Angel of Desire (16 page)

He maneuvered the armored Mercedes through a series of hairpin switchbacks. Rachel watched and admired the casual, confident way his hands loosely held the walnut steering wheel, delicately guiding the car through the tight turns.

As they came out of the final curve, they both saw it: a concrete bunker with gun slits perched atop a limestone promontory above the road.

"The border," Rachel breathed. Her heart was pounding hard and fast in her chest. Her blood rang in her ears like a tom-tom.

"Show time," Shade agreed as he began to brake. A hundred yards away was a small white building.

She watched as he underwent a metamorphosis that was as fascinating as it was unsettling. Although there was nothing the slightest bit malleable about Shade, during these past days together, she'd witnessed his compassion and caught fleeting glimpses of tenderness. And despite the seriousness of their mission, she'd even seen him relax.

But now, as they approached the wooden barricade manned by a pair of uniformed soldiers, he appeared to come to attention. Every muscle in his body went rigid—his back, his arms, his neck, his jaw, even that intriguing muscle defined by the scar carving its jagged way up his cheek. Although she still couldn't see his eyes, she knew that behind the dark lenses, they would be emerald hard.

"Let me do the talking."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Her shaky voice betrayed her discomfort with the situation.

As he downshifted, he slanted her an unreadable sideways glance. "There's still time to change your mind."

She stiffened her own back, both literally and figuratively. "I'm not going to change my mind."

He chuckled, but the sound held scant humor. "I can't decide whether you're the craziest woman I've ever met, or simply the most stubborn. But either way, I'll give you this, Sister Rachel. You've got guts."

They'd reached the barricade. Surprising her yet again, Shade reached out and gave her knee a quick, reassuring squeeze. "It's going to be all right."

Rachel prayed he was right.

A soldier, clad in a brown uniform with red trim, exited the guardhouse. One look at the Sam Browne belt slung across his broad chest made Rachel's mouth go dry. It was one thing to witness vicariously the danger that was part and parcel of Shade's life. To experience it firsthand was numbing.

The guard had a deadly looking 9 mm pistol pointed directly at them. An assault rifle Shade recognized to be a Yaznovian variation of the Soviet Kalashnikov was slung over his shoulder.

Shade took off the sunglasses and rolled down the car window. "Good afternoon."

Rachel, silent beside Shade, folded her hands tightly together in her lap and admired his ability to feign such an easy tone.

The man did not return the smile. He gestured with the automatic pistol and demanded their papers. Rachel pulled hers from her bag with nerveless fingers and handed them to Shade, who in turn gave them to the guard.

She held her breath as he studied her forged documents, his dark eyes moving from her photograph to her face. Apparently satisfied, he turned his attention to Shade's documents, this time studying them in more detail. As the seconds dragged on, Rachel's nerves began to scream.

"You are in the armaments business?" He spoke in a rough, heavily accented English.

"I sell weapons," Shade agreed. "The newest and the best western technology has to offer. I've come to Yaznovia to meet with the general. You should have been notified." His frown portrayed his irritation at this petty bureaucratic procedure.

"We received a dispatch from the war ministry this morning. About you." The man's gaze returned to Rachel. "And your traveling companion."

"Ms. Parrish is my administrative assistant."

"That's what the dispatch said." The guard grinned for the first time since they'd arrived at the border. The wicked slash suggested he'd already drawn his own conclusions regarding Rachel's business qualifications and her relationship to Shade.

The wolfish grin faded. "You must both get out of the car." As if to reinforce the command, he reached down and yanked the door handle open.

Shade felt Rachel tense beside him and damned himself for allowing her to come along. This mission was risky enough without having to worry about keeping her out of the clutches of the general's goons. He'd never forgive himself if she ended up being raped. Or worse, killed.

"Is there a problem with the papers?"

"You will not ask questions. You will both come with me. Now."

Biting back a curse, Shade stepped out onto the road. Rachel climbed out of the car on legs that were not nearly as steady as she would have liked.

