Targeted

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Afterword

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Rebecca’s gaze drifted over the elegant dining room. Every
table set with the finest of linens and sparkling crystal held bubbling
champagne. She almost wanted to pinch herself, except she didn’t want to
wrinkle her silk dress.

Weird. Her in silk. She was far more comfortable in
field-stained khakis. But the Hotel Oberoi Amarvilas restaurant was a five star
dining experience. And given that they were in India, most of the other women
were dressed in elegant saris, draped in deep blue and shiny gold.

And for a woman who spent most of her time in a gray sterile
laboratory, the wall length aquarium brimming with exotic sea life and walls
hand painted in scenes from India’s rich mythology was just a tad overwhelming.

She glanced across the table to Brandt. He too was dressed
to impress. A tuxedo, even. But his jaw was as square as ever, and those dark
eyes? No matter whether in a tux or battle camouflage, Rebecca remembered how
Brandt’s eyes twinkled under the torchlight in that jungle clearing in Ecuador.
Now they glistened in the candlelight. How far they had come.

Brandt smiled warmly, putting his hand over hers. She knew
how he yearned to get back into the field, chasing down the baddest of the bad
guys, but he hadn’t complained a peep since being assigned close-protection
duty to her while the rest of his team tracked down and eliminated the
remaining members of the organization that had nearly killed both of them, the
Knot.

Granted, she and Brandt had explored the “close” part of his
protection duties in great detail. Her cheeks flushed at just the thought of
this morning’s “exercises.” Six months into their relationship, and he could
still make her blush.

And now they were here to celebrate the news that Brandt’s
team had taken down the last of the Knot. They could breathe easy again.
Tomorrow, after a quick sightseeing trip to the Taj Mahal for her and Fort Agra
for Brandt, they headed back to London. A part of her was thrilled to begin her
research in earnest again. To have a fully equipped and staffed laboratory at
her disposal? It was a DNA paleoanthropologist’s wet dream. But another part of
her feared for what would happen to their relationship.

Brandt was scheduled to go back out into the field in just
three days. Could their bond stand the test of days, weeks, and even months of
being apart while he was on classified assignments? Would he meet another
damsel in distress, far thinner and used to wearing silk dresses?

“Well? Romantic enough for Valentine’s Day?” Brandt asked as
he nodded to the bay window.

Across the street lay the massive gates that led to the Taj
Mahal. The red brick structure was lit against the night sky. In her mind’s
eye, Rebecca could see beyond the walls to the treasure they protected. The
long, narrow pool reflected one of the modern seven wonders of the world. The
Taj Mahal’s huge white domes and minarets glowed brightly, reminding the world
of Shah Jahan’s love for his wife. Of course she was his third wife, but the
monument had become a symbol of everlasting love, nonetheless.

Many may argue that Paris was the most romantic spot on
earth, but with all the reconstruction going on after their last visit there,
the Taj Mahal was absolutely the most romantic for her and Brandt.

Rebecca squeezed his hand. “You had me at ‘Let’s go to
India.’ “

Brandt leaned over and whispered. “You had me at ‘Are you a
moron?’ “

Oh, God. He remembered the first words that she had ever
spoken to him. In her defense she was tied to a stake in the rain forest with
an anaconda wrapped around her chest. But still. Brandt was anything but a
moron. How many times had he saved her life? In Ecuador, Paris, Budapest,
Istanbul, and half a dozen other locales.

“Brandt, I am so sorry for—”

He leaned in and kissed her, interrupting her apology. His
lips, tender yet firm against hers, asked her to stop talking and start
kissing. Brandt’s fingers interlaced with hers as his thumb stroked her palm.
Rebecca could swear that steam shot out of her ears. Her body lit up as
brightly as the Taj Mahal. Luckily, Brandt pulled back before someone asked
them to go up to their room. Although the way her legs quivered, that might not
be such a bad idea.

“Rebecca,” Brandt breathed out.

“Dessert?” their waiter asked.

Brandt snapped back into his chair as she folded her hands
on her lap. It was so easy to forget that they were in a crowded restaurant.
For a moment it had seemed like only the two of them existed.

“Sorry, I’m going to need the menu again,” she murmured.
Anything that happened before that kiss, long forgotten.

