Mac's Angels: The Last Dance: A Loveswept Classic Romance Page 4

  What had he expected when he decided to attend the wedding? A safe, pleasant encounter with a woman whom he knew only through the phone? Or had he even let his imagination go that far? Whatever he’d anticipated, it hadn’t been a dramatic flight from a murderer.

  Sterling’s eyes were closed, but the suggestion of a frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. Her chest rose and fell beneath the bulky ski sweater. There was a tenseness about the way she held herself. Yet, at the same time there was a gentle appeal that spoke to him. He wondered what she was thinking.

  He wondered again why she’d come. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  Sterling could feel him watching her. She hadn’t slept well last night. Excitement? Uncertainty? More than once, she’d decided to cancel her trip. If only she had.

  Twice today she’d encountered a man who’d changed her life. The first one had tried to kill her. The second was trying to save her.

  “It feels as if the plane is slowing down,” she said, pushing herself up.

  “It is. We’re about to land. If you look, you’ll see the sun setting beyond the mountain.”

  She turned toward the window. Mac’s hard featured face was a silhouette against the vivid gold and purple of the sky. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “I can see why you love it here. Is your … is Shangri-la built on a mountain?”

  Mac smiled. “Not exactly. It’s built inside a mountain. Nobody can come in who isn’t invited. You’ll be safe there.”

  Sterling felt a clutch of emotion. He was wrong. Today had proved that. “There’s no place you can be completely safe.”

  “I promise you’ll be safe here, Sterling. Trust me.”

  She looked at him for a long moment. Trust him. Did she dare? What was she doing here with this man? Though few knew it, Conner had told her that Lincoln McAllister was one of the richest and most powerful men in the world. Why had he put himself in danger for her?

  All the times they’d spoken on the phone, it had never been personal, mostly talk about the import-export business Conner ran. Sometimes about Conner’s clandestine activities as “The Shadow,” the special Green Beret name he’d earned because of his unique skills in undercover work.

  Between the two of them, Mac and Conner helped people whose problems were special. If trouble came, trouble that couldn’t be solved through normal channels, the world turned to Mac. And more often than not, he turned to Conner.

  And she’d been the go-between. In the last year Mac had learned that she, too, was a night owl. And he’d called from time to time, a connection in the lonely hours of the night, a friend whose voice she’d come to know. They’d discussed books, music, art, philosophy, but never anything personal. She hadn’t told him about her past, and she knew nothing of his.

  “Trust you, Mac?” she repeated, compelled to answer honestly. “Yes, I think I do.” Her fears suddenly seemed to subside. “If you live inside the mountain, then how do we get there?”

  “We land on it. Then we take a special elevator down to the complex.”

  At that moment the plane dropped into a crater in which a landing field had been carved.

  “Oh, Mac, it’s like going through a tunnel with the sky as a ceiling. This must have cost a fortune.” She swallowed hard and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m prying again. It’s just that I’m so used to riding herd on Conner that I do it automatically, even when I know he makes enough money to afford anything he wants.”

  “So do I, Sterling. At least my family did. All I try to do is use the results of their labor in a way that does the most good for those who need help.”

  “What kind of business is your family in?”

  “An easier question is what kind of business weren’t they in? The truth is, Sterling, there is no they not anymore. My father and two uncles were in business together. My father was the only one who married. He died when I was in college, and my uncles were killed in an explosion two years later. My mother was already gone. All the businesses have been sold now, except for the oil company that gave them their start and a research lab that I’m very involved in.”

  The plane slowed to a hover and circled a field cut out of towering peaks of granite. As it touched down and rolled to a stop, Sterling could see a steel door slide open and several people rush forward, one of them pushing a wheelchair.

  Before she could stop Mac, he’d lifted her up out of the seat and started toward the door already being opened by one of his attendants.

  “Put me down, Mac. I told you I can walk.”

