Mountain Retreat. Cassie Miles

dawn when tears swamped her pillow.

      Behind the bar, Celia Marshall ducked down so the customers couldn’t see her adjust the red gingham uniform shirt to better contain her cleavage. “I swear, I’m about to have a wardrobe malfunction.”

      “That’s a problem I don’t have.” Sidney never needed to worry about her cup running over; her breasts were small and well behaved.

      “I’d trade my chest in a minute for your mile-long legs.”

      “No deal.” Sidney liked being tall. In her cowgirl boots, she was almost six feet. She gave her friend a closer look and noticed the puffiness around her eyes. “Something wrong?”

      “Ray and I are fussing at each other again.” Celia shook her head and frowned. “I always feel like a class-A whiner talking to you about man problems. Nobody has worse luck than you.”

      “It’s not a contest.” Sidney tucked a strand of her long, straight blond hair behind her ear. “And there’s nothing I can do about my situation. You have options.”

      “Any word on Nick?”

      “Not yet.” She couldn’t bear to think of Nick Corelli, her fiancé. The mere mention of his name conjured up a mental image of a tall, handsome marine with thick black hair and deep-set eyes the color of fine cognac. Her perfect memory filled in all the blanks as she recalled his wide grin, high cheekbones and strong jawline.

      If she allowed herself to think about him, she’d be sobbing in a minute. So she pushed his image aside and asked, “What’s up with you and Ray?”

      “It’s all about his stupid hunting plans.”

      Sidney listened while she loaded her tray. It was going to take a couple of trips to serve her big table, and the domestic drama of Celia and Ray gave her something else to think about. They were both good people, understandable people with normal relationship issues. Not like her and Nick.

      As she stood behind the bar, she spotted two men with impeccable posture and serious expressions enter the saloon. They weren’t in uniform, but they might as well have been marching shoulder to shoulder, wearing their marine dress blues.

      She set her tray on the bar. “Celia, you’ll have to take over for me.”

      After a quick explanation to the shift manager, she fell into step between the two marines. She knew the drill. They were here to escort her to an interview with a CIA agent or someone high up in Marine Intelligence. She’d taken part in sixteen of these interrogations during the past six months after her fiancé went missing in a South American dictatorship. She always hoped that her marine escorts would be bringing good news.

      They never did.

      * * *

      IN A DULL beige room at the local CIA field offices, Sidney paced back and forth behind the table. The heels of her boots clunked on the tile floor. In her barmaid uniform with the short denim skirt and gingham top, she felt a little ridiculous but not intimidated.

      The first time she’d been sequestered in a room like this, her anxiety level was off the charts. The shock of possibly losing Nick had been staggering, and she’d been desperate for information. She’d begged, wept and pleaded.

      The only facts she’d been able to pry from the case officer, CIA Special Agent Sean Phillips, were that her fiancé was MIA in the South American country of Tiquanna, his body hadn’t been found and he was probably being held by the rebels. There had been no ransom demands.

      That was in early May, six months and four days ago. Nothing much had changed in the details she’d been given, but her attitude had transformed. When she first came here, she was a nervous kitty cat. Now, a lioness.

      She was half a tick away from going to Tiquanna herself, marching into the palace compound of dictator Tomas Hurtado and demanding an army to storm the rebel camps. She’d met Hurtado three years ago when he consulted with the oil company she worked for in the engineering department. Along with her boss at Texas Triton, she had actually traveled to the small country that was intent on developing its natural resources.

      Sometimes, she wondered if that trip was the reason Nick had been selected for the assignment. When he told her that his platoon was being sent to Tiquanna, she’d given him all the inside information on Hurtado and his stunning wife, Elena.

      The door opened and Special Agent Phillips entered. Sidney had heard that CIA agents liked to look anonymous so they could fade into crowds. If true, that meant Phillips was a CIA superstar. He was the most average-looking guy she’d ever met. With his thinning brown hair, brown eyes and average build, he was as plain as a prairie chicken.

      “Why am I here?” she asked.

      “Nice to see you, Sidney.”

      “Do you have news?”

      A second person entered the room. Special Agent Victoria Hawthorne was higher in rank than Phillips, always dressed in black and as thin as a greyhound. Her dark hair was slicked back in a tight bun. She pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table and sat. “Have a seat, Sidney.”

      “Am I being interrogated?” Still standing, she purposely kept her anger going. “This looks like an interrogation room with the closed door and the table and the big two-way mirror on the wall.”

      Special Agent Hawthorne scowled. Her thin lips pulled into an upside-down U. “You’ve been in this room before.”

      “And I’ve answered a million questions,” she said. “I’ve been totally cooperative, and I think it’s time I got an upgrade to a comfortable chair and, maybe, a room with windows.”

      Ignoring Sidney’s demands, she asked, “Have you been in contact with anyone from Tiquanna?”

      “Of course not. If somebody contacted me, I’d tell you immediately.”

      Hawthorne regarded Sidney through slitted eyes. “I have information if you’re ready to hear it.”

      Hope flickered inside her like a pilot light that refused to be extinguished. “I’m ready. Tell me.”

      “On one condition. You must promise not to act on this information. Trust us to do our jobs without your interference. Is that clear?”

      “Crystal.”

      “Hurtado and his wife will be in Austin next week along with several other South American leaders.”

      This was big news. Sidney might have a chance to hear firsthand what was happening to Nick. “I want to see them.”

      “I can’t promise,” the thin-lipped agent said. “We’ll do everything in our power to make that happen.”

      “Where will they be staying? How long will they be here?”

      “You don’t need to know.” As she rose from her chair, Special Agent Hawthorne maintained steady eye contact. Her gaze was a warning. “If they agree to meet with you, we’ll be in touch.”

      She turned on her heel and stalked from the room, leaving Sidney with a complicated tangle of anger, frustration and fear. She was afraid to expect too much, but she couldn’t give up. It would be foolish to antagonize Hawthorne, but Sidney’s anger demanded release.

      Special Agent Phillips took Hawthorne’s seat at the table, opened a folder and took out four photographs of men in camouflage fatigues. Three of them had beards. “Recognize anyone?”

      “Do you think she’ll let me talk to Hurtado?”

      “I can’t rightly say,” he said in a Texan drawl.

      Over the months, she and Phillips had developed a bit of rapport. He’d seen her at her worst when she broke down into hysterical tears, and she sensed that he was more sympathetic toward her than the other agents.

      “I could negotiate with the rebels,” she said. “I know it’s against CIA policy, but I could—”