Crossfire

Elizabeth crossed to the little bed a few feet from him, then meticulously folded back the bedspread. Only when she finished did she turn to him, and when she did, she quickly stepped back, as though she’d just realized how close the two beds really were.

If she moved two steps, she’d be standing between his thighs.

For a moment she just looked at him, at his bare chest where the ugly scar was a brutal reminder of how little she gave a damn about him. Then slowly she lifted her eyes to his.

“I suppose you think you’re the gray?”

“I don’t fit into preconceived notions.” If he had, if he was a gentleman like Nicholas, he’d be wearing a pair of pale blue pajamas, with the top buttoned all the way up to his throat, not lounging there more naked than not. “I don’t play by the rules.”

“No,” she agreed with brutal speed, then turned and practically yanked back the crisp white sheet. “You fly by the seat of your pants.”

And finally they’d reached the heart of the matter.

“It’s not a crime.”

Elizabeth stiffened, kept staring at the bed. He could tell she was on the verge of collapse, that she wanted nothing more than to crawl between the sheets and shut her eyes, wake up in a time and place where Hawk Monroe had never rocked her world.

Finally she looked at him through a curtain of damp scraggly hair. “I never said it was.”

“Tell me how you’d rather me act. Tell me what would make you more comfortable.”

Across the room the baseball announcer signaled a grand slam, but neither of them looked. Elizabeth just stared at him, no doubt considering a comeback. She’d be more comfortable if Zhukov was still behind bars and this nightmare had never started. She’d be more comfortable if Aaron or Jagger had been sent to bring her home.

She’d be more comfortable if the bullet that had ripped into his shoulder four months before had landed a few inches lower.

“Look, Hawk,” she said. “We’re adults. Can’t we just—”

“Pretend that night didn’t happen?” That’s what would make her more comfortable, he realized. If he’d never touched her. Never made her sigh.

Never made her come unglued.

“No,” he answered before she could. “I can’t do that. I don’t pretend.” That was the coward’s way out.

She frowned. “I made a mistake, Wesley. Nothing less, nothing more.”

Nothing.

Less.

Nothing.

More.

The seven most incredible hours of his life.

Nothing less, nothing more.

The burn started deep, spread fast. “If that was a mistake,” he said slowly, pointedly, “it wasn’t just one.”

Her eyes flared wide, and the memory flickered, burned hot. Color rose to her cheeks, much like the flush that had consumed her chest after they’d first made love.

“You don’t have to throw it in my face,” she said quietly, and if Hawk didn’t know better, he would have sworn her voice sounded more than a little breathless.

“Throw it in your face?” He aimed the remote at the television and killed the power. “We’re not talking about some heinous crime, Elizabeth.” But to her, he knew that they were. “We’re talking about you, and me, and why you’re scared to be in the same room with me.”

And why that room suddenly felt incredibly hot.

“Wesley, please.” She pushed the damp hair back from her face. “Let it go. I have.”

He looked into her eyes, searched deep. “Have you, Ellie? Have you really?”

The room was excruciatingly quiet now, the television no longer blaring. If he listened carefully, he would have sworn he heard her heart pounding.

Or maybe that was his own.

“Yes,” she said, not with the clip he’d come to expect, but with a complete lack of emotion that burned even deeper.

“I suppose that’s why you kissed me tonight like you never wanted to let me go?”

Something odd flickered in her gaze, a light that vanished more quickly than the shooting star they’d seen one hot summer night two years before. “Don’t confuse adrenaline with desire,” she said softly. “There’s a difference.”

A hard sound broke from his throat. “You think so?” For a minute, he thought about telling how in explicit detail just how wrong she was, but he knew she wouldn’t listen. So instead he slammed his fist against the pathetic excuse for a pillow, then stretched out on the mattress. He didn’t pull the covers over him, though. The room was too damn hot.

“Get some sleep, Ellie,” he said, reaching over to flick off the bedside lamp. “I’m here if you need me.”

The heater rattled relentlessly, interrupted only by the occasional airplane taking to the skies. The curtains blocked most of the light from the parking lot, but a sliver cut through, casting the man with the gun in shadow. She watched him standing there, alert and ready, still wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. His shoulders rose and fell with each deep, rhythmic breath he drew. The sound thrummed through her, and before she realized it, she’d matched his cadence.

