Three Marie Ferrarella Romances Box Set One Page 27

  She turned to run again, but the gleam of a gun barrel stopped her. It was pointed right at her. She knew she didn’t have a chance of escaping.

  The man’s smile was ice-cold.

  Then, right before her eyes, the smile faded and the man slumped forward, hitting his head on the pavement. His revolver bounced out of his hand.

  “Reese!” she cried when she saw him standing over the fallen foreign agent, a two-by-four in one hand. She felt both surprise and the greatest surge of relief she had ever experienced. “Why aren’t you with Max?”

  “I just saved your life and you want to know why I’m not somewhere else?” he asked, stunned.

  She shook her head. “I’m grateful, but Max needs—“

  Reese dropped the piece of wood and took her into his arms. “I’m not interested in what Max needs. What you need is—“

  This time she cut him short. “We’ve got to get to the hotel.” She stooped to pick up the fallen gun and shoved it into her purse.

  “What about him?” Reese nodded at the unconscious agent.

  “There’s no time.”

  They ran across the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by a taxi as it zoomed down the block.

  “Why didn’t you tell Max?” Charley asked as they entered the hotel lobby.

  “I sent him a message.”

  “A message?” she echoed incredulously.

  “With the assistant stage manager. My first priority was you.”

  She paused and looked into his eyes. “Thank you,” she said simply.

  There were a few guests in the lobby, and they cast questioning looks in Charley’s direction. Her ivory-colored dress was torn in one place and streaked with dirt.

  Scarcely aware of the attention she was drawing, she hurried to the front desk.

  “What room is Congressman Graystone in?” she asked the desk clerk.

  The man looked at the disheveled woman in front of him, and a haughty expression came over his face. “I’m sorry, but that is confidential information. He does not wish to be disturbed.”

  He was about to turn away, when Reese roughly grabbed his arm and Charley pulled out her FBI identification. The clerk looked from the shield to Charley, then back again.

  “Now will you tell me?” she asked.

  “Room Ten-Forty.” The man’s voice came out as a squeak.

  Charley was already on her way.

  “Hey, the elevator’s this way,” Reese called as she dashed right by it.

  “We can’t risk it!” she yelled, throwing open a heavy fire door. For all she knew, the congressman might already be dead and the papers gone. Anything was possible. But she had to think positively.

  “Why can’t we risk the elevator?” Reese asked.

  “Because it might be the last ride we take.” She had no doubt that there were more foreign agents posted strategically around the hotel.

  The stairwell was poorly lit and filled with grotesque shadows. The sounds of their running feet and harsh breathing filled the space, echoing eerily. Charley silently cursed the high-heeled shoes she’d worn onstage, which threatened to trip her every time she rounded a corner on the stairs.

  By the time they passed the seventh floor her head was throbbing and her legs felt rubbery. When they reached the tenth floor her lungs were straining from lack of air, and she paused a moment to steady her breathing. Then she motioned to Reese to stay back and took her gun from her purse. Cautiously she pulled open the heavy door.

  The hall was empty, except for a room-service cart two doors away. Room 1040 was just beyond that, on the other side. Charley was tempted to dash to the room, but instinct held her back. Why wasn’t someone posted in the hall to keep a lookout?

  “Here,” she whispered, shoving into Reese’s hand the gun she’d taken from the agent.

  “What . . .” He stared uncertainly at the gun.

  “You wanted to be part of my life,” she said. “This is part of it. Come on.”

  Crouched low, she ran to the cart, thankful that its floor-length linen tablecloth would hide them. After a moment Reese joined her.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “My guess is they’ll be coming out of the room any second. Probably with the congressman. Try to disarm the agents. Shoot at their legs.”

  “Legs? Charley, I couldn’t hit the side of a barn with this.”

  “Just aim and—“

  The sound of a door opening cut her off. She peered around the side of the cart and saw three men leave Room 1040. The congressman was in the middle, flanked by two men in dark suits. Chalmers followed them, closing the door behind them—but not before Charley had glimpsed a man lying on the floor of the room. The men were walking away from them, toward the elevator.

  Praying that Max and reinforcements were on the way, Charley dropped to one knee and swung out from behind the cart.

  “Get down, Congressman!” she shouted, and aimed at the man nearest to her. She fired three times in quick succession, and the man fell to the floor. The other agent started firing back, and out of the corner of her eye Charley saw Reese rise up behind the cart and shoot. The man was startled by Reese’s sudden appearance, and faltered. That moment of hesitation was all Charley needed, and she shot the man in the leg.

  Silence suddenly fell, and Charley rose to her feet and started down the hall, her gun trained on the two downed agents. Chalmers, seeing his side had lost, turned and ran down the hall.

  “This I can do,” Reese yelled as he sprinted past Charley, after Chalmers.

  Chalmers had just reached a turn in the hall when Reese dove for his legs and tackled him. Chalmers leaped to his feet, but Reese was too quick for him, and knocked him senseless with two well-aimed punches.

  Charley spared a moment to admire Reese’s style, then ordered the two agents to roll over onto their stomachs. She kicked their guns out of their reach. The congressman stood up.

  “Are you all right, sir?” she asked him.

