Undercover Wife

“Give them to me again.”

She gritted her teeth. “How many times do I have to…?”

“Again, damn it.” The gold flecks in his eyes burned with intensity. “I’m not going into the field with someone who can’t call for backup if we run into an ambush.”

Was that what happened all those years ago in the jungle? Had Hawk and his partner and this woman he once loved been ambushed? The thought of what he’d lost in that murky green darkness put a lid on Jilly’s irritation.

“Alpha-Bravo-Charlie-Delta-Echo-Foxtrot-Golf-Hotel-India-Juliet-Kilo-Lima-Mike.”

She pulled in a breath.

“November-Oscar-Papa-Quebec-Romeo-Sierra-Tango-Uniform-Victor-Whiskey-Xray-Yankee-Zulu.”

She finished on a whoosh of air and gave him a nasty glare.

“Satisfied?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t look satisfied. With his two-day’s worth of stubble and red-rimmed eyes, he looked almost as ragged as she now felt.

“We’ve got less than an hour before we have to head for the airport,” he informed her after checking his gleaming Rolex. “We’d better get up to Field Dress.”

Finally! A shower, a shampoo and a quick blow-dry. She couldn’t wait to shed her rank sweats and change into whatever the wizards in OMEGA’s Field Dress Unit had waiting for her.

Gillian emerged from FDU’s dressing room a different woman. Nothing like a French silk demibra and panties, an Emanuel Ungaro pantsuit in cobalt-blue and Bruno Magli ankle boots to make a gal feel like she could take on the world again. She’d have to wait until Hong Kong to see the other delights packed in the Gucci suitcases waiting beside the dressing room door.

Hawk was waiting, as well. His gaze raked her from head to toe. A small grunt was her only indication that her duty uniform passed inspection. She, on the other hand, could barely keep her jaw from dropping.

She’d known him for so long, had seen him rigged out in everything from camouflage gear to a hand-tailored tux. But this was the first time she’d ever seen him with his brown hair slicked back and his nails manicured. Or in an Armani sport coat that molded his wide shoulders. Or Italian leather loafers. Or…

“If you’re through conducting your inventory,” he said impatiently, “we need to hit the road.”

She popped a salute. “Yes, sir! It’s just that…You look so different.”

The Field Dress tech who’d outfitted them both frowned. “Not too different, I hope.”

After discussing the matter with Lightning, Hawk had decided he should stick to his civilian persona. He was too well-known in the international marksmanship circuit to do otherwise. But his recent marriage to a wealthy heiress had plucked him from the shooting range and plunged him into the world of manicures and priceless artifacts. Or so he and Jilly would pretend.

With a spurt of real glee, she contemplated the crash course in Oriental antiques she would subject him to during the long flight to Hong Kong.

“I’m ready if you are,” she told him.

“Not quite. We have one more piece of business to take care of.”

She couldn’t hold back a groan. “Not more codes!”

“Just one. You haven’t picked your code name.”

“We’ve been going nonstop since dawn. Who had time to think names?”

“So think now. What, or who, are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“We need a name, Jilly.”

Fiddling with the pendant that nestled just above the swell of her breasts, she searched her mind.

“I can’t come up with…Wait!” She stroked her thumb over the smooth round bezel. “Jade. I’ll go by Jade.”

Hawk’s expression softened. For a moment, just a moment, she was sure she caught the ghost of a grin on his rugged face.

“Is that with a G or a J?”

“J.” She smiled back.

“I’ll let Griff know.”

Dan Griffin, code name Ace, would act as their controller during this op. Only a few years older than Jilly, the former Navy pilot with the killer grin had already made a name for himself at OMEGA…and with the women who couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

Hawk made a half turn and swung back to Jilly. “One more thing. You’d better put this on.”

He dug in the pocket of his Armani jacket and withdrew a jeweler’s box. When he popped the lid, Jilly gasped. Nested in velvet was a circlet of marquise-cut diamonds banded by sapphire-studded ring guards.

“It’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah. Field Dress doesn’t miss a trick.”

