Morgan's Son (7 page)

"No." Craig blinked his burning eyes and tried to focus on the paper in front of him.

"Sabra's been there," Jake said, "so that's good. Anyway, we want you two to fly there, take up residence at the Westin Kaanopoli, then drive to Kula, set up your long-range cameras and keep watch. We need confirmation that Jason is there, which may mean manning cameras twenty-four hours a day on a hillside near Garcia's estate. We've got the necessary credentials in order, including confirmation of the assignment by Parker Publishing in
New York
, should anyone get snoopy."

Craig looked up at
Randolph
. "So say we spot Jason—then what?"

"Then you'll go in and rescue him."

Scowling, Craig said, "I don't do high-risk missions."

"I know that's usually the case," Jake said steadily, "but what you have to understand is that all the high-risk teams are tied up with assignments. We can't break any of them free. Sabra is a high-risk merc, but her partner isn't available. You're the first person to come off the line. We're sorry about Jennifer's accident, and I'm sure you're as upset about her loss as we are. But right now we're operating under emergency conditions, Talbot, and you're the only merc we've got."

Craig sat straighter, feeling his gut begin to tighten, a rolling, painful sensation. He wanted to lean forward to ease the pain, but all eyes were on him, the gazes seeming to eat into his raw emotional state. "So, you want to pair me with a high-risk merc for a high-risk mission?"

"If Jason's there," Jake said reasonably. "He may not be, and if he isn't, then this is classified a medium-risk assignment. You may not have to do more than sit on a Hawaiian hillside and watch through a lens. There's no danger in that."

"But if we spot the kid, we go in," Craig persisted.

Jake nodded, watching him warily. "We have grave concerns that Garcia might shoot the kid up with cocaine and hook him on the drug as part of getting even with Morgan. When we rescued Laura, she was drugged so heavily that we nearly lost her. If we hadn't had an emergency medical team standing by on that Coast Guard cruiser, she would have died. The boy is in danger."

Running his hand around the smooth surface of the heavy white coffee mug, Craig tried to think coherently. The part of him that wasn't injured wanted this mission. He'd always had a soft spot for kids. "The son of a bitch shouldn't be hiding behind a little boy," he muttered angrily.

"Only a drug dealer would," Killian intoned.

"Normally," Jake said, "you don't interface with drug dealers as the high-risk mercs do, Talbot. Believe me when I tell you from personal experience that Ramirez and his worldwide cartel are just about the worst kind of human beings you'll ever run into."

"I've had dealings with Garcia," Sabra interjected, "and he's like an Israeli viper—lethal."

Craig looked up at her, surprised by the sudden change in her face from utter serenity and confidence to emotional intensity. She was leaning forward, her elbows on the table. Again he was struck by her beauty, the black hair framing her face to emphasize her slim nose, soft mouth and riveting eyes.

Reluctantly returning his gaze to
Randolph
, he said, "Who would be in charge of this team?"

"Sabra would."

Craig frowned.

"She's got five years of experience on high-risk assignments," Jake said.

Craig looked at her. "And has she headed up a team before?"

"No," Sabra said steadily, "I have not."

"Well, I have."

"Look," Jake said more firmly, "Sabra will be in charge. She has knowledge of
Hawaii
and of high-risk assignments."

"Then I'm not taking the mission."

Sabra gasped and stood up. "You'd let the fact of a woman in charge get in the way of a little boy's life? Where are your morals?"

Craig glared at her. "Lady, my personal integrity is none of your business." He hated his own icy, defensive tone. If he hadn't been so tired, so emotionally beaten by the sudden loss of Jennifer, he might have handled this situation better. At least, he wanted to. But, as usual, he was a miserable failure; the thought wounded him as nothing else could. He saw her mouth snap shut, her gray eyes blazing with hurt disbelief. She stood tensely, tall and proud, and he could find nothing to dislike about her, even in her anger and disappointment. Sabra took his breath away, though it panicked him to admit it, even to himself. Why
was
he turning down the assignment? Fear of dying? Yes. A fear of her? He sighed. Yes. Or, more accurately a fear of himself—his naked, raw response to her. That was the truth, and that was one thing Craig still had; his honesty with himself, even when the truth hurt.

Sabra felt as if she'd been stung. She halted just across from her would-be partner, who glared up at her with a defiance that made her want to slap his insolent face. "Admit it—you don't like having a woman for a boss," she challenged.

"That's part of it."

Her heart wouldn't stop pounding. She wanted to hate Craig for his decision. In her book, no one worthy of being called human would turn away from saving a helpless child, whatever the risk. "How can you?' she demanded. "How can you sit there when there's a vulnerable boy at the mercy of a bastard like Garcia? Have you no heart? No soul?"

Fury shot through Craig, and he slowly stood, holding her blazing glare. Her cheeks were bright red, flushed with righteous anger. Sabra was at least five feet seven, maybe a little taller, and probably weighed around a hundred and thirty pounds, if he was any judge. She was tall, graceful and defiant. No matter what she did, he couldn't dislike her. She was too beautiful, and maybe that would prove to be his Achilles' heel. "Look," he rasped unsteadily, "I'm sorry Jason got kidnapped. I don't like it any more than you do, but—"

"Then come with me on this mission!" Sabra said huskily. "Forget that I'm a woman. Just hold this boy's plight in front of you and know that you're doing it for him."

The urgent plea in her low voice tore at Craig. He could feel it—and see it in her large eyes, her huge black pupils ringed by a thin crescent of gray. She held her hands in front of her, clasped to her small breasts.

He looked away from her. "I've never been on a high-risk mission. I'd be a detriment to this assignment, and everyone here knows it," he said, struggling to keep the bitterness from his tone.

