anklets on them. But they each had such definite personalities, which were reflected in their expressions, that no one in the family ever confused one twin for the other.
“I have to be prepared. Barrie weaned them last month, and they don’t take kindly to having to wait for dinner.”
Zack’s round blue eyes were fiercely focused on the bottle in Chance’s hand. “Why did she wean them so early?” Chance asked as he resumed his seat and settled the baby in the crook of his left arm. “She nursed Nick until she was a year old.”
“You’ll see,” Zane said dryly, settling Cam on his lap.
As soon as Chance brought the bottle within reach of Zack’s fat little hands the baby made a grab for it, guiding it to his rapacious, open mouth. He clamped down ferociously on the nipple. Evidently deciding to let his uncle hold the bottle, he nevertheless made certain the situation was stabilized by clutching Chance’s wrist with both hands, and wrapping both chubby legs around Chance’s forearm. Then he began to growl as he sucked, pausing only to swallow.
An identical growling noise came from Zane’s lap. Chance looked over to see his brother’s arm captured in the same manner as the two little savages held on to their meals.
Milk bubbled around Zack’s rosebud mouth, and Chance blinked as six tiny white teeth gnawed on the plastic nipple.
“Hell, no wonder she weaned you!”
Zack didn’t pause in his gnawing, sucking and growling, but he did flick an absurdly arrogant glance at his uncle before returning his full attention to filling his little belly.
Zane was laughing softly, and he lifted Cam enough that he could nuzzle one of the chubby legs so determinedly wrapped around his arm. Cam paused to scowl at the interruption, then changed his mind and instead favored his father with a dimpled, milky smile. The next second the smile was gone and he attacked the bottle again.
Zack’s fuzzy black hair was as soft as silk against Chance’s arm. Babies were a pure tactile pleasure, he thought, though he hadn’t been of that opinion the first time he’d held one. The baby in question had been John, screaming his head off from the misery of teething.
Chance hadn’t been with the Mackenzies long, only a few months, and he had still been extremely wary of all these people. He had managed—barely—to control his instinct to attack whenever someone touched him, but he still jumped like a startled wild animal. Joe and Caroline came to visit, and from the expressions on their faces when they entered the house, it had been a very long trip. Even Joe, normally so controlled and unflappable, was frustrated by his futile efforts to calm his son, and Caroline had been completely frazzled by a situation she couldn’t handle with her usual impeccable logic. Her blond hair had been mussed, and her green eyes expressed an amazing mixture of concern and outrage.
As she had walked by Chance, she suddenly wheeled and deposited the screaming baby in his arms. Startled, alarmed, he tried to jerk back, but before he knew it he was in sole possession of the wiggling, howling little human. “Here,” she said with relief and utmost confidence. “You get him calmed down.”
Chance had panicked. It was a wonder he hadn’t dropped the baby. He’d never held one before, and he didn’t know what to do with it. Another part of him was astounded that Caroline would entrust her adored child to him, the mongrel stray Mary—Mom—had brought home with her. Why couldn’t these people see what he was? Why couldn’t they figure out he had lived wild in a kill-or-be-killed world, and that they would be safer if they kept their distance from him?
Instead, no one seemed to think it unusual or alarming that he was holding the baby, even though in his panic he held John almost at arm’s length, clutched between his two strong young hands.
But blessed quiet fell in the house. John was startled out of his screaming. He stared interestedly at this new person and kicked his legs. Automatically Chance changed his grip on the baby, settling him in the cradle of one arm as he had seen the others do. The kid was drooling. A tiny bib was fastened around his neck, and Chance used it to wipe away most of the slobber. John saw this opportunity and grabbed Chance by the thumb, immediately carrying the digit to his mouth and chomping down. Chance had jumped at the force of the hard little gums, with two tiny, sharp teeth already breaking the surface. He grimaced at the pain, but hung in there, letting John use his thumb as a teething ring until Mom rescued him by bringing a cold wet washcloth for the baby to chew.
Chance had expected then to be relieved of baby duty, because Mom usually couldn’t wait to get her hands on her grandson. But that day everyone had seemed content to leave John in his hands, even the kid himself, and after a while Chance calmed down enough to start walking around and pointing out things of interest to his little pal, all of which John obediently studied while gnawing on the relief-giving washcloth.
That had been his indoctrination to the ways of babies, and from that day on he had been a sucker for the parade of nephews his virile brothers and fertile sisters-in-law had produced on a regular basis. He seemed to be getting even worse, because with Zane’s three he was total mush.
“By the way, Maris is pregnant.”
Chance’s head jerked up, and a wide grin lit his tanned face. His baby sister had been married nine whole months and had been fretting because she hadn’t immediately gotten pregnant.
“When is it due?” He always ruthlessly arranged things so he could be home when a new Mackenzie arrived. Technically, this one would be a MacNeil, but that was a minor point.
“March. She says she’ll be crazy before then, because Mac won’t let her out of his sight.”
Chance chuckled. Other than her father and brothers, Mac was the only man Maris had ever met whom she couldn’t intimidate, which was one of the reasons she loved him so much. If Mac had decided he was going to ride herd on Maris during her pregnancy, she had little hope of escaping on one of those long, hard rides she so loved.
Zane nodded toward the file on his desk. “You going to tell me about it?”
Chance knew Zane was asking about more than the contents of the file. He was asking why it hadn’t been transmitted by computer, instead of Chance personally bringing a hard copy. Zane knew his brother’s schedule; he was the only person, other than Chance himself, who did, so he knew Chance was currently supposed to be in France. He was also asking why he hadn’t been notified of Chance’s change in itinerary, why his brother hadn’t made a simple phone call to let him know he was coming.
“I didn’t want to risk even a hint of this leaking out.”
Zane’s eyebrows rose. “We have security problems?”
“Nothing that I know of,” Chance said. “It’s what I don’t know about that worries me. But, like I said, no one else can hear even a whisper of this. It’s between us.”
“Now you’ve made me curious.” Zane’s cool blue eyes gleamed with interest.
“Crispin Hauer has a daughter.”
Zane didn’t straighten from his relaxed position, but his expression hardened. Crispin Hauer had been number one on their target list for years, but the terrorist was as elusive as he was vicious. They had yet to find any way to get close to him, any vulnerability they could exploit or bait they could use to lure him into a trap. There was a record of a marriage in London some thirty-five years ago, but Hauer’s wife, formerly Pamela Vickery, had disappeared, and no trace of her had ever been
