Sudden Alliance

“It’s time you settled down, got married. Your life is too risky, Liam. It’s time you grew up.”

Liam kissed Willie’s leathery cheek. “Thanks for worrying about me, Will, but I’m fine.”

“Don’t think you can use your Irish charm on me,” she said, but the smile in her eyes betrayed her words. “You’ll be thirty-four in June. Time to get married. Settle down like your sisters.”

“I’ll marry you tomorrow, Willie, if you’ll have me.”

Her mouth curled and her eyes twinkled. “Ah, if I were forty years younger, I’d give you a run for your money.”

Liam heard her chuckle as he helped her into her yellow hooded slicker. She was still grinning when she grabbed her medical bag.

“If anything changes, give me a holler.”

“I will,” he said, “and thanks for coming over so soon.” His thoughts turned back to the woman lying upstairs. Thank God she hadn’t been raped. Yet whatever had spooked her might have been as traumatic or worse. He followed Willie toward the porch steps, preparing to walk her to her cottage.

“Stay where you are,” she said, pulling the hood over her short gray curls. “I’ve been making my way around these dunes since you were a twinkle in your ma’s eye.” She stomped down the porch steps, as agile as a woman half her age. “Get some sleep, Liam. You’re still as handsome as sin, but you look as tired as I feel.”

He chuckled softly. “’Night, Willie.”

“Don’t forget your niece’s baptism is at one o’clock. Maureen will be sorely disappointed if you miss it.” Willie’s voice rang with spirit. “See you in church.”

Liam nodded, then watched until the old woman disappeared behind the shoulder-high clumps of sea grass that sprouted from the shifting dunes between the O’Shea summer cottage and Willie’s place at the end of the road.

He was about to shut off the porch light when Bridget’s footfalls on the stairs caught his attention. He looked up to see her walking toward him, a pair of scuffed running shoes in her hand. “I laid a change of clean clothing out for her in her room. I think we’re close to the same size.” Bridget looked up. “Did Willie leave already?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Think I should go after Willie to be sure she gets home okay?” he asked.

Bridget frowned, brushing past him. “Heaven forbid! She’s like a mountain goat along the dunes.” She laid the shoes on the welcome mat, inside the door. “Besides, you’d hurt her feelings. She’d think you decided she was getting old.” Bridget straightened, bracing her hands at the small of her back as she studied him. “I’m so glad you’re finally home.” She moved toward him, then put her palm on his shoulder as if she needed to feel him to be sure he was really there. “Even if it’s only for a few days.”

He gave a deep sigh. “One day, I’m afraid, sis. I planned to head back to New York late tonight.”

Bridget withdrew her hand and glared at him. “Damn it, Liam. David and the girls and all our sisters and their families will be here in a few hours.” She swallowed, as though fighting back her temper. “You haven’t been home in two years. And that was for Mom’s funeral.”

Liam knew the issue wasn’t that he was away from the family, but that Bridget feared what had happened to Stewart would happen to him. He waited, giving his sister the time she needed to pull herself together.

“How’s the patient?” he asked when she had quieted, purposely changing the subject.

“When I left her, she was asleep.” Bridget leaned on the porch railing, gazing across the driveway at the silvery wisps of fog hovering among the shadowy pines. When she turned back to him, her eyes were thoughtful. “You’ve been bringing home strays ever since you were old enough to crawl. But you’re going to have your hands full with this one, brother.”

Surprised, he frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

Bridget pursed her lips. “I wonder what our mystery lady was running from?” One eyebrow lifted. “I hope you don’t get involved, Liam. She’s in a lot of trouble.”

Liam completely agreed. Yet he didn’t want his sister to worry. “There you go, conjuring up your Celtic dark side.” He put his arm around her and gently guided her toward the stairs. “Get some rest while your patient sleeps. Wake me in a few hours and I’ll take over.”

Bridget shot him a look over her shoulder. “Don’t think you can dismiss me this easily, Liam. For all we know, we may be harboring a fugitive. She might be putting us in danger.”

“Or she’s an innocent victim who needs our help.”

Bridget blinked back a rush of sudden emotion. “The trouble with you, Liam, is you’re attracted to danger. You always have been, even when you were little.” Her voice was sharp and accusing. “Why can’t you enjoy a normal job? Your friends Al and Francie love adventure, too. But they joined the police force. At least they can have a family life, live here on the island. No, my brother has to chase danger all over the globe—” Her voice broke and she turned away.

