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Bulletproof Marriage

Karen Whiddon

Dear Reader,

After writing The Princess’s Secret Scandal for the CAPTURING THE CROWN series, I knew there were stories yet untold. Most of the other authors felt the same way, so we got together and proposed another series, MISSION: IMPASSIONED.

Bulletproof Marriage is my contribution. Marriage is complicated and wonderful, dangerous and safe, passionate and serene. Because my own marriage is so awesome, I know that love truly can carry on despite bad times and troubles. When Sean McGregor told me his story and how much he loved his wife, I knew I’d found my story. I sympathised with both Sean and Natalie, and longed to help them find each other again.

I hope you enjoy sharing danger and love with these two superspies! I sure did.

Sincerely,

Karen Whiddon

About the Author

KAREN WHIDDON started weaving fanciful tales for her younger brothers at the age of eleven. Amid the Catskill Mountains of New York, then the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, she fuelled her imagination with the natural beauty of the rugged peaks and spun stories of love that captivated her family’s attention.

Karen now lives in north Texas, where she shares her life with her very own hero of a husband and three doting dogs. Also an entrepreneur, she divides her time between the business she started and writing the contemporary romantic suspense and paranormal romances that readers enjoy. You can e-mail Karen at KWhiddon1@aol.com or write to her at PO Box 820807, Fort Worth, TX 76182. Fans of her writing can also check out her website at www.KarenWhiddon.com.

For Daisy, Mitchell and Mac, my four-legged

writing companions and fur-faced children.

Chapter 1

If reinforcements didn’t show up soon, Natalie Major thought grimly, she might as well paint a target on her chest and leap into the open. The unknown assassin—or assassins—were that close. The decaying concrete warehouse she’d holed up in only had two ways out—and one of them had been blown to rubble.

She needed help. Corbett Lazlo, her father’s oldest friend and owner of one of the top private investigative agencies in the world, had promised to send someone. She’d asked for the best.

Now she wished she’d asked for the most prompt.

Gallows humor. She’d never been particularly good at it before, though she’d grown more proficient.

Her husband wouldn’t even recognize her now if he were still alive. Once, he’d been Lazlo’s top agent. She’d married a Lazlo Group spook, just like her own father had been. Retired now, and in a wheelchair, her father lived in relative seclusion. Her beloved husband, Sean, hadn’t been so lucky. He’d been killed two years ago this week. Lazlo’s group seemed to be the ruin of everyone she loved, so in honor of her dead husband and disabled father, and in defiance of the Lazlo legacy she could easily have embraced, she’d worked her way to the top of SIS, the British Secret Intelligence Service. There was no job too difficult, no task too dangerous for Sean McGregor’s widow.

Until now.

She scouted the area. Trapped inside the abandoned warehouse, she was fast running out of options. The concrete walls made a good shield against bullets, but she needed to see her enemies. Right now, she could only hear them. And it was hard to fight when you had no idea who the enemy might be. Or where they were hiding.

Plus, cement was cold and hard and reminded her too damn much of a tomb.

The shooters fired off another round of shots. AK-47s. Random bullets ricocheted crazily and dangerously off the cement walls and floors. She couldn’t even dodge them, having no idea where they’d go.

She’d found the abandoned warehouse two days ago. A concrete bunker in a run-down area of Glasgow had seemed relatively safe. Not wanting to endanger others by staying at a B and B or hotel, she’d used the concrete warehouse as her base, returning to sleep and regroup while attempting to gather information on whoever had sold out her team. Since Millaflora—a low-down, no-good mole operating as a double agent inside the SIS—had already been caught, she had no idea who she was looking for.

Officially, she was on administrative leave, supposedly holed up, incognito in an unknown luxury hotel on the French Riviera. No one in her office knew she’d come to Glasgow, not even her supervisor.

And though she’d tried to take extraordinary precautions similar to those she used when deep undercover, her enemy had found her.

Whoever “they” were.

She supposed the whys and the hows didn’t matter. Not now. All that mattered was that if help didn’t arrive soon, she was dead.

Her ammo nearly gone, no backup, and no alternative plan—pretty shoddy situation for an undercover agent who’d recently been promoted to team leader.

It had to have something to do with the code. Natalie was sure of it. She’d been so close to cracking it. She and her team.

