Mission: Christmas: The Christmas Wild Bunch / Snowbound with a Prince

Dallas brought their aircraft within six feet of the smuggler’s wing. The pilot’s eyes went wide with shock and then panic. After gesturing for him to land, Murdoch put his hand on the trigger of the M16. The Mexican had a copilot, a younger man who reached back behind the seat. A revolver appeared in his hand.

“Dammit!” Murdoch snapped off several shots with his M16. The bullets ripped throughout the cockpit of the smuggler’s plane, and suddenly, it swerved to the right and banked sharply.

Dallas followed in pursuit, the gravity tugging at her harness.

Smoke leaped up and out from beneath the fuselage cover. One of his bullets had struck the engine. “They’re gonna try to make a run for it,” Mike warned her. “Stay on them!”

“Like fleas on a dog,” Dallas assured him grimly.

Murdoch was more than pleased with her flight capabilities. The druggies began to jink back and forth, so they couldn’t get near enough to fire again. Both planes had descended to fifty feet above the desert floor. The air was rougher near the ground, for the risen sun was warming the soil and generating small updrafts. The smoke grew black and thick as it purled from the Cessna’s engine.

“He’s gonna have to land that sucker anywhere he can,” Mike warned. “Back off a little. We’ll let him put down and then follow him in. If he crashes, we don’t want to be caught in the explosion or debris.”

“Roger,” Dallas said, lips thinned. Sure enough, she spotted a flat, gravelly spot just ahead among the lumpy hills. There was plenty of cactus and brush growing there, but Dallas knew a plane like this could land if it didn’t run into anything with its tricycle gear.

“Back off more,” Murdoch warned her. “The area they’re heading for has a rough, dicey surface. We’ve seen planes flip over when a wheel catches a big piece of brush, and you don’t want to be right behind them.”

“Roger,” she repeated.

The drug plane landed badly, then hopped back up into the air, plumes of dust flying around it. Then it hit the ground again. This time, the nose wheel plowed into a thicket of brush and collapsed. Dallas watched the craft skid, the propeller snapping off in pieces and disintegrating upon impact. The plane became enveloped in a huge, rolling cloud of dust as she landed their own Cessna, about four hundred feet away. The sand-gravel surface was solid in the stretch she’d chosen, thank goodness. Landing with a solid thump, she brought their plane to a quick stop by standing on the rudders, which acted like brakes for the aircraft. Before it stopped rolling, Murdoch bailed out the door, M16 in hand, and ran hell-bent-for-leather toward the crashed C-206 dead ahead of them. Smoke was pouring out of the smashed engine, and flames licked up here and there.

Why hadn’t Murdoch waited? Dallas quickly stopped the plane, killed the engine and whipped off her harness. Before diving out the door, she grabbed her own M16, locking and loading it on the run as she sprinted toward the smugglers.

Dallas saw Murdoch a hundred feet ahead, circling toward the pilot’s door. The Mexican kept hitting the jammed door with his boot until it finally yawned open, and he leaped out. Dressed in a pink shirt and jeans, he appeared to be no more than twenty years old. The kid from the copilot’s seat quickly followed. He had a shaved head and also wore a white T-shirt and jeans. The two ran in different directions.

Murdoch fired several rounds into the air and yelled at them to stop. Both skidded to a halt, turned around with their arms high in the air.

By the time Dallas got to them, Murdoch had both men lying flat on their bellies, their arms stretched above their heads. He was looking pleased.

She grinned, sweat running from beneath her helmet and down her temples. “Good work,” she praised.

“Thanks, boss.” Murdoch motioned for her to go to the Cessna, the nose of which was buried in about two feet of sand and gravel. “Let’s see what these dudes were carrying.”

“Roger that.” She turned and peeked in the open door. The smoke and flames of earlier were now out, so there was no worry the craft would explode. Climbing into the cabin, Dallas peered into the back of the plane. The smell of marijuana was overpowering. Taking a quick count, she eased out again and turned toward her partner. Murdoch had used nylon cuffs to bind the suspects’ hands behind their backs and had them sitting on the ground when she walked up to him.

“Marijuana. Looks to be about ten bales. What does that mean in pounds?”

Murdoch gave a low whistle. “That’s probably a max load for this plane. We’ll get the contraband to the U.S. and weigh it, but I’d guess it will likely be around eight hundred pounds. Congratulations, Major. You’ve made a helluva bust on your first mission.”

