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  There was one man in particular—her boss. Retired army colonel Warren McDonald, a confirmed bachelor, was pursued by every single woman at Grenville-Edwards regardless of her age. In the six years since he had come to head the company, though, he’d never shown an interest in any woman, except Vanessa.

  She did not make promises, because she wasn’t certain whether she could maintain them. But she was able to keep her promise of not becoming involved with any man she worked with.

  Shrugging her shoulders, she pressed her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. She shut out the image of the man sitting beside her and everything else going on in the aircraft as the jet taxied down the runway in preparation for a takeoff.

  Gasps of fear echoed throughout the cabin, and Vanessa opened her eyes as her stomach made a flip-flop motion. The Fasten Seat Belt light came on, along with the familiar beeping sound as the aircraft fell several hundred feet before leveling off.

  Swallowing back the rush of bile from her empty stomach, she grimaced at the sound of retching from someone seated behind her. Her fingers gripped the arms of her seat in a deathlike grip, the veins showing prominently through the flesh on her slender hands. She glanced to her right. She couldn’t see out the window. It was apparent that the man sitting beside her had lowered the shade. He had put away the report he’d been reading and sat with his eyes closed, while his hands rested atop the leather case. How could he sleep, when they had flown into something which threatened to break the jet into tiny pieces?

  The pilot’s voice came through the speakers. “We’ll be experiencing some turbulence until we fly over Alamogordo. After that we’ll have smooth flying and clear skies, and we expect to touch down in El Paso on time.” Vanessa did not care if they landed in El Paso “on time.” All she wanted was to step foot on a solid surface, and in one piece.

  Fifteen minutes later, the storm left behind, a collective sigh of relief went through the jetliner.

  The AeroMexico plane touched down in El Paso and Vanessa unsnapped her seatbelt and readied herself to deplane. She would use every second of the ninety-minute layover to calm her frayed nerves. Gathering her handbag, she made her way down the aisle and out to the terminal.

  She noticed that most of the passengers were subdued as they filed out into the terminal. Most were probably remembering the frightening moment of free fall when they flew into the thunderstorm.

  She detected the heat of a body pressed close to hers, and the familiar scent of clean, citrusy cologne. Turning slightly, she glanced over her shoulder and encountered the pale gaze of the tall man. He had retrieved his jacket and it hung elegantly from his broad shoulders.

  “I think you could use a cup of coffee,” he stated without preamble. “You didn’t look very well while we rode out the storm,” he added when she arched a questioning eyebrow.

  How would he know how she looked? Vanessa thought. He’d sat, eyes closed, totally relaxed. And it wasn’t as if she’d cried out or retched, like the man behind her.

  “There’s a restaurant at the far end of the terminal that serves excellent coffee,” he continued. “Perhaps you’d like to join me?” He said the words tentatively, as if testing her reaction and his own for extending the offer. His gaze burned into hers while a muscle barely tensed in his lean jaw.

  She was piqued by his cool, detached manner. He hadn’t exchanged a word with her during the flight, preferring instead to read or feign sleep, yet he now wanted to engage her in conversation and share a cup of coffee.

  “Mr—”

  “Kirkland,” he supplied quickly. “Joshua Kirkland.”

  Tilting her chin, Vanessa flashed an artificial smile. “I don’t think so, Mr. Kirkland.”

  Joshua merely inclined his head at her refusal. “Then I’ll see you back on the plane, Miss—”

  “Vanessa Blanchard.” The two words were layered with ice.

  “Miss Blanchard,” he repeated, watching as she turned and walked away. He stared at the curling mass of heavy black hair falling around the nape of her slender, swanlike neck. Her long, flared, cotton jersey tailored dress moved softly on her tall frame, its soft coral color flattering the intense vibrancy of her deep brown skin. Joshua stared at her departing figure until she disappeared from his field of vision, then walked over to a wall with a bank of telephones; he picked up the receiver of one designated for calling cards calls only.

