MISSION: CHRISTMAS

BY

LINDSAY McKENNA AND SUSAN GRANT

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Praise for LINDSAY McKENNA

“An absorbing debut for the Nocturne line.”—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Unforgiven

“Ms McKenna brings readers along for a fabulous

odyssey in which complex characters experience the

danger, passion and beauty of the mystical jungle.”—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“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.”—WritersUnlimited on Heart of Stone

Praise for SUSAN GRANT

“A gripping, sexy new series! I could not put it down!”—New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter on Moonstruck

“For readers who want strong heroines and sexy

alien hunks, [Susan Grant] is definitely still

the go-to author.”—The Romance Reader on How to Lose an Extraterrestrial in 10 Days

“Susan Grant writes heroes to die for!”—USA TODAY bestselling author Susan Kearney on My Favorite Earthling

Available in November 2009 from Mills & Boon® Intrigue

Christmas Crime in Colorado by Cassie Miles & Nick of Time by Elle James

Christmas Awakening by Ann Voss Peterson & Beast of Darkness by Lisa Renee Jones

Safety in Numbers by Carla Cassidy & Christmas Confessions by Kathleen Long

Classified Christmas by BJ Daniels

Guardian’s Keep by Lori Devoti

Mission: Christmas by Lindsay McKenna & Susan Grant

THE CHRISTMAS WILD BUNCH

BY

LINDSAY McKENNA

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 New York Times bestselling author Susan Grant loves writing about what she knows: flying, adventure and the often unpredictable interaction between men and women! When she’s not writing romances set in far-flung locales, Susan pilots 747 jumbo jets to China, Australia, Europe and many other exotic overseas destinations, where she finds plenty of material for her novels.

To my brother, Gary Gent, who served in Vietnam.

Thank you for your service to all of us.

Chapter 1

“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 has to be honesty between us.” When Bennington smiled, she saw that his front teeth were slightly crooked. The knowing smile reminded her of a coyote.

“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.”

“I see,” Dallas murmured. “So it’s just as you said—a wild woman to tame a wild bunch.”

Carl chuckled. “Sort of, but your record is impressive and impeccable. You helped to create the BJS without any blueprint, without any help from our government. And you did it successfully. I believe you have exactly what it takes to manhandle these three rogue pilots of mine. Otherwise, I’m going to have to get rid of them, and that would be a terrible loss. In particular, Agent Mike Murdoch has helped shape how we hunt and halt the air-to-ground smuggling originating out of the state of Sonora. He and his buddies just need, well, I’m hoping, a woman’s touch to bring them around.”

“What was your last X.O. like?”

“Agent Bailey Turner was a hard-nosed and by-the-book kind of man. He was an ex-Army pilot, and had spent a lot of time in Afghanistan before joining the ATF five years ago.”

“You’re saying his management style didn’t put a dent in the Wild Bunch’s antics and behavior.”

Giving her an admiring look, Carl said, “I’m impressed with your immediate grasp of the situation.”

Dallas felt another inner glow at his praise. “I often find it more useful to ask questions than give orders. Your three ATF agents are obviously a talented and skilled group. My instinct would be to work with them and observe, until I understand what’s going right and what needs reshaping.”

With a sigh, Carl sat back in his chair. “You’re a godsend, Dallas. Your management style will be just what the Wild Bunch needs.”

Dallas heard the unmistakable sound of two small planes landing on the asphalt runway nearby. As she peered out the window, she saw a Cessna turbo Stationair 206 flash by. In her new assignment, this tough workhorse plane would be her home, instead of an Apache helicopter. Fortunately for her, she was licensed to fly fixed wing aircraft as well as helicopters. Dallas was sure it was one of the reasons she’d got this job.

“Ah, the Wild Bunch is back. Good.” Bennington gave her a searching look. “Murdoch is the head of the group. Everyone looks to him. He’s a rebel with a cause. Unfortunately, he just went through a nasty divorce, and I know he’s not feeling kindly toward women right now. Be prepared, Dallas. I’m hoping he won’t drop a load of prejudice your way, but you never know.”

“Forewarned is forearmed,” Dallas answered. “May I go introduce myself to the men?”

“Let’s meet them at the reporting area. They’re supposed to file their flight reports at ops, and then we can talk with them. That’s a good place to introduce you as my new X.O. and the fact I’m making you the fourth member of their group.” Rising, Bennington pulled his dark blue ATF cap onto his head. “Come on, Dallas. Time to meet the Wild Bunch.”

Mike Murdoch had just finished scribbling his signature on a report when the door to their small ops room opened. Brilliant morning sunlight slanted into the space where he and the other two pilots sat. After recognizing Bennington’s lean, wolflike frame, he turned to the person standing behind him. Since the X.O. had left a month ago, Murdoch figured it was his new boss. The light was so bright he couldn’t make out any details yet. Unhappily, he glanced at Jake Gardner and Bob Howard, who were still working on their reports at the large rectangular table. Scraping his chair loudly across the hardwood floor, he stood.

“Agent Bennington?” he said in a growl. Usually, their C.O. hid behind his desk in his office, a fact that made Mike happy as hell. The less the head ATF agent messed with them, the better.

“At ease, everyone,” Bennington said, and stepped aside. “This is our new executive officer, Major Dallas Klein. Major Klein, let me introduce you to our pilots.”

Murdoch stared in surprise. The tall, slim woman in the green flight suit blew him away. A woman? Impossible! They’d ridden roughshod over the last X.O. just to get the bastard to leave them alone so they could do what they did best—finding and downing drug smugglers. But…a woman? Mike scowled as he took a good look at her, noting at once how confident she seemed, her shoulders thrown back with pride. She had an oval face with olive skin, and her sable-colored hair barely brushed the collar of her flight suit. Mouth tightening, he tried to ignore his body’s response to this very attractive woman.

Meeting and holding her unusual golden eyes, Mike realized she was different, not a type he’d ever run into before. Oh, there were women ATF agents, for sure, but not in their game, and certainly not cowboys riding the border to flush out drug smugglers. He saw an alertness in Klein’s gaze that made him uncomfortable, as if he were staring into the eyes of a golden eagle—eyes that missed nothing.

“Major Klein, let me introduce you to our men,” Bennington said. “Agent Mike Murdoch has been with this border unit for two years.”

Dallas felt a riffle of danger as she stepped forward and offered her hand to the scowling agent. He was in his early thirties, she guessed, as she gazed into the glacial blue eyes trained on her. There was no welcome in his square face, his thinned mouth. Tension radiated from his body, which had to be six feet tall. Still, Dallas found his craggy face handsome, even shadowed as it was by a five o’clock beard. His green flight suit showed off his powerful male body, the sleeves carelessly rolled up to just below his elbows.

“Agent Murdoch,” Dallas said, stepping forward and thrusting out her hand. She deliberately maintained eye contact, and by the way he tensed his hard jaw and flashed her a steely look of competition, she knew she would have her hands full dealing with him. She saw his gaze flit from her face to her proffered hand, obviously weighing whether to shake it or not. Not to do so would be a flagrant sign of disrespect.

Dallas waited. She wasn’t about to take no for an answer from this pilot. A few strands of his short, black hair fell across his furrowed brow, giving him a boyish look. Where was the boy within him? Dallas wondered. Could she reach that hidden side of him, instead of the cold male who clearly didn’t want her to step into his world?

“My hand is getting tired, Agent Murdoch,” she said with a slight smile, hoping to break the ice.

He thrust his arm forward. Surprised at the warmth and firmness of her handshake, he jerked his hand away, as if burned. “Major Klein, welcome to the Wild Bunch,” he muttered, though he knew he didn’t sound the least bit sincere. Slanting a glance to his left, where Jake and Bob sat, he saw their jaws had dropped over the fact that a woman was going to be their X.O.

“Thank you, Agent Murdoch.” Dallas turned, and as her boss introduced the other two pilots, they shook her hand promptly.

Bennington smiled quizzically. “This morning you’ll give Major Klein your reports on the activity you encountered. She needs to get her feet wet.” Then he looked squarely at Mike, whose scowl was deepening by the second. “Murdoch, you’ll no longer be flying solo. I’m assigning Major Klein to team with you.” He glanced at the other pilots. “Jake and Bob will continue to fly together. ATF regs require a pilot and copilot on our missions, so Major Klein’s involvement will bring us up to speed. As soon as she’s steeped in your drug interdiction routines, and trained up through your experience, she’ll take over strategy and tactics on missions.”