Liam knew that his teammate’s death had affected all his sisters, but Bridget was the most sensitive. Her husband was Stewart’s brother, after all. Yet Liam knew her anger would be piling up between them unless he faced this straight on. “Bridget, I’m not Stewart. You heard him say that when a bullet has your name on it, there’s nothing you can do.”

She snorted. “Do you really believe that? Do you think his wife and daughter believe that? I know you and your partners at TALON-6 have tried to make it up to Liz and Bailey. Paying for Bailey’s education and looking out for her under everyone’s watchful eye while she works as a receptionist for TALON-6 is very noble. But don’t you think Bailey and her mother would rather have Stewart back in a heartbeat than—” Her eyes narrowed and she took a deep breath. “Dear God, I didn’t want to get into this, but now that I have—” Bridget’s eyes glittered with anger. “You know what I think? I think Stewart was a selfish bastard who never grew up. His place was with Liz and Bailey, not on a secret mission in some Colombian jungle fighting the—” Her anger gave way to tears, and she swiped at her eyes. “Damn it, Liam. You were right there with him. It might have been you when that rocket fired—”

He drew her into a hug. “Liz knew who Stewart was when she married him. She loved him anyway.”

Bridget pulled away, then took a hankie from her sweater pocket and wiped her eyes. When her tears had stopped, he added, “I don’t want you to worry, but I can’t live your play-it-safe life just because you and the family want me to. If you can’t accept me for who I am, sis, then I’m sorry. But I’m very good at what I do. I’ve been trained by the best our government has to offer. Since I’ve joined TALON-6, I can protect innocent people against the most inhuman situations.”

She swallowed. “You’re also a hopeless adrenaline junkie.” She forced a weak smile. “Of course I’m proud of you, Liam.” Her lips twisted. “I’m just so afraid for you.”

He squeezed her hand. “Trust me.”

Bridget shot him a look. “I better get back to our patient.”

He sighed as he watched her climb the stairs. Damn, he loved her, but how could he expect his sisters to understand? Thank God he’d made the choice never to marry.

Most people didn’t understand the covert operations so necessary in today’s world. How could they? Most of the top-secret surveillance equipment he’d designed was unknown to the general public. Information technology was of prime importance to military power, and working for agencies like TALON-6 provided him the opportunity to do what he did best. But Stewart had understood.

Liam’s stomach clenched like a fist as the memory of that Colombian night four years ago slammed into his brain. As though it were yesterday, he could still feel the sweat drip down his body, smell the rotting, fecund earth and hear the screeching of monkeys in the treetops as the TALON-6 team slipped silently through the dark, wet jungle toward the guerilla camp of the National Liberation Army, or ELN.

In record time, they’d wended their way past sleeping and half-drunken guards, to rescue the DEA agent held prisoner. Once they had cut the man loose from his cage, they’d carried him back, retracing their path through the mountains.

Like clockwork, the night op had gone successfully, according to plan. Too successfully, they’d soon discovered. As the team had crisscrossed the jungle on ancient footpaths, an ambush was waiting. Stewart, in rear guard position, his .308 Remington 700 sniper rifle held to his shoulder, had shuffle-stepped backward, waiting to draw a bead on the first ELN guerilla who showed himself. For an exceptionally large man—six foot five and two hundred eighty pounds of muscle—he’d moved deceptively fast.

Within three hundred yards of where their Blackhawk helicopter waited, a Russian B-40 rocket had sailed overhead and, with an earth-shattering blast, made a direct hit on the tree beside Stewart. Wood splinters and shrapnel had sliced the predawn air in a bloody dance of death. Moments earlier, Liam would have taken the hit.

He had made the first move, opening fire with a steady hail of bullets from his M-60. “We’ve got to get Stewart,” he had screamed as strong arms dragged him aboard the copter.

“He’s gone, Liam,” the team officer, Mike Landis, had said.”

“No, we’ve got to bring him back.” Liam had turned to leap out of the open hatch just as the copter lifted and swerved, narrowly missing another rocket.

The explosion had lit up the ground, revealing scores of guerillas in camouflage fatigues swarming from the jungle. Gunfire had strafed the gray dawn as the Blackhawk pulled away from what was now a burning inferno.

Their mission had been successful. The TALON-6 team had rescued the DEA agent from ELN.