  Dialing a series of numbers, he waited for a break in the connection. The caller on the other end of the wire identified himself.

  “I’ve made contact,” Joshua said tersely.

  “How is she?”

  “She’ll do.”

  A low chuckle came through the receiver. “I knew you’d say that.”

  His solemn expression did not change. “Is there anything else?”

  “Yes, there is. I thought I’d tell you before you hear it in the field.”

  “What is it?”

  “The odds are fifteen-to-one—in her favor.”

  “All of you are sick,” Joshua said softly before hanging up.

  He had expected more from the people he worked with, but then, why would he? Most of them were serious-minded people who were entrusted with extremely dangerous assignments, and a bit of joviality was a welcome respite in the shadowy world of military intelligence.

  It had become an inside joke that one day a woman was going to get him to commit, though at thirty-eight it hadn’t happened. He had come close with Sable St. Clair, and he was certain it would not be Vanessa Blanchard. She was his target, and in no way would he become that involved with a woman he’d been assigned to investigate.

  He would use every available means necessary to get the information he needed from Vanessa Blanchard. Then, as quietly as he would walk into her life, he would walk out.

  Chapter 2

  Vanessa sat in a small booth in the airport coffee shop sipping a cup of excellently brewed coffee while flipping through the pages of her magazine. The coffee’s warmth eased down the back of her throat and settled in her chest. Within seconds her anxiousness eased, and she temporarily forgot the fearful moments of the flight from Santa Fe to El Paso.

  She felt a slight tug on her hair. She turned on the leather seat and stared at a small child who stood on the seat of the adjoining booth. Her large dark eyes sparkled as she smiled at the little boy.

  “Hello,” she crooned softly. His brilliant hazel eyes, framed by long dark lashes, widened with her greeting.

  “Billy, sit down and leave that lady alone,” admonished the boy’s mother.

  Billy quickly reached out and pulled at another curl falling over her forehead. Vanessa reached up, trying to extract his tiny hand, but he tightened his grip and pulled harder.

  She could not believe she was being assaulted by a child who could not be more than three years old.

  “Billy! Billy!” The child’s mother screamed hysterically while he laughed and pulled harder.

  One by one, Vanessa eased each of his fingers from her hair, her scalp tingling where she was certain she had lost more than a few strands.

  Her face flushed a deep red from anger and embarrassment, apologizing profusely, Billy’s mother scooped up her child and fled the coffee shop.

  Vanessa stood up and massaged her scalp, watching the two as they disappeared into the throng passing through the terminal. Her gaze shifted and she saw Joshua Kirkland standing near the entrance. A slight smile ruffled his mobile mouth. It was apparent that he had witnessed the entire scene.

  Reaching into her handbag, she pulled out several bills and left them on the table. She managed a tight smile for the waitress who had served her. Then, tilting her chin, she walked toward the entrance.

  Joshua did not move as she neared him and her bare arm brushed the sleeve of his jacket. Lowering his head slightly, he whispered softly, “You don’t look the type to beat up on little kids.”

  She took a quick, sharp breath. “In case you didn’t notice, it was Pe
e Wee Hulk Hogan who was trying to make me a candidate for Rogaine!”

  He stared down at the wealth of black curls falling over her forehead, trying not to laugh at her scowling expression. He had just walked into the coffee shop when he heard the woman screaming her son’s name. He hadn’t seen Vanessa’s face because the child’s body blocked his view, but he knew her because of the color of her dress. And it had taken all of his control not to rush over and rescue her from the willful little boy.

  “Did he hurt you?” he questioned, his voice filled with concern.

  Vanessa massaged her scalp, shaking her head. “Only my pride.”

  “Do you think it’s safe to enter?”

  She gave Joshua a warm, open smile for the first time. The expression transformed her face, startling him with her soft, natural beauty. Her hair—her crowning glory—was a luxurious, raven black. It curled over her forehead and brushed the high, exotic cheekbones in her delicate face. Her large eyes, framed by long, thick lashes, were the same blue-black shade as her hair. He could only describe her coloring as rich—a rich orange-yellow layered with shades of browns, from maple to umber.

