Mac's Angels: The Last Dance: A Loveswept Classic Romance (11 page)

The tension floated away, leaving her relaxed and sleepy. If she’d been in her bed, she would have fallen fast asleep. Grudgingly, she forced herself away from the waterfall and began to swim with long strokes, setting the steady pace she’d developed in the pool just outside her building. Up and down she swam, working out her mental exhaustion as the heated water unkinked her physical pain.

Morning and evening, no matter what, she’d forced herself to go to the pool. There’d been a time when all she could do was float. But gradually, as the feeling returned to her limbs, she’d begun to stretch her muscles. Now she did at least twenty-five laps twice a day.

Her entire life had changed yesterday, and yet it was the same. Here she had her work and the water. And in spite of the feeling of being in a kind of prison, she knew she was safe from Vincent Dawson.

Her mind flashed back to the screen of Bond and his blonde bed partner, except this time the woman in the bed was herself. Sterling blotted out the picture of the couple’s entwined bodies. She wouldn’t let her mind linger there.

The man standing in the shadows of the trees watched Sterling as she swam. He hadn’t been surprised when she dropped her towel. He’d seen her body the night before. He’d felt her firm skin and wondered how she kept herself fit when she was so limited with her movements. Now he knew.

Her body cut a path through the plunging water, turned, and moved effortlessly with the current. How long had it been since he’d been in the pool? He found his exercise in the gym and in his morning meditations on a mountain ledge, shadowboxing with an imaginary foe.

Overhead, the timed control gradually lowered the lights as if the sun were setting. There wouldn’t be stars overhead, but simulated moonlight was almost as good as the real thing.

Watching the woman instead of joining her definitely wasn’t.

Mac watched Sterling leave the pool. Unaware that she was being observed, she leaned heavily on the rocks, wincing with every step. He had to force himself not to help her. A silent oath slipped through his lips. Spying on her was bad enough, offering his help would be the ultimate insult.

How had she managed to get away from Dawson at the airport? She’d walked a long way, not once but twice. Until now, he hadn’t realized how difficult a simple movement was for her. He doubted that Conner knew the extent of her pain. No wonder she never left her building.

He could almost feel the agony. Experiencing such a personal connection to a woman was new and confusing. There was no reason for him to be drawn to Sterling, but he was. Though she claimed to be independent, that independence depended on someone else providing the kind of safe boundaries in
which she could live alone. That dependence must rankle her, yet she didn’t complain.

For most of his life he’d been surrounded by women who needed his help, beginning with Jessie’s mother, Alice, who’d complained bitterly. Actually, he hadn’t chosen Alice, at least not intentionally. She’d been chosen for him by his own irresponsibility and the fates. He’d done the right thing and married her. She’d been his wife but never his companion. He hadn’t loved her, not the way a man ought to love the woman he married, and she’d known. But he respected her and cared for her. In the end, the death wish that raged inside her head had been more than she could control.

But she’d given him Jessie. Now Jessie, the sweet child who’d claimed his soul, was grown up. For so long she’d been unable to put her mother’s death behind her, taking on the responsibility for it in ways even she didn’t understand. With all the help and money he had at his disposal, he’d never known how to make her strong. He hadn’t been able to save Alice. And Jessie’s future was still to be defined. Becoming angel to the world had been safer than becoming angel to his family.

Now, he’d threatened his private sanctuary by bringing another woman who needed care into his life.

What made her different?

Her independence? Maybe, but he thought it was as simple as his genuine concern for her. During their telephone conversations over the years, he’d
never formed a picture of the physical woman. He’d responded to her gentle voice and reassuring words. There’d been no expectations. They didn’t know each other, so he could be himself. She never complained. She scolded him when he needed it, laughed at his silly jokes, offered a sympathetic ear when he just wanted to talk to someone who didn’t judge him. He hadn’t realized how emotionally attached he’d become to this woman.

Now that he’d met her, he’d learned that she was more than just bright, determined, and, in spite of her physical limitations, fiercely independent. She was a fighter who looked after herself, and if there were situations she couldn’t handle, she avoided them.

That, apparently, included men.

Looking back, it was clear that from the first time they spoke on the phone, they’d made an immediate connection. Sparks flew. He just hadn’t realized it until he touched her. That was the thing that stunned him. Desire came out of nowhere, and every time he was close to her, it grew.

The exterior Lindsey was as prickly as a spiny lizard, giving off don’t-tred-on-me signals at every touch, yet underneath it all she hurt as much as he. He’d promised to help her when he’d sworn never to be responsible for keeping a woman safe again. He knew that kind of overwhelming responsibility. He’d failed once and he’d lived with that failure. He didn’t think he could do that again.

When Sterling was in his office, Mac spent the
time driving his staff crazy. Though she hadn’t asked for his help with her medical problems, he had his staff retrieving her records and researching her condition. Conner had assured him that Sterling’s condition was irreversible, but Mac wanted to be certain.

Deep in his gut, he knew that he was building a nest for a woman who would likely fly away as soon as she was allowed. All this, when he should be worried about Vince Dawson. A stab of regret pierced him as Sterling coiled her damp towel into a turban around her hair and rolled herself out of view.

That regret suddenly became stark loneliness, an emotion he’d held at bay for a long time.

The door closed behind Sterling. He could see little wisps of fog rising from the pool as the heated water reached for the cool evening air near the ceiling. The beauty of the solarium still existed, but without someone to share it with, the artificial moonlight seemed cold.

Mac wasn’t the only one who enjoyed Sterling’s presence. Elizabeth liked her too. According to Burt, Jessie had spent several hours having lunch with Sterling. And they’d laughed. Burt—Mac smiled. Since Sterling’s arrival, Burt had turned into a singing chef, bellowing operatic renditions in very bad Italian. Apparently, Sterling had brought out the lighter side of everyone.

