Mission: Christmas. Lindsay McKenna

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СКАЧАТЬ 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. СКАЧАТЬ