Reconcilable Differences

His fingers itched to brush aside the strands of jet-black hair that clung in silky tendrils to her forehead and cheeks.

Six years had not marred the patrician perfection that was Patricia Hunter, thought Agent David Cassidy.

She had those same high cheekbones, delicate jaw and full lips. And he knew that beneath those thickly tipped lashes lay the most incredibly blue eyes he’d ever looked into. Eyes that could mesmerize a man’s soul as easily as they haunted his mind.

But this no longer was the woman he had worshiped. The woman who had lain in his arms as they planned their future together—pledged their love to one another with words and their bodies. This was not the woman whose memory he’d fought unsuccessfully to exorcise from his heart.

The Trish Hunter he’d known no longer existed. The woman before him, Patricia Manning, was a stranger to him….

Reconcilable Differences

Ana Leigh

ANA LEIGH

is a Wisconsin native with three children and five grandchildren. From the time of the publication of her first novel in 1981, Ana successfully juggled her time between her chosen career and her hobby of writing, until she officially retired in September 1994 to devote more time to her “hobby.” In the past she has been a theater cashier (who married the boss), the head of an accounting department, a corporate officer and the only female on the board of directors of an engineering firm.

This New York Times bestselling author received a Romantic Times Career Achievement Award nomination for Storyteller of the Year in 1991, the BOOKRAK 1995-1996 Best Selling Author Award, the Romantic Times 1995-1996 Career Achievement Award and the Romantic Times 1996–1997 Career Achievement Award for Historical Storyteller of the Year. Her novels have been distributed worldwide, including Africa, China and Russia.

To Patti,

the heroine of all my novels.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Patricia Manning leaned back in her chair and stared with contempt at the man seated opposite her. The audacity of Robert Manning held no limitations. “Go to North Africa with you! You are completely insane.”

The mere sight of her husband turned her stomach, despite his suave handsomeness. Everything about Robert Manning was smooth, from the top of his three-hundred-dollar haircut to the tips of his imported Italian leather shoes.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m busy.”

“You are so impetuous, my dear. At least listen to the proposition I have to offer before jumping to your usual hasty conclusions.”

“Save your propositions for the hookers who service you, Robert.”

His thin lips narrowed in an amused smile. “Still the same uptight, frigid princess you always were, aren’t you, Trish?”

“And you, Robert, are still the same perverted degenerate whom I can’t bear to have touch me. Now that we’ve recounted both of our ‘virtues,’ let’s not waste any more of my time. I have work to do. Good day.”

He didn’t budge when she reached for her telephone. “How badly do you want a divorce, Trish?”

What a joke that was! She paused dialing long enough to offer a contemptuous glance. “Some more of your sadism, Robert?”

“I’ll give it to you if you go with me.”

“Is this another of those cat-and-mouse games that you delight in playing, Robert?”

“I’m serious. It’s important you go with me.”

She replaced the phone in its cradle and leaned back in her chair. “Why is it so important I go with you?”

“Appearances. A lot’s at stake here.”

“Is this company business?”

“Certainly. Your father’s aware of it. He thinks it’s a good idea for you to go with me.”

“He hasn’t mentioned it to me.”

“The situation just came up.”

Trish picked up the phone and punched the quick dial to her father’s personal line. After a quick conversation with him, she hung up and once again leaned back in her chair.

“When did you want to leave?”

“Friday.”

“Separate rooms?”

“If you insist.” His tone was as taunting as his smirk.

Trish still had reservations, but was so desperate to divorce him that the offer was tempting enough to make her consider. The last two years had been a nightmare. She had found out on their honeymoon what a disastrous mistake she’d made marrying him. The six months that followed the wedding were the most degrading and embarrassing ones of her life. She had not let him near her since his perverted demands on their honeymoon and had immediately returned home and moved into a separate bedroom. To get even with her, he flaunted his mistresses in public, humiliating her at every opportunity.

Trish had wanted out of the marriage from the time they’d returned, but he had refused to give her a divorce and had threatened to expose her father’s misdealings if she tried to divorce him.