“Yes, sir,” Mike said gruffly.

Dallas felt the rage churning in Murdoch as he snarled out the words. Bennington didn’t react, nor did she. Okay, he’d thrown down the gauntlet, judging from the look in his icy blue stare. Dallas got the message and the challenge. The flash in his slitted gaze was enough to chill anyone. She wouldn’t call it hatred, but damn close. Girding herself internally, she told Bennington, “Thank you, sir. I think we’ll work things out between us.” She eyed the other two seemingly less hostile pilots. Jake and Bob appeared more stunned than angry. That was fine. She would use her gender as a way to open up a positive front with them.

“Excellent. I’ll see you later, Major.” Bennington excused himself.

Jake and Bob quickly scrambled to their feet. They both made excuses and hastily left the office. Dallas felt the coming confrontation with Murdoch. His shoulders were tensed, his hands clenched at his sides. But she wasn’t about to let him walk all over her.

Once the door closed, she held his glare. “Let’s sit down, Mr. Murdoch. I’ve got a lot to learn, and Agent Bennington said you were the go-to person.” She pulled back a chair near where he had been sitting. “Shall we get to it? I’ll only take about an hour of your time, because I know you’ve been out flying for five hours and you must be tired.”

Puzzled, Mike jerked back the chair at the end of the table. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this. Her voice was husky and warm at the same time. She’d just given him an order, yet framed it in such a way that he couldn’t take umbrage. He sat down and tried to disregard her beauty. Right now, he felt like a dog circling a cat, wary and distrustful. Who was she? And what kind of background did she have to be an X.O. in an elite operation like theirs?

“Can you fill me in on this latest flight?” Dallas asked, folding her hands on the table and holding his gaze. She saw shock mixed with confusion in the depths of his blue eyes. Good. That’s where Dallas wanted him. Still, he was ruggedly handsome, with those rebellious strands of black hair falling across his broad brow. So much about him called to her on a feminine level.

Dallas hid her reaction to Murdoch, who epitomized the American cowboy. There was a swagger in his stride, a weathered look to his darkly tanned face. And if she was honest with herself, she’d have to admit she was drawn to his firm mouth, tight with emotion. She liked the shape of it, how the upper lip was slightly thinner than the lower one. His nose was lean and aquiline, reminding her of the profile of a Roman general on an old coin. Yes, there was a lot to like about Murdoch in the looks department, but Dallas knew better than to go there. She had to work with this guy and needed to gain his confidence. Could she?

Mike grabbed a map of the Sonoran desert area and threw it on the table before her. “I don’t expect you know anything about this type of operation,” he began in a gravelly tone as he spread it flat. “This is the real Wild West, Major. We’re the good guys, trying to stop all the Latinos trying to bring marijuana, cocaine and heroin across our border. They’ll use any isolated airstrip they can find as a place to unload their drugs.” Jabbing at one section with his finger, he said, “This is the Vicente Guerro area, about fifty miles south of Nogales in the Sonoran mountains. It’s a real hotbed of activity right now, because me and my friends have been flying to the west, near Altar, and forcing them to this new region. The Mexican pilots fly Cessna Stationairs, same as we do, what we call C-206s. They’re an ideal aircraft for the terrain, able to navigate short landing strips in the middle of nowhere, and still carry huge loads of drugs. Recently, we interdicted 836 pounds of marijuana at that strip. We flew our own 206s in at dawn and caught the bastards on the ground, just loading up.”

Hearing the satisfaction in his tone, Dallas nodded. “That’s excellent, Agent Murdoch.”

Not expecting praise, much less understanding from the new X.O., Mike stared at her. She was only three feet away, and he could smell the scent of roses. Was it her perfume? Or maybe the shampoo she used on her shiny, dark brown hair. He hated that he even noticed. Hated even more that he was affected by her. “Do you have any idea what this type of operation entails?” he growled, shooting her a dark glance. He wanted to put her in her place, manipulate her into being a quiet mouse in the corner when their team decided on tactics and strategy.

As she examined the map, Dallas saw a lot of red dots scattered across the mountainous regions of Sonora. “Are the dots landing strips?” she asked, disregarding his question completely.

Frowning, Mike said, “Yes, they are.” Okay, maybe he’d underestimated her alertness. But no woman could possibly know what danger they faced daily, or manage the crazy flying they did as they chased these hombres.

“The Turbo Cessna 206 needs 835 feet to take off in,” she said, pointing to the topo map. “Its service ceiling is 27,000 feet, so the druggies can use strips in the valleys or high deserts to their advantage. But with that type of ceiling, they can use mountain strips as well.” She traced a line of dots with her index finger. “From my experience in Peru, I know the druggies like to take off from such areas, fly low and fast, below radar range. Down there, once they made it into Bolivian airspace, they would land at similar dirt strips, to off-load their bales to awaiting trucks, or other aircraft that would take them out of South America.”

Sitting down, Murdoch stared at her. “You flew drug flights in South America?” Shock ran through him. She was too attractive, too clean, her flight uniform too pressed and neat, to do that kind of grungy, dangerous work.

“Yes, I did, Mr. Murdoch. I was part of a U.S. Army black ops for six years down there.”

She noted his stunned expression. Good. Dallas wanted Murdoch to be properly impressed by her knowledge, which she felt was equal to his own. She was going to turn the tables on him, gently but firmly.

Glancing again at the map, she tapped it. “I never dealt with smugglers in a desert, just jungle conditions. My teammates and I flew Apache helos. We learned where new airstrips were being hacked out of the jungle, by flying daily reconnoitering ops to locate them. We also had the use of satellite intel. We’d be in the air before dawn, because most of the druggies flew C-206s that lacked the radar needed to avoid hitting mountains. They flew daylight hours only. During my years of service, our unit was responsible for stopping over a million pounds of cocaine from leaving Peru. We worked with the Peruvian government, the CIA and other intel organizations to accomplish our goals.”

Mike gulped. When Major Klein lifted her head and met his stare, he saw her full lips pull into a slight smile. It was the glitter in her eyes that made him realize she was no stranger to the game of drug running. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course not. We were black ops. We still are. I just transferred out of there to move on to this assignment.”

His new X.O. could have poured salt into his wounds, and she didn’t. But he could never trust her. She was a woman, dammit. And after his divorce, he didn’t want anything to do with women.

Yet Major Dallas Klein was going to be his boss. What the hell was he going to do?

Chapter 2

The September dawn was cool in the Sonoran desert. Girding herself, Dallas carried her flight bag across the tarmac of the airstrip, an M16 rifle across her shoulder. Parked just ahead of her was the tan-and-white Cessna 206 Stationair she would fly. This was her first day on the job, and she knew Murdoch would test her.

The sky to the east was pink, and she enjoyed the desert scenery, which reminded her of Israel. Dallas lamented that her month-long visit to Tel Aviv had gone by so quickly. She missed her parents already.

This latest assignment would be temporary. There was a new black ops forming for the Black Jaguar Squadron. Right now, it was in the planning stages at the Pentagon. Dallas had been alerted that she was up for consideration as the C.O. of the as-yet-unveiled project. Because the all-woman BJS had been so successful in Peru, the boys at the Pentagon had finally seen the light. They wanted to take the BJS model to other parts of the world, only with men added to the mix.

Still, it was going to be overseen and run by a woman—her—and that made Dallas feel good. At least the military was getting over its hissy fit about women pilots performing in combat. They could and did, as well as any man. In the meantime, Dallas wanted to stay active out in the field, until the important new ops assignment came together.

Tightening her grip on the handle of her duffel bag, she greeted the mechanic just opening the doors on the C-206.

“Morning to you, Major Klein,” the man called, lifting his hand in a wave. “I’m Scotty, your mechanic.” He flashed her a toothy smile, doffed his dark green Border Patrol cap and ran a hand through his thick, gray-streaked brown hair.

Smiling, Dallas walked over and shook his hand. “Thanks for the welcome, Scotty.” The mandatory Kevlar bulletproof vests were sitting in the cockpit, she noted. She placed her duffel bag next to her vest on the copilot’s seat. “Can you tell me where Agent Murdoch might be?” She glanced at her watch. “Take off is in ten minutes.”