  “Fine, fine,” he said, repeating the word a few times as if to reassure himself. “But I’m afraid one of your men is dead. They surprised us,” he added, his voice slightly unsteady and colored with shock.

  “You’re not the only one,” Charley said, taking a deep breath to try to calm herself.

  “He came in,” Graystone continued, pointing at Chalmers, “telling me there had been a change in plans and ...” His voice trailed off. He seemed too drained to finish his story.

  He didn’t have to. Charley could fill in the details for herself. One unguarded moment would have been all that Chalmers needed to do away with the special agent.

  Suddenly she heard a noise behind her, and whirled, ready to shoot. The reassuring, bulky figure that emerged from the stairwell made her breathe a sigh of relief. “All yours, Max,” she said, nodding at the three captives. “We were right. It was Chalmers.”

  “So it appears.”

  Two other agents appeared behind Max. “Well, gentlemen,” he said to them, “I do believe we have some housecleaning to do.” He turned to Charley, and a look of compassion crossed his features for an instant. “The performance is canceled for tonight,” he said, “and for good, no doubt. Allison is being detained at the moment. Get some rest, Charley. You did a good job, even though you disobeyed orders.” He eyed Reese for a moment before turning his attention to the congressman.

  “Is it over?” Reese asked as Charley took his hand and pulled him away from the commotion.

  “Yes, it’s over,” she said. She felt exhausted and yet highly agitated. She knew she wouldn’t calm down for hours. It was time to talk. To sort things out. “Come to my room?” she asked as she pressed the elevator button.

  “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

  She slumped against him, needing to feel his support. “I’m glad you were there,” she said as they stepped into the elevator.

  “That makes two of us. I’d hate to think of what that hulk in the alley had in mind for you.” />
  “I don’t think about it. That’s the only way to handle all this.”

  They rode down to the fourth floor in silence, and didn’t speak until they were inside Charley’s room. She closed the door and turned to him.

  “I’m going to leave the Bureau,” she said flatly. “I’ll tell Max tomorrow.”

  He considered her words for a moment. “Are you going to tell him you’re burned out? Or are you going to tell him that you’re leaving because you’re choosing me?”

  “Does it matter?” she asked, trying to read his expression.

  “Very much.”

  “Because I’m choosing you,” she said softly.

  To her surprise, he shook his head. “Then you’re not leaving,” he said. As she opened her mouth to protest, he stopped her. “You thrive on this. I saw you upstairs. If I tried to keep you away from the excitement, the danger, you’d soon resent me. I won’t let that happen,” he said firmly.

  “But what about us?”

  “Our relationship can still go on.”

  “But you could get hurt,” she protested. “Like tonight—“

  He sat down on the bed and drew her onto his lap. “But I didn’t get hurt, did I?”

  “No, but—“

  “Now, you listen to me, Charley Tremayne.” He paused. “That is your real name, isn’t it?” he asked. She nodded. “Good. At least I don’t have to get used to calling you something else.” He smiled, then continued. “I got a crash course on your world tonight and I survived—“

  “But the next time—“ she began.

  “Will be the next time,” he said. He reached behind her and began to pull down the zipper of her dress. “We’ll worry about it when it happens. Charley, maybe this isn’t registering with you, but I love you. That covers an awful lot of ground as far as I’m concerned. I’d rather spend a short life loving you than an eternity being nice and safe—and separated from you. Besides”—he kissed her temple— “nice and safe isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I like a little excitement in my life too.”

  He ran his hand along the long line of her spine and his smile broadened. “I like the way you dress,” he murmured. He eased the dress off her shoulders and the bodice fell to her waist. “But I like the way you undress even better.”

  He captured her mouth with his, and she seemed to melt against him. His hands slid around to her back, and he unfastened her bra and pulled it off. She moaned against his lips, and he broke the kiss. When she felt him nestle his head between her aching breasts, she wound her fingers through his thick hair, holding him there. With tantalizing motions his tongue caressed each nipple. She shivered with delight and arched her back.

  “So you’re going to have to make a choice,” he said, his voice surprisingly even and steady. She opened her eyes, trying to concentrate on what he was saying. “Either you marry me or you keep looking over your shoulder, listening for the sound of footsteps. ‘Cause, lady, I’m never letting you out of my sight.”

  He pushed her gently onto the bed and slid her dress down off her hips. She smiled with eager anticipation, and the flame of desire he saw in her eyes aroused him almost unbearably. Within moments he had removed the rest of their clothing and lain down beside her.

  “I have an alternative plan,” she murmured.

  “Oh?” He lazily ran a finger around her navel.

  “How would you feel about forming an agency of our own?”

  “Could the government stand the competition?” he asked teasingly.

  “I mean a detective agency,” she said, laughing. “I’ve been thinking—“ She sucked in her breath sharply as his finger strayed over her sensitive belly. He was making it difficult for her to concentrate on the conversation. “I’ve been thinking that I might prefer working for myself.” His finger was now tracing figure eights on the inside of her thigh. “What do you think?” she asked breathlessly.