To make the situation worse, her father had not denied the accusations when she confronted him with the threat; but he had told her nothing about his crimes other than that they would destroy his business and he’d end up in jail.

So she had continued to endure her marriage in name only because of her love for her father—the same reason she had forsaken her chance for happiness six years earlier. After six months, attempting to live under the same roof with Robert had become so unbearable she had moved back into her father’s house.

This could be the opportunity she had hoped for—prayed for.

“All right, Robert, I’ll agree, if you sign the divorce papers before we go.”

“How do I know you’ll keep your word if I do sign the papers?” he said.

Trish snorted. “Oh, please, Robert! We both know it’s more likely I’ll keep my word than that you would keep yours.”

“Very well. I’ll have Chandler draw them up.”

“It won’t be necessary to involve your lawyer. I had my attorney draw them up the day I moved out. All we have to do is sign and date them. We signed a prenuptial agreement before we married, we do not own any joint property, and even though you earn three or four times as much annually as I do, I am not asking for alimony. No strain or pain. Quick and painless.”

“Painless?” He clutched dramatically at his chest. “How can you say that, dear wife, when you’re breaking my heart?”

“Hardly, Robert. You don’t have one.”

She pushed a button on the intercom. “Libby, get my attorney, Carter Powell, on the phone.”

Dave had a bad feeling about this mission. The expressions on the faces of the secretary general and deputy secretary only added to his unease; both Jeff Baker and Mike Bishop looked grimly contrite as they spelled out the mission.

“You saying you can’t put us down any closer than five miles from the target?” Dave asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Mike Bishop said. “We both agree a chopper could be seen and heard too easily if we got any closer. That would give the target a chance to get away. We figure the chopper can go in and lower you by rope, then pick you up again. And the closest position to try that is the coordinates we gave you.”

Dave shook his head. “A five-mile hike with little cover. If there’s a full moon, and luck is against us, we’ll be spotted easily before we even reach bin Muzzar’s palace. McDermott will be long gone by the time we do. That is if we do. Who in hell is this Colin McDermott anyway?”

“He belongs to a splinter group of the IRA. He murdered a member of the CIA in Belfast last month,” Baker said. “Intelligence has traced McDermott to the home of Ali bin Muzzar in Northwest Africa. The Moroccan sheik’s known to be sympathetic to the Irish cause, any terrorist cause for that matter. According to intelligence bin Muzzar has a private army of about two hundred. We’re hoping you’ll be able to get in and out without being observed or identified.”

Yeah, right! Easy for you to say! Dave thought.

At that moment Baker’s phone rang. After a short conversation the secretary general slammed the phone down and the ex-marine let out a string of expletives as long as his tattooed arm.

Dave and Mike Bishop exchanged meaningful glances. “Bad news, sir?” Bishop asked.

“Couldn’t be worse. Intelligence just reported that in addition to McDermott, a Robert and Patricia Manning arrived today at the palace. Manning’s an American businessman and a former Harvard classmate of bin Muzzar.”

“You figure this Manning has a connection to the IRA?” Dave asked.

Baker shrugged. “Hard to say. His name or picture hasn’t popped up on any database. Neither has his wife’s. Could be just a matter of bad timing on this Manning’s part. Try to avoid the couple.”

Baker got up and walked around the edge of his desk to Dave. “Good luck to you and your squad, Agent Cassidy. We want this guy badly.”

Dave recognized a dismissal when he heard one. He stood up, the two men shook hands, and then Dave headed for the door. Mike Bishop followed him out.

“So how’s Ann?” Dave asked.

“Pregnant and contented—and even more beautiful. I don’t think Barney Hailey will ever get her back behind a camera again. She loves motherhood.”

“And what about the impending father? How does he like the prospects of becoming a parent?”

“What do you mean prospects? I am a father. Brandon and I have a great relationship. I love the kid,” he said, referring to the six-year-old Mike and Ann had legally adopted. “And I can’t wait for our daughter to be born.”

