with his Saudi counterpart.
“Contact me immediately if the report doesn’t come through.”
At the whiplike command, OMEGA’s chief of communications snapped to attention and popped a salute. “Aye-aye, Skipper!”
Nick’s features relaxed into a grin. “As you were, Blair. See you at seven.”
The man moved like a lion, Mackenzie decided as he strolled out of the control center. All supreme confidence, sleek muscle and lethal grace. He looked like one, too, damn him. Forget the cashmere sports coats. Never mind the silk ties and Italian leather shoes. With his dark gold hair and tanned skin, he would have been right at home roaming the African plains.
Well, Mackenzie had let one too-handsome beast maul both her heart and her pride. She wasn’t about to let another get close enough to sink his teeth in.
She dropped back into her chair, her mouth twisting in wry acknowledgment. Okay, so maybe her pride had suffered more than her heart. Even before she returned early from a cruise and caught her ex in bed with their well-endowed neighbor, Mackenzie had accepted the bitter fact that their marriage was over. She would have chosen a more civilized way to end it, though.
The mere memory of the very hard, very swift knee she’d planted in David’s groin when he’d grabbed her arm and tried to force her to listen to his pathetic excuses was enough to produce a grin. Whistling cheerfully, she went back to work.
Later that evening, Mackenzie used the short drive to Maggie and Adam’s house to prepare herself. She respected Adam, who’d served as OMEGA’s director before Maggie, but her loyalty was to his wife, who’d hired her right out of the navy. Mackenzie considered Maggie her friend as well as her mentor. What’s more, she thoroughly enjoyed the tales of Chameleon’s outrageous exploits the other OMEGA agents frequently repeated and, she suspected, greatly exaggerated.
Friend or no friend, however, no one entered Maggie and Adam’s elegant Georgetown residence without putting themselves in a mental brace. Controlled mayhem was the kindest way—the only way!—to describe their chaotic household.
Maggie’s pet iguana was bad enough. The thing was the size of a small dog, had a foot-long tongue and devoured plants, newspaper and shoes indiscriminately. Making matters worse was a pony-size Hungarian sheepdog, a gift from the vice president who’d wanted desperately to get rid of the oversize, overfriendly beast.
Unfortunately, Radizwell had recently developed a bad case of the hots for the blue-and-orange, bugeyed iguana. He was always trying to hump the hissing, spitting lizard. His enthusiastic efforts wreaked havoc on nearby furniture, had Adam gritting his teeth and made Maggie’s small daughters shriek with laughter. Mackenzie didn’t even want to think about the stories four-year-old Jilly shared with her friends and teachers at nursery school.
When she pulled into the circular drive leading to Adam and Maggie’s two-story home, she saw Nick had already arrived. She pulled up behind his Jag, trying hard not to drool over its gleaming black beauty, and made for the front door. Adam Ridgeway, code name Thunder, answered the tinkling call of the chimes.
Mackenzie gulped. Nick Jensen in tan cashmere and navy slacks was enough to make any woman swallow her tongue. Adam Ridgeway in white tie and tails could make her forget she ever had one.
If Mackenzie hadn’t sworn off men for the foreseeable future…
If this suave, aristocratic Bostonian wasn’t married to her idol…
If he weren’t carrying one dark-haired cherub in the crook of his right arm and had another tucked under his left…
“’Kenzie!”
The squeal came from the youngest, a bright-eyed two-year-old. Thrusting out her chubby arms, she demanded an instant embrace. With a smile for Adam, Mackenzie gathered Samantha into her arms. Her smile took a quick downward tilt when an ear-shattering woof boomed through the hall. Whirling, Adam rapped out a sharp command.
“No!”
Radizwell put out all four paws and tried to stop. He really tried. Claws clicking on the slick tiles, he slid a good three yards before careening past Adam, who managed to dodge him at the last second.
The dog recovered and looked up adoringly at Mackenzie, who’d been known to slip him forbidden delights during previous visits. His near-hairless body quivered from nose to tail. Without his thick, shaggy coat, the poor thing looked more like a newly shorn sheep than a sheepdog, but he was still big enough to knock over a dump truck.
“Downstairs,” Adam ordered, pointing to an open door halfway down the hall. Radizwell gave a long, mournful whine.
“Now!”
Throwing piteous looks over his shoulder, the animal plopped down on his belly and inched across the tiles. He paused at the open door, gave another whine and slunk down the stairs.
Mackenzie watched him disappear with some trepidation. She knew the stairs led down to Maggie’s luxurious office, where her mentor had just finished revisions to her groundbreaking tome on infant phonetics. She also knew Terence the iguana considered the office his personal domain. Mackenzie only hoped the lizard wasn’t currently occupying his favorite perch on Maggie’s desk. The horny sheepdog would go nuts trying to get at him.
“Don’t worry,” Adam said, guessing the direction of her thoughts. “Terence is upstairs in the girls’ playroom. With the door locked. I promise you and Nick a little peace tonight. As much as you can hope for,” he amended, ruffling his eldest daughter’s curls, “with this demolitions expert-in-training and her sister to contend with.”
Jilly giggled at what she obviously considered a high compliment and raised only a token protest when her father firmly closed the door leading to the basement. The sheepdog was her willing slave. She’d ride his back, dress him in her parents’ clothing, spray paint his fur. Tonight, though, she had ’Kenzie to play with. And her uncle Nick.
“Nick and Maggie are in the kitchen,” Adam informed Mackenzie. “The unprincipled rogue is seducing my wife with wild mushrooms.”
“No, daddy,” Jilly protested. “Uncle Nick can’t s’duce mommy. She’s already got a baby in her tummy. You put it there, remember?”
“As a matter of fact,” he replied, grinning at his precocious child, “I do.”
Dodging doll carriages, umbrellas and the tumbled plastic walls of a medieval castle, they made their way past an exquisite bombé chest topped by a gilt mirror that had once reflected the image of a Hungarian princess. An inch-thick Aubusson runner in rich ruby tones absorbed their footsteps.
When they entered the kitchen at the rear of the house, laughter drifted out to greet them, along with a host of tantalizing aromas. Even Mackenzie, whose taste ran to pizza, tacos and the occasional well-done rib eye, sniffed appreciatively. Hefting Samantha higher on her hip, she paused to survey the scene.
As always, the warmth and elegance of the kitchen/breakfast room/family area reached out to grab at her heart. It ran the whole back of the house. Tall French doors opened out on an English garden, complete with brick walks, boxwood hedges, glorious roses and a Victorian-style gazebo where the girls held their tea parties.
Inside the kitchen, everything was blue, white and bright, sunshiny yellow. Delftware plates decorated the