Laughter in Shangri-la was rare.

Until Sterling.

Vincent Dawson paced the balcony overlooking the senator’s courtyard in New Orleans’s Garden District. Vincent prided himself on his careful planning, covering all the possibilities, being prepared. What had happenned ten years before had nearly cost him everything he’d worked for. Killing the securities broker had been necessary, though unplanned. The girl was a different matter.

Sterling Lindsey could have ruined him. Still could. The office was supposed to be empty; that had been the condition he’d insisted on with the old fool who thought he was dealing with a reclusive millionaire. The young woman’s appearance in the office had been a surprise. She couldn’t have identified him because of the ski mask, but he’d reacted before he’d thought. If the damned bullet had done the job, he wouldn’t be in this mess right now. Instead of killing her, it had left her in a coma and paralyzed. Recovery had seemed unlikely. And when nothing had happened after she had recovered, he’d gotten lazy.

How in hell had this happened? What were the chances he’d run into her again? And what were the chances that she’d even recognize him? A million to one? Yet it had happened and it was apparent that in spite of the ski mask, she’d remembered. No doubt about that. He’d seen it in her eyes. Neither time, nor dyeing his hair, nor any other physical change had saved him from being identified.

And, even with all the men under his command, she’d gotten away. A woman in a wheelchair had managed to escape. But she’d had help. Given his political connections it hadn’t taken long to identify her champion—Lincoln McAllister, the one man in the world who might be as powerful as Vincent Dawson. He started to pace, then turned and moved behind the desk Senator March had provided. The man seated in the chair opposite him was worried too.

“You know, going up against McAllister won’t be easy,” he said. “His complex has more security than Fort Knox. He has plenty of grateful friends in high places. And the amount of money he has at his disposal is unbelievable.”

“Michael, you’re in charge of security. I—the senator pays you for quiet solutions, not for problems. I don’t accept that there is no way to penetrate this man-made fortress in the New Mexico mountains. I expect answers from you.”

“We’re working on it, Mr. Dawson. But our files are pretty complete. Shangri-la is impenetrable. McAllister is a genius.”

“No place is impenetrable. We have the power of the United States government behind us. Use it!”

“The only way we’ll get inside that mountain is to bomb it. Is that what you want?”

Yes, he started to say, then held back. From his desktop he picked up a paperweight. Inside the glass object was a medieval castle, complete with a moat.
Idly, he shook it, stirring up a miniature world of frothy snow.

“No, don’t use force,” he said. “I have an idea. If Muhammad won’t come to the mountain, we’ll have the mountain come to Muhammad. Thank you, Michael. Get Jonah for me.”

“Jonah?” The seated man questioned. “Isn’t that a bit extreme?”

“Not nearly as extreme as it’s going to get.”

Sterling found Mrs. Everett in her quarters after her swim. “Would you like to have dinner in the family dining room, or here in the apartment?” the older woman asked.

“Here, I suppose. I’m rather tired. But I feel bad about having someone cook for me. I really can prepare my own food.”

“And deprive Burt of your compliments? He’d personally turn us both into shish kebabs. He’s convinced you’re a lady who appreciates good food.”

Sterling looked down at her plump breasts, spilling over the top of the swimsuit. “That’s what it looks like,” she admitted. “He’s right. I’ll never look like the Danish babe.”

“Excuse me? Danish babe?”

“Never mind. Say, would you care to join me?”

“I would, but I’ve already eaten. I’ll send in a tray for you.” She started to leave, then said earnestly, “I know you had lunch with Jessie today. I wonder … do you think she’s … all right?”

A strange question to ask someone who met Jessie only twice, Sterling thought. “I’m not sure. I really don’t know her very well. But, there is one thing.”

“Yes?”

“Are you going to put up a Christmas tree?”

Elizabeth looked startled. “Well, no. We haven’t done that in several years. It seemed to make the occasion sadder. But—why not? With you here it might work. I’ll have one of the men get one. We have decorations around here somewhere.”

“Wait. I’m not sure how long I’ll be here. I mean … I wouldn’t want to make false promises to Jessie. I told her that I’d be honest.”

“Hmmph! I’ve thought for a long time that she’s had enough truth. What she needs is a little make-believe.” Elizabeth took a long look at Sterling. “Maybe that’s what you need too.”

The woman was right. “Mac too,” she muttered under her breath.

The voice that answered was firm and a little amused. “Yep, Mac too.”

The door closed.

Half an hour later the music began. Christmas carols were being piped through some kind of intercom system.

In the middle of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,” there was a crackle, followed by Mac’s voice. “By the way, Moneypenny, start making your list.”

“What kind of list?” she said, wondering if he could hear her.

“For Santa. But I should tell you, Santa would rather you be naughty than nice. By the way, how’re you doing on those Danish tapes?”

“Lincoln McAllister, are you watching me?”

“No. Would you like me to?”

“You know what I mean. Do you have some kind of hidden camera in this room.” She stood and switched off all the lights.

“Sure. I tape all my guests’ activities and use them for blackmail. How do you think I can afford all this?”

“Then you’re out of luck. I’m in the dark and I have no money.” She moved as fast as she could, pulling on a robe and combing the tangles from her hair.

“Well … we can fix that.”

“What? You have infrared viewing?”

“No. I have money. And I have a deal for you. Will you forget about that tray in your room and have dinner with me? I want to talk to you about Jessie.”

“About Jessie?”

“Jessie, my daughter. About Christmas.”

“That’s all? No Danish lessons?”

“Ah, Moneypenny. Everyone ought to learn a foreign language. Don’t you know Bond never gives up?”