Claimed by the Secret Agent

She was short and slightly built. Dainty, some called her. Dimples, baby-doll features and pale blond hair had always caused her more trouble than not, but they also gave her that necessary edge. She had mastered the wide-eyed, vacant-headed smile, complete with a self-deprecating little laugh of incomprehension. She must look pretty rough right now, but that should have piqued his sympathy if nothing else. So far, he’d treated her like a fellow agent who had just been through a rough time. Unusual and, she admitted, very welcome.

People, especially men, never gave her credit for a brain; yet not once had Tyndal talked down to her. So maybe he didn’t make automatic assumptions based on appearance.

Neither did she, but she couldn’t help noticing how he looked. Impossible not to. Maybe she’d seen better-looking guys in her time, but he certainly was no slouch in that department. In fact, he had a commanding presence, sort of rugged and suave at the same time. His voice was a bit gravelly and had that slight Southern drawl. In your face, but with a smile, that was him.

His hair was salt and pepper, obviously graying early, since the rest of him looked early to midthirties. The eyes were light, either gray or blue, and really intense. Good strong nose and his mouth…Well, that mouth…didn’t matter, she told herself firmly and jerked her gaze away from his profile.

Her overall impression was that Agent Tyndal was hot as hell, self-assured with good reason. And as stubborn as mule, she’d bet. A real challenge.

Now then, what would be the best way to appeal to him? How could she persuade him to let her go after these kidnappers without giving him the impression that her reason was personal? It was personal. Nobody yanked her around like a helpless rag doll anymore and got away with it. Nobody! If she let that happen again, it negated all her years of hard work, all that she had become.

She had to devise something before he put her on a plane back to the States. No way would she let that happen. She’d disappear first, and she damn well knew how.

Chapter 2

He wasn’t going to budge. Marie decided that if she disappeared in Landstuhl, she’d be found almost immediately, so she had to go to plan B. She had to play it weak if her plan was to work. She brushed a hand over her face, sighed and shook her head. “Could I ask you a huge favor?”

“What?” He sounded a tad suspicious.

She upped the weak factor a notch. “I really need to go by my apartment when we get to Munich, just for a few minutes. Could we please do that?”

“All your stuff will probably have been packed up by now. I’m sure someone is detailed to bring your clothes and toiletries to the airport. I can call and check.”

Again, she sighed before answering. “No, that won’t do. You see, it’s my grandmother’s ring. I really need to get it, and I know it’s still there. It’s pretty valuable. I keep it hidden away when I’m not wearing it, and whoever cleared my place won’t have found it. Please? I need to have that.”

Marie could feel Tyndal’s gaze on her, assessing the truth of her motive. She looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading, the best little-girl-lost look she could do.

He shrugged. “Well, if we just run in and get it, I guess it would be okay.”

“Thanks so much. It means so much to me.” She hesitated, then added, “Maybe I could just take a quick shower while we’re there?” She offered him a wry little smile and ran a hand through her hair. “I hate to stay this way.”

He looked sympathetic. “Sure. That should be all right.”

Piece of cake. Acting ability intact! Satisfied, she snapped on her seat belt, leaned against the window and settled in to take a nap on the way to the hospital.

Grant took a good, long look at her for the first time as she exited the exam room. It seemed before he’d only taken in bits and pieces of her at the time—dirty face, big round china-blue eyes, messy hair, cut-up feet and a milk-white length of exposed leg.

Now she stood there, eyeing him with a mixture of mistrust and gratitude that defied description. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman combine those two expressions while looking at him.

She looked like a little warrior queen, battered but undefeated, absolutely driven to thrive and to seek retribution. That determination would fade, he knew. As soon as the adrenalin rush subsided, and it would, she’d probably collapse in tears and be perfectly willing to get as far away from Germany as was humanly possible.

But right now she was a picture to behold, so tiny in his oversize sweats and socks, one hand on her hip while the other impatiently raked the tousled blond curls back off her brow.