Chuckling, Scotty finished cleaning the cockpit Plexiglas and said, “Hey, the Wild Bunch parties hard and plays hard, Major.” He raised his bushy brows. “I’m way past that kind of scene myself, but those rascals…Before Randy Grant got killed—he was Agent Murdoch’s partner—those four dudes would take off for the nightclubs in Nogales as soon as they hit the tarmac and finished their reports. You would see them staggering back here the next morning, smelling of alcohol…”

His smile waned and his brown eyes grew serious as he walked back around the single-propeller Cessna to where she stood. “I’m a teetotaler now, and don’t go for any of that, but the Wild Bunch does.” Shrugging, he added, “They get the job done, despite everything.”

“They come out here for a mission still drunk?” Dallas couldn’t keep the alarm out of her voice.

The lean mechanic gave her a pained look. “This is your first day here, Major. Before you hang ’em, see what they do.” He patted the fuselage of the C-206. “You’ve just signed on to a very dirty, dangerous business.”

The cool breeze brought the sweet scent of broom snakeweed, a huge desert bush covered with tiny yellow flowers. Dallas looked around the quiet facility. A black-eared jackrabbit loped across the small airstrip and disappeared up a hill covered with the blooming plants. “I know it’s dangerous, Scotty.” Frowning, she asked, “How did Agent Murdoch’s partner die?”

“It was pretty bad. Him and Mike tailed two C-206s flying near Los Mochis. They followed one down to what looked like a deserted dirt airstrip. When they went to arrest the pilot, smugglers hiding in a nearby hangar opened fire on them. Randy died in the firefight, but Mike got them all.” Proudly, Scotty added, “Murdoch’s a cando kind of guy, Major. You want him at your back in a crunch ’cause he’s fearless. Not only did he nail the druggies in the Cessna, he captured seven hundred pounds of marijuana, plus killed the three bad guys who were hiding in that hangar.”

“How long ago did this happen?” Dallas began to wonder if Murdoch wasn’t wrestling with grief over his partner’s death. It would be normal to do so.

“A month ago.” Scotty lowered his voice. “Major, he’s had a bad run of luck of late. He just got finished with a nasty divorce. First, Randy dies, and then his ex-wife tore up his life. And now, well, you’re his new partner.” The mechanic eyed her wryly, and added, “You’re a woman. He’s not real keen on females right now, if you know what I mean. Not that any of this is your fault. You’re the innocent walking into it.”

Great. Dallas understood anyone dealing with the death of a loved one had a lot of grief to plow through. Her good friend Kat Wallace, commander of a C-17 that delivered supplies to Lima for the Black Jaguar Squadron, had lost her brother last January. Mack Wallace had been a U.S. Marine serving in Iraq. Kat was not part of the all-female black ops of the BJS, but Dallas had struck up a friendship with the Air Force pilot. She had seen the thirty-year-old, baby-faced woman shut down emotionally after her brother’s death.

Kat had started wearing her brother’s dog tags during the last flights she’d made into Lima, before being reassigned to a unit in eastern Europe. It helped her ease her grief and stay connected to Mack, she’d told Dallas over shots of pisco, a powerful local drink in Peru. Seeing Kat suffer so badly, Dallas had ached for her friend.

As she sifted through those recent memories, she looked up to see a lone figure in a dark green flight suit making his way toward them. It was Mike Murdoch.

Okay, he was grieving, too. That was good to know. Further, with a fresh divorce making him emotionally raw, his hostile demeanor of yesterday could be understandable. He might not be angry at Dallas, but she was female, and therefore, the enemy. Great. Just great. It was hard enough fitting into a new squadron, but this made it doubly tough.

Dallas turned to Scotty, who was finishing up his ground duties around the Cessna. “Thanks for the info,” she called softly. “I appreciate the heads-up.”

He grinned. “You seem like a nice lady, Major. We’re lucky to have someone of your caliber step in and fill the slot as Mike’s partner. That dude needs a good, solid, steady person working with him. That’s what Randy was, you know. He was always the cooler head that prevailed when things heated up, in the air and on the ground. Mike’s the leader of the Wild Bunch for a reason.” The mechanic flashed his uneven, toothy smile once more.

Nodding, Dallas wished she’d gotten this info from her commander. But then, life didn’t work that way. The rank hierarchy often didn’t know the facts of a situation unless someone like Scotty was around to let them in on the real story. “I owe you one,” she called.

The mech gave her a shy smile. “Nah, you don’t, Major. You just come back safe and sound. That’s all I ask.”

“That’s my goal,” she promised him.

The sun was barely peeking above the horizon when she turned back to Murdoch. He had his head down, his duffel bag slung over his one broad shoulder, M16 over the other, as he shuffled toward her. He was weaving slightly, and Dallas caught the odor of alcohol long before he arrived. And when he lifted his head, she noted his skin, bloodshot eyes and the thin set of his mouth. He was still drunk. Damn.

As he approached the C-206, Murdoch glowered at his new partner. Scotty said hello, and Mike merely grunted in answer. Why the hell did the major have to be so damn sexy? Dallas Klein made a rumpled, unisex flight suit look good. She was tall, and though she was slim, her full breasts and curving hips showed she was definitely female. Plus those long, long legs would be definitely worth exploring. Though unhappy with his libidinous reaction, he acknowledged the fact that the major was a damn fine-lookin’ woman. Well, he was fried on women right now, and they were off-limits. So his reaction to this military pilot didn’t make sense at all. But then, he was still drunk from a night of partying in Nogales.

He noticed Klein frowning at him. She had the most beautiful gold eyes he’d ever seen. They contrasted appealingly with her shoulder-length hair, which was caught up in a girlish ponytail. Her olive skin was so smooth, and that mouth of hers made his loins sizzle. Mike couldn’t decide which was her best feature, those large, inquisitive eyes or those sinfully shaped full lips just begging to be kissed…

Mike seemed to come out of a fog as he saw her eyes narrow speculatively on him and her soft mouth purse. Trouble.

“Good morning, Agent Murdoch,” Dallas said as he approached.

“Yeah, it is,” he grunted. He started around the nose of his Cessna to take the pilot’s seat.

“Hold it,” she ordered.

Murdoch turned. What the hell? She was picking up her duffel bag from the copilot’s seat and heading toward him. “What are you doing?” he groused. “You’re my copilot.”

“Not today, with the way you look and smell, Murdoch.”

Shocked, Mike took a step back as she brushed by him. “What? Hey! Come back here, dammit!” He reached out, grabbed her upper arm and swung her toward him. What happened next, he wasn’t expecting. The moment his fingers wrapped around her arm, she dropped her bag and turned swiftly. In seconds, Murdoch found himself flat on his back. Her knee was in the center of his chest, and she was scowling down at him.

“Don’t ever grab me again, Murdoch. You won’t live to talk about it with your buddies the second time around. Got it?”

Blinking twice, Mike stared up into her darkened eyes. What the hell had just happened? “Uh, yeah…”

Dallas removed her knee from his chest and stood back. She didn’t offer to help him to his feet. The mechanic gave her a brief nod, as if to say she’d done the right thing under the circumstances.

“Now, Agent Murdoch, here’s how things are going to go on this mission of ours this morning. I’m commander today. You’re copilot. You’re obviously hungover, still drunk. I can smell the alcohol from six feet away. You’re my partner, and I’m not going to allow you to pilot a plane under these circumstances. Are we clear about our job assignments?”

Murdoch picked himself up off the tarmac, dusted off the rear of his flight suit and grudgingly reached for his duffel and rifle. “What the hell kind of move did you make on me?” he demanded, holding her furious stare.

“I’m Israeli, Agent Murdoch. I’m on loan to the U.S. government. Every Israeli soldier learns krav maga. It’s how we protect ourselves.”

Rubbing his stubbled jaw, he eyed her. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it. It’s a nasty way to fight.”

Giving him a brief, cutting smile, Dallas said, “It’s a way to stay alive, Agent Murdoch.”

“You’re good.”

“I have a black belt, the highest level in this style of fighting.” Krav maga combined the best moves from different combat techniques and turned them into a lethal back-alley mix.

“Wouldn’t you know it…” Murdoch muttered, finding new respect for her, as a woman and a soldier. “Damn good thing my ex-wife didn’t know krav maga, or I’d be dead by now.”

