Mackenzie's Pleasure (20 page)

easy to find her, and how she could get there without leaving a paper trail that would lead a

halfway competent terrorist straight to her. Meanwhile, Mack Prewett wasn't a halfway

competent bureaucrat, he was frighteningly efficient; he was like a spider, with webs of

contacts spreading out in all directions. If she booked a flight using her real name, or paid

for it with a credit card, he would know.

To truly hide, she had to have cash, a lot of it. That meant emptying her bank account, but

how could she get there without her father knowing? It had reached the point where she would

have to climb out the window and walk to the nearest pay phone to call a cab.

Maybe the house was already being watched.

She moaned and covered her face with her hands. Oh, God, this was making her paranoid,

but did she dare
not
suspect anything? As some wit had observed, even paranoids had enemies.

She had to think of the baby. No matter how paranoid an action seemed, she had to err on

the side of safety. If she had to dress in dark clothing, slither out a window in the wee hours of

the morning and crawl across the ground until she was well away from this house... as ridiculous as it

sounded, she would do it. Tonight? The sooner she got away, the better.

Tonight.

That decision made, she took a deep breath and tried to think of the details. She would

have to carry some clothing. She would take her checkbook and bank book, so she could close out

both her checking and savings accounts. She would take her credit cards and get as much cash as she

could on them; everything together would give her a hefty amount, close to half a million

dollars. How would she carry that much money? She would need an empty bag.

This was beginning to sound ludicrous, even to her. How was she supposed to crawl across

the lawn in the darkness, dragging two suitcases behind her?

Think! she fiercely admonished herself. Okay, she wouldn't have to carry either clothes or

suitcases with her.

All she would need to carry was her available cash, which was several hundred dollars,

her checkbook and savings account book, and her credit cards, which she would destroy after they

had served their purpose. She could buy new clothes and makeup, as well as what luggage she

would immediately need, as soon as a discount store opened. She could buy do-it-yourself hair

coloring and dye her red hair brown, though not until after she had been to the bank. She

didn't want the teller to be able to describe her disguise.

With cash in her possession, she would have several options. She could hop on Amtrak and

go in any direction, then get off the train before her ticketed destination. Then she could buy a

cheap used car, pay cash for it, and no one would know where she went from there. To be on the safe

side, she would drive that car for only one day, then trade it in on a better car, again paying cash.

These were drastic measures, but doable. She still wasn't certain she wasn't being

ridiculous, but did she dare bet that way, when her life, and that of her child, could hang in

the balance?
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Who had said that? Perhaps an eighteenth-century revolutionary; if so, she knew how he had felt. She had to disappear as completely as

possible. She would mail her father a postcard before she left town, letting him know that she was

all right but that she thought it would be better to get away for a while, otherwise he would think she

had indeed been kidnapped again, and he would go mad with grief and terror. She couldn't do that to

him. She still loved him very much, even after all he had done. Again a wave of disbelief and

uncertainty hit her. It seemed so impossible that he would sell information to terrorists, so opposite

to the man she had always known him to be. She was aware that he wasn't universally well

liked, but the worst accusation she had ever heard leveled against him was that he was a

snob, which even she admitted was accurate. He was very effective as a diplomat and

ambassador, working with the CIA, which was of course set up in every embassy, using his

social standing and contacts to smooth the way whenever a problem cropped up. He had

personally been acquainted with the last six presidents, and prime ministers called him a

friend. This man was a traitor?

It couldn't be. If she had only herself to consider, she would give him the benefit of the

doubt.

But there was the baby, the tiny presence undetectable to any but herself. She could

feel it in her breasts, which had become so tender she was always aware of them, and in the

increased sensitivity and pressure low down in her abdomen, as her womb began to swell with

amniotic fluid and increased blood flow. It was almost a hot feeling, as if the new life forming

within her was generating heat with the effort of development.

Zane's baby.

She would do anything, no matter how Draconian, to keep it safe. She had to find

some secure place where she could get the prenatal care she needed. She would have to

change her name, get a new driver's license and a new social security card; she didn't know

how these last two would be accomplished, but she would find out. There were always shady

characters who could tell her. The driver's license could be forged, but the social security card

would have to come through the regular administration. Even though social security was

being phased out, until it was completely gone, everyone still had to have a number in order

to get a legitimate job.

There was something else to consider. It would be stupid of her to live off her cash

until it was all gone. She would need a job, anything that paid enough to keep a roof over

their heads and food in their stomachs. She had degrees in art and history, but she wouldn't be

able to use her own name, so she wouldn't be able to use those degrees to get a teaching job.

She didn't know what the job situation would be wherever she settled; she would simply

have to wait and see. It didn't matter what she did, waiting tables or office work, she would

take whatever was available.

She glanced at the clock: seven-thirty. Nerves notwithstanding, she was acutely hungry

now, to the point of being sick with it. Her pregnant body had its own agenda, ignoring

upset emotions and concentrating only on the business at hand.

The thought brought a smile to her face. It was almost as if the baby was already

stomping a tiny foot and demanding what it wanted.

Tenderly she pressed her hand over her belly, feeling a slight firmness that surely

hadn't been there before. "All right," she whispered to it. "I'll feed you."