For a minute he saw Betty Schonrock, the first girl he’d ever loved. Beauclair had that same challenging lift of the chin. Aside from both having blond hair and small frames, the resemblance ended there. She wasn’t Betty, but seeing Beauclair safe and knowing he’d had a hand in it caused a little of the weight to lift off his chest.

He had been head over heels for Betty, who’d been almost four years older, a senior at Frankfurt American High School when he was a lowly freshman. She had only spoken to him a few times, smiled at him now and then and rarely gave him a second look, but he’d loved her anyway.

Suddenly she had disappeared without a trace. Everyone thought she was a runaway and the investigation hadn’t lasted even a week. Grant had never believed that Betty, a popular cheerleader and straight-A student about to graduate, would simply take off without a word and leave her charmed life behind. He was convinced she’d been abducted, but no one would listen to a thirteen year old who hadn’t even known her that well.

His limited psychometric ability had failed him then, and so had his nearly nonexistent power of persuasion. But he had found this girl in time, and she was safe now. Wherever you are, Betty, this one’s for you. He felt marginally better.

“How did it go?” he asked Beauclair. Probably not the most tactful question considering she’d just undergone an examination for possible rape, but he needed to know.

“No damage. I’m okay,” she said, defenses up like a nearly visible force field.

He doubted she was anywhere near okay but nodded his approval anyway. “Great, I’m glad to hear it. I guess we can go, then.”

Grant knew he had to debrief her, ask for all the details of her abduction and captivity and get all he could on the kidnapper before sending her home. But he’d have to do that somewhere else and later, when she’d calmed down a little. Maybe after her meltdown.

Who knew when that would happen? Soon, he expected. He knew from experience that the higher the adrenalin level, the harder one fell. The inquisition could wait awhile.

He hated debriefing. Extraction of a hostage or victim was his thing; the rest of the job package, a necessary evil.

Grant had to smile. Marie Beauclair hadn’t waited for a rescue. Spunky little devil had really saved herself. If he hadn’t been there, poised to make entry when he saw her coming out of that window, she’d probably have found help somewhere in the village and gotten back to Munich on her own.

Unless she’d been caught in the back alleys or on a deserted street. The thought sent a chill up his spine. At least he’d quickly gotten her away from the scene, as ordered.

That probably accounted for the smidgeon of thankfulness he saw in her eyes. The mistrust—he couldn’t figure it, unless she now feared men in general. Not that unusual, he supposed, given what she’d just been through.

He should reassure her that he was only there to take care of her and keep her safe. “You’ll be all right now,” he said, reaching out to take her arm.

She moved back before he could touch her. “I know. And I don’t need babying, so knock it off.”

“Your feet…” he reminded her.

“My feet are just fine. If I fall down, you can pick me up, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed with a sigh, “Miss Independent.”

She shot him a glare that would curdle milk and stalked out the doors ahead of him. Testy little thing, but he chalked that up to her ordeal and didn’t blame her a bit.

That made him wonder what she was like before. Soft as silk, he’d bet. He knew her type. He could almost picture her attending consulate functions in a slinky little black dress, that cloud of hair done up on top of her head, natural-looking makeup that took hours to apply. And killer stilettos on those pretty little feet.

He glanced at her hands. She had the badly chipped remnants of a French manicure, and her wrists looked raw. His lips tightened in anger at the bastard who’d tied her up and scared her to death.

“Don’t be afraid he’ll find you,” Grant told her. “We’ll see that you’re safe.”

She gave a short cough of disbelief as she stopped in her tracks and narrowed those wide blue eyes. “He damn well better be afraid I’ll find him!”

Grant shook his head and suppressed a smile. “Get in the car, tiger.”

He couldn’t help feeling sorry for Marie. She’d had a horrible experience, and he thought the exam at the hospital hadn’t been any fun, either. Even though she hadn’t been raped, he knew how violated she felt.

He had believed her determined bravado was beginning to fade when she’d gotten a bit teary and pleaded with him to go by her apartment. He was afraid just being where she was abducted would set her off, but she seemed to need that ring she mentioned. Maybe that symbolized some small victory over the kidnapper, that he hadn’t found it or taken it from her.

