Montana Secrets. Charlotte Douglas

smiled at the memory of the devilish sparkle in those baby blues, a quality he’d noted the first time he’d met her six years ago. Marc, his college roommate and Catherine’s older brother, had invited twenty-year-old Ryan to spend the summer on their Montana ranch, and Cat, as her family called her, had been only sixteen. Like Marc, Ryan had considered the gangly teenager with a dusting of freckles across her nose and flyaway blond hair barely tamed by braids a major pest.

      Young Cat had been interested in only two things—horses and spending every possible minute with her older brother, for whom she had a bad case of hero worship. Believing themselves sophisticated college men above socializing with a mere child, he and Marc had avoided her. Cat had retaliated by making Ryan’s life miserable every chance she found, from leaving pebbles in his boots to short sheeting his bed.

      Over the following years, Ryan had visited the ranch several times, but not until after he and Marc had graduated from officers’ candidate school, received their commissions in the Marines and were on leave before their first assignment had he noticed Cat Erickson’s amazing metamorphosis. The skinny teenager had been replaced by a tall, willowy young woman with luxurious blond hair, endless legs and a perfectly sculpted face whose high cheekbones recalled her Scandinavian bloodline. The only trace of the pesky kid sister remaining was the teasing gleam in her unforgettable blue eyes.

      Blindsided by Cat’s amazing transformation, Ryan had fallen instantly in love, aware not only of her beauty but also her wonderful qualities, which he’d either ignored or taken for granted. He’d learned to treasure her warm personality, her sense of humor, her sharp intellect and her loyalty to her family. And he’d stopped referring to her as the Pest, Marc’s nickname for his sister. Instead, he had dubbed her Kalila, an Arabic name meaning “dearly beloved.”

      Now, two years after being struck by that thunderbolt, he didn’t have to consult his calendar to know that in ten months, three weeks and four days his current tour of duty would end and he’d see his Kalila again. Not only see her, but marry her, too. When that day arrived, he’d gladly shuck the military spit-and-polish, the chain of command and the taut nerves and constant vigilance of his covert assignment to the United States Embassy in Tabari.

      Ever since his childhood as an orphan running wild on the rough streets of Chicago, he’d longed for a home, yearned for a family of his own. Until a few years ago, he’d thought the Marine Corps could take the place of that family. He’d joined up with high hopes of a stellar career with a meteoric rise to the upper echelons of command.

      On his last leave, however, after having fallen hard for Cat, he’d realized the military was a poor substitute for fulfilling his dreams of a home of his own. He wanted to make a life with Cat, to have a real family, a wife and children. Now he dreamed of his upcoming marriage and a peaceful life with Cat, running her family’s ranch with his best friend and current undercover operative, Marc Erickson.

      Ryan turned from the window as Marc stepped into the office from the adjoining bathroom.

      Ostensibly, Ryan and Marc were assigned as translators to the contingent of Marines who guarded the embassy. In reality, they were a crack duo of counterterrorists under orders from the Pentagon to locate and identify the antinationalist terrorists who’d threatened not only the American embassy but Prince Asim Barakuh Ben Yaman, the sovereign leader of Tabari.

      The translators’ office, in a corner of the top floor of the embassy appeared as a simple clerical operation to anyone who entered. Only Ryan, Marc and their commanding officer, Major Barker, knew of the high-tech equipment hidden behind panels and the secret passage that allowed them unobserved and unfettered entrance to and exit from the building.

      Marc had changed from his Marine uniform to the flowing robes and burnoose worn by the men of Tabari. With his skin darkly tanned by the desert sun, only his eyes, the same color as his sister’s, pegged him as a foreigner. Once he’d navigated the dark tunnel to reach the street below, sunglasses would hide that flaw.

      “Sneaking out to see that belly dancer you met last weekend, cowboy?” Ryan asked. “What was her name? Fatima?”

      “Faridah. What a woman,” Marc said with a rueful grin and lustful sigh. “And I’m tempted. But duty calls. Our suspect’s on the move.”

      “Derrick Hutton?” Ryan raised his eyebrows in sudden interest. “How do you know?”

      “Heard him telling his buddies in the cafeteria he has the afternoon off and plans to spend it shopping in the bazaar. I’m tailing him in hopes he meets his terrorist contact. If he does, we’ll know for sure that Hutton’s our man.”

      “I’ll come with you and watch your back,” Ryan offered.

      “No, thanks. This is just routine surveillance. I’ll leave you here to finish the dirty work. Your Arabic is better than mine.” Marc nodded to the documents awaiting translation on Ryan’s desk.

      Ryan grimaced at the stack of papers, then turned to his friend. “Call me if you need me.”

      “Shouldn’t be any problems, but I’ll stay in touch.” Marc grabbed his cell phone from his desk drawer, shoved it into a pocket beneath his robes and slipped through the cleverly hidden doorway.

      Ryan returned to the papers on his desk. Although the embassy had a full office of translators on the second floor, he and Marc were responsible for interpreting all sensitive documents related to military or classified matters. The work before him would take the rest of the afternoon. Resigned to the drudgery, he grabbed the top sheet, an arms agreement between the United States and the Tabarian governments, and began typing an Arabic translation into his computer.

      Less than an hour later, he stood and stretched, rolled the cramped muscles of his back and thought longingly of the fresh coffee always brewing in the embassy cafeteria. If he was lucky, they’d have some of those special almond cakes, too. He was halfway to his office door when the phone rang. With a curse of regret, he returned to his desk and grabbed the receiver.

      “There’s a bomb in the embassy!” Marc’s winded voice shouted in his ear.

      “You’re certain?” An attack was what he and Marc had feared, had worked to prevent, but Ryan still couldn’t believe their suspicions had actually materialized.

      “Our suspect told his contact the explosives are in place. They’ll blow any minute. Prince Asim is visiting the ambassador. Get them both to safety.”

      Ryan didn’t argue. He and Marc had been fully briefed—the death or injury of Prince Asim would create an international crisis and strain the United States’ relations with the other Arab states. “I’m on it.”

      “I’ll call Major Barker to implement the emergency evacuation plan. I’m on my way back to the embassy now.” From the jolting of Marc’s voice, Ryan could tell he was on the run.

      Ryan slammed the receiver into its cradle. Years of training and discipline enabled him to shove terror and visions of carnage and destruction aside. Adrenaline pumping, he sprinted for the door. He raced past the elevator into the stairwell and descended the steps three at a time.

      On the ground level, he burst out of the stairway and dashed along the marble-floored hallway toward the ambassador’s office. Outside the massive double doors, two uniformed Marines snapped to attention and saluted at his approach. Two strangers in dark suits and native head coverings, Asim’s bodyguards, stirred uneasily at his advance.

      Ryan ignored them all and slammed through the doors without knocking. The ambassador, a tall, scholarly-looking man, glanced up from behind his desk in surprise.

      “Code Red, sir,” Ryan announced.

      The ambassador’s face paled, and he shoved quickly to his feet. “Has the rest of the embassy been notified?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “What is happening?” Asim, obviously annoyed at the intrusion, glared at Ryan.

      “No time to explain.” Ryan grabbed Asim by the elbow and jerked the sovereign