“HAND OVER THE DISK, or I’ll shoot the girl.” The man’s voice was thick and guttural. And horribly familiar. “This time I’m not gonna give you the courtesy of countin’.”
“You’re going down,” Jack snarled. To Mia, not Uni. He hoped to God she got it, because before either she or the man with the gun at her head knew what was happening, Jack pushed Mia out of the way and spun around. In a lightning-fast move, he grabbed the guy’s beefy right shoulder with his left, weakest, hand. Then Jack jerked Uni off his feet with the other arm around his thick neck and pulled him down to the snow-crusted rooftop.
They both went down hard. Jack saw sparkles as he fell on his bad shoulder. His wound screamed. Before the other man could recover, Jack straddled the bastard with his weapon in the man’s face. Uni didn’t make a peep.
Though he would have enjoyed putting a bullet into the guy, he settled for the alternate use of his weapon. Jack popped him one on the side of the head and the guy went limp beneath him for the second time that night.
A good thing since reinforcements were thundering across the flat rooftop like wildebeest on the Savannah. “Go. Go. Go!” Jack yelled to Mia.
He grabbed her by the arm. Damn it, what was taking her so long? “Brace yourself!” he shouted and swung her over the edge of the roof, still gripping her arm.
Mia bent her knees and then dropped over the side of the building. She dangled as she felt for the edge of the open window with her foot. She was grateful for how tightly Jack was gripping her wrist, and very glad she couldn’t see the ground. Where the hell was that window? Her entire body swung like a slow-moving pendulum from side to side.
Side…to…side.
The skin around her wrist stretched painfully and she knew Jack was holding her full weight while lying prone on the very edge of the roof above her. This must be hurting him a hundred times worse than it was hurting her. Come on, damn it. Where was the—
There! She released the breath she’d been holding and brought both feet to rest on the solid frame of the window ledge. “Got it,” she whispered up to Jack as she steadied herself on the precarious perch.
“Then get in and get out of my way— Damn!”
Mia heard the shots the same time Jack did, followed by heavy, muffled footsteps of several people running toward their position full speed, weapons blazing. Nice and subtle. Not.
“Move it, Jack! You’re not getting out of marrying me this easily. Get down here!” With more haste than skill, Mia swung herself into the open window, then turned to lean out and help him.
His feet came in first, followed by his long body. With the propulsion of a guy being shot out of a cannon, he landed with more enthusiasm than finesse. His trajectory sent them crashing and sliding into the pale pink marble tub like beached whales. Arms and legs tangled.
But they were alive.
Jack looked up from his position of head smashed between her boobs. His face was sweaty, his skin parchment-pale, eyes shadowed with pain. But he grinned as he stroked a finger down her cheek. “Hello, darling. Come here often?”
Mia laughed, and boy, it felt good to laugh with Jack again. “Idiot. Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here before everyone comes flying through that window.”
They untangled their limbs and got out of the tub with some difficulty. Compared to their run across the rooftop under fire, this was a piece of cake. Mia closed the window firmly, locking it, while Jack went to scope out the bedroom.
Empty. Their friends had taken their toys and disappeared. There was a blossom of a bloodstain on the carpet right in front of the door. Mia shivered and averted her gaze.
She found a white shirt for Jack and helped him into it; his own shirt was soaked with dark red blood. The wound in his shoulder still seeped at an alarming rate, and he was sweating, while Mia still couldn’t feel her extremities from the cold.
She tucked a small, folded hand towel against the wound, helped him button the shirt, then slipped his jacket back on.
“What’s the plan?” she asked, slipping on the shoes she’d kicked off what seemed like days ago. She winced and worried her frozen toes would snap off.
“First we find a convenient bedroom to muss up—just in case we have to explain our absence. Preferably something on the other side of the house. Then we saunter downstairs as if nothing happened and walk out.”
He talked a good game, but she wondered if he’d be able to walk down the hall, let alone “saunter.” Then she remembered that this was Jack Ryan, a man who wouldn’t know the meaning of “quit.” “That easy?”
“You bet.” He opened the door with a decidedly shaky hand. “Let’s do it.”
“I’m not going to have to carry you, am I?” she asked, trying not to show just how concerned she was.
He gave her a crooked smile. “Maybe over the threshold later.”
Threshold. Wedding. Marriage.
She grinned at him. “Stay put,” she told him casually. “I’ll go find another room to muss and come back for you.” She expected him to protest. It worried her even more when he didn’t.
“Don’t be long.”
