The Choice Read online

  Cullinane wouldn’t simply accept her word that she had the training to be a bodyguard—and in truth, she didn’t. What she had was guts and motivation...and a lifetime of fending for herself.

  But even if he were less stony in his determination, he wouldn’t have risen to be the right hand of such a dangerous man if he had been prone to giving trust easily. No, it was his job to be paranoid. She only hoped she could disarm his distrust soon. Though she’d trained long and hard once she’d conceived this idea, proving herself here would be much different than excelling during a very untraditional training regimen.

  Only her sensei Hiroshi knew where she was, but he could do nothing to help her. She was, as she had been most of her twenty-seven years, on her own, but life on the streets had prepared her for this long ago.

  Time to sleep. Her body needed rest for her mind to be clear. Fear was the mind-killer, and she wasn’t helpless. As Hiroshi said. If one acts without fear and with total commitment, a weaker person can defeat a stronger one.

  She’d imagined that Hafner’s defenses would be formidable, but she could never have imagined Cullinane.

  Jillian settled on the floor to begin her relaxation routine.

  * * *

  He wanted to hit something. Hurt someone.

  Deep, rolling waves of grief rose and threatened to drown him. Tears he could not shed burned like acid under his eyelids.

  Seeing a tiny, lifeless hand holding fast to the scrap of flannel nearly undid him. Bitterest bile rose in his throat. He wanted to drop to his knees and howl to the heavens.

  Dragging one foot in front of the other, Drake forced himself to look at it all...to see everything.

  Never forget this. Hunt them down like the animals they are.

  His foot tripped over a mound in the half shadows.

  Then he saw her.

  An angel. Apricot curls covering her head, blue eyes staring sightlessly straight into his soul. Smooth, white cheeks unmarred by the violence, pink ruffle circling her throat. White dress with tiny pink rosebuds smoothing over her chest. His gaze moved toward the hem and saw the torn flesh beneath...the utter obscenity of the child being torn literally in half.

  He dropped to his knees, one hand smoothing her curls. He removed his shirt and wrapped the little girl in it...as he wrapped himself in a cold, implacable vow that the animals who did this would pay.

  He pressed the angel into his embrace and let her blood seal his promise.

  Cullinane stirred from the despair that the dream always brought. His chest felt warm and sticky from the blood he’d never been able to fully banish. Had the woman brought the dream, stirring up thoughts of how much he hated Hafner?

  Sitting up, he bowed his head, ran one hand through his hair as he tried to dispel the black, bitter thoughts. I don’t care what she wants. I’m too close to let anything stop me.

  Rising with effort, Cullinane moved to dress swiftly. Drawn toward the woman in spite of himself, he moved toward the command post in his wing. As chief of security, he allowed no one else near his quarters, not even Hafner, without his permission. A second set of monitors banked the walls, showing video from inside the compound. The threat most heavily covered was just outside the walls, but Hafner was a paranoid man, so much of the inside was photographed regularly, as well. Only his quarters and Hafner’s had no cameras planted within them.

  “Who are you?” Reaching for a switch, he considered raising the light level in the room where he’d placed her in order to see her more clearly to divine her intentions.

  Instead he grabbed his cell and issued a series of orders.

  As he crossed the room, he shot back one brief glance at the woman sleeping on the floor, rather than the padded bench.

  Tough cookie, he acknowledged with a nod. “Sweet dreams, whoever you are.”

  Chapter Two

  The door to her prison exploded inward. Jillian bolted awake. Two figures burst into the room. Rockets of adrenaline fired through her veins. Just before the first man grabbed for her, she caught a fleeting impression. An ominous shape in the doorway, a glimpse of silver streaked across black...

  Then the need to protect herself annihilated all other thoughts.

  The first burly form rushed at her, and Jillian’s training kicked into gear. She yielded instead of blocking, and as the man’s charge carried him past her, she grasped his arm and turned, dropping below his center of gravity. Letting his momentum assist her, she pulled him over her hip and dropped him flat on his back.