Liam closed his eyes. Four years. He’d thought he’d gotten past the haunting memories that were burned into his soul. Maybe he never would.

Was Stewart a junkie who’d needed an even higher dose of adrenaline to keep feeling good? Or had he taken on the dangerous jobs and fed off the danger to get the job done? And would a real adrenaline addict be able to tell the difference?

WHEN LIAM RETURNED to the living room awhile later, the collie was stretched out on the couch, ears pointed, claiming his territory. “Okay, Bounder. Get up. You’re sleeping on the porch.”

The dog studied him as Liam walked to the porch doorway and pointed to the stuffed rattan settee. The collie bounded playfully on the couch, as if enjoying the game.

Liam’s gaze dropped to the scuffed running shoes lying on the mat. Her shoes. He picked up the right sneaker and examined it. A small pocket, fastened with Velcro, ran along the top of the padded tongue. He ripped open the fastener. There, inside, was a key with a tag. His curiosity rose a notch as he moved toward the living room light and peered at the tag. Sand Dune Motel, 26.

So the mystery lady was staying at the only motel open this time of year in Bellwood. He slid the key into his hip pocket as he strode toward the telephone directory in the hall desk drawer.

Chapter Two

She opened her eyes and stared at the white ceiling. Far off, birds were chirping. She turned her head toward the sound. Tie-back white curtains fluttered at the slightly opened window. The air felt cold and smelled of the sea. She tried to sit up, but when the pounding in her head got worse, she dropped back on the starched pillowcase.

Her hand flew to her forehead, and she was surprised to find a bandage covering a lump on her temple. Her legs ached and she noticed her hands were bandaged, too. Her heart hammered as panic exploded inside her.

Where was she? Why couldn’t she remember how she’d gotten here? Worse, who was she? She raked her mind for answers but found nothing. She stared around the room for clues. Model airplanes hung from the ceiling. Posters of rock stars covered one wall. Black hockey skates and a West Point sports jacket hung from a peg.

What was she doing in a man’s room? The ghostly image of a tall, dark-haired stranger shattered the cobwebs of her mind. He wasn’t a ghost but a real man, the man who had rescued her in the fog. His voice had been low and gentle. I want to help you. Yes, she remembered his voice, deep yet kind. Was this his room?

Why couldn’t she remember anything else? Had she driven here? She couldn’t recall if she owned a car. Another wave of panic shook her and she forced herself to think, but her mind roared like a hollow drum. Uncertainty combated with instinct. Somehow she felt safe here, yet at the same time she knew she was in danger. Until she knew what was going on, how could she trust anyone? She had to get away. She had to run.

She bolted from the bed, almost tripping on the long nightgown she wore. Flannel. Nothing she recognized. On the top of the oak dresser were a pair of jeans, a yellow T-shirt and underwear, all neatly folded. Were they hers? If not, then whose? They didn’t look familiar, but, then, nothing did.

Slowly, she forced her feet to move, not wanting to repeat the thunderbolt of pain through her skull. When her toes reached the hooked rug in the middle of the room, she noticed the mirror over the dresser. Carefully, she inched forward until she could see into the looking glass.

She gave a sharp intake of breath as she stared at herself. Beneath her bandaged forehead, wide green eyes gazed back at her. Long, tangled red hair hung down her shoulders. Despite her scratches and bruises, she didn’t think she was seriously hurt, except for her pounding head. And the panic that she was a virtual stranger!

Who am I? I must have a name! “My name is…” Seconds ticked into minutes as she struggled to remember. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to focus. Tears sprang to her eyes as she fought off the panic.

From nowhere came the sharp image of a flash of white light, with the sound of screaming…a woman’s screams.

Danger exploded through her veins. She tasted the metallic fear in her mouth as she remembered the feeling of terror. Run! Run! Run for your life!

She had to get away! Her fingers shook as she jerked the nightgown over her head. Her bandaged hands trembled as she tore into the pile of neatly folded clothing. The fresh smell of laundry soap rushed at her as she yanked the T-shirt over her head and dressed hurriedly in the jeans. Blessedly, they fit. When she’d finished, she pulled her hair back from her face and turned around, searching for her shoes. The sudden movement brought her stomach jumping into her throat. She grabbed on to the side of the dresser until the room stopped spinning. She had to get away before they—before they…what? Who was she afraid of?

