Part 1 (2/2)

Refusing to allow any other thought to cross his mind other than to reach his newly targeted destination, Lach used his weapon to open the tent to peer out into the night and ensure that his path was clear. Gunfire was now being exchanged openly and it was only a matter of minutes before the leader of this group retreated with Phoebe Dunaway in tow. Lach used the darkness to conceal his maneuver as much as possible to get through the camp unmolested, having only to use his weapon once to eliminate a panicked and fleeing guard. He stopped short when he came upon the target shelter to find a man holding his hostage against his chest.

Lach had a fleeting thought that Phoebe Dunaway's picture didn't do her justice, but he immediately pushed it away as he focused on the man's weapon. It was an ancient British service pistol called an Enfield No. 2 Mk1, chambered in a soft nosed 38/200 round. It was more than capable of doing the job at close range. Lach had memorized everything there was to know about this man, from what he ate for breakfast to when he took a s.h.i.+t. There wouldn't be a long drawn out negotiation. This wasn't the States and this was nothing like his prior job with the Bureau. Out here it was man against beast. Lach knew his place on the hierarchy and without hesitation pulled the trigger on his much more modern weapon, knowing the double action pull on the old spurless hammer of that No. 2 would take too long to beat him to the draw.

To her credit and his surprise, Phoebe Dunaway didn't scream in the shrill shriek that he would have expected. That wasn't to say that she didn't wince or that her fight or flight instinct didn't kick in. She immediately tried to run for safety, but he was in front of her before she could gain speed and put herself in added danger.

”Stop.”

It was obvious the word didn't penetrate Phoebe's fright as she tried to dodge to his right and then to his left when he s.h.i.+fted his stance. She was no more than five feet, five inches and his six foot four frame was formidable. She came up short and stared up at him with blue eyes filled with defiance. Her blonde hair was of medium length and secured at the nape of her neck, where her skin was covered in perspiration, heedless of the cool air. Fear had a tendency to do that. Lach knew they were running out of time before the rest of the rebels realized their leader was gone. They needed to evacuate the area. Now.

”Phoebe Dunaway.” Lach could tell from the tilt of her head that he now had her full attention, regardless that pandemonium was still happening around them. ”We were sent to rescue you. Follow behind with your hand on my back. Do not let go! Do what I say and we'll get you to safety.”

Phoebe's lips parted as if she were going to say something but just as quickly closed them. The slight nod of her head and her acquiesce garnered a little bit of his respect. However, he refused to dwell on the trivial and there was no time to waste, so Lach surveyed the area and mentally calculated the best escape route.

”Echo Lead, Eagle Overwatch. In position to cover movement to rally point Zulu.”

Lach turned and immediately felt Phoebe's small hand in the middle of his back. He ignored her heat and did what he did best. There would be time later to lecture her on how foolish it had been to come to such an area where rebels were known to ply their trade. He knew he wouldn't be able to help himself. He hadn't had time to let it sink in that he'd lost men on this mission, but it would be something they would both have to live with.

Chapter Two.

Eight Months Ago Iraq Phoebe rummaged through her backpack once more, ensuring that she had the proper supplies for the upcoming month. Experience taught you what you truly needed and what you could do without when you carried everything you had on your own back. She'd come to realize that she didn't need much on these missions, although it mostly came down to understanding that she'd be too busy to worry about trivial things. It was a nice change from her usual life back in the States.

Cinching up the pack, Phoebe then reached for the S&W tactical knife that would fit into her boot. Instantly her palms became damp as memories of Africa swam in front of her and she dropped her hand to her side. It was weird how tangible things and smells set off the strongest memories. She wasn't naive and she certainly wasn't imprudent. She and the organization that she worked for thought they'd covered all the bases for security while volunteering their time to administer food and medical supplies to the locals. When their camp was attacked, it became abundantly clear that their efforts had been well wasted. Her group had been rescued, but some of the contractors and the local guides sent to rescue them had either been wounded or lost their lives.

