Into Danger Part 3

He grunted, not even looking up from the magazine he was pretending to read. She had shown him enough shoes to last him a whole lifetime, as far as he was concerned.

"Sweetheart, don't you like this outfit? Do you think these shoes go with it?" There was definitely laughter in her voice now. She knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Steve reluctantly peeped over the magazine, meaning to just agree, and hoping to be left in peace for another ten minutes. His eyes widened. His pulse came alive. Slowly he lowered the magazine as he took in her "outfit."

He had seen a movie star or someone famous modeling a similar dress. A V-front opened to the navel, pinned with a brooch, exposing enough bosom and flesh to cause a riot. The material had to be illegal; he could see she wasn't wearing a thing under that dress. Blood rushed to a strategic part of his body, and it wasn't his brain because he suddenly felt light-headed. Wow. What in the world was holding that dress together? The vision approached him as he sat there.

"Well, what do you think?" She stood oh-so-close, right in front of him.

He was eye level to her bared flesh, and he tried to look under the material that covered the half of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s that mattered. How did it stick to them like that?

M is for Making Love. Magic. Mama Mia. M is for..."More movement, please," he answered, circling his finger in the air. Maybe if she twirled around a bit, the material would shift, and then he could see...

"I meant the shoes, Stash. Aren't they perfect with this dress?"

What shoes? He hadn't looked at her feet once. "Yup," he agreed, his eyes not straying from more important things. "They're perfect."

"I knew you'd agree. I'll take these then."

He heard the mockery in her words but was suddenly in too generous a mood to care. h.e.l.l, let her buy more of these thousand-dollar things, if they all looked like that on her. He didn't even mind missing lunch.

"Okay, I'm ready to go now."

He stood up and looked down. Nope, couldn't see a d.a.m.n thing from this angle, either. "You're...uh...wearing that back to the apartment?"

"No, I'll be wearing it later. We're going out to a fancy party one of these nights."

"We are?"

"Why do you think I bought you those expensive clothes?"

That was an hour Steve chose not to ever remember again. Never, he vowed. Never would he again be in the vicinity of a woman buying him clothes. What should take ten minutes took over an hour of excruciating humiliation. He scowled at the memory of being poked and prodded, touched and tucked.

"You look like you aren't enjoying your job, Stash," his tormentor commented as she fiddled with the front of her dress.

Well, he was enjoying that. But shopping? Letting a man touch him where he shouldn't? Being asked which side he...uh...He scowled again. Never mind that the man asking the questions was supposedly a tailor. If he had jiggled that measuring tape a few more inches closer, that man wouldn't have lived to know which side he preferred to...His scowl deepened.

A cool hand patted his jaw. "A few more days of this and I'll have you all obedient yet."

More shopping? He shook his head. She nodded, clearly trying hard not to laugh. He shook his head again.

"Next time we're doing this, it'll be on a bet," he told her. He ran a nonchalant finger down the seam of the tempting V-opening. He didn't care that the saleslady was avidly watching them. The material was soft, tantalizing him with the way it managed to stay in place. He felt the slight tremor of her body where his finger made contact with her smooth skin. He smiled. Not so in control after all.

"What's the bet?"

Sneak attack. "That I'll find whoever's after your a.s.s." He had a job to do, after all, and would like to know who all the players here were. One thing was for sure-if Marlena was out of the picture, then there would be no other way to find out who had hired her, and why.

Her eyes narrowed at the change of subject. "Why are you so interested in this, I wonder." It wasn't a question.

"Told you your a.s.s was mine."

"Ha." She turned away, heading back to the changing room. "You won't win."

"I haven't lost yet."

Marlena heard his footsteps behind her but chose to ignore him. She had no intention of telling him more than necessary. Stepping into the changing room, she closed the curtain. It was drawn open before she even turned around. He stood there, blocking the entrance, making the small changing room smaller with the mirror reflecting him on all three sides. She stared up at him challengingly. "There is something awfully familiar with this situation," she remarked as she picked out what to wear next. "I a.s.sure you, I don't need help to take this off."

The look in his eyes was heated, full of sensuous promise. She reminded herself that the man had other things on his mind-hadn't his last bet proved that?

"Scared I'll win?" he taunted.

She wasn't scared. She was tempted. And Marlena wasn't sure whether taking this temptation would prove deadly. Every time he looked at her with those dark eyes with their devil-may-care gleam, she wanted to throw caution to the wind and let him come nearer. She would, but not until she was sure who he was, not until she was sure she would be in total control of her emotions.

She couldn't help it, though. She needed to know what he had in mind. "What's the price this time? Another kiss?" She played with the brooch holding the dress together, feeling excited and intrigued. He hadn't made a move for her but she felt caressed-all over. Another new sensation that bothered her. Men had undressed her with their eyes before, but she had never felt her body responding in this way.