“Then don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I’m her.” The major pointed to her arm. “I’m off-limits to you, Agent Murdoch. You’d never have reached out and grabbed me if I were a man. So whatever rage you feel about your divorce and women, don’t dump it on me. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it.” Smarting at her cool, husky tone, he watched her pick up her flight bag and head for the pilot’s seat. Scotty said nothing, just stood in front of the Cessna, waiting for them to climb in and get harnessed up. After running his fingers through his hair, Mike changed direction and walked to the copilot’s seat. Dallas was putting on the Kevlar vest near the open cockpit door. He threw his duffel in the back seat, after getting his revolver and tucking it in the leather holster beneath his right arm. Climbing in, he saw her glare at him. Now what?

“Mr. Murdoch, I’m assuming you forgot to put on your Kevlar vest because you’re still drunk?”

He flinched beneath her warning voice and jerked the vest off the seat. “I don’t ever fly with it,” he snarled.

“You will with me. Put it on.”

Anger swilled through Murdoch. His mind was still fogged with whiskey and he wasn’t thinking clearly. “Dammit, I told you, I’m not flying with it on. It’s too friggin’ uncomfortable.”

Fastening the Velcro straps of her chest armor, Dallas met his bloodshot eyes. He was acting like a pouty six-year-old. “Tell me, Agent Murdoch, was your last partner, Randy Grant, wearing his Kevlar vest when he died?”

Stung, Mike reared back. How did she know about Randy? And then he noticed Scotty’s sheepish look. The mech had told her. Swinging his gaze back to her, Mike couldn’t help but admire her in one way. But he sure as hell didn’t want to take orders from any woman right now, X.O. or not. “Neither of us was wearing one at the time we nailed the bad guys.”

“And if Randy had been wearing his vest, do you think he’d be standing here today instead of me?” Dallas slid her dark green flight helmet over her head and pushed up the visor.

Her low voice penetrated Murdoch’s mounting anger, and he saw a flicker of compassion in her gold eyes. He realized belatedly that this woman really was a tour de force, certainly no office pogue who hadn’t been around combat. Maybe that black ops down in Peru had given her the type of experience to see the truth of a situation. Rattled, he snarled, “Yes, Randy probably would be here. He took a slug to the chest.”

Mike didn’t have to finish the rest of the sentence. If he and his partner had worn their bulletproof vests, Randy would have survived that gunfight. Cursing softly, Mike reached behind the seat and jerked on the stiff garment. “There. Satisfied, Major?”

“I am now. Do the walk around, Agent Murdoch. That’s what copilots do, unless you think you’re above such an activity.”

Mike’s nostrils flared. Of course he knew the copilot always walked around the aircraft, looking for leaks, testing the propellers, wing flaps and rudders to make sure they were in working order. After the customary trip, he returned to his seat and climbed in. He let Klein know everything was in working order, and they got down to business. She was already harnessed in and waiting for him. No matter what way Mike looked at her—in profile or full-on—she was pretty.

As he fumbled with his harness array, Murdoch wondered if she was married. For sure, someone with her looks and body had to have a significant other. Grousing at himself, he shut the door and locked it. “Okay, I’m ready for preflight, Major.” Normally, Mike didn’t wear his flight helmet, either, but he figured he’d better this morning. He settled it on his head and donned his aviator sunglasses. His skull throbbed even more, but he remained silent. Where the hell had he put his aspirin?

Dallas handed him the preflight card. Moments later, they had finished with the short checklist, and she tucked it back in the net pouch beside her seat. She noticed Murdoch digging into his flight suit pockets, eventually pulling out a plastic Ziploc bag containing white tablets. Aspirin? She refrained from asking as he popped a couple into his mouth and washed them down with water.

Scotty removed the chocks from the nose wheel and then stood off to one side. He twirled his index finger in the air, which meant she could start the engine. In no time, Dallas had the C-206 idling. The whole plane shivered, and she applied rudders and throttle to take the Stationair out to the end of the short runway. A couple of jackrabbits raced across the asphalt in front of them.

“I had the opportunity last night to look over the Sonoran corridor, Agent Murdoch,” she told him, fitting the mike close to her lips. “And today I want to make this mission count in two ways. First, I see that Santa Ana hasn’t been checked out in the last three months. Your efforts have been focused in the western part of the state. Secondly, I need to acquaint myself with the whole terrain, and that area is close enough. I don’t want to undertake a real mission with you today, given the shape you’re in.”

Moving his mike to his lips, Murdoch spread the map across his thighs. “Santa Ana is quiet. You’re wasting our time.”

“We’ll see.” Dallas anchored the small plane, pressed both rudders to the floor and gently eased the throttle to takeoff speed. In moments, the reving engine made the C-206 shake and shudder as she held the craft in place. Releasing the rudders, which also acted as brakes, Dallas smoothly eased the plane off the runway and into the quiet morning air. As she got her bearings and banked left toward the border, she told him, “Make the calls to the Mexican officials that we’re entering their airspace. I’ve already filed a flight plan with them, and they should have it in hand.”

“You’re efficient,” he grunted, adjusting the radio frequency to report to the appropriate officials. Speaking in Spanish, he gave their call sign, Wolf One, and let them know their latitude and longitude. Then he switched the frequency back to their Nogales unit, so they could be continuously monitored.

“I’m deeply disappointed in you, Agent Murdoch.” Dallas leveled off the plane at three thousand feet. Below them desert stretched in every direction. To the south she could see the purplish peaks of mountains washed by the rising sun. “Do you fly drunk every day?”

“Dammit, get off my back, Major.”

“Not a chance. I have to fly with you, Murdoch. How can I trust you if we find druggies, have to land and go after them? What part of your alcohol-drenched brain will be working? Right now, I’m hoping there is no action in Santa Ana, because frankly, you’re a liability to me. You sure as hell can’t protect my six.”

“Okay, point taken.” Murdoch was familiar with the term—pilot lingo for the back or rear of something. In this case, she referred to the fact he couldn’t really protect her in a firefight. To have someone’s six meant being there to save that person’s life.

That comment hurt. He’d already lost Randy, and he couldn’t argue with her, either. He’d drunk more than he’d meant to last night. Realizing a woman would replace his best friend for four years was just too much for Mike to take. The whiskey had taken the sting out of the situation and given him a reprieve of sorts. Now, reality glared at him like a blinding light.

“It’s more than a point,” Dallas told him, holding his stare briefly. “You won’t ever show up for a mission in this shape again. You got that, Murdoch? You and the Wild Bunch can party all you want, but you’d better arrive at work clean shaven, your hair combed—and not wearing yesterday’s flight suit, which reeks of sweat.”

The sun rose higher, and Dallas put on her dark aviator glasses. Anger raged through her, but as an X.O., she had to hold on to her feelings, say and do the right things. She noticed Murdoch had lost some of his gruffness and was looking pasty and hangdog. He said nothing, just picked up a pair of binoculars to scan the desert for druggies.

Her heart went out to him. To have lost his partner a month ago, and then finalize a divorce, the guy probably had lots of reason to get drunk. Still, Dallas wouldn’t let that be an excuse. What they did for a living was dangerous, and Murdoch had to be a hundred percent when he flew with her.

Piloting the Cessna in the quiet air was a pleasure for Dallas. The sky was a light blue above the bright gold horizon. The half yoke used to guide this plane was a far cry from the cyclic and collective of the Apache helo she had flown almost daily in Peru. And this civilian airplane was a slug in comparison to that speedy military helicopter. But her mission was different. At least for a while, until her new Black Jaguar Squadron assignment came through.

“Hey,” Mike called, suddenly sitting up straight. He’d been looking below, through the binoculars. “I think we got a bad guy at three o’clock, Major. It’s a C-206 like ours, painted desertbrown so we can’t see them all that well.”

Tipping the wing slightly to the right, Dallas caught sight of the plane. “Good spotting,” she exclaimed. Hearing the sudden excitement in Murdoch’s voice, she grinned. “What’s your next move when you spot a possible drug plane?”

“I’m calling the Mexican air channel people right now. If this guy has a flight plan, he’s not a smuggler. The druggies never file flight plans.” Mike jabbed a finger toward the fleeing plane. “He has no numbers on the sides of his fuselage, a dead giveaway that he’s a smuggler. Still, we always check.”

Pleased, Dallas dropped the plane down to one thousand feet. They were on the six, or rear, of the C-206, which was flying at about five hundred feet. Even if he was swiveling his head around, looking for them, the pilot would never see them at this angle. She gave a wolfish grin.

