Dangerous to Know (27 page)

When Maggie didn't answer, his smile twisted a bit.

“I saw some pictures of you two in the afternoon edition of the
Times.
Christ, I wish I had your publicist. Those were great shots. Especially the one where you were getting out of the limo.”

Maggie had rather liked that one herself.

“I thought maybe they were posed,” he said, “like the ones you used to do for me, but…”

“But?”

“But after seeing you two together, I guess not.” He paused, his eyes on her face. “You used to look at me like that, Taylor,
and not just for the cameras. What happened to us? We used to be so good together.”

Maggie gave silent thanks for Taylor Grant's frankness about her relationship with this man. “What we had was good, Stoney. Very good. But it wasn't enough for either one of us.”

“I know, I know. But, hey, we've both changed a lot since then. Our needs have changed. I mean, when we were together, you were governor and I was being courted by all the big studios.”

“It wasn't our professional life that got in the way.”

He raked a hand through his hair, destroying its casual artistry. “Yeah, I know. You were still hurting from your husband's death, and I was paying alimony to two ex-wives. You didn't want emotional ties, any more than I did. But that was then.”

“And now?”

The tanned skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he gave her a rueful grin. “And now you've got this guy Ridgeway prowling around you like a hungry panther, and I'm paying alimony to three ex-wives.”

No wonder Taylor had enjoyed this man's company so much during their brief time together, Maggie thought. For all his absorption with himself, Stoney had a disarming charm when he chose to exert it.

“We could be good together again, Taylor.”

“What we had was right for that moment, that time,” Maggie said softly, echoing the vice president's own words. “But not for now. Not for the future.”

“Why not? Just think about it. You might decide to go for top billing in the next election. You'd make a hell of a president. Together we'd make an unbeatable team. Just think of the publicity if I hit the campaign trail with you. Hey, look at the press Barbra Streisand got when she campaigned for Clinton.”

Maggie bit the inside of her lower lip, not wanting to be the one to break it to Stoney that he possessed neither the star power nor the political acumen of a Barbra Streisand.

“Taylor…”

He closed the small distance between them. Maggie kept her
smile in place as he leaned forward, planting both hands on the balustrade on either side of her, but her mind coldly registered his vulnerabilities. With his legs spread like that, he'd left himself wide open to a quick knee to the groin. His outstretched arms gave her room to swing her hand at the side of his neck or to shove a fisted thumb into the bridge of his nose.

When she looked up into his eyes, however, Maggie knew she wouldn't need to exploit those vulnerabilities. In three years of living on the knife-edge of danger, she'd learned to trust her instincts, and every one of those instincts told her this man was no killer.

“Stoney…” she began.

“I want you, Taylor.”

 

Water dripped from Adam's hair and rolled down his back as he yanked a pair of black dress pants off the hanger on the back of the bathroom door.

“It won't work for us, Stoney. Not now.”

Maggie's voice, soft and too damned sympathetic, drifted out of the watch on the marble counter. His jaw working, Adam tugged the slacks up over still-wet flanks.

“I need you.”

Stoney delivered the line with a husky, melodramatic passion that set Adam's teeth on edge. Christ! No wonder the man couldn't get a part in anything except B-grade action flicks.

“Give me another chance. Give us a chance.”

“It's too late.”

“No. I don't believe that. I'll prove it!”

“Stoney, for Pete's sake!”

Maggie hadn't requested backup, Adam reminded himself. She obviously wanted to play this one alone. But her muffled exclamation propelled him out of the bathroom, bare chested and still dripping.

He was halfway to the door connecting their suites when a note of panic entered her voice.

“Stoney! You're too heavy! You're—Watch out!”

Her shrill yelp of terror sent Adam racing for the glass doors
leading to the terrace. A knife blade of fear sliced through his gut when he saw Armstrong bent over the stone rail. A single sweep of the terrace showed no sign of Maggie anywhere.

“I…I can't…hold…you!”

Armstrong's agonized cry seared Adam's soul.

He didn't stop to think, didn't allow himself to feel. In a blinding burst of speed, he tore across the terrace and reached over the railing to grab the wrist Stoney held in one huge paw. The instant Adam's right hand clamped around Maggie's wrist, his left swung in a vicious arc. His fist smashed into Armstrong's jaw with the force of a pile driver.

The brawny movie star crumpled without a sound, but Adam didn't even flick him a glance. All his attention, every ounce of his concentration, was focused on the woman who dangled forty stories above the Avenue of the Stars, held only by his bruising lock on her wrist.

“I've got you,” he grunted, his neck muscles cording.

Maggie twisted at the end of his arm, her bloodred gown billowing around her flailing legs.