Steve shook his head. "If I win, you're going to let me find out how that dress stays on like that." He looked at their reflection on his right, leaned a little into the room, and touched the area on the mirror he was referring to. He traced the outline of one breast with his forefinger, moving with a sensuous wickedness, as if he were imagining sliding the dress off to one side.

Marlena stopped breathing. He hadn't touched her, and her body was tingling all over.

"Excuse me, sir, but you can't be back here so long. The other lady customers will complain," one of the salesladies interrupted from behind Steve.

Steve's smile was raffish and confident as he stepped back and closed the curtain, and Marlena was alone again. She c.o.c.ked her head, trying to make out his words to the saleslady.

"Sorry, ladies," she heard him say, "but that dress she was wearing made me forget what I was doing." Pleased female laughter followed his male excuse.

Marlena smiled to herself. Liar. He knew exactly what he was doing. She looked at herself in the mirror as she undressed slowly. He made her feel...desirable...that was the word she'd been trying to find, to explain this odd warm and tingly sensation. Despite the danger, and maybe because of it, she was beginning to like it.

Half an hour later, as Steve stopped at a red light, Marlena took a quick look around and came to a decision. When she chose to, very few could rival her speed. A quick slide to the driver's side, and she had her foot on the gas pedal; before Steve could react with a "What the-" the car ran a red light in front of the police cruiser.

It all went according to plan. Ten minutes getting a ticket. Two minutes of lecture. Marlena spent an extra minute flirting with the policeman. Steve had looked at her enigmatically throughout the whole incident, but hadn't said anything other than "Yes, Officer."

He was probably too mad to say anything at the moment. In fact, he was probably planning revenge. But Marlena didn't care. She had what she wanted. "Steve McMillan," she said the name with satisfied glee. "Now I know who's after my a.s.s."

His sideways glance was very telling. Oh yeah, he was hot. "This is going to cost you, lady," he promised. "This won't be the only moving violation of the day."

Her laughter was pure amus.e.m.e.nt, drawing Steve's attention. She shook her hair in the breeze as the sportster sped along, looking pleased with herself. Her new outfit was a chic cream-colored blouse with pearl b.u.t.tons and matching pants. It was a good contrast to her vibrant coloring, and he couldn't help wondering whether she was wearing some of those lingerie items he'd seen her pick out. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than normal, willing his imagination to behave.

Stopping at another traffic light, he deliberately revved the engine and gave her a warning glance. Another cruiser was parked close by, and that sent her into another peal of laughter. Her mirth was infectious and he found himself smiling back.

This wasn't good. He was in danger of having his ident.i.ty discovered by the most dangerous woman he'd ever known, and he found life funny. He zipped into a higher gear, entering the Beltway in a rush of accelerated speed. It was a longer way back to the apartment.

"No traffic lights on the highway," he explained, when Marlena looked at him inquiringly. There was nothing like driving a fast car with a faster woman. Risking another traffic ticket, he stepped on the gas. The woman beside him only laughed more, her hair whipping back in the wind. She looked so carefree, as if she didn't have murder on her mind. Then she placed her hand over his on the gearshift, and it felt...strangely right.

Magnificent.

Machiavellian.

He told himself this was just an exercise to remind himself to be careful, that he wasn't driving himself crazy thinking about her. It wasn't a very convincing excuse. They were both quiet as he drove the car into the secured parking lot. Why did it feel like they had shared a moment that was only theirs, back there on the highway?

"I can play lackey again, or I can play maid," he offered.

"Hmm, a gentleman," Marlena mocked. Pretending to consider a moment, she then lifted a shoulder. "Well, practice makes perfect, and you still need to get better as a lackey before I can promote you. Make sure no one bothers me while I'm in the bath, okay?"

She was baiting him about last night, of course. Steve would have preferred to be ladies' maid, but kept his expression as bland as hers. "No one will dare bother you," he said, managing to tone down the dry sarcasm in his voice.

There were so many packages, he had to make a couple of trips, but he didn't mind. It gave him time to clear his head, plan his next move. Marlena had said something about a fancy party. Who in D.C. would invite someone like Marlena? Was there any connection with the contact TIARA was trying to find out? He hoped so. He sure didn't want to attend any fancy-schmancy do and stand around like an idiot.

Maybe he ought to just give in to Harden and let him just go after Marlena Maxwell and press her for details. Shopping and partying weren't his way of working for Uncle Sam. More than once he had wondered why he'd allowed himself to be transferred. D.C. was too formal for him, too bland.

