To Love a Thief

“Get the Field Dress unit to fix you up with a wardrobe. You’d better take several gowns, a couple of cocktail dresses and bikinis. You’ll only need the bottoms, of course.”

“Of course.” Mackenzie tried not to bat an eye. She knew that everyone went topless on European beaches except prudish, self-conscious American tourists. No way she wanted Nick to know she’d fallen smack into the prude category.

“What about my cover?”

Nick made a show of pulling down his cuffs, and Mackenzie knew what was coming. The man had a tabloid reputation to live up to, after all.

“The best cover is always the simplest. When asked, we’ll merely introduce you as my companion.”

“Define companion.”

“Friend. Mistress. Lover.”

“I don’t think so,” Mackenzie drawled. “Let’s go with business associate.”

Amusement flickered in Nick’s eyes. “Do you really think the French will make any distinction between the two?”

“The French might not, but we will.”

To Love a Thief

Merline Lovelace

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MERLINE LOVELACE

spent twenty-three years in the U.S. Air Force, pulling tours in Vietnam, at the Pentagon and all over the world. When she hung up her uniform, she decided to try her hand at writing. Since then she’s had more than forty novels published, with over six million copies of her work in print. She and her own handsome hero live in Oklahoma. They enjoy traveling and chasing little white balls around the fairways.

Look for Merline in the Silhouette anthology In Love and War, coming in August 2003.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Prologue

Yanking open the passenger door of a nondescript gray sedan, a heavyset male dropped into the seat. He brought with him just enough of the crisp September breeze to stir the stale odors of old French fries and half-eaten donuts that permeated the vehicle.

His nose wrinkled in disgust. “I wish to hell you’d dump your garbage in a trash can instead of tossing it in the back seat.”

“Never mind my garbage,” the driver growled. “Did you get through?”

“I got through.”

“What was the message that was so damn important we had to call today?”

“Our client’s getting antsy. Real antsy.”

The driver crumpled his foam coffee cup and tossed it over his shoulder to join the rest of the litter. Scowling, he glared at his associate.

“Hell! This isn’t like taking down a two-bit pusher or some husband who can’t keep his pants zipped. We’ve been trying to set up the job for a week now. The target never takes the same route to work, never eats at the same restaurant two nights in a row and has a security system tougher to crack than Fort Knox, for God’s sake!”

“So tell me something I don’t know.”

The retort earned him a hard, swift look. More than a little afraid of the man beside him, the passenger gulped and delivered the rest of the message that had come through the phone via a voice synthesizer that completely disguised the speaker’s age, sex and nationality.

“We gotta do it within twenty-four hours or the deal’s off.”

His mouth set, the driver hunched his arms over the wheel. He’d been in the business long enough to know his reputation was on the line here. He’d accepted the contract, demanded and received a five-figure advance. If he didn’t deliver as promised, he could kiss off the rest of the hefty fee he’d been promised. Worse, word would soon get around. Before long, he’d be back to shooting out the kneecaps of gamblers who welched on their debts at a hundred bucks a pop.

“All right,” he snarled. “We’ll do it tonight.”

Chapter 1

From the outside, the elegant, three-story Federal-style town house looked much like its neighbors. It sat midblock on a quiet, tree-shaded street just off Massachusetts Avenue, in the heart of Washington’s embassy district. The last rays of the afternoon sun glinted on its tall windows. Ivy meandered over its mellow red brick and almost obscured the discreet bronze plaque beside the front door.

The plaque identified the town house as home to the Offices of the President’s Special Envoy. Savvy politicians and diplomats knew the position was created years ago to reward a wealthy campaign contributor with a yen for a fancy title and a hankering to rub elbows with the powerful elite. Like so many other fabricated posts in the nation’s capital, the position had since taken on a staff and a life of its own.

Only a handful of insiders knew the special envoy also served as director of an agency whose initials comprised the last letter of the Greek alphabet: an agency so secret that its director reported only to the president. So supercharged that OMEGA’s agents were activated only as a last resort, when other government agencies like the military, the FBI or the CIA couldn’t respond for political or legal reasons.

