Morgan's Son (4 page)

The War Room door opened. "Here you are," Marie said pleasantly, placing in front of her a small tray holding a fine china cup and teapot, a spoon and napkin. Cream and sugar waited in gleaming silver receptacles.

"Thank you, Marie." Sabra smiled. "I see you've put my favorite cookies on there, too, just in case…"

"Just in case you were a mite hungry," Marie agreed, smiling back at her.

A small plate of Oreos sat next to the steaming tea on the silver tray. Touched by her thoughtfulness, Sabra picked one up and bit into it. "I hope someday, when I get married, I'll have a husband who will spoil me like this."

Tittering, Marie straightened. "When my husband was alive, he made it his business to know my likes and dislikes. He spoiled me, but I spoiled him, too."

"Marriage is a two-way street," Sabra agreed, enjoying the taste of the chocolate cookie and creamy frosting. "I don't think there are many men who would want me as a wife, though."

"Nonsense, Sabra. You're a beautiful, poised young woman, with everything to offer a man. You have brains and strength."

"Not many men are looking for that combination," Sabra said dryly, pouring tea into the waiting cup. "They may see the beauty, but that's all."

"Hmm, well, yes, there are those types out there. I won't disagree with you. But my late husband, Alfred, always said that somewhere on this globe, he knew the perfect mate was waiting for him. When he saw me, he knew it was me."

"He knew?"

Marie smiled fondly in remembrance. "I was eighteen. He was twenty-five and in the diplomatic corps here in
Washington
. I worked as an assistant to a senator. Alfred came in to the senator's office one day, angry and upset. He said he saw me sitting at my desk and forgot everything—even his anger."

Sighing, Sabra said, "I wish love were that easy. That uncomplicated."

"I know it is." Marie frowned. "Today's generation has grown up making it far more complicated than it needs to be, you know. Love is about being the best of friends. Of course, there's sexual chemistry, that's a given. Love means being a team and working off each other's strengths. I think if the children of today understood that, there wouldn't be so many divorces. Alfred and I were married thirty-two years before he died of a stroke. It was a wonderful marriage."

"Listening to you makes me want to get married."

Marie laughed and walked to the door. "Now you're teasing me. You're one of this generation, you know. Always reading so much into things—perhaps being too realistic for something as magical as love."

"I don't have to worry about it," Sabra said with a grin. "I don't exactly have any men looking at me as marriage material."

Shaking her finger, Marie said lightly, "Mark my words, when the right man walks into your life, you're going to know it."

Sadness filtered into Sabra's heart. Marie knew a great deal about her because of her position in Perseus. But she didn't know everything. "I think the man I could have loved has come and gone, Marie. I realized too late, I guess."

"That's because you let your head get in the way. I've always said this generation works too much from the head and not enough from positive emotions."

"Maybe that's so," Sabra agreed, her voice lowering with feeling.

"You enjoy your tea, dear. Jake and the rest should be back any moment."

The door shut quietly, and Sabra held the cup of tea in both hands, its warmth like a balm to the old anguish that lingered in her heart.
Joshua.
The name still brought her pain. She'd tried to forget about him. About her love for him—too little, too late. Was Marie right? Did her generation see too much of the harsh reality of life and let it prevent them from getting involved? She certainly fit that particular bill of goods.

Sipping the tea, hoping to ease the ache in her heart, she tried to close the emotional door that had been flung open unexpectedly by Marie's well-meaning counsel. Captain Joshua David had been a fighter pilot in the Israeli Air Force. One of the best—destined for a career of military greatness. He had been everything Sabra was not: extroverted, a joker who teased her unmercifully, in love with life. He'd lived solely in the moment—and he'd wanted her to do the same—to live with him.

The sugar she'd stirred into the tea was sweet against the bitterness of her memories. She'd been shy and introverted in comparison to the outgoing, ebullient Captain David. He'd swept her off her feet, wooed her without apology, and all she'd done was back off, finding reasons not to date him, not to open up to him. Josh had been so emotionally open that it had scared the hell out of Sabra. She still wondered how he had been able to do that. She'd suffered too many hurts, too many disappointments over the years to parade her vulnerability about as he had. The hare and the tortoise. He'd always accused her of being the turtle in their on-again, off-again relationship, which had ended suddenly. Shockingly.

Biting down on her lower lip, Sabra closed her eyes and felt the rending loss. Felt the old pain that somehow never quite went away. After that, she'd left Mossad. Left
Israel
. Perseus had become her new life—like a second family. And bless Terry, her older, more-mature partner. He'd been forty when she was teamed with him, and she'd been an injured, disillusioned twenty-seven. Terry had been more father than friend to her, if she was honest about it—everything she'd ever wished her own father would be. In five years, Terry had in his own safe way helped her to heal. He'd treated her with respect, as an equal—something she'd always wanted from the men in her life but had never before experienced.

Sabra knew Terry would retire now, and she would miss him terribly. He was an introvert like her, philosophical and quietly worldly. He'd been a mercenary all his life, and he'd noticeably mellowed over the years. Terry had been able to impart the wisdom of his life experience to her; and to her own credit, Sabra had assimilated it, had grown from his lessons. He'd taught her to be a risk taker, within reason—not going off half-cocked with some half-baked plan. He'd taught her the importance of attending to details, meticulous details that could save their lives. But his caution and common sense didn't make him a coward. If a risk had to be taken, Terry would be out in front of her, his life on the line as surely as was her own.

