Texas Hero. Merline Lovelace

me ten seconds.”

      Jack did a mental count and got down to three before Mackenzie came on the radio.

      “Okay, I see you. I’m panning back… There he is. Black Expedition. Now I just have to sharpen the image a little…” A moment later, she gave a hum of satisfaction. “He’s tagged. I’m feeding the license plate number into the computer as we speak. How long do you want me to maintain the satellite lock?”

      “Follow him all the way home. And let me know as soon as you get an ID.”

      “Will do.”

      “Thanks, Mac.”

      “Anytime,” OMEGA’s communications chief answered breezily.

      Jack snapped the transceiver shut and slipped it into his shirt pocket. A quick glance at Ellie showed her staring at him in astonishment.

      “Your company has a satellite at their disposal?”

      “Several. Hang tight, I’m going to lose this joker.”

      Jack could see the questions in her eyes but didn’t have time for answers right now. The first rule in personal protective services was to remove the pro-tectee from any potentially dangerous situation. He didn’t know who was behind the wheel of the SUV or what his intentions were. He sure as hell wasn’t about to find out with Ellie in the car.

      Stomping down on the accelerator, he took the next intersection on two wheels. Ellie gulped and scrunched down in her seat. Jack shot a look in the rearview mirror and watched the larger, heavier Expedition lurch around the corner.

      Two turns later, they’d left the main downtown area and had entered an industrial area crisscrossed by railroad tracks. Brick warehouses crowded either side of the street, their windows staring down like unseeing eyes. Once again, Jack put his boot to the floor. The Cherokee rocketed forward, flew over a set of tracks and sailed into an intersection just as a semi bearing the logo of Alamo City Fruits and Vegetables swung wide across the same crossing.

      “Look out!”

      Shrieking, Ellie braced both hands on the dash. Her boots slammed against the floorboards.

      Jack spun the wheel right, then left and finessed the Cherokee past the truck with less than an inch or two to spare. Smiling in grim satisfaction, he hit the accelerator again.

      The bulkier Expedition couldn’t squeeze through. Behind him, they heard the squeal of brakes followed by the screech of metal scraping metal. Still smiling grimly, Jack made another turn. A few minutes later, he picked up Mission Trail again, but this time he headed into the city instead of out.

      “We’d better put off our visit to the site until tomorrow,” he told Ellie. “By then I should have a better idea of who or what we’re dealing with.”

      “Fine by me,” she replied, wiggling upright in her seat.

      Actually, it was more than fine. After that wild ride, her nerves jumped like grasshoppers on hot asphalt, and her kidneys were signaling a pressing need to find the closest bathroom.

      Jack, on the other hand, didn’t look the least flustered. He gripped the steering wheel loosely, resting one arm on the console between the bucket seats, and divided his attention between the road ahead and the traffic behind. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the mirrored sunglasses, but not so much as a bead of nervous sweat had popped out on his forehead.

      “Do you do these kinds of high-speed races often in your line of work?” she asked.

      “Often enough.”

      “And you’ve been in the same business since you left the Corps?”

      “More or less.”

      “How do you handle the stress?”

      He flashed her a grin that reminded her so much of the man she’d once known that Ellie gulped.

      “I’ll show you when we get back to the hotel.”

      Chapter 4

      “Yoga?”

      Ellie’s disbelieving laughter rippled through the sun-washed hotel room.

      “You do yoga?”

      “According to my instructor,” Jack intoned solemnly, “one doesn’t ‘do’ yoga. One ascends to it.”

      “Uh-huh. And who is this instructor?” she asked, forming a mental image of a tanned, New Age Californian in flowing orange robes.

      “One of the grunts in the first platoon I commanded.”

      “You’re kidding!”

      “Nope. Dirwood had progressed to the master level before joining the Corps.”

      She shook her head. “You know, of course, you’re blowing my image of United States Marines all to hell.”

      “Funny,” Jack murmured, “I thought I’d pretty much already done that.”

      He peeled off his sunglasses, tucked them in his shirt pocket and propped his hips against the sofa back. His blue eyes spent several moments studying Ellie’s face before moving south.

      She withstood his scrutiny calmly enough but knew she looked a mess. Sweat had painted damp patches on her scoop-necked top, and her khaki shorts boasted more wrinkles than Rip Van Winkle. She was also, as Jack proceeded to point out, a bundle of nerves.

      “You’re wound tighter than baling wire. You have been since I arrived.”

      No way was she going to admit that a good chunk of the tension wrapping her in steel cables stemmed as much from seeing him again after all these years as from the problems on the project.

      “I’ve had a lot on my mind,” she replied with magnificent understatement.

      “It takes years to really master yoga techniques, but I could teach you a few of the basic chants and positions to help you relax.”

      Somehow Ellie suspected that getting down on the floor and sitting knee-to-knee with Jack would prove anything but relaxing. Part of her wanted to do it, if for no other reason than to test her ability to withstand the intimacy. Another part, more mature, more experienced—and more concerned with self-preservation—knew it was wiser to avoid temptation altogether.

      “Maybe later,” she said with a polite smile.

      “It’s your call.”

      “So what do we do now?”

      “We wait until I get a report on the SUV.”

      Sitting twiddling her thumbs with Jack only a few feet away didn’t do any more to soothe Ellie’s jangled nerves than getting down on the floor with him would have.

      “Since we’ve got the time now,” she suggested, “why don’t I show you some of the digital images I took at the Alamo and at the excavation site?”

      “Good enough.”

      “I’ll boot up the computer. Drag over another chair.”

      More than agreeable to the diversion, Jack hooked a chair and hauled it across the room. It was obvious why she’d shied away from his offer to teach her some basic relaxation techniques. She was jumpy as a cat around him. Not a good situation. For either of them.

      A tense, nerve-racked client could prove too demanding and distracting to the agent charged with his or her protection. Jack’s job would be a whole lot easier if he could get her to relax a little. Not enough to let down her guard. Not so much she grew careless. Just enough that the tension didn’t leave her drained of energy or alertness.

      Still, he had to admit to a certain degree of relief that she’d turned down his offer. The mere thought of folding Ellie’s knees and elbows and tucking her into the first position was enough to put a kink in Jack’s gut. Breathing in her potent