For almost a year now, Nick Jensen had served as acting director of OMEGA. The wealth and international contacts he’d accumulated as owner of a string of outrageously high-priced watering holes for the rich and famous—not to mention his hefty contributions to the president’s reelection campaign—had given him the necessary cachet for the special envoy’s title.

But it was Nick’s years as one of OMEGA’s field agents that had given him the expertise to run the supersecret organization. He hadn’t sought or particularly wanted the responsibility of sending his fellow operatives into harm’s way, but Maggie Sinclair, the previous director, had convinced the president that Nick was the best person for the job.

Few people could hold out against Maggie when she set her mind to something. Nick was no exception—as the present situation indicated.

“You can’t fail me, Lightning! I’m desperate.”

Her voice floated over the speakers in the third-floor control center where Mackenzie Blair, OMEGA’s chief of communications, had patched her straight through to the director.

“The woman stormed out the moment I walked into the house,” Maggie exclaimed in exasperation. “Didn’t give notice. Didn’t offer an explanation. Just grabbed her purse and rushed right past me.”

“Let me guess.” Tapping his twenty-four karat gold Mont Blanc pen against the console in front of him, Nick had no difficulty picturing the scene. “She had grape jelly in her hair, muddy paw prints all down her front and lizard spit decorating her blouse.”

A gurgle of laughter came over the speakers. “Actually, the grape jelly was on her shoes and the lizard spit was dribbling down her right cheek.”

Chuckling, Nick leaned back in his chair. “How many nannies have you and Adam run through in the past six months? Two? Three?”

He caught the eyes of the dark-haired woman on the other side of the console. Grinning, Mackenzie held up four fingers.

“The body count doesn’t matter,” Maggie answered loftily. “What matters is that I don’t have a baby-sitter available for tonight. I can’t miss this banquet, Nick. Adam’s worked too hard and too long. He deserves this recognition for his work with the International Monetary Fund. I may be eight months pregnant, but I’m going to pour myself into an evening gown and strap on high heels. If I can take those extreme measures, you ought to be willing to hold down the fort for a few hours. Can you be here by seven?”

Nick gave the computerized status board on the far wall a quick glance. He had one agent in Saudi Arabia. Another agent was on his way back to D.C. after weeks in Honduras and would need to be debriefed sometime tonight. Nick was also expected at a black-tie party thrown by one of Washington’s most sophisticated hostesses.

But this was Maggie Sinclair. Code name Chameleon. A young, scrawny Nick had once offered to act as her pimp. It didn’t even occur to him to refuse her this small service. Although he had to admit, the thought of spending several hours with the nonadult residents of her chaotic household daunted even OMEGA’s acting director. Once again his glance drifted to the woman on the other side of the console.

“I’ll be there by seven,” he promised, his blue eyes on his chief of communications. “But I’m not going in alone, unarmed and without backup. I’ll bring Mackenzie with me. We can get some work done after the girls are in bed.”

The grin fell off his chief of communications’s face. With a little squawk, she bolted upright in her chair and waved both hands in a frantic negative. Maggie must have caught the strangled sound. Hastily, she terminated the conversation before either Nick or Mackenzie could weasel out.

“Great! See you both then.”

The thump of her receiver dropping down echoed through the speakers. The communications techs manning their posts turned away to hide their grins as their chief shoved out of her chair, planted both palms on the console, and directed an evil glare at her boss.

“Thanks a lot! I’m still flaking green dandruff from the last time I baby-sat for Maggie and Adam. Jilly swore that spray-on hair paint would wash out with a good shampoo.”

“Serves you right for not reading the directions on the can first.”

“Jilly said they’d tested it on Radizwell.”

“Well, that explains the dog’s new shaved-to-the-skin look,” Nick drawled. “Normally his coat is so thick Adam has to use pruning shears to cut it.”

Realizing he was less than sympathetic to either her or the sheepdog’s misadventures with Jilly’s paint can, Mackenzie changed tactics.

“You might consult me before volunteering my services as a baby-sitter,” she huffed. “I could have plans for tonight.”

“Do you?”

