Missing Mother-To-Be. Эль Кеннеди

for her.

      Lana stared into the dark interior of the SUV, her reluctance creasing her delicate forehead. Deacon couldn’t help but notice how beautiful and put-together she looked, despite her obvious turmoil. Her red T-shirt was wrinkle-free, her pale blond hair smoothed back in a neat ponytail. Only the trepidation in her ocean-blue eyes betrayed her composed appearance.

      “Please,” she whispered again.

      She yelped as Charlie jammed his gun into her tail-bone, practically pushing her into the vehicle. “Inside, now,” Charlie snapped.

      As Tango slid into the front seat next to Echo, Deacon and Charlie sandwiched Lana in the back. As soon as the doors closed, Charlie removed a long scrap of black cotton and proceeded to blindfold Lana, who protested wildly.

      “No,” she burst out. “Please, just let me go! I promise I won’t tell anyone about this! I’ll—”

      “Shut up,” Tango grumbled from the front seat.

      Pure agony boiled in Deacon’s stomach as Echo drove away from the Milan station. Lana was trembling uncontrollably beside him. Her firm thigh was pressed against his, and each tremor that rocked her body shook his, as well. His fingers tingled with the need to touch her face, offer a reassuring caress. But he’d be a dead man if he did it. The others would immediately report the transgression to Le Clair.

      “Is the plane ready?” Tango was asking Echo.

      Echo, a bulky man with shoulder-length black hair tied back in a low ponytail, nodded briskly. “The others are already at the airstrip. All the arrangements have been made.”

      Next to him, Lana let out a tiny sob. He glanced over, wincing when he noticed the tears streaming down from beneath her blindfold.

      “Why are you doing this?” she asked, and he knew the question was directed at him.

      He also knew she must have a dozen more questions, also for him. Fortunately, she didn’t voice any of them. When Charlie ordered her to shut up again, she finally obeyed, growing silent. The trembling continued, though. And he noticed her small hands were clasped together over her abdomen, in an almost protective gesture.

      The sun was just beginning to rise when the SUV arrived at the private airstrip on the outskirts of the city. A shiny white Learjet sat majestically on the narrow, paved runway, making Deacon raise a dark brow. Le Clair’s bosses really were loaded, weren’t they? Most of Deacon’s gigs involved rusty old Cessnas that barely got him from point A to B, not expensive private jets that probably cost millions.

      Le Clair was already marching over to the vehicle before it even came to a complete stop, his thick black eyebrows creased together in distaste. The man’s angular features displayed an expression of perpetual annoyance. Le Clair always seemed to be irritated by something, and patience wasn’t really his strong suit. He also had a vicious temper, often triggered by the most innocuous things. But Deacon wasn’t foolish enough to challenge Le Clair or point out his weaknesses. Not unless he wanted a bullet between his eyes, which Paul Le Clair was quite capable of delivering.

      This was the first time Deacon had worked with the other man, but he’d been well aware of Le Clair’s reputation. Vicious, greedy, dangerous as hell. A former member of the French Foreign Legion, Le Clair had been discharged thanks to his reckless violence and a cruel streak that ran far too deep. He was known to shoot his own men if they did something to displease him.

      Definitely not the kind of man Deacon normally wanted to work for, but the payment for the job held great enough appeal that he’d finally accepted. But he’d been trying to stay under the man’s radar since this gig started. When he’d told Le Clair that the target had made contact with him in the Louvre, he’d feared the man’s reaction, prepared for anything, including violence, but Le Clair had simply shrugged and sent Charlie to take over the recon.

      Which made Deacon think that this assignment was exceptionally important to the boss. None of the men had been provided with any details, but they all knew who Lana Kelley was. Her daddy was a U.S. senator, her mother was an heiress. The Kelleys even hobnobbed with the president, for Chrissake. Lots of money to be had in kidnapping a Kelley.

      But Lana was a high-profile target, which meant they needed to handle this situation with the utmost delicacy. No doubt Le Clair wanted a smooth exchange, and internal grievances with his team wouldn’t help his cause. So Deacon had been spared, but he’d been walking on eggshells around the boss ever since.

      “You’re late,” Le Clair barked as they got out of the car.

      Charlie was visibly apologetic, a deep blush rising on his dark skin. “The train came in ten minutes later than scheduled.”

      Le Clair ignored the excuse. His shrewd silver eyes narrowed as Deacon yanked Lana out of the SUV. “She’s shorter than I imagined,” the boss remarked. He swept his gaze up and down Lana’s slender body, frowning when he got to the open-toed sandals covering her delicate feet. “Did you bring her suitcase?”

      Deacon nodded, then pulled Lana’s black suitcase from the car and dropped it on the ground.

      “Good.” Le Clair’s frown deepened. “She needs better shoes. Warmer clothing. If she didn’t pack any, we’ll need to stop somewhere and buy some gear for her.”

      Deacon’s interest piqued. This was the first time Le Clair had dropped any hints about their destination. Warm clothing, better shoes. Obviously somewhere cooler. The mountains perhaps? Northern Canada?

      He shoved aside the thoughts and followed the group toward the jet. Le Clair had a hand on Lana’s arm, pulling her along beside him, and Deacon saw her lush pink lips tighten.

      “Who are you people?” Lana demanded, her blindfolded head moving from side to side.

      Le Clair chuckled. “You don’t need to worry yourself with that, Miss Kelley. But if you’d like, think of us as your new caretakers.”

      “Not likely,” she muttered.

      Le Clair yanked on her arm. Hard enough that she yelped with pain.

      Deacon kept his arms glued to his sides so he couldn’t act on the sudden impulse to charge his boss and beat him to a bloody pulp for manhandling Lana.

      “So we’ve got a sassy one on our hands,” Le Clair muttered, sounding both amused and infuriated. “Maybe we should lay down some ground rules, Miss Kelley. Just so you know where you stand. And what might get you killed.”

      She released a shaky breath.

      “You do exactly as we say,” Le Clair continued pleasantly. “You eat when we tell you, sleep when we tell you. You don’t talk back, you don’t argue. You follow orders like the good girl you are, and in return, we don’t shoot you. Sound reasonable?”

      Lana didn’t answer.

      Le Clair curled his fingers over her arm and squeezed hard. “I asked you a question.”

      “It sounds reasonable,” she wheezed out, trying to shrug out of his grasp.

      Every muscle in Deacon’s body coiled tight. Lana looked so small, so helpless, being dragged by Le Clair’s six-foot frame. Her shoulders were hunched over, shaking ferociously, and it took all of his willpower not to pull her into his arms. Which only brought back the image of the last time he’d held her in his arms. The way he’d run his hands over the gentle curves of her body. The weight of her small, firm breasts in his palms. The relentless way she’d moved her hips beneath him.…

      He smothered a groan. This was bad. Really, really bad. He couldn’t seem to look at the woman without remembering her in his bed. She was supposed to be a target. A job.

      The money. He had to focus on the money. He made a good deal of cash working as a merc, but this job could be his retirement. He’d spent the past twenty years fighting to survive, barely scraping by in the beginning, but he’d made a name for himself as a soldier, a man capable of handling any mission that came his way, no matter how