Into Danger Part 2

As the newest member of Task Force Two of TIARA, a CIA intel team used by Admiral Madison's special operations teams, he was in foreign territory. At least that was what Harden had told him last night.

TIARA, short for Tactical Intelligence and Related Activities, was the intel side that a.s.sisted Admiral Madison's secret special operations teams. When he found out he was being transferred, he had known he wouldn't fit. TIARA had a dependence on CIA training and he was a SEAL, an action-oriented operative. Not only that, he was also Black STAR, the highest color code for a top-secret SEAL a.s.sault team "Standing and Ready" for any deployment. What he had learned from various STAR operations was to trust his instincts first, not depend on by-the-book training.

After last night they had wanted to just go in and take in Marlena Maxwell, sit her in some cell, and play a waiting cat-and-mouse game with her. That was standard CIA mode-sooner or later the target would talk, and if not, let her rot. Task Force Two was convinced that Marlena would talk rather than rot.

Steve wasn't so sure. His instincts told him that the woman, who had last night given the men in that room a visual spanking, was a master when it came to mind games. A part of him, one that he hoped wasn't obvious, was filled with reluctant admiration. Beauty and brains. What a deadly combination. He had never thought there were women like Marlena.

He finished his coffee, set the cup down, considered for two seconds, then picked up the pen and signed off on the report. This could either make his life h.e.l.l or...make his life h.e.l.l. He smiled wryly. Either they transferred him back to what he was more suited to do-back to a.s.sault teams with black-and-white options-or they would do nothing, and leave him there to prove to them he was right.

He straightened and took a deep breath. He wasn't mistaken. He knew what had gone wrong last night, why the others were so adamant about going after Marlena immediately. Their s.e.xual egos had been deflated, challenged, and they wanted a confrontation. It was difficult to yell back at blank screens.

Steve's mind was still on that scene as he headed for Marlena's apartment. He grinned, recalling the lurid words hurled at the screens as Marlena, with apparent ease, located all the important micro eyes and bugs. There were a few left, but they weren't in prime locations. Hadn't that CIA operative said that these were practically undetectable? His grin widened. He wondered whether the poor operative still had his hearing after receiving a call last night.

He hadn't yelled. He had been trying very hard not to laugh out loud. That last bit wouldn't have gone over too well. Not when he had insisted that he would still show up at the apartment at 0900 hours. Unarmed.

"Do you freaking know what you're doing?" Cameron had asked incredulously. "She will blow your water-clogged brains away."

"I don't think so. I think she doesn't know what's happening and will want to see whether I know or not."

"Oh, so you just walk in there and she's going to ask you nicely, is that right?"

"You like her," Harden clipped in coldly, "too d.a.m.n much. Is your head in this?"

Steve didn't like the fact that they thought he would let emotions rule his job. So he had, in as polite terms as possible, pointed out that they were the ones red-hot under the collar about the incident. Even if she sang in her cell, how would they know she wasn't lying? And the contact would just as easily hire another to do the job, whatever it was. All they knew from communications interception was that someone wanted the famed Marlena Maxwell to handle a sensitive case in D.C., and with so many VIPs around here, they needed to know all the details. How was it going to sound in debriefing if they had no names or details other than the intercepted information? The look in the others' eyes almost had him laughing again. Oh yeah.

So now he was to make the report. Let the new guy hang himself. Even after a year and a half, he was still the outsider here in D.C. He thought of the admiral, and the copy of the report he had just faxed to him. Maybe he still was.

Steve parked the car, the b.u.t.ter-yellow speedster that Marlena had ordered. Security garage. Security pa.s.ses. Stationed agents at each corner of the street. Information and files up the wazoo about the woman. And she could slip away like smoke. After getting off on the twelfth floor, he walked down the carpeted corridors. Every nerve in his body was wired, and not from the three cups of caffeine in him. He liked the feeling. Reminded him of old times, even though he wasn't in fatigues. That woman behind those closed doors was a worthy opponent. He intended to find out what he needed from her, one way or another. She wasn't going to slip away, not if he could help it.

He buzzed the intercom.

"Come on in, it isn't locked, Stash."

He placed his hand on the door handle, his lips quirking. The image of her in that black lacy bra and panties floated into his mind. He had gone to sleep last night and awakened this morning with that teasing scene taking a toll on his body. He was going to have a hard time looking at her and not seeing that vision. He turned the k.n.o.b.

One different approach-today he would improvise. This boy-toy business that the unit had given him was fine as long as Marlena wasn't suspicious. In special operations situations, the best weapon was sneak attack. Do the unexpected.

Steve opened the door, not sure what to expect, but he was used to walking into the unknown, aware that every step ahead might be a land mine. This very civilized setting was just camouflage. The woman in there somewhere was very capable of injuring him.

"Come right in. I'm in the kitchen."