Mia flew down the landing. Hearing the chatter of party guests and the clinking of glasses from the floor below was surreal. She forced herself to slow her steps and go as far down the private corridor as her nerves could stand before opening a bedroom door. It only took a moment to rumple the bedspread and punch the pillows. Then she raced back down the corridor to where she’d left Jack.
She found him slumped in the chair near the door. He was clearly struggling to stay conscious, but he opened glassy eyes as she stepped in and closed the door behind her.
“Ready to rock?” she asked, helping him stand with difficulty.
“Call, Robert. Have him come upst—”
Oh, God. He wanted his driver. This was bad. Really bad. “Phone?”
“Inside p-pocket. Speed d—eigh—eighteen.” He fell back into the chair and closed his eyes.
Mia knelt between his spread legs and patted his pockets looking for his cell phone. Her fingers were clumsy with panic, but she found the tiny phone, flipped it open and hit 18.
It rang. And rang. And rang.
“As long as you’re kneeling there…” He lifted one eyebrow.
Mia shook her head. “You’re impossible.”
“Insatiable,” Jack licked dry lips. “Help me up.” He slung his arm around her neck. “Whoa! Steady t-there.”
Mia staggered on her high heels under his weight. “You outweigh me by eighty pounds, pal.”
“All muscle.”
“Yeah, between your ears.” She wanted to distract him from what must be nearly mind-numbing pain. She kept him teasing as she guided him down the hall to the stairs.
“Is that any way to talk to your future husband?”
“Mom always said to bend a man’s twig in the direction you want him to grow.”
He chuckled. “Twig bending? Sounds pornographic.”
“Then you should love it.”
“Wanna see my twig?”
“It’s my twig now, buster.”
“True. My twig is your twig.”
They made it down the stairs. Barely. Jack’s hard head was the only thing keeping him upright. And they still had to get across the large room to the front door.
“And where have you two lovebirds been?” Sandy asked archly. She was standing right at the foot of the stairs, a finger of brandy in her glass and a plate of canapés in her other hand. “Where’s that dance you promised me, you rat?”
“Rain check, beautiful,” Jack gave her a sleepy grin. “I have to get my girl home before she turns into a pumpkin.”
Sandy grinned. “Is your sweetie a little smashed?”
Mia gave the other woman a meaningful look and wrapped her arm more tightly around Jack’s waist making sure his side was tucked against hers. “Drunk on love, Sandy. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
“One more dance before we go,” Jack insisted, wrapping both arms around her. It took all Mia’s strength to hold him up.
“We’ll dance at home, honey.” She refused to let him stay here where he could bleed to death on the polished parquet floor.
By the time they reached the front door, her dress was saturated with Jack’s blood and her arms were screaming for mercy. Fortunately they looked the epitome of a romantic couple as they clung to each other wordlessly. Thank God no one stopped to talk.
“Don’t you dare die on me, Jack Ryan,” Mia growled as someone let the front door swing open in their wake. “Don’t you dare.” The door closed leaving the two of them standing under the portico. A limo, several yards away, flashed its lights.
Robert. Thank God.
“You’re marrying me,” she told Jack sternly. “I want the whole nine yards. Flowers, preacher, music, bunny hop, everything. Besides, I have about sixty-five years of flack to give you for this blind date from hell. So don’t take the easy way—” He sagged against her. “Oh, thank God,” Mia breathed a sigh of relief as Jack’s driver stepped up and grabbed him from the other side. “I think he fainted.”
“Passed out, darling. Passed out. Men don’t faint, for God’s sake. And I haven’t,” Jack muttered as Mia and his driver folded him into the back seat of the car. “You’re going to remind me about tonight every year on our anniversary, aren’t you?” Jack asked as the car flew down Massachusetts Avenue and away from Embassy Row.
“And twice on Sundays,” Mia told him sweetly, cradling his head on her lap and brushing back his hair.
Jack sighed. “Good.” Eyes closed, he stroked her leg. “I have candles at my place. And champagne on ice. I wanted to do the whole proposal thing right—”
So he’d known he was going to propose before their evening had even started. “Are you kidding?” she asked. “A proposal in the snow, with bullets flying and bad guys chasing us across rooftops? What could be more romantic than that?”
He smiled against her thigh as Robert stepped on the gas and headed for the hospital at illegal speeds. “I always knew you were my woman, Mia.”
He rose up awkwardly to kiss her. Mia bent her head to meet him halfway. “And don’t you forget it.” Their lips met with aching tenderness.
“Gonna pass out now,” Jack warned as his head dropped back to her lap and his eyes drifted shut. “Don’ go, ’K? Love you…all my life.”
“I love you, too, you impossible man. Rest now. I’ll be right there when you wake up.”
And she was. As Jack had known she would be.