Match Play (12 page)

Dayna remembered the thrill that had raced through her when she'd first spied the stone pillars and chimneys just a few days ago. The prospect of playing the oldest course in the world had ranked a close second to whisking one of North Korea's top nuclear scientists out from under his watchdogs' noses.

The thrill was still there, but tempered by the grim realization that whisking Dr. Wu and his daughter anywhere might prove even tougher than anticipated.

 

She didn't appreciate how much tougher until the last few minutes of her news conference.

The media center was packed. Seated at a small table, Dayna baked under the intensity of the klieg lights while she responded to the barrage of questions that ranged from general to highly personal and intrusive. Nothing was sacred, from her EKG results to what she wore for the treadmill test to where she and Luke had spent last night.

He stayed off to the side, making no comment when the cameras swung toward him, and left it to Dayna to supply the answer.

“We stayed at a hunting lodge north of Dundee. It's isolated enough that not even you guys tracked us down.”

“How did you find the lodge?”

“It belongs to an RAF officer Captain Harper works with.”

She made a show of checking her watch. An hour under the lights was enough.

“Sorry, guys, I need to wrap this up.”

“A moment, Ms. Duncan,” a female with a heavy local accent called from the back of the room. “Let's talk aboot these RAF officers Captain Harper works with.”

Dayna tried to peer through the lights, but all she could see was a figure with a thickened waist and square shoulders.

“I'm sorry, I can't make out your nametag. Who are you?”

“Eileen Brodie.”

The woman shouldered her way to the front. In her tweeds and stout walking shoes, she looked like the stereotypical English or Scottish matron out for a pleasant afternoon stroll. The determined set to her several chins said otherwise.

“What media outlet are you with, Ms. Brodie?”

“I report for the
Uplands Daily.
”

“I'm not familiar with that paper? Is it local?”

“Aye. We feed to the
Guardians' Gazette.
”

The stir that went through the TV crews and correspondents raised a red flag. Luke's sudden stiffening also signaled that Ms. Brodie and the
Guardians' Gazette
represented trouble. Dayna switched instantly to damage-control mode.

“I'm afraid I've overextended my time here at the media center, Ms. Brodie.” Smiling, she shoved back her chair and rose. “If you have a question for me, perhaps we could talk later at the hotel.”

“My question's not fer you, Ms. Duncan.” She zeroed in on Luke. “Is it true yer a bomber pilot, Captain Harper?”

His training, weapons specialty and previous assignments were a matter of record, so he made no attempt to deny any of them. Instead, he treated the woman to a cocky grin intended to defuse the situation.

“I am, and one of the best, I might add, although your Tornado pilots have been teaching me some pretty slick maneuvers during my exchange tour at RAF Leuchars.”

Moving to Dayna's side, he grasped her elbow. “We'd better hustle, Pud. You're due at that cocktail party.”

“You're right. Thanks, folks.” With a smile and a wave, she made for the exit. “I'll see you out on the course tomorrow.”

Ms. Brodie didn't give up easily. Pushing past the cameras and lights, she came after them. “Do ye fly a weapon of mass destruction, Captain Harper? Do ye deny there are B-2 bombers at Leuchars?”

Luke dodged the questions with practiced ease. “Come out to the Leuchars' air show next month. We'll have all kinds of aircraft on display.”

“The B-2, Captain Harper? Will ye be showin' us the B-2? Och, now!” Scowling, Brodie glared at the woman who cut in front of her.

“I'm
so
sorry.” Oozing penitence and charm, Gillian planted herself squarely in the older woman's way.

“Have a care, missie.”

The older woman tried to wedge past the younger. Gillian didn't budge.

“I just want Ms. Duncan's autograph. Well, darn,” she pouted when the exit door swished shut. “There she goes. I guess I'll have to wait until tomorrow to get it.”

J
illy caught up with Dayna and Luke outside the media center. Her glossy black hair tossing wildly in the wind, she hooked an inquiring brow.

“What was
that
all about?”

Luke explained during the short walk to the hotel. “The Guardians are a group of rabid antiwar protestors. They've designated themselves as unofficial weapons inspectors and have made it their personal goal to uncover and eliminate all so-called weapons of mass destruction in the U.K.”

“Judging by our Ms. Brodie, they sound like a pretty determined group.”

“They are. They staged a protest and sit-in at RAF Fairford. That led to a joint U.S.–U.K. decision to base our B-2s here at RAF Leuchars instead.”

“The B-2 is that weird, wing-shaped bomber, right?”

“Right. Weird and wing-shaped, with a sortie-reliability rate of just over ninety percent.”

“What does that mean in plain English?”

“In plain English, two B-2s armed with precision weaponry can do the job of seventy-five conventional aircraft.”

“Hence the objections of the antiwar protestors.”

“Exactly. Luckily, the local cadre is small and not as well organized. So far, we've managed to fly under their radar.”

“Thanks for running interference back there.”