“I…can't…get a foothold!” she gasped.

“You don't need one! Dammit, don't twist like that!” Bent double, Adam kept his left arm anchored around the railing. The rough stone took a strip of flesh off his bare chest as he leaned farther out. “Just grab my arm with your other hand. I'll pull you up.”

Maggie's fingers clawed at his, then crept up to fasten around his forearm. With a surge of strength, Adam dragged her up and over the railing. Holding her upright with an iron grip, he raked her with a fierce, searching look.

“Are you all right?”

“I…” She sucked in a huge gulp of air. “I will be. As soon as you…stop crunching my bones.”

His adrenaline raging, Adam ignored her attempt to shake loose of his hold. “What in hell happened? Didn't you anticipate his attack?”

“Attack? He didn't attack me.”

“He pushed you off a rooftop!”

“Adam, he didn't push me! He was just trying to make love to me. We sort of…overbalanced.”

She stopped tugging at his iron hold on her wrist and managed a shaky grin. “I guess you could say he swept me off my feet.”

It was the grin that did it. That exasperating, infuriating lift of her lips. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Maggie was laughing while fear pumped through Adam's veins.

With a low sound that in anyone else might have been mistaken for a snarl, he wrapped her manacled wrist behind her back. A single flex of his muscles brought her body slamming against his. His other hand buried itself in her hair.

“You're forgetting your role. I'm the only man who's going to make love to you during this mission.”

Maggie's eyes widened. She stared up at Adam, stunned as much by his unexpected force as by the way he held her banded against his chest. His black hair fell across his forehead, damp and tangled and untamed. His eyes glittered with a savage intensity. The muscles of his neck and shoulders gleamed wet and naked and powerful in the dim light.

He was close, so close, to unleashing the power she'd always sensed behind the steel curtain of his discipline. The realization sent a thrill through every fiber of Maggie's being. But at that moment, she wasn't quite sure whether the thrill she felt was one of triumph, or anticipation, or uncertainty.

“Adam…” she began, her voice husky.

She stopped, not knowing whether she wanted to soothe this potent, powerful, unfamiliar male or push him past his last restraint.

They hovered on the edge, each knowing that the next word, the next breath, could send them over.

To Maggie's intense disappointment, the next breath was Stoney's.

Groaning, the star pushed himself up on all fours, then lifted a hand to flex his jaw.

“Damn, Ridgeway,” he muttered. “I hope to hell you didn't break my caps.”

S
till banded against Adam's body, Maggie didn't see the look he sent the aggrieved star. But it was enough to keep the man on his knees.

“If you touch her again, Armstrong, I'll break more than your caps.”

Stoney blinked, as startled by the controlled savagery in his voice as Maggie herself had been a moment ago.

“Hey, man, I get the picture.”

“You'd better.”

When Adam stepped away, Maggie felt the loss in every inch of her body. She also saw the blood smearing his bare chest for the first time.

“Adam, you're hurt!”

“It's just a scrape,” he replied brusquely, yanking the star to his feet. “Go call Kowalski. I'll entertain your friend here until she arrives.”

Denise and two other security agents came rushing into the suite a few moments later. The senior agent turned ashen when she saw the front of Maggie's gown.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Grant?”

Glancing down, Maggie discovered that Adam's blood had darkened the flame red chiffon to a deep wine. “I'm fine. I just fell on the terrace. Well, off the terrace, but…”

Denise paled even more. “You fell off the terrace?”

“Stoney, er, got a little carried away. We overbalanced, and Adam came to the rescue.” She gestured toward the glass wall, and the two figures on the terrace.

Denise turned, her eyes rounding at the sight of the president's special envoy, his naked chest streaked with blood, his slacks riding low on lean hips.

With a less-than-gentle shove, Adam propelled Stoney through the open sliding glass doors, into the suite. The two agents with Denise leaped forward to grab the star's arms.

Indignant, he tried to shake them off. “Hey, watch it!”

“Get him out of here,” Adam ordered.

“Take Mr. Armstrong downstairs to interrogation,” Denise instructed the others. “I want a full statement in my hands as soon as you get it out of him. And, Harrison—”

“Yes, ma'am?”

“Keep him away from the media.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The senior agent pulled herself together as she swept the room. Her keen gaze took in the open connecting door between the suites before returning to Adam. Maggie caught a flicker of something that might have been feminine awareness or even admiration in Denise's eyes as they skimmed his lean torso, but it disappeared immediately when she caught the icy expression on his face.

“Where were you?”

Both women stiffened at the whipcrack in Adam's voice. Denise because she'd never heard it before, Maggie because she'd heard it several times. The furious man who'd slammed her up against his chest was gone. In his place was the Adam Ridgeway Maggie knew all too well.