He knew the answer before she pursed her lips and shot him another nasty look.

Everyone at OMEGA agreed their chief of communications was a wizard at all things electronic. Since taking over the job, she’d provided field agents with miniaturized devices powerful enough to drop do-wrongs with a single zap, capture the smallest images in stunning digital detail from miles away and detect sounds as soft as a sneaker tread two floors down.

Everyone at OMEGA also agreed Mackenzie Blair needed to get a life. A short, disastrous marriage to another navy officer had spurred her decision to opt out of the military. It had also left her distinctly wary of entanglements. Since joining the OMEGA team, she’d spent most of her waking hours on the job. From all indications, her social life was nonexistent. Nick knew for a fact her evening meals usually consisted of pizza or fast food scarfed down right here at the control center.

More and more of late, he’d found himself contemplating ways to add variety to her diet…and spice up her social life. Particularly after a recent mission in San Antonio, when Mackenzie had stepped out of her role of chief of communications and into the arms of an overmuscled building contractor who’d hired a hit man to murder his wife. She’d snuggled up to the bastard, wearing a low cut dress that spiked the temperature of every male within a fifty-yard radius. Nick’s temperature had shot off the charts, as well. So, it seemed, had his objectivity where this green-eyed brunette was concerned.

Not that she had any clue how much she’d come to occupy his thoughts. Nick was her boss. For the time being, anyway. His professional code of ethics wouldn’t allow him to hit on someone who worked for him. Hers, he knew, had been shaped by her years in the navy, where fraternization between the ranks was strictly taboo.

But when Maggie had her baby and returned to work, Nick thought with a sudden tightening in his groin, he fully intended to make his move.

If Maggie ever came back to work, that is.

The prospects were looking dimmer and dimmer with each passing month and additional project she became involved with. As she’d informed Nick on several occasions, he might just have to get used to serving as OMEGA’s director. Shoving that thought aside, he offered the still reluctant Mackenzie a bribe.

“Why don’t I fix us dinner at Maggie and Adam’s place? I’ll bring the ingredients. And the wine,” he added, remembering an especially fine white he’d just added to his private cellar.

She hesitated for several moments. Nick read the doubt in her eyes. Like him, she’d sensed the subtle changes in their relationship over the past few months. Unlike him, she hadn’t yet made up her mind what to do about it.

“Dinner sounds good,” she conceded, but in the next breath made it clear she intended to keep matters strictly professional. “As you said, we can use the time to get some work done. I want to wait for Ace to check in before I leave, though. He’s scheduled to transmit a status report at six forty-five, our time.”

Nick nodded. He’d spoken with Ace yesterday and knew the agent had as yet turned up no leads as to the saboteurs responsible for the explosions that ripped through several oil refineries in Saudi Arabia. The outraged Saudis had put a million dollar bounty on the person or persons responsible for the bombings. So far, the reward hadn’t produced any results. Nor, it appeared, had Ace, who was slogging it out undercover in the oil fields with his Saudi counterpart.

“Contact me immediately if the report doesn’t come through.”

At the whiplike command, OMEGA’s chief of communications snapped to attention and popped a salute. “Aye-aye, Skipper!”

Nick’s features relaxed into a grin. “As you were, Blair. See you at seven.”

The man moved like a lion, Mackenzie decided as he strolled out of the control center. All supreme confidence, sleek muscle and lethal grace. He looked like one, too, damn him. Forget the cashmere sports coats. Never mind the silk ties and Italian leather shoes. With his dark gold hair and tanned skin, he would have been right at home roaming the African plains.

Well, Mackenzie had let one too-handsome beast maul both her heart and her pride. She wasn’t about to let another get close enough to sink his teeth in.

She dropped back into her chair, her mouth twisting in wry acknowledgment. Okay, so maybe her pride had suffered more than her heart. Even before she returned early from a cruise and caught her ex in bed with their well-endowed neighbor, Mackenzie had accepted the bitter fact that their marriage was over. She would have chosen a more civilized way to end it, though.

