Oil Rush: The International Tug of War

By Susan Howell

With the Cold War in full swing, oil is the name of the game . . . rich, black crude with the might to radically shift the world’s fragile geopolitics. Almost overnight, the tiny Persian Gulf nation of Bahrain sheds its near invisibility to become a hotbed of international intrigue.

As shadowy operatives of the Soviet Union and the United States battle behind the scenes for ultimate control, a mercurial Texas Wildcatter named Alexander Wyatt finds himself as the unlikely center of everything. Despite his best efforts to protect his beloved granddaughter, Melanie, from the massive events he helped to put in motion, he instead sends her on an intercontinental adventure overflowing with danger, romance, impossible riches, devastating betrayal, and above all, jaw-dropping surprise.

From the first page of this breathtaking thriller to the last, you will get swept up into an unforgettable world of greed and innocence, of soaring highs and devastating lows—all directed toward a shattering conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9780985436032

Book preview

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Chapter 1

The Kingdom of Bahrain

September 1962

A lone figure stepped through a window and blended into the midnight shadows. A flashlight flicked on, its beam passing over a desk and filing cabinets. The silent silhouette purposefully made its way to a picture of the Emir, Sheikh Hakim ibn Salah Al Mustafa, hanging on the wall. Nimble fingers in black leather lifted the portrait from its hook, exposing a wall safe. Seconds later, the picture sat on the floor, next to the desk.

A steady hand slowly turned the safe’s knob, each click of the combination echoing like a gunshot in the silence of the room. With a final turn, the tumblers fell into place and a short, downward thrust of the handle released the lock. The open safe revealed many irreplaceable treasures, but none interested the stranger more than a slim bundle at the back. Cautious hands wrapped around a packet of brittle papers, moving them gently from their resting place in the back of the safe and depositing them quickly into a leather pouch.

When footsteps echoed in the marbled hallway outside, the flashlight instantly went dark as gloved hands quickly extinguished the flashlight and silently closed the safe and settled the portrait back into place. A rattle of keys, followed by the door bolt sliding open, just barely covered the sound of a wastebasket accidentally tipped and righted again. As the door creaked open, the desk became a hiding place.

The guard flipped on the light switch, walked into the office, placed a file on the desk, and slowly scanned the room. Noticing the window left open, he moved to secure it, grumbling that the secretary had once more ignored his explicit instructions. He walked by the front of the desk without noticing the leather pouch leaning against the filing cabinet, yet still sensed something not quite right. The thickset guard stopped at the door and scrutinized the room one final time; but finding everything in place, he doused his flashlight, then closed and locked the door. Soon his heavy footsteps receded down the hallway.

Moments later, a shrouded figure emerged from behind the desk, exposed only by a quick intake of air, followed by a slow release. The shadow flitted across the room, securing the leather pouch. Once more the window opened to the sultry night air and the stranger slipped out silently, just as stealthily as he had entered.

Chapter 2

Fort Worth, Texas

Spring 1965

Vanetta Stuart barged her way past the movers uncrating furniture on the sidewalk. She stomped into the new house, her reptilian eyes seeking her prey.

Melanie stopped wiping down a table in the living room as soon as she heard her sister’s growl outside the opened front door. She watched her older sibling march up the walkway leading to the house, full fury blazing—and knew the battle was on.

The calmer of the two sisters slowly straightened, pulled a stray lock of her dark chocolate hair behind an ear, and squared her shoulders. Taking a deep breath to maintain her composure, she braced for the coming storm. She stepped away from the table and watched as Vanetta pounded her way into the front vestibule, setting the furniture to tremble.

The moment Vanetta spied Melanie, she advanced on her like a Sherman tank, fully armed. Melanie, you stupid bitch! she shrieked. What the hell do you think you are doing? Vanetta’s gaze swept the main rooms where Melanie had been working. You have no idea what proportion is to a room. You need to move this furniture around. You shouldn’t even think about putting that cabinet there. Only through sheer force of will did Melanie keep her fear and anger at bay.

The household staff stopped what it was doing to watch. The servants had anticipated an altercation between the two, but no one imagined Vanetta’s assault would occur so blatantly in front of witnesses. In the past, she had always taken care when and where she had attacked Melanie; so much so that the staff usually heard about their skirmishes only later. Now, though, Vanetta had lost control. She clearly didn’t care who might witness her assault—even her mother, seated in plain sight in the next room.

To Melanie, Vanetta’s absence had come as a great relief during the initial packing-up of the Big House; her presence now felt almost debilitating. The shocked staff watched in silence as the raging three-hundred-pound Valkyrie descended upon her petite younger sister. They crowded around the entrance to get a better view.

You can’t do anything right, Vanetta screeched. I said, move this furniture, and I mean do it now! Get that piano out of here and put that cabinet over there. She pointed to a nearby man in his late forties: NOW!

When the man looked at Melanie, she shook her head no and motioned him to leave. His head turtled into his shoulders and he hastily left the room. Vanetta’s eyes widened with fury. Just as she prepared to unload yet more of her bile, Melanie quietly said, Vanetta, I think it is best that you leave and stop this insane behavior. This has nothing to do with you, and I don’t want to have to call the police.

Vanetta’s eyes saucered and she clenched her teeth so tightly that she could barely open her mouth. You wouldn’t dare!

