Sandra Hill (28 page)

Ian seemed taken aback when she said, “Do not even try to soften me with endearments. Speak plainly and tell me what this is all about.”

“This is Joan Askey. She’s with the CIA, and she’s going to impersonate you today. You won’t even have to leave the house.”

Madrene made a low growling sound before turning to the woman, who extended her hand for a shake. Madrene complied, but only because it would have been inhospitable not to. Then she surveyed the woman from head to toe. She had red hair, a small nose and mouth and no bosom to speak of. The only similarity between them was their height.

She looked at Ian and said, “She does not resemble me at all.”

“She will, honey … when we’re done fixing her up.” He reached to squeeze her shoulder.

She ducked away. “Do not call me honey.”

He frowned, the vein popping out in his forehead. “What bug crawled up your ass?”

“Not you, that is for certain,” she replied, matching him crudity for crudity. “I am Madrene Olgadottir. I come from a bloodline of fierce fighting men and noble kings. Ne’er do I pay scutage to another to fight my battles.”

Ian’s jaw dropped. “Are you saying you want to
do the job yourself … that you want to risk possible death?”

“That is precisely what I am saying.”

“Everyone,” he shouted, waving to all the others in the room, “scram!”

They all left, reluctantly, even the woman, who had been staring at Madrene as if she were demented. She felt a bit demented.

“You said you loved me,” he said, looking wounded.

She was wounded herself. Where was the euphoria she’d been experiencing all morning? “You said you loved me, too. But you do not know me if you think I can accept another taking my place in the front line of a battle.”

“Maddie, be reasonable.”

“There is no room for reason when honor is involved.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time to argue about this. We’ll talk about this tonight.” He leaned down to kiss her, and she turned her face to the side.

He gave her a hard look, then turned away, going down the hall to join his comrades.

Madrene sat brooding in the solar. Sam hopped up and nestled against her leg, meowing her commiseration, probably saying,
Men! Dumb dolts, all of them!
Geek was going to give her some reading and writing lessons this afternoon. She doubted she would be able to concentrate now that she knew Ian would be out facing danger. Anger warred with worry, and her concern for the overbearing brute won out. But only for a moment.

Ian and the seals came from down the hall,
grinning. When they got to the archway of the solar, Ian asked, “What do you think?” He stepped aside and Madrene got an eye-popping look at the woman who presumably looked like her.

Joan wore a long blond wig that looked remarkably like Madrene’s own hair. She had applied a large amount of lip rouge which made her appear to have a larger mouth. She had on tight jeans and a red sleeveless top. She carried a long-sleeved jacket of the same denim fabric. But there was one thing that really stood out. Joan had somehow developed a bosom that was huge.
Huge!

“You are all a bunch of blind lackwits if you think I am
that
big.”

“I don’t know about that,” Ian said, winking at her.

She knew he was just teasing, but she was in no mood for his jests. “She looks like the prow of a longship my lackwit brother once built.”

“Okay, guys, weapons ready,” Ian told the men. “Joan already has her body armor on.”

Oh. So that’s what all that padding is. Still, they had deliberately made her voluptuous.

All the men were taking off their shirts, putting on what she knew were called flak jackets, then putting the shirts back on. Concealed weapons were strapped onto every concealed part of their bodies. The larger weapons were broken down and carefully packed in special carrying bags.

Geek, who would be staying behind with her, was equally well armed, though he did not wear the protective armor. The young man was just as chagrined at being excluded from the mission as she was. Babysitting, he called it.

Everyone was ready to go. In fact, Ian checked
each of them in turn and said, “Good to go!” And Pretty Boy yelled out, “Yee-haw!” Madrene figured that must be a seal battle cry, like “Hoo-yah” which they also often said.

Ian looked at her, probably expecting her to melt, but she was too stubborn for that. He just nodded his disappointment with a clenched jaw, and turned away. Five of the seals went out the front door to their cars. They would pretend to be returning to the military base. Ian and Joan headed out the kitchen door to his car in the garage. They would pretend to go on a pick-knack … that was a kind of outdoor meal. She heard the door shut, softly but ominously.