  “I’m crazy about the idea,” he said, kissing the hollow of her throat. She squirmed and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her body to his. “Anything so long as we’re together.” He ran his tongue along the valley between her breasts. “I could help you out, in my own inept way.”

  “There’s nothing inept about you,” she said, her voice husky with longing. She slid her hands along his sleek body, reveling in its hard muscles.

  “Thank you. Now there’s only one thing I still need to know.”

  “What?”

  “Who gets custody of Max?”

  Even in her present state of mounting ecstasy, Charley had to laugh. “The Bureau.”

  “Thank heavens,” Reese said, drawing back to look into her eyes. “He’d be awfully bored on the honeymoon.”

  She twined her arms around his neck as he shifted his weight to cover her body with his. “Just so long as we’re not,” she said.

  “Not by a long shot, Charley,” he promised, just before he gave her a preview of things to come.

  THE END

  December 32 and Always

  December 32… And Always

  By Marie Ferrarella

  Marie’s Originals

  Book 3

  Marie’s Originals are reprints of romances published earlier by Bantam’s Loveswept line or Berkley/Jove, made available again in e-book form.

  Chapter One

  The first surprise was the bouquet of roses on her desk.

  The last time Patrissa Covington Hamilton had received roses was twelve years ago, on her eighth wedding anniversary. That was before Roger had gotten so caught up in his work.

  But Roger had been gone for over a year now, taken from her just as she was approaching what she had always termed “the mellow years.” When Pat blew out the forty candles on her birthday cake, she was far from able to relax in the comfortable companionship of the man she had been married to all her adult life. Instead, she faced the biggest challenge of her life. A challenge that had been handed to her by her husband on his deathbed—to complete his crowning achievement, to give wing to his impossible dream.

  And what better person to have asked? Roger had always said he saw Pat as an extension of himself. But his work had clouded his vision and he had not seen how different from him his wife really was. But he had been right about one thing. He knew Pat was loyal enough to give it her all . . . and then some.

  Indeed, his brothers, mother, and assorted other members of the family had gone from shaking their heads to looking at Pat as if she had lost her mind. The dream, they pointed out over and over again, would never get off the ground.

  A good choice of words, she had thought at the time, because Roger’s dream had involved a revolutionary airplane, lighter than what was out there now, its outer frame constructed of specially treated material, enabling it to get mileage like that of a heavy car of the fifties.

  Her mind had been on the thousand and one obstacles facing her when she walked into her office on the second floor of the plant located outside Albuquerque, New Mexico. She was startled by the sight of those two dozen roses, an exquisite splash of brilliance in the otherwise colorless and severely decorated office.

  What was this? she wondered. A peace offering? Or a bribe? What were Roger’s two brothers up to now?

  Pat turned to the tall, powerful-looking Zuni Indian who had been her husband’s right hand at the plant for fifteen years. Roger had given him a job when no one else wanted to take a chance on a man recently out of prison. Sam White Horse had been a little high-spirited in his youth, but he had given Roger two hundred percent of his loyalty for his kindness, and he had transferred his silent devotion to Pat when she had assumed the mantle of chairman of the board. It was he who kept her abreast of everything, both inside the plant and out. Sam knew everything that was going on or about to go on. Everything, it seemed, but the origin of the roses.

  “There’s no card,” Pat said, still staring at the flowers. “I wonder what those two are up to.”

  Sam obviously knew whom she was talking about. “They a
ren’t the type to send flowers at all,” Sam observed. “And if they did, it would be chrysanthemums. They last longer.”

  Pat smiled, lighting up her slightly rounded face. “You’ve got that right.” She bent her head to smell the flowers. The fragrance of the recently opened buds was heavenly.

  “But if they didn’t send them, who did?” she asked.

  “I did.”

  That was the second surprise.

  Pat spun toward the voice. The sight of the tall figure in the doorway virtually destroyed her composure. Her soft brown eyes grew wide, and her hand unconsciously flew to her head to make sure that the fashionably arranged honey-brown hair was not mussed and that all the pins were in place.

  “Blaise,” she said in an audible whisper that made Sam look at his diminutive boss with an arched brow.

  Nervousness took hold of Pat. Her insides quivered as her eyes swept over the tall, almost unbearably handsome man who stood in the doorway of her office. Just behind him, Pat could see Alice, her secretary, peering hungrily at Blaise’s back.

  He hadn’t changed.

  Pat had first seen him twenty-one years ago, and except for the gray touches at his temples, he hadn’t changed at all. Except, perhaps, that he had grown handsomer.

  Dear God, what was she thinking of? She tried to rally herself mentally. She was an old married—no, widowed—woman. This fluster she was experiencing was something teenage girls felt at seeing their idol up close. No one else had ever had this effect on her, not even Roger, not the first time he had taken her into his arms or the first time he had made love to her. What was the matter with her? Pat wondered, color rising to her face. She thanked God she had a healthy tan to hide that betraying red.

  Where was her easygoing, laid-back manner now, just when she needed it? she thought frantically. Blaise Hamilton was a world traveler, used to the company of the highest run of society. She couldn’t behave like a schoolgirl in front of him. After all, she was Patrissa Covington Hamilton, chairman of the board, a wealthy lady. . . .