Dave shook his head. “Why can’t I visualize you bouncing a baby on your knee?”

Chuckling, Mike slapped Dave on the shoulder. “Three more months, pal.”

Then Bishop’s grin faded. “Dave, be careful. Regardless of what Baker said, if it gets too hot, get out of there fast. We can get McDermott another time. What do you think of Addison?”

“Seems young.”

“He’s twenty-seven. That’s older than some of us were when we joined.”

“Right now I feel every day of my thirty-four years,” Dave said. “The kid seems to get along well with the rest of the team. Since this is his first mission with us, I’ll feel better when we get back.”

Mike slapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, pal, didn’t we all have to go through our first mission at one time or another?”

They shook hands and Dave headed back to where his squad waited to be briefed.

The following night as they neared the North African coastline Cassidy thought of that conversation with Mike Bishop. Addison looked nervous. But Mike was right. All the guys on the squad had gone through it. Besides, Bishop never would have assigned Addison to the squad if he didn’t think the kid was ready.

Mike Bishop had been the leader of the Dwarf Squad, considered to be the elite special ops team of RATCOM—the Rescue and Anti-Terrorist unit of the CIA—until six months ago, when he’d been promoted to deputy secretary. At that time Dave had been moved up to squad leader.

The squad had been together for years. He, Bishop, Bolen and Fraser were all ex-SEALs. Williams and Bledsoe were Brits who had formerly served in England’s SAS. They’d become a close-knit brotherhood and they trusted one another implicitly, in or out of combat.

Justin Addison had a rough road ahead of him before he’d gain that kind of trust from the squad. He’d grown up in the Bronx and was street-smart and tough enough physically, but it was yet to be proven if he had the kind of smarts needed for the job. It took a lot more than just physical strength and courage to be on a special ops squad. And even though he had trained with the navy SEALs for a year, he had never been on a mission, so he was still an unproven commodity as far as Dave was concerned. But Baker and Bishop must have seen something in Addison to offer him the opportunity to become a member of the CIA’s legendary Dwarf Squad.

Well, Addison’s first real test now lay ahead because there was no longer any time to ponder the issue. The airman opened the chopper door and dropped down two ropes. The squad moved to the door and lined up. Dave led off on one, Bolen on the other. Once on the ground they regrouped and within seconds were on their way.

When Trish came downstairs she was surprised to discover there were only four for dinner, and she was the lone woman. Had she known that, she would have feigned a headache and remained in her bedroom.

The other guest was an Irishman named McDermott. He was very reticent and made no attempt to join the dinner conversation. For that matter neither did she. Robert and Ali were doing all the talking.

As she observed them, she realized the three men were as different as day and night. She couldn’t imagine what they might have in common.

Granted, Robert and Ali had been classmates at Harvard, but physically they were opposites. Robert was tall and blond, very handsome, suave and socially charming. It was these characteristics that had foolishly attracted her to him to begin with.

Ali, on the other hand, was dark, squat and obese, with a lecherous gleam in his dark eyes. She wanted to shower every time he looked at her. He made no attempt to conceal his attitude about women; one that she openly challenged. His amused smile always indicated how seriously he took her objections. The arrogant chauvinist was as obnoxious as Robert.

At least Colin McDermott appeared to find both Robert and Ali as unlikable as she did, as well as seeming anxious to get out of there. She couldn’t fault him for that, since it paralleled her own thinking.

McDermott appeared to be about six feet tall with the pale skin of a redhead and a blue-eyed gaze that he kept shifting around. He looked like a trapped ferret. He expressed his impatience when Ali called for another bottle of wine.

“It’d be to my liking to be getting on with the business I’ve come here for,” McDermott said. “I’ve given the diamonds to Manning to examine, and I’d like to finish the transaction and get out of here.”

“I haven’t had time to examine them, Mr. McDermott,” Robert replied. “I’ll do so first thing in the morning.”