“Downstairs,” the agent responded tightly. “Conducting a final walk-through.”

“Just what kind of security screens have you set up, Kowalski? How did Armstrong get past your men?”

Maggie stepped into the fray. “Hold it, Adam. Stoney didn't get past them. I told them to send him up.”

Two equally accusing faces swung toward her. Adam's could have been chiseled from ice, but Denise's was folded into a frown.

“Was that wise, Mrs. Grant? After Armstrong's stunt in the lobby this afternoon?”

“I thought so,” she replied coolly.

Adam didn't say a word, but Maggie could see he was
not
pleased. She fought back a small surge of irritation. She wasn't used to justifying or explaining her actions in the middle of an operation. To anyone.

As quickly as the irritation flared, Maggie suppressed it. Adam was her partner on this mission. She owed him an explanation of Stoney's presence in her suite, but she couldn't give it in front of Denise.

“We'll conduct a postmortem after the banquet,” she told the agent with crisp authority. “Right now, I need you to go across the hall and get Lillian.”

Denise firmed her lips, then reached for the phone. “I'll call her.”

“I'd prefer you go get her. I don't want her hearing about this over the phone and becoming all upset. You know how overprotective she is.”

It was a feeble excuse, and they all knew it, but Denise dropped the receiver back into its cradle.

“Fine. I'll go get Lillian. And we'll conduct a
thorough
postmortem after the banquet.”

The door shut behind her, and a small, tense silence descended.

Adam was the first to break it, his tone frigid. “I think we need to review our mission parameters.”

“I agree.”

“This is supposed to be a team effort, remember?”

Maggie's jaw tightened, but she kept her voice level. “I tried to contact you after I told Security to send Stoney up.”

“After? It didn't occur to you to contact me before you told them to send him up?”

“No, it didn't. I saw a target of opportunity, and I took it.”

“Try coordinating your targets with me next time.”

The stinging rejoinder lifted Maggie's chin. “I don't operate that way. I won't operate that way.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously. Maggie had never seen that particular expression in them before—not directed at her, anyway. But she didn't back down. Her gaze locked with his, unwavering, determined. There was more at stake here than operating procedures, or even her job. Far more. She knew it. Adam knew it.

“You shouldn't have tried to handle this situation alone,” he said, spacing his words. “It was too dangerous.”

“I'm trained to handle dangerous situations. You trained me yourself. You and Jaguar.”

A muscle ticked in the side of his jaw. “As best I recall, your training didn't include rappelling down a forty-story building without a rope.”

“No,” she tossed back, “but it included damn near everything else.”

Which was true. As the first OMEGA operative recruited from outside the ranks of the government, Maggie had run the gamut of a battery of field tests and survival courses. She'd come through them all, disgruntled on occasion and cursing a blue streak after a memorable encounter with a snake Jaguar had slipped inside her boot, but she'd come through.

“Look, Adam, you know as well as I do, this job isn't just a matter of training. I follow my instincts in the field. I always have.”

“I wondered when we were going to come around to that sixth sense of yours.” He stepped toward her, his mouth hard. “I'll admit it's gotten you out of more tight spots than I care to think about, but—”

“But what?” she asked him challengingly.

“But even instincts can fail in certain situations.”

He was so close, she could scent the tincture of blood and sweat that pearled his body. So still, she could see the pinpoints of blue steel in his eyes. So coiled, she could feel the tension escalating between them with every breath.

The heady, frightening feeling of hovering on the edge returned full force. Maggie had caught a brief glimpse of another Adam behind the all-but-impenetrable wall of his discipline. A part of her wanted to poke and probe and test that discipline further, to take him over the edge, and herself with him. Another part held her back. She knew this wasn't the time or the place. Denise would return with Lillian at any moment.

The time would come, though. Soon. She sensed it with everything that was female in her. With instincts more powerful, more primitive, than any she brought to her job.

Something of what she was thinking must have shown on her face. Adam took another step closer, his eyes locked with hers.

“What does your sixth sense tell you now, Maggie? About
this
situation?”

She hesitated a moment too long. The sound of a door slamming across the hall cut through the heavy stillness between them.

“It tells me we'll have to finish our discussion later,” she said, torn between relief and regret.

“We'll finish it,” Adam promised. “We'll definitely finish it.”

The murmur of voices in the hall grew louder. With a last glance at her face, he started to turn away.

“Thunder?”

“Yes?”

She chewed on her lower lip for a second. “I'm sorry you were wounded in the line of duty.”

Driven as much by the overwhelming need to touch him as by the urge to dull the hard edge of anger between them, Maggie reached out to brush her fingertips over the swirl of dark hair that arrowed his chest. Avoiding the raw, reddened patch of scraped flesh, she stroked his skin. Lightly. Soothingly.