In no time, Murdoch had gone through the required steps. He sent Dallas a triumphant smile. “We got ourselves a druggie on the run.”

“And Santa Ana is probably where he originated from, based on his flight trajectory.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Mike’s assessment of her tactical abilities rose accordingly.

“What next? Do we force him down?” she demanded.

Surprised, Murdoch looked over at her. He saw her set profile. Right now, she was like a hawk intent on a victim. Gone was the soft, luscious mouth and the curvy, feminine woman. No, he was seeing an air combat warrior. “We have choices here, Major. We can call ahead and ask someone to force them down. Or we can do it. We can just follow the pilot until he lands at his intended airstrip, where he’ll meet men planning to drive the bales across the U.S. border. What’s your pleasure?”

“Let’s force him down.”

He liked the edgy excitement in her husky voice. She had both hands on the yoke and was within five hundred feet of the unsuspecting smuggler.

“You can fly up alongside him and gesture for him to land,” Mike said, “or pull up to the pilot’s side, and I’ll poke the barrel of my M16 out the window here. I’ll put a couple of shots right in front of his cockpit window. That is guaranteed to get his attention.”

“What are the chances of them returning fire?” Dallas missed not having the missiles and rockets that were part of the Apache’s vaunted arsenal. The Cessna was a civilian plane and had no armor, no weaponry.

“Depends,” he said, twisting around and reaching for his rifle. With quick, knowing movements, he prepared to fire. “You never know.”

“Good thing we have our vests on,” she said, slanting a glance in his direction. She saw Murdoch smile sourly as he quickly and expertly readied the weapon. “Okay, I’m going to drop like a rock to his altitude and try to surprise him,” Dallas warned. “You poke that rifle out the window, but don’t fire. Just gesture for him to land.”

“Are you always this nice, Major?”

Laughing, Dallas felt the adrenaline pump through her bloodstream. “I’m not known as nice to the druggies in Peru, Murdoch. They don’t like to see me coming. Ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go for it.” Murdoch’s brain was clearing, especially when he opened the window and fresh air started whistling through the cockpit. He stuck the barrel out the window. “Now,” he told her gruffly, positioning himself.

Murdoch wasn’t prepared for the swift, calculated movements she made with the plane. To say she was an adept pilot didn’t quite cover it. She dropped the Cessna with a professionalism and swiftness that made him gasp. In seconds, Murdoch was staring at the surprised face of the Mexican pilot.

Dallas brought their aircraft within six feet of the smuggler’s wing. The pilot’s eyes went wide with shock and then panic. After gesturing for him to land, Murdoch put his hand on the trigger of the M16. The Mexican had a copilot, a younger man who reached back behind the seat. A revolver appeared in his hand.

“Dammit!” Murdoch snapped off several shots with his M16. The bullets ripped throughout the cockpit of the smuggler’s plane, and suddenly, it swerved to the right and banked sharply.

Dallas followed in pursuit, the gravity tugging at her harness.

Smoke leaped up and out from beneath the fuselage cover. One of his bullets had struck the engine. “They’re gonna try to make a run for it,” Mike warned her. “Stay on them!”

“Like fleas on a dog,” Dallas assured him grimly.

Murdoch was more than pleased with her flight capabilities. The druggies began to jink back and forth, so they couldn’t get near enough to fire again. Both planes had descended to fifty feet above the desert floor. The air was rougher near the ground, for the risen sun was warming the soil and generating small updrafts. The smoke grew black and thick as it purled from the Cessna’s engine.

“He’s gonna have to land that sucker anywhere he can,” Mike warned. “Back off a little. We’ll let him put down and then follow him in. If he crashes, we don’t want to be caught in the explosion or debris.”

“Roger,” Dallas said, lips thinned. Sure enough, she spotted a flat, gravelly spot just ahead among the lumpy hills. There was plenty of cactus and brush growing there, but Dallas knew a plane like this could land if it didn’t run into anything with its tricycle gear.

“Back off more,” Murdoch warned her. “The area they’re heading for has a rough, dicey surface. We’ve seen planes flip over when a wheel catches a big piece of brush, and you don’t want to be right behind them.”

“Roger,” she repeated.

The drug plane landed badly, then hopped back up into the air, plumes of dust flying around it. Then it hit the ground again. This time, the nose wheel plowed into a thicket of brush and collapsed. Dallas watched the craft skid, the propeller snapping off in pieces and disintegrating upon impact. The plane became enveloped in a huge, rolling cloud of dust as she landed their own Cessna, about four hundred feet away. The sand-gravel surface was solid in the stretch she’d chosen, thank goodness. Landing with a solid thump, she brought their plane to a quick stop by standing on the rudders, which acted like brakes for the aircraft. Before it stopped rolling, Murdoch bailed out the door, M16 in hand, and ran hell-bent-for-leather toward the crashed C-206 dead ahead of them. Smoke was pouring out of the smashed engine, and flames licked up here and there.

Why hadn’t Murdoch waited? Dallas quickly stopped the plane, killed the engine and whipped off her harness. Before diving out the door, she grabbed her own M16, locking and loading it on the run as she sprinted toward the smugglers.

Dallas saw Murdoch a hundred feet ahead, circling toward the pilot’s door. The Mexican kept hitting the jammed door with his boot until it finally yawned open, and he leaped out. Dressed in a pink shirt and jeans, he appeared to be no more than twenty years old. The kid from the copilot’s seat quickly followed. He had a shaved head and also wore a white T-shirt and jeans. The two ran in different directions.

Murdoch fired several rounds into the air and yelled at them to stop. Both skidded to a halt, turned around with their arms high in the air.

By the time Dallas got to them, Murdoch had both men lying flat on their bellies, their arms stretched above their heads. He was looking pleased.

She grinned, sweat running from beneath her helmet and down her temples. “Good work,” she praised.

“Thanks, boss.” Murdoch motioned for her to go to the Cessna, the nose of which was buried in about two feet of sand and gravel. “Let’s see what these dudes were carrying.”

“Roger that.” She turned and peeked in the open door. The smoke and flames of earlier were now out, so there was no worry the craft would explode. Climbing into the cabin, Dallas peered into the back of the plane. The smell of marijuana was overpowering. Taking a quick count, she eased out again and turned toward her partner. Murdoch had used nylon cuffs to bind the suspects’ hands behind their backs and had them sitting on the ground when she walked up to him.

“Marijuana. Looks to be about ten bales. What does that mean in pounds?”

Murdoch gave a low whistle. “That’s probably a max load for this plane. We’ll get the contraband to the U.S. and weigh it, but I’d guess it will likely be around eight hundred pounds. Congratulations, Major. You’ve made a helluva bust on your first mission.”

“Don’t you think we can call each other by our first names when we’re out here alone? Mine is Dallas.” She thrust her hand forward, and he took it without hesitation.

“Mike. So long as you don’t use any more of your krav maga on me, I’ll call you Dallas.” Murdoch squeezed her long, slim hand. She had a surprisingly firm grip. After all, he told himself, she was a black belt in combat, so why wouldn’t she?

But as he gazed into her dancing golden eyes, he felt helpless to stop the sexual attraction he was feeling toward her. What a hell of a fix he was in.

Chapter 3

“Damn, it’s cold,” Dallas griped to Murdoch as they climbed into their intrepid Cessna. The November winds whipped past them, spitting rain—life-giving moisture that was always welcome in arid countries. The sky was slate-gray, with shreds of white stratus clouds hanging low on the horizon.

“Ah, you desert rats always have thin blood,” Mike teased as he pressed the Velcro closed on his Kevlar vest and harnessed up. He noticed Scotty waiting patiently, chocks in hand. It was 6:00 a.m. and barely light. But that’s when the bad guys took off, because they didn’t have all the radar to fly at night.

Giving him a grin, Dallas settled her helmet on her head, strapped in and shut and locked the door. “Yeah, must be my Israeli blood showing. Israel is nothing but desert.”

Mike handed her the preflight checklist and they quickly went through it. Everything was in order. When he took the list back from her, their fingertips met. Murdoch relished the chance to touch Dallas. Ever since he’d grabbed her on the tarmac and she’d thrown him to the ground with her krav maga techniques, he’d been both wary of and fascinated by her. It had taken two months for them to adjust to one another. They worked well together, like a team. But Mike couldn’t help wishing for more contact. For now, he pushed the thought from his mind.