The mere memory of the very hard, very swift knee she’d planted in David’s groin when he’d grabbed her arm and tried to force her to listen to his pathetic excuses was enough to produce a grin. Whistling cheerfully, she went back to work.

Later that evening, Mackenzie used the short drive to Maggie and Adam’s house to prepare herself. She respected Adam, who’d served as OMEGA’s director before Maggie, but her loyalty was to his wife, who’d hired her right out of the navy. Mackenzie considered Maggie her friend as well as her mentor. What’s more, she thoroughly enjoyed the tales of Chameleon’s outrageous exploits the other OMEGA agents frequently repeated and, she suspected, greatly exaggerated.

Friend or no friend, however, no one entered Maggie and Adam’s elegant Georgetown residence without putting themselves in a mental brace. Controlled mayhem was the kindest way—the only way!—to describe their chaotic household.

Maggie’s pet iguana was bad enough. The thing was the size of a small dog, had a foot-long tongue and devoured plants, newspaper and shoes indiscriminately. Making matters worse was a pony-size Hungarian sheepdog, a gift from the vice president who’d wanted desperately to get rid of the oversize, overfriendly beast.

Unfortunately, Radizwell had recently developed a bad case of the hots for the blue-and-orange, bugeyed iguana. He was always trying to hump the hissing, spitting lizard. His enthusiastic efforts wreaked havoc on nearby furniture, had Adam gritting his teeth and made Maggie’s small daughters shriek with laughter. Mackenzie didn’t even want to think about the stories four-year-old Jilly shared with her friends and teachers at nursery school.

When she pulled into the circular drive leading to Adam and Maggie’s two-story home, she saw Nick had already arrived. She pulled up behind his Jag, trying hard not to drool over its gleaming black beauty, and made for the front door. Adam Ridgeway, code name Thunder, answered the tinkling call of the chimes.

Mackenzie gulped. Nick Jensen in tan cashmere and navy slacks was enough to make any woman swallow her tongue. Adam Ridgeway in white tie and tails could make her forget she ever had one.

If Mackenzie hadn’t sworn off men for the foreseeable future…

If this suave, aristocratic Bostonian wasn’t married to her idol…

If he weren’t carrying one dark-haired cherub in the crook of his right arm and had another tucked under his left…

“’Kenzie!”

The squeal came from the youngest, a bright-eyed two-year-old. Thrusting out her chubby arms, she demanded an instant embrace. With a smile for Adam, Mackenzie gathered Samantha into her arms. Her smile took a quick downward tilt when an ear-shattering woof boomed through the hall. Whirling, Adam rapped out a sharp command.

“No!”

Radizwell put out all four paws and tried to stop. He really tried. Claws clicking on the slick tiles, he slid a good three yards before careening past Adam, who managed to dodge him at the last second.

The dog recovered and looked up adoringly at Mackenzie, who’d been known to slip him forbidden delights during previous visits. His near-hairless body quivered from nose to tail. Without his thick, shaggy coat, the poor thing looked more like a newly shorn sheep than a sheepdog, but he was still big enough to knock over a dump truck.

“Downstairs,” Adam ordered, pointing to an open door halfway down the hall. Radizwell gave a long, mournful whine.

“Now!”

Throwing piteous looks over his shoulder, the animal plopped down on his belly and inched across the tiles. He paused at the open door, gave another whine and slunk down the stairs.

Mackenzie watched him disappear with some trepidation. She knew the stairs led down to Maggie’s luxurious office, where her mentor had just finished revisions to her groundbreaking tome on infant phonetics. She also knew Terence the iguana considered the office his personal domain. Mackenzie only hoped the lizard wasn’t currently occupying his favorite perch on Maggie’s desk. The horny sheepdog would go nuts trying to get at him.

“Don’t worry,” Adam said, guessing the direction of her thoughts. “Terence is upstairs in the girls’ playroom. With the door locked. I promise you and Nick a little peace tonight. As much as you can hope for,” he amended, ruffling his eldest daughter’s curls, “with this demolitions expert-in-training and her sister to contend with.”

