But then the cold round muzzle of a gun was pressed to her temple.

 

"Pull over." Her partner, Gerald, didn’t even raise his voice. The bastard.

Shaking a bit, Sophia did as he asked. A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed her that their passenger, Colonel Holt, had been hit and was bleeding all over one of the back seats. His eyes were closed and she couldn't tell if he was dead or just out cold.

 

"Get out," ordered Gerald, motioning with the cold weight of his revolver.

 

She slid out of her seat and down to the ground, watching closely as Gerald tied the colonel up with lengths of rope he'd hidden under one of the seats. So he isn't dead.

 

"What are you doing?" she called plaintively, trying to inject just the right note of fear into her voice.

 

"I'm making a heap of money little lady. If you treat me right, I could cut you in. Want to be partners?"

 

Her spine stiffened in outrage.

 

"Never." The ringing contempt in that one word spoke volumes.

 

Gerald shrugged. "Well, that's your choice, of course. And I can't say I'm unhappy. That just means more for me."

She continued to shake and even managed to squeeze out a few credible tears as Gerald got out of the van and came toward her. He left the sliding door on the side of the minivan open. Colonel Holt's eyes were open and watching them as he lay bleeding across the bench seat. Sophia stepped close to Gerald and pleaded with him, hanging on his arm rather theatrically.

 

"Please don't kill me! Do whatever you want with Holt, but don't kill me. I won't tell. I promise!"

 

Gerald shook her off, saying nothing as he pushed her ruthlessly away. Aiming the snub-nosed revolver right between her flashing green eyes, he was about to put a bullet through her head when a hoarse shout from the van distracted him. Seizing the opportunity, Sophia lashed out, knocking the gun from Gerald's grip. Before he had a chance to react, she spun and delivered a hard roundhouse kick to his temple.

 

He dropped like a stone.

 

Sophia turned to Colonel Holt, bloody and still trussed up in the van.

 

"Thanks for the distraction." She bent to retrieve the gun. Clicking on the safety, Sophia stuffed it in her waistband and walked quickly back to the van. "Most men think the only reason I work for Langston Security is because I'm the boss's sister," she mused as she untied the knots holding Holt’s feet and hands. "Growing up, I never thought I'd actually be grateful for being underestimated." She chuckled as she turned back to where Gerald lay unconscious, using his own ropes to immobilize him.

 

It was supposed to have been a simple operation, really. Pick up the diplomat at the airstrip and drive him to the drop point. All in all, Sophia thought, her chances of getting him to the drop point alive were pretty good. She had a reliable, nondescript minivan for transportation and a decent partner in Gerald, her official government back-up.

 

Gerald was supposed to keep an eye on things from the back seat while she drove. The diplomat, war hero Brad Holt, had requested a male bodyguard, the Bureau had pointed out, hence Gerald's presence. Hopefully he wouldn't notice that his driver was a woman.

 

Though she was used to the eccentric requests of some of the people she guarded, Sophia was still a little miffed about Holt's request for only male agents on his detail. Still, she would normally have abided by his wishes, but a recent attempt on his life in Athens changed all the rules. One of his bodyguards had died in that attempt, and Sophia couldn't send one of the agents who worked for her into that sort of danger without being there herself. She never asked one of her agents to do anything that she herself wouldn't, and everyone at Langston Security knew she was the best driver they had.

So as co-owner of Langston Security, she’d the executive decision to ignore Holt's chauvinist request, tucked her long brown hair beneath a chauffeur's cap, and tried to keep a low profile. She had waited with the motor running while Gerald, the field agent sent along by the Bureau, greeted Holt and ushered him into the minivan.

 

Occasionally Langston Security took contract jobs for their old bosses at the Bureau, when circumstances allowed. With the President in town, few agents could be spared for a lone diplomat—even one as infamous as Colonel Brad Holt.

 

Langston Security also had the inside track on this case because this particular diplomat had served in the Special Forces alongside Sophia's brother Stephen, the co-owner of the family run security business.

 

Brad Holt watched in silence as the woman who had been pleading hysterically for her life only a moment ago, calmly and coolly bound and gagged her attacker. Still hazy from the pain of the bullet that had ripped into his shoulder, he tried to assimilate what he was seeing. She climbed back into the driver's seat and pulled the small van around so the back door was close to where Gerald lay, unconscious in the dirt. Climbing out once again, she displayed more strength than he would have credited, pulling Gerald's inert form into the back of the van. It was a struggle, but she did it, then closed the doors and hopped back in the driver's seat.

"Hold tight," she said. "They've got to realize by now Gerald failed. I've got to get us out of here and dump this van ASAP."

