The Choice (3 page)

No, his gut told him she could do the job. Smart, well-trained... what other cards did Ms. MacGregor have in her hand?

Cullinane stripped off his clothes and climbed into his bed. Settling on his back underneath the steel-gray spread, he rested his head on clasped hands. He needed Hafner complacent; time was running out. He’d have to give her a shot. He was a fair man; everyone knew that.

But he’d be watching her every move.

* * *

“You’re taking me shopping?” Whiskey-brown eyes registered total astonishment. “Why?”

“You don’t ask your employer why, MacGregor. If you want the job, you just do it.” Taking time to baby-sit her aggravated the hell out of him, but he wanted to observe her personally, not rely on secondhand impressions.

“What are we shopping for?”

“Hafner has a business dinner tonight at Chez Nous.”

“I have my own clothes.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure you do.”

“Let me go get them. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Where do you live?”
Who will you call while you’re gone?

“Not far.”

“Good. I’ll take you there later.”

She glanced away. “No need. I can take care of it myself.”

“I determine what’s needed.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Am I a prisoner, then?” To her credit, her voice didn’t waver.

“No.”

“Then I’ll be back later. What time?”

“You can’t go."
I won’t let you.

“Cullinane, this is just a job. It’s a free country. I can leave and come back.”

“Actually, you can’t. Hafner prefers that the staff all live here.”

“Hafner prefers, or Cullinane prefers to have everyone where he can watch them?”

Touché, MacGregor.
“Hafner prefers. Cullinane agrees.”

He could almost see the gears whirring in her head. Good. Maybe she’d decide that she didn’t want the job so badly, after all.

“All right.” She glared at him. “But we don’t need to go shopping.”

“I’ll know that after I check out your wardrobe.” Why did she look just the slightest bit rattled? “Where are you staying?”

“Not far.”

“You’re not from around here.”

“Are you?”

He’d grant her one thing; the woman hadn’t bored him yet. “I am now.” Her eyes sparked, and he expected to see tiny swirls of steam rising from her ears, but she never batted an eyelash, except for one look of reluctant appreciation. He turned to leave. “Be ready in ten minutes.”

“I haven’t even had a shower.”

Warring with himself over the temptation to allow her to take one here where he could observe, Cullinane decided that he’d better not tempt fate. Jillian MacGregor had more than one weapon in her arsenal; she wasn’t using that one on him.

“You can take one at your place.”

* * *

As the motel shower ran, Cullinane tuned out thoughts of her naked and wet. He was long past being ruled by his libido, however hot the woman might be. Ruthlessly he focused on the garments as he slid each hanger across the rod. Muted and simple, these were nothing like Hafner would want. Even though Cullinane knew zip about women’s fashion, he could see the innate taste.

“You won’t find any labels.”

He turned slowly to face her. “Cut them off?” He dredged up a sneer to keep his tongue from hanging out. 

“No. I made them.”

Mesmerized by the way the short bronze-tone kimono clung to the damp curves of her body, it took a moment for her answer to register.

Then she took the towel off her hair and bent over to rub it dry, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. The vee of the robe gaped precariously. Only a saint wouldn’t want to lean closer.

Get a grip, Drake.

“Made them? As in sewing?”

She raised her head and smiled slightly. “Want to make something of it?”

“Uh, no.” He had to look away. He’d discovered just how potent her arsenal could be. “Only surprised.”

“An archaic skill for a bodyguard, right?”

He shrugged, studying the cheesy painting in front of him. The appeal of this motel was obviously price. His eyes strayed toward her, discovering in midstream that he only had to look at the mirror beside her to see what he wanted.

When she bent forward again, the robe slid up her thigh to reveal the smooth ivory curve of her ass. In his concentration on that tempting mound, he almost missed her next question.

“Will I do?”

He jerked his attention back to her face.

Damn it. She was doing it on purpose. “I’ll wait outside.” He turned to leave.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

What question?
Composing his face into its usual mask, he turned back. “The clothes aren’t suitable, but you can bring them. You might as well check out when we leave.” He didn’t say that they were far too classy for Hafner’s boorish tastes. He wasn’t handing her a single advantage he could prevent. “We still have to shop for something.”

