Lindsay McKenna – Mission: Christmas: The Christmas Wild Bunch / Snowbound with a Prince (страница 1)
MISSION: CHRISTMAS
BY
LINDSAY McKENNA AND SUSAN GRANT
Praise for LINDSAY McKENNA
“An absorbing debut for the Nocturne line.”—
“Ms McKenna brings readers along for a fabulous
odyssey in which complex characters experience the
danger, passion and beauty of the mystical jungle.”—
“Lindsay McKenna will have you flying with the
daring and deadly women pilots who risk their lives…buckle
in for the ride of your life.”—
Praise for SUSAN GRANT
“A gripping, sexy new series! I could
“For readers who want strong heroines and sexy
alien hunks, [Susan Grant] is definitely still
the go-to author.”—
“Susan Grant writes heroes to die for!”—
Available in November 2009 from Mills & Boon® Intrigue
THE CHRISTMAS WILD BUNCH
BY
Lindsay McKenna feels that telling a story is a way to share what and how she sees the world that she lives in. Love is the greatest healer of all and the books she creates are parables that underline this belief. Working with flower essences, another gentle healer, she devotes part of her life to the world of Nature to help ease people’s suffering. She knows that the right words can heal and that creation of a story can be cathartic in a person’s life. She hopes that her books may educate and lift the reader in a positive manner. Lindsay can be reached at www.lindsaymckenna.com or www.medicinegarden.com.
RITA® Award winner and
To my brother, Gary Gent, who served in Vietnam.
Thank you for your service to all of us.
“They’re called the Wild Bunch, Major Klein,” Agent Carl Bennington warned. He pushed his glasses up on his hawklike nose and watched her through narrowed eyes. “You’ve been assigned to the Nogales Border Patrol unit, and we’re glad to have you aboard. The Black Jaguar Squadron down in Peru was also known as a wild bunch. That’s why I wanted you here with us. I need a wild woman to tame a bunch of wild men. Your credentials precede you.”
Dallas Klein sat in the straight-backed chair in front of the commander’s oak desk, which was scattered with reports. “Sir, we cracked the mold on Apache pilots. We proved females could handle the big combat helos, in our work interdicting drug shipments out of Peru. We stopped tons of cocaine from coming to the shores of North America. The BJS continues to be a viable force against the drug trade to this day. Major Maya Stevenson, our company commander, pushed the limits by insisting that an all-female cadre could carry out these dangerous missions. In the six years I served as executive officer to the BJS, our numbers have been impressive.”
Bennington nodded and looked down at his papers. “Major, when I saw your stats, I begged the powers that be to get you up here to help us. Frankly, I don’t care if you’re an alien from another planet and green in color.” He punched his blunt finger down on the desk. “You ladies know interdiction like few in our trade do. I was impressed as hell by your moxie, your strategies and tactics to stop the flights.”
Feeling a rush of pride, Dallas smiled. “It’s nice to be praised for what we did as a company of women, sir. And I’m glad to know that you’re gender blind.”
Grunting, Bennington nodded and ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Well, I’m not doing you any favors, Major Klein. Are you familiar with what’s been going on along our border with Mexico since 9/11? I know you were in Peru at the time, and I don’t expect you to be up-to-date.”
“The shift in the drug flow? Yes, I’m aware.” Dallas appraised her new C.O. He had to be in his fifties, and was dressed casually in a short-sleeved white shirt and tan Dockers. His cramped, airconditioned office here in Nogales, Arizona, very close to the border, reminded her of Major Stevenson’s office—messy. Dallas’s own office was always the epitome of tidiness. That was her forte: bringing organization to chaos.
“Yes, the routes have changed dramatically. I’ve been in charge of border interdiction for the state of Sonora, just across from us, for a while now.” He pointed to the window, where, through the slats of the venetian blinds, Dallas could see the sun beginning to rise over the dusty desert. “This drug running to the U.S. border is the brainchild of Manuel Navarro, the head of the Colombian drug ring. He’s the guy that bought the Kamov helicopters from Russia, and is using them in South America to protect his trade routes and operations. I’m sure you’re familiar with Navarro and his Kamovs.”
“Very familiar,” Dallas said grimly. “We’ve had a lot of sky combat with those bastards. So far, it’s a draw. But Navarro is a greedy kingpin who wants to expand his empire. I figured he’d turn north and try to include Mexico in some way.”
“Navarro is creative, if nothing else,” Bennington agreed. “And he favors air transport of drugs. He couldn’t use the Russian helos up here, so he switched to the Cessna workhorse, the C-206 Stationair.”
“So the reason you wanted me is because of my drug interdiction experience down in South America?” All Dallas had seen since she’d arrived in Nogales was a lot of cactus, chaparral and endless desert. This landscape was barren compared to the hot, humid jungle where she’d lived for the last six years. A complete change. But then, she had been born in Tel Aviv, and her country was desert. This was more like home, and that made her feel good. She had recently visited Israel for a month, spent a wonderful time with her parents, who worked for the Mossad. Now she was back on loan to the U.S. government, as before, and Dallas relished her global role in stopping drugs.
“That’s exactly why I asked for you. If anyone knows Navarro, Major, you do. You can help us stop these incoming drug shipments.” Bennington got up and poured more coffee into his mug. He held up the pot. “More, Major Klein?”
Rising, Dallas offered her cup and kept it steady as he filled it. “Thank you, sir.”
With a grunt, Bennington settled in his squeaky leather chair once more. He glanced over the rim of his glasses. “May I be frank with you, Major Klein?”
Sitting in turn, Dallas sipped her coffee. “Always, sir. If I’m to be the X.O. of your operation, there
“That’s what I want to hear. While we’re alone, I’m Carl, and I’m calling you Sarah.”
“Although Sarah is my given name, sir, I prefer to be called Dallas.”
“A nickname?” Bennington asked.
“Of sorts.” Shifting in her seat, Dallas set her mug on the edge of his desk. “As a child growing up in Israel, I had a love affair with the American Wild West. My parents read me a book about the cowboys of Dallas and Fort Worth, Texas, and at the tender age of three, I demanded to be called Dallas. I wanted to be one of those cowboys.” She grinned.
“I see this as a good sign,” Carl told her with a chuckle. “Okay, Dallas it is. You and I will work as a team. The C.O. and X.O. are inseparable, and you know from experience I’m the good cop, and you’re the bad cop. X.O.’s always handle the mess in a squadron or company.”
“I’m well aware of that role, yes, sir.”
Frowning, Bennington straightened. “I’m going to be blunt, Dallas. I’ve got a personnel problem here in my squadron. And the last X.O. couldn’t or didn’t want to handle it, which is why I jettisoned him. Maybe what I need in order to tame the Wild Bunch is a woman, not a man.”
“Good discipline shouldn’t hinge on gender, Carl,” she parried. “If it’s a personnel problem, why can’t you discharge the troublemaker?”
“The Wild Bunch is composed of three men, all ATF agents. The problem is they’re damn good at what they do and are some of the smartest and gutsiest pilots I’ve got. I don’t want to lose them. But I sure as hell don’t want them behaving like cowboys. They break a lot of rules and regs to get the job done. I’m afraid that if these three men are allowed to continue without a firm hand, they’re going to sink to the level of the smugglers we’re trying to stop.”