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Praise for
SUSAN MALLERY
“Susan Mallery is warmth and wit personified.
Always a fabulous read.”
—New York Times bestselling author Christina Dodd
“Ms. Mallery’s unique writing style shines via vivid characters, layered disharmony and plenty of spice.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
“A gifted storyteller, Ms. Mallery fills the pages with multi-faceted characters, solid plotting and passion that is both tender and sizzling.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
“If you haven’t read Susan Mallery, you must!”
—New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Forster
SUSAN MALLERY is a USA TODAY bestselling author of over eighty books and has been a recipient of countless awards, including the National Reader’s Choice Award. Her combination of humor, emotion and downright sexiness has made her a reader favorite. She makes her home in Southern California with her husband, her very dignified cat and her not-so-dignified dog. Visit her Web site at www.SusanMallery.com.
Surrender in Silk
Susan Mallery
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Prologue
Two rescue helicopters swooped down and broke the silence of the night like noisy birds of prey. Spinning blades kicked up sand, dirt and debris, swirling them into a blinding tornado. The powerful military engines were loud enough to wake the dead.
Worse, they would alert the enemy, but everyone expected that.
Zach Jones crouched behind an abandoned shack, his automatic weapon ready to fire. He squinted against the darkness and the cloud stirred up by the choppers, then made a beckoning motion with his left arm.
“Now,” he called to the dozen men waiting behind him. “Get going.”
They moved as one. A low, dark shape—men hunched over to provide a smaller target—slipping like a snake toward safety.
The first burst of gunfire came from the north end of the compound. Zach spun in that direction and pressed his finger on the trigger. Instantly the gun jerked to life, spitting bullets faster than the eye could see. His men sprinted quicker, lower, then broke ranks when one of their own was shot. Zach couldn’t see who had gone down. Damn. They’d already lost too many men on this mission.
“Grab him and get moving,” he yelled, still firing toward the enemy, giving his men protection as they scooped up their fallen companion and continued their escape.
The first helicopter had nearly reached the hard-packed earth, with the second close behind. The deafening noise had a life of its own. The power of the engine, the whipping of the blades, and the sharp, staccato bursts now coming from the tower at the far end of the compound.
“Dammit all to hell,” Zach muttered. He’d known there would be trouble on this mission. He’d planned for it. Just not well enough. Their intelligence information had underestimated the size of the enemy force by nearly a hundred. They’d had to abort and call in the helicopters early. His group of sixteen men had already been reduced by two. He glanced at the injured man being carried toward the first helicopter. Make that by three.
He touched the radio transmitter in his ear. “All right, Albatross, how bad is it?”
There was a brief scratching of static, then a voice said, “Bad. Three trucks of reinforcements just pulled up. I’ll do the best I can from up here.”
“The hell you will.” Zach stepped out of the protection of the shack and sent a quick burst of gunfire toward the tower, then ducked back to safety. “Get down here now. The choppers are going to be leaving pronto.”
“I can take out at least one of the trucks.”
Zach swore. “They’re bringing in Stinger missiles. If they aim one at the choppers, we can kiss our ride home goodbye. Albatross, move it. Now!”
“Yes, sir.”
But Albatross never made it. Seconds later the southern wall where Albatross had been hiding exploded in a brilliant flash of fire and heat. Zach turned away, as much to protect himself from the blast as to save his night vision. The smell of helicopter exhaust, sand, dust, ash and burning wood flooded him.
He spared a quick glance at the first helicopter. All the men were inside. He pressed another button on the transmitter. “Get the hell out of here,” he said.
“Yes, sir.” The first chopper lifted off immediately and quickly climbed into the night.
There were more bursts of gunfire, followed by muffled shouts. The enemy was organizing. Zach eyed the distance to the second chopper, then wondered how many bullets he would take between here and there.
“Sir, we’ve got you covered,” a voice from the chopper said in his ear. “Anytime you’re ready.”
“Now,” Zach said, and took a step forward.
He never got farther than that. Something fast slammed into the exhaust pipe of the helicopter. The bird exploded.
Fiery debris flew through the night, knocking Zach down, cutting through his clothes and burning his skin. Despite the pain, he tried to crawl away. But his leg wasn’t working. It hurt too damn much to be gone, but he knew he’d injured it badly. He’d hurt something else, too. Maybe his head. The night sky started spinning as the ground rushed up to meet him.
Just before he lost consciousness, he saw several pairs of military boots surround him. The bastards were going to get him alive and they were going to make him pay for what he and his men had done this night. As the darkness claimed him, Zach Jones knew Albatross was the lucky one.
He’d had the good sense to die.