He turned and followed the voice. She didn't sound like she had murder on her mind. He halted at the sight of her in the small kitchen, looking really incongruous in her leather pants and black singlet. She was flipping pancakes like a pro. There was a stackful on the plate by the oven, so she must have been doing this for a while.

"Hungry?" he asked, eyeing the stack.

"Not for pancakes," she said, and flipped the last one expertly high up in the air. "But this is a fun way to pa.s.s the time."

Well, what did he expect from the unexpected? She was flipping pancakes. Then he remembered that one of the micro eyes she had left was in the kitchen directly overhead. She had spent the last hour flipping pancakes for the benefit of her audience-her way, he guessed, of flipping them off. He almost looked directly up at the light above where the camera was hidden, just to smirk, but he kept his attention on the exasperating woman by the stove.

"Want some?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I already ate. But I did bring you some m.u.f.fins." He held up a small lunch bag.

"m.u.f.fins?" Marlena arched a brow.

"I think your original instructions asked for m.u.f.fins in the fridge, but I thought you'd prefer fresh-baked ones." Steve opened the bag and took out one. "Peaches and cream, bet you never had this kind before."

He approached her, keeping his hands in her sight, and when he was close enough, he lifted the m.u.f.fin to her lips. She never hesitated. Leaning forward, one hand still holding the griddle and the other a spatula, she took a bite. Then another. She put the pan down.

Her eyes were bluer this morning. There was still desire in them. And curiosity. She might be planning to eliminate him but she still wanted him, and for some reason, that pleased him. Of course she wasn't going to mention anything about last night yet. She was waiting for him to slip up.

"You like?" he asked instead.

Her teeth were small and perfect as she smiled back at him, as if something pleased her. "I like." She licked the crumbs from her lips.

"Are we still going shopping?" He stared at her lips.

"Did you think you could get out of it, Stash?" Her smile turned mocking. He knew she was thinking about last night. "You know, some men would do anything to avoid shopping. To me, it's a perfect cure for a headache or a bad mood."

He glanced at the pancakes. "Do you? Have a headache?" He stepped closer and caught a whiff of her perfume. "Cooking's not the cure, you know."

"The headache is from the drink you made me last night," she wryly told him. "As for the pancakes, it was an invitation to breakfast but I don't think it was accepted. So, you think you can cure my headache? Or is it the bad mood?"

"Both."

"Interesting." She handed him the spatula. "But is it better than spending ten grand on clothes and shoes?"

Steve had no idea. Could one spend that much on clothes and shoes in one day? Impossible. He tossed the spatula into the nearby sink. "I guess you'll have to try me some time and make a comparison."

Marlena laughed. She grabbed him by his jacket lapels and jerked his face closer to hers. He went unresisting, putting his hands on the counter on each side of her slim body. Her lips met his softly. Once. Twice. She tasted of peaches and Marlena. He wanted more. She stopped him with a finger when he tried to capture her lips.

"That's got to be worth at least a few hundred dollars there," she murmured, then shook her head reluctantly. "d.a.m.n tempting, Stash, but shopping wins today."

It was only nine in the morning. Steve stifled a groan. If his body continued to react like this every time he touched the woman, he would have to be hospitalized by the end of the day for unbearable blood pressure.

Giving him a slight push, Marlena let go of his jacket. There was a note of reluctance in her voice. "Let's go, sweetheart. Lots of shops out there calling my name." She wagged a finger at him before leaving the kitchen.

This time he did emit a groan. Torture had only just begun.

Marlena smiled to herself when she heard the groan behind her. What was it about this man that made her ignore her own rules? She was actually contemplating sleeping with one of these lackeys...but he wasn't really one, was he? She had to be certain, of course, and would find out one way or another.

But back to that more interesting topic-the part that would require him to be without a st.i.tch of clothing. Marlena coughed. Maybe she shouldn't be in this business anymore when she allowed a little bit of male flesh to affect her like this. Everything he did seemed to turn her on. His eyes were too d.a.m.n s.e.xy. His smile and kisses too d.a.m.n inviting. Too bad she couldn't trust anything he said or did.

The phone rang. She let it ring a few times, then said, "Will you get that, Stash?" Not the right signals. Besides, she wanted to see how Stash would handle the call.

He picked up the phone. "h.e.l.lo?" There was a pause. "Is that all?" Another pause. "Care to repeat that?"

The caller didn't because Stash put down the receiver right after asking. From the bedroom doorway, Marlena c.o.c.ked her head inquiringly.

"It's not a really nice message," Steve warned.

She smiled. She wasn't expecting one. "Yes?"

"A man said, 'Tell her we'll get what we want sooner or later.' That's it, no name, nothing."

Marlena turned around and walked into the room. "Is that all? Not very original, are they?" She was used to getting these kinds of calls. The more important her item of sale, the more people were out to get it.

"Who are they?" He followed her into the room. He looked at the pile of electronic gadgets on her bed but didn't say anything.

She shrugged, putting on some lipstick. He came up behind her and asked again, "Who are they, Marlena? Who's threatening you?"