A knock sounded on the door in Phoebe's hotel room, startling her out of her reverie. She was grateful for the interruption. A quick glance at her watch showed her that Timothy was a little early. She hoped his premature arrival didn't indicate problems with the medical supplies that were supposedly already waiting for her at the compound. She'd completed one charitable mission after Africa and she'd been on pins and needles the entire time. Nevertheless, volunteering in this manner wasn't something she could just give up due to a few lingering nerves.

”Coming.”

Phoebe looked down at her khaki shorts and white T-s.h.i.+rt and then frowned at her vanity. It was a hard habit to break, confirming her appearance was proper. Her mother and father had ingrained that trait in her from the time she could walk. It didn't matter what she looked like out here, as long as she was covered enough to keep the local religious leaders off the warpath. All that really counted was giving these people the aid and support they needed. She tucked her hair behind her ears as she crossed the room, looking for one of her hair ties but unable to locate any. Those were a necessity during these missions as far as she was concerned.

Grabbing and twisting the k.n.o.b, Phoebe opened the door and came face to face with the last man she would have ever expected to be Iraq. Fear among other primal feelings and thoughts ran through her as her brain tried to process what Lach McKinnon's presence might mean. What stuck at the forefront were his parting words the last and only time she'd seen him. She'd never admit that his words were like daggers to her heart. You're nothing but a spoiled little rich girl.

”Let's go.”

Rage balled up in Phoebe's chest as she stared up into his dark eyes. Lach was tall...taller than any man she'd ever had personal dealings with. His demeanor could almost be described as lethal and she'd certainly seen him in that manner. He kept his dark hair short, although not cropped. It seemed to stay in place, the same as the frown on his chiseled face. The square of his jaw was prominent, but it was his lips that took exception. They were full and appeared soft, unlike his unpleasant personality.

”Nothing has happened,” Phoebe p.r.o.nounced, a little too loud even to her. She hated being on the defensive and he seemed to have an automatic way of causing her to be that way. ”We haven't even been taken to the compound that we'll be working out of and we have enough security. Why are you here?”

”There's never enough security in a place like this.”

Lach stepped forward, causing Phoebe to move back and let him gain entrance. She'd noticed it before, but he was a man of few words and he wasn't the type to be rushed with what he did have to say. Knowing the fastest way to get him to leave would be for her to remain silent and force his hand, she buried her frustration, closed the door behind him and used the wood for support. He didn't need to see that her fingers were still clutching the handle.

Phoebe watched him as he surveyed the room, which was spa.r.s.e. The organization that she worked for, the Crescent Heart Foundation, didn't have a lot of cash to work with and what they did have on the accounts was used for aid. She did a lot of soliciting for charitable contributions when she wasn't actively in the field. She'd taken over Annabelle Dunaway's one true love and had no intention of stopping. Her father and those he employed would have to come to accept that. The woman's legacy foundation was all that Phoebe had left of her mother.

”Your father's debating a run for the presidency. You're needed at home.”

Had the doork.n.o.b been made of anything else instead of metal, Phoebe had no doubt she would have torn it off. She closed her eyes, willing the tears that had welled up to subside. They weren't from sadness, but from pure anger. Stan Louis Dunaway thought of no one but himself...certainly not his daughters. She wondered if Kimmie had been notified, but she didn't want to let Lach know how much this affected her. Guilt ate at her for feeling that way about her father. He did love them, but work always seemed to come before her and her sister.

”I'll be home when I finish this mission.” Phoebe cleared her throat and forced her fingers to release the handle. ”We're set up and ready to go. Timothy and Lolita are due here any moment. The other volunteers should already be at camp. We're not going to disappoint the people of the area that we've targeted to help.”

”As I said, you're needed at home. I'm not here to debate with you. Take it up with your father.”

”I will. From here.” Phoebe waited for his gaze to swing to hers, and when it did she met him eye for eye. The right side of his jaw twitched, but other than that he showed no sign of emotion. She wasn't going to back down. He didn't get to tell her what to do. ”Feel free to leave.”