Now they all were dead and she was on the run.

And she had only herself to rely on. In seven years of service, she’d never had a single casualty. Until now. Now she’d lost her entire team. They’d been eliminated, killed in a way that left no doubt she was next. All the codes they’d been working on had disappeared, at least as far as anyone knew. She’d told no one that she’d made her own private copy.

Not knowing who was on her side, she hadn’t dared to contact SIS. She’d called her father, knowing he’d contact Corbett, knowing Lazlo would help.

“Come on, reinforcements,” she muttered. Her father’d told her Corbett had promised to send help. The head of the Lazlo Group never went back on his word.

A movement across the alley caught her attention. Finally! Someone had arrived to help her out of this hellhole.

She took another look and blinked, wondering if the stress had finally claimed her mind.

Out of the mist and smoke, a dead man strode toward her, keeping close to the wall, staying in the shadows, but coming. For her.

Natalie began to shake.

Shots rang out. Crouching, the man began to run. More shots. So far, he hadn’t been hit. He’d always been lucky that way.

At least, until the day he’d died.

Dead. He was dead and buried.

Rocking back onto her heels, she rubbed her eyes and took another look.

She hadn’t been wrong. The man she’d loved more than any other, her soul mate, her husband, the man she’d mourned, the man she’d never thought to see again, kept moving toward her.

Frozen, she watched as he continued, his low crouch purposeful and unafraid. Or maybe he didn’t care. After all, a man couldn’t die twice, right?

Her heart drummed in her ears. Sean. Her husband, Sean. This couldn’t be real, couldn’t be happening.

She wasn’t the type to faint—not anymore. Too many hard lessons learned. Instead, she’d taught herself to push back, to fight.

But how did one battle a ghost?

From the smoke and the grave, against the periodic bursts of gunfire, he continued to come toward her. He moved exactly the way she remembered—purposeful and bold, dodging bullets as though he were untouchable. She’d often thought that very arrogance had been what had gotten him killed.

Killed.

Yet here he was, ducking under the concrete overhang into her shadowed hiding place, solid and real and alive.

When he reached her, he stopped, his dark gaze intense. She couldn’t move. He was still beautiful, even in the dust and the dirt and the danger. She caught her breath, unable to speak.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice husky, as though too long unused, a hint of wariness in his gaze.

“I …” She moved toward him, inspecting him, still unable to believe what the fates had just returned to her.

“Get down,” he snarled, yanking her behind the concrete wall with him as the shooters let loose with several rounds of shots.

“What the—” he cursed, letting her go. “They’ve got AK-47s. You must have royally pissed someone off. Why are they trying to kill you?”

She still couldn’t find her voice. Unable to help herself, she let her gaze roam hungrily over his muscular body—the way her hands used to.

“Either I’m dead, dying or you’re not dead,” she said, feeling like an idiot, still not sure what to think.

“No.” His dark gaze locked with hers, daring her wrath. “I’m not dead.”

“Sean.” Fierce joy rose in her. Joy and disbelief and … anger. Anger, fury, rage. Hard and hot, pushing away everything else. “I went to your funeral. You died in a car crash on your way to the airport.”

He dragged his hand through his hair. “It was set up,” he said, unsmiling. “I went into hiding. But your father called Corbett, who told me you were in trouble. I’ve come to help.”

To help. Not because he loved her or missed her, but because his boss had requested it. Of course. Anyone who’d pretend to die, who’d let his wife grieve and mourn …

Speechless, all she could do was shake her head. Then suddenly, tears streamed down her cheeks as she began to weep, crying in great big, gasping sobs.

Another round of shots rang out. They both ignored them.

“Don’t.” Reaching for her, his expression looked pained, and she remembered how he’d always hated it when she’d cried. He’d welcome a fight, maybe even a discussion, but he’d never been able to deal with a woman’s tears. Or, more specifically, hers.

Suddenly, she hated him. “Stay away from me.”

“But I—”

“No.” Still crying, she felt rage again knife through her, chasing away the pain. Blinding fury, the kind she’d had to draw upon again and again to get through her grief.

Then, she’d been angry with him for dying. For leaving her. Now, she was enraged to learn he’d lived.