  “I don’t know, but if you decide to go in, it’s at your own risk,” she teased.

  He arched a pale eyebrow. “I feel lucky today. I’ll try it.”

  “Good luck,” Vanessa returned, smiling and walking away from him.

  For the second time that morning, Joshua waited and watched Vanessa Blanchard walk. He had only nine days to get what he wanted from Vanessa. He had engaged her in conversation and coaxed a smile from her, but the conversation did not yield the information he sought.

  What Joshua Kirkland would not readily acknowledge was that she also had elicited a smile from him, and for the first time since he returned to the shadowy world of military intelligence, he looked forward to gleaning information from a woman—especially if that woman was Vanessa Blanchard.

  Vanessa waited until the final announcement to board her flight to Mexico City blared from the terminal speakers before returning to the gate. Flashing her boarding pass, she entered the aircraft. Time had passed quickly. She had spent the ninety minutes browsing throughout the many souvenir shops. She had entered and exited each shop empty-handed. Her trip to Mexico had a twofold purpose: shopping and relaxation.

  In keeping with the culture of the inhabitants of the Southwest region, she had begun decorating her home with a blend of Native, African and Mexican-American furnishings. It had taken more than two years to find the bed she wanted for the master bedroom, the sofa, love seat and tables for the living room, dining-room table, chairs, credenza, and buffet server, and guest bedroom furniture. Her long awaited trip to Mexico was for the express purpose of buying accessories: rugs, pottery and native artifacts.

  She made her way to her seat and sat down. Joshua Kirkland, already seated and belted in, did not avert his gaze from the window and the activity on the ground below.

  No hint of emotion showed on Joshua’s face as he registered the now familiar warmth and fragrance that belonged exclusively to Vanessa Blanchard. Even without glancing at her, he knew exactly what she looked like. In fact, he probably knew more about Vanessa than she knew or remembered about herself.

  Her file at a Pentagon office, labeled Top Secret and Priority, had been handed to him during a meeting with the members of the Joint Strike Fighter committee. A prior year’s financial audit of Grenville-Edwards had uncovered several improprieties; an official inside source at the aerospace plant had leaked information linking someone at the plant with sub-contracting to a subsidiary manufacturer who was selling classified components for laser guided bombs to a guerilla group in Central America. The audit uncovered that more than two million dollars had been diverted into nonexistent escrow accounts since Vanessa had headed the contracts department. What the Joint Strike Fighter committee wanted to prevent was a similar compromise of national security if any of the specifications for the new fighter aircraft were sold to a foreign nation without authorization.

  A Justice Department investigation had examined every phase of her life—personal and financial—and had come up with nothing which would link her to the receipt of monies from the sale of the classified military components. However, a subsequent pending file was also set up: U.S. v Vanessa Blanchard. Charge—Industrial Espionage.

  The government wanted to indict her for industrial espionage, while Joshua thought the charge should be treason. For a few dollars she had sold out her country; a few dollars no one, not even the most accomplished accountants, had been able to locate.

  His mission was to identify her contact, and it was his intent to get the information he needed from her with or without her consent.

  Pressing his head back to the headrest, he closed his eyes and feigned sleep during the flight from El Paso to Mexico City. He listened as Vanessa thanked the flight attendant for her green salad lunch. He recalled an entry under her medical history on the dossier the investigators had collected on her—she had experienced food poisoning on a flight to New York during her senior year in college. It was apparent that she still did not trust the ubiquitous airline cuisine.

  He listened intently to the soft whisper of her breathing, counting the measured beats. She was calm and relaxed. Stealing a glance at her profile, he felt his own breathing falter before starting up again.