Jilly giggled at what she obviously considered a high compliment and raised only a token protest when her father firmly closed the door leading to the basement. The sheepdog was her willing slave. She’d ride his back, dress him in her parents’ clothing, spray paint his fur. Tonight, though, she had ’Kenzie to play with. And her uncle Nick.

“Nick and Maggie are in the kitchen,” Adam informed Mackenzie. “The unprincipled rogue is seducing my wife with wild mushrooms.”

“No, daddy,” Jilly protested. “Uncle Nick can’t s’duce mommy. She’s already got a baby in her tummy. You put it there, remember?”

“As a matter of fact,” he replied, grinning at his precocious child, “I do.”

Dodging doll carriages, umbrellas and the tumbled plastic walls of a medieval castle, they made their way past an exquisite bombé chest topped by a gilt mirror that had once reflected the image of a Hungarian princess. An inch-thick Aubusson runner in rich ruby tones absorbed their footsteps.

When they entered the kitchen at the rear of the house, laughter drifted out to greet them, along with a host of tantalizing aromas. Even Mackenzie, whose taste ran to pizza, tacos and the occasional well-done rib eye, sniffed appreciatively. Hefting Samantha higher on her hip, she paused to survey the scene.

As always, the warmth and elegance of the kitchen/breakfast room/family area reached out to grab at her heart. It ran the whole back of the house. Tall French doors opened out on an English garden, complete with brick walks, boxwood hedges, glorious roses and a Victorian-style gazebo where the girls held their tea parties.

Inside the kitchen, everything was blue, white and bright, sunshiny yellow. Delftware plates decorated the walls. Colorful chintz covered the seat cushions and draped the windows. Copper glinted, and a large brick fireplace made her long for cold winter nights and a bright, blazing fire.

Someday, Mackenzie thought. Someday maybe she’d have a home like this and bright-eyed imps like Jilly and Samantha to wrap her arms and her heart around. And a completely besotted husband like Adam, whose interests did not extend to his neighbor’s wife.

Or to supermodels and movie starlets.

A little crease formed between her brows as her glance went to the tall, broad-shouldered chef working his magic at the cooking island. Nick had shed his tie and jacket, but his deep tan, monogrammed shirt and knife-pleated gray slacks screamed wealth and sophistication. It was hard to picture him burrowing through mud and under concertina wire to take down a gunrunner. Harder still to imagine him giving up his string of pricey restaurants and globe-trotting lifestyle to become a stay-at-home dad, as Adam Ridgeway had done the first few years after Jillian’s birth.

Mackenzie could, on the other hand, easily picture him in the role he seemed so well suited for. If even half the stories in the tabloids were to be believed, Nick Jensen was a world-class lover. Every cover girl and screen goddess he’d been paired with over the years gushed about his seductive charm, his generosity, his solicitous attention. In and out of bed.

Not that she was the least interested in that particular aspect of her boss. Even if she wasn’t still cautious after her divorce, her years in the navy had conditioned her to avoid anything that smacked of fooling around within the ranks. She’d have to be crazy to even think about wrestling the man down to the floor and having her way with him.

Nick looked up at that moment and caught her frown. “Don’t worry, Comm. You’ll like it.”

For a startled moment, she thought he’d read her mind. “Huh?”

“The appetizer,” he said, nodding to a laden silver tray. “This is my own recipe for sherry mushrooms en croûte. You’ll like it.”

“Don’t believe him!”

Maggie rounded the counter. Eight months pregnant and stunning in a floor-length gown of royal blue, she held out a toothpicked appetizer.

“You’ll love it! Here, sink your teeth into this.”

The featherlight pastry melted on Mackenzie’s tongue. If those were mushrooms inside, they sure fooled her. The succulent morsels had a dark, rich flavor she’d never tasted before.

“And to think we’ll be dining tonight on under-cooked prime rib and overcooked broccoli.” Sighing, Maggie speared another pastry and popped it into her mouth.

Nick gave her an amused look. “You should have convinced the awards committee to hold the banquet at my restaurant, as I suggested.”

“Are you kidding? Despite your offer to feed us at cost, not even the International Monetary Fund can afford dinner for three hundred at Nick’s.”