Morgan's Son (38 page)

His mind ranged back over the past, to his parents. Although his father had been a rancher most of his life, then bought the trading post on the reservation after fracturing his back, he'd never made a servant out of his wife. If anything, his parents had been a hardworking team who pulled together. Craig wanted that same thing for him and Sabra. She was free to choose whether she continued to work for Perseus, just as he was.

Craig had so many questions for her, but he squelched them as he felt her falling asleep in his arms. She was still exhausted from the mission and the surgery. He smiled faintly as he eased his hand slowly up and down her limp arm sprawled across his chest. Right now all he wanted to do was love her, give in to the sweet, haunting, unfilled need that flowed through him. But that had to wait. Love was more than sex, much more. Making love with Sabra was another way to show her how he felt about her, and he ached to bring them together even more since they'd admitted their love for each other.

"I've got good news and bad news," Craig told Sabra as he entered the apartment. The cold wind rushed in the open door and a number of snowflakes swirled in with him. Shutting it, he turned around. Sabra was on the couch, reading the newspaper. It was only 1:00 p.m., and he saw the surprise on her features. Pulling off his dark blue knit muffler, he dropped it on the desk next to the door.

"What do you mean?" She set the paper aside and rose. Her heart tripled in beat as she realized Craig was not only home early, but unannounced. A week ago, at her urging, he'd begun going to work with Killian at the Pentagon to try to help track down Morgan's whereabouts. Usually, he got home late in the evening after spending a good twelve hours on duty. She had persuaded him she was well enough to make her own meals. Besides, he wasn't happy cooped up in a small apartment with little to do.

Shrugging out of his coat, Craig hung it on the peg above the desk. He made sure the dead bolt was slid into place on the door, then turned to meet Sabra. She wore a cream colored sweater that emphasized her olive complexion and dark, ebony hair. He could still see little telltale signs of her recent trauma, but only a small dressing covered the spot where her stitches had recently been taken out by Dr. Parsons. Yes, she looked healthy again.

Opening his arms, Craig groaned as Sabra walked into them and pressed herself against him. It was something he looked forward to each night, hungrily absorbing wherever her body touched his, molding against him. This time she reached up and placed an eager hungry kiss on his mouth. Stunned by her unexpected response, he monitored his returning pressure.

"Craig, I'm well now," she whispered fiercely against his lips.

He pulled away just enough to look down into her dark gray eyes, which smouldered with desire. How many times had he seen that look in her eyes? Every night. It had been hell sleeping apart—him on the couch, she in his bed. Craig didn't want to risk hurting her in the night, and he'd coaxed her into agreeing to sleep separately until Dr. Parsons said she was her old self again. That had happened yesterday afternoon. Hotly aware of her breasts and hips pressing against him, provocatively this time, he gripped her shoulders and gently eased her away from him.

"It's a good thing," he said gruffly. "Listen, we've got to get out of here."

Sabra's mouth fell open. "What?"

"We picked up a dispatch between Garcia and Ramirez less than an hour ago," he explained swiftly. "That's why I'm home early. The good news is we've located Morgan we think—in
Peru
, at Ramirez's jungle estate." His hands tightened briefly on her shoulders. "The bad news is Ramirez has ordered hits on every Perseus employee they can find."

Gasping, Sabra pulled out of his grip. "You're joking."

"I wish I were," he said tiredly. Gazing around the apartment, he said, "I want you to pack a bag with just necessities. We're going undercover until this thing blows over."

"What about Laura and her children?"

"Jake already has them in hiding. Killian is making sure Susannah is with them. Shah, Jake's new wife, will be with her, too. Right now, Laura isn't too stable. She knows we've found Morgan."

"And he's alive?"

Craig shrugged and walked back to the bedroom with her, his hand pressed against the small of her back. "We're not sure. From what Killian said, and Wolf double-checked it, Ramirez is the kind of bastard to keep Morgan alive as long as possible. We're sure he's been tortured extensively, but to what end, we don't know. Wolf was in his prison for almost a month, and Ramirez tortured him daily. If he lost consciousness, the bastard had a doctor there to bring him back with drugs so he could torture him some more. He's a real pro at that kind of sick stuff."

Hurriedly, Sabra took her small suitcase from the closet and placed it on the bed. She shivered just thinking about Wolf—and Morgan—being injured by Ramirez. "Are any of the teams back from a mission yet?"

Craig threw a canvas bag on the bed, went to the dresser and pulled open a drawer. Right now, haste was essential. "We have one possibility," he said, throwing underwear into the bag. "Culver Lachlan, who always works solo, just came in from an undercover assignment in
Ireland
."

"You can't send him into that rat's nest alone," Sabra protested, quickly putting some lingerie and sweaters into the suitcase. She glanced up at Craig's set features. He was tense and worried. So was she. Ramirez always made good on his orders, though this would be the first time he'd made such an open attack against an American company.

"Jake's working on another angle. There's a Peruvian agent by the name of Pilar Martinez who he's trying to contact. A long time ago, Pilar and Culver worked together on a Peruvian undercover assignment, but something happened, and they split up. At the time, Culver was a CIA agent and she was an undercover government agent in
Lima
. They worked on a huge cocaine bust for three months. But that was eight years ago. Jake knows Pilar pretty well. She was partly responsible for getting Wolf and Killian away from Ramirez. She's worked on a lot of cocaine busts over the years, and she knows the jungles like the back of her hand. Her family is Indian, and they live near where Ramirez hides out. She's the perfect choice for the assignment—if he can find her in time, and if she'll work with Culver again." He frowned. "There are a lot of ifs to this."