Frowning, she was tempted to turn away, to face the sallow wall instead of the man who stood rigidly by the window, but knew better than to turn her back on Hawk Monroe.

If that was a mistake, it wasn’t just one.

Even now, hours later, the words made her shift uncomfortably, acutely aware that she was naked beneath his shirt. The blunt statement had caught her completely off guard, even though she knew Hawk Monroe wasn’t a man to mince words. She’d never known anyone with such a complete disregard for propriety.

I’m here if you need me.

That’s what worried her.

Two years before, she’d realized a truth, made herself a promise. A promise she intended to keep. Never would she allow herself to dance naked in a thunderstorm ever, ever again.

Impulse seduced, but in the end it also destroyed.

Early-morning sun glistened off the sleek Lear jet. Standing in the cool Canadian breeze, Elizabeth nursed a cup of coffee while Hawk conducted his preflight inspection of her father’s prized possession. The Lear had been in the family for seven years, giving them the flexibility and security to travel without the hassle of commercial airlines.

Elizabeth loved flying. She loved the freedom of soaring above the clouds. She loved the vastness. She loved the suspension from reality.

You want to learn how?

To fly? Are you kidding?

I’d never kid about something so important to you.

Hawk stood near one of the engines, touching and feeling like every good pilot did. It never ceased to fascinate her how a man who lived for the thrill of the moment could be so meticulous when it came to his job. He left no detail, no nuance to chance. The Army had taught him that, he’d told her once. Even a small miscalculation or oversight could result in hideous consequences.

He was all business this morning, decked out in faded jeans and a khaki shirt, a well-worn leather bomber jacket. Mirrored aviator sunglasses hid his eyes. She accepted the change, welcomed it. They’d both be better off if they could get back to Richmond without trying to overanalyze their relationship.

Relationship. The word scraped something deep inside, jarred her in ways she didn’t understand, wasn’t about to explore.

Tension had always arced between her and Hawk, even in the beginning. Wesley “Hawk” Monroe had almost seemed to enjoy goading her. She’d tried to ignore him, much as her mother had insisted she ignore her twin brother, Ethan, when they’d been five and his single greatest pleasure in life was putting lizards and toads and other slimy creatures under her pillow, but Elizabeth had never figured out how. The more she tried to ignore, the more effective he became.

“Everything’s in good shape,” he said, coming around the plane with a clipboard in hand. The cool morning breeze ruffled his slightly long hair. “Did you file the flight plan?”

“All done,” she said, finishing off her coffee. The breeze whipped up, but, tucked inside a newly purchased Ski Banff sweatshirt and a pair of stiff jeans, she didn’t shiver.

“Then let’s get this baby off the ground.” Hawk signaled to the ground crew, then headed for the stairs leading to the jet.

Elizabeth didn’t move.

“Something wrong?” he asked, turning to face her.

She squinted into the sun, lifting a hand to shield her eyes. “Where’s your copilot?”

Hawk’s smile was slow, gleaming. “I’m looking at her.”

The breath jammed in her throat. “Me?”

He shrugged. “Unless you’re not up to it.”

Excitement surged. “Of course I’m up to it,” she answered quickly, but shock pierced deep. She hadn’t taken to the skies since Miranda’s kidnapping. “I just thought…after last night I didn’t think you’d take any chances. I figured you’d have men crawling all over the place.”

In one lethally quick movement Hawk slipped off his sunglasses and destroyed the distance between them.

“Chances?” he asked in a dangerously soft voice that made her chest tighten. “Let’s get something very straight, right here, right now.” All that simmer and amusement that had sparked in his eyes last night…gone, replaced by a hardness she’d rarely seen. “I take my job seriously. I don’t play fast and loose with your life, not on the ground or in the air.” He gestured toward the roof of the terminal, where three snipers lay on their bellies, rifles in hand.

“See those men?” He pointed to the ground crew, all sporting discreetly concealed MP50s. “And those? Of course I have men crawling everywhere, but once we’re airborne, it won’t matter if two or twenty people are onboard. As long as we can fly the plane.” His eyes hardened. “Call me a jerk, but I thought you’d jump at the chance to fly this baby.”