“Don’t you think we can call each other by our first names when we’re out here alone? Mine is Dallas.” She thrust her hand forward, and he took it without hesitation.

“Mike. So long as you don’t use any more of your krav maga on me, I’ll call you Dallas.” Murdoch squeezed her long, slim hand. She had a surprisingly firm grip. After all, he told himself, she was a black belt in combat, so why wouldn’t she?

But as he gazed into her dancing golden eyes, he felt helpless to stop the sexual attraction he was feeling toward her. What a hell of a fix he was in.

Chapter 3

“Damn, it’s cold,” Dallas griped to Murdoch as they climbed into their intrepid Cessna. The November winds whipped past them, spitting rain—life-giving moisture that was always welcome in arid countries. The sky was slate-gray, with shreds of white stratus clouds hanging low on the horizon.

“Ah, you desert rats always have thin blood,” Mike teased as he pressed the Velcro closed on his Kevlar vest and harnessed up. He noticed Scotty waiting patiently, chocks in hand. It was 6:00 a.m. and barely light. But that’s when the bad guys took off, because they didn’t have all the radar to fly at night.

Giving him a grin, Dallas settled her helmet on her head, strapped in and shut and locked the door. “Yeah, must be my Israeli blood showing. Israel is nothing but desert.”

Mike handed her the preflight checklist and they quickly went through it. Everything was in order. When he took the list back from her, their fingertips met. Murdoch relished the chance to touch Dallas. Ever since he’d grabbed her on the tarmac and she’d thrown him to the ground with her krav maga techniques, he’d been both wary of and fascinated by her. It had taken two months for them to adjust to one another. They worked well together, like a team. But Mike couldn’t help wishing for more contact. For now, he pushed the thought from his mind.

Dallas was pilot today. Since her first confrontation with Murdoch, he had cleaned up his act. He’d never again come on the tarmac drunk. He’d even stopped his hard drinking and partying in Nogales.

Dallas watched Scotty give her the signal, then she started up the engine. The Cessna coughed and sputtered.

“Even the plane is cold today,” she remarked, listening to the motor catch and take hold. The prop whirled, and she eased off the rudders, letting the craft trundle to the end of its short runway, then turn around, ready for takeoff. Dallas paused there, waiting for a sudden rain shower to pass.

“Every plane has a personality,” Mike agreed. “You want some coffee after we get airborne?”

“You bet.”

He’d come to enjoy their intimate patter, their chance to be alone in the air. On the ground, Dallas was in charge. He couldn’t be caught using such familiarity. But here in the air, their professionalism facade dissolved and they’d become like best buddies. Mike wanted more, but she seemed immune to his subtle suggestions. He’d sometimes touch her shoulder when they were teasing one another, or he’d crack a joke, and she’d laugh huskily in return. Whenever his fingers met hers, a pleasant ribbon of warmth flowed up his hand and arm.

The Cessna rolled down the runway after the squall had moved by. The aftermath of a hurricane that had started in Mexico on the Pacific side was making the skies dicey. In Arizona, the storm had already been downgraded to a low frontal system.

Once they leveled off at three thousand feet, the air was much less turbulent. Murdoch pulled out the large metal thermos from the net pocket, quickly poured Dallas half a cup of steaming black coffee and handed it to her. Another chance to touch the beautiful, remote Dallas Klein.

“Thanks,” she said, gripping the metal cup. The warmth felt good to her fingers.

Mike dug into his net pouch for a second cup and poured himself some. Today, they were headed deep into Mexico, to Hermosillo. Mexican federales had located a secret airstrip outside the beautiful city, and the two of them were going to investigate. With a fading hurricane in the vicinity, rain would be falling off and on all day. It would do no good to hunt bad guys along the border because they would be grounded by the weather. Dallas had predicted that, and Mike agreed with her. The druggie action would come after the hurricane moved north. Right now, central Mexico enjoyed sunshine and clear blue skies, just the ticket for druggies to climb into their Cessna Stationairs, and Dallas hoped to intercept them. It was a solid tactical plan.

“Hey, how come I never see you with a dude?” Mike asked, keeping his tone light and bantering. Dallas grimaced and took another sip of her coffee. He had tried all kinds of ways to find out about the enigmatic woman’s personal life but had failed. Yet was he really ready to hear she was in a relationship?