He'd been wounded before, she discovered. Her fingers traced the ridge of an old, jagged scar that followed the line of his collarbone and passed over a puckered circle on his shoulder that could only have been caused by a bullet.

“Thank you,” she said, dragging her gaze back to his face. “For hauling me back onto the terrace.”

His hand closed over hers, capturing it against his heated skin. Under her flattened palm, Maggie felt the steady drumming of his heart.

“You're welcome.” The sharp lines bracketing his mouth eased. “Just try to keep both feet on the ground from here on out.”

It was too late for that, she thought. Far too late for that.

 

He'd almost lost her.

Adam stood unmoving while a shocked Lillian painted his chest with iodine, then covered the scrape with a white bandage. She brushed aside his quiet thanks and left to hurry Maggie into a fresh gown, tut-tutting all the while, in her own inimitable fashion.

With a damp cloth, Adam removed the ravages the stone railing had done to his dress pants. His hands were steady as he slipped on his white shirt, but the damned gold studs just wouldn't seem to fit the tiny openings. Clenching his jaw, Adam forced the last stud into place. Throughout it all, his mind followed a single narrow track.

He'd almost lost her.

This morning he'd finally admitted to himself how much he wanted Maggie, and tonight he'd almost lost her.

Before he possessed her—as much as it would be possible to possess someone like Chameleon—he'd almost lost her.

The raw need he'd acknowledged less than ten hours ago didn't begin to compare with the ache that sliced through him now. Seeing Maggie half a breath away from death had effectively stripped him of any illusion that he could control his need for her.

Two weeks, and this mission would be complete, he reminded
himself. Two weeks until he could satisfy the gnawing hunger he didn't, couldn't, deny any longer. For the first time, Adam doubted his own endurance.

Grimacing at the tug of the bandage on his chest hair, he pulled on his black dinner jacket and left the bathroom. He stopped short at the sight of the towering, beribboned basket resting majestically on a glass-topped sofa table.

He'd take it to Maggie after the banquet. At least one of them wouldn't go to bed hungry tonight.

He was halfway to the door when his watch began to vibrate gently against his wrist.

“Thunder here.”

“This is Jaguar, Chief. Thought you might want to know we finally cornered Stoney Armstrong's agent.”

“And?”

“And he passed on the interesting information that his client floated an eight-figure ‘loan' just a week ago. Seems Armstrong decided to produce and star in his own film. The funds went through half a dozen holding companies, but we finally traced them to First Bank.”

Adam went still. “First Bank?”

“Yeah. Ready for the kicker?”

“I'm ready.”

“Armstrong refused the loan when he discovered that First Bank was putting up the cash. Seems he'd heard some rumors about the institution and didn't want his name connected to it.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“Nothing specific, but the agent hinted strongly that it might be doing business with some questionable characters in Central America. Said Armstrong didn't want anything to do with it.”

The fact that the brawny star had a few scruples buried under those bulging muscles didn't particularly impress Adam.

“Put a team on First Bank, Jaguar. I want to know the source of every dollar it takes in, and every possible connection between the bank and the vice president.”

“I've already got it working. Will get back to you as soon as I have anything.”

“Fine. Anything else?”

“No.”

Adam flicked a glance at the dial of his watch. “I'd better sign off. The vice president is waiting.”

Jaguar chuckled. “How's Chameleon holding up in this role?”

The memory of Maggie's shaky grin after her brush with oblivion filled Adam's mind.

“Better than I am,” he replied grimly.

 

The banquet went off without a hitch.

Stoney Armstrong failed to make an appearance, which didn't surprise Adam. From the determined set to Denise Kowalski's chin, he guessed the agent wasn't about to release the star until she was fully satisfied with his statement.

Maggie, stunning in a two-piece turquoise silk sheath beaded in silver, charmed the men seated on either side of her. From his place across the round table, Adam watched as she picked at the elaborate chef's salad she'd been served. Every so often, her eyes strayed to the succulent rack of lamb on her neighbor's plate.

Remembering the cellophane-wrapped basket in his suite, Adam smiled. The thought of feeding Maggie, bite by bite, the various delicacies snaked through his mind. Sudden, erotic images of what could be done with red beluga caviar and soft Brie made his hand clench around the stem of his wineglass. He kept his smile easy and his conversation with the women seated on either side of him lively, but he couldn't keep his body from tightening whenever he looked at the woman separated from him by a wide expanse of white linen. Adam knew that each lingering glance he gave Maggie added more grist to the rumor mills about the vice president's latest romantic interest.

He also knew that he'd long since stopped playing a role.