  A second man grabbed her from behind, wrapping an arm tightly around her body. She came down hard with her heel, aiming her foot at the many delicate bones of his foot. With a hoarse shout of pain, he dropped away, grasping for his foot as he fell.

  The first man rose, brandishing a knife. Jillian dropped and rolled toward him. He stumbled, righted himself and whirled to come at her again.

  “Stop!”

  Both men froze in mid-step. Jillian stepped away from them, then looked toward the sound.

  Lounging negligently against the doorway, the unmistakable figure looked as though he’d been watching an exhibition.

  Anger battled with the adrenaline. Jillian charged toward Cullinane, ready to strike.

  The man with the knife jerked her back.

  “Let her go, Ron,” Cullinane ordered. “She won’t try anything.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Will you.” Not really a question.

  Jillian longed to wipe that smug look off his face, but that would be playing his game. He wanted a reason to dismiss her without serious consideration. She didn’t understand why, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t let personalities stop her from achieving what she’d worked so hard to make possible.

  She shook off Ron’s hand and issued her own challenge with a stare. “Games, Cullinane?” She clucked her tongue, chiding. “I’m sure it bothers you greatly that I passed your little test.” She gave him her back, strolling away nonchalantly. “Surprised?”

  The second man rose heavily from the floor, unable to put weight on his foot. Ron wrapped one of the man’s arms around his own shoulders. The two started out the door.

  “Is that all, boss?”

  Cullinane spared them barely a glance, stepping aside to let them pass. “Yeah. Head for the infirmary. That’s all for tonight.”

  He held the door open. “Remember your name yet?”

  She debated with herself. She needed him to hire her, so she could afford to push him only so far. Her cover would hold; she’d made sure of that.

  But it stuck in her craw to play nice with the bastard who was just as guilty as Hafner.

  Her sister had waited too long for justice, though. “MacGregor,” she said. “Jillian.”

  “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Cullinane followed his men, pulling the door behind him. “Sweet dreams, MacGregor. Don’t assume that this door is all that’s keeping you in place.” Without ever looking her way again, he left.

  Jillian gave in to the urge to waggle her head from side to side, her voice sing-song and taunting. “Sweet dreams, Cullinane.” She didn’t have to like him, he didn’t have to like her. Hafner wanted her; all she had to do was to prove herself competent.

  There’d be nothing Cullinane could do.

  * * *

  She was good.

  It stuck in his craw to admit it. Things would be simpler if he could just declare her incompetent and leave it at that.

  Incompetent—who was he kidding? She’d breached his system, and one man’s inattention was no excuse. Now she’d injured one of his best men.

  Staring out the window of his bedroom, Cullinane fought the urge to watch her again on the monitors. It wasn’t that she was a woman—he had no problem working with women. His urge to get her out of here had nothing to do with her sex, and he hadn’t let anyone get under his skin in a very long time, not even Hafner—and God knew, Hafner could drive anyone nuts. Ruthlessly thrusting aside emotion, Cullinane had to admit that she’d imp
ressed him. No small matter to put Fred in the infirmary. She obviously understood how to get around the limitations of her size. Fred and Ron each outweighed her by more than a hundred pounds, most likely, and both were taller.

  No, his gut told him she could do the job. Smart, well-trained... what other cards did Ms. MacGregor have in her hand?

  Cullinane stripped off his clothes and climbed into his bed. Settling on his back underneath the steel-gray spread, he rested his head on clasped hands. He needed Hafner complacent; time was running out. He’d have to give her a shot. He was a fair man; everyone knew that.

  But he’d be watching her every move.

  * * *

  “You’re taking me shopping?” Whiskey-brown eyes registered total astonishment. “Why?”

  “You don’t ask your employer why, MacGregor. If you want the job, you just do it.” Taking time to baby-sit her aggravated the hell out of him, but he wanted to observe her personally, not rely on secondhand impressions.

