to keep his mouth shut. He couldn’t. He didn’t want her to go back to that dangerous job.

  “Naw, just wondering when you were going to tell me about going back to that shit job with the FBI.”

  Chapter 30

  Ali stopped catering to Gun’s needs and stared at him, not liking the tone of his voice or his macho attitude. “You have a problem with my decision?”

  He grimaced in apparent disgust. “You’re really going to do it?”

  Pushing away from him, she sat up. “I don’t need anyone’s permission to change my mind. What’s bothering you?”

  His dark glower didn’t intimidate her, just made her resent being spoken to as if she were a naughty child. He groaned deep in his throat and stood up, looking around for his clothes, talking through clenched teeth.

  “It doesn’t matter to me. Just makes me wonder why you want to chase murderers and risk your ass every minute of every day.”

  “It’s what we do.” Keeping a grip on her temper could give her a brain stroke. She pulled it off. “I can handle it. Why can’t you?” She glared at his makeshift robe and yanked it from his hips. “I don’t need your okay, and damn it, you have my best silk blouse around your ass.”

  He held his hands out in a show of surrender. “Okay, so I don’t give a fuck.” He searched through a pile of discarded clothes that had been tossed against one wall. He found his wrinkled slacks. “It’s your ass.”

  Ali took the slacks from his hand and went to the closet, tossing a freshly dry-cleaned pair at him. The hint of a smile on his lips eased her worried heart. She picked up on his mood.

  “You’re worried about me, Gun. That’s cute.” She leaned against the closet door, watching him dress. “I know you like me.”

  He eyed her with a speculative smile. “That’s pushing it some.”

  Her heart skipped a beat or two, not sure and steady like her voice. “I know you spent a lot of time trying to get me out of your hair while you were gone, but it didn’t work. Did it?”

  “Hell no, it didn’t work. You’re still a big pain in my ass.” He zipped his slacks and listened to the second message that played on her answering machine.

  The voice of smooth sophistication issued an invitation she couldn’t refuse. The message was brief and crisp. The president would like to thank her personally for her fine job while being with them. That afternoon on the veranda near the Rose Garden.

  Ali stared back at him from her corner and waited for his macho remark. It didn’t happen.

  He shrugged and grinned at her. “Hell, you can’t turn that invite down.”

  Ali locked her arms around his neck and met his steady gaze. “Come with me. Please.”

  “I didn’t hear my name mentioned, baby. This is for you.”

  “I need you with me.”

  She had sworn to never utter a weak, needy statement like that again, but there it was.

  “They won’t let me in.” He sounded hopeful.

  “Put on a nice sport coat and tie. I’ll get clearance for you, and we’ll be on our way.”

  * * * *

  Gun whistled, a long, low wolf whistle in appreciation of Donavon’s dress. She’d tried on and modeled three outfits before deciding to wear a sage-green silk suit.

  She looked happy, and he felt good just being with her. “Donavon, you’re going to give those old farts a heart attack with all that great female flesh showing.”

  She turned to the wall mirror, checking her hair for the tenth time. She looked to him for reassurance on her outfit, and he didn’t know what to say. She looked beautiful to him.

  “Gun, is my skirt too short?”

  “Hell no. Maybe needs to be a little shorter.”

  “Stop making fun of me.” She had a case of nerves. Her hands, usually still and sure, darted from her hair and then back to her skirt. “I don’t know why I care. It’ll be hidden under my coat.”

  He touched her shoulder. “You’re perfect, Donavon.”

  He wanted to start taking off all those clothes while her gaze rested soft and sexy on his face. Damn it, baby. I don’t want you to be soft on me.

  Resting her hand on his shoulder, she gazed at the knot in his silk tie. “You’re not sorry about coming back, are you?”

  “Are you serious?” He pulled her close to plant a noisy kiss on her forehead. “Can’t think of another place I’d rather be.” Patting her ass, he added a little something for good measure. “Plus, you look great naked.”