“Murdoch, you’re a terrible tease.”

Shrugging, he said, “Hey, you’re not exactly an open book, you know. I’m just trying to find out if you have a relationship right now.”

Chuckling, Dallas said, “My parents work for the Mossad. Did you expect me to be an open book? I grew up with two spies. They taught me well.” She flashed him a grin.

Undeterred, Mike drawled, “Okay, fair enough, but I’m the guy that has your six. Can’t you level with me?”

With a quizzical glance, she retorted, “Is it safe? You know, the first month you were a snarly dude. I was afraid you were going to bite my hand off.”

Mike snorted. He couldn’t help watching those luscious lips, curving sweetly upward in the corners. If he confided to Dallas he dreamed of her almost nightly, and mention what they did together in his dreams, she’d blush crimson and probably retreat even deeper into herself. “Listen, you’re my X.O., and keeping things professional and detached are fine at the BP station. But this is me. I’ve changed. You can see that. You were right—I was snarly because of my divorce.” He frowned. “And losing Randy, my partner.” Dallas gave him a sympathetic look. “But stop feeling sorry for me, okay? I’d really like to know you personally.”

“Hmm,” Dallas murmured. “Why?”

“Because you’re single, as far as I know, damn good-looking, and I’m a single guy myself.” There, the truth was out. Mike wondered how she was going to handle it. Might as well find out.

Dallas finished her coffee and handed the cup back. “First of all, I am single. And no, I don’t have a steady guy in my life right now.”

“You used to?”

“Yes, back in Cuzco. He was a Peruvian medical doctor.” Dallas shrugged. “Things got complicated. I was in a black ops, and he was a renowned heart surgeon. Between our two schedules, we rarely saw one another, and even then, if I got called back to BJS for an emergency, I was gone. His family put a lot of pressure on him to drop me, and eventually, he did.”

“Families can do that,” Mike agreed. He felt elated she was sharing with him. “Now, my family is very laid-back. I’m the oldest, with two younger sisters, Julie and JoAnn.”

“Laid-back. Hmm. Like you, right?” Dallas chuckled.

Mike smiled back and scanned the gray sky and scudding clouds. Rain splattered across the cockpit window, but less and less frequently the farther south they flew. “I’m laid-back, too.”

“Oh, right. Mr. Intense. You lock on to a druggie through your binoculars, and you’re like a laser-fired rocket.” She laughed wryly. “Give me a break, Murdoch. You’re the least laid-back dude I’ve ever known, a bloodhound on a scent!”

“So, you don’t like intense dudes? They’re a turnoff? A surgeon isn’t exactly a laid-back sort, either. They are well known type A personalities.”

A smile lurked on her lips. “Murdoch, you’re fishing. What’s this all about?”

“Well…” he sighed, sitting back, sipping his coffee. “I wanted to invite you out to dinner tonight after we get back. I know a really nice Mexican couple in Nogales who’ve been friends of mine for years. I thought you might like to have some good home cooking, Mexican style. Since you spent six years in Peru, I thought you’d probably enjoy Latin food.”

“Now that’s a provocative invitation,” Dallas said, trying to look serious. She noticed his black, straight brows moving downward. “Good food is always a draw for me.”

“You mean you’d come along for the food? And not because you’re with me?”

“You’re incorrigible, Murdoch.”

He grinned wolfishly and added, “Maria is a damn good cook. Her husband, Alfredo, is a businessman. He owns a trading post on both sides of the border. I think you’d enjoy them. They’re very intelligent, compassionate people with big hearts. Did you know that at Christmas, they take thousands of dollars worth of gifts to orphanages in Sonora? Alfredo likes to dress up as Santa Claus, and Maria becomes Mrs. Claus. They’re a hoot, the two of them.”

“They sound like really nice people,” Dallas said. “Yeah, I’d love to have dinner with them.”

“How about with me?”

“Oh, Murdoch, will you stop?”

Feeling pleased, he decided not to push her anymore. Dallas had colored prettily beneath his cajoling. She looked even more desirable with pink cheeks and that softness in her golden eyes. “I guess I can stop goading you,” he said, “since you’ve agreed to have a date with me.”

“It’s not a date.”

“What would you call it?”

“Just two friends having dinner with other friends.”

“I guess I’ll let you get away with that definition—for now.”