  “What are we shopping for?”

  “Hafner has a business dinner tonight at Chez Nous.”

  “I have my own clothes.”

  He shrugged. “I’m sure you do.”

  “Let me go get them. I’ll be back in an hour.”

  “Where do you live?” Who will you call while you’re gone?

  “Not far.”

  “Good. I’ll take you there later.”

  She glanced away. “No need. I can take care of it myself.”

  “I determine what’s needed.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Am I a prisoner, then?” To her credit, her voice didn’t waver.

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll be back later. What time?”

  “You can’t go." I won’t let you.

  “Cullinane, this is just a job. It’s a free country. I can leave and come back.”

  “Actually, you can’t. Hafner prefers that the staff all live here.”

  “Hafner prefers, or Cullinane prefers to have everyone where he can watch them?”

  Touché, MacGregor. “Hafner prefers. Cullinane agrees.”

  He could almost see the gears whirring in her head. Good. Maybe she’d decide that she didn’t want the job so badly, after all.

  “All right.” She glared at him. “But we don’t need to go shopping.”

  “I’ll know that after I check out your wardrobe.” Why did she look just the slightest bit rattled? “Where are you staying?”

  “Not far.”

  “You’re not from around here.”

  “Are you?”

  He’d grant her one thing; the woman hadn’t bored him yet. “I am now.” Her eyes sparked, and he expected to see tiny swirls of steam rising from her ears, but she never batted an eyelash, except for one look of reluctant appreciation. He turned to leave. “Be ready in ten minutes.”

  “I haven’t even had a shower.”

  Warring with himself over the temptation to allow her to take one here where he could observe, Cullinane decided that he’d better not tempt fate. Jillian MacGregor had more than one weapon in her arsenal; she wasn’t using that one on him.

  “You can take one at your place.”

  * * *

  As the motel shower ran, Cullinane tuned out thoughts of her naked and wet. He was long past being ruled by his libido, however hot the woman might be. Ruthlessly he focused on the garments as he slid each hanger across the rod. Muted and simple, these were nothing like Hafner would want. Even though Cullinane knew zip about women’s fashion, he could see the innate taste.

  “You won’t find any labels.”

  He turned slowly to face her. “Cut them off?” He dredged up a sneer to keep his tongue from hanging out.

  “No. I made them.”

  Mesmerized by the way the short bronze-tone kimono clung to the damp curves of her body, it took a moment for her answer to register.

  Then she took the towel off her hair and bent over to rub it dry, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. The vee of the robe gaped precariously. Only a saint wouldn’t want to lean closer.

  Get a grip, Drake.

  “Made them? As in sewing?”

  She raised her head and smiled slightly. “Want to make something of it?”

  “Uh, no.” He had to look away. He’d discovered just how potent her arsenal could be. “Only surprised.”

  “An archaic skill for a bodyguard, right?”

  He shrugged, studying the cheesy painting in front of him. The appeal of this motel was obviously price. His eyes strayed toward her, discovering in midstream that he only had to look at the mirror beside her to see what he wanted.

  When she bent forward again, the robe slid up her thigh to reveal the smooth ivory curve of her ass. In his concentration on that tempting mound, he almost missed her next question.

  “Will I do?”

  He jerked his attention back to her face.

  Damn it. She was doing it on purpose. “I’ll wait outside.” He turned to leave.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  What question? Composing his face into its usual mask, he turned back. “The clothes aren’t suitable, but you can bring them. You might as well check out when we leave.” He didn’t say that they were far too classy for Hafner’s boorish tastes. He wasn’t handing her a single advantage he could prevent. “We still have to shop for something.”

  Ignoring the hurt that crossed her face, he left the room.

  * * *

  “You really expect me to wear this?”

  Cullinane looked up at Jillian and managed not to swallow his tongue. The shop’s proprietor had supplied clothing for Hafner’s mistresses before. She knew his taste.