 

Brad said nothing as the van lurched into motion. Within minutes they were back on the regular city streets. He closed his eyes against the searing pain in his shoulder. He didn't even realize when the van stopped until he felt a gentle touch on his cheek. Struggling to open his eyes, he gazed into the concerned face of Sophia Langston.

 

"How are you doing?" she asked. He tried to straighten and grimaced.

 

"I'll live," he ground out through clenched teeth.

 

She smiled gently and he noted the odd reaction in his gut. It was as if the sun had come out on a cloudy day. Her smile made him feel that light, and the gentle touch on his injured shoulder somehow eased his pain.

 

"Good," she said, "my brother would never let me live it down if I lost a client—especially one as important as you."

 

"You're Lawless Langston's sister." It was a statement, not a question.

 

She chuckled as she checked his shoulder and efficiently applied a field dressing. The Langston Security vehicle apparently had a well stocked first aid kit.

 

“Actually," she cast him a sly look as she worked steadily on his shoulder, "I’m Lawless Langston, though no one outside the Bureau seems to know it. Stephen is my cover." She gave him an exaggerated wink, meeting his eyes for a moment. "As you've seen here today, sometimes it's helpful to be thought of as a helpless female."

 

"I know your brother," Brad said with a fond grin. "Judging from what I just saw, I'd say the name probably fits you both."

 

A soft smile played about her lips as she continued to care for his damaged shoulder. "Yeah, Steve told me about your days in the Rangers together. I guess I've just let you in on our private argument. Both of us claim to have created 'The Legend of Lawless Langston' and we're constantly bickering over it. What can you expect from twins?" She shrugged. "It's nice to finally meet you, Colonel. I just wish it had been under better circumstances."

 

"I'm glad you’re here Fee," he used the nickname only her family called her, "but you've got a bit of explaining to do. There weren't supposed to be any women on this detail."

"Well," she said, straightening away from his patched up shoulder and giving him a mischievous grin, "we can discuss your male chauvinistic tendencies later. But right now, we have to switch cars and get you some medical attention. You've lost a lot of blood, the bullet's still lodged in your shoulder, and I bet you're in one hell of a lot of pain."

 

"You've got that right." He grimaced as he tried to ease himself out of the minivan with her help. He noted the darkness around them for the first time. They were in a small garage of some kind. "Where are we?"

 

"Parking garage behind my brother's condo," she replied as she opened the back door of the minivan where poor Gerald lay, still unconscious. "Got a pen?" She didn’t wait when she spied the pen sticking out of his breast pocket. She took it and wrote something on a scrap of paper she'd taken from the glove compartment. He watched the words appear on the strange note which read:

 

Goo-Goo,

TRAITOR.

Ga-Ga.

 

This she tucked into the clasp holding Gerald's tacky red tie in place and shut the minivan's door.

"Will that hold him?" he asked.

 

She shrugged and turned to the nondescript brown sedan parked beside them. "Long enough."

 

"What are you doing?" He watched as she opened the hood on the sedan and seemed to search for something in the depths of the engine. With a triumphant smile she held up a tiny rectangular box, then closed the hood with a bang.

 

"We're taking Steve's car," she said. "But first, I want to get you into some clothes that don't have blood all over them. You have to admit, you look a little conspicuous." Opening the box, she found two keys, one of which she used to open the trunk of the car.

 

Brad didn't comment on the array of weapons stashed in special netting and secured by nylon straps to both sides of the steel-reinforced trunk, but his eyebrows shot up as she rummaged through the black nylon carryalls. One contained a wide assortment of medical supplies, which she set aside. Another contained what looked like sophisticated communications gear and a high-tech satellite location system.

 

Brad leaned slightly forward to run his fingers over a small semi-automatic fastened to the inside of the trunk, testing its fit.

"You can unstrap that and take it up front with us. Just in case more of Gerald's friends show up." Her words were clipped, her hands nimble as she quickly tore through the contents of the trunk. "You can still shoot, can't you?"

 

Brad nodded grimly. "I can shoot." He snapped open the quick-release straps holding the weapon in place.

 

Sophia set aside another black nylon carryall. "Ammunition," she said shortly, taking only a moment to pull out a large clip of bullets and snap it into place in the semi-automatic he held in his good hand. Turning quickly back to the trunk, she continued her search while he inspected the weapon expertly.

 

"Ah-ha!" she said finally, turning back toward him, "the infamous gym bag." She opened the nylon bag and sorted through various articles of male clothing until she settled on a loose cut-off grey sweatshirt that had obviously seen better days. She put it on the roof of the car. Next to that she put a pair of grey sweatpants, a pair of white tube socks and dilapidated sneakers.