She looked lovelier than he’d remembered, which shouldn’t be possible. Her face had haunted his dreams each and every night of the two years they’d been apart. He’d kept track of her from a distance, relying on Corbett Lazlo to keep him up to date.

Now, he stood before the woman he hadn’t seen in two long years, the woman he’d never stopped loving, and prepared to face her wrath. After all, he’d expected it, and God knows he deserved it.

Another round of gunshots shattered the concrete floor in front of them.

“This way.” Grabbing her, Sean dove deeper inside the building.

Because she had no choice, she went with him. “What are you doing? I’ve walked the perimeter—there is no other door. We’ll be trapped.”

“Yes there is. You must have missed it. I had the satellite check out this place before I got here. There’s another way out, though it’s on the other side of the shipping area. This warehouse has apparently been abandoned for a long time. Vandals have busted out the back loading doors.”

“How do you know the shooters won’t already be there?” Despite her question, she shook off his grip and pushed ahead of him. When she glanced over her shoulder to make sure he followed, her face was absolutely expressionless. Not the fury he’d expected, not even sorrow. Instead, she had the cold, calculating look of a seasoned undercover agent, one prepared to do what had to be done to make it out alive.

“I don’t. Where’s your backup?” he asked her.

“I don’t have any. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“What?”

Ignoring him, she kept moving.

Wary, he stayed close behind her. This was Natalie, and knowing how much his return from the grave must have shocked her he wasn’t sure what to expect.

More gunfire, closer this time. “They’re moving in,” he said. She didn’t respond.

He grabbed her arm. “Nat, stop.”

Her eyes narrowed and he braced himself for the storm.

Instead, face blank, she looked at him and shook her head, as though she found him wanting. “I would suggest,” she said, her voice deadly calm, “that you let go of me. If you don’t want to go with me, then turn around and go back to whatever rock you crawled out from under.”

Ah, now this was the Natalie he knew. “Let’s postpone this discussion for after we’ve gotten out of here alive, don’t you think?”

Immediately she nodded. “Of course. Forgive me. I wasn’t aware there was a code of conduct for how a wife is supposed to act when learning her beloved husband had faked his death and not only lied to her, but voluntarily spent the past two years away from her.”

He glared back. “There isn’t. But there is a code of conduct for staying alive. Move!”

“Right.” She lifted her chin and took off.

More gunshots. “What the hell are they doing, shooting randomly in the dark?” He cursed. “They’ll hit their own men with the ricocheting bullets. Stupid idiots.”

The blackness had become absolute. And he didn’t dare light a match. Hands out before him, he felt his way, concrete pillar by concrete pillar.

“I hope you’re right about this exit. If you’re wrong, we’re trapped here.”

“Satellite photos are pretty accurate. There should be another hallway here to the left.”

Bumping into something in the dark, she cursed. “I think I found it.”

“Take my hand.”

“What?”

“Team members.” Impatient, he held his arm out blindly. “Come on.”

A second later, her small hand slipped into his. They kept moving.

“Is it my imagination, or is it getting a bit lighter in here?”

“We must be getting close to the loading area. Keep going.”

More shots.

“Do those fools not realize bullets ricochet off concrete?” he said again.

“Apparently not,” Natalie answered, annoyance still evident in her voice.

“Why didn’t they move in before?”

She shook her head, making him realize he could see her. “I held them off. But you barely showed up in time—I was running out of ammo. Did you bring more?”

“You should always be prepared.”

She flipped him off. “That’s why you’re here. More ammo, another gun. The fact that you knew another way out is a bonus. Corbett did good, sending you.” Tossing her head, she gave him a narrow-eyed, go-to-hell look. “You do have more ammo, don’t you?”

He laughed, and saw her clench her teeth. A second later, he tossed her a couple of clips. Seething, she slammed one into her pistol. “Ready?”

He raised a brow. “For?”

“Moving out. Just in case the shooters have covered the back exit.”

“You plan on blasting your way out of here?”

“Yep.”

Once again she surprised him. The Natalie he’d known before would have wanted to stay hidden, hoping to pick them off one by one.

“Do you have any idea how many there are?” The cool, professional Sean was back. Astounded he might be, but he hadn’t survived this long in such a dangerous game by letting his personal feelings get in the way of his job.

She matched her tone to his. “There are at least two out front. One east, one west. Both armed with AK-47s.”