Unable to find her shoes, she made her way barefoot to the door. Twisting the knob slowly, she quietly pulled it open and peered up and down the wallpapered corridor. The stairway was a few feet to the left. Listening, she heard nothing except the tick-tick of the grandfather clock at the end of the hallway.

Was she alone in the house? She couldn’t take the chance of being seen. Somehow, she knew that much. She tiptoed toward the stairs. The smooth wood felt cold beneath her tender feet. As she crept downstairs, the third step creaked loudly. She paused, then glanced behind her.

When no one appeared, she continued until she reached the bottom step. Only then did she dare glance around. The living room was to the right; straight ahead was the front door, with a window through which she could see a screened porch and trees beyond the driveway. Her heart hammered in her chest as she tiptoed across the shiny oak floor toward the porch.

“Well, top o’ the morning, Sara Elizabeth Regis.”

Startled, she jumped as a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out from the living room to block her path. The man in the fog. In daylight, he seemed large enough to fill the doorway. His thumbs were looped in the front pockets of his jeans, and he was naked from the waist up.

Fear shattered her insides as she stared at him. His face would be considered handsome except for those sapphire eyes that glinted dangerously. He was smiling, but his eyes didn’t know it. His face was deeply tanned, as was all of his upper body. A black shadow of a beard covered his strong, sweeping jaw. When he folded his arms across his wide chest, his biceps bulged.

“Let me not forget my manners. I’m Liam O’Shea.” He dangled a key in front of her. “Before I give you back your key, you and I are going for a little ride.”

ARIEL ZIEGLER, known as Ziggy to the family, pulled the Cadillac into the no-parking zone in front of the Sand Dune Motel. Above the door marked Office a vacancy sign flashed on and off. He turned to his brother Vinny, who slouched beside him in the passenger seat. “Stay in the car,” Ziggy muttered. “Leave this to me, see?”

Vinny swung his head up and glared at him. “An’ why the hell should you go an’ not me?”

Ziggy glanced at the rearview mirror and smiled widely, checking his teeth. Satisfied, he frowned back at his brother. “’Cause this job takes finesse.”

“Finesse?” Vinny almost spat the word. “I got finesse!”

Ziggy ignored him as he tugged at the cuffs of his navy jacket and adjusted his gold cuff links. “Stay here with your trap shut and your eyes open. If you see her, come and warn me.”

Vinny folded his arms and slumped farther down in the leather seat. “Hurry back. I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.” Ziggy slid from the driver’s seat and slammed the car door. He glanced again along the row of nearly vacant motel units. Only six cars were in sight on this side of the building. Perfect. Slight chance anyone would be around to notice, just in case the redhead was still here. If she recognized him, he’d have to act fast and that might spell trouble.

He strolled leisurely up the paved walk toward the glassed entrance. When he saw his reflection in the window, he slicked his hair back with his hand.

The skinny young punk behind the registration desk looked up when Ziggy sauntered to the counter. He chuckled. Hell, this would be like taking a lollipop from a kid.

“Hi there,” Ziggy said easily, placing his hand on the counter as he read the punk’s name tag. Harold. Ziggy flashed his three-carat diamond pinkie ring directly in front of the kid. “Say, Harold. I wonder if you can help me.” Before the youth could answer, Ziggy pressed on. “I found an expensive camera. Foreign job. The owner is a tall redhead.” Ziggy gestured, the universal sign language for a well-built broad. “She’s stacked, if you know what I mean. About twenty-five or so. She left the camera and case along the shore early today. I think she’s stayin’ here.”

“Sorry, sir. That information is strictly confidential.”

Ziggy clenched both fists on the counter. His forearm muscles bulged, straining the seams of his suit.

Harold’s eyes bugged and he swallowed nervously. “Uh, what’s the lady’s name?”

Ziggy swallowed a laugh. “Well, that’s the trouble, Harold. If I knew, I’d call her up myself. But while she was taking pictures of seagulls, I was, ah, watching her.” He smiled for effect. “She has long, long legs and I’ve always been fond of redheads.” He glanced around the alcove where the kid was standing, making sure they were alone. “I was hoping to leave my number, and when she realized that I’d found her camera equipment, well…” He winked, hoping the dumb kid got his drift. “I’m sure the lady would be most appreciative.”

“I’d be happy to hold the camera for her here at the desk. If you’d like to include a note, I’ll be sure she gets it.”