 

"I hope you don't think you're going to dress me," he said, watching her preparations. "I haven't been dressed by a woman since I was five years old."

Turning, Sophia shrugged out of her black jacket. It had concealed the fact she was female, as did the cap she’d worn. It was gone now, her long chestnut hair cascading over her shoulders and generous curves. Walking slowly toward him, she pulled something from the back pocket of her black jeans. Flicking a switch, the wickedly sharp blade jumped to life in her hands. She held it up to his shoulder with a seductive smile.

 

"How about being undressed by a woman? I'm sure you have a lot of experience with that." Her voice had dropped to a sultry purr that made his stomach clench. Her teasing mood shifted like quicksilver though, and she spoiled the seductive effect with a girlish giggle as she used the knife on his blood-soaked shirt. "I'm sorry, but this shirt is ruined anyway and if you try to take it off yourself, you're going to bleed right through my field dressing. I'm no Florence Nightingale, but I do know how to help you until we reach the hospital." Her grey eyes looked up at him. "Just let me do my job, okay? Let me help you." She was the first to look away, bending to cut the ruined shirt away from his injured shoulder. In moments she had him bare-chested. She helped him into the loose sweatshirt, unconsciously smoothing it down his chest. He groaned, though it wasn't entirely from the pain in his shoulder.

 

Keeping her eyes studiously on her task, Sophia tried not to notice how sexy the injured diplomat was. She knew now why women sought him out and the paparazzi wouldn't leave him alone. He was not only a war hero, but movie-star gorgeous to boot. And he had a body honed by years of physical exertion in the Special Forces.

 

She knew his story. Thanks to the press, everyone did. He'd single-handedly saved the lives of ten political prisoners by running a lethal obstacle course of mines and snipers to sneak into an illicit prison camp. He'd led the freed captives across a desert to safety, and unknowingly into the waiting arms of a news crew that had immediately nominated him for sainthood among the American media. The news crew had won a Pulitzer for their coverage of him and the captive's story, and he had won a promotion and fame he’d never sought.

 

When the President asked him to become his special envoy, he said he’d be honored to represent the land and people he loved so much. But the demands on him seemed to only increase until he had no privacy at all. The paparazzi hounded him. The gossips speculated on his private life. If he was seen with a woman, her face and intimate history were splashed across the society pages. His life was an open book.

Sophia tried to remind herself of the photo she'd seen on the cover of one of the tabloids just yesterday as she unbuckled his belt. She could never compare to the supermodel that had graced his arm in the photograph, so any fantasies about this man had to be squashed. Still, her hand trembled and she hesitated at his zipper.

 

"Let me," he covered her hand with his, but she just couldn’t look directly at him. He seemed to sense her embarrassment, which only made it worse, of course. "Do me a favor and open the car door,” he spoke decisively and she was glad of the distraction. “This'll be easier if I sit on the hood and use the door for support."

 

"Good idea." She fumbled with the car keys and moved to comply. She heard the metallic rasp of a zipper and hoped it was dark enough in the garage that he couldn't see the heated rush of warmth she just knew was staining her fair cheeks. Within moments she had the door open and he was halfway seated on the hood.

 

"Fee," he surprised her again with the nickname, "I still need your help."

Her face flamed as she bent to pull the shoes, socks and bloodied dress pants from his feet, but she was determined not to let him get to her. How stupid was it that she could face flying bullets with aplomb, but one super-studly playboy had her blushing like a schoolgirl? She shook her head at her own missishness and pulled the soft grey sweatpants up his long, muscular legs. When they reached his thighs, he scooted off the hood of the car, momentarily jutting his cotton clad hips heart-stoppingly close to her body as she held the pants up. Sucking in a quick breath, she jerked the loose waistband the rest of the way and tied the string with what she hoped passed for efficiency.

 

Her pulse was racing as she felt one long finger slip beneath her chin. Unable to resist, her face followed its urging upward, though she did her best not to meet his eyes. She was afraid of what he might read in her gaze.

 

"Look at me Fee."

 

She fell to the quiet command in his voice. Her gaze met his and she was amazed by the tender expression she found there. Amazed, and a little frightened by the reaction this handsome stranger so effortlessly wrung from her. Swallowing hard, she tried to play it cool.

 

"Why do you call me that? Only my family..." she trailed off, watching the gentle smile dawn first in his gorgeous eyes.

 

"That's how I think of you. How I've always thought of you." His grin spoke of happy times past. "Your brother talked about you a lot back when we served together, and he always called you Fee. I feel like I already know you from all the stories he told about your childhood escapades, and all the letters from home he shared with me, since I had none of my own." His gaze remained focused on her face, but his thoughts seemed faraway.