Seeing her smile elated Murdoch as never before. He was curious. Why did Dallas refuse to call it a date? Was she drawn to him at all, or did she really see him as just a friend? That wasn’t a status Murdoch wanted with her.

The plane bumped then leaped about fifty feet upward as it hit an air pocket. Dallas quickly stabilized it. She was a damn fine pilot, but so was he.

“You know,” he said, putting the cap back on the thermos and getting down to business, “you and I have the best stats for October. We made five busts. Just think, about 4,500 pounds of marijuana and coke aren’t gonna hit U.S. markets.” He pressed his hand to his chest. “Does my heart good.”

“Yeah, we are a good team,” Dallas told him. “Better than I thought, given our rough landing when I first got here.”

“That’s over,” Mike assured her. “I apologized. I had my nose bent out of joint over my divorce.”

“I don’t ever want to divorce. I want to fall in love and have it last forever. Maybe that’s idealistic in a world where half the marriages crash and burn, but my parents are still married. That’s what I want.”

“Ahh, now I get it.” Mike touched the center of his forehead and closed his eyes. “Great seer that I am, the reason why you want me only as a friend is you’re afraid I’ll dump you somewhere down the road, and you’ll be alone with no hope of a forever marriage.”

“Get real, dude!”

Chortling, Mike opened his eyes and shared her laughter. He loved the fact that every time they flew, Dallas opened up to him a little more. At last he felt as if he’d touched the real core of her, and not the X.O. who was his boss. “Hey, I’m a responsible kind of guy. I like long-term.”

“Yeah, sure you do. How long were you married before, Cowboy?” That was his nickname in the Border Patrol.

“That’s not fair.”

“Sure it is. I’m a forever kind of gal. You’re not, judging from your track record.”

“Don’t shoot me down so fast, darlin’.” He saw her eyes go wide then grow warm over his endearment. Mike had discovered that Dallas needed male attention in small dollops. She didn’t like brutish men, that was for sure. He never saw her go to the Nogales nightclubs to dance and drink. She stayed at the base or went to her apartment nearby, but never partied. He’d often wondered why, but now, knowing that she was incredibly responsible, dedicated to her career, and looking for a long-term relationship, he began to understand her actions.

“Hey, to me, a divorce is a sign that two people can’t work out their differences. If you couldn’t do it in your first marriage, Murdoch, why should I look at you as serious stuff?”

“Well,” he said, eyeing her intently, “maybe you don’t know the whole story behind my divorce. Maybe they don’t all happen because two people are too lazy or selfish to work things out.” He opened his hands. “My parents have been married since they were both eighteen, and they’re fifty now. Have they had tough times? You bet. Did they struggle? Oh, yeah, I saw it. But the one thing that kept them together was that they loved one another. It’s the glue that’s gotten them through a lot of tough times.”

“Precisely. That’s what I’m talking about—commitment based on love.” Dallas scanned the clearing sky. Between the gray, horizontal stratus clouds were hints of blue. In another hour they’d be out of the remnants of the hurricane and into sunshine as they made their way to Hermosillo.

She shot him a dark look. “So, if your parents are forever people, what happened to you, Murdoch?”

Okay, it was his turn to be vulnerable. Mike was uncomfortable with her flat stare, but he wanted her so damn bad, in every way, that he decided to lay the truth on the table between them. “I wanted a forever marriage, too, Dallas. I didn’t plan to get married young—I figured if I married when I was older, I’d be better able to handle the rigors of it all. About five years ago, I met Galina Baranova, who was an interpreter for the Border Patrol. She was a recent immigrant from Moscow and a whiz at languages, speaking at least five fluently. I was stationed in El Paso, Texas, when I started working with her. I fell in love with her on the spot. But she wasn’t who I thought she was.”

“Oh?” Dallas gave him a worried glance and saw his expression go sad.

“She was with the Russian mafia.” He sighed. “To make a long story short, she was an ace of a con artist. She’s a genius, really. She became a mole for the Russian mafia back in Moscow. In her job as translator, she flew all over the Southwest and had access to many of the deep, dark secret records the BP kept on drug smuggling movements coming up from South America and Mexico. She was able to let her cohorts know well ahead of time when certain drug shipments were being watched, and they would change course, and we’d lose track of them. This went on for two years, until I started getting suspicious. One time, I found by accident a piece of paper in Galina’s purse. I’d been digging for money in her billfold, because I was out of cash and needed some before I went to work. The paper was a list of drug smuggling operations, and she’d made a notation in one corner—the name of her contact in Mexico. We got the FBI on it, and they apprehended the dude and interrogated him back in D.C.” Grimacing, Mike said quietly, “About two weeks later, the FBI came to our house and arrested Galina. They hadn’t told me beforehand.”

