Her Baby's Bodyguard. Ingrid Weaver

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      “You did. It shouldn’t make any difference. She’s almost three months old, so she’ll be no trouble.”

      “You brought a baby?”

      “Surely you don’t expect I would leave her behind.”

      Because he was turned toward the moonlight, she could make out more of his features. His mouth was bracketed by twin lines that would probably crinkle into dimples when he smiled. Actually, he looked like a man to whom smiling came naturally. Laugh lines softened the corners of his eyes, but there was no trace of humor in his expression now. His lips were pressed thin and his eyes narrowed. A muscle twitched in the hollow of one cheek. “Dr. Petrova—”

      “Shouldn’t we be getting on the truck?”

      For a large man, and one who spoke so gently, he could move surprisingly fast. He hitched the strap of his rifle over his shoulder, reached for the front of her coat and lowered the zipper.

      Jack Norton had seen his share of trouble during his years with Eagle Squadron. He’d faced fanatics with bombs strapped to their bodies and enemy soldiers who were loaded up with enough weapons to fill an arsenal. He never took anything for granted. It was when a man felt safe that he usually bought it.

      So he should have known this mission was going too smoothly.

      It was a baby, all right. She was trussed up in a jury-rigged cloth carrier that held her across the woman’s midriff like a combination apron and hammock. A lacy, knitted cap covered the baby’s head. One tiny fist, wrapped in a mitten that trailed shiny ribbons, rested against her mouth. Luckily, her eyes were closed, which meant she was asleep, but how long that would last was anyone’s guess.

      Actually, it was up to Murphy, the guy who wrote the law about anything that could go wrong, would….

      Jack looked more closely. The kid wasn’t the only cargo the woman was hauling. Two lumpy cloth sacks dangled from strings on either side of the kiddy carrier. So, she hadn’t lied—technically the sacks weren’t luggage. The coat was large and knee-length, and she’d obviously made use of every square inch of space she had under there. It was a wonder she had been able to walk one klick like that let alone six.

      Jack tapped the largest sack. “What’s in these?”

      “Diapers and baby clothes,” Eva replied. She spoke fluent English with only a hint of an accent, which was to be expected. According to army intelligence, she’d spent the first few years of her life with her mother’s family in upstate New York. She’d been nearly four when her Russian father had gained custody.

      Eva brushed his hand away and zipped her coat closed. Not all the way, though. He could see that she’d left a gap at the top for air. “I don’t want her to get cold,” she continued. “She might wake up.”

      “Right. We sure wouldn’t want that.” His mind filled with crying-baby scenarios, none of them good. They were in hostile territory on a mission his government would disavow any knowledge of if it went wrong. Discretion was essential. That’s why the major had made the team plan for every contingency.

      Having an infant along wasn’t one of them.

      Eva stepped closer and poked her index finger at Jack’s chest. “I made a bargain with the American government, Sergeant Norton. Safety and asylum in exchange for my cooperation. I expect you to honor it.”

      He snapped his gaze to her face. Could she think they would leave her here?

      One look in her eyes told him that she wasn’t thinking at all. She was terrified. That’s why she had concealed the kid and why she’d refused to part with the disk. Those shivers he’d felt through her arm probably weren’t all due to the cold. She didn’t trust him. His reaction to her excess cargo wasn’t helping matters.

      She’d taken him by surprise, that’s all. But damn, a baby? Even when he wasn’t on a mission, he kept as far away from those as he could.

      Jack took her hand from his chest and gave it a squeeze. “You’ve got me confused with the politicians, Dr. Petrova. I’m a soldier. We take our honor seriously.”

      She didn’t relax. Instead, her expression tightened further. It made her look more like the photograph that intel had provided.

      Like the rest of the team, Jack had committed that picture to memory during their briefing. The shot had been more than ten years old, taken when she’d been awarded a doctoral degree in chemistry from Moscow University when she’d been nineteen. In it she’d looked far too serious for her age, as if she’d been trying to prove something. She’d stared unsmiling at the camera, a regular ice princess with her pale blue eyes and platinum hair. Her high cheekbones and delicate jaw hadn’t changed since then, though her lips seemed fuller. He wondered briefly whether she still wore her hair long, yet nothing showed from under the thick cap that she wore.

      But as he’d just discovered, winter clothes were good for hiding all sorts of things.

      “The major sent the word, Norton. We’re moving out.”

      He shifted his attention to the truck. Tyler Matheson stood in the center of the back opening, one hand on the canvas and the other on his weapon. He would be covering the rear as they moved. Tyler was Eagle Squadron’s new ordnance specialist and was proving to be the best marksman the team had ever had in spite of his rookie status. Jack acknowledged Tyler’s warning with a nod. “Be right there, junior.”

      Tyler hopped to the ground with the agility of the cowboy he used to be, then moved around the truck to the driver’s door to exchange a few words with Kurt Lang. Sergeant Lang would be doing the driving on this mission, as he usually did whenever something on wheels was involved. The man had an affinity for machines, which would have been spooky if it hadn’t kept proving so useful. Specialist Vic Gonzales would be riding shotgun beside Kurt once he finished his forward sweep of the area. They would pick him up on the way. Like Tyler, though, Gonzales would only open fire as a last resort. They were counting on intelligence to steer them away from trouble. To that end, Duncan Colbert, headphones clamped to his shaved head, knelt in front of the communication equipment he’d set up on the truck bed.

      Quick and clean, that’s how Eagle Squadron liked to operate. They were usually long gone before anyone realized they’d been there. The five members of the team who were taking part in this mission had run through the plan until they could have done it in their sleep. Every man knew his role in it, including Jack. As Eagle Squadron’s medic, he’d been put in charge of their passenger.

      Make that passengers.

      Jack was confident the other guys would do their jobs. It was up to him to play the hand he’d been dealt.

      He firmed his grip on Eva and led her forward. “We’ll try to keep you and your daughter comfortable,” he said. “But it’s going to be bumpy.”

      “Neither I nor my child will break, Sergeant Norton.”

      She was using a tone that would go with the ice princess picture, he thought. It was probably an attempt to distract him from the trembling in her fingers. “This will go easier if you remember we’re on your side, Dr. Petrova. We’re the good guys.”

      “You’re soldiers.”

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