"Whatever happens," Shade murmured in a low voice, for her ears only, "do exactly what I say. Without asking any questions. And don't panic."

"I had no intention of panicking."

Assuring Shade of that important fact served to calm herself. By the time they reached the guardhouse, Rachel's heart had returned to its normal beat and her hands, while still cold, were no longer blocks of ice.

"You will come inside. While I telephone the ministry." The guard gestured with his pistol, leaving them no choice.

Shade cupped his fingers around Rachel's elbow. Together they entered a frame structure that was even smaller than it appeared from the outside. There was barely enough room for the four of them.

The other guard, whose single red chevron on his sleeve revealed him to be outranked by the first, jumped to attention the minute they entered the guardhouse. The magazine he'd been perusing fell to the floor.

Rachel took one glance at the buxom brunette Penthouse pet-of-the-month, and felt the hot color flood into her cheeks.

"You've definitely got Miss April beat," Shade murmured. "In spades."

Her color deepened, from embarrassment and forbidden pleasure that Shade found her desirable.

The soldier seemed to agree. While the first placed the call to the war ministry, the younger guard lounged against the wall, his arms folded across the front of his chest, and gave Rachel a slow but thorough perusal.

As his pale blue eyes crawled over her face, lingering for a horribly long time on her breasts before continuing their journey down her legs, clad in a pair of skintight red leather jeans, Rachel wondered how it was that when Shade looked at her in much the same way, her body warmed, her heart pounded and her bones felt on the verge of melting. This man's gaze made her feel as if a thousand spiders were crawling over her flesh.

Shade was trying to listen to the phone conversation. From the man's frown, as he studied a map on his desk, Shade suspected there might be some problem developing.

He knew it was vital that he be prepared to act quickly. But his attention was diverted by the way the guard's beady little eyes were pawing their way over Rachel.

Something hot and dangerous stirred within Shade. Something that felt uncomfortably like jealousy.

Whatever it was, Shade had a sudden urge to put his fist down the jerk's throat. And to give him a swift hard kick where it would hurt the most and leave him unable to even consider having sex with any woman for a very long time.

One hand curled into an unconscious fist at his side. With the other he pulled Rachel against him. Hard.

"She's taken." His voice was as clear and as dangerous as shards of broken glass.

There was a brief standoff as the men's gazes locked. Rachel's disgust and fear disintegrated, replaced instead by a very strong female pique. The two of them were behaving like a pair of stags in rutting season, butting heads over a female prize.

She was about to complain, when the voice of the older guard, speaking on the telephone, reminded her of the danger of this situation. Her identity was that of Shade's lover. If she refused to play her part, she could end up getting Shade killed.

She wasn't concerned for herself. After Salem, what more could happen to her?

Pushing down her irritation, she turned toward him and put her hand on his chest. "Darling, is this going to take very much longer?" Her voice was soft and breathy, designed to make a man think of sin and sex. "You promised me we'd be at that nice, romantic Alpine inn by now." There was not the slightest doubt as to what they'd do once they arrived at the hotel.

Pleased at how fast she'd picked up on his ploy, Shade ran the back of his hand down her cheek. "Soon," he promised.

"I certainly hope so." She breathed a deep sigh, causing her breasts to rise and fall beneath the snug red sweater. "I hate waiting." A thought occurred to Rachel. A wonderful, clever idea she knew Shade would find absolutely brilliant. "Especially when you promised I'd meet the general."

As she'd hoped, her pronouncement garnered the immediate attention of the two guards. "I do so hope he likes me." On instinct, she bit her bottom lip, catching the crimson-tinted flesh seductively between her straight white teeth.

Shade had to quash another sudden impulse to wring Rachel's lissome neck. It was one thing to pretend that she was his lover. Quite another to suggest that she might be destined for the general's bed.

"How could he not?" Shade muttered, having no choice but to play along. For now.

Her words appeared to have the desired effect upon her audience. The guard turned away, but Shade could hear the rapid, one-sided telephone conversation. A moment later the man put down the phone and turned back to them.