Madrene stared at the empty space where Ian had been.
What is wrong with me, that I cannot bend, even for the man I love? I have had to act the man for too many years. That must be why I insisted on …
Her eyes shot up.

Ian had come back. He stomped up to her, picked her up so her feet barely touched the floor and kissed her handily. Then he left, though still stomping.

Not a word had been exchanged, but they’d both said much.

Men will be men …

For the next three hours, Ian didn’t think about Maddie at all. He couldn’t. When a SEAL, or any special forces operative, went into battle mode, his focus had to be centered on one thing and one thing only: the enemy.

He and Joan went into the park, which was not by any means empty of people. Everyone there was either CIA or SEAL, even that man and woman
wheeling a baby carriage, which held not an infant but an AK-47. He and Joan set up a blanket and opened a picnic basket. Ian uncorked a bottle of wine and leaned over to kiss Joan, as if they were lovers enjoying a day in the sun. Joan set out an assortment of cheeses and fruits and smiled up at him.

Then all hell broke loose.

A gunshot, which came from north of the park behind the restrooms, hit Joan in the shoulder and knocked her backward. The shot was probably intended for him, because they would surely want Maddie alive. He pulled out his own pistol and threw himself over Joan, covering her with his body. It was hard to tell from his vantage point who was shooting at whom now, so loud and rapid was the gunfire. He could tell from the firing sounds what kinds of weapons they were, but who was firing, he was in no position to judge. These days, the tangos had just as sophisticated weapons as the U.S. military, thanks to profitable underground arms sales.

Ian would have liked to be up and actively participating in the action, but he would only get in the way at this point. The gunfight lasted only fifteen minutes or so. Even once it was over, he and Joan lay low. They both pulled concealed weapons out and snaked themselves on their bellies over to a thick bush.

In the end, three tangos were dead, two were seriously injured and captured, and two more were in custody for questioning. A successful operation, as far as he could tell. Dozens of SEALs, CIA, police and special ops guys from the other services crowded the park.

He and the other SEALs in his squad stood about
for a long time afterward, patting each other on the back. Recounting every aspect of the op and what they’d done right and wrong.

They all went back to the base together and spent another hour or more with the SEAL commander, once again discussing every aspect of their mission, what they might have done differently, what they needed to study for future reference.

After that, he and his squad members went to the Wet and Wild to celebrate and once again pat themselves on the back and wind down from the adrenaline rush that accompanied any op, whether local or OUTCONUS. Cage had called Geek hours ago to tell him that the mission had been successful.

Now, after two beers, Ian decided he wanted to celebrate in the best way possible. With Maddie.

The tango was more than a dance …

Madrene was happy and angry at the same time.

Geek had told her hours ago that the mission had been successful, and, except for a wound in Joan’s shoulder and some abrasions on Sly’s face from pieces of flying metal, everyone was all right on their side. That was a good thing, of course. But she was still fuming over not having been included. She was going to make the brute pay for that chauvinistic move, but not too long. Her relief at his safety made any other emotion petty.

But one hour went by, then two, then three. Still, Ian had not come home.

“They’re probably at the Wet and Wild,” Geek told her.

She arched her brows in question.

“It’s a bar where lots of the military guys hang out. Drink a few beers. Listen to the music. Dance.” Geek must have realized his mistake the minute the word came out. “I mean, after an op, the men like to wind down and rehash—”

“Dance? There are women there?”

“Yeah, but—”

“I’m going for a walk.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I have orders to keep you here.”

“Then leave me alone or I fear I may wring your neck since you are the only male in sight.”

“You sure you don’t want to practice your letters some more?”

She sliced him with a look that told him exactly what she thought of that suggestion.

“I guess not.” He ducked his head and went to the office to play with his come-pewter.