“Any idea who they are?”

“Does it matter? They want me dead. That’s all I need to know. Now, how much farther?”

They both heard the shouts and the sound of boots running on cement toward them.

“We’re over halfway there. Come on.” He took off. This time, rather than following, she kept pace with him. Side by side.

Another round of gunfire, closer. Chunks of concrete spewed from the wall to the left of them.

Close. Too close. They both knew it.

“Damn it.” Sean drew his weapon. “You go. I’ll hold them off.”

Ignoring him, she flicked off the safety and raised her gun. Leaning around the pillar, she aimed, waiting. An instant later, she squeezed off a shot.

Direct hit. The shooter’s body jerked, then nose-dived forward. “Got him. One down, a few more to go.”

He touched her arm. “They’re shooting blind. No way can they see us back here. Come on.” He took off.

She didn’t waste time arguing.

Left, then right, then right again. With each turn, the darkness lightened.

“Here we are.” Stopping, Sean pointed. “There’s the loading area. See how that one metal door moves in the breeze?”

“Listen. The shooting’s stopped. I wonder why?”

“Who cares?” He moved forward. “Let’s get out of here.”

She climbed onto the cement platform, staying close to the wall. Sean followed right behind her. When they reached the rusted metal door, she lifted one side and pointed toward a narrow alley between two tall brick buildings. “That looks like the only way out.”

“No. Too constricted.” Out of reflex, he grabbed her arm. “We’d be sitting ducks. There has to be another way.”

Again, she jerked away. “Don’t touch me.” Breathing hard, she glared at him, putting every ounce of loathing she could into her expression.

Grimly, he looked around. He lifted his hand to point and as he did, the remaining shooter fired off another round, narrowly missing him. “Damn it.”

“I don’t think we have a choice.” She jerked her head toward the opening. “Are you ready to make a run for it?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but a sound—metal striking concrete—grabbed his attention. For half a heartbeat, they both eyed the oblong metal object rolling across the floor toward them.

“Time-delay grenade!” he shouted, grabbing her and shoving her ahead of him. “Take cover!”

She needed no second urging. Sprinting for the nearest concrete divider, she dove behind the wall with him right on her heels.

The grenade exploded. Sean yanked Natalie into his chest, ducking his own head. Fire flashed and roared and the dilapidated building shook.

Dust and smoke and cement rained down on them.

Sean’s mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear for the ringing in her ears.

More gunfire. This, she could hear. The shooter—or shooters—were moving in, hoping the grenade had done the job.

Natalie looked at Sean. They didn’t need sound to know what the other was thinking.

“One, two, three … go.” Moving low and fast, they sprinted for the door. As they slipped through the unstable metal, bullets sliced into it where they’d been.

“Come on.” They took off running, guns at the ready.

“Something’s wrong.” Natalie didn’t like the way the pounding of their feet echoed off the alley walls.

“Too quiet.”

Then, into the silence, they heard another sound. The unmistakable click of the grenade launcher firing.

“Down,” Sean shouted, in the split second before the grenade hit to the left of them. It exploded on impact.

Natalie was thrown to the ground. Sean was lost somewhere in the smoke. Damn it, she thought as she struggled to stand up. It would be a crying shame for Sean to come back from the dead only to be killed on his first mission after. If anyone was going to kill him, it was going to be her.

At the exact instant she stood, squinting in the smoke and fire and dust, head pounding, ears ringing, looking for Sean, the concrete wall above her came tumbling down.

Chapter 2

“Natalie?” Sean couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear. Couldn’t breathe. He inhaled, struggling for air. Concrete dust filled his lungs, making him double over in a racking cough. He should be grateful—at least this proved he was still alive.

What about Natalie?

He called her again, his voice barely rising above a croak.

“Sean?”

Alive! Muttering a quick prayer to the powers that be, Sean attempted to push himself up. Though he tried to harness the energy of the relief that had flooded through him at the sound of her voice, he couldn’t move. Blinded, disoriented and confused, he wasn’t sure why.

“Sean?”

“Over here.”

A volley of gunshots erupted. Those damned AK-47s, blasting a path toward them. Evidently, their pursuers had garnered reinforcements and were on their way to finish off what the grenades hadn’t.