Jake sighed and asked Sabra to sit down, then returned his attention to Craig. "Please take a seat," he entreated him in turn. "Yes, there are problems in pairing a high-and medium-risk merc. But we don't have the time to wait for another high-risk team to come in, Talbot. I know it's not the best of all worlds, but Sabra is right—there's a little boy who is completely blameless in this whole thing, standing in the middle. Can't you put aside your personal prejudice for his sake?"

Craig gripped the coffee mug, staring down at the black contents as he mulled over
Randolph
's plea.

Sabra sat very still, holding her breath, praying that Talbot wouldn't take the mission. She knew she could do this on her own, and she would rather work alone than with someone whose priorities were so mixed-up. Yet, as she stared at Talbot's darkly bearded face, saw his brow kneading, his mouth compressed as if to hold back pain, she recanted her feelings. Despite the aura of animal danger he projected, a part of her wanted him on the mission. The feral quality in his shadowed blue eyes told her he would miss nothing—that he possessed an extraordinary sentience about him that would work in their favor.

Torn, Sabra kept her mouth shut. She wanted to tell him to forget it, to go home and get some sleep. That tomorrow was another day, a safe day. Her heart told her differently. Talbot appeared excruciatingly bare emotionally as he considered Jake's request. She saw the man in him, the warrior, but she also saw vulnerability. A crazy urge to lean across the table and smooth those rebellious, dark brown strands of hair off his wrinkled brow caught her off guard.

Wrestling with a turmoil of feelings that seemed too much like an out-of-control roller-coaster ride, Sabra stared hard at Craig, hoping to find the reason for her uncharacteristic confusion. She'd never experienced this strange combination of uncertainty, giddiness and challenge. What was going on?

Talbot was obviously exhausted. She saw the darkness beneath his bloodshot eyes, and the way his broad shoulders slumped—shoulders fully capable of carrying very heavy loads.

Forcing herself to disconnect from him emotionally, she looked at him through new eyes. Talbot was at least six feet tall, with a lean, cougarlike body. He was pure muscle, fit and trim. She took in his navy long-sleeved shirt—then suddenly noticed a lot of small scars on his large-knuckled fingers, and some angry pink skin that covered the backs of his hands and disappeared beneath the cuffs, as if he'd been badly burned. As her gaze ranged upward, she saw a sprinkling of dark hair peeking from the neck of his shirt. His masculinity was powerful—and beckoning.

Sabra swallowed and found that her throat was constricted. Talbot wasn't pretty-boy handsome. But the photo in his file didn't do him justice, either, because as he sat opposite her, she felt a powerful, swirling energy emanating from him that was utterly masculine—and utterly compelling to her senses as a woman. She was shocked by her unbidden desire to lightly run her fingers across his arm and feel that latent power. Talbot sent her senses spinning as no man had ever done before.

Reeling at that revelation, Sabra sat back in her chair, more confused than ever. What she saw in Craig and what was in his personnel file seemed diametrically opposed. The man sitting here was all-warrior. So why did he take only the lower-risk missions? And something else was missing. Sabra sat up as she realized that it was his confidence. Yes, he looked strong and capable, but he lacked that gleam in his eyes that she'd seen in other warriors—a look of utter assuredness about themselves and their abilities.

She told herself that he had jet lag, and that his partner had just died—enough to snuff out, at least temporarily, any person's confidence. Sabra knew how close she was to Terry. Had Talbot been that close to Jennifer? Or perhaps emotionally involved on an even deeper, more-personal level? Sabra had heard how from time to time a man-and-woman merc team would fall in love. Studying Talbot, she could understand how any woman might be drawn to his rugged looks and those dark blue eyes that burned with inner torment. Any woman might choose to know him—to explore him like a dangerous hidden treasure.

Finally Killian leaned forward. "I think you have to separate your personal feelings from what's important, Talbot. The target is a boy. He can't protect himself. He can't escape. He's too young to realize what's happened. I'm sure he wonders where his father and mother are, but Garcia could lie to him and make him believe anything. If we don't get someone in there to help Jason, the boy could be lost to us even if he's allowed to live. I don't think you want that to happen."

Sabra released her held breath. She didn't know Killian very well, but she agreed with his bottom line. This wasn't about Talbot. He had to look to what was really important: a lone, defenseless five-year-old. She moistened her lips, exchanged glances with Jake, then covertly watched Talbot. His expression had changed instantly with Killian's statement. The anger in his eyes was doused and replaced with—fear? Sabra started to lean forward, but caught herself, forcing herself to sit back and appear relaxed. She knew the value of body language, and Talbot was feeling penned in anyway, without her silent challenge to hurry up and decide.

But why the instant of fear in his eyes? It seemed an odd response to Killian's reasonable statement. She saw Craig's mouth work as his hands caressed the mug in front of him. She had to admit he looked absolutely tortured. But couldn't he put his personal demons aside for the sake of a little boy? Sabra knew she could. A child in jeopardy spurred her to an instinctive, fierce desire to protect. She had to remind herself that almost any woman would respond similarly because it was genetically programmed into them, while some men, she knew, didn't care much for children. Was Talbot one of them?

Finally, she could stand the tension and silence no longer. Reaching slowly across the table until her fingers were bare inches from the cup Talbot held, she whispered unsteadily, "This mission is more than that for me, Craig. I helped raise Jason. This is personal. I happened to be coming off a task as Laura gave birth to Jason, and I got to hold him shortly afterward. Over the years, I've baby-sat him, and later Katy, their daughter. Jason knows me. He calls me ‘Auntie S'…." Tears stung her eyes, and her voice cracked as she said, "Please, put aside whatever personal feelings you have toward me. Jason is what's important, not you or me or the ghosts we carry with us."