  Her arms were a safety net that he hated to jump out of. He had to stop thinking like a pussy, maybe ease up on the bad-to-the-bone thing for a few hours.

  He dreaded the outcome of what she was dragging from him.

  “While you’re here, maybe we can run upstate for Christmas.”

  Okay, face it like a man. “Sorry, gorgeous. I’ll be shipping out in a few hours.”

  The air was heavy with her disappointment.

  She said nothing, just let her silent gaze assure him he would feel lousy for a long time.

  Her pretty nose twitched a little before she met his gaze again. “Let’s go. We’ll have time for pizza and sex before you take off.”

  * * * *

  Ali hoped the glisten of tears in her eyes would be mistaken for a show of sadness about leaving her job. Her only regret was that Gun could walk away from her again with no problem. He’d probably been sent back just to keep her in line. Hell, he couldn’t keep himself straight.

  “And we want to show our appreciation to agent Donavon with this letter and plaque of commendation for a job well done.”

  She barely heard the commander in chief’s words of praise, her gaze drifting to where Gun stood a few feet away. His smile tore at her poorly contained emotions.

  The President shook her hand, and the First Lady hugged her. Wait. Something was wrong. An audible threat, low and evil, whined past her ear. The razor-sharp crack of shattering glass exploded the wintry air. Women’s screams acted as a whip to Ali’s take-charge instincts. The situation was deadly. Her attitude instantly altered from humble guest to Secret Service Agent in Charge.

  Gripping her Walther PPK nine millimeter, Ali shielded the First Lady with her own body, standing in front of her while scanning the area for a nut with a weapon. The shooter had obviously already made his escape. Moving her charge toward cover, Ali spoke to her firmly, “Go back inside, please. As quickly as possible!” The First Lady was no fool and hurried across the veranda and inside to safety.

  Looking over the deceptively serene garden of barren rose bushes, she had seen Gun vault over the flower beds and jump onto the veranda, stand in front of her, and look like the sniper he was, on point, ready to take someone’s head off with his forty-five.

  She gave over her responsibility to the president and First Lady as another Secret Service agent took charge, cordoning off the area and moving people away from the scene. She was free to take a breath.

  In the crowd, whispers floated fast and furious. One thought it was gangland-style hit. Another was sure a terrorist had tried to kill the president. Ali wasn’t convinced. The whole thing was off-kilter.

  Gun stood beside Ali and eyed her with a tight smile. “I have a theory about that bullet.”

  “Does it have anything to do with Colombia?”

  He took her aside and waited for security to give them the okay to leave. “Bingo. The slug was too close to your head to be meant for the First Lady.” He put his hand at the small of her back. “By the way, good job of taking charge.”

  She couldn’t make jokes now. Her heart wasn’t in it. “Just doing my shit job.” She laced her fingers with his, letting him hurry her away from the buzzing crowd, anxious to discuss the sniper. “What have you heard?”

  “Armondez had a younger, crazier brother who took over the family business. The one major differen
ce is that he uses his mother’s maiden name, Conteguez.”

  “And of course he’s taken over his grudges, too.” She wasn’t worried, yet.

  The limo that had brought them to the ceremony drove under the wide portico, and the driver hurried around to open the door for them. Inside the fancy automobile, Gun hugged her shoulders. Leaning against him would have been nice, but she resisted.

  After the raising the glass partition between them and the stone-faced driver, Gun spoke as if they were discussing the weather. “The FBI agent who gave me the lowdown on the Armondez family said the half-brothers hated each other, were bitter enemies, in fact.”

  Ali was puzzled. “Then what would his motive be to take the risk of killing me?” She glanced back at the commander in chief’s residence. “Especially here at the White House.”

  Gun exhaled heavily. “Appearances. My guess is that all this bravado stuff is to send a message to his enemies. Anyone who dares cross him might as well go underground.”

  She had developed a professional attitude about her hits, but this was going to be an ongoing thing apparently. “What makes me so important? The world hated his brother.”