He cursed again, struggling to lift himself off the concrete.

“Sean, come on. We don’t have much time.” Natalie appeared out of the swirling cloud of dust, voice frantic. “Get up. We need to go. Now.”

“I know.” Struggling to push himself up, Sean frowned. He still couldn’t move. Rubbing his eyes, he tried once more. No luck.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t—” Heart pumping overtime, he cursed when he saw the problem. The concrete wall had come down on his left foot, pinning him beneath it.

Funny how wounds don’t hurt until you see them. True to form, the second he noticed, his foot began to throb.

“I’m trapped.”

“Oh, God.” Natalie’s eyes widened, but she didn’t waste time on small talk. “If I lift, can you try to wiggle out?”

He clenched his teeth. “No way you can lift this. Even if you could, my foot’s probably broken. I couldn’t go far.”

She shook her head. “No is not an option. I want you to try.”

Team-leader words. He pondered this for half a second before giving her a cursory nod. “Go for it. If you can manage to lift the pillar, I can certainly manage to move.”

Straining, she grabbed the concrete and gave it her best shot.

Nothing. Not even a minute bit of movement.

“Damn it all to hell.”

Natalie continued to strain, pushing at the concrete. “Stop,” he ordered. “You need to go. Save yourself.”

“I’m not leaving you.” Her fierceness surprised him. Where was the timid mouse he remembered?

“You have to. If you stay, they’ll kill us both.”

“If I go, they’ll kill you. That’s not acceptable.”

He put all his frustration into the look he gave her. “Listen to me—”

“No!” She threw herself against the concrete again. This time, he could swear the damn thing moved, even if only a fraction of an inch.

“Nat—”

“You’ve got to help me!” Eyes bright, she shoved again. Another infinitesimal movement.

Not enough.

“I can’t.”

“Do you want to die for real?” She shoved her face close to his, nose to nose. “Is that it?”

“No.” He ground out the word, surprised to realize he spoke the truth. Even the dark secret he’d been carrying since before he’d met her wasn’t enough to make him want to give up his life. Especially not since they were together again.

“Then help me!”

Pushing himself to a sitting position, he tried. Bracing his arms against the cement, he used every bit of his strength.

“Bingo.”

The gunfire came again, louder. Closer.

“One more time,” she urged. “You can do it.”

“Rah, rah, rah,” he muttered. Still, he was willing to try.

One more shove did the trick. Together, both their efforts succeeded in moving the concrete off his foot.

“Can you stand?”

“I don’t know.”

She held out her hand. “You have to. Come on.”

Grimacing, he ignored her outstretched fingers and tried to get up on his own.

Though already swollen, it seemed his foot would support him. For now.

Standing, he tried to flash a triumphant smile but ruined the effect the moment he attempted to put weight on his injured foot. Staggering, he nearly fell.

With a loud sigh, she grabbed him. “We don’t have time for this.” Arm around his waist, she half pushed, half lifted, and helped him back to his feet.

“Come on.” Heading toward what had been the back of the alley, she helped him over chunks of cement, twisted metal and smoldering hot spots.

Dust choked him—them—but still she pushed on. He found himself admiring her determination.

“The explosion blew a hole in the backs of both neighboring buildings. The whole area could tumble down like a stack of cards. I’m hoping they don’t know it yet.”

Jaw clenched, Sean nodded. Sweat ran down his face and his foot hurt so badly he was half-afraid he might pass out.

Couldn’t do that. Had to keep Natalie safe.

Or was it the other way around?

His field of vision narrowed, then went gray. Blinking furiously, he tried to keep his focus, fought to keep putting his uninjured foot in front of the other. He knew his wife’s slender shoulders couldn’t support his full weight.

The effort had him panting.

“Easy now.” Nothing but cool satisfaction rang in her voice as she helped him over a large piece of concrete. She didn’t, he noted sourly, even sound winded.

Away from the alley, the smoke-clouded air felt a fraction better. Cleaner. He tried to take a deep gulp and choked.

“Hurry,” she whispered, trying to pull him forward. “We’ve got to move faster or they’ll catch us.”

He was doing the best he could, but she didn’t need to know the extent of his weakness. Pushing himself, he struggled to lengthen his shaky stride and to keep from muttering curses each time he came down on his injured foot.