When they arrived in Munich, Marie gave Grant directions to her apartment, a second-floor walk-up in a German neighborhood near the consulate.

They stopped at the super’s flat and got a key. The old man was inordinately glad to see her, apologizing profusely for the fact that someone might have copied his keys and stolen access to her flat from him.

Grant noted that Beauclair spoke excellent Deutsch and conversed easily with the man as she reassured him he’d done nothing wrong. She looked to Grant for backup.

“The report said the lock showed signs of tampering,” Grant told him. “The man was a professional. No one’s holding you responsible, Herr Horst.”

Marie thanked Grant with a perfunctory nod and a smile, shook the super’s hand and headed upstairs. No hesitation, he noted. She didn’t seem afraid to return to the kidnap scene.

“Where’d you learn German?” Grant asked as they climbed the stairs.

“A retired teacher, a neighbor and friend. She was fluent in several languages and began teaching me early on. She said it might help me land a job when I grew up, and she was right. I had an ear for it, my memory made it easy, and we both enjoyed it.”

“Lucky you. I lived over here for several years and still had to suffer through language school to get it right.”

“Defense Language Institute at the Presidio?”

“Yeah. You ever been there?” he asked.

“Nope, just heard about it. I haven’t traveled much yet, even over here. I planned to. That’s one of the primary reasons I volunteered for the position, but they’ve kept me too busy since I arrived.”

She stood back as he unlocked the door for her and went in first to check things out.

He liked that she was prudent enough to let him do that. However, she didn’t seem at all leery about entering the apartment. Brave of her, or else she was a damn good actress.

Lights worked, so the utilities were still on. Investigators had obviously finished with the place. A few boxes were stacked in the middle of the room. Someone had packed her personal items but hadn’t shipped them yet. It didn’t appear that she had very much.

He continued into the bedroom, and there were a few more boxes. The bathroom was empty of her toiletries and towels and shone from a recent cleaning.

“All clear,” he said, then realized as he turned that she was standing right behind him. She looked like a lost little waif, so tiny in his sweats and socks, hands clasped in front of her.

Her expression had altered considerably, and he figured this wide-eyed trepidation was her real reaction to the place. “It’s okay,” he said, gently touching her shoulder. “There’s no one here but us.”

“Thank goodness.” Her words were breathy, almost a whisper, as if she uttered them reluctantly.

“Hey, why don’t you call your family and talk to them? Mercier will have notified them by now that you’re safe, but maybe you’d like to tell them yourself. A familiar voice might make you feel better.”

She bit her bottom lip and avoided his questioning gaze. “Maybe later. After a shower.”

She stepped past him, approached the boxes and peeled the packing tape off one. “Towel,” she muttered, withdrew one and draped it over her shoulder. He watched as she opened another container and fished out a pair of jeans and a pullover. And undies. Beige lace. Brief.

He cleared his throat and looked away. “I’ll, uh, just leave you to take your shower.”

“Thanks…Grant,” she replied, using his given name for the first time. Why that seemed significant puzzled him. She wasn’t flirting, more as if she was earnestly reaching out, needing a friend.

He could understand why she felt friendless. Her people hadn’t sent anyone to save her. Her family couldn’t ransom her. He wondered if she had a significant other who was just sitting on his butt back there in the States, waiting for a miracle or word of her death.

Well, that wasn’t his problem, Grant thought. He would take good care of her as long as she was in his custody, of course, and until he saw her off, he’d be her friend if she needed one. No risk there.

There had been a time when he did consider making friends a risk. For one thing, they had always moved away or he had. A lasting relationship of any kind had been his greatest wish when he was young, but he soon learned that short-term was his best bet. No gut-wrenching goodbyes to suffer.

Whenever he did get involved with people, he felt responsible for them, compelled to look after them, fix what was wrong with them, ease their way in life however he could. And then they would have to move on, or he would, leaving behind a feeling of distress on his part that they were going off on their own and might be unable to cope. Yeah, it was definitely better not to let himself care all that much.

