“Yes and no.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, we confirmed the supply route for the terrorist group we were sent to locate.”
“That’s good.”
“Sure, but we also stumbled onto a village of goat herders.”
“Goat herders?”
“Or, to put it more accurately, they stumbled onto us. An old woman chasing after a goat walked right over the hide. She spotted the hole where we’d extended the radio antenna and ended up eye to eye with me.” He set down his empty mug and rubbed the back of his neck. “I knew she would raise the alarm if she got back to the village, but if she didn’t go back, someone else would come looking for her.”
“What did you do?”
“What else? We had to cut our losses and get out.”
“Was it difficult?”
He looked at her. “Wouldn’t have been, if the terrorists hadn’t chosen that minute to come to escort their shipment of weapons.”
“What happened?”
“We radioed for the chopper. Made it to the rendezvous with everyone still upright and a whopping twenty-five rounds of ammunition left among us, so it could have been worse.”
“At least you weren’t hurt.”
He remained silent.
She frowned. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”
“The bullet passed through.”
Her mug dropped to the deck, coffee splashing over her shoes. “What!”
He paused, watching her carefully. “Now I know better than to think you might be worried about me, right, Kate?”
“How bad was it?” she demanded. “Was that why you were supposed to be on leave?”
“I never pay attention to doctors.”
He hadn’t really answered her question, she realized. “Sam!”
“It was just a flesh wound.” He twisted to one side to pull up the edge of his T-shirt. “See for yourself.”
She didn’t even think about the impropriety of Sam pulling up his shirt, so intent was she on examining his injury. She focused on the skin on his side. There was a small puckered scab below one rib and a long, shallow red mark angling toward his armpit. The first was an entrance wound, the second was the gash where the bullet had torn its way out. “Oh, my God.”
“It’s almost healed, Kate.”
“You never should have jumped into the water last week to help the Genero boy. You could have torn this open.”
“I wasn’t going to let the kid drown just because of this.”
She touched her fingertips to his side. “Another few inches to the left and it would have hit your heart.”
“Hey, another few to the right and it would have missed.”
“How can you make light of it?”
“It’s really no big deal.” He paused. “But if you like, you can kiss it and make it better.”
Her fingers trembled at his teasing words. She was standing so close. She had already breached the distance between them by touching him. It would be so easy to go further. All she had to do was lean down and she could press her lips to his taut, tanned skin. Rub her cheek across the washboard ridges of his abdomen. Savor the fresh tang of his scent the way she used to when they were lovers…
Slowly she raised her gaze to his. She recognized the expression in his eyes. It had nothing to do with duty. He looked at her mouth, a brief glance that she felt as clearly as a physical touch.
He’d been doing that more and more lately. A lingering look. A flip comment. Small, unmistakable signals to remind her that he was still interested.
She should tell him to stop, but they had worked together well for a week. Technically he was keeping his distance. He wasn’t harassing her. How could she voice an objection without coming across as uptight and paranoid?
At least, that was the excuse she gave herself.
Let me know if you change your mind….
The words he’d uttered more than a week ago echoed teasingly. For a breathless instant she swayed toward him. Her fingers splayed over his side, soaking up his warmth, tingling at the strength that pulsed under her hand.
The radio in the cabin crackled, snapping her to her senses. She snatched her hand away and bent to retrieve her mug. “We’d better get back to work.”
The black car glided smoothly through the palace gates. At the end of a curving cobblestone drive, the sun-bleached stone of the main structure rose from the surrounding greenery. The car eased to a stop in front of a gracefully arching marble portico. Instantly a young man in the black, white and gold royal livery appeared to open the door.
Kate and Sam were ushered past a pair of guards who flanked the palace entrance. She tried not to gawk as she walked inside, but it was impossible to remain unmoved by the splendor around her. Sam had been here before when he’d initially been assigned to this mission, but this was her first time inside the palace. The entrance foyer took her breath away, its marble floor reflecting stately pillars that stretched two stories to the roof. Sunlight streamed in from a hexagonal dome of glass in the center, illuminating the huge room with warm shafts of gold.
“Gets to you, doesn’t it?” Sam asked. “All this wealth and power?”
She nodded. “It’s beautiful, but it’s a little intimidating.”
“It’s meant to be. The Sebastianis know what they’re doing,” he said wryly. “Ruling Montebello has been the family business for centuries.”
“Some family business.”
Sam lowered his voice. “You’re not looking forward to this, are you?”
“Not really.” Kate smoothed her skirt and checked that her cuffs were straight. “It would be different if we had some progress to report.”
“Yeah. King Marcus seems like a reasonable man, though. He probably didn’t order us here to chew us out.”
“He has no reason to. We’ve done our best with what we have.”
“That’s right. But if they try to take us to the basement, I’m outta here.”
“The basement?”
He winked. “The dungeons, remember?”
She gave him a nervous smile. She knew he was trying to ease her tension and she was grateful for his effort. “Very funny.”
“Lieutenant Mulvaney, Lieutenant Coburn, if you would follow me, please? The king will see you in the solarium.”
The speaker was a short man in his early sixties. His gray hair and salt and pepper mustache were neatly trimmed, his expression the blank politeness of someone who had spent his life as a servant. He led them past the grand staircase that rose majestically from the foyer. They progressed through a corridor, their footsteps echoing between rows of gilt-framed oil paintings of Sebastiani ancestors.
Eventually, the marble floor gave way to carpet and the splendor became less formal. It appeared to Kate as if they were leaving the public area of the palace and moving toward what must be the royal family’s private quarters.
She couldn’t understand why they were being shown here. If the king wanted a progress report, shouldn’t they have been meeting in a more official setting?
Their escort halted in front of a set of ornately carved arched wooden doors. Voices drifted