Natalie led him down a twisted alley, turning left then right and left again—so many different directions that he lost track of them. Finally, they arrived at the back of a pipe shop housed in an ancient stone building.

“In here. Auggie’s one of my contacts. He’s also a friend. He’ll help us.”

Her friend? Since when did contacts become friends? Allowing connections to become personal could be dangerous. That was one of the first things Corbett had taught Sean when he’d begun training many years ago. Natalie should know that—she’d had intensive training when she went to work with SIS.

Sean had actually opened his mouth to caution her when he realized he had no right. She didn’t even consider him her husband anymore. After all, as far as she knew, he’d been dead for the last two years. By choice.

The back door was unlocked. Moving carefully, Natalie let herself in.

Sweating profusely, Sean leaned against the wall, drawing ragged breaths, trying to stay conscious.

“Are you coming?” she asked. If he detected a trace of impatience in her voice, it vanished when he raised his head and she got a good look at his face.

He must look even worse than he felt.

“God, Sean. You need a doctor.” Slipping her arm around him once again, she helped him up the steps and into the back of the shop. Once he was inside, she closed and locked the door behind her.

“There. We should be safe for a bit.”

A moment later, a bearded giant of a man came around the corner. He lifted one bushy brow when he saw Sean.

“Auggie!” Smiling, Natalie hugged him, her arm barely able to circle his neck. “This is Sean. He, uh, does the same line of work I do.”

For some reason, the fact she didn’t name him as her husband rankled.

“I’m her husband,” he said, holding out his hand.

As Auggie’s huge paw engulfed Sean’s, Natalie crossed her arms. “He’s not my husband,” she told the giant man. Then, letting her gaze drift over to Sean, she gave him a hard look. “Not anymore, you’re not. You’re dead.”

“Come on, Nat. I’m not dead.” His protest sounded weak, he knew, but it was difficult to talk and still try to hold on to consciousness.

“You are to me,” she said, turning her back and walking away.

“Sorry, boyo.” Auggie clapped him on the back. Hard.

Sean winced. Looking about for a place to sit, he hobbled over to a large wooden crate. His vision grayed. Again, he clenched his teeth and rode out the pain and nausea.

With fumbling fingers, he managed to extract his cell phone from his pocket.

“No.” Auggie snatched it out of Sean’s hand. “Not unless Natalie says it’s okay.”

Dumbfounded, Sean could only stare.

“I heard my name.” Natalie reentered the room. “What’s up?”

“He was trying to call out.” Tossing her the cell phone, Auggie gave Sean another baleful glare.

“Who are you calling, Sean?”

He could barely answer. “Corbett.”

“Why?”

“I need to find a doctor.”

“I know a good one.” Natalie and Auggie exchanged a look. “Why bother Corbett? We don’t work for him.”

Vision wavering, Sean swallowed. At this point, if Auggie had announced he was a brain surgeon, Sean wouldn’t have cared. “But I do—er, did. Let me call him.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Auggie spoke to Natalie as if Sean wasn’t there.

“He hurt his foot. I don’t think it’s broken.”

“Give. Me. The. Phone.” Sean gritted out the words.

Without hesitation, Natalie tossed it to him. “Knock yourself out.”

He punched in the speed-dial code. A second later, Corbett answered.

“I need the name of a doctor.”

“What? Have you found Natalie?”

Sean answered in the affirmative, filling Corbett in on the details. He ended with his foot injury.

“Sean, ask Natalie. She’ll probably have the best name. SIS has their own people and she’s been working in that area the last two years.”

While he’d been sequestered up in the Highlands, playing dead.

“Point taken.” He sounded churlish, he knew. “At least give me a name.”

“Very well.” Corbett sighed. “Contact Dr. Pachla.”

“Thanks.” Sean ended the call and dropped the phone back into his pocket.

A half smile on her full lips, Natalie watched him. “Let me guess. He told you Dr. Pachla.”

Reluctantly, Sean nodded. Even that slight movement brought him pain. “Can you contact him? Now?”

She looked at Auggie.

Smiling, Auggie nodded. “He’s already on his way.”

Sean leaned his head back against the wall. He must have passed out, because the next thing he knew, he heard the sound of bells tinkling.

12 3 След.

Mission: Marriage

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MILLS & BOON

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