  Vanessa Blanchard was an exotically beautiful woman. The delicate black curls falling over her forehead made her look soft and vulnerable, and Joshua did not want to believe that she had betrayed her country for financial gain.

  But, had she done it for financial gain? The investigators were unable to trace the two million dollars, and Vanessa Blanchard’s lifestyle had not changed dramatically since she had come to work for Grenville-Edwards. She had placed a standard ten percent down payment on her house and paid her mortgage at the same time every month for the past two years. There were no large purchases of luxury cars, expensive jewelry or extravagant trips. They knew she flew to Los Angeles every Thanks-giving and Christmas to visit her parents. Other than her sister, brother-in-law, and two nephews, she did not have a wide circle of friends. She was well liked at Grenville-Edwards and participated in most job-related social activities.

  It was the men, or the lack of men, in her life that intrigued Joshua. Except for an occasional date for dinner or a movie, Vanessa did not have a significant other in her life. It appeared that she did not have a lover. That would make his mission much easier.

  A rare smile ruffled his firm mouth. He would seduce her!

  The notion of seducing Vanessa Blanchard shocked him. It was something he had never done before—professionally or personally. It simply wasn’t his style. What he could not explain or understand was that there was something about this woman that made him want to know her—in the most intimate way possible.

  Vanessa turned to her right, capturing Joshua’s gaze. This time his eyes were brilliant emerald instead of pale, transparent peridot. She returned his smile. “You slept through lunch.” Her voice was warm as heated honey.

  His smile widened. “I’d asked the attendant not to wake me. An hour after we land I’m scheduled to have a business lunch. I’ve found that too much food in a warm climate usually dulls the mind.”

  Vanessa shifted a beautifully arched eyebrow. “So, you’re going to Mexico on business?”

  He shook his head. “Business and pleasure.” He’d told her the truth, because she would be his pleasure. “And yourself?”

  “Pleasure.”

  Joshua made certain to keep his smile in place as he contemplated her response. He knew she had planned a trip to Mexico six months before, and wondered if perhaps she was to have met her contact at that time. Was this trip to make up for the prior, aborted one?

  “Are the people you’re meeting with German? I noticed the report you were reading was in German,” she explained quickly when his smile faded and a glaze of frost swept all of the color and warmth from his gaze.


  “No. They’re Mexican,” he explained quietly. “I oversee North American operations for a German investment company.”

  He had used this cover so often that the words flowed smoothly and without hesitation. The report Vanessa had seen him reading was not an update on a Mexican investment firm, but a cryptograph. His mission in Mexico was twofold: uncover Vanessa Blanchard’s contact, and mobilize a drug sweep which he had given the code name Operation MESA.

  The Drug Enforcement Administration was certain that one of their agents had alerted Mexican drug smugglers of impending raids by a concert of Mexican and U.S. DEA personnel. Classified maneuvers were leaked soon after they were formulated.

  As an expert cryptographer, Joshua had been recruited because a cache of weapons stolen from a Texas fort were smuggled into Mexico, then sold to a Costa Rican military official who was quietly amassing his own private army to overthrow his democratic government.

  The pages Vanessa saw him reading were filled with dates, times, and places where U.S. and Mexican drug enforcement personnel would strike with the speed of lightning, filling their nets with high-level traffickers.

  The man Vanessa found so attractive intrigued her. “Are you also fluent in Spanish?” she questioned. Again a smile played about his handsome mouth as he nodded. “And what else?”

  “Italian, Russian, and French.”

  Her eyes widened with this disclosure. “I barely get by with English, and you speak six languages.”

  “Five.”

  “Six,” she insisted. “Or don’t you count English?”

  Joshua arched a pale eyebrow. Vanessa Blanchard had a quick mind—quick, sharp, and devious. And she was smart enough to hide two million dollars where men who were labeled accounting experts could not find it.

  “You’re right. I didn’t count English.” His piercing gaze was fixed on her lush mouth. “I’ve told you everything about myself, Vanessa Blanchard, so it’s now your turn.”