Star-Spangled Bride

'No!' She grabbed frantically at the lifeline he was taking away. 'Don't go.'

'It's not safe for me to-' He stopped and then said, 'I'm not going to leave you.' His big hand tightened around hers once more. 'See, I'm right here and I'm going to stay here. Hold on to me.'

That feeling of infinite safety washed over her again. Warmth in the cold. Safety in danger. Light in die darkness.

She would hold on to him.

She would hold on forever.

ONE

'It's too dangerous.' Evan's gaze slid away from Ronnie's face. 'Eve changed my mind.'

'The hell you have.' Ronnie Dalton smothered the spark of panic her father's words ignited within her and kept her expression blank. She knew Evan would pounce on any show of weakness on her part as an excuse to abandon the plan. He would respond only to absolute determination. 'No way, Evan.'

'Falkner's too hot to handle. You'll get us both killed.'

'You're not even going to be there. You make the final payoff and then head for the border.'

'That doesn't mean they won't come after me if they suspect I was in on it. These terrorists are not ones to fool around with.' He frowned. 'I don't even know why I let you talk me into this.'

'For Lord's sake, we're Falkner's last hope,' she said, exasperated. 'The discussions have broken down and they'll kill him if we don't get him out of there.'

Evan shook his head. 'Falkner's too important for them to waste. The Red December would have everyone from the CIA to the Associated Press breathing down their necks.'

'They've had them breathing down their necks for over a year and it hasn't bothered them. The Red December are fanatics. Who should know that better than you?'

'The government will start negotiations again. You told me yourself that everyone in the media is in an uproar about his kidnapping. Politicians can't take that kind of heat without caving in to pressure.'

'It will be too late. The terrorists have already lost face. Those idiots in Washington have blown it.'

'What if they have? Why should I care?' he burst out. 'It's not my responsibility. You may have a king-size case of hero worship for the man, but he's nothing to me.'

'He is your responsibility.'

'You're talking as if I personally kidnappedthe bastard,' he said sulkily. 'You're not my conscience, Ronnie. I'd have thought you would have learned that by now. You can't change me and I won't march to your drummer.'

She had learned that a long time ago, she thought wearily, but this time she couldn't let him wander away without his cleaning up his mess. 'He's an extraordinary man. He deserves to live, Evan.' His expression didn't change and she added in desperation, 'I promise I won't ask your help again.'

He gazed at her a moment and then a sudden boyish grin lit his heavy features. 'The hell you won't. Whenever you decide you can use me to get a story, you'll be right there trailing behind me just like you did when you were a kid.'

She smiled. 'Well, maybe…' She pushed on quickly, heartened by the sign of softening. 'But you've got to do this. There's practically no risk for you.'

'Why are you being so damn stubborn? You don't even know the man.' He tilted his head and gazed at her curiously. 'Or do you?'

'What do you mean?' she asked warily. 'I already told you I didn't.'

'Falkner has a pretty hot reputation with the ladies,' he said slyly. 'I thought he might haveshown you sex is more fun than taking pictures.'

'Maybe for you,' she retorted, then went on quickly, 'Gabe Falkner is a legend. I don't have to know him to know the news business would be a lot worse without him. What other boss would trade himself to a bunch of fanatical idiots like the Red December to free two of his reporters?'

He stared at her in astonishment. 'Good God, I believe I was right about your case of hero worship. I thought I'd brought you up with more sense.'

'No such thing,' she countered. 'That was just a comment. I'm only after the story. Any photojournalist in the world would risk their necks to film Falkner's escape.'

'Film?' He snorted in disgust. 'You never mentioned filming. I suppose I should have known. You'll be lucky to get away without being blown to bits, and you're thinking of taking pictures?'

'Only if it's convenient,' she said.

'There's nothing convenient about this crazi-ness. Falkner's ankles will be chained so that he'll barely be able to shuffle. He's been beaten and starved, so that he'll scarcely be able to function much less react quickly enough to give you any help.'

'You underestimate him. He's hard as nails.'

Evan thought for a moment before acceding. 'Maybe you're right. Mohammed says he's one tough bastard.'

He was more than tough, Ronnie thought. He was larger than life in every sense of the word. After spending five years as a foreign correspondent, Gabe Falkner had taken a small Texas radio station he had inherited from his father and built it into a worldwide news network, comprised of newspapers, magazines, and a cable news network that was currently giving CNN a run for its money.

Though he strode ruthlessly over anyone who stood in his way, Falkner was known to be absolutely fair in his business practices and to battle tooth and nail to protect his employees. In a world where newsmen were evaluated and discarded by computer polls, Falkner exhibited an old-fashioned paternalism. He chose excellent people, paid them excellent money, and then gave them unlimited protection. In return he inspired a loyalty unprecedented among the media.

'Even if Falkner can help,' Evan said, 'even if everything goes right, it will be a miracle if you can get him away and into hiding. If you get in a jam, you can't rely on the Said Ababa government. They'll just look the other way. They give lip service to Washington, but they're too afraid of the Red December to interfere.'

'I know that,' Ronnie muttered impatiently. 'Why are you rehashing old news? Nothing is going to go wrong; we've got everything covered.'

'We could wait another day,' Evan coaxed. 'Maybe Washington will come through.'

'And maybe those murderers will decide to shoot Falkner in the head tonight.' She shook her head. 'And if they didn't, you might not be able to find where they'll take him tomorrow night. They never keep him in any one place more than twenty-four hours.' She stood up, jammed her hands into the pockets of her leather flight jacket, and said belligerently, 'Now stop arguing with me. You agreed to do it and we're going to do it tonight. I'll be in that alcove on the Street of the Camels at eleven tonight. If you don't send the help you promised, they'll catch me and have two newspeople to execute.' A sudden mischievous smile lit her face. 'And then you'd have to go to my funeral and you know how you hate that kind of hoopla.'

'What makes you think I'd go?'

'Because you know I'd haunt you if you didn't.'

'You'd do it too.' He scowled and with reluctance said, 'All right. We'll go on with it, but don't expect anything else of me. I'll make die payment to Mohammed and Fatima and then I'm on my way.'

Her relief was immeasurable. 'That's all I ask.' Then after a moment's hesitation, she added, 'You're sure Mohammed is a good enough shot?'

Evan nodded. 'It will be close range.' He smiled crookedly. 'I'm surprised you sanctioned shooting the guards. Isn't your heart bleeding for them?'

'I don't like it, but there's no other way.' A shadow crossed her face. 'And their hearts didn't bleed when they blew up that busload of schoolchildren last month.' So much violence, so many tears in the world. No matter how often she was forced to face it, she never got used to it.

She impulsively bent down and brushed a light kiss on her father's forehead. 'Thanks, Evan.'

He stiffened at the gesture. 'You must be more worried about this than I thought, if you're getting mushy on me.'