Sophia studied him. "Why didn't you have any letters of your own?" She surprised herself with the tactless question. "I'm sorry," she was quick to add, "that's really none of my business."

 

"It's okay. I don't mind telling you." His emphasis on the last word reminded her of how notoriously private he tried to keep his life now that the media was watching his every move. "My family is gone. There was no one left back home to write letters while I was away on missions." She felt her tears gather behind her eyes in an almost uncontrollable flare of emotion, surprising her. She was never usually this susceptible. And worse, she could tell he saw it too. "It's all right,” his voice deepened in comforting way, “Steve let me share his. Your letters were awaited with great anticipation, Fee, by both of us."

 

She saw the truth in his expressive eyes and it touched her to know that she had in some way helped him through all those tough assignments away from home. She knew, from what Steve had told her, how alone he and his fellow Green Berets had felt on some of those more desperate missions. She'd written every week, religiously, knowing Steve needed to know that she was waiting at home for him—his closest and dearest friend from the time they'd been conceived. And she'd treasured his letters too, though he hadn't been able to write often. They were her one connection with her twin while he was away and she still had every last one of them in a special box at home. They were precious keepsakes.

"I'm glad Steve shared my letters with you," she felt caught for a moment out of time in the tender depths of his expression.

 

Green eyes met grey and electric shocks seemed to arc between them. Slowly, she saw his head descending to meet hers, but she was powerless to move away. So lightly she could have almost imagined it, his strong lips brushed hers. Her eyes closed and her mind whirled away.

 

"Thank you," he spoke softly against her lips and pulled back after just the briefest touch. "Both for today and all those yesterdays."

 

Sophia was entranced by the gentlest kiss she'd ever known, but her eyes were drawn by a jarring spot of bright red beginning to seep through the hasty dressing she'd applied to his shoulder. She came crashing back to Earth.

 

Shaking her head, Sophia tried to gather her wandering wits. Cool, she thought, that's how to play it—cool. Like an iceberg.

 

"You're bleeding again," she bent over the nylon bag of medical supplies she'd set aside earlier. Pulling some more gauze pads out, she handed them to him. "Apply steady pressure if you can, while I drive. We've got to get going."

He nodded and did as she asked while she went to check a small window in the garage door that was concealed by a flap on the inside. She raised it just slightly to take a quick look out. She also took a quick moment to regain her equilibrium.

 

That kiss had knocked her off her axis, but the sight of his blood had brought her jarringly back. The short sprint away from his confounding presence to check their exit also brought back the thought that he was engaged to a super-model—a woman who stood head and shoulders above Sophia. In more ways than one. She had to get a hold of herself and the situation. She couldn't let him realize just how profoundly he affected her.

 

A teasing smile hid her true feelings as she trotted back to him. "I bet Isabelle would faint to see you dressed like this," she nodded at the disreputable grey sweats.

 

"Who?" He looked honestly confused for a moment, surprising her.

 

"Isabelle, the super-model," she chided, "You know, your fiancée?"

 

He grunted and looked away, annoyance showing briefly on his face. "Don't believe everything you read."

 

She wasn’t going to touch that with a ten foot pole, though it did make her more than curious. Not good. She had to focus on the hopelessly fouled up mission. She still had to get this man to safety. She couldn’t waste time speculating on his love life.

 

"Can you get into the car on your own?"

 

"Sure." He put words to action, handing her the weapon he'd taken from the trunk momentarily, while he used his good arm to maneuver his way into the passenger seat. She handed back the semi-automatic and closed the door after him, going around to the driver's side. Those startling eyes lingered over the buttons and knobs that had been added to the electrical system of the otherwise nondescript car as she settled into the driver’s seat.

 

"Steve's had this car modified a bit," she gestured toward the complex control panel. Hitting one button, the garage door opened behind them letting in the late afternoon sunlight. She backed out, quickly scanning the area around them. "I'll use the cell phone to tell Steve where I left Gerald." She picked up a small phone that had been stored in the car, and hit a few buttons. "I'm taking you to the VA hospital. It's close and you should be able to get some privacy there, at least, as well as a military guard. Nothing should be able to get to you on base, then again, I didn’t expect Gerald would be a traitor either. Still, it makes the most sense. They’d have to bribe a good number of military folk to get to you in a secure facility."

 

Brad Holt leaned his head back against the headrest and shut his eyes. "Good thinking. The press would have a field day if I showed up in a public Emergency Room with a gunshot wound." She drove in silence until the other end of her phone connection clicked on.