His dark eyes meeting hers in the mirror were intense, as if her answer mattered. If he were CIA, why should it matter? She shrugged. He was just trying to get information. "It doesn't concern you." That was probably the truth, she thought mockingly.

To her surprise, he placed his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her around. "Make it mine."

Marlena studied him carefully. He was good. She almost believed that he was actually angry for her sake. "Let's play questions and answers for a minute. Why do you think anyone is after me at all?"

"Because you have something they want?"

"Smart boy. Why do you think I'm going shopping anyway?"

Steve knew Marlena wasn't just doing this to satisfy his curiosity. She was gauging him from his answers, seeing what he chose to reveal to her. He could retreat, act dumb, but she was suspicious already. "Not just to get rid of your bad mood, then," he said, his hands rubbing her shoulders. "You're pa.s.sing time because you don't have what they want yet. If you had it, you would be guarding it."

"Ahhh, don't stop there," she ordered. Her smile complimented his soft ma.s.sage, but her eyes were flat and cool. "And?"

"It must be something big," Steve continued, keeping his voice light, "because so many people want it."

She shrugged, as if it really wasn't that big a deal. "So, shall we go now? Think you can handle a few more car chases?"

He nodded. "But I think I'd better ask for a raise in my pay. This kind of stuff is extra."

"The car chases? Yes, absolutely. Hazard pay."

"No, that's not what I meant." He waited till she paused in the middle of opening the safe before continuing, "I can take car chases and threats. It's the shopping."

He liked it when she laughed. There was no pretense in her enjoyment of things that amused her. He wondered again why little things like that made him like her. He didn't want to, but he couldn't help it.

He had omitted something from that phone message. He didn't see the need to tell Marlena that the last part of the message was for him. The voice had been electronically altered, but it sounded male. He played it again in his mind.

"Tell her we'll get what we want sooner or later."

"Is that all?" he had asked, trying to prolong the conversation so his unit could track it.

"And if you get in the way, you'll be the first to go."

"Care to repeat that?"

Steve knew the man had cut off before there was enough time elapsed to trace him, but the call and what Marlena had told him revealed some interesting things. Number one-he glanced at the woman-she wasn't here in D.C. for just a hit. Something else was involved. Number two-who else wanted it, too? What was this item that was so important?

"Ummm...you aren't bringing all that cash with you, are you?" he asked. He still couldn't believe she was going to spend all that.

She didn't even look up as she counted the money. "Sure am."

"It's not safe, you know, to carry all that cash."

She folded the notes, and finally looked at him. "That's what you're for-you big, macho protector, you." She looked around. "Oh, there it is. Can you get my jacket for me?"

Steve walked over to the bed. The jacket was near the pile of what used to be thousands of dollars of very expensive electronic equipment. Somehow he didn't think she'd sent him over just to get her jacket.

There were too many holes in TIARA's file on Marlena Maxwell. For example, it didn't mention that she had skills that rivaled the best in the CIA. Steve knew there weren't many who could go around an apartment dismantling this stuff in a mere few hours. He bent and picked up the jacket, and turned around to find her right behind him. Despite his training, he hadn't heard a thing. It annoyed him immensely.

It apparently amused her a great deal to see him annoyed. Those blue eyes were dancing with laughter, although she kept her voice serious. "It wasn't nice, what happened last night."

Steve was surprised. Sneak attack. d.a.m.n, she had turned the tables on him again. It was a vague enough statement to mean anything. d.a.m.n good. "I enjoyed it," he replied. He meant the kiss, but of course she didn't.

"I'm glad," she said, smiling as she donned the jacket after slipping the wad of money in one of the zipper pockets.

As she walked away, Steve called after her softly, "I'll win, you know. I'll have your pretty little a.s.s."

She didn't even turn around. "It'll be tough, Stash. I'm kind of attached to it."

Chapter Three.

M is for Murder.

M is for Marlena.

M is for Ma.s.sacre. Murder. Mastication. Mangle. M is for...

"What are you thinking of, Stash?" The voice was sweet and the eyes so innocent.

Murder. Definitely murder. "I believe I now know what M Street stands for," he answered. After all, he had spent about six hours following Miss Maxwell up and down the famed street as she got rid of her bad mood and headache. In fact, she had given them to him.

He would rather go through BUD/S and h.e.l.l Week again. He would prefer to be thrown out into a choppy ocean weighted down with ammo. He would choose wading waist-deep in mud for three days straight with hungry swamp gators and snakes. He would take containment training without the use of a gas mask with CS gas swirling around. Well, maybe not the last choice. That one had emptied out his guts the first few times he'd failed to properly hold his breath.

"Yes, that pair of high heels will go with this outfit. Stas.h.!.+ Come look-do you think the colors match?"

Steve swallowed a groan. He didn't care whether the colors matched. He didn't care whether those heels went with that outfit. He just knew they cost too d.a.m.n much. He'd never known clothing could be so expensive.

"Well?"