“I’m so sorry,” Dallas said. She reached out and gripped his hand. “That must’ve been tough.”

Her palm was warm and soft. Greedily, Murdoch laced his fingers with hers and gave them a gentle squeeze. This was the first time he’d ever shown his affection to Dallas. Would she realize what she meant to him? As he released her hand, he saw her blush. There was such innocence to her, despite her being a combat veteran. That was the part he wanted to access, to know, to care for, to love and cherish—forever.

The realization of how he felt slammed into him, and he tried to come to grips with it. Ever since Dallas had shown up in his life, he’d desired her. Sure, at first he had only wanted to get her to bed. But then, over the course of the last month, he had started yearning for a lot more from her. His dreams, although torrid, were about more than just sex. What he felt was much deeper than that, he realized now.

“Hey,” he called softly. When Dallas turned, he saw a velvety quality in her eyes he’d never seen before. Instantly, his heart opened even wider. That mouth of hers was begging, just begging, to be kissed. Her attraction was clearly written across her suddenly very vulnerable features.

For the first time, Mike saw the real Dallas Klein. And, God forgive him, he just about died and went to heaven. “Don’t feel sorry for me, darlin’. What I would like is a clean slate between the two of us. I think we cleared some important hurdles at three thousand feet here, don’t you?” He flashed her an impish grin, having found out a long time ago that humor could frequently soothe a fractious confrontation. And right now, if he was reading Dallas correctly, he could see her reassessing him. Maybe even thinking about a possible relationship with him. Never had he wanted anything more.

“I’m glad we cleared the air, Mike. I didn’t know the details about your divorce. That had to be horrible on you. The shock…If you entered that marriage with the idea it was forever…Well, what a heartbreaking situation.”

“That’s why I was hitting the Nogales nightclubs when you arrived. I was drinking to stop the pain I was feeling,” he admitted quietly. After looking around, which was his habit as a copilot, he returned his gaze to her. “And you really snapped me out of it that first day we flew together.” Giving her another boyish grin, he said, “Thanks. I needed that.”

“What? Being laid out flat on your back on the tarmac?”

Murdoch chuckled. “Yeah, I’d been drinking heavily, almost nonstop, for two weeks. It wasn’t like me, but I had to do something to dull the pain.”

“Helluva way to do it,” Dallas commented, searching the airspace below them. The sky was lightening up even more. The Cessna chugged like the stalwart workhorse it was. “Sometimes we all have to hit brick walls, Mike. Maybe I was your wall.”

“Yeah,” he murmured wryly, “but your wall has a door, and I’m knockin’ to be let in, darlin’.”

Chapter 4

Dallas was sitting in her office on a cold, early December morning when Mike sauntered in. She glanced at her watch and realized time was slipping away from them. As usual, he was in his rumpled flight suit, but he made it look pulverizingly male. What was there not to like about him?

“Hey, I heard some scuttlebutt from Thomas Boyce at the BP headquarters in D.C.,” he said, closing the door quickly to keep in the heat. He couldn’t help but stare. She was wearing a ponytail at the nape of her neck. He fantasized about removing the rubber band that held her thick, shining hair and then running his hands through it. He knew the rose-scented locks would feel like sleek, raw silk.

“Yeah? What kind of scuttlebutt?” Dallas asked, picking up her morning coffee.

Mike leaned lazily against the wooden counter where all the flight plans were created. “That you are landing us another flight team. Are we going to get in more personnel? God knows we’re working 24-7, and we need the help. Our C.O. was never able to pry loose more pilots and planes from the Border Patrol because of the budget.” Mike eyed her. “Is all this true?”

Grinning triumphantly, she eased back in her chair. “Sure is.” She liked the way he glowed with happiness at her comment. “I’ve been here long enough to see that the four of us are going to be driven into the ground by the work demands.” She pointed to a map behind her desk that had red pins all across the state of Sonora. “You and I have been working seven days a week since I got here.”