Ignoring the hurt that crossed her face, he left the room.

* * *

“You really expect me to wear this?”

Cullinane looked up at Jillian and managed not to swallow his tongue. The shop’s proprietor had supplied clothing for Hafner’s mistresses before. She knew his taste.

Dark green silk draped her body closely, falling to her ankles in one smooth line. The deep neckline and shoulders of the dress were encrusted with gold and green sequins, swirling over the bodice and forming a deep vee between her breasts. The skirt was slit over one leg almost to the groin.

She seemed ill at ease.

She looked damned good, though.

Long legs generated inevitable fantasies of them wrapped around his waist. He yanked his gaze away. “It’s what Hafner likes, and he’s paying the bills.”

Rebellion rose in her eyes, smothered so quickly he could almost believe he’d imagined it. “Well, then, no reason to look further.”

“Try on the others,” he ordered. “You’ll need more than one.”

The mutinous set of her lips hardened into a straight line of resignation. She nodded curtly and left for the fitting room.

“Sir?” A couple of minutes later, the saleswoman approached. “The lady asked me to tell you that she will be finished in a few moments.”

He narrowed his gaze. “Tell the
lady
that she’d better get out here and show me each one, or I’ll come in there with her.”

“But, sir, we can’t allow...” The woman stepped away, nodding her head cautiously. “I’ll tell her, sir, but I’m not sure...”

“Tell her she has three minutes to be out here in the next one.”

When three minutes had passed with no sign of Jillian, he reluctantly admired her bravado, but he couldn’t allow it. This woman could be more than a handful if he let her. She was trouble, he felt it in his bones. He’d invested years in this operation; the wheels were in motion. He’d be damned if some willful redhead was going to destroy his work.

As he readied himself to rise, she flounced into the room, her eyes spitting fire. The icy mask of disdain took a little longer this time, but eventually she achieved it. Cullinane didn’t try to hide his smirk.

But for a moment, he indulged himself in thoughts of unleashing the full range of this woman’s passions. Anyone who had to clamp down that hard on emotion was bound to have very hot blood simmering beneath.

Someday, Jillian MacGregor, it might be interesting to seek you out and discover you—later. Right now I’m going to make life uncomfortable enough that you’ll get the hell away from my operation.

The very red, very short dress she wore this time glistened with its solid layer of sequins; fringe shimmied with every motion of her hips. The long, long legs made his mouth water. The deep red contrasted beautifully with her cinnamon hair, stunning and voluptuous, yes...oh, yes.

Jillian’s style...no.

“Next one,” he snapped, looking away. In the mirrors, he could see anger flash across her face.

She was quicker to appear in the next one, her own mask firmly in place, pointedly ignoring him. A slender gown of ivory silk draped her body in a column, wrapping over each breast and forming a vee between curves that invited a man to look...to touch.

“Turn around,” he ordered before he could give himself away.

A tiny mutiny sprang to her lips, quickly smothered. From the halter neck all the way down to the hollow at the top of her very fine ass was skin...creamy, silky-smooth skin. The gown clung to her hips like a lover before following the line of her shapely legs to the floor.

He raised his gaze to see her look of triumph in the mirror and knew his poker face wasn’t as good as usual.

Tit for tat, her look seemed to say.

“Next one,” he snapped.

He endured a parade, wondering which of them he was punishing. On the last one, so skimpy it could barely be called a dress, Jillian completed an ill-tempered whirl to give him her back, staring at him in the mirror as his gaze roamed over the covering that was little better than being naked. Her smirk said she knew he was not immune.

Rising from his chair, he nodded curtly to the saleswoman to ready the bill. Damned if he’d let Jillian gloat at her effect on him.

“Get dressed, MacGregor.” He walked away, his thoughts firmly focused on what it would take to get rid of her.