Chapter 1
“You can’t leave him there,” Jamie Sanders said, then shoved her hands into her jeans pockets so no one would see that she was shaking. She wasn’t sure if it was caused by rage or fear.
Probably a little of both.
“Zach Jones is dead,” Winston Danville III stated calmly.
“You don’t know that. According to the men who got away, he wasn’t in the second helicopter when it exploded.”
Winston leaned back in his leather chair and stared at her. Jamie had always thought his combination of pale blue eyes and white blond hair made him look like a Hollywood casting director’s idea of the perfect villain—cool, confident, in control. Winston’s reputation did nothing to dispute that image.
“Three weeks, Jamie,” Winston said softly. “Three weeks in one of their prisons, being tortured several times a day. If Zach Jones wasn’t dead, he is now.”
Her stomach rolled at the thought. She desperately needed him to be alive, but the thought of him having to endure that kind of suffering was more than she could bear. The word torture wasn’t just a casual phrase to her. She was intimately familiar with the inhumanity of deliberately inflicting pain on prisoners. Surely death would be a kinder fate.
But Zach wasn’t dead.
She crossed the richly decorated room and sank into one of the leather chairs opposite her boss’s desk. She stared at him, meeting his cold gaze with an equally determined stare of her own. She’d trained at the hands of a master. She knew how to intimidate as well as anyone in the agency.
Surprisingly Winston looked away first.
Before she could pounce on her unexpected advantage, there was a quick knock at the door. Winston’s pretty, young assistant stepped inside and brought them each a mug of coffee.
Jamie accepted the cup with a muttered “Thanks” and took a sip. The assistant glanced at her, then left. Jamie knew she looked out of place. The worn jeans, scuffed athletic shoes, faded tank top and the flannel shirt she wore instead of a jacket didn’t fit the dress code of the office. She had never been the suit-and-high-heels type. She filed away the feeling of discomfort, knowing she would deal with it at another time. All that mattered now was Zach.
“He’s not dead,” Jamie repeated.
Winston raised one eyebrow. “How do you know?”
“I just do.”
“I see. Well, fine. I’ll write up the report and quote your intuition as the source. I’m sure the director will be convinced.”
Jamie set the coffee on the desk and rose. “I’m going in, Winston, with or without your permission.”
“No, you aren’t. You still work for me and you’ll do what I tell you.” He paused and raised his pale eyebrows. “Unless you plan to resign. Isn’t that what you’ve been talking about?”
He was right. She had wanted out. The last mission was supposed to have been her final one. She even had the letter of resignation typed up at home. But she hadn’t turned it in. A voice inside of her, a voice Zach had taught her to listen to, had whispered to wait. Now she understood why.
“That was before I knew about Zach.”
Winston motioned to the chair. Jamie hesitated. Since finding out what had happened to Zach Jones, she’d been on the move. She’d flown directly to Washington on the first flight she could get. Once in the capital, she’d made a few phone calls and come up with a plan. All she needed was Winston’s cooperation.
Sitting down felt too much like giving up, but her boss was stubborn enough not to talk to her if she didn’t at least pretend to go along with him. Grudgingly she perched on the edge of her seat.
He reached for his coffee and took a sip. “I wasn’t aware you and Zach were so close.”
Jamie grimaced. “You know we aren’t. Zach took me through training and my first assignment. He made me the best. I owe him for that.”
There was more, of course, but Winston didn’t need to hear about it. Their boss prided himself on knowing every detail of his operatives’ lives. This was one detail he hadn’t been able to claim. Not that it mattered. Seven years was a long time for anyone to remember. She was reasonably sure Zach had been able to forget, even if she hadn’t.
“According to my records, you’ve never worked with him since. That’s a long time to carry a debt,” Winston said.
She shrugged.
“Interesting.” He leaned back in his chair. “And touching. But the answer has to be no.”
She was on her feet in an instant, her hands braced on his desk. “Listen to me, Winston. Short of arresting me, you can’t keep me from going after Zach. You can make it easy or you can make it hard, but I’m doing this.” She glared at him, ignoring the frosty look in his icy blue eyes.
“You’ll end up just as dead as he is.”
“I’m willing to take the chance.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
“Maybe, but I’m a determined fool. Besides, if you’re right and I do get killed, how are you going to explain my body?”
“Terrorists don’t send bodies home.”
“What if they do this time?”
His thin lips twisted in disapproval. “I’ll handle it the way I’ve handled other problems.”
“I’ll leave a letter with my lawyer explaining everything and exposing the agency.”
“Don’t threaten me, Sanders.”