Her heart stuttered and almost stopped when he slid the wide band onto her ring finger. Cover, she reminded herself with a gulp. This was strictly for cover.

Which didn’t explain why Hawk kept her hand in his for several seconds longer.

“I told them I wanted the ring guards in sapphire. To match your eyes.”

She pondered that gruff comment all the way across the Pacific.

Hong Kong was everything she remembered from shopping excursions during her assignment to Beijing. And more. So much more.

As their plane swooped in for a landing, Jilly saw dozens of new skyscrapers crowding the harbor on both Hong Kong Island and the Kowloon Peninsula on the mainland. Contrary to the dire predictions when the British relinquished their hold on the territories known collectively as Hong Kong, their teeming economy hadn’t collapsed. Instead, it was exploding.

Gillian soon discovered that the traffic she recalled from previous visits had exploded, as well. Their limo driver added frequent blasts of his horn to the cacophony rising from taxis, trucks and Japanese-made vehicles of every sort. Masses of humanity, most with cell phones jammed against their ears, thronged streets with signs in both English and Chinese. Narrow alleys radiated from avenues with names left over from the British occupation. Sheng Tung Street bisected Waterloo Road. Kam Lam ran into Argyle. Tak Shing, Kan Su and Nanking all converged on the shopaholic’s mecca, Nathan Road.

Jilly almost salivated as the Rolls-Royce limo glided past shop after shop. She would have loved to put herself into the eager hands of tailors who could take her measurements and deliver an entire collection of suits and shoes and ball gowns to her hotel the next day. Or the jewelers who could craft an exquisite pair of diamond earrings or a ruby slide to her specifications within hours.

Then there were the designers. Prada, Chanel, Versace and Kate Spade all had boutiques on Nathan Road, as well as in the high-end malls scattered throughout the city. Too bad the Gucci suitcases stowed in the trunk of the Rolls-Royce made those boutiques and jewelry stores superfluous. Not to mention the ring on her left hand.

She snuck a glance at the sparkling stones. She hadn’t gotten used to their weight yet. Or the odd sensation that came with even a pretend marriage to a man like Hawk.

Women always sat up and took notice when he entered a room. Their admiring glances had never bothered Jilly before. So she couldn’t explain her annoyance with the redhead who’d almost tripped over her own feet while ogling Hawk at the airport. Or her irritation when a certain flight attendant became a little too attentive.

“That’s the Peninsula ahead, sir.”

The uniformed chauffeur pulled up at a red light and tipped his head toward the venerable hotel dominating the next block.

“Unfortunately, construction of the new subway line has temporarily blocked vehicle access to our main entrance. I’ll have to let you out at the side entrance.”

Well, darn! The Peninsula was one of Hong Kong’s most revered institutions. Jilly had wanted Hawk to see the front portico with its massive white pillars, liveried doormen and fleet of Rolls-Royces at the ready. On impulse, she grabbed the door handle.

“Let’s walk from here. The driver can drop off our bags at the side entrance. I want you to get the Peninsula’s full effect.”

The noise of a large and vibrant city hit them the moment they emerged from the Rolls. Car horns honked. Street vendors hawked their wares. Jackhammers and cranes added their signature sounds to the solid mass of humanity that thronged the streets. And above the din, Jilly caught the whistle of an arriving Star Ferry.

“You have to see this.”

With a quick change in direction, she joined the crowd crossing the street. A short flight of steps led to the wide promenade that circled the Kowloon side of the Victoria Harbor.

Across the gray-green waters were the towering skyscrapers of Hong Kong Island. Victoria Peak rose above the columns of glass and steel, her summit wreathed in hazy mist. And there, just pulling into the terminal, was one of the distinctive green-and-white ferries that still served as a primary means of transportation.

Smiling at the sight, Jilly leaned her arms on the promenade’s rail and breathed in the mingled scent of salt water and diesel fumes.