”When I leave here, you'll be by my side.”

For some insane reason Phoebe felt that he wanted to add or over his shoulder, but he refrained. There were a lot of things she was abstaining from saying too, so he didn't get carte blanche. When he widened his stance and crossed his arms, it took everything in her not to pick something up and throw it at him. He irritated her in a way no one else ever had.

”How much is my father paying you?” Phoebe asked, mimicking his posture. Two could play this game. ”You don't strike me as the type of man to be someone's lackey.”

”Phoebe, let's be clear.” Lach let his hands fall to his sides and then he took a step forward. It took everything in her not to back away. ”I would have done this a.s.signment for free. You're the daughter of a U.S. Senator. You're intentionally putting yourself at risk and someone needs to ride your a.s.s until you get it through your G.o.dd.a.m.ned head that this isn't some 'dress-up and help the poor volunteer day'. You needlessly put yourself and others in jeopardy. Your little pastime got good men killed...my men. So I'm telling you one more time. Get your bag and let's go.”

Again, so many thoughts and emotions ran through Phoebe that her brain couldn't process them all. Lach had never strung together more than a sentence that contained ten words, yet he'd just lectured her like he had some G.o.d-given right. He knew nothing about her and her need to continue her mother's work. He definitely didn't know about the guilt that ate at her daily for those lives lost in Africa. As for her being a U.S. Senator's daughter-that was her cross to bear.

Before Phoebe could respond to his criticism, another knock sounded at the door. To her utter disbelief, Lach drew his weapon from underneath his leather jacket and used two long strides to bring him beside the door. This was getting out of hand. They weren't in Northern Africa and she knew d.a.m.n well who was at the door.

”Stop it,” Phoebe hissed, marching up and trying to move Lach out of the way. She might as well have been trying to move the rock of Gibraltar. His large hand encircled her upper arm and he had her up against the wall in under a second, the front of her body now melded with his. She'd lost her breath but quickly regained it back upon hearing another rap on the door. ”It's only Timothy. He's here to tell me that the vehicles are out front and ready to take us to our location.”

”I'll deal with him.”

Just like that, Lach pushed away from her and stood to his full height. Phoebe tucked her hair behind her ears, trying to regain some composure. He had her off kilter and that wasn't a feeling she usually had to deal with. He had the door open and Timothy inside the room before she could try and do it herself.

”Um, is everything okay?” Timothy asked, looking anxiously at Lach's weapon. He pushed up his gla.s.ses and then rubbed his palms along his navy shorts. ”Phoebe?”

”Phoebe's needed at home.” Lach casually replaced his pistol into the holster and let his jacket fall over it, giving her the answer as to why he was wearing a coat to begin with. ”I'm sure you can carry out the volunteer mission in her place.”

”Phoebe?”

She had two options but knew that the only one Lach would accept at the moment was her choosing to head back to the States. If she selected to stay, she wasn't so sure Lach didn't have a backup plan to make sure she was on that plane. Timothy didn't need to be subjected to her father's henchman. Stan Dunaway was a very determined man and it was obvious he'd hired someone of the same caliber. In her mind, that wasn't a compliment.

”There's been a change in plans, Timothy.” Phoebe then proceeded to walk him through everything he needed to know and even supplied him with the inventory list. ”Make sure Nancy has full access to the medical supplies and that Donna has enough locals to help deliver the food.”

Phoebe continued to answer Timothy's questions, all the while noticing that Lach had situated himself across the room in one of the chairs up against the far wall. His dark gaze never wavered from her and she had no doubt that he still thought of her as some spoiled little rich girl getting her rocks off helping those less fortunate. She pushed away the need to change his opinion, telling herself that it didn't matter. He didn't matter.

”Okay,” Timothy replied, sneaking one more look at where Lach was sitting. The silence was deafening and Phoebe shot a look of annoyance his way. He didn't need to be rude. ”Well, I guess I'll be going. I'll try to contact you over the Sat phone in the next few days, but I probably won't make it back to the city anytime soon.”

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