  Dark green silk draped her body closely, falling to her ankles in one smooth line. The deep neckline and shoulders of the dress were encrusted with gold and green sequins, swirling over the bodice and forming a deep vee between her breasts. The skirt was slit over one leg almost to the groin.

  She seemed ill at ease.

  She looked damned good, though.

  Long legs generated inevitable fantasies of them wrapped around his waist. He yanked his gaze away. “It’s what Hafner likes, and he’s paying the bills.”

  Rebellion rose in her eyes, smothered so quickly he could almost believe he’d imagined it. “Well, then, no reason to look further.”

  “Try on the others,” he ordered. “You’ll need more than one.”

  The mutinous set of her lips hardened into a straight line of resignation. She nodded curtly and left for the fitting room.

  “Sir?” A couple of minutes later, the saleswoman approached. “The lady asked me to tell you that she will be finished in a few moments.”

  He narrowed his gaze. “Tell the lady that she’d better get out here and show me each one, or I’ll come in there with her.”

  “But, sir, we can’t allow...” The woman stepped away, nodding her head cautiously. “I’ll tell her, sir, but I’m not sure...”

  “Tell her she has three minutes to be out here in the next one.”

  When three minutes had passed with no sign of Jillian, he reluctantly admired her bravado, but he couldn’t allow it. This woman could be more than a handful if he let her. She was trouble, he felt it in his bones. He’d invested years in this operation; the wheels were in motion. He’d be damned if some willful redhead was going to destroy his work.

  As he readied himself to rise, she flounced into the room, her eyes spitting fire. The icy mask of disdain took a little longer this time, but eventually she achieved it. Cullinane didn’t try to hide his smirk.

  But for a moment, he indulged himself in thoughts of unleashing the full range of this woman’s passions. Anyone who had to clamp down that hard on emotion was bound to have very hot blood simmering beneath.

  Someday, Jillian MacGregor, it might be interesting to seek you out and discover you—later. Right now I’m going to make life uncomfortable enough that you’ll get the hell away from my operation.<
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  The very red, very short dress she wore this time glistened with its solid layer of sequins; fringe shimmied with every motion of her hips. The long, long legs made his mouth water. The deep red contrasted beautifully with her cinnamon hair, stunning and voluptuous, yes...oh, yes.

  Jillian’s style...no.

  “Next one,” he snapped, looking away. In the mirrors, he could see anger flash across her face.

  She was quicker to appear in the next one, her own mask firmly in place, pointedly ignoring him. A slender gown of ivory silk draped her body in a column, wrapping over each breast and forming a vee between curves that invited a man to look...to touch.

  “Turn around,” he ordered before he could give himself away.

  A tiny mutiny sprang to her lips, quickly smothered. From the halter neck all the way down to the hollow at the top of her very fine ass was skin...creamy, silky-smooth skin. The gown clung to her hips like a lover before following the line of her shapely legs to the floor.

  He raised his gaze to see her look of triumph in the mirror and knew his poker face wasn’t as good as usual.

  Tit for tat, her look seemed to say.

  “Next one,” he snapped.

  He endured a parade, wondering which of them he was punishing. On the last one, so skimpy it could barely be called a dress, Jillian completed an ill-tempered whirl to give him her back, staring at him in the mirror as his gaze roamed over the covering that was little better than being naked. Her smirk said she knew he was not immune.

  Rising from his chair, he nodded curtly to the saleswoman to ready the bill. Damned if he’d let Jillian gloat at her effect on him.

  “Get dressed, MacGregor.” He walked away, his thoughts firmly focused on what it would take to get rid of her.

  Chapter Three

  “Cullinane.” He answered the phone, his mind focused on inspection reports from the security system Jillian had breached.

  “A new order for the twenty-first, Cullinane. A big one. Usual arrangements for funds transfer.”

  His mind snapped to immediate attention. He glanced at the calendar. Less than three weeks away. Adrenaline surged. They could adjust the date for the raid to accommodate this. It was all coming together.