“Patience, my friend,” bin Muzzar said to the Irishman. “Tomorrow we can conduct our business. Tonight we have the pleasure of a lovely dinner companion. We don’t want to bore her with such mundane conversation.”

“Then I’ll be going to my room. I want an early start in the morning, bin Muzzar.” The Irishman stomped off without any attempt at graciousness.

“I have to say, Ali, your friend is not much for manners,” Robert said.

“But he makes sense,” Trish said. “I would like us to have an early start tomorrow, too, Robert. So I think I will retire to my room.”

“Oh, not until you taste this wine, my dear,” bin Muzzar said. “It’s been aged to perfection.” He poured some wine into a silver goblet and handed it to her, and then filled his and Robert’s goblets.

“To a very pleasant evening that can only become more delightful,” he said.

“Here, here!” Robert said in agreement.

Trish’s gaze swept the room over the top of the silver goblet as she took a sip of the vintage wine. Bin Muzzar’s palace was a mixture of wealth and tastelessness.

Exquisite Oriental rugs embellished the fastidious marbled floors. Stained glass beautified most of the windows. In direct contrast, gold-encrusted nude figures of males and females in various stages of congress lined the sixteen-foot-high dome ceiling supported by ornamental pillars and columns adorned with leafy vines of woven gold.

Pure decadence! At best it resembled something out of a cheap Hollywood Arabian Nights production, or the garish interior of a Las Vegas hotel.

She shifted her glance to Robert. He’d already had too much to drink. So had the sheik. Old classmates! Birds of a feather! No wonder they got along so well.

Trish had met Ali only once before when he had come to the United States to be Robert’s best man at their wedding. The night before the wedding the loathsome little toad had tried to hit on her, even though she was to become the bride of his dear classmate the next day. When she had complained to Robert about it, he’d merely laughed and shrugged it off. That should have been the warning sign to her. On their wedding night, Robert had suggested a ménage à trois with Ali. When she refused, he and his dear classmate left to spend the night with one of Robert’s former girlfriends.

Trish thought of the painful days that followed. Of course Robert had claimed he had been too drunk to know what he was doing, and had begged her to forgive him. She had naively believed him.

Now, finally, after two miserable years of having to bear the embarrassment of being his wife legally, she’d have her divorce. Signed, sealed and hopefully filed—by the time she got back. She had honored her word and accompanied him here, but why it was so important to do so was still a mystery to her.

Trish took another sip of the wine. As soon as she finished it, she would go upstairs to her room. The two old classmates could stay up all night drinking and talking about old times as far as she was concerned.

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a headache, so I’ll retire for the night.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, darling,” Robert said. His concerned look was a convincing act, but it was wasted on her.

Trish stood up, and her knees buckled. Robert grabbed her arm before she could fall. “Let me help you, darling.”

“I’m fine,” she said, jerking free from him. His touch repulsed her.

“I insist.”

Robert took her arm again. The room began to spin and she found herself unable to walk. Ali came over and took her other arm.

“Let me be of assistance, my dear.”

Trish had never felt like this before. She had no strength in her arms and her legs could not support her. Unable to walk, she was forced to allow the two men to literally carry her.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I don’t understand. I feel as if I’m drug—”

The truth hit her and she felt the rise of panic. “No, let me go,” she cried. “What are you doing to me?” She tried to struggle, but it was useless. By now she couldn’t even raise an arm.

Robert laughed, and lifted her into his arms. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint our gracious host, darling. He’s been looking forward to this evening for the past day and a half. Haven’t you, Ali?”

Bin Muzzar laughed. “More like two years, my friend. Normally, Patricia, I’m not this patient waiting for a mere woman, but Robert promised me the wait would be worthwhile. Despite your current condition, I am sure, my dear, you will enjoy what is to come as much as we will.”

She tried to scream, but even her vocal chords were paralyzed. Her voice was barely louder than a murmur. “Let me go. You can’t do this. Robert. Please.”

“Since our marriage will be severed, darling, I can’t think of a fonder memory to carry with me when we go our separate ways.”

