She could see Jack the night they’d met. She’d accompanied her aunt and uncle to a formal function at the American embassy. As head of the security detail, Gunnery Sergeant Carstairs had stood just behind the ambassador, square-shouldered, proud, confident. And so damned handsome in his dress blues that Elena hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him all evening.
She’d been the one to ask him to dance. She’d called him a few days later, inviting him to join her for a Sunday afternoon stroll through Chapultapec Park. She’d let him know in every way a woman could that she was attracted to him.
And that’s all it was. A sizzling, searing attraction.
At first.
How could she know she’d fall desperately in love with the man? That she’d find a passion in Jack’s arms she’d never come close to tasting before? That she’d swear to give up everything for him—her scholarship, her family, her pride—only to have him throw them all back in her face.
If she closed her eyes, she could replay their final scene in painful, brilliant color. Jack was already under house arrest. Her uncle’s overly protective, knee-jerk reaction to his niece’s affair had forced the U.S. ambassador to demand Sergeant Carstairs’s immediate reassignment and possible disciplinary action.
Steaming, Ellie had ignored her uncle’s stern orders to the contrary, marched to the marine barracks and demanded to see Jack. He’d come to the foyer, stiff and remote in his khaki shirt and blue trousers with the crimson stripe down each leg. With brutal honesty, he’d laid his feelings on the line.
Ellie still had a year of college and at least three years of grad school ahead of her. He was going home to face a possible court-martial and an uncertain future. He refused to make promises he might not be able to keep. Nor would he allow her put her future on hold for his.
He was so noble, Ellie had railed. So damned, stupidly obstinate. Traits he continued to demonstrate even after they both returned to the States.
Cringing inside, Ellie recalled the repeated attempts she’d made to contact Jack. He wouldn’t return her calls. Never answered her letters. Finally, her pride kicked in and she left a scathing message saying that he could damned well make the next move. He never did.
Now here they were, she thought, blowing out a long breath. Two completely different people. She’d fulfilled the early promise of a brilliant career in history. Jack, apparently, had bottomed out. Despite his extensive training and experience in personal security, he’d evidently drifted from one firm to another until going to work for some small-time operation in Virginia. Ellie wouldn’t have known he was in the bodyguard business if one of her colleagues hadn’t stumbled across his company on the Internet while preparing for a trip to Bogotá, Colombia, the kidnap capital of the universe.
It was guilt, only guilt, that had made her insist on Jack when her uncle urged her to accept the services of a bodyguard. She’d caused the ruin of his chosen career. Her own had exceeded all expectations. The least she could do was throw a little business his way.
From the looks of him, he could use it. She didn’t know what was considered the appropriate uniform for bodyguards, but her uncle’s security detail had always worn suits and ties and walked around talking into their wristwatches. She couldn’t remember seeing any of them in thigh-hugging jeans or wrinkled, blue-cotton shirts with the sleeves rolled up. Or, she thought with a small ache just under her ribs, black leather boots showing faint scuff marks.
More than anything else, those scratches brought home the vast difference between the spit-and-polish sergeant she’d once loved and the man in the other room. Her throat tight, Ellie turned to gather her purse and keys.
Jack flipped open the palm-size phone and punched a single key. One short beep indicated instant connection to OMEGA’s control center.
“Control, this is Renegade.”
OMEGA’s chief of communications responded with a cheerful, “Go ahead, Renegade.”
As little as a year ago, operatives at the headquarters stood by twenty-four hours a day to act as controllers for agents in the field. Mackenzie Blair’s improvements in field communications allowed for instant contact with headquarters and eliminated the need for controllers. Instead, Mackenzie and her communications techs monitored operations around the clock.
Mostly Mackenzie, Jack amended. The woman spent almost all her waking hours at OMEGA. She needed a life. Like Jack himself, he thought wryly.
“I’ve made contact with the subject.”
The terse report no doubt raised Mackenzie’s brows. After all, the background dossier she’d compiled had included a summation of Elena Maria Alazar’s affair with Sergeant Jack Carstairs.
“Tell Lightning I’m working the preliminary threat assessment. I’ll report back when I have a better feel for the situation.”
“Roger that, Renegade.”
After signing off, Jack slid the small, flat phone into his shirt pocket and hiked his foot up on a handy footstool. His movements were sure and smooth as he drew a blue steel short-barreled automatic from its ankle holster. He made sure the safety was on, released the magazine, checked the load and pushed the magazine back in place. A tug on the slide chambered a round. With the 9 mm tucked in its leather nest, he shook his pant leg over his boot and rapped on the door to Ellie’s room.
“Ready?”
Pulling on a ball cap in the same chili-pepper red as her top, she hooked a bag over her shoulder.
“Yes.”
Chapter 3
Outside, the July sun blazed down with cheerful brutality. Exiting the hotel, Ellie turned right toward Alamo Plaza. Jack walked beside her, his eyes narrowed against the glare as he scanned the crowd.
It included the usual assortment of vendors and tourists, with a heavy sprinkling of men and women in Air Force blue. They were basic trainees, released for a few precious hours from the nearby Lackland Air Force Base. With their buzz-cut hair and slick sleeves, they looked so young, so proud of their uniform. So unprepared for the crises that world events could plunge them into at any moment.
What they didn’t look like were riled-up patriots seeking vengeance on a historian who dared to question the courage of a local legend. Nonetheless, Jack didn’t relax his vigilance.
“What do you know about the Alamo?” Ellie asked as they approached the mission.
“Not much more than what I absorbed from the John Wayne movie of the same name.”
And in the data Mackenzie had pulled off the computers. Jack kept silent about the background file. Right now, he was more interested in Ellie’s version of the Alamo’s history.
“It’s one of a string of five missions located along the San Antonio River, founded in the early 1700s,” she informed him. “Originally designated Mission Antonio de Valero, it didn’t become known as the Alamo until much later.”
With a sweep of her arm, she gestured to the adobe structure dominating the wide plaza ahead.
“There it is. The shrine of Texas liberty.”
The distinctive building stirred an unexpected dart of pride in Jack. As a symbol of independence, its image had been seared into his consciousness. Of course, all those John Wayne movies might have had something to do with the sensation.
“Originally the mission compound sat by itself, well across the river from the settlement of San Antonio de Bexar,” Ellie related. “Now, of course, the city’s grown up all around it.”
They wove a path through sightseers snapping photo after photo. A red-faced, grossly overweight candidate for a stroke backed up to frame a shot, banging into several fellow tourists in the process. Swiftly, Jack took Ellie’s elbow to steer her around the obstacle.
Just as swiftly, he released her.
Well,