Ziggy bit back a coarse oath. “Just tell me her name and room number, kid. I want to handle this myself.”

Ziggy took another breath as the kid hesitated, deciding whether or not to tell him. Ziggy felt like punching the little creep in the puss. But instead, he pulled a roll of bills from his hip pocket and peeled a C-note from the top. “Here, Harold,” he said, slapping the bill on the counter. “Take your girl out tonight on me.” He winked again, then smiled when the clerk’s eyes widened at the prospect of keeping the hundred-dollar bill.

Harold glanced around the empty reception area, then looked at the crisp bill. He snatched at the cash and slid it into his back pocket. “Just a minute, sir. I’ll print out a copy of her registration form.”

The clerk spun around and punched in some keys at the computer. Within a minute, the printer whirred as the report appeared from the top of the machine.

“Here you are, sir.” The youth darted another glance around the empty lobby before he slid the copy across the counter to him.

Ziggy read her name and room number, then smiled. He pulled out a white card he had previously prepared. “Don’t you forget to give this number to Sara before she checks out, you hear?” He couldn’t quite keep his face straight as he handed the card to the clerk.

“Yes, sir.”

Ziggy’s smile faded and he suddenly glowered. “If she doesn’t call me, I’ll be back, and I’ll collect every dollar from your hide. Understand?”

Harold’s eyes widened, and damn if his skinny face didn’t turn chalky white. Ziggy chuckled as he turned and made his way toward the glass entrance. “Have a nice day, kid!” he yelled over his shoulder before he pushed open the door.

Vinny was playing the car radio when Ziggy climbed back into the front seat. “Shut that off,” he ordered, pulling out his cell phone.

“You’re not the boss,” Vinny muttered, his attention on the numbers that his brother was punching into the phone. Damn, why hadn’t the boss given his phone number to him, too? Vinny scowled, but turned off the radio, more interested in listening to his older brother’s conversation.

“Yeah. It’s me,” Ziggy said into the receiver. “I found her.”

Vinny felt a rush of excitement. He was glad his brother had chosen him as his partner. But he couldn’t let Ziggy know how much this job meant to him. Vinny needed a chance to show his big brother how clever he was. And this job was big. So big that it would sweep them into the big time. When this was over, he’d be known as Vincent Ziegler, not Ziggy Ziegler’s little brother.

Ziggy’s eyes glowed with satisfaction as he nodded. “Sure, boss. You got it.” He looked at Vinny and smiled as he snapped the lid over the phone and slid it in his breast pocket. “We get to whack her.”

Vinny took in a deep breath to cover his excitement. “How?”

Ziggy almost beamed. “Boss says he doesn’t want to know.” His smile widened, white teeth shining. “Still got those jack-in-the-boxes in the trunk from your last job?”

Vinny tried to act cool. “Yeah.”

Ziggy nodded. “Then let’s get to work.” He glanced at the printout, then at the blue Ford Sedan parked at the end of a line of cars behind the motel. It took him only seconds to confirm the license number. “Come on, Vinny. Let’s see how good you really are. I’ll give you three minutes to wire that bomb under the hood.”

“SARA REGIS? You’re saying that’s my name?” She felt a rush of hope.

Liam’s dark blue eyes looked almost black when he shot her a sidelong glance from the driver’s seat as the red convertible tore down the road. “You tell me,” he said finally.

His answer confused her. Earlier, the man had seemed willing to help her. Now it seemed as if he didn’t trust her.

“I—I don’t know who I am. If you know anything about me, please tell me.” She studied him, her hands fighting the long windblown strands of red hair that blew in her face. Finally she wrapped her hair into a thick rope, aware of his darting glances as she tucked the coil inside the neck of her T-shirt.

The way his eyes darkened as he watched her made her breath catch. Sara became aware that the T-shirt she wore seemed snug against the full rise of her breasts.

His hands tensed at the wheel, but he kept his voice even. “I called the motel where you’re staying. It’s down the road about five miles, in case you’re wondering.” He darted a glance at her, as if waiting for her reaction. When she gave none, he continued. “The desk clerk wouldn’t tell me the occupant’s name in unit 26, so I asked him to ring your room and he put me through to your voice mail. By that time it was a little after 6:00 a.m. I figured if someone was staying with you, they would have answered the phone. So I drove over and looked around.”