Dallas was pilot today. Since her first confrontation with Murdoch, he had cleaned up his act. He’d never again come on the tarmac drunk. He’d even stopped his hard drinking and partying in Nogales.

Dallas watched Scotty give her the signal, then she started up the engine. The Cessna coughed and sputtered.

“Even the plane is cold today,” she remarked, listening to the motor catch and take hold. The prop whirled, and she eased off the rudders, letting the craft trundle to the end of its short runway, then turn around, ready for takeoff. Dallas paused there, waiting for a sudden rain shower to pass.

“Every plane has a personality,” Mike agreed. “You want some coffee after we get airborne?”

“You bet.”

He’d come to enjoy their intimate patter, their chance to be alone in the air. On the ground, Dallas was in charge. He couldn’t be caught using such familiarity. But here in the air, their professionalism facade dissolved and they’d become like best buddies. Mike wanted more, but she seemed immune to his subtle suggestions. He’d sometimes touch her shoulder when they were teasing one another, or he’d crack a joke, and she’d laugh huskily in return. Whenever his fingers met hers, a pleasant ribbon of warmth flowed up his hand and arm.

The Cessna rolled down the runway after the squall had moved by. The aftermath of a hurricane that had started in Mexico on the Pacific side was making the skies dicey. In Arizona, the storm had already been downgraded to a low frontal system.

Once they leveled off at three thousand feet, the air was much less turbulent. Murdoch pulled out the large metal thermos from the net pocket, quickly poured Dallas half a cup of steaming black coffee and handed it to her. Another chance to touch the beautiful, remote Dallas Klein.

“Thanks,” she said, gripping the metal cup. The warmth felt good to her fingers.

Mike dug into his net pouch for a second cup and poured himself some. Today, they were headed deep into Mexico, to Hermosillo. Mexican federales had located a secret airstrip outside the beautiful city, and the two of them were going to investigate. With a fading hurricane in the vicinity, rain would be falling off and on all day. It would do no good to hunt bad guys along the border because they would be grounded by the weather. Dallas had predicted that, and Mike agreed with her. The druggie action would come after the hurricane moved north. Right now, central Mexico enjoyed sunshine and clear blue skies, just the ticket for druggies to climb into their Cessna Stationairs, and Dallas hoped to intercept them. It was a solid tactical plan.

“Hey, how come I never see you with a dude?” Mike asked, keeping his tone light and bantering. Dallas grimaced and took another sip of her coffee. He had tried all kinds of ways to find out about the enigmatic woman’s personal life but had failed. Yet was he really ready to hear she was in a relationship?

“Murdoch, you’re a terrible tease.”

Shrugging, he said, “Hey, you’re not exactly an open book, you know. I’m just trying to find out if you have a relationship right now.”

Chuckling, Dallas said, “My parents work for the Mossad. Did you expect me to be an open book? I grew up with two spies. They taught me well.” She flashed him a grin.

Undeterred, Mike drawled, “Okay, fair enough, but I’m the guy that has your six. Can’t you level with me?”

With a quizzical glance, she retorted, “Is it safe? You know, the first month you were a snarly dude. I was afraid you were going to bite my hand off.”

Mike snorted. He couldn’t help watching those luscious lips, curving sweetly upward in the corners. If he confided to Dallas he dreamed of her almost nightly, and mention what they did together in his dreams, she’d blush crimson and probably retreat even deeper into herself. “Listen, you’re my X.O., and keeping things professional and detached are fine at the BP station. But this is me. I’ve changed. You can see that. You were right—I was snarly because of my divorce.” He frowned. “And losing Randy, my partner.” Dallas gave him a sympathetic look. “But stop feeling sorry for me, okay? I’d really like to know you personally.”

“Hmm,” Dallas murmured. “Why?”

“Because you’re single, as far as I know, damn good-looking, and I’m a single guy myself.” There, the truth was out. Mike wondered how she was going to handle it. Might as well find out.

Dallas finished her coffee and handed the cup back. “First of all, I am single. And no, I don’t have a steady guy in my life right now.”

“You used to?”

“Yes, back in Cuzco. He was a Peruvian medical doctor.” Dallas shrugged. “Things got complicated. I was in a black ops, and he was a renowned heart surgeon. Between our two schedules, we rarely saw one another, and even then, if I got called back to BJS for an emergency, I was gone. His family put a lot of pressure on him to drop me, and eventually, he did.”

“Families can do that,” Mike agreed. He felt elated she was sharing with him. “Now, my family is very laid-back. I’m the oldest, with two younger sisters, Julie and JoAnn.”

“Laid-back. Hmm. Like you, right?” Dallas chuckled.

Mike smiled back and scanned the gray sky and scudding clouds. Rain splattered across the cockpit window, but less and less frequently the farther south they flew. “I’m laid-back, too.”

“Oh, right. Mr. Intense. You lock on to a druggie through your binoculars, and you’re like a laser-fired rocket.” She laughed wryly. “Give me a break, Murdoch. You’re the least laid-back dude I’ve ever known, a bloodhound on a scent!”

“So, you don’t like intense dudes? They’re a turnoff? A surgeon isn’t exactly a laid-back sort, either. They are well known type A personalities.”

A smile lurked on her lips. “Murdoch, you’re fishing. What’s this all about?”

“Well…” he sighed, sitting back, sipping his coffee. “I wanted to invite you out to dinner tonight after we get back. I know a really nice Mexican couple in Nogales who’ve been friends of mine for years. I thought you might like to have some good home cooking, Mexican style. Since you spent six years in Peru, I thought you’d probably enjoy Latin food.”

“Now that’s a provocative invitation,” Dallas said, trying to look serious. She noticed his black, straight brows moving downward. “Good food is always a draw for me.”

“You mean you’d come along for the food? And not because you’re with me?”

“You’re incorrigible, Murdoch.”

He grinned wolfishly and added, “Maria is a damn good cook. Her husband, Alfredo, is a businessman. He owns a trading post on both sides of the border. I think you’d enjoy them. They’re very intelligent, compassionate people with big hearts. Did you know that at Christmas, they take thousands of dollars worth of gifts to orphanages in Sonora? Alfredo likes to dress up as Santa Claus, and Maria becomes Mrs. Claus. They’re a hoot, the two of them.”

“They sound like really nice people,” Dallas said. “Yeah, I’d love to have dinner with them.”

“How about with me?”

“Oh, Murdoch, will you stop?”

Feeling pleased, he decided not to push her anymore. Dallas had colored prettily beneath his cajoling. She looked even more desirable with pink cheeks and that softness in her golden eyes. “I guess I can stop goading you,” he said, “since you’ve agreed to have a date with me.”

“It’s not a date.”

“What would you call it?”

“Just two friends having dinner with other friends.”

“I guess I’ll let you get away with that definition—for now.”

Seeing her smile elated Murdoch as never before. He was curious. Why did Dallas refuse to call it a date? Was she drawn to him at all, or did she really see him as just a friend? That wasn’t a status Murdoch wanted with her.

The plane bumped then leaped about fifty feet upward as it hit an air pocket. Dallas quickly stabilized it. She was a damn fine pilot, but so was he.

“You know,” he said, putting the cap back on the thermos and getting down to business, “you and I have the best stats for October. We made five busts. Just think, about 4,500 pounds of marijuana and coke aren’t gonna hit U.S. markets.” He pressed his hand to his chest. “Does my heart good.”

“Yeah, we are a good team,” Dallas told him. “Better than I thought, given our rough landing when I first got here.”

“That’s over,” Mike assured her. “I apologized. I had my nose bent out of joint over my divorce.”

“I don’t ever want to divorce. I want to fall in love and have it last forever. Maybe that’s idealistic in a world where half the marriages crash and burn, but my parents are still married. That’s what I want.”

“Ahh, now I get it.” Mike touched the center of his forehead and closed his eyes. “Great seer that I am, the reason why you want me only as a friend is you’re afraid I’ll dump you somewhere down the road, and you’ll be alone with no hope of a forever marriage.”

“Get real, dude!”

Chortling, Mike opened his eyes and shared her laughter. He loved the fact that every time they flew, Dallas opened up to him a little more. At last he felt as if he’d touched the real core of her, and not the X.O. who was his boss. “Hey, I’m a responsible kind of guy. I like long-term.”

“Yeah, sure you do. How long were you married before, Cowboy?” That was his nickname in the Border Patrol.

“That’s not fair.”