  Gun leaned near her, turning his face to gaze at her as he spoke quietly. “Taking you out would be the perfect message to send. It would convince his competitors that no one is safe if he wants them dead. A great ego massage for the fucking little rodent.”

  Her answer was cryptic.

  “I wonder if he’ll die as well as his brother?”

  Chapter 31

  Gun could see their luggage neatly lined up by the front door. Four bags were Donavon’s; one belonged to him. The apartment would be empty this time tomorrow. He felt ridiculous over the attachment he’d developed for the place. He scoffed at his reluctance to leave home. Home. What a laugh. A two-by-four efficiency. Strange thing was, it seemed like a palace because he had shared it with Donavon.

  He moved closer to her and breathed in the soft orange-blossom scent of her perfume. “Hey, Donavon. You awake, baby?”

  Aw, shit. She made one of those female sniffling sounds. Was she crying?

  “I’m awake.”

  He knew her well enough to realize she would sooner eat worms than show a sign of remorse because they were being sent to different corners of the States. Right now, he wanted to hear her voice and see her smile. Nights were awfully long with just a memory to snuggle up to.

  She quieted and burrowed closer, making his heart thump like a tricked-out motor. He cradled her head on his shoulder and kissed her forehead. Lulled into a drowse, an indistinct sound alien to the usual apartment noises he remembered, bristled his nerves and roused him to full alert.

  Something was going on. He sat up, reaching across her to turn off the small table lamp. He slid off the bed and pulled her to the edge, then off onto his lap.

  “What’s going on, Gun? You crazy?”

  She grunted as he rolled her off his lap and onto the floor.

  He reached up to pull his weapon from the holster hanging on the headboard, keeping her still while he whispered, “We got a visitor, hot stuff.”

  “How many you think?” The way she asked made it sound as if they were making a western movie.

  “I figure one — two at the most.”

  He dragged her sneakers from under the bed. “Get your shoes on. We’ll probably have to go outside if this turns out shitty as I expect.” He grabbed her sleepshirt off the bed and dropped it over her head.

  She didn’t comment, just stuck her feet in the shoes and jammed her arms in the sleeves of the pink waffle-knit shirt. “I’ll need a coat.”

  She’d whispered, but her comment ripped around the dark room like ice falling from the roof.

  “Perfect time to think of that.” He crawled on his hands and knees to the closet and yanked her coat off its hanger, tossing it back at her before rolling back across the floor. “Stay down, Donavon.”

  He automatically took charge, temporarily forgetting who he was with. She was up before he could stop her, diving across the bed to grab her weapon from the nightstand. A second later, she crouched beside him.

  Muffled sounds slipped under the door. The doorknob squeaked as it was tried. Who the hell was out there? Son-of-a-bitch wasn’t much of a cat burglar. Noisy and slow as hell.

  Glancing at Donavon, he noted she looked formidable, strapped for a shit load of trouble, her hand filled with a government-approved pistol that could take out anyone dumb enough to mess with her.

  Gun was positive now that he knew their visitor’s identity. It made complete sense. Conteguez was back to finish the job he’d botched at the White House.

  He’d come for Donavon.

  This would be the prick’s last trip anywhere. Gun was no longer just a Special Ops Agent. He had someone to protect with his life. “Get down.” He stood, ignoring her grunt of resistance, and pushed her back to the floor.

  “Let go,” she grumbled fiercely and shoved his restraining hand aside.

  Damn it…she was on her knees, leveling her weapon on the door.

  He wanted to reach back and smack Donavon for following him as he moved into the living room.

  Before he could take another breath, the door exploded inward, splintering under the foot of an intruder bent on murder.

  Flashes of white explosion from the guy’s weapon deafened him in the small room. Hot slugs smashed into walls and dishes in the kitchen seemed miles away as Gun bent his knees, crouching, and making himself a smaller target. The shooter flattened up against the busted door and sprayed the room with a nine-millimeter semi-automatic, not hitting anything important. He was a piss poor shot, taking out all the dishes in the kitchen cabinet, and finally, the French doors behind them.