“They built a high-speed tunnel to connect Kowloon and Hong Kong some years ago,” she told Hawk, “but I always take the ferries when I’m here. They’re crowded, noisy and swarming with pickpockets, but they’re quintessential China.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Hawk obviously had more important matters on his mind as he shot back his cuff and checked his Rolex. “We’d better get settled in at the hotel, then call on Mr. Wang.”

Jilly gave the magnificent skyline across the bay a last look and pushed away from the rail. Hawk put a hand to the small of her back to turn her toward the stairs. She shouldn’t have felt his touch through layers of Hermès and Emanuel Ungaro. Shouldn’t have but did. The skin under those layers tingled even as she issued another stern reminder.

Cover, girl! It’s just cover!

Preoccupied with both the thought and the touch, she didn’t see the pint-size street vendor in pink sneakers and T-shirt who’d approached them. Neither did Hawk until his abrupt turn brought them into direct contact.

“Ai-ah!”

The girl—she couldn’t have been more than four or five—landed on her bottom. The wooden cage she was carrying also hit the concrete. The cage door flew open, and the canary inside made its escape.

With another cry, the girl scrambled to her feet and tried to catch the bird, but it was already soaring on the stiff breeze off the bay. Jilly would have bet the thing would soon be gull bait if she hadn’t witnessed a similar performance during a previous visit to Hong Kong. That one had involved caged crickets, but the theatrics were the same.

Sure enough, the little girl’s shoulders slumped pathetically. When she turned back to face them, tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, kid.” Hawk reached into his pocket and pulled out the wad of Hong Kong dollars he’d purchased at the airport. “I’m really sorry.”

“You might want to wait on that,” Jilly advised.

“I bowled her over. How much should I give her for the bird? Five? Ten?”

“What you do to Mei Lin?”

The indignant query came from the boy who charged up the promenade stairs two at a time. He was older than the girl. Nine, maybe ten. Like her, he wore jeans and a faded T-shirt of indeterminate origin. But his AirMax Nikes, Jilly noted, looked brand-new.

“What you do?” he demanded again, but didn’t wait for an answer. Waving his skinny arms, he launched into a tirade of broken English. “You hurt little sister. You break cage. She lose bird, lose money. Lose face with Grandfather.”

The girl’s tears continued to flow, and the boy’s accusations were starting to attract attention.

“Here, kid. Will this save your sister’s face?”

No fool, the boy took the twenty and held it up to the sunlight. Counterfeit money was as pandemic in China as bootlegged DVDs and Prada knockoffs.

The boy didn’t lose his angry scowl, but his message to the girl held smug triumph. “We plucked a fat goose,” he said in swift Cantonese. “Come, we’ll buy hot dumplings to take to Grandfather.”

Jilly said nothing while he scooped up the empty wooden cage. The two took off without another word and disappeared behind the oleanders separating the section of the promenade from the next.

Obviously relieved that the fracas was over, Hawk pocketed the rest of his money. “Let’s go.”

“Hang on a sec.”

“Why?”

“Just listen. Yep, there it is.”

The chirpy trill carried clearly over the hubbub of the harbor. A moment later, a flash of yellow nose-dived into the oleanders.

The man beside her was silent for several moments. “I knew it was a scam.”

“Uh-huh.” Grinning, Jilly hooked her arm through his. “You’re on my turf now, fella. You might want to consult me before forking over any more twenty-dollar bills.”

Hawk was a whole lot more concerned with his body’s instant, instinctive reaction to the press of her breasts against his bicep than the fact that he’d been gulled by a couple of con artists.

What was with him, for God’s sake? He’d held her in his arms before. And not just at the firing range. A few months ago, he’d escorted her to a black-tie reception and used her as cover while scoping out a congressman suspected of selling government secrets. He’d nailed his target, but sweat still gathered at the base of his spine when he remembered how Gillian-with-a-J had moved in a strapless, flame-colored column of silk that bared more of her than it covered.

Damn it all to hell! He had to get his head straight. Too much rode on this op to let his fantasies about this blue-eyed siren override his common sense.

