Her Baby's Bodyguard

Her Baby's Bodyguard
Ingrid Weaver

Special Forces sergeant Jack Norton's mission: to safely see brilliant Russian scientist Dr. Eva Petrova to America. The unwitting pawn in an international biowarfare plot was hiding one minor contingency–her infant daughter. Jack didn't do relationships well, never mind kids. So how was it these two were planting themselves firmly under his skin?Eva Petrova was no stranger to putting up emotional barriers–she'd done it all her life. But when she saw Jack's softer side, she wondered if they were missing out on something more explosive than this mission. Only one way to find out…

Eva thumped his shoulder with her fist and raised her head. “This isn’t funny.”

He smiled. “Your daughter’s a real trouper, Eva.” He wiped his knuckle across her cheek. “She’s almost as brave as her mother.”

“I’m not brave.”

He kissed her forehead. “You are downright awesome.”

She didn’t know what surprised her more, the compliment or the kiss. “Sergeant Norton…”

“Call me Jack,” he said.

No. She shouldn’t think of him as Jack. He had to remain the sergeant, no matter how beautiful his smile was. How was she supposed to remember he was only doing his duty and that his consideration wasn’t personal? How could she keep from liking him?

Dear Reader,

Since the publication of my original EAGLE SQUADRON series in 2003, I have been eager to return to the men I left behind. Like so many of you, I fell in love with this group of Delta Force commandos. Their steady courage under fire, their deep sense of honor and the camaraderie they shared with each other made them natural heroes. Now, with EAGLE SQUADRON: COUNTDOWN, I am thrilled to immerse myself once again in the world of these über alpha males.

My biggest challenge when it came to Sergeant Jack Norton, Eagle Squadron’s medic, was creating a heroine who was strong enough to be his match. So I asked myself, who would be the worst possible woman for a fun-loving, commitment-phobic, gambling man like Jack to fall in love with? How about a defecting scientist with deadly secrets…and an infant daughter?

Being Her Baby’s Bodyguard is the last thing Jack thought he wanted. I hope you enjoy how I convinced him to change his mind!

Sincerely,

Ingrid

Her Baby’s Bodyguard

Ingrid Weaver

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

INGRID WEAVER

is a USA TODAY bestselling author of more than twenty-five books and has been published by Silhouette Books, Harlequin Books and Berkley/Jove. She is the recipient of a Romance Writers of America RITA

Award for Romantic Suspense and an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. Currently she lives on a farm near Frankford, Ontario, where she grows organic veggies and Darwinian flowers in a neglected garden of tough love. She loves to hear from readers. You can visit her Web site at www.ingridweaver.com (http://www.ingridweaver.com).

This book is dedicated to all the fans of

Eagle Squadron who asked for Jack’s story.

He owes you his life.

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 1

The crust of ice on the puddle cracked beneath Eva’s boots, signaling her presence as clearly as a gunshot. She risked a glance over her shoulder. The road was still empty, yet how long would that last? The stitch in her side was getting worse. So was the cold. It would likely snow by morning. She clenched her teeth to silence their chattering and increased her pace.

The trees gave way to a cluster of buildings, but there should be no one here who would raise an alarm. The village had been deserted long before the complex had been constructed in the neighboring valley. Eva didn’t know where the original inhabitants had gone—she’d never thought to ask—but they’d been too practical to leave much behind. What hadn’t rotted had been carted away years ago. The sole traffic this road saw now was the monthly supply trucks that lumbered through without stopping. Only the village church had remained more or less intact, and that was because it had been built out of stone.

Katya stirred against her chest, no doubt jostled into wakefulness by Eva’s quickened stride. Without pausing, Eva lowered the zipper on her coat and reached inside to adjust the sling she’d fashioned for the baby. It held Katya securely enough, but the knots were digging into Eva’s neck and the small of her back. “Shh. Almost there, kitten,” she whispered. She rubbed her palm over the baby’s back. “It won’t be long now. I promise.”

Reassured by her touch, Katya burrowed closer to her mother’s warmth. Within seconds, her body relaxed once more into sleep. Eva left her hand where it was, letting her fingers ride the rise and fall of her daughter’s breathing. She needed the contact as much as Katya did.

The moon inched past a break in the clouds, turning Eva’s breath white and spreading silver-blue over the rise where the church stood. Shadows of grave markers tilted among weed stalks that sparkled with frost. A birch tree grew at the edge of the churchyard, its bare branches swaying in the wind. Apart from that, nothing moved.

Was she too early? She’d lost track of time. It seemed as if an eternity had passed since she’d slipped past the guards at the west gate, but it was more likely less than an hour. Eva risked another glance behind her.

Even with six kilometers of pine forest and a ridge of limestone between her and the complex, the glow of its perimeter lights was visible against the sky. She had once liked the security the floodlights provided. Against the empty blackness of the surrounding, tree-shrouded slopes, it had been comforting. Eventually she’d grown to understand that the security measures had been for control, not protection. Burian enjoyed demonstrating his power over all within his range.

Not me. And not my daughter.

She sucked more air into her aching lungs, fastened her coat and headed for the stone church.

This was it. The point of no return. If there was a bridge through the valley she’d just crossed instead of a puddle-strewn road, it would be burning. Shouldn’t she be feeling some sadness or at the very least regret? She was leaving her home, her country, turning her back on everything familiar.

But then, the complex had never felt like home. It had been where she worked, that was all. A place for her mind, not her heart. How long had it been since she’d allowed herself to yearn for more? For Katya’s sake, she did now. Home should be sunshine and apple trees, the smell of bread cooling on a windowsill, the liquid, joyous trill of Grandma’s canaries and the soft warmth of her mother’s arms….