  “I intend to,” he said, clattering down the steps. “Hello, Raymond.” He greeted the man with the chair and plopped Sterling into it. “Raymond’s my assistant and security chief,” he explained.

  “Shall I take the lady to the guest quarters?”

  “No. She’ll be staying in the private wing. Mrs. Everett is preparing her room.”

  Mac brushed Raymond aside and pushed Sterling into the building and then into an elevator, pushing a button that closed the doors behind them.

  “Mac, you don’t have to make any special arrangements for me. I’ll be perfectly happy to stay in your guest quarters.”

  “No,” he said, a little too sharply, then forced a smile as he added, “until Conner and I decide what to do, you’ll stay close to me.”

  “But—” She started to argue when the elevator stopped and the door slid open, revealing a deeply carpeted hallway lined with sconces and tables with mirrors and waist-high poinsettias. “It’s Christmas,” she said softly. “I’d forgotten.”

  “We don’t have snow here, at least not unless some freak storm blows in. But our staff tends to be sentimental about everything even if I’m not. This is Angel Central, remember?”

  The red-velvet-embossed wallpaper and dark green carpet was a perfect background for the white lights strung from sconce to sconce.

  “Goodness, Mac. This is a castle.”

  “No, it’s a fortress, Sterling. I built it to protect the people I … people who need love.”

  And he’d brought her into it. She didn’t know what to say.

  They reached an intersection that looked more like a family room. It was filled with softly filtered lights and a towering tree. Mac stopped beside it. It took Sterling a moment to realize that its ornaments moved from branch to branch. Someone on the staff had decorated the limbs with live red and green birds, whose singing filled the room.

  “It’s beautiful, Mac, a little unusual but beautiful. I’ve never seen another one like it.”

  “There isn’t another one. The birds were all rescued from a rain forest that caught on fire. We couldn’t save the trees but we managed to save these birds.”

  He pushed her chair past it, stopping at a door just beyond. He didn’t have to knock; it opened immediately.

  “Mr. McAllister,” a woman said, standing back to allow them to enter the chamber.

  “Mrs. Everett, this is Ms. Lindsey. She’ll be with us for a while. Will you make her comfortable?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Sir? Elizabeth, I’ve asked you over and over not to call me that.”

  “I know. But my mother would never have allowed me to be so informal. It isn’t proper.”

  Mac turned to Sterling and shook his head. “Maybe you can help me take some of the starch out of her petticoat.”

  “But Mr. McAllister! I’m not wearing a …” Elizabeth’s voice trailed off.

  Mac gasped. “Elizabeth, you’re not wearing a petticoat? What would your mother say?”

  “I’m wearing a petticoat. It just isn’t starched. Welcome, Miss Lindsey,” Elizabeth said, laughing.

  “You asked for a hot tub,” Mac said, turning to face Sterling. “There’s one in your bathroom. It has massage jets that will ease your muscles.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll leave you for a rest. Please feel free to explore around the fortress if you get bored. There’s a heated pool at the end of the corridor we crossed and a solarium cr
eated with artificial sunlight.”

  “Thank you,” she managed, overcome by the elegance of the apartment he’d supplied. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  He started toward the door, stopped, and turned. “Sterling, truly you don’t have to worry. You’ll be safe here.”

  She nodded.

  He started forward once more, reached the doorway, then paused. “I don’t suppose you’d … I mean, if you’re not too exhausted, will you have dinner with me?”

  She studied him, not understanding his hesitancy. Did he think she’d refuse his hospitality? Was he asking out of a sense of responsibility? He seemed—uncertain, a characteristic she’d bet he didn’t display often.

  “I’d be pleased to.”

  “Fine, about seven? I’ll come for you.”

  She smiled and watched him leave.

  “Miss Lindsey.” The elderly woman who’d greeted them came forward. “I’m Elizabeth Everett. I’ve gathered some clothing for you. I wasn’t certain of your size, but I think Mr. McAllister’s guess was about right. Would you like to use the hot tub? Or perhaps you’d prefer a nap first?”