She showered and dressed, mentally preparing herself to face her father without giving

anything away. When she entered the breakfast room, he looked up with an expression of

delight, quickly tempered by caution. "Well, it's a pleasure to have your company," he said,

folding the newspaper and laying it aside.

"Some birds woke me up," she said, going to the buffet to help herself to toast and

eggs. She fought a brief spell of nausea at the sight of sausage and changed her mind about

the eggs, settling on toast and fruit. She hoped that would be enough to satisfy the

demanding little creature.

"Coffee?" her father asked as she sat down. He already had the silver carafe in his hand,

poised to pour.

"No, not today," she said hastily, as her stomach again clenched warningly. "I've been

drinking too much caffeine lately, so I'm trying to cut down." That was a direct lie. She had

stopped drinking anything with caffeine in it as soon as she suspected she might be pregnant, but

it was as if her system was still warning her against it. "I'll drink orange juice." So far, that hadn't

turned her stomach.

She applied herself to her food, replying civilly to his conversational gambits, but she

couldn't bring herself to wholeheartedly enter into a discussion with him the way she once

would have done. She could barely look at him, afraid her feelings would be plain on her face.

She didn't want him any more alert than he already was.

"I'm having lunch with Congressman Garth," he told her. "What are your plans for the

day?"

"None," she replied. Her plans were all for the night.

He looked relieved. "I'll see you this afternoon, then. I'll drive myself, so Poole will be

available to drive you if you do decide to go anywhere."

"All right," she said, agreeing with him because she wasn't going anywhere.

Once he'd left the house, she spent the day reading and occasionally napping. Now

that she had made up her mind to go, she felt more peaceful. Tomorrow would be an exhausting

day, so she needed to rest while she could.

Her father returned in the middle of the afternoon. Barrie was sitting in the living

room, curled up with a book. She looked up as he entered and immediately noticed how the

drawn look of worry eased when he saw her. "Did you have a nice lunch?" she asked, because that was

what she would have done before.

"You know how these political things are," he said. Once he would have sat down and told

her all about it, but this time he smoothly evaded talking specifics. Senator

Garth was on several important committees concerning national security and foreign

affairs. Before she could ask any more questions, he went into his study, closing the door

behind him. Before, he had always kept it open as an invitation to her to visit whenever she

wanted. Sadly Barrie looked at the closed door, then returned to her book.

The doorbell startled her. She put the book aside and went to answer it, cautiously

looking through the peephole before opening the door. A tall, black-haired man was standing there.

Her heart jumped wildly, and a wave of dizziness swept over her. Behind her, she heard her

father coming out of his study. "Who is it?" he asked sharply. "Let me get it."

Barrie didn't reply. She jerked the door open and stared up into Zane's cool, blue gray

eyes. Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely breathe.

That sharp gaze swept down her body, then came up to her face. "Are you pregnant?"

he asked quietly, his voice pitched low so her father couldn't hear, even though he was rapidly

approaching.

"Yes," she whispered.

He nodded, a terse movement of his head as if that settled that. "Then we'll get

married."

Her father reached them then, and shouldered Barrie aside. "Who are you?" he

demanded, still in that sharp tone.

Zane coolly surveyed the man who would be his father-in-law. "Zane Mackenzie," he

finally replied, when he had finished his appraisal. His darkly tanned face was impassive,

but there was a piercing quality to his pale eyes that made Barrie suddenly aware of how dangerous

this man could be. It didn't frighten her; under the circumstances, this quality was exactly

what she needed.

William Lovejoy had been alarmed, but now his complexion turned pasty, and his

expression froze. He said stiffly, "I'm sure you realize it isn't good for Barrie to see you again. She's

trying to put that episode behind her—"

Zane looked past Lovejoy to where Barrie stood, visibly trembling as she stared at

him with pleading green eyes. He hadn't realized how green her eyes were, a deep forest green, or

how expressive. He got the impression that she wasn't pleading for him to be nice to her

father, but rather that she was asking for help in some way, with some thing. His battle instincts

stirred, his senses lifting to the next level of acuity. He didn't know exactly what she was

asking of him, but he would find out, as soon as he dealt with the present situation. It was time to

let the former ambassador know exactly where he stood.

"We're getting married," he said, still looking at Barrie, as he cut through the

ambassador's continuing explanation on why it would be best if he left immediately. His

steely voice, which had instantly commanded the attention of the deadliest guerrilla

fighters in the world, cut through Lovejoy's stuffy, patronizing explanation.

The ambassador broke off, and a look of panic flashed across his face. Then he said, "Don't

be ridiculous," in a strained tone. "Barrie isn't going to marry a sailor who thinks he's

something special because he's a trained assassin."

Zane's cool gaze switched from Barrie to her father and went arctic cold, the blue

fading to a gray that glinted like shards of ice. Lovejoy took an involuntary step back, his

complexion going from pasty to white.

"Barrie, will you marry me?" Zane asked deliberately, keeping his gaze focused on

Lovejoy.

She glanced from him to her father, who tensed as he waited for her answer.

"Yes," she said, her mind racing. Zane. She wouldn't question the miracle that had brought

him here, but she was so desperate that she would have married him even if she hadn't loved him.

Zane was a SEAL; if anyone could keep her safe from the unknown enemy who had her father so on