Madrene sat at the kitchen table drinking a cup of the pungent tea Omar had brought her yestermorn. She had much to plan now that the mission was over. Ian had said that he would help her … well,
probably
help her. With or without him, she needed to either buy a longship or arrange transport to the Norselands; and raise an army, either here or in the Saxon lands. Madrene was hoping, perhaps unrealistically, that Ian would convince his other seals to go with them. That small number of expert fighting men would be better than a far larger number of regular warriors.

A slight knocking noise from the garage door drew her attention. Mayhap it was just the wind, although there was no wind to speak of and certainly not in the garage. When the sound was repeated, she
got up and looked down the hall to the closed office door. Geek was probably sulking over her harsh words. Since the danger was over, she walked up to the door and squinted her eyes at the peephole. A man stood there. He had the short cut many military men wore in this place and his long sleeved tea-
shert
had the letters “U.S. Navy SEAL” on the front. So she opened the door.

“Ensign John Smith here,” he said briskly. “Mac asked me to bring you over to the base. The commander wants to talk to both of you.”

“Oh,” she said. That made sense. “Why didn’t Ian come himself?”

“He’s already in meetings.”

Madrene glanced into the garage, where the mow-tore was running on Ian’s red car. He must have sent this man in his vehicle to get her. She nodded and said, “Let me tell Geek where I’m going.”

“He already knows,” the ensign said, taking her by the elbow. “Hurry. There’s not much time.”

Madrene was puzzled. Why the rush when the danger was over? And another thing: As the end-sign helped buckle her in the seat and backed out of the garage at a rapid pace, she noticed that the interior of the car was different.

“Why is the leather of these seats brown? I thought it was black. And why are you driving north? I thought the base was …” A number of observations came crashing over her then, one after another. The man’s hands were a different color from his face and neck. He was wearing makeup, she realized with amazement; she had learned about makeup from Pretty Boy. She was fairly certain that the end-sign’s hair and eyebrows were not this
blond color naturally. In fact, she was beginning to notice some Arabic features, particularly in the shape of the eyes and nose. “Who are you?”

“Shut up, bitch!” the end-sign snarled in Arabic and pulled a weapon … a piss-tole … out of his shirt. “You will to be our bargaining tool for getting Jamal released. You will spill your guts for us as you did for the See-eye-aye.”

“Why doesn’t anyone believe me when I say that I know nothing?” she answered him in Arabic, throwing her hands up in disgust. “You overvalue my usefulness in your ransom attempt. In truth, the people here do not care much for me, except for Ian, and even that is in question. So, if I were you, I would turn around and take me back. Ian might not lop your head off if you reconsider now. But later, who knows what—”

The end-sign used a very, very foul word—a Saxon one—then raised the handle of his weapon to hit her on the back of the head. Her last thought before blackness came over her was,
’Twould seem I am going to take part in the action after all.

Sometimes the road of life has a few speed bumps …

Ian stood and laid some bills on the table at the Wet and Wild for his part of the tab. The adrenaline pumping through his body now was of an entirely different kind. He was ready for battle again, but this time there would be no guns involved. He hoped.

“Running home to the little woman, are you?” Omar asked, grinning at him.

“Pussy-whipped already,” Cage proclaimed.

“Bet you have the ‘I love you, baby, please forgive me’ spiel down pat,” JAM said.

“Better have.” Pretty Boy nodded. “Maddie was royally pissed over being left behind.”

“Sure you don’t wanna stay here and see what kind of action you can rack up?” Sly inquired. “Oops, I forgot. You’ve got action central going for you back home.”

Ian refused to rise to their bait. There was a time he might have been irritated, even angry, that they would dare to speculate on his personal life. But right now, all he cared about was getting home to Maddie and getting on with the rest of his life.

“Uh-oh,” Cage said, glancing over Ian’s shoulder.

Ian turned and said the same thing aloud. “Uh-oh.”

It was Jennifer, his ex-fiancée, and she was headed toward him like a guided missile. He stood his ground and waited for her to come to him.

“Ian,” she said in a husky voice he’d once thought sexy, but which now seemed kind of pathetic. Being of average height, she had to go on tiptoes to reach up and kiss him. He turned his face at the last moment so that her lips grazed his cheek, not his mouth where they were aimed.