The Makeover Mission (2 page)

"There are still a number of obstacles," the man they
referred to as the major said, leaving no doubt Jane was one of them, before he
continued, "There will be repercussions. Too much has already been badly
handled."

"That, then, is what you are here for." Gold epaulets
flashed and the uniform shifted. "I have heard you were the best. Fix the
problems and we will be on our way."

"It's not that easy—"

"I do not wish for excuses, Major McConneghy. I want only
solutions."

Jane watched the other man's gaze darken and shift and was
thankful he was no longer looking at her. Even the uniform seemed to realize
he'd taken the wrong tone with the man he called McConneghy as he stepped back
and waved a hand before him. "My fear is for Elena. This is a terrible
strain on her."

"I understand." The reply indicated understanding would
only be extended so far and not an inch further. "But a shoddy operation
is worse than no operation. I'll take care of the details here."

"Well then…" the uniform glanced around the room.
"I shall be on my way and expect to see you in Dubruchek tomorrow."

Jane did not feel relief when he turned on a booted heel and
marched from the room. In spite of his commands and imperial words, it was
Gray-eyes who worried her.

His stillness permeated the room, as if he were weighing options
and gauging consequences. The two soldiers kept their gazes on him, their
attention as ramrod straight as their stances.

"Elderman."

"Yes, sir."

"Tell Winters to ready the plane."

"Yes, sir." The soldier closest to the door saluted and
disappeared.

Two down, two to go, Jane thought, not finding an ounce of comfort
in the realization as long as one of those two was Major Gray-eyes.

She watched him, every cell in her body waiting, hoping against
hope that now that the others had left he would turn toward her, tell her it
was all a big mistake and unstrap the tape. But then optimism had always been
one of her weaknesses.

"I won't say anything to anyone if you'll let me go."
She heard the plea in her own voice.

"It's too late." The man said it as if with regret, then
nodded to the soldier behind her. His gaze shifted to hers, right before he
crouched beside her once again, his hand covering her own clenched fist, his
eyes steady on hers. "Just do exactly as I say and I promise you'll be
safe."

She believed his words, maybe because of the intensity of the gaze
riveted to hers, until movement out of the corner of her eye snagged her
attention.

The other man, the soldier who had been slightly behind her,
moved. He stepped forward, far enough into the light that she could make out
his face. One that looked too young to be dressed in fatigues. A soldier-boy
she thought, then caught sight of what was in his right hand.

Light flashed off a sliver of metal. A sharp, lethal-looking slice
of silver. One attached to a hypodermic syringe.

"No. No, please no." The words were automatic. And
useless. As useless as struggling against the bonds holding her. But she could
no more stop either reaction than the pounding of her heart. "No, I won't
tell. I won't—"

"It will be all right." Gray-eyes spoke, his words like
an anchor in the swirl of terror surging through her. Yet he was one of them.
More than that, he led them.

Her gaze snapped to his. "Please, don't let him do this.
Please … I won't—"

She could feel the other man's hand pin her arm even as

Gray-eyes raised his free hand, holding her chin so she could not
look toward the needle.

"You'll be safe. This is the best way. The only way."

She tried to pull her chin away but he wouldn't let her. Cold
dampness touched her lower arm. The pierce of a needle slid beneath her skin.
And yet he held her. There would be bruises tomorrow. If there was a tomorrow.

He spoke again, gently murmured nonsense words. Words that in
another place might have been of comfort, or compassion.

But this man held no compassion. If he did she wouldn't be there,
feeling helpless. Defenseless. Terrified.

The needle receded. The fear didn't. But it took only a heartbeat
to feel it muted. Her struggles slowed. Became exaggerated. Even more useless.

"Shhh. It won't be long now." Silence, then more words.
"You'll be safe. Remember that, you'll be safe."

She heard what he said. And knew he lied. His words lied. The
emotion in his gaze lied.

The cottony feeling thickened, but not enough to douse the
realization that he was still lying. She'd never be safe around this man.
Never.

And then the darkness descended.

Lucius McConneghy watched the flutter of the woman's dark
eyelashes as they slowly closed, creating half circles against the paleness of
her skin. She was fighting the drug Versed but it was pointless. Between the
earlier dosage and the fear accelerating through her system it'd be a matter of
minutes at the most, then they could move out.

"Check on the vehicle." He barked orders to Corporal
Tennison, aware they sounded harsher than they needed to be. Where was the
legendary McConneghy control? The ability to shut off all emotions to get the
mission accomplished?

Shot to hell, he mused, watching the younger man snap to attention
and all but run from the room. Shot to hell the moment he saw this doe-eyed
young woman, her look pleading with him to save her.

As if he were some bleeding angel of mercy. Hell, he was the
reason she was here. And the sooner she knew it, and accepted what her role
was, the better it would be for all concerned.

He felt the scramble of her pulse lessen beneath his hand. Her
head lolled forward, the curtain of her midnight-black hair shielding all but
the curve of her chin, the paleness of her complexion. One that had turned
sheet-white when she realized what Tennison was doing to her with the
hypodermic. Then her gaze had consigned him to a hell with no return. Not that
he blamed her.

But that was his job. Make the tough choices, get the mission
accomplished. Maybe he was getting old, or stale, since the thought sat heavy
on him. But he meant what he'd said. So far this mission had been a disaster.
If they'd had more time, they could have foregone the crudeness of a
kidnapping. Avoided the emotional and physical costs the woman before him
already was paying.