She managed a weak scream when they reached her room, but it was drowned out by the laughter of the two men as Robert carried her to the bed.

Trish felt herself slowly begin to slide into unconsciousness and prayed for the merciful darkness to overcome her swiftly. But for now she could only lie helplessly, staring up, horrified, into the lascivious faces of the two men who had begun to strip her of her clothing.

They pivoted in surprise when the door suddenly burst open. Through her drugged haze she imagined the face on the tall figure in the entrance—an image that had haunted her conscience, as much as her dreams, for the last six years. Was he real or was this just a wishful figment of her imagination again?

Dave! her heart shouted joyously.

Help me, Dave. Please help me, Trish cried out in a soundless murmur before blackness enveloped her.

Chapter 2

Dave stared at the two men. He recognized bin Muzzar from his picture at the briefing, but the other man was not McDermott. From his coloring and clothing, Dave figured the second man had to be the American, Robert Manning. He was aware of a woman on the bed but ignored her. None of these three people were his target.

Up to now, there was no way bin Muzzar would know he was an American. He wore dark clothes and his face was covered with greasepaint in the hope of not revealing his nationality, since the British government was after the terrorist as well as the CIA. The sheik would have no way of knowing for certain who was behind the raid. The less said, the better.

In Arabic, Dave asked bin Muzzar which room McDermott was in.

Bin Muzzar turned on Manning and issued a string of curses accusing him of betrayal. Manning attempted to deny them, but bin Muzzar did not believe him and warned Manning he’d pay for his treachery. He then strode from the room and Cassidy followed.

The sheik was further incensed when he saw the rest of the squad. Their presence set him off into another tirade and, ranting violently about the armed invasion of his home, he led them to a closed door at the end of the hall.

Dave didn’t like the situation at all. The mission was taking too long. It was too noisy. The whole damn palace had to hear bin Muzzar shouting at them. And they were on the second floor—a definite disadvantage if the sheik’s army became involved and put up a resistance.

To shut bin Muzzar up, Dave made a threatening motion with his rifle, and the sheik drew back and quieted. However, by this time the damage had been done. There was no doubt in Dave’s mind that McDermott couldn’t have helped hearing the commotion, and would probably be waiting with a weapon in hand.

Dave turned the handle. The door was unlocked. He shoved it open and then ducked back. When there were no shots fired, he cautiously peered in. The room was dimly lit, but it appeared empty.

One by one the men slipped into the room. The bed showed signs of having been used, McDermott’s backpack was still in the room, but there was no sign of the Irishman.

“Dammit!” Dave cursed when he discovered that bin Muzzar had slipped away, too. A quick check of the remaining rooms on the floor produced the same results. No McDermott or bin Muzzzar. They were all empty except for the one that Manning and the woman were in.

“What now?” Don Fraser asked.

“We get the hell out of here,” Dave said.

“Shouldn’t we search the rest of the palace for him?” Addison spoke up.

“How long you figure that would take, sonny?” Bledsoe asked.

“We’ve wasted enough time. Grab McDermott’s pack and let’s get out of here.”

At that moment Manning came running down the hall. “You’ve got to help me. Ali thinks I’ve double-crossed him and that I’m working with you. I know him, he’ll kill me.”

“Suck it up, pal,” Dave said. “In the future, I’d be more selective whom you pick for a friend.”

Manning looked desperate. “I can tell you’re an American. My name is Robert Manning. I’m an American citizen. I demand your help.”

“We’re not the Red Cross, Manning.”

The whole mission had turned into a disaster. But, no matter how Manning was involved with bin Muzzar, Dave knew he couldn’t leave an American citizen to the mercy of the sheik.

“What about your wife, Manning?”

“Ali won’t hurt her,” Manning said.

“Where is she now?”

“She’s the woman in the bed.”

“You mean the woman you two were about to…? Seems we spoiled your plans for the night.” He couldn’t stand to look at the bastard. “Hurry up and get her out here.”