"The minister will meet you in Karikistan." He took a red felt pen and circled a small town on the map. "In two days. From there you will be escorted by armed guard to the general's compound."

The village in question was approximately twenty-five kilometers away. Which wouldn't be any problem, in any other country. But there was one thing everyone appeared to have overlooked.

"How are we supposed to get through the capital?" The city had been under siege from snipers for months.

The guard shrugged dismissively as he returned their papers. "That is your problem."

As they returned to the Mercedes and drove through the raised red-and-white barricade, Rachel wondered what was wrong with Shade. He was seething with barely restrained fury. It had to be more than the fact that they were not to be given a proper military escort through the war zone. After all, Shade had warned her from the start that they'd probably be on their own. He hadn't expected any assistance from the general's forces.

No, whatever he was upset about—and he was more furious than she'd ever seen him—seemed to have something to do with her.

"Are you angry at me?" she asked after being submitted to his stony silence for ten minutes. Minutes that seemed like hours.

He didn't take his eyes from the winding road. "Angry doesn't begin to cover it."

"What did I do wrong? You told me not to panic. I didn't panic. I didn't slap that horrid guard for undressing me with his lecherous eyes and I pretended, as well as I could, to be your mistress. I believe I did everything you told me to do."

"I told you to let me do the talking." His fingers tightened to a death grip on the steering wheel. "Christ, lady, you let those goons, not to mention everyone at the war ministry, think I was pimping for the damn general."

She stared at him blankly. "Is that all you're concerned about? Your reputation?"

"
My
reputation?" He shot her a brief, incredulous look. "How about yours?"

"My cover, which you selected without bothering to discuss with me, is to play the role of your lover," Rachel reminded him mildly. "What's so different about implying that the general might also be interested in my favors?"

He slammed on the brakes; Rachel had to reach out and put her hand on the dashboard to keep from being flung into the windshield.

"Because what you and I have is different!" Shade exploded.

The words were out before he could censor them. Hell, Shade considered grimly, that's what he got for letting his damn mouth override his normally cautious brain.

Rachel smiled, despite the fact that they were driving into untold dangers, despite the gravity of their situation, despite all the reasons why an intimate relationship with Shade was unwise, pleasure shimmered through her.

He loved her, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Just as she loved him.

"Yes." Her gray eyes were very clear and very certain. "It is very different."

It came to him suddenly, unexpected and unwanted, like a sucker punch to the gut. He could care about this woman. He could love her. The idea was more terrifying than an entire nation of armed criminals.

They sat there, looking at each other in the afternoon Alpine light. Silence stretched between them, speaking more eloquently than words.

Just when Rachel thought Shade was going to say something significant, he shook his head, grimaced and announced, "We'd better get going. These mountains are overrun with snipers and it's a helluva lot harder to hit a moving target."

Which, Shade considered with grim humor, was precisely the strategy he'd always used to avoid romantic entanglements. Until now. Until Rachel.

They continued down the winding mountainside. Caught up in their own thoughts, neither spoke.

TO CALL THE CAPITAL CITY a war zone was a vast understatement. The sound of mortars boomed over piles of stone that had once been comfortable homes. High-rise offices had been reduced to rubble. Instead of the industrious sound of car horns on the city streets, the sharp retort of rifle fire, as snipers shot randomly from atop roofs of whatever buildings remained standing, rang through the air.

The sidewalks, stained a muddy reddish brown with blood from fallen citizens, resembled sprint tracks. Yaznovians, when forced outside the relative safety of their homes in search of food, water or cooking fuel, ran everywhere, staying, when possible, close to walls, pausing behind trees and parked cars, dashing across open streets, literally running for their lives.

Street signs, riddled with bullet holes, were unreadable. Stone statues, erected in honor of past leaders, had been defaced or torn down.

A city park, where once families had picnicked beneath leafy chestnut trees, had been turned into a graveyard. Rows of fresh earthen mounds had risen where children should have played.