She knew she was playing with fire, but she didn’t have a choice in the matter. She had to convince him. “I have a better chance of surviving with your help than without it,” she told him. “But it doesn’t matter what you say or do. I’m going in after Zach and I’m going to bring him home.”
“I suppose you’re just going to walk in there and take him from under their noses,” Winston said. He reached for his mug and cradled it in both hands.
Jamie sank into her seat. “Exactly.”
He stared at her for a long minute. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but she refused to let the silence make her squirm. She was an expert at waiting. She had to convince him. Winston was her only hope. She would go in without agency assistance, but without the backup, the odds for success were almost zero.
Finally he nodded briefly. “Explain.”
Relief crashed through her. She had him. He was going to agree. Once he heard her plan, he would be convinced—she knew it!
She pushed aside the momentary flush of victory and concentrated on the task at hand. She grabbed a pen and the blank legal pad poking out of the pile of papers on his desk. Working quickly, she made a sketch of the compound, based on the aerial photographs she’d seen and what she knew about the area.
She drew the low, one-story building where Zach was probably being kept. A quarter mile away was their munitions storage.
When she finished, she slid the paper toward Winston. “Zach is here,” she said, trying to sound as if she really knew where he was being held instead of just guessing. “It’s not a main training facility, which is in our favor. Also, Zach’s men were there less than a month ago. The debriefing information should still be accurate. The plane will drop us off about thirty miles away, and we’ll drive until we get within sight of the perimeter.”
“We?”
She nodded, trying to act casual. “Rick Estes is coming with me.”
Winston was a pro. He might wear expensive suits and silk ties, but there had been a time when he’d been the best field agent in the agency. Not by a flicker of his pale lashes did he give away what he was thinking.
“Why Estes?”
“He owes Zach, too.”
“I wasn’t aware Agent Jones inspired such loyalty.”
She didn’t bother commenting on that one.
After a few moments of silence, Winston shook his head. “It won’t work.”
“But we—”
“No, Jamie. I’m not the heartless bastard you think I am. I didn’t abandon Zach to those animals. He’s a good man and a friend. I’ve already sent in a team. Half the group couldn’t get close, the other half suffered fifty percent casualties. Enough people have died. I’m not risking any more just to bring home a corpse.”
She hadn’t known. She could feel the blood draining from her head. The room tilted, but she didn’t give in to the weakness.
She swore under her breath. “We have a better plan.”
“Backed by that famous intuition of yours?”
She ignored the sarcasm. “You sent in a team. This time there’s just going to be the two of us. Rick will create a diversion, and I’ll get Zach out. We’ll rendezvous at the jeep, then meet the plane.”
“Sounds simple. Why didn’t we think of that?” He glared at her. “Jamie, you’re not stupid. What do you think you can do that hasn’t already been tried?”
“We’re going to blow up the munitions.”
That got Winston’s attention. He leaned forward in his executive leather chair. “Are you crazy?”
“I’m aware of the potential problem.”
“Problem? Problem? We don’t know what’s there, Sanders. That’s a hell of a lot more than just a problem.”
For the first time since entering Winston’s office, she was the one to look away. She and Rick had discussed this in detail. Blowing up the terrorists’ ammunition and weapons would be a terrific diversion. There was only one catch. No one knew exactly what was stored there. If their intelligence was correct, then Rick could safely blow it up. If the intelligence was wrong—if the terrorists had more-powerful bombs and explosives—then the blast would not only take out the stash, but Rick, Jamie and everyone else in the vicinity, including Zach.
“It’s a calculated risk,” she said softly. “One Rick and I are prepared to take.”
Winston glared at her. He punched a button on his phone. “Get Estes in here.” He broke the connection without waiting for a reply. “I assume he’s lurking around waiting to hear the outcome of this meeting.”
“Yes.”
Winston swore. “You’re putting me in a difficult position.”
She drew in a deep breath. The relief was as tangible as the chair she sat in. “I’m sorry for that,” she said.
Winston glanced at her. “No, you’re not.”
“I know.”
“You’ll need a transport plane, a jeep. I assume Estes already has his supply list ready.”
She nodded.
“You really think Zach is still alive?”
“I know he is.”
“You could be risking your life for a dead man.”
“It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come!” Winston called.
Rick Estes entered. Jamie looked up at him and smiled. “We’re in.”
The cell was twelve-by-twelve, but Zach Jones couldn’t appreciate his spacious accommodations. The chain that ran from the floor to the metal collar around his neck was so short, he couldn’t stand without choking. Not that he had the strength to stand anymore.
He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. At least he could lie down if he wanted to. When he lost the will to do anything else, he collapsed onto the dirty straw in his cell and listened to the rustling of unseen creatures.