Because he soon realized that was a cold attitude to live with, he had adopted a smiling, good-ol’-boy warmth that put people at ease. That way, they’d be less aware that he kept a safe emotional distance. He’d had to do that with the people under his command or he would have gone crazy.

He did much better with this civilian job. Working alone sure had its advantages. In this particular case, he was relieved that his association with Marie Beauclair would be temporary.

Grant went into the living room and clicked on the television to cover the sound of her shower. He didn’t want to imagine her wet and naked. It just didn’t feel right to do that. But he couldn’t seem to help it.

Given what she had endured, his response filled him with guilt. He concentrated on pity, a much safer reaction to her and a lot more appropriate. Poor little thing.

Twenty minutes into a boring old movie, Grant began to get worried. The shower was still running. The water should be stone-cold by this time.

Was she in there, crying? Had she gone to sleep? Drowned herself? He’d better check.

“Ms. Beauclair?” He knocked several times. “You okay?” He knocked again. “Marie? Answer me right now or I’m coming in.”

Nothing.

Grant tried the handle. Locked. Well, there was no window in the bathroom, so he knew she hadn’t climbed out. Either she had passed out or was unable to speak for some reason. He backed up and ran against the door. And promptly bounced off. Dammit, he’d break his shoulder. He shouted again. No answer.

Chapter 3

Grant reached in his pocket and pulled out his pick tools. It took a minute or so to slip the mechanism on the bathroom door and unlock it. The room was filled with steam, but a quick scan showed it was empty.

She had thumbed the lock and pulled it shut to buy some time. But how had she gotten past him?

Grant turned off the water and went back into the bedroom. He raked back the draperies and cursed. The window at the back of the building was open. The thin line of a rappelling rope anchored to the bed frame snaked out one edge of the window and dangled nearly to the ground. Probably kept as a means of fire escape. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

He ran a hand through his hair and gave it a tug. Tricked like the greenest recruit, but how the hell was he to guess she’d even want to take off on her own? Where the hell did she think she was going?

After her kidnapper, of course. And the logical place for her to start would be back at that little burg where she’d been held.

A foot-long section of baseboard near the closet lay loose on the floor. The cavity that had lain behind it was the hidey-hole for the grandmother’s ring, if there had even been one, and whatever else she’d felt compelled to conceal so carefully.

He knew exactly what that would be. If he were her, working undercover, he would have his real I.D. and creds stashed somewhere safe. That, and cash.

Always have a back door. Her fire-escape rope verified she’d had that. He was a little paranoid himself about any abode with only one exit, so he couldn’t fault her for that. He could, however, curse her for using it in this instance.

He pulled out his phone and called Mercier. Embarrassing as it was, he would have to report this snafu to control and take his lumps for it. He was mad as hell with the sneaky little devil. And sort of impressed in spite of that.

Mercier wasn’t impressed at all, especially with him. Grant could almost see the boss rolling his eyes.

“I know where she went,” Grant declared. “She tried to convince me to let her help catch her abductor. Since I said no, in no uncertain terms, she’s gone off on her own. I’ll have her on the plane within twenty-four hours.”

“No,” Mercier said. “If she’s that gung ho and that quick on her feet, let her help. You say she’s seen him and heard him. Catch up with her and see how she does.”

“Jack, she’ll just slow me down. I’d rather do this by myself.”

“Noted, but indulge me.” An order, not a request.

“All right, but if she gets in the way, I’m sending her back, cuffed if necessary!”

“If you have to,” Mercier agreed. “Give her a chance, though. She’s been a real asset to the Company, had as much training as you and obviously has had real initiative. No reason to treat her as a novice.”

Yeah. No reason at all. Except that Grant really didn’t think she was up to this. He realized his take on it was colored by his personal opinions. As politically incorrect and chauvinistic as those might be, they were grounded in experience.