 

"Steve?" She sounded hesitant, which surprised her passenger. He didn't think anything would daunt the fearless woman he'd so far seen. "We've had a bit of a problem." Brad could hear the angry voice bellowing through the earpiece and he winced on Sophia's behalf. "I don't want to go into over the phone, but could you clear the way at the Fort?" She waited while her brother replied, a little less angrily this time. "Oh, and by the way, I left you a rather urgent parcel. Since I'm on your cell phone, I guess you can figure out where." Again she waited for her twin's reply. "Okay. See you soon." She broke the connection and replaced the small portable phone, not on the dashboard where it had been, but in her jacket pocket.

 

She was calm and efficient and Brad admired her grit. She was also gorgeous—a fact that his old buddy Steve hadn't ever mentioned. And Brad found that fact intriguing.

 

Brad was in quite a bit of pain, but he kept watch as best he could without jarring his shoulder too much. They drove in silence through the back streets of the city, finally coming to a guard post where Sophia produced a government identification card and supplied the MP on duty with the appropriate information. Steve had indeed paved the way for them, Brad noted, because they were swiftly escorted to a back entrance of the huge VA hospital. Sophia drove him in her brother's sedan, but armed MP's drove in front and behind in Humvees.

Avoiding the busy emergency entrance to the hospital, they were met by a wheelchair and several attendants at the service entrance and escorted upstairs to a private room by a service elevator. The doctors and MP's tried to make Sophia wait with the car but she refused, insisting that Colonel Holt's safety was still her responsibility and that she wasn't letting him out of her sight. The woman had tenacity, he’d give her that.

 

The ranking MP quietly sought Brad's eye and only relented after he gave an almost imperceptible nod, allowing her to accompany them through the corridors of the hospital to his room. She stayed just inside the door as the doctor and nurse peeled off the disreputable sweatshirt and examined the bullet wound.

 

"This is a neat dressing," the doctor commented, looking over Sophia's handiwork. "Did you do it, Miss?" he asked without bothering to turn around.

 

"Yessir," she answered quietly from the doorway. Brad couldn't see her face because the doctor was in his line of sight, but he noted the hesitancy in her voice with interest. So far she'd held up like the trooper he suspected her to be, surely she wasn't going to fall apart now?

 

"Were you with him the whole time?" snapped the military doctor. "How long was he bleeding?"

 

"Yessir, I was with him," she answered. "He was tied up for about five minutes, bleeding freely and was showing signs of shock when I got to him. After applying pressure to slow the bleeding he seemed to bounce back."

 

"He didn't lose consciousness?"

 

"Not that I know of," she answered weakly, her voice fading fast.

Brad had had enough of the doctor's badgering tone, and of being treated as if he wasn't even there. "I never lost consciousness," he used his best command voice. The doctor snapped his attention from the wound to his Brad’s face. Having gotten the doctor's attention, Brad continued quietly, "but I suspect she will if you don't let her sit down."

 

The doctor looked over his shoulder to where Sophia stood stiffly by the door. "Miss...?"

 

"Langston," Brad supplied quietly.

 

"Miss Langston, please sit down." The doctor’s voice had softened considerably, Brad was glad to note.

 

Sophia moved stiffly from the doorway to the only chair in the room, which sat against the wall opposite the foot of the bed. With the doctor on one side and the nurse on the other, Brad had a clear view of her. She looked pale, but better than she’d sounded. He'd thought her weakening voice had meant she was about to pass out, but one look at her flashing green eyes told him differently. She was a trooper after all, and it wasn't shock disorienting her—it was something else all together. If he was right, the look in her green cat's eyes as she gazed at his chest could only be described as...hunger.

 

He sucked in a breath as he registered the unguarded emotion blazing through the emerald eyes watching him. The doctor and nurse, oblivious to the sparks flying from their patient to the observer, probably blamed his quick intake of air on the pain from his shoulder wound and did their best to work more quickly.

 

Sophia's eyes still hadn't met Brad's and she seemed incapable of moving her hungry gaze from his chest. Brad had been ogled by some of the most beautiful and powerful women in the world and it had never affected him like this. Never. Because along with the hunger he saw in her gaze, he sensed a longing that matched his own, and a caring that was inexplicable given their short acquaintance.

 

He wanted with all his heart to reach out to her, to tell her that everything was all right—that he would be all right, and that he would be there for her. But he knew he couldn't. He knew his life wouldn't allow room for someone like her. She would be eaten alive by the buzzards that circled over him and he couldn't bear to see that happen to someone as caring, compassionate, and gifted as Sophia Langston.