Slowly opening her eyes, Sabra felt the ache in her heart deepen. Terry had been more than a partner. He was part sage, part mentor and mature beyond his years. She already missed him terribly. And until this moment, she hadn't realized just how much she'd relied upon his experience and wisdom.

Well, whoever they teamed her with now she wouldn't dare compare to Terry. He'd been called the Old Man in the merc business, and he had the scars—both physical and emotional—to prove it. What would her new partner be like? Would he be older? Sabra hoped so. She had an easier time getting along with older men than with those in her own age group. They lacked the sort of maturity she'd learned to rely on.

The door opened unexpectedly. Sabra set her teacup back on its saucer and stood up. Instantly, her intuitive side was awake, picking up fragments of impressions, assessing body language and facial expressions. The big man dressed in a wrinkled, white short-sleeved shirt and dark brown chinos was the leader. His scowl was set, and his eyes missed nothing. His gaze pinned hers.

"Sabra Jacobs?"

"Yes."

"I'm Jake Randolph. Welcome."

He extended his large, scarred hand, and Sabra felt an immediate liking for his directness and warmth. She gripped his hand firmly. "Hello. Where's Morgan?"

Jake turned and stepped aside. "We'll get into that in a moment." He gestured for the rest to enter.

Sabra felt her eyes widen as Laura Trayhern entered the room after the two other mercenaries.

"Laura!"

Laura smiled wanly. "Hi, Sabra." She opened her arms.

Caught off guard by her unexpected presence, Sabra gave a hesitant hug to the smaller woman, then pulled back a step. "What are you doing here?" Sabra's radar was going off; she'd never seen Laura at Perseus, and she knew, as all the operatives did, that Morgan didn't want his family involved in his company—for a lot of good reasons.

"Sit down," Jake invited, as Wolf Harding closed the door, "and we'll fill you in."

Stymied, Sabra slowly sat. She was shocked by how pale and thin Laura was. The small-boned woman, who slipped into the chair opposite her, looked haggard and drawn. Sabra's heart began to pound a little faster, with dread. Something had happened. But what? She pursed her lips to stop herself from blurting out her troubled questions. She watched warily as Jake sat at the head of the table—in Morgan's habitual seat.

Obviously Morgan wasn't here. Sabra's glance cut to Laura. Although she was dressed in a navy suit and white silk blouse, her blond hair neatly in place as always, falling in soft curls around her shoulders, the lipstick coloring her mouth seemed almost garish against her unhealthy pallor. Sabra clenched her hands, picking up on an incredible grief surrounding Laura. The other woman's eyes, usually shining with life, were dark and shadowed.

Never had it been harder to keep a hold on her always-limited patience. Sabra had hoped that as she got older, her patience would grow with her, but so far she wasn't having much luck. Her mother was terribly impatient, and Sabra seemed to have inherited that family trait with a vengeance. As her gaze skittered from one face to another, she realized how grim and somber they all were. But she was especially disturbed by Laura—by the unknown tragedy written clearly across her tense features.

"We're glad you're here," Jake said heavily. "And what we are going to share with you doesn't leave this room. Is that understood?"

"Of course," Sabra murmured, frowning because Morgan would never question her confidentiality.

"Good." Jake opened his hands. "I'm going to make a long story very short for you, Sabra, because time is of the essence. About a month ago, Enrique Ramirez, the Peruvian drug lord Perseus has been battling off and on for the past five years, kidnapped Laura, Morgan and their son, Jason."

With a gasp, Sabra nearly came out of her chair, then caught herself and forced herself to sit back down. Her gaze was riveted on Laura, her senses reeling. "My God…"

"We had no teams available when we managed to trace Laura's whereabouts, so we brought in two outside people for her rescue. Thankfully, they were equal to the task, and we owe them a great deal of gratitude. Now you've come in off a busted assignment, and we have got another team member in. Thanks to Killian here, and the CIA, we've managed to pinpoint where Jason Trayhern is being kept, or at least where we
think
he is."

Jake got up and crossed to the wall, pulling down one of the many well-used maps—this one of the
Hawaiian Islands
. Punching his finger at the map, he said, "We have reason to believe that the boy is on
Maui
. Killian intercepted a cryptic message via satellite relay, suggesting that Jason is being held on the island. After a lot of investigation, we discovered that Ramirez has a well-concealed, multimillion dollar investment in condominium holdings on
Maui
.

"As you may know, one of Ramirez's right-hand men is Garcia, and the CIA was able to provide documents showing that Garcia has a hideaway near Kula, a small town in up-country
Maui
, on the side of the big, inactive volcano, Haleakala."

Sabra sat very still, her fingers wrapped around the arms of her chair as if to hold back her surging emotions. No wonder Laura looked so ill. The darkness in her eyes
was
grief—her husband and son were prisoners.

"Is Morgan there, too?"

"No. We're still working twenty-four hours a day covering satcom links, trying to get a clue to his whereabouts, as we did with Jason. The
Maui
police will be helping you. We've got full approval from the state, and they will provide us with whatever we need. But they can't get a warrant to enter Garcia's estate because no one has actually seen Jason."

"So all of this is circumstantial?"