Too late Elizabeth realized she’d insulted him.

“Unless, of course,” he added lazily, “it’s not your life you’re worried about, but your virtue.”

Heat flashed through her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I mean, think about it,” he drawled. “It’s not like I can drag you into the cabin for a quickie at twenty thousand feet.” He stepped closer, lowered his voice. “Someone’s got to fly the plane.”

She cut him a look. “How reassuring.”

With stunning speed, the hardness dissolved into a smile laced with dare. “Of course there’s always autopilot,” he mused, boxer-dancing out of the way.

A very unladylike noise escaped before she could stop it. “You haven’t flown on autopilot a day in your life.”

He tucked the clipboard under his arm. “What do you say, then? You up for flying?”

More than he could possibly know. She hadn’t realized how confined, how grounded she’d felt.

“Careful,” she said, breezing past him and heading up the stairs. “I might just push you out of the way and take this baby up all by myself.”

“Not in this lifetime, Ellie. You need me too much.”

She stepped into the cool, plush confines of the corporate jet and headed for the cockpit. “Dream on.”

From behind her, she heard his rough laughter. “Trust me, sweetness. You don’t want to know what a man like me dreams about.”

No, she didn’t. That was true.

“You forget,” he added, catching up with her. He slid into his seat and began checking the controls, making sure the yoke moved in all directions. “I know you. Flying by the seat of your pants isn’t your style, and the Lear is a two-pilot plane. If you want to get home today, in this plane, you’re stuck with me.”

Elizabeth said nothing, just blithely reached up and checked the oxygen mask.

“What are you doing?” he asked, as she’d known he would.

She turned to him and smiled. “Just making sure I’ll be able to breathe if your ego takes up all the oxygen.”

From a cruising altitude of thirty-nine thousand feet, the vivid blue sky stretched on forever. Far below, the rugged Rockies jutted up like toy mountains. The snowcaps looked little more than dots of vanilla ice cream.

Elizabeth leaned back and drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. She was eager to get back to Richmond and away from Hawk, but for now she savored the freedom of soaring.

“Isn’t the view gorgeous?”

Hawk glanced at her. “Stunning.”

Her heart kicked, hard. Her throat tightened. “Don’t, Hawk, okay? Not now.” They sat too close, had too many more hours alone together. As it was, she couldn’t breathe without drawing the scent of him deep inside. “Can’t we just enjoy the flight?”

The corners of his mouth curved into a smile. “Whatever you say, sweetness.”

Off to the right, a swirl of gauzy clouds curled like a comma. “Thank you.”

If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn he stiffened. “Just doing my job.”

“For letting me fly with you,” she clarified. For not treating her like a child. Nicholas barely let her drive.

Hawk turned toward her. Mirrored sunglasses concealed the deep butterscotch of his eyes, but she knew they’d be gleaming. “I taught you, didn’t I?”

The question rushed through her. He’d taught her, all right. A lot. Lessons she would never forget.

Hawk Monroe was the best pilot, the best instructor, she’d ever known. He’d mastered flying while in the Army, piloting Black Hawks into hostile territory in faraway places most people only heard about on the news. He never talked about the missions, but from the aftermath she’d witnessed in his eyes, she knew they’d been beyond dangerous. She wondered if he still thought about the years he’d given to his country, if sometimes he still woke up in a cold sweat.

Call me a fool, but “Be all you can be” actually meant something to me.

A smart woman would have turned away, looked straight ahead. Maybe even closed her eyes. But Elizabeth found it hard to look away. He looked deceptively casual sitting there with his headset on, faded jeans hugging his long legs, and the sleeves of his khaki shirt rolled up. On a glance he looked like a thousand other ex-military corporate pilots…except for the Glock shoved snugly into his leather shoulder holster.

“What do you think about when you fly?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Hawk took a long sip from a bottle of water. “I try not to think at all. I prefer to savor.”

Elizabeth smiled. Hawk loved flying every bit as much as she did. Before their relationship had become overly complicated, he’d taken her up often, sharing with her the promise of an early-spring dawn and the vibrancy of a late-summer sunset.

“Have you been up much since the shooting?”