Chapter Three

“Cullinane.” He answered the phone, his mind focused on inspection reports from the security system Jillian had breached.

“A new order for the twenty-first, Cullinane. A big one. Usual arrangements for funds transfer.”

His mind snapped to immediate attention. He glanced at the calendar. Less than three weeks away. Adrenaline surged. They could adjust the date for the raid to accommodate this. It was all coming together.

He answered the man he’d never seen, one of their many cut-outs designed to keep anyone from knowing the whole operation. “References checked?”

“Clean as a whistle.”

“We’ll get you word of the rendezvous point.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

A big one.
Hafner had been unusually close-mouthed about this transaction. The elaborate system they’d devised meant that only Hafner and he knew the whole set-up. They always utilized a series of cut-outs, so that the links in the chain only knew the links above and below them, thereby eliminating the chances for any one individual to bring the whole operation down.

It had taken a long time for Cullinane to become the other man who knew everything. The habits of a lifetime were hard for Hafner to break. The swift, eager kick in Cullinane’s pulse came from the knowledge that Hafner wasn’t telling him everything about this one.

If this was the usual order of arms and munitions, Hafner wouldn’t hedge. Apparently the task force would get a bonus. Hafner and his old terrorist buddies must have an unusual one planned. The wheels were already in motion to take them all down, and now the ante would be higher. He’d make sure everyone was ready.

Bile rose again in his throat as he thought of his first exposure to Hafner, years before. Humble beginnings as a go-fer for various fringe elements had escalated into Hafner’s being allowed to plant bombs, once he’d proven his worth.

It was one of those bombs that had killed the children who still haunted Cullinane’s nights. Young and inexperienced, he’d missed a vital clue that had allowed it to happen.

Hafner had moved up swiftly in the ranks. Shortly after that episode, he’d gotten his first line of credit. He’d bought his first consignment of arms, unloading them with panache upon some of his former terrorist colleagues at a tidy profit.

“Just a simple man of business,” Hafner always said.

The business of cold-blooded murder.

Fortunately for Cullinane, colleagues in this business liked to murder one another, as well. Job advancement. Competition in the marketplace.

Whatever you called it, the higher Hafner rose, the more he needed protection from his
friends.
Cullinane filled the bill nicely, with his cover of defrocked national security agent. Hafner loved having an ex-fed on his payroll, relished knowing that someone who’d been on the other side had fallen from grace.

He compared it to having an ex-priest on your side. “Know how to say all the right words, don’t you, Cullinane?” he’d smirk. “Just can’t get God to listen.” He always broke into uproarious laughter at his own cleverness with that remark.

Ah, but Klaus, God will listen...when I decide the time is right.

And then you will pay for your sins.

Cullinane rubbed his temples slowly, trying to tamp down his hope that this was that time. Then he didn’t allow himself to think anymore about how much he wanted out.

* * *

Jillian tried not to goggle at the ambiance of Chez Nous. The stunning sight of crystal chandeliers showering the diners with teardrops of light and dressed-to-the-nines clientele took her breath away.

The orphaned street kid had never experienced anything like this. She tucked her dignity around her like a cloak, held her head high and tried to concentrate on surveillance of the surroundings.

Right now, Hafner’s hand was tucked around her arm, his fingers uncurling to brush the curve of her breast at every opportunity.

She had to learn to ignore it. The point of the whole exercise was to make him comfortable with her, to make him careless. She had to quit tensing at every touch, every look.

And the small talk... Hafner and his business associates had spoken of nothing but inconsequential matters since they’d sat down to dinner. Coffee was being served now, and so far they’d covered the Saints’ season, plans for Mardi Gras, and fishing.

Stifling her impatience, Jillian looked toward Cullinane, who’d fallen silent during the last course. She resisted a frown, seeing that his thoughts were elsewhere.
Where are you, Cullinane? So sure that nothing can happen in Chez Nous?

Feeling Hafner’s gaze upon her, she plastered on a Barbie smile as she faced him.

“Ah, gentlemen, I think we’ve bored my lady here.”