As the waiter moved off to fulfill her request, Brandt
whisked the napkin from his lap and rose. “I will take this opportunity to use
the restroom.”

Rebecca’s eyebrow shot up. “Everything okay?”

“Absolutely,” he reassured her, but his eyes didn’t register
reassuring.

This was the third time to the restroom for Brandt since
they arrived at the restaurant. For a guy who didn’t allow for a single potty
break on a five-hour hike out of the rain forest, he sure was liberal with the
latrine visits tonight.

She was about to rise and follow him, but then caught sight
of his rear tightly outlined by his black pants as he walked away. Maybe, on
second thought, she’d just sit here and enjoy the view.

* * *

Brandt kept his pace steady passing the elaborate saltwater
tank filled with coral, sea urchins, and clown fish until he turned down the
hallway. Then, he broke into a trot. He hit the bathroom door at a run.
Bursting in, he found only the attendant. Brandt wasn’t quite sure what these
guys in swanky hotel bathrooms were supposed to do for you exactly, unzip your
fly maybe, but he needed him gone.

Pulling out an American five-dollar bill, Brandt offered it
to the guy with a nod to the door, but the attendant only frowned. Fine. Brandt
pulled out a twenty. The man accepted it and left. If Brandt didn’t button it
up these bathroom excursions were going to cost over a hundred bucks.

Brandt stared at his reflection in the mirror. “Damn it,
Brandt, pull it together.”

But as he brought a small, red velvet box from the inside
pocket of his tux, he couldn’t pull it together if he tried. Slowly Brandt
opened it. A diamond ring stared back at him. Was it too small? Would Rebecca
be insulted by a ring less than three carats? What could he do, though? He was
on a military man’s budget, and he wanted to still save up for a house. Those
things were more important than the bling, right?

What if she said “no?” How could he leave for a mission not
knowing if she was waiting for him?

God, it was sappy and stupid, and his men teased him
endlessly about it, but his stomach lurched at the thought of not having her
arms to wrap around him at night. Well, and her legs too, but that was a
different kind of yearning. The ache he was talking about went far deeper than
his groin.

Brandt snapped the box closed. This was ridiculous. He’d
step in front of the president to take a bullet, hell, even the secretary of
education, easier than he could ask Rebecca to marry him. A narco-drug lord?
He’d simply throw an elbow to his nose. But this… this churned his stomach like
none other.

How many times had already tried to ask her? He was going to
do it after they sat down at the table. Then he was going to slip the ring into
her glass of champagne. Then after the salads came. Then forget about it after
the chicken satay.

And now, dessert? He was running out of meal to make this
happen.

No. It had to be now. This mission was time sensitive. He
was not going to let this window slip by. Rebecca may not have the largest ring
to brag about, but by God, he was going to give her an engagement to remember.

* * *

Rebecca waved the waiter off. He was determined to keep
their champagne glasses full. And he wasn’t even their waiter. Five-star
restaurants, man. They did service with a capital “S.”

She sipped the nearly overflowing glass of champagne as she
glanced around the room. Was this what her life could have been like if she had
applied her skills to the commercial sector? Being able to splice DNA fifteen
different ways was an extremely well-paid career in the pharmaceutical world.

Could she dine like this every night? Forget what Top Ramen
tasted like and learn when lobster was best in season?

Rebecca chuckled. That was so not her. Sure, tonight was
grand, but tomorrow, she and Brandt would pick up some street food off a
camel-drawn cart and be all the happier for it. Opulence was great, but a
well-worn pair of jeans was much more her style.

Brandt came around the corner, straightening his jacket. He
looked so sophisticated. But was that water dripping off his nose? Rebecca
frowned. Was he sick? He had been acting a little odd all night. She had just
assumed that his tuxedo’s cummerbund was too tight. Lord knew that the silk
dress had gotten itchy after the first five minutes. And the static from the
garment? Rebecca feared she’d look in a mirror and find her hair standing on
end.

He sat down rather abruptly, placing the napkin back on his
lap like a little boy might at his first cotillion. She waited as he stared
down at the white tablecloth. Finally his jaw bunched and he looked up,
reaching for her hand.