  “Mr. McAllister’s guess?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “All right, Mac’s guess. I only insist on formality to keep our relationship on a more businesslike basis. He tells me I should be friendlier but I don’t think he’s really all that comfortable with intimacy.”

  Sterling liked Elizabeth. She liked the idea that she called him Mac behind his back. That was at odds with her appearance. She was dressed in a smart black dress and pearls that said she was more than a lady’s maid. And there was a smile of affection on her face. On closer examination, Sterling saw that her face was a bit misshapen and carefully made up.

  “I really do work for Mr. McAllister, though I’m not exactly a housekeeper. I guess you could call me more of an old-maid aunt.”

  “I thought he said he had no family.” Except for Jessie, the woman he loves.

  “He—I’m not family. I came here years ago, after an accident that left: my face badly burned. I was alone and reluctant to leave the mountain. At that time he needed someone, so he let me stay. It’ll be nice having someone new.”

  “I appreciate your efforts, but I really don’t need any help. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Oh, but Mac won’t accept that. And neither will I. You may not need a maid, but perhaps you need a friend? Please?”

  “All right,” Sterling agreed. “But just when did he guess about my size?”

  “He called from his plane and said we were to prepare these quarters, find you some clothing, and I’m to stay with you to see that you’re kept … comfortable. We didn’t know what to expect. This is the first time he’s had a woman guest in the private section.”

  Sterling hardly heard Elizabeth’s comments. As much as she liked the self-styled old-maid aunt, she cringed at the implication that she needed a keeper. “Stay with me? As in prisoner and warden? Thank you, Mrs. Everett, but I think I’d better have a little chat with Mr. McAllister.” She stood and made her way awkwardly to the door, clasping the frame in an attempt to stand straighter. “Where will I find him?”

  “Please, Miss Lindsey, don’t do that. He’ll think I offended you. It was my choice of words, not his.”

  Sterling heard the dismay in Elizabeth’s voice and stopped. She was overreacting, a trait she’d developed along with her independence. Conner accused her of donning her independence like a coat of armor. Sterling Lindsey didn’t need any help. She had her life under control.

  But she didn’t. Not anymore. That life was contained within a building back in Virginia Beach, and she was a long way from home.

  “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I guess I’m just tired. I think I’d like to try out that tub,” she said, “if you’ll help me.”

  The woman brightened instantly. “Good idea. I’ll turn on the water and lay out your things.”

  Mac made his way to his private office. This room was the heart of Shangri-la, its mind and future direction. And it was all stored here, in his computer. With a few whirls and blinking lights he was into files where no “civilians” were allowed.

  Being a law-abiding citizen was a given with Mac. It always had been. But he didn’t have time to go through proper channels, and in this case, he wasn’t sure that such an inquiry would be safe.

  Mac glanced at his watch. He had only an hour. Damn! Why had he asked her to have dinner with him? He should have put her in the regular complex. She’d have private quarters there and she’d still be safe.

  She just wouldn’t be close.

  Mac forced his attention back on his computer.

  In a half hour he had a picture of the senator’s aide. His name was Vincent Dawson, an orphan who had been extraordinarily successful. There was no record of any existing family members. Vincent came on the scene when he entered and worked his way through undergraduate school at the University of South Carolina. After that came law school at Georgia State University in Atlanta and finally a political role as a White House Fellow. From there he’d gone to work with Representative Abigail Gardner from Florida until she retired. There was a gap of a year before he reappeared as campaign manager for the then-governor of Louisiana’s run for the Senate.

  Vincent Dawson, aide to Senator March, potentially the next president of the United States. None of it made sense. Mac reviewed the period when Dawson was originally appointed to the congresswoman’s staff. Those things didn’t happen without a full investigation of the applicant. Interviews, transcripts, letters of recommendation. Abigail Gardner was a tough woman and smart. If she took Vince on, he had to have been even smarter and without any blemishes on his transcripts.