By his figuring, he’d been a prisoner for about three weeks. He could be off by as much as four days. Some of the “sessions” with his captors left him unconscious, and then the rising and setting of the sun went unnoticed and unmarked. The days they left him alone slipped by easily, aided by the feverish sleep that claimed him. The days they came for him were endless hours of pain and suffering as he struggled to maintain a slim hold on sanity. He’d surrendered his humanity the first time they’d beaten him with the chains. Now he just wanted to live long enough to get out.
A fly buzzed nearby, but he ignored it, as he ignored the scabs on his face and his cracked lips. He hadn’t had any food or water for over twenty-four hours. He knew what was coming. They starved him to the point of weakness and dehydration, then they beat him. They came when his reserves were at their lowest. Then they left him to heal just enough to endure the torment again.
Every inch of him was bruised and bloodied. He didn’t think they’d broken any bones. At least, not yet. He’d called upon all the training he’d been given in order to survive this ordeal. He hung on to the fact that it wouldn’t continue forever. Either he would be rescued or he would die.
There was no middle ground.
After three weeks of being chained, his swollen, beaten muscles had become so weak he couldn’t walk. He could barely feed himself. The fever came and went. Several sores were infected. He was in bad shape. If they didn’t get him out in the next few days, they might as well not bother.
In his lucid moments, he thought about the various plans they might employ to rescue him. He figured teams had already been sent in and failed. He knew Winston would weigh the cost of his life against the risk to other operatives. Zach didn’t know how much his boss would think he was worth. Maybe that line had already been crossed.
Maybe no one was coming.
He opened his eyes and stared at the small window on the other side of the cell. From his seated position, he could only see a rectangle of blue sky. The cell faced south. If he inhaled sharply, he could catch the scent of the outdoors, a flower of some kind, the hint of warmth in the air. Today it was enough.
He didn’t mind dying. Sure, he had regrets, who wouldn’t? But he could live with them. He’d known it would come to this. Warriors always died in battle. But, dammit, he would like to go out with a weapon in his hand.
In the distance, a door opened. Despite his desire not to react, he stiffened when he heard the faint laughter of the guards, followed by the metallic clinking of the chains. They had returned to punish him again.
He cleared his mind, forcing himself into a deeper place. One untouched by pain and blood. His breathing slowed, as did his heartbeat. His superior strength and training had kept him alive this long. It would keep him alive a little longer. Sometimes he was pleased, but most of the time he cursed his inability to find release in death.
Jamie checked her utility belt for the fourth time. She knew exactly what was there, but the ritual made her feel better. More relaxed. Pressure built in her ears. She swallowed to relieve it, then glanced out the window. They were descending.
“Nearly show time,” Rick Estes said from the seat across the aisle. “You ready?”
“Of course.”
Rick touched the heavy backpack next to him and grinned. “Me, too.”
Jamie studied him. She and Rick had been recruited into the agency within a few days of each other. They’d gone through training together, under the watchful eye of Zach Jones, then had gone with him on their first mission. They’d been green and scared. When things had started to go wrong, Zach had saved both of them.
Seven years ago. She and Rick had changed. He’d been a gawky, awkward young man with a gift for explosives. She’d been the only woman in a class of eight. Zach hadn’t given her a moment of special consideration and had nearly flunked her for not having the upper-body strength to complete the obstacle course.
Now Rick had filled out and matured. He spoke about timers and fuses as if they were intimate members of his family. His red hair was still worn short, but the innocence was gone from his eyes.
Jamie knew she’d changed, too. The last time she’d tried the obstacle course, she’d beaten every man in her group. She’d honed her body into a lean, muscled machine. It had required hours of dedication, but she’d been determined to be the best. As soon as she and Rick got Zach to safety, she would resign from the agency and have to face the question of what to do with the rest of her life. But for now there was only the mission.
As the plane slipped toward the ground, Jamie double-checked the contents of her backpack. She had food and water, along with medical supplies. Her knowledge of first aid was limited to crisis management. Her gaze moved past Rick, to the far end of the plane. A medical team sat together, talking in low voices. The doctor had already briefed her on what to expect if Zach was still alive. Dehydration, infection, possible broken bones. All she had to do was get him back to the plane. The team would take care of the rest.
There was a slight bump, then the engines jerked into reverse as the plane taxied to a stop. Jamie and Rick were already up and moving. By the time the plane came to a stop, they were in the jeep, prepared to back out into the desolate countryside.