  Donavon’s pistol barked like a bulldog, and he could hear the metal smacking into the heavy oak door. Several had to have hit the guy in the chest. He had reeled pretty damn good.

  What was going on? Why wasn’t the guy dropping like a dead moose? Son-of-a-bitch had on full armor protection. He aimed for his head, but the man ducked out of Gun’s line of fire. Instead, his slug caught him in the shoulder, and the expected scream of pain bellowed through the building.

  “Aw, shit!” Gun yelled in frustration as a tiny, fragile-looking female resident scurried down the hall past the gunman. No way could he fire again. The killer ran, the entry door slamming against the stoop wall behind him as he bolted out into the darkness.

  Two minutes later, six squad cars roared up in a screeching show of authority, stopping at the front of the apartment building. Curious neighbors stared out through the small space provided by the chain locks on their doors.

  Gun was accustomed to those stares, knew they were because of him and his strange habit of showing up in the middle of the night and the noise that always followed. Wisely, none of them came out into the blood-splattered hallway. The sidewalk in front of the building quickly filled with curiosity seekers.

  Gun hooked his arm around Donavon’s waist, looking her over for injuries. “That was one hell of a wild party.” He didn’t want her to realize how scared he’d been that she might be killed. To lighten the mood, he nodded to the noisy activity out on the sidewalk. “I’ve only had this much attention from the cops when I ran a stop sign.”

  He was grateful Donavon knew the score and didn’t fold under pressure. He almost laughed trying to visualize his ex-wife in the same situation. Pissing her fancy panties and clawing him like a scared cat. A warm touch against his side made him look at Donavon.

  “Hey, gator gal. You put a few in him. I saw the guy buck a couple times.” Gun couldn’t help it. He laughed and hugged her, grateful she was still in one piece.

  “Damn it, Gun.” She still had her PPK in her fist. “I say we trail him.”

  “We’ll find him.” Gun leaned down to pick up a spent shell casing. He nodded toward the patrolman coming up the steps to the front door. “Right now, we explain ourselves to the cops.”


  She touched his shoulder. “You okay?” She answered her own question with her usual touch of irony. “You’re not bleeding. You’re all right.”

  “Sure. You worried about me?”

  “No. I just think you have way too many holes in your hide already.”

  She didn’t fool him. Donavon had saved his ass in the Colombian rain forest after he’d eaten hot lead. He knew she wasn’t a cynic. She cared way too much about him.

  * * * *

  Ali hung up the phone and frowned. “Hamm wants me to go home for a while. Lay low, like some cowardly rat.”

  Gun neatly changed the subject. “I need some help here.” He took her hands and placed them on the tie that hung loose about his neck. “I think Hamm is right. You haven’t had any R and R for a while. Go see your family.”

  Ali didn’t like his dismissive attitude. She should have known he wouldn’t be sympathetic to her resentment. “I have an idea.” She pulled the knot of his tie hard against his throat. “You go see my family.”

  His grin irritated her. He wasn’t one to gloss over his lack of worry in any situation. “Donavon. You’re getting that tense look again. I thought we’d worked that out. Need to have one more quick fuck before I leave?”

  She pointed to the patched-up door. “Get out. I’m serious.”

  He grabbed her and held her tight, burying his face in the curve of her neck. “You know I have to go. Otherwise, I’d stay just to make you miserable.”

  His strength seeped into her bones, and her anger dissolved. “I’m not scared, if that’s what you think.”

  “Hell, I know that.” He nibbled on her neck. “I haven’t forgotten the night we met.”

  Neither had she. She had been his prisoner instead of the other way around. The arrest had been a setup, and she’d had no idea the terrorist gunrunner she slapped handcuffs on was really Jack Gunnison, an FBI undercover agent.

  The excitement hadn’t stopped since. She knew their actions sometimes could be seen as unprofessional and overstepped department regulations, but she’d gladly take her chances to stay with Gun.