  Mac couldn’t say the same for March. His background had been shady, but he’d managed to build a strong power base and was a master at wheeling and dealing. The possibility of having him as president made Mac’s skin crawl, but it could happen.

  Ten years before Vincent Dawson had worn a black ski mask and robbed and killed a man for a million dollars in bearer bonds. That would have been about the time Abigail had retired. What had old Vince done in the year after Abby left Washington? What had happened to Abby? He went into some different files.

  Then he found it, a newspaper headline proclaiming FORMER REPRESENTATIVE ABIGAIL GARDNER KILLED IN FIERY CRASH. AIDE ESCAPES WITH HIS LIFE. A few more inquiries revealed a family lawsuit over Abby’s will naming Vincent Dawson heir to her estate. But this was one time Vince didn’t win. The judge had declared Abby incompetent, and Vince had been stripped of his newfound wealth.

  So, Vince lost his meal ticket. He would have had to go to work. How and where could he start over? What would a man do who had become accustomed to wealth and position and suddenly lacked both?

  He’d steal a million dollars.

  Mac relayed what he’d learned to Conner on a secure phone line. Conner’s explanation that he was released because Vince knew where Sterling was made sense. That meant that in order to get to Sterling, Vincent had to breech the gates of Shangri-la, and to date, that had never been done.

  When Mac impulsively invited Sterling to dinner, he hadn’t thought about what that meant. Now, standing before his mirror, he studied himself. Dark trousers, white dinner jacket with a folded red handkerchief in the pocket, and shiny black shoes; he looked like a refugee from a forties movie.

  It had been years since he’d worn the jacket. He was just about to remove it when there was a knock on the door, and Elizabeth appeared.

  “Oh my, Mac, you look very nice.”

  “I look like an idiot,” he protested.

  “That’s the same thing Miss Lindsey said. The two of you will match beautifully. Just you wait and see.”

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea, Elizabeth.”

  “I’m sure it is. I’ve set up your table on the balcony. Shall I bring her?”

  “No. I’ll get her. And, thank you, Elizabeth. You’re excused for th
e evening. Unless—will she need you later?”

  “Miss Lindsey is a very independent woman. Like you, she doesn’t think she needs anyone. I’m not certain either one of you is right about that. Independence can become crippling.”

  Mac frowned. Elizabeth fancied herself his surrogate mother. Tonight she was certainly acting like one.

  At Sterling’s door, Mac hesitated, then knocked lightly. The door was only partially closed. It swung open to reveal Sterling standing by her window.

  She looked around and for a moment felt dizzy. She’d complained that the dress Elizabeth had found was far too elegant for a simple meal. It clung to her body, emphasizing the round curves she’d developed as a result of being confined. There was a time when she’d been called long and lean. But that was no longer the case.

  Now she wished that she’d followed through with the private trainer Conner had arranged, but the young man had referred over and over to the future relationships she would have once she got herself in shape. She hadn’t wanted relationships. She’d had one and she’d learned that physical attributes were as important as mental equality. She had decided that physical appearances didn’t matter to her anymore, and she allowed herself to develop the soft curves the dress was now showing off. Physical didn’t matter. At least, it hadn’t until tonight.

  She forced herself to speak. “You’re very handsome, Mr. McAllister. You look like Humphrey Bogart. Do you play the piano?”

  “No, and neither did Bogie. Shall we go?”

  He was doing it again, covering a moment of awkwardness with humour. What could she do but respond? “Of course. I haven’t much experience in dining with rich handsome men. But I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  “What about Conner?”

  “Conner’s married, so he doesn’t count,” she said, and waited for him to respond.

  Instead, he simply pushed her chair forward, then held out his hand. She smiled and allowed him to assist her. “Where are we dining?”