But if there was one thing he had accepted after years of service,
there was no going back and correcting past mistakes. There was only going
forward, and minimizing future ones. Someone always paid. In this case—her.

Jane Richards was his responsibility now. And he'd do everything
in his power to keep her alive. Everything.

"I will keep you safe," he whispered aloud to the woman
who couldn't hear him. He squeezed her hand, knowing it was a useless gesture,
surprised that he was compelled to do it at all.

Chapter 2

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^
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"
H
ere, drink this." The voice was close to her. A
male voice, like hot caramel over cold ice cream. One she thought she should
know.

"Open your eyes and drink this."

She didn't want to open her eyes. Then there'd be no going back,
no pretending she was safe and in Sioux Falls. But there was no avoiding it.
The voice wouldn't let her.

Slowly, as if they had been glued shut, she pried her eyes open.
Then shut them quickly.

Gray-eyes. Mesmerizing, compelling, lying Gray-eyes. Like the
crash of a wave—it all came back to her. Her apartment building. A cramped,
airless room. A man with medals strung across his chest and another
man—Gray-eyes—telling her one thing, holding her still while yet another shot
her full of who knew what.

"You can't ignore it. Better to face things head-on."

Easy for him to say, she wanted to snarl, surprised at the clean
edge of her anger. It felt good. Better than the terror she remembered so
vividly. The helplessness and confusion in the small room. The willingness to
trust a man who said one thing and did another. This man.

She opened her eyes again. Cowering was for cowards. While Jane
thought she was a lot of things—shy, unprepossessing, ordinary—she didn't like
thinking of herself as a coward.

"Who are you and what do you want?"

The demand she heard in her voice pleased her. For a second she
thought he might have felt the same way. A glimmer of a smile touched his lips,
until he pushed forward a glass. It looked as if he'd been holding it, waiting
for her. "Drink this. Then we'll talk."

She raised herself to a reclining position, balancing on her elbow
and reaching for the glass, aware her hand shook as she grasped its cool
surface. Even under ordinary circumstances it would have been difficult to
appear unmoved when a man like this hovered next to her, close enough that she
could smell the scent of his skin and feel the heat his body radiated. An
awareness out of place with the man who had kidnapped her.

She willed herself to look away, to break the contact of his gaze
pinning hers, and caught herself wondering what was in the glass he insisted
she drink. More drugs? Something to keep her quiet and compliant? Until what?
Or when?

"It's just water."

"Then you take a drink first." She thrust it back into
his hands, surprised she dared such a thing, even more surprised when he
accepted it and took a long, slow draught, his gaze never leaving hers over the
edge of the glass.

"It will help with the dry mouth." He pressed it back
into her hands. Obviously this man had dealt with drugged women before. Not a
comforting thought. "Later, if you want, I'll get you some aspirin for
your headache."

Yes, he definitely knew the aftereffects. Just who was this guy?
And what did he want with her?

She watched him rise to his feet and cross to a chair several feet
away. Only then did she sip from the glass, thankful for the cool sensation
soothing her too-dry throat, yet wary as to why he was being so solicitous. He
remained quiet until she had finished most of the water and placed the glass on
a coffee table before her.

It was only then that she sat up and looked around her. Looked
around and felt the flip-flop of her stomach. They were no longer in the small,
cramped room. It looked like a plane, but not the passenger kind.

Instead it looked like a living room, with carpeted floors, two butternut-brown
leather chairs on both sides of the couch she was sitting on, end tables and a
series of oval windows on either side which showed nothing but blue, blue sky.
With a feeling of detachment, or maybe it was hysteria again, she was glad to
find that here at least she wasn't tied to anything.

Not that she could make a run for it thousands of feet in the air,
she thought, sure it was hysteria making her want to shake her head and close
her eyes again.

But Gray-eyes had his own agenda.

"We're thirty-two thousand feet above the Atlantic
Ocean," he remarked, his voice calm and level. "We should be landing
in a little over two hours, given our present rate of speed."

"Landing where?"

"Dubruchek."

"And Dubruchek is where?" Jane wrapped her arms around
herself to keep from shaking.

"Dubruchek is the capital city of Vendari. A small, very
important mountain country in the Balkans."

"Important to whom?"

"To a lot of people." He shifted in his seat, leaning
forward, his fingers splayed across his knees as if they were discussing the
weather. It was then she saw the gun peeping out from a shoulder holster he
wore and knew, like a swift kick to the head, that this was not a dream. It was
a nightmare.

"I know this is all very confusing."

That was an understatement if she'd ever heard one. But something
in his look told her he'd have little patience for pithy comments.

"Vendari is a monarchy sandwiched between two larger, and
unstable countries, which makes it of strategic importance to the United
States."

Great, she wakes up to a strange man and a throbbing head only to
get a geography lesson.

He continued. "It's a monarchy with its own history of
bloodshed and violence. Its last king, Zhitomir Vassilivich Tarkioff, was
assassinated twenty years ago."

"And this means what?"

"Since then they've undergone two attempted coups." He
was ignoring her. "Again, not without bloodshed."

"What does this have to do with me?"

His gaze asked for patience, his voice gave nothing away.

"Today Vendari is ruled by King Viktor Stanislaus
Tarkioff."

"The man with the medals?" It was a wild guess, but
obviously right on target as she saw his glance narrow, his hands tighten
minutely.

"Yes, the man with the medals."

"And what is his relationship to Elena?"