“You know what they say about not keeping a good man down,” he answered with a grin. “I was back up—”

The change was subtle at first, a yaw like brakes on ice. They lurched forward, then backward. Then came the deafening roar of silence. The swirl of amber lights. The drone of buzzers.

And the plane went from fast forward to slow motion.

“Shit!” Hawk grabbed the yoke and immediately launched into the emergency procedures he’d drilled into her.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. “We’re losing altitude!” It wasn’t a dizzying rush or a spiraling plummet, just a gentle sinking in the air, drifting.

The hallmark of an aircraft with no power.

Chapter 4

“Pull up! Pull up!”

“Shut up!” Hawk gritted out, but the mechanical female voice droned on.

“Pull up! Pull up!”

Nothing. The free fall continued with deceptive gentleness, like a toy plane whose batteries had suddenly gone dead.

Amber lights flickered from the instrument panel, warning the obvious. They were going down. From the high altitude corporate aircraft occupied, they had five minutes, seven tops.

“Get on the radio.” He kept his voice calm despite the adrenaline spewing nastily. “Tell ATC we’ve lost both engines.”

“Both?”

He shot Elizabeth a quick look, found her face devoid of color. “Do it. Now.”

A fierce will to live kicked through him. The Army had trained him for situations like this, drilled him relentlessly. In Kosovo, drills had become reality. But he’d never thought to need that training somewhere over nowhere Montana with Elizabeth’s life on the line.

“Billings Center,” he heard her say, and despite the fear sparking in her eyes, her voice rang strong and confident. “November Two Three Niner Bravo declaring an emergency.”

“Three Niner Bravo,” came the calm male voice of the air traffic controller. “State nature of emergency.”

“Three Niner Bravo has lost both engines…”

Someone had gotten to the plane. He knew that as sure as he knew there would be no miraculous restarting of the engines. He’d had the hangar protected, damn it. Armed guards on duty. But Hawk didn’t believe in accidents, or fate, or bad damn luck. He believed in instinct and motivation and revenge. Every man created his own destiny.

He wouldn’t let a coward like Zhukov put an end to his.

Or Elizabeth’s.

The memory flared before he could stop it.

The door to Ambassador Carrington’s richly paneled office opened, and she strolled into his world with a grace and confidence that knocked the breath from his lungs. A black pantsuit sheathed her killer body, but it was her smile that grabbed him, her smile that slayed, wide and knowing, yet at the same time, mysterious. Vulnerable. “You must be Hawk.”

Then, he’d sworn to give his life for hers, to take a bullet if necessary. A knife. An anything. But there was no line of fire to step into now, no attacker to fend off, just a disabled plane carrying them both down.

He wouldn’t let it happen. He wouldn’t let her meet a fiery grave, alone in the remote mountains of Montana. The glide didn’t fool him. Within minutes gravity would take over, and then there’d be nothing gentle at all.

Shoving aside everything but training, he focused on the emergency maneuvers he could rattle off in his sleep.

“Throttle,” he muttered, shoving them all the way back. “Cutoff.” Sweat beaded on his brow. His pulse blasted relentlessly. “Spoilers, gear, flaps, all up. Airstart…” He tried, no go. The engines were cold, dead.

The cemetery was serene, peaceful, row upon row of gently tended graves, shaded by an army of maples. Elizabeth knelt before her sister’s tombstone, a hand to her heart, tears swimming in her eyes.

His gut twisted. No, damn it. No. He was a man who thrived on the unexpected, who believed that’s when the majority of living occurred. But sweet Mary, not like this. Not like this. Clenching his teeth, he switched the fuel system to emergency, refusing to consider that in less than two minutes, he and Elizabeth might be dead, too. Failure was not an option.

The snow-capped mountains dominated his line of vision, closer, larger, with every frenetic riff of his heart.

“Pull up,” the aural warning kept insisting. “Pull up!”

Looking at her was a mistake. He saw her seated next to him, continuing her dialogue with Air Traffic Control, beautiful even in a cheap sweatshirt, but the steely resolve in her gaze barely registered.

A slow light gleamed from her eyes. Her mouth curved into a smile. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

“No, sweetness,” he said. They broke through a bank of clouds and cruised into endless blue. “You’re flying.”