Well, last night and today had added some color. This a.s.signment had been the most action he'd seen in a while. It was the sitting around in intel work that had him climbing the walls. More than once he had jerked out of a daydream of hiking in jungles or racing through the desert in his favorite dune buggy, the Desert Patrol Vehicle. And G.o.d, of all things, he missed the rubber duck, the amphibious thirty-foot inflatable boat his fire team fondly named Joy, for the great ride home after a recon mission.

Steve grimaced. It wasn't as if he hadn't done info gathering before. He had dealt with similar situations that had required him to sweet-talk a woman into giving him information. He glanced in the direction of the bathroom. The sound of water running and music came from behind the closed doors. What was so different now was that he felt myopic. Whereas, in fatigues, everything was twenty-twenty-black was black; white was white. Now he had to fight himself, his new team, and his instinct. That, as any experienced soldier would tell him, was suicidal in any mission.

He surveyed the group of shopping bags, picturing Marlena emptying them all over the plush carpet. He wanted her. What healthy hot-blooded man wouldn't? What he was fighting was something more than the usual urges. He just wanted to know her. What drove a woman like her to be on the other side of the law? And why didn't her background bother him? He ought to be disgusted, abhorred by her nature, but he wasn't. Was Marlena really so good at manipulating him that he would be blind to what she was? That didn't sit too well.

Sitting down on the big bed, half listening to the water in the background, Steve played with all the stray wires and parts courtesy of the same woman on his mind. Then there was his second problem. His mouth twisted, as he threw one of the micro eyes in the air and caught it, then repeated the motion. Task Force Two was a different kind of team. He was a sudden replacement, and not from the usual ranks. The admiral had told him the transfer would add to his skills for later. He had been trying to fit in since day one. Not that his teammates weren't good operatives, far from that. But they weren't soldiers, and they didn't like his methods. CIA training was very different from SEAL training.

As for his instincts...well, his instincts were either still as trustworthy as he believed, or he was going to get the worst dressing-down from the admiral in the history of Black STAR. His restless gaze caught sight of Marlena's small suitcase by the dressing table. His back straightened. And maybe, just maybe, Steve McMillan was still a d.a.m.n good SEAL operative.

He looked toward the bathroom door briefly. She had been in there ten minutes. All he needed was another five. Picking up the suitcase, he strode out of the room and headed to the kitchen. He placed it down on the kitchen table, then looked up at the hidden camera eye.

There was a small rocket pocket gun, as they called it, a silver Walther PPK. There was the Bersa from last night, with a silencer. He used the tablecloth to handle them, checking the chambers. Surprisingly, the weapon wasn't loaded. Leather gloves. A jewelry box. There was a small black book. He didn't have time to do more than flip through it. Poetry? Looked like poetry. He frowned. Glancing up at the electronic eye, he shook his head, indicating that he didn't think the book was important. Then he pulled out a laptop. A small Toshiba. There wasn't enough time to turn it on and check it out, so he just took note of the type of laptop. Then he signaled that he would join them later and replaced all the articles back into the suitcase.

Not much progress, but he had something to work on later.

The game of hide-and-seek, Marlena mused, was a game of percentages and probabilities. She understood the risks she took too well. One too many-and she was due for one too many-and Marlena Maxwell's life would be over.

She quietly stepped out of the shower stall, leaving the water running. Noise was also a great mask if there happened to be some listening device she had missed. She pulled a mini cell phone, the size of a compact, from her purse and turned the music down.

"I had hoped your number is still the same," she said softly when she got through. She smiled, then continued, "I heard you were going to be the courier. This will have to be quick-I have company. I'm bringing somebody and I want any files you can find on him." Pause. "Of course he's good-looking, and no, you can't have him, get your own." Pause. "Steve McMillan. Possibly CIA. I have his driver's license number." Marlena gave it. "Can't say. You find out as much as you can and I'll try to find out whether he has any bad side." She laughed. "You're right. I'll have a good time finding out. Bye."

Marlena wondered what Steve was up to. She was sure the man wasn't merely sitting out there docilely waiting for her. She had changed the safe combination, so he couldn't get into that so quickly. Maybe he was waiting for the right moment to kill her.

Sobering thought. She c.o.c.ked her head, looking at her reflection. Fear was a familiar feeling in her profession, but she had been trained to see it as a good thing. Fear kept one alive. Yet nothing Steve McMillan did played with her fears; rather, it was antic.i.p.ation he called up. A thrilling, nervous energy that made her feel slightly more reckless than usual.

Hide-and-seek. Keep him so close he couldn't see what she was hiding. That was a good plan for now, she thought. But how close? Her blue eyes in the mirror mocked her. For once she had no answer.

She walked barefoot into the bedroom, taking in at a glance the different boutique bags and the slight crease on the bed. She stood there for a moment, enjoying the image of him sitting there on that bed, waiting for her.

