Merline Lovelace – The Executive's Valentine Seduction / Valente Must Marry: The Executive's Valentine Seduction (страница 8)
She hadn’t lied to Burke. There
Her friend Devon had introduced her to the second. A biologist Dev had met at some Let’s Go Green function. Ernie was serious about his work but what made him so endearing was his hopeless addiction to old Dean Martin records and any stray cat that happened across his path.
Caro had wanted to love him. She really had. He was so right for her. So gentle and considerate in bed.
The same wild delight she’d tasted again tonight.
The thrill of it crouched in that forbidden corner of her mind. The excitement was like a fever, swift and all-consuming, straining to break free of Caro’s rigid restraints and fire her blood.
Disgusted all over again, she padded on sandy, seaweedy feet to the walk-in shower and twisted the taps to full blast. Face turned to the pounding spray, she let a frustrated groan rip from deep in her throat.
When in
The next morning, she walked into the room set up for the GSI breakfast with a cool smile and her chin high.
She’d had all night to prepare for the smirks and knowing smiles but soon realized that whatever Rory had said to his people must have sunk in. Other than a sideways glance from the male operative with the red hair and a more speculative one from Sondra, everyone was friendly and polite. Gradually, Caroline relaxed.
She snapped wire-tight again the moment Rory appeared. All she had to do was catch a glimpse of him as he strode in and her stomach went into a fast roll. She turned away before he saw her, swallowing a curse when her china coffee cup rattled on its saucer.
She had herself under control by the time he made his way to her side. Exercising iron will, she refused to let either his smile or the faint, tangy scent of his aftershave get to her.
“Morning.”
“Good morning.”
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
“Fine.”
The clipped response didn’t seem to faze him. Or keep his glance from drifting downward toward her lips for a few seconds.
“No aftereffects from your late-night swim?”
“Not a one.”
The mocking glint that came into his eyes told her he recognized that for the lie it was. Thankfully, Harry Martin came over before he could challenge her on it.
“I’ve got that situation brief on Venezuela ready to go, boss.”
“Let me grab a cup of coffee, and then we’ll get started.”
As she had the day before, Caroline tried to hang back so she could oversee the meal service. As
“After you, Caroline.”
The command was politely worded but definitely a command. She thought about saying no for all of three or four seconds. Then she shrugged and accompanied Rory to their designated table.
After the general session detailing the somewhat scary situation in Venezuela, the attendees broke into smaller groups for regional updates. Sondra took charge of the European sessions. Abdul-Hamid orchestrated a series of briefings dealing with the Middle East and Africa. The Asian expert turned out to be a ruddy-faced Englishman with what Caroline could only describe as a seriously warped sense of humor.
Intrigued by roars of laughter emanating from his session, she slipped into the back of the room in time to hear him describe attempts by pirates to hijack a luxury, oceangoing yacht owned by a GSI client.
“They came in under our radar during the night and got close enough to fire their rocket-propelled grenades. Lucky for us the buggers didn’t know how to activate the built-in lock-and-launch radar. Bloody grenades came close enough to tighten my knickers, though.”
One of the men in the room gave a loud hoot. “Since when do you wear knickers, Basil?”
“It was merely a figure of speech, old chap. Back to our nocturnal visitors…I sincerely wish I could have seen their faces when we whipped the cover off the M61 mounted in the stern, but it was too bloody dark.”
Caroline had no idea what an M61 was, but she gathered from the murmurs of approval that it was a powerful weapon. The speaker confirmed that a moment later with his cheerful claim to have blown the buggers right out of the water.
Amazed all over again by the danger Rory’s people apparently faced on a daily basis, she slipped out to check on preparations for lunch and finalize transportation to the
She had two buses lined up and waiting when the conferees broke after lunch. A truck loaded with sealed crates idled patiently behind the buses. Two of Rory’s men had accompanied the crates from the airport and stayed with them for the short trip to Girona.
Caroline had prepped as best she could for the excursion and knew that the ancient city of Girona had been inhabited in turn by Iberians, Romans, Visigoths, Moors and the armies of Napoleon. It had also served as a major center for Kabbalah studies until the Jews were driven out of Spain in 1492. In recent years, Girona had once again become a center of learning for the Jewish faith.
Following directions faxed by Captain Medina, Caroline directed their small convoy to the police armory on the outskirts of town. Antonio Medina strolled out to meet them on their arrival and greeted Caroline in English heavily flavored by his native Catalan roots.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Walters.”
“Good afternoon, Captain. Allow me to introduce Rory Burke, president and CEO of Global Security, Incorporated.”
Medina thrust out his hand. “I have heard much of you, Mr. Burke. You took part in the international task force that investigated 3/11, yes?”
“I did.”
It took Caroline a few moments to make the connection. Nine-eleven was indelibly ingrained on the consciousness of all Americans. Similar horrific attacks had occurred in Spain on March 11, 2004. Close to two hundred people had died in coordinated commuter train bombings. Almost two thousand more were injured.
She’d had no idea Rory had been part of the multinational task force investigating the bombings. It certainly hadn’t been mentioned in his company profile. Then again, maybe that was the kind of expertise you didn’t want the bad guys to know you possessed.
It did explain, however, Captain Medina’s patience while Caroline had slogged through the reams of paperwork to permit GSI access to his outdoor firing range.
The range was situated in an open field several kilometers from the armory buildings. Medina invited Rory to ride out with him in his vehicle. The rest of the team followed in the buses. Once on the range, the captain, Rory and Harry Martin conferred with the range supervisor. A sense of unreality gripped Caroline as she listened to them discussing laser-directed smallarms fire, armor-piercing bullets and high-impact detonations while swallows chirped merrily in the trees and the bright Catalonian sun warmed the earth.
The first crack of a high-powered, laser-guided sniper rifle sent the swallows flapping. Caro stood well back from the firing line, her ears shielded by cushioned protectors, and felt her jaw drop when a spotter more than a mile and a half downrange signaled back a direct hit.
Even more astonishing was the so-called ice shield. Caro never did grasp the physics involved. Somehow the device activated an intense negative ion field around the target. The hyperactive ions sucked the velocity from most of the bullets fired at the target from various distances. Enough got through, however, for Rory to admit with a wry grin that the device required further testing before being fielded.
After Harry demonstrated the paraclete vest, the GSI agents took turns at the firing line testing an assortment of handguns and ammo. Caroline had no idea she would be included in the live fire exercise until they took a break and Rory beckoned her forward.
“Ever fired one of these?”
She glanced at the blue-steel subcompact nestled in his palm and shook her head. “Nothing that small. I went quail hunting with my father a few times. His double-barrel shotgun just about knocked me flat.”
“Given the high-profile clients your firm caters to, a working knowledge of handguns might come in handy.”
“I sincerely hope not!”
“We’ll start with the basics,” he said, calmly brushing aside her objections. “This is the safety. Always check to make sure it’s on before handling your weapon.”
Fifteen minutes later, Caroline found herself standing between Sondra and Abdul-Hamid on the firing line, peering through shatterproof goggles at a paper target strung from a wire twenty yards away. A borrowed ball cap blocked the sun’s glare. Heavyduty protectors shielded her ears.
Rory stood directly behind her, his body leaning into hers as he corrected her stance. “Don’t square off and face the target like that. You won’t get good front-to-back balance. You want to form a pyramid, with your power leg forward.”