“Sure it is. I’m a forever kind of gal. You’re not, judging from your track record.”

“Don’t shoot me down so fast, darlin’.” He saw her eyes go wide then grow warm over his endearment. Mike had discovered that Dallas needed male attention in small dollops. She didn’t like brutish men, that was for sure. He never saw her go to the Nogales nightclubs to dance and drink. She stayed at the base or went to her apartment nearby, but never partied. He’d often wondered why, but now, knowing that she was incredibly responsible, dedicated to her career, and looking for a long-term relationship, he began to understand her actions.

“Hey, to me, a divorce is a sign that two people can’t work out their differences. If you couldn’t do it in your first marriage, Murdoch, why should I look at you as serious stuff?”

“Well,” he said, eyeing her intently, “maybe you don’t know the whole story behind my divorce. Maybe they don’t all happen because two people are too lazy or selfish to work things out.” He opened his hands. “My parents have been married since they were both eighteen, and they’re fifty now. Have they had tough times? You bet. Did they struggle? Oh, yeah, I saw it. But the one thing that kept them together was that they loved one another. It’s the glue that’s gotten them through a lot of tough times.”

“Precisely. That’s what I’m talking about—commitment based on love.” Dallas scanned the clearing sky. Between the gray, horizontal stratus clouds were hints of blue. In another hour they’d be out of the remnants of the hurricane and into sunshine as they made their way to Hermosillo.

She shot him a dark look. “So, if your parents are forever people, what happened to you, Murdoch?”

Okay, it was his turn to be vulnerable. Mike was uncomfortable with her flat stare, but he wanted her so damn bad, in every way, that he decided to lay the truth on the table between them. “I wanted a forever marriage, too, Dallas. I didn’t plan to get married young—I figured if I married when I was older, I’d be better able to handle the rigors of it all. About five years ago, I met Galina Baranova, who was an interpreter for the Border Patrol. She was a recent immigrant from Moscow and a whiz at languages, speaking at least five fluently. I was stationed in El Paso, Texas, when I started working with her. I fell in love with her on the spot. But she wasn’t who I thought she was.”

“Oh?” Dallas gave him a worried glance and saw his expression go sad.

“She was with the Russian mafia.” He sighed. “To make a long story short, she was an ace of a con artist. She’s a genius, really. She became a mole for the Russian mafia back in Moscow. In her job as translator, she flew all over the Southwest and had access to many of the deep, dark secret records the BP kept on drug smuggling movements coming up from South America and Mexico. She was able to let her cohorts know well ahead of time when certain drug shipments were being watched, and they would change course, and we’d lose track of them. This went on for two years, until I started getting suspicious. One time, I found by accident a piece of paper in Galina’s purse. I’d been digging for money in her billfold, because I was out of cash and needed some before I went to work. The paper was a list of drug smuggling operations, and she’d made a notation in one corner—the name of her contact in Mexico. We got the FBI on it, and they apprehended the dude and interrogated him back in D.C.” Grimacing, Mike said quietly, “About two weeks later, the FBI came to our house and arrested Galina. They hadn’t told me beforehand.”

“I’m so sorry,” Dallas said. She reached out and gripped his hand. “That must’ve been tough.”

Her palm was warm and soft. Greedily, Murdoch laced his fingers with hers and gave them a gentle squeeze. This was the first time he’d ever shown his affection to Dallas. Would she realize what she meant to him? As he released her hand, he saw her blush. There was such innocence to her, despite her being a combat veteran. That was the part he wanted to access, to know, to care for, to love and cherish—forever.

The realization of how he felt slammed into him, and he tried to come to grips with it. Ever since Dallas had shown up in his life, he’d desired her. Sure, at first he had only wanted to get her to bed. But then, over the course of the last month, he had started yearning for a lot more from her. His dreams, although torrid, were about more than just sex. What he felt was much deeper than that, he realized now.

“Hey,” he called softly. When Dallas turned, he saw a velvety quality in her eyes he’d never seen before. Instantly, his heart opened even wider. That mouth of hers was begging, just begging, to be kissed. Her attraction was clearly written across her suddenly very vulnerable features.

For the first time, Mike saw the real Dallas Klein. And, God forgive him, he just about died and went to heaven. “Don’t feel sorry for me, darlin’. What I would like is a clean slate between the two of us. I think we cleared some important hurdles at three thousand feet here, don’t you?” He flashed her an impish grin, having found out a long time ago that humor could frequently soothe a fractious confrontation. And right now, if he was reading Dallas correctly, he could see her reassessing him. Maybe even thinking about a possible relationship with him. Never had he wanted anything more.

“I’m glad we cleared the air, Mike. I didn’t know the details about your divorce. That had to be horrible on you. The shock…If you entered that marriage with the idea it was forever…Well, what a heartbreaking situation.”

“That’s why I was hitting the Nogales nightclubs when you arrived. I was drinking to stop the pain I was feeling,” he admitted quietly. After looking around, which was his habit as a copilot, he returned his gaze to her. “And you really snapped me out of it that first day we flew together.” Giving her another boyish grin, he said, “Thanks. I needed that.”

“What? Being laid out flat on your back on the tarmac?”

Murdoch chuckled. “Yeah, I’d been drinking heavily, almost nonstop, for two weeks. It wasn’t like me, but I had to do something to dull the pain.”

“Helluva way to do it,” Dallas commented, searching the airspace below them. The sky was lightening up even more. The Cessna chugged like the stalwart workhorse it was. “Sometimes we all have to hit brick walls, Mike. Maybe I was your wall.”

“Yeah,” he murmured wryly, “but your wall has a door, and I’m knockin’ to be let in, darlin’.”

Chapter 4

Dallas was sitting in her office on a cold, early December morning when Mike sauntered in. She glanced at her watch and realized time was slipping away from them. As usual, he was in his rumpled flight suit, but he made it look pulverizingly male. What was there not to like about him?

“Hey, I heard some scuttlebutt from Thomas Boyce at the BP headquarters in D.C.,” he said, closing the door quickly to keep in the heat. He couldn’t help but stare. She was wearing a ponytail at the nape of her neck. He fantasized about removing the rubber band that held her thick, shining hair and then running his hands through it. He knew the rose-scented locks would feel like sleek, raw silk.

“Yeah? What kind of scuttlebutt?” Dallas asked, picking up her morning coffee.

Mike leaned lazily against the wooden counter where all the flight plans were created. “That you are landing us another flight team. Are we going to get in more personnel? God knows we’re working 24-7, and we need the help. Our C.O. was never able to pry loose more pilots and planes from the Border Patrol because of the budget.” Mike eyed her. “Is all this true?”

Grinning triumphantly, she eased back in her chair. “Sure is.” She liked the way he glowed with happiness at her comment. “I’ve been here long enough to see that the four of us are going to be driven into the ground by the work demands.” She pointed to a map behind her desk that had red pins all across the state of Sonora. “You and I have been working seven days a week since I got here.”

Resting his elbows on the counter, he held her gaze. “Yeah, I can’t even get a date with you because of our killer schedule,” he griped good-naturedly. “That night you agreed to go to dinner with me? Our flight that day ended up lasting far past my friends’ dinner hour, and it was scrubbed. When have we had time for dinner together? Much less with my friends?”

A shaft of heat moved through her. Dallas didn’t tell him she was glad that long mission had happened. A part of her had been looking forward to having dinner with Mike and his Mexican friends. But another part had been reluctant. Murdoch was a macho guy who, if he saw something he wanted, went after it with no apology. While Dallas liked that kind of assertiveness in their trade, working against drug smugglers, he was moving way too fast for her on a personal front. She liked him but wasn’t ready to commit to anything. Not yet. “Well,” she drawled with a smile, “all in good time, Murdoch. Some things are worth waiting for. Did your parents ever try to teach you patience?” She chuckled.

“Not one of my greatest attributes, is it, Ms. Dallas?”

They were alone, and Dallas enjoyed their repartee. Mike was the biggest jokester in Nogales, and he made her laugh even at grim times chasing the druggies. “No, it’s not, but you have others.”

“Oh?” He perked up and placed his hands on his hips. “Like what?”

“Oh, no,” Dallas said, holding up her own hands and laughing, “I’m not going there! Your head is swelled enough, Cowboy.”

“I know, my arrogance is becoming. Even appealing to you. Isn’t it?” Mike liked the way her cheeks grew pink. He knew how to get beneath her armor.