Jamie wasn’t sure how they’d gotten permission to use this private airstrip and she wasn’t about to ask. Winston knew people everywhere. He pulled strings, called in favors, paid whatever sum was necessary and everyone looked the other way. As long as the job got done, the director was happy.
“Ready?” Rick asked.
When she nodded, he started the engine. The rear of the plane opened slowly; the floor behind them lowered into a steep ramp. With a salute to the medical team, Rick put the vehicle in reverse, then backed onto the tarmac.
Brilliant sunshine blinded her momentarily. Jamie grabbed her sunglasses and put them on. It was late March, and the Middle Eastern desert temperature was pleasant. At least Zach hadn’t had to suffer through the summer heat.
Rick checked his compass, then hit the gas. Within five minutes, they were driving due north and the plane was out of sight.
“Once we leave the jeep, I’m going to need an hour and fifteen minutes,” Rick said, going over what they’d planned.
“I brought a book to help pass the time.”
He glanced at her and grinned. “Loosen up, Sanders. It’ll take a lot more than these guys to kill Zach. You know that. They don’t come any tougher than him.”
“I know.”
She tugged her cap lower over her forehead. If their luck was good, no one would see the jeep speeding along the dirt-and-sand-coated paved road. They would get to the compound, blow up the depot, get Zach and be gone. If their luck was bad—
Jamie refused to think about that. She’d known the risks involved when she’d stormed into Winston’s office. Being obliterated by the depot explosion was the least of her concerns.
She shifted on her seat, then reached over her shoulder to pull her long braid out of the way. As she fingered the end, she remembered the first time Zach had told her she had to cut her hair before she returned to class the next day. She’d spent the night studying regulations and had reported back that short hair wasn’t one of the rules. They weren’t in the military, after all. The agency’s purpose was to quickly protect U.S. interests abroad—by whatever means necessary.
She felt her lips curve into a smile. Zach had been mad enough to spit nails. For a second, something had flickered in his gaze. She’d wanted to believe it was respect. He’d leaned so close, she’d felt his breath on her face.
“Your damn hair is going to get you killed, Sanders,” he’d roared, still inches from her.
Although she’d been shaking so hard she’d barely been able to stand, she hadn’t backed down.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take, sir.”
He’d grabbed her braid and pulled it around her neck. Hard. “What about the risk to the team?”
She hadn’t had an answer for that question. She couldn’t risk the others because of her pride.
He’d given her a cruel, mocking smile and walked away. So much for respect. That night she’d cut her hair. In the past few years, she’d let it grow back.
Zach. It was always about him.
Rick slowed down. Up ahead was an outcropping of rocks.
He parked in their shadow and climbed out. Jamie followed. She checked the sun, her watch, then pulled out her compass.
“Two miles that way,” she said, pointing northeast. “Try not to get lost this time.”
Rick grinned. “Are you ever going to let me forget that one?”
“Never.”
They walked together in silence. Thirty minutes later, they parted company. Jamie could see the compound in the distance. High fences should have shielded the inside from curious eyes, but most of them had recently been blown away. There were several buildings, trucks and dozens of armed men. Her heart started pounding in her chest. Dammit, they didn’t have a prayer of making this work.
Then she forced herself to slow her breathing. Gradually her muscles relaxed.
The terrorists had chosen this spot specifically. There weren’t a lot of trees or plants, so it was difficult to approach the compound without being seen. She found a shallow depression in the warm earth and again breathed a prayer of thanks that it wasn’t summer.
Her camouflage uniform was the color of sand and dirt. With her cap and smudged face, she would be difficult to spot unless she did something stupid. She slid off her backpack, then reached for a bottle of water. After taking a sip, she settled down to wait. An hour and fifteen minutes until Rick blew the depot. If he blew it.
“Don’t think like that,” she told herself. “Everything is going to be fine.”
She grabbed her binoculars and rolled onto her belly. She could just make out the details of the buildings. She focused on the section to the left. A low, one-story structure with small windows. According to their intelligence information, Zach was in there. Possibly chained. She had small but strong cutters in her backpack. If he was there, she was going to get him out.
“Just an hour and twelve minutes now, Zach,” she said softly, scanning the area around her. No one had seen them arrive. All they needed was a little luck. “Hang on. Just hang on.”
She lowered the binoculars and took another sip of water. Her shoulder began to ache. She shifted, remembering the first time she’d lain flat on her belly to scan the enemy’s position. It hadn’t been the desert then. Seven years ago, she’d gone to the Central American jungle. She’d been as green and soft as a ripe avocado, and just as effective. She would have died in that jungle if it hadn’t been for Zach Jones.
That’s why she was here today. To pay that debt. And maybe, just maybe, to get a few questions answered.
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