“Let’s go,” he repeated with a distinct edge to his voice. “We have business to take care of.”

Chapter 4

The first item on the agenda was to check into the hotel. Hawk was too preoccupied to appreciate the British colonial ambiance of the Peninsula’s pillared entrance or the soaring lobby with its brass fixtures, rattan chairs and potted palms. Jilly, however, drank in the elegance as they walked to the reception desk.

“Welcome to the Peninsula, Mrs. Callahan.”

With a small jolt, she realized the clerk at the reception desk had addressed her. “Thank you.”

“I hope your flight in wasn’t too exhausting.”

“Not at all.”

Once Hawk had stopped drilling her on operating procedures and let her get some sleep that is. She’d retaliated during the final leg of their journey with a lecture covering four thousand years of Chinese dynastic history.

“Is this your first trip to Hong Kong?”

“I’ve visited several times before but my…er…husband hasn’t.”

Hawk covered the near stumble by sliding an arm around her waist. “Still takes some getting used to, doesn’t it, darling?”

His slow smile ignited sparks just under Jilly’s skin and darned near melted the receptionist where she stood. Like hopeless romantics everywhere, the young woman got all googly-eyed. “Are you on your honeymoon?”

“We are.”

“Congratulations.” Her fingers tapped the keyboard. “Perhaps we might be able to switch you to the…Oh, I see you’re already booked into one of our finest suites. I’ll send up some champagne and fresh strawberries, compliments of the house.”

“Sounds wonderful. We’ll put them to good use.”

There was that smile again. Tender, intimate, so full of sensual promise that heat raced through her like a California wildfire.

“Your luggage has already been taken up to your suite. If you’ll just sign the registration form, Mr. Callahan, I’ll scan your passports and credit card.”

She didn’t question the fact that Jilly’s passport was in her maiden name. The blushing new bride wouldn’t have had time to change it.

“You’re in the Tower, sir. Edward will show you the way. And once again, my congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

As they followed the uniformed attendant to the elevators, Hawk kept the pretense up—and the wildfires raging—with a casually possessive hand to the small of Jilly’s back.

The heat didn’t cool until they reached the twenty-second floor and their escort slid a key card into a lock.

“There are two entrances to your suite,” he informed them. “This one accesses the foyer. The other, just there, takes you into the walk-in closet and storage area.”

Jilly thought that was pretty handy until she saw Hawk eyeing the second door with a crease between his brows. Two entrances, she realized belatedly, meant twice the necessary security precautions.

Damn! She’d better start thinking more like a field agent.

“Here you are.”

Handing Hawk the key card, the attendant stood aside to let them precede him into the foyer. All marble and cream, with an artistic arrangement of snowy-white chrysanthemums on a side table, the entryway led into living and dining rooms that blended Asian and European with flawless symmetry.

Rich, jewel-toned Oriental rugs softened the parquet floors. Jilly’s heels sank into the plush thickness as she admired the twin black lacquer chests inlaid with mother-of-pearl that framed the fireplace. The mantel held an artistic display of porcelain ginger jars in a delicate blue-and-white pattern that complimented the wingback chairs and sofas.

But it was the terrace with its floor-to-ceiling sliding-glass doors that knocked the breath back down her throat. Shedding her jacket, she aimed straight for the doors. Once outside she felt as though she was standing at the top of the world.

A stiff breeze whipped her hair while she watched gulls circling above a fishing junk that chugged through the gray-green waters of the bay. Across the harbor, late-afternoon sunlight glinted on the glass towers of Hong Kong. Twenty stories below, a cruise ship was just pulling into a berth alongside the Ocean Terminal.

“Hawk! Come see this view!”

When he didn’t answer, she turned and found him with a phone already held to his ear.

“Guess the honeymoon is over,” she murmured to the squawking gulls.

“That’s right,” Hawk was saying when she slid the terrace doors shut behind her. “Mr. and Mrs. Michael Callahan. We e-mailed Mr. Wang about arranging shipment of the furniture and antiques we intend to purchase in Hong Kong.”

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