Sable hair, loose around her face, caught on her mouth and fired his blood. “I’ve never felt so alive.”

God. “The best is yet to come.”

Hawk shoved the image aside, searched the rugged terrain for somewhere to put down the plane. They still had options. He was a skilled pilot. Any flat surface would work.

“Come on, come on. There’s gotta be a ski slope somewhere.”

Maybe in the movies, a voice deep inside snarled, but this was real life and smooth landing strips didn’t just appear in the middle of nowhere. Trees cluttered the landscape, taller by the second, thicker. A glistening lake in the distance.

A lake.

“There!” Elizabeth pointed toward the horizon.

Hawk squinted against the glare of sun and saw what she did. Beyond the lake, a valley sprawled against the base of a cruel mountain. If he could hit the grassy area, they had a chance.

If he missed, they went up in flames.

“Make love to me, Wesley.” Long, sable hair tangled around her face but didn’t hide the desire glowing in her eyes. “Make me lose control.”

Adrenaline fueled determination. The plane barreled toward the target destination, gaining speed as they approached. He kept the flaps up as long as possible, releasing them at the last minute to slow the plane down.

“Sweet God,” he said, more in prayer than exclamation. “This is it!” More than anything he wished he could turn to look at her one more time. Touch her. Take away her fear. But knew he couldn’t. The valley, damn it. If he didn’t get the plane down in the next ten seconds, they were going to miss the valley.

And if they missed the valley, they found the mountain.

“Mayday! Mayday!” Elizabeth shouted into the radio. “November Two Three Niner Bravo crash landing—”

He had no choice. None. No option.

Elizabeth grabbed his arm. “Hawk!”

He never had a chance to respond, to look at her, to take her hand. They slammed down hard, the sleek jet cutting through a forest of pine. Christmas filled his line of vision, a brilliant explosion of light. Then nothing at all.

The birds were singing. Elizabeth shifted in her slumber, moving her head to rest in the crook of her arm. She loved listening to birds singing. A family of robins had a nest in the ancient maple outside her window, and when the sun nudged over the horizon, the entire family awoke in song. It wasn’t so bad during the winter months, when the days were short and the sun didn’t awake so early, but during the hot months of summer, when the sun rose long before Elizabeth wanted to, then she wasn’t quite so fond of her little family of robins.

The robins didn’t sing like this. The realization jarred her from her stillness, prompting her to concentrate on the unfamiliar song. The birds almost sounded…anxious.

And then she remembered.

Her heart slammed hard. She opened her eyes and stared at the remains of the cockpit. Amber lights still flashed, but the manic voice had stopped warning them to pull up.

Hawk.

The blast of cold robbed her of breath. Everything came crashing back, sharp, punishing, ramming into her with the force of the plane hitting the floor of the valley. The sudden loss of both engines. Wesley’s unwavering determination to retain control. The mountains rushing up to greet them. The incredible skill with which he’d put the plane down in the valley and not against the side of the mountain. It was nothing short of a miracle that they’d survived—

Violently she swung to her left and saw him. Hawk. Slumped against the instrument panel. Still. Completely unmoving.

“Hawk!” she tried, but his name scraped against her vocal chords. “Wesley!”

Nothing. He didn’t turn to her, didn’t flash that carnal grin, didn’t so much as move his shoulders in breath.

Horror screamed through her. Hawk Monroe was a man of action. He was always in motion, pacing, touching things, assessing a situation. That’s what made him such a competent bodyguard. But now he lay hideously still against the panel of flashing amber lights and shattered glass, dark blond hair matted with blood and falling against his face.

And something inside her started to bleed.

“No!” She lunged toward him, cried out when the safety belt cut into the flesh of her stomach and chest. Viciously she fumbled with the clasp, lunging across the small cockpit the second it opened.

His body was big and hard and warm, the cotton of his shirt drenched from perspiration. And blood. “Wesley?”

Nothing.

Dread jabbed into her throat. They were in the middle of nowhere. The Lear had a first-aid kit, but she was no paramedic. If the worst came to pass—

No, she wouldn’t think it. Instead she muttered a silent prayer and slid a hand along the warm, clammy flesh of his neck, using two fingers to search for a pulse. “Wesley?”