Dayna's comment won a breezy smile from her friend. “Glad I could help. Despite Hawk's low opinion of both my intelligence and capabilities, I don't plan to be a nuisance or get in the way.”

Unfortunately, she had to eat those lofty words once back at the hotel.

“I thought the tournament maxed this place out,” Dayna remarked as they entered the busy lobby. “I'm surprised you could get a room.”

“I didn't. I planned to bunk in with you. That, of course, was before I knew you and Captain Harper had progressed to the bubble-bath stage.”

“Luke,” he corrected with a completely unrepentant grin.

“Luke,” she echoed, her eyes dancing.

Dayna intervened before the discussion deteriorated any further. “You can still bunk in with me. Luke has a flat just across the river, close to the RAF base.”

“You sure? I could always camp out in Hawk's suite.”

The provocative smile that accompanied the suggestion drew a quick negative from Dayna, but Luke hiked a speculative brow. Interesting. Callahan had sworn some Ivy-League type was close to putting his brand on Gillian Ridgeway. Callahan had also vehemently denied any interest in the woman. Something told him Ms. Ridgeway might put a dent in Hawk's plans—and in Luke's.

He hadn't figured on letting Dayna out of his sight in the immediate future. Although he hadn't formulated specific plans for another session like the one they'd engaged in earlier this afternoon, neither had he discounted the possibility.

Just the thought of tumbling her onto the bed, of nuzzling the soft mounds of her breasts and stroking her long, lean flanks, constricted his breathing. He was contemplating various strategies for palming Gillian off on Mike Callahan when Wu Kim Li sailed out of the public room just off the lobby.

“Dayna! You are here.”

Several members of her entourage followed in her wake, including a big, broad-faced female who had to be sumo-mama. The woman's black eyes were unreadable under their heavy folds of flesh as she and the others halted just behind Kim Li.

“We heard you are sick,” the girl said, sounding more curious than concerned.

“Something got to me,” Dayna admitted with a careless shrug. She didn't so much as glance at sumo-mama.

“You play tomorrow?” Kim Li asked.

“I do.”

“Hmm.”

The Korean's gaze flicked over Gillian, dismissed her as unimportant and fastened on Luke. Dayna cleared her throat and reclaimed her attention.

“This is my friend. Gillian Ridgeway, Wu Kim Li.”

Jilly dipped her chin in a polite nod and rattled off a phrase or two that widened Kim Li's eyes and narrowed those of her handlers.

“How do you learn Korean?”

“I visited your country several times while I worked at the American embassy in Beijing. I know just enough to get from the airport to the hotel and order dinner.”

“Ah, so. And how is it you are here now, in Scotland?”

“I've come to watch Dayna play.”

Kim Li looked a little put out that Jilly hadn't listed her as a main attraction. “It is good she recovers from her sickness, then.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I still have a few kinks to work out of my system,” Dayna said with deliberate blandness. “I might have to sign up for a massage at the spa.” She let her gaze slide past the golfer to the woman standing behind her. “You're lucky to have your own masseuse traveling with you.”

Kim Li nodded but didn't offer her assistant's services. Just as well. Dayna's plans for the woman didn't include getting naked around her.

Nor, it appeared, would she be getting naked with Luke. Not tonight, anyway. Suppressing a sharp bite of disappointment, she made for the elevator.

Once back in her room, Luke packed up and prepared to depart but informed the two women he'd return in an hour or so. “I arranged it with Callahan earlier. No room service or banquet food for dinner. I'm taking you both to a place I know. Very quiet, very private, with prime Scotch Buccleuch beef.”

Whatever that was. He left Dayna wondering.

He left Jilly wondering, too, but about an entirely different matter. Plopping onto the sofa, she curled her legs under her and pointed an imperious finger at her friend.

“You. Sit. Talk.”

Sighing, Dayna sank into the overstuffed armchair. She knew what was coming. Jilly wore an unmistakable, give-me-all-the-gory-details expression. Sure enough, her friend cut right to the chase.

“Start with that hunk of prime
American
beef who just left. And don't try to convince me what's between you and Luke is as much business as pleasure. You've
never
mixed business with pleasure before.”

“And I damned well shouldn't be mixing the two now. It…complicates…the op.”

“Forget the op for a moment. Talk to me about Luke Harper. From what you told me, he hurt you pretty badly back in the day. Why have you let him into your life again?”

Good question. Dayna wished she had a satisfactory answer. Grimacing, she tugged off the scrunchie holding her ponytail and finger-combed her hair.

“I told you the truth earlier. We started off just playacting for the cameras. Then…well…”

“You got hot, he got hungry and you jumped into a gardenia-scented bubble bath,” Jilly supplied when Dayna hesitated. “I can understand that. I'd probably do the same if a stud like Harper offered to scrub my back. Or any other portion of my anatomy. What I don't understand yet is how you feel about him outside the bathtub.”

“I wish I knew,” Dayna said glumly. “I keep telling myself it's just sex. No strings. No commitments. Exactly as we agreed.”