It had been a long time since she'd had a man doing that. She had discovered a long time ago that men didn't like role reversals. They didn't mind it if they were gone and their women waited for them, but ask a man to do the same, and the relationship was doomed. A man, she had found out the hard way, couldn't wait. Of course he'd then lie to cover up.

"May I come in?" Steve asked from the doorway.

Marlena turned to face him. Tall, broad-shouldered, and easy on the eye. A mouth that could kiss away any excuses. Women would s.n.a.t.c.h him up just like that, CIA or not. And, she concluded with a touch of irony, he didn't look like a man who liked to wait.

She turned away. "I had fun today," she said as she picked up one of the bags and emptied it on the bed.

Steve sensed her withdrawal. It was difficult to read the woman, but her moods were discernible to him. She ran the gamut between teasing and calculated. Right now she was neither. She was wearing a large T-shirt with a cartoon of Tweety Bird on it. Without makeup, her hair damp, she looked ridiculously young. The look she'd just given him reminded him of the time after their first kiss. It made him want to pull her in his arms and hold her.

"I didn't," he complained.

Her lips curled slightly. "Your job's to amuse me, not yourself."

"Is that what you were doing, amusing yourself?"

She held up a dress against her body, smoothing away the wrinkles. "Well, somebody has to." Glancing up, she added, "Amus.e.m.e.nt is much better than boredom."

Well, well, if that wasn't an acknowledgment from the lady of being lonely, he didn't know what was. He stepped a little closer, handing her another bag to dump out. "Is that your secret then? Go through life amusing yourself?" He had the urge to find out what motivated a woman like Marlena. "Take what you want, enjoy it, then leave-no responsibilities, no conscience?"

Marlena paused in the middle of pulling out a long double strand of pearls from a large, flat, golden box. "Oho, judging me, sweetheart?" She climbed up on the bed, so she could reach over his head and loop the long necklace around his neck. One hand twisted around the dangling strands, and using them like a rope, she pulled until his face was close to hers. "Do you know what I do when I'm no longer amused?" she asked ever so softly.

"Kill?" Steve countered, feeling her tightening her hold. In a minute the pearls would be so many little pieces all over the bedroom. But he didn't want to break the necklace, or her hold on him, so he inched closer.

"Is that your final answer?"

"Can I call on a lifeline?" he quipped.

Her eyes were so blue he could drown in them. "Are you in trouble?"

He was sinking fast. "No. I'm not the one with people threatening me." He was so close he smelled the scented soap she used. Deliberately he looped the remaining length of the necklace around her neck, trapping both of them together. Her pupils flared, darkening the blue to that deep underwater darkness that had made him think of mermaids the first time he had looked into them. Not again. No mermaid, he reminded himself. In defense, he added, "I'm not the one in danger."

She made a sound of disbelief and jerked her hand. Steve was surprised the necklace hadn't broken apart from the tension. Or maybe it was just the tension in the air he was feeling.

"I rarely sleep with a man on a first date," she murmured against his lips, nipping softly.

"I don't have sleeping in mind," he a.s.sured her, trying to capture her lips more securely. Far from it.

But she resisted, seeming to be satisfied with just exploring his lips with her teeth and tongue. "I rarely do anything with a man on the first date," she said.

"You don't have to do a thing," he promised. Her whispery kisses were driving him crazy. Impatiently he tugged on the necklace so she had to tilt her head up. "I'll do everything."

Her lips were softer this time, and he teased them open the same way she teased him. Again he tried to deepen the kiss, but her hand between them loosened its hold enough so she could pull back from him.

Forget those pearls. He went after her, using his weight to pin her down on the bed, among the clothing, bags, paper, wiring. Her hands mussed his hair as she pushed her tongue into his mouth and boldly met his.

It occurred to him as he became thoroughly immersed in having her tongue explore him that she was the one doing the kissing. It was a novel feeling, being kissed like that. It made him aware of other things about her, how the perfume of her shampoo clung to her skin, how surprisingly soft her body felt beneath his, how one of her thighs was pressing firmly between his legs. He was the one in danger here...and he hadn't done a thing yet.

A low, rumbling sound broke the spell. Marlena pulled back, surprised.

"What was that?" It came again, a longer disturbance this time. Realization dawned in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Steve said. He couldn't be more embarra.s.sed.

Marlena started laughing, that unexpectedly delightful and infectious chuckle bubbling out of her. "Well, I've never made a man that hungry before."

He found himself laughing back. "I'm sorry," he apologized again. He was willing to continue but his body had different ideas. He was a man used to two things-lots of food and hard training. There came another grumble, and the two of them both broke up in hysterics.

"It's my fault," Marlena gasped out. "Really, I should have let you take lunch."