His mother had given every outward appearance of strength and courage. Everyone had always commented on how well she coped. Only Grant had known her to break down when no one else could see or hear. One of his first memories was that of sitting in the hallway outside her bedroom door, holding the little stuffed dog she had made for him, feeling her fright and wondering how to comfort her. His dad was overseas where they couldn’t go that time, and his mom couldn’t handle it. Her pretense left a lasting impression on him.

And so had Betty Schonrock, the girl who had everything. Everything but someone to watch out for her and care what happened to her. God, would he live with that failure forever? Twenty years had passed and it still troubled him. It hadn’t been his place to protect her and what else could he have done? He ought to let it go.

He fully understood that women wanted and truly tried to be as strong as men. Maybe some were. He just didn’t think this one was as self-sufficient as she thought she was.

Marie Beauclair looked incredibly fragile and downright helpless at times. Okay, but while he knew that part of that had been an act to throw him off guard, her tears had been real enough. Her fear, the trembling and pain hadn’t been faked. At least he didn’t think so. Had they?

He had never worked with a female partner. He’d even caught himself worrying about the female agents employed by COMPASS. They seemed capable and got the job done, so he heard. But in his opinion, women were just more sensitive, more vulnerable, and they should be protected, not thrown into situations where they might be hurt.

They were physically weaker, a proven fact. And while they were probably more tolerant to pain than men were, he couldn’t see any justification for exposing them to it intentionally. Participating in an investigation of her own abduction and imprisonment surely qualified as painful where Marie was concerned. Dangerous, too.

Grant pocketed his phone and started after her. Maybe if he hurried, he could beat her there.

Marie sailed down the autobahn, grinning at the speed of her little Audi roadster. She loved the convertible, the one fancy she did love about her cover as an eager young admin assistant with her first international job. She had to admit she liked the clothes, too. Had to dress to impress!

No need for that today, though. Her small duffel was packed with only practical stuff, not the froufrou. She wore dark jeans, a black knit shirt and black running shoes with thick socks to cushion her cuts. Her braid kept her still-wet hair slicked back for the most part, but as it dried the wind grabbed at tendrils around her face.

The little Glock 27 lay on the seat beside her, ready to tuck into her belt when she got back to the scene. Dressed to kill, she thought with a smile.

Hopefully the kidnapper would be out looking for her in the village still, thinking he’d find her wandering around the streets half naked, begging for help or curled up in an alley nearby, hiding. With any luck, she’d find him first.

She imagined trussing him up, strapping him to the hood of her car like a hunting kill and hauling him to the nearest Polizei station. He had definitely picked the wrong victim this time.

Was Grant Tyndal still sitting in front of her television, or had he caught on by now? Poor guy, never had a clue. Eyelash fluttering and lip trembling went a long way with him. Pity it had taken her so many years to discover the power of that—she might have saved herself a boatload of angst early on.

She felt sorry for Tyndal, but he could have cut her a little slack and agreed to let her assist. Despite his periodic gruffness, he had been a real softie and easy to dupe. He seemed an all right guy, at least on the surface, so she hoped he didn’t get into too much trouble for losing her.

This probably canceled any chance of her working for COMPASS, but so what? She liked the job she had.

She had been procrastinating on a response to the offer anyway. It would be an excellent move professionally, she was flattered they wanted her and she probably would have accepted. But the European assignment had been really exciting so far and she hated to give it up so soon.

The Company would reassign her to another post, and she’d carry on, attending parties, searching, listening and mentally recording, playing the featherbrained innocent overawed by the powerful who surrounded her.

In what seemed no time at all, Marie reached the exit leading to the village where she’d been stashed. When she got to the town, she slowed and parked on the sidewalk in front of a small row of shops.

She slipped her weapon into the back of her belt, pulled her shirttail down over it and got out to join them.

The village was a bit larger than she reckoned, and it took a while to locate the building from which she’d escaped.

The alley adjacent to the building was deserted. Marie walked around to the entrance. The door was unlocked, even standing open a little. She pulled her weapon, hesitated, listened and heard nothing. Quietly, she edged it open a little more and slipped inside.