“At times,” she said, holding his penetrating gaze and trying not to respond physically. Did Murdoch know how damn virile he was? Dallas suspected he did. Even though he’d shaved that morning, a hint of stubble already grew, making his face seem slightly dangerous. That kind of danger Dallas liked, and she quelled her yearning for him. She had to settle in as X.O., not to mention she had a number of jobs to undertake to keep this small flight unit functional.

“Well,” Mike said, “since the rumor is true, where did you scrounge up these extra bodies? The C.O. has never been able to force Washington to give us relief pilots so we could have a weekend off.”

“I got one pilot,” she told him. “Captain Alexander. She was due for rotation out of the Black Jaguar Squadron. I knew that in advance, so I made a phone call to an influential U.S. Army general back at the Pentagon.” Dallas handed him the summary orders. It was an excuse to touch his hand. The moment their fingertips met, warmth flowed into her. She savored the sensation.

“Thanks,” Mike said, taking the paper. He stared down at the new orders for the pilot. “Nike Alexander?”

“It’s pronounced ‘Nikee.’”

“Interesting. Wasn’t there a Greek goddess by that name?”

“Sure was. Nike Alexander was named after the goddess of victory. She was born in Athens. And she likes to tell everyone that the goddess was created when the god of war, Ares, consorted with a mortal woman. Nike was the child created by their love.”

“She sounds like she’ll be real aggressive in the air,” Murdoch said, handing the sheet back to Dallas. “And if she was named after the goddess of victory, then it sounds like you picked a real winner. We want aggressive pilots around here.”

“You got that right. There isn’t a woman at BJS who isn’t air combat aggressive, and from my experience around here, that’s needed in spades. Those drug smugglers in Sonora are the worst bunch I’ve ever run into. And I believe Nike can help us make a difference.”

“What about a copilot for her? You got one yet?”

Dallas shook her head. “No. I’ve got some pull in the Pentagon, and I’m working that angle right now. With the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, pilots are rare as hen’s teeth. But I’ve got a lead on one, and I believe we can get him.”

Rubbing his hands, Mike said, “You’re an accomplished, crafty woman, you know that?” He was proud of her abilities. The more he knew about Dallas, the more he admired her.

“That’s the X.O.’s job,” she parried, putting a number of items on her desk away. It was time to get going on their morning mission. “I like what I do. All the chess moves to get what we need around here. The C.O.’s thrilled pink we have Nike assigned to us.”

“I’m sure he is. Jake and Bob are gonna be jumping up and down over this change, too. They’d like to have some time off with their families.”

“I know,” Dallas said, frowning. “This work is demanding. We can’t be fresh and alert when we’re working 24-7, either, so that’s another reason to get a third flight team in here.”

Giving her an intent look, Murdoch said, “You know, I got a funny feeling about you. Why do I think you aren’t going to be around here forever?”

She smiled slightly as she put Nike Alexander’s orders in a personnel folder, which she tucked in the file drawer on the left side of her desk. Her heart twinged at the thought of leaving Mike, and that was new for her.

Normally, Dallas considered herself a tumbleweed, moving from one assignment to another, no strings attached. But after learning of his heartbreaking marriage, she had begun to see him in a new light. A better one. And a part of her wanted to stay here and not move when the new orders came in shortly from the Pentagon. Looking up, she said, “There’s that word again—forever. Mike, you know in our business change is guaranteed. You might not be military, but even the ATF will switch you to another spot eventually. I’m aligned with the U.S. Army, so about every two years I’ll be rotated to another base or mission.”

Frowning, Murdoch took the orders for the day, which lay near his elbow, but didn’t look at them. “Yet you believe in forever marriages.” The idea that Dallas might leave sooner rather than later knotted his stomach. A grim feeling snaked through him, twisting his gut. For once, he wished his intuition was wrong. There was so much about Dallas that was secret or off-limits to him, even now. She had learned to trust him in the last month, and Mike couldn’t fathom going up against the drug smugglers without her. She was a damn fine pilot, fierce in combat and someone he could trust to cover his back when things heated up. But it was more than that, and he tried to wrestle with the shock of her possibly walking out of his life—forever.

“Yes, but that’s not a job, that’s a way of life.”

“I agree.” Murdoch grinned. Dallas didn’t seem to realize how affected he was by the thought of her leaving. But then, he’d never kissed her or really told her how he felt about her. When had there been time? Opportunity? For once, Murdoch was unhappy about the seven-day-a-week job. He wished for a day off with Dallas.

She grinned back. “Marriage should be something great to build on. That doesn’t mean there won’t be problems to surmount, but at least they’re tackled as a team.”

“On that, there’s no argument.” He held her gaze. “You didn’t answer me. Do you know something we don’t? Are you gonna pull a disappearing act on me?” That was the last thing Mike wanted, and when he saw her hesitate, his heart squeezed. She did know something.

How he wanted a relationship with this enigmatic, powerful woman. Mike knew he could be her equal. But did she?

Dallas shrugged. She knew she couldn’t divulge the black ops orders that would be issued by the Pentagon. “Does it look like I’m going anywhere?” She pointed to the stack of tactical assignments on her desk. “There are all our December missions. That should tell you I’m hanging around.”

“Humph.” He pointed at their current mission. “Speaking of that, I see we’re going back to Hermosillo.”

“Yeah, our favorite place,” Dallas said wryly. Getting up, she smoothed out her flight suit, picked up her helmet bag and knee board, and gave him a smile. “Ready, Cowboy?”

A prickling heat of pleasure moved through Murdoch. He liked the way she said his nickname. Throwing her a mock salute, because he was a civilian and didn’t have to salute any military person, he said, “Ready, ready now…”

Murdoch was commander for the flight that day. As they snaked among the Sierra Madres looking for smugglers, Dallas scanned the terrain below. The Sonoran state, with its steep, rugged valleys, was a perfect place for low-flying drug planes to hide. They would pop up to cross a shrubby shoulder of mountain, then dive back undercover of another one. The smugglers rarely crossed into U.S. space. Instead, they’d fly to a dirt strip twenty or thirty miles south of the border and off-load their cocaine or marijuana to awaiting men, who would go by truck, horseback or foot into the USA.

Mike and Dallas had been flying for six hours by the time they neared Hermosillo. Murdoch figured they’d find something there. They always did.

“Got one,” Dallas crowed, binoculars fixed on a yellow-and-white Cessna crossing a steep canyon below them. “Don’t need to verify this one with authorities,” she murmured, watching the plane. “The dude has the numbers on the fuselage covered over with duct tape.” The Sierra Madres made an ideal place to grow marijuana, cut it, package it and then stow it on board a smuggler’s plane.

“A dead giveaway he’s in the trade.” Tipping the wing a little, Mike spotted the plane. “Let’s watch where he goes. He’s heading northwest. Call los federales. They can get one of their twin-engine Cessnas up in the air to follow him, too.” Their ATF unit frequently worked with Mexican authorities, who were learning how to hunt and capture the air smugglers, too. The U.S. had given their southern neighbor a fleet of Cessnas, twenty-six Schweizer 333 helicopters and ten refurbished Huey helicopters to aid in stopping the drug trade.

“Chances are he isn’t going to one of the ninety official airports in Sonora,” Dallas joked, following the smuggler’s progress.

Murdoch ratcheted up the throttle to 160 miles per hour to keep up with the hedge-hopping druggie below them. “No,” he drawled, “he’s probably headed for one of the thousand illegal landing strips we’ve thus far identified.” Mike smirked evilly. “Or maybe he’ll show us yet another airstrip we didn’t know about.”

Of course, the Mexican government sent in troops to destroy the airstrips as soon as they were located. The soldiers would dig horizontal ditches across them, so planes couldn’t land without crashing and tipping over on their noses.

“Nothing surprises me anymore, given their constant creativity,” Dallas agreed grimly. Setting the binoculars aside, she radioed the Mexican authorities, giving a description of the smuggler’s aircraft, plus latitude and longitude. After signing off, she said, “They’re putting a Cessna Citation on this one.”

Murdoch nodded. The U.S. had armed the Citation jet with radar.

He looked around. The day was sunny and clear, with no clouds to hamper their view. He wondered if the pilot knew they were on his six, two thousand feet above. Probably not. Often, they orbited a smuggler and let him land, and then took him on. Because they never knew where the plane would put down, it wasn’t often that the federales

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