but in fact, she wasn’t really seeing them. The image coming to her instead was that of Andres and his hands. When she thought of him, she always thought of those hands. Other women might have noticed his trim stomach or the width of his shoulders or even his eyes as they’d stared at her, but not Lena. She’d watched his fingers move over the buttons of his blazer. They were long, his knuckles slim and well-formed, his wrists broad and strong-looking.
She’d noticed the rest of him, too, though. Above the collar of his pristine white shirt, the café-au-lait tone of his skin, that sweet, smooth color she’d always loved, was darker than before, the contrast of the material against his face and neck sensual and appealing. When he was under a lot of stress, he spent as much time as he could outdoors, playing baseball usually.
Beneath all the polish, though, he acted just as he always had—like a banked fire poised on the verge of explosion. She’d responded as she’d known she would, too, with the same mix of fascination and dread and anger he always created inside her. Nothing she could say to herself would make her heart stop crashing inside her chest. How could she do what she was supposed to do? How could she concentrate?
All she could think about was the last time they’d been together, when he’d shown up after the canceled wedding and told her about the special operation he’d had to run. She’d been a cop all her adult life and a good one; even though his distrust had hurt, she had understood the need for secrecy, the reticence to talk. But she was a woman, too. He’d broken her heart and destroyed her self-confidence. She could never forgive him for that.
As she always did when her thinking got too heavy, she turned to action, forcing herself to focus as she pulled her microphone closer. “L1 calling team leader. Package secure.”
“Gotcha, L1. We’re clear. Wait for final check then proceed.”
They transmitted on closed channels, but when doing protections Lena insisted on maintaining as much security as possible. With a precise, calm voice, she checked on each of the team members, using the code they’d already agreed on. Everyone was in place and ready to move. When Ryan, the sniper, issued a final clear from his vantage point, they’d go. She looked over her shoulder, past Scott to where Andres stood.
He was giving some last-minute instructions to the woman who’d brought Lena his vest. His secretary, his assistant, his lover? Lena wasn’t sure of her position, but she’d immediately known how the woman felt about Andres. Her adoration of him was obvious. It meant nothing to Lena, of course, yet she couldn’t help but notice. When they’d been together, he’d continually attracted women. They couldn’t seem to resist him.
Passing Scott, Andres moved to the front of the cabin and took up his position directly behind her. He’d donned his jacket again and the bulky vest beneath made his chest look vast. As he juggled his briefcase to his other hand, he bumped into her shoulder. “Lo siento,” he murmured. I’m sorry….
The Spanish was unexpected and somehow too intimate. She looked directly at him then, and in the closeness, all her senses, the ones she’d been trying to tamp down since she’d walked into the plane and into his presence, heightened, as if someone had turned up a volume knob until the sound was out of range. She could smell his aftershave, a scent she didn’t recognize, thank God, and even see the tiny flecks of gold imbedded in the iris of his right eye. She had on a SWAT jacket and vest as well, but the brush of his arm burned through the fabric like a lighted torch.
She couldn’t physically step away; she was trapped between him and the door, but she pulled into herself and shuttered her expression, turning her face away from him.
Her coldness didn’t stop him. Impulsively, it appeared, he reached out and drew a line down the side of her cheek. His touch was as smooth and sensual as ever and it left a trail of stunning memories behind. “Lena…” He gave her name the Spanish inflection. “Will you have some time for me later? To catch up?”
His stare was so black, Lena felt herself slide into its endless depths. She fought the sensation with everything she had in her, stopping the headlong disaster only at the very last moment. She spoke slowly, distinctly. “I’m here today because I have a job to do. And as far as I’m concerned, that job is the only reason I’ll be seeing you again. I have nothing else to say to you and I certainly don’t feel like going over old times.”
“And if I disagree?”
Her pulse jackhammered, but Lena had trained herself well. She knew her expression was neutral. “Feel free to disagree all you want. I don’t really care one way or the other.”
His eyes danced over her face, searching it for something, and she felt the plunge begin again. Before his inexorable pull could drag her any deeper, her radio sounded, Ryan’s voice in her ear. “This is G1. Area clear. L1 proceed.”
She acknowledged the call, then spoke to Andres, heading off whatever his reply might have been.
“The stairs are going to be our most open point. Stay as close to me as possible and keep your head down. Don’t look around. Just watch my feet and go where I go. Scott will be at your back. When we hit the ground, we’ll walk directly to the car. If anything happens, fall down. Understand?”
At her imperious tone, his own voice sharpened. “For God’s sake, Lena, I know what to do. I’ve done this before—”
“Good,” she broke in. “Then do it right, and we’ll all come out alive.”
He started to reply, but at the last minute he snapped his mouth shut and jerked his head toward the stairs in an impatient let’s-go motion. Lena caught Scott’s eye, spoke into her headset then started down the stairs.
AS ANDRES FOLLOWED Lena down the steps, he told himself to calm down, to act as if he didn’t care. It was an impossible order, though.
He’d never be able to do that, not as far as she was concerned.
When she’d made that crack about trust, Lena had been putting him on notice. There was no trust between them—not now. She would do her job but there would be no other contact. She wanted nothing to do with him. Nothing at all.
Forcing himself to ignore his response, he discarded Lena’s instructions and looked around the tarmac, his stare quick and jumpy as it traveled over the jetway and to the buildings beyond. He saw nothing unusual.
To their right a mechanic in a set of blue overalls worked under the hood of a small Cessna, his tools laid out in a precise line at his feet. To his left, a man in sunglasses and a cap sat behind the wheel of a small motorized cart filled with luggage. In between them was the terminal, and through a wall of windows, Andres could see a group of passengers mingling and talking. Well-dressed and well-heeled, they matched the expensive designer suitcases on the wagon. They were probably waiting for one of the private jets that made up the majority of planes coming in and out of the airport.
By the time he finished his scan, they were at the foot of the stairs, and Andres took a deep breath, an unconscious sweep of relief hitting him hard. For the first time, he noticed the weather; the sunshine was almost blinding, the air warmer and softer than it usually was this time of year. Along the walkway, a row of sago palms swayed in the brisk breeze, their green fronds gleaming in the light.
A second later they reached a nearby SUV. The unmarked Suburban, painted black with darkly tinted windows, was so obviously a government truck it could have had the department’s seal on the side. The back doors swung wide, and Zack Potter stepped out. Potter would be running the Destin office Andres was here to officially open. A former D.C. policeman, the handsome