"Frankly," Sabra murmured, shutting the suitcase, "I don't think two people on their own could rescue Morgan. Ramirez has five or six estates throughout
South America
, I know. The one in
Peru
is deep in the jungle and mountains. Jake can't be thinking of sending them in alone."

"No," Craig said, zipping the canvas bag closed and hoisting it over his left shoulder. "I think he's trying to get the Peruvian government to work with us. But that's iffy, too. Come on, let's get out of here."

Hurriedly, Sabra picked up her suitcase, but Craig caught her hand and shook his head.

"I'm well. Remember?" she protested.

"I don't care. You're only one day well, sweetheart. I'll carry the bag."

"Craig, stop treating me like I'm some fragile, breakable doll."

He grinned tightly and followed her out of the bedroom. "Am I?"

"Yes!" Sabra retorted with pretend exasperation, throwing a look over her shoulder at him. "And it's driving me crazy!"

"I'm crazy for you." Now was not the time to discuss much of anything, except leaving the residence. "Get my jacket? Let's go down the basement stairs. I've got the car parked inside the garage, and the door is shut and locked." He didn't want to take any chances. He'd nearly lost Sabra two weeks ago, and he was damned if she was going to be placed in jeopardy again so soon.

Sabra gave a helpless laugh, shook her head and shared an amused look with him. She opened the door that led down the stairs to the garage below. "You're hopeless, Talbot."

"Hopelessly in love with you, Ms. Jacobs."

She colored prettily beneath his warming gaze as he approached. "Where are we going?"

"The DV at Andrews Air Force Base."

"DV?"

"Yeah, it stands for distinguished visitor's housing." He halted and smiled. "The best accommodations on the base for us. Usually only generals and congressional people stay there. It will have everything—a stocked bar, video, television, all kinds of choice food. You'll want for nothing."

"Nothing," Sabra muttered, following him down the steps. All she wanted was him.

"It's a good place to hide. The Air Police are aware of the threat and have been alerted at the gates to Andrews." Craig put the suitcases in the trunk and shut the lid. "Get in," he told her. How fast could Ramirez put hit men onto them? The orders were exactly one hour old. Craig worried because he lived the farthest away from Perseus. Time was precious.

Backing out into the icy street, made more slippery from the foot of snow a recent storm had dumped on the Eastern Seaboard, Craig narrowed his attention to driving without sliding on the unsalted pavement and watching for any cars that might be tailing them. The early afternoon sky was leaden, and not many vehicles had ventured out on the slick streets lined with bare-branched maple and walnut trees.

Sabra swiveled her attention between Craig and their surroundings. She, too, watched for cars that might be carrying a hit man or group of thugs. The snow made everything look white and clean. Trying to relax, she realized that for nearly two weeks she'd been in a safe cocoon in Craig's home. Now their lives were threatened again.

"I don't know how Laura can take all this danger and intrigue," she murmured, watching the traffic. "I think I'd have had a nervous breakdown by now."

"She's a lot stronger than she looks," Craig said, guiding the car onto the interstate that would take them to Andrews Air Force Base. He breathed a little easier, because this roadway had recently been plowed and salted. "Besides, she's got Shah and Susannah looking after the kids, which takes some pressure off her."

"I'd like to help her…."

Craig shot her a quick glance. "You're supposed to focus on getting well."

"I
am
well."

Craig grimaced. "Let's discuss this when we get to Andrews."

"You've got a deal."

It was nearly midnight when Sabra took a bath, then pulled on a pale green, silk nightgown that brushed her ankles. The DV house was everything Craig had promised and more. Tension had been strong since they'd arrived, however. Sabra didn't put as much faith in the Air Police as Craig apparently did. Three different times, Wolf had called them. First to report that they had intercepted a cryptic message at CIA headquarters and found out Morgan was indeed alive. Sabra had burst into tears over that news. She loved Morgan more like a brother than a boss, and she cried for Laura, too, who had to be feeling at least some relief.

Wolf's second call was sinister. The Customs Department had already intercepted three known Columbian hit men at
Miami
International
Airport
. The men had been carrying photos of Perseus employees—among them, Sabra's.

The third call had come less than half an hour ago. It had been Killian, phoning to tell them he would need their help to coordinate the huge plan to rescue Morgan. Sabra had been overjoyed at the idea of getting back into the type of work she was best at. Craig hadn't looked too happy, because he was to go to the Pentagon with Wolf, while she would be working with CIA officials monitoring satcoms from
South America
, trying to pick up more information on Morgan.

Opening the door, she moved soundlessly down the hall toward the other bedrooms. The house, impressive looking inside and out, was single story with a basement. The furniture throughout was Queen Anne, and Sabra loved the warm cherry wood that adorned the place. It was only a house, though, she admitted—without Craig's presence, it would have seemed hollow and empty.

She heard a noise on her left and hesitated at the half-open door that led to the master bedroom. Pushing it wider, she saw that Craig had showered in the adjoining bathroom. He wore nothing but blue-and-white-striped pajama bottoms, which hung dangerously low around his narrow hips. A soft smile touched her mouth as she watched him unpack his clothes and put them into the drawers. His hair was dark and shining—still wet. The play of muscles on his back was beautiful, and Sabra leaned against the door, appreciating him in silence.