“You negotiated the matter beforehand?”

“Pretty much.”

Jilly gave a low whistle. “You're tough, girl. And very smart.”

“Make that very cautious. Luke and I went down this road once. Took a long time for the scars from that trip to fade. We both agreed to be more deliberate this time.”

“So how's that working for you?”

Dayna dragged a hand through her hair again, twisting the strands into a cable. “Most of the time, I think I'm in complete control, that I'm playing the game by the rules we agreed to. Then Luke will give me one of his damned grins or go into his macho, protective act or feed me butties and…”

“Feed you what?”

“Fish-and-French-fry sandwiches. Local delicacy. You'll have to try one.”

“If you say so. Back to Luke feeding you…”

“He does something like that, the rules start to blur and these nasty little ‘what-ifs' sneak into my head. What if I want more than a bubble bath? What if I start to tingle at just the sound of his voice? What if a sky flaming with red at sunset makes me ache to share the sight with him? Worse, what if I start to need him again?”

“What if you do? You're not college kids anymore. You're older, wiser and have both achieved success in your chosen fields. Nothing says you can't make a relationship work this time.”

“I'd agree, except for one fact. Luke loves the air force and that big, ugly plane he flies.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that impression.”

“He chose the military over me before,” Dayna said with a flicker of the old hurt. “I'm not sure he wouldn't make the same choice again.”

Jilly had to stop and think about that. She was on shaky ground here. She'd never fallen for anyone as hard as Dayna had for Luke all those years ago. Not for lack of opportunity, certainly. She'd tumbled in and out of puppy love often enough as a teenager and experienced exuberant passion in college. Her four-year stint with the State Department had also yielded some interesting possibilities, including the dark, intensely handsome Foreign Service Officer who'd served as Charge d'Affaires at the U.S. Embassy in Beijing.

Then there was Wayland Olmstead, the lawyer she'd been dating off and on for the past few months. He kept dropping hints about what a great Washington couple they'd make, as if that was the be-all and end-all of his life's ambition. Jilly had told him several times she wasn't in love with him. Wayland, bless his self-confident soul, honestly believed her feelings would change given time and the right moves on his part. All he had to do was chip away at her.

Kind of like she kept chipping away at Hawk, she realized with a guilty start. She wasn't sure why she was so determined to make him see her as the woman she'd become. Or what she'd do about it when he did. She suspected she'd be just as confused and uncertain as Dayna at that point.

“Does Luke have to choose?” she said after a moment. “Couldn't he—and you—have a career and each other?”

“Oh, sure. Like that's going to work. With him stationed in the U.K. or Diego Garcia or Guam for a year at a time, me taking off for parts unknown with little or no notice.”

“You could
make
it work,” Jilly argued. “Look at Nick and Mackenzie. Or my parents. For years they juggled careers, undercover ops, kids, dogs, iguanas. And what about the other OMEGA operatives who've made the recent transition from single to married. Cyrene and Luis? Diamond and T.J.? Slash and Mallory?”

Dayna conceded the point, but insisted it was really moot at this juncture. “Luke and I aren't anywhere close to the transition stage yet.”

“You sure about that? He sounded pretty territorial a time or two this afternoon.”

“That's just the take-charge, macho-military in him.”

“You think so, huh? Might be something you two should discuss at dinner.”

“We two? Don't you plan to eat with us?”

“I'm planning to crash.” Locking her fingers, Jilly stretched her arms above her head. “I barely dozed on the flight over. The time change is catching up with a vengeance. I hate to do this to you, Rogue, but I need to appropriate your bathtub and one of those queen-size beds.”

“They're all yours.”

 

The half-timbered posting house Luke had chosen for dinner was on the outskirts of St. Andrews, adjacent to the stone bridge that spanned the River Eden. The Romanesque spire dominating the village of Leuchars thrust into the sky on the far side of the river. Water flowed dark and swift between the banks.

The table they were seated at gave a great view of both river and village—and of the RAF fighters gliding in for a landing at the air base. The Tornados were mere specks in the sky when Dayna spotted them. Outlined against the swiftly setting sun, their silhouettes grew larger and more distinctive until they sank from sight behind the buildings lining the opposite riverbank.

Once the sun went down, a different breed of aircraft would roll out of their hangars and take off into the night. The reminder of Luke's chosen profession brought her conversation with Jilly forcibly to mind.

Dayna brought it up after the waiter had taken their order for a full-bodied French Bordeaux.

“We haven't had a chance to talk about our, uh, bubble bath this afternoon.”

Luke folded his arms on the linen-draped table. He'd spruced up during the quick trip to his flat. His red knit polo shirt and bomber jacket had been replaced with an open-necked shirt in crisp white cotton and a herringbone tweed sports coat.

“Why do we need to talk about it? I thought you wanted to keep things casual?”

“I did. I do. It's just that…”

Dammit! How did she back herself into this corner?