Just try me, Melanie replied evenly. You leave me no choice, after you tried to divert the other vans to your house. She coolly stood her ground.

Veins popped as Vanetta swore, I’ll get you, if it is the last thing I do. We’ll see who gets control. Our brothers are going to tear you limb from limb and I am going to rejoice when it happens. Vanetta’s voice rose to a howl as she followed Melanie out of the front door, parting workmen like the Red Sea. By this time, neighbors had popped out of their own homes to gape at the raving woman. Yet Vanetta raged on, paying no heed to anyone. Melanie noticed that several workers had picked up pieces of wood.

Vanetta continued to bellow at the top of her lungs as Melanie approached Vanetta’s car. Melanie, she sputtered, I’ve hated you since the day you were born, and I’ll hate you until the day I die!

The line was simply too good to pass up. Great, Melanie replied with a grin, when’s your funeral? I wouldn’t want to miss it.

Despite the seeming impossibility, Vanetta’s face instantly became even more distorted. She looked as though someone had twisted her hair so tightly that her eyes would pop out and her teeth would fuse.

And yet, somehow, Melanie felt great relief. At long last, this angry dervish no longer held sway over her. She found she could even smile as she watched Vanetta work herself into a froth. Spittle foamed at the sides of her mouth and dribbled down her chin. A gust of wind caught her garishly dyed red hair and whipped it in her face, where it stuck to the saliva now oozing down her bulging neck.

Melanie almost laughed as she had a mental vision of a Popsicle with sticky hair.

Instead, she offered her sister the dust cloth she still held. It might behoove you to wipe your chin and get back in your car before you do yourself any more harm, she advised. She politely nodded toward the men who had quietly formed a protective line behind the two women, standing ready to defend Melanie if violence erupted.

Vanetta snatched the cloth and swiped the drool from her chin. Stepping toward Melanie, her five-foot nine-inch frame towering over her sister’s diminutive five-foot four, she intended to throw the cloth in her sibling’s face … but paused when she glanced in the direction Melanie had directed. She dropped her raised arm, but not her attitude. Screw ’em, she hissed. I’m going to see that you get taken down. No matter what I have to do, you’re goin’ down. Do I make myself clear?

Perfectly, Melanie replied. Now kindly remove yourself from the premises, or I will have no choice but to call the police. Melanie’s smile didn’t reach her eyes as she added, Enjoy the rest of your day.

Mumbling threats, Vanetta heaved her bulk into her car. With gears grinding, she backed out of the driveway and strong-armed her Jaguar convertible into a forward sprint. Workers stared and people on the street leaped for safety as she tore down the road, tires squealing and her red hair snapping in the wind.

Almost as a unit, the workers crowded into the house to see how Melanie had fared. She walked serenely into the kitchen, trying not to show how badly shaken she felt. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out, trying to reassure everyone with a trembling smile. Grady, the six-foot-seven moving supervisor, gingerly put his big hand on her back. He leaned over and said gently, You didn’t have anything to worry about, Miss Melanie. We would have taken care of you and not let her hurt you. You just say the word and –.

Word? Melanie looked up at this gentle giant whom she had come to know so well. She half laughed, You think she is a problem now? Well, guess what? You can’t imagine how much trouble she’d make for us all if you ever tried anything! Trust me, Grady, that woman would find a way to get revenge even from the grave.

She shrugged, took a deep breath, and said brightly, Okay, everybody, you heard my beloved sister. Let’s get this move over and done with!

She softened her voice and added with a cheeky grin, Or I’ll sic Vanetta on you.

Grady raised his hands in mock surrender. Oh God, don’t do that! He turned to his crew and declared, You heard the little lady. Let’s get a move on, boys. And quietly, to Melanie: I’ll be here just the same, so don’t you worry none.

Grady had overseen the packing of the forty plus moving vans it took to move Melanie and her mother out of their ancestral home. The two had formed a sturdy bond. Grady, you’re a doll, she said. But it’s safer if you don’t even think of getting in the middle of this. Vanetta is capable of most anything—believe me, I know.

Melanie gave her self-proclaimed warrior a squeeze on the arm, bravely smiled, and then nodded her head in thanks to all before turning back to her work.

The girls’ mother, Laura Stuart—lovingly known as the Grand Dame of the Stuart Dynasty—had witnessed the whole ugly episode. She sat staring at Melanie and her staff as she wrestled emotionally with what had just occurred. When she struggled to stand, Melanie and the housekeeper, Mrs. Smith, leaped to assist her.

I never want that white trash in my house again! Laura thundered, fire in her eyes.

Flabbergasted, Melanie asked, Who are you talking about, Mom?

Drawing herself up to as much of her former regal stance as she could manage, Laura Stuart looked around at the staff with eyes ablaze, then straight at Melanie: Your sister, that’s who I’m talking about! Grabbing Mrs. Smith’s hand, Laura then shuffled toward the other side of the house and to the sanctuary of her new bedroom. Those who had gathered after Vanetta’s loud departure looked at one another sheepishly, and then quietly resumed their unpacking jobs.

For a fleeting moment, Melanie felt a surge of hope that her mother finally had witnessed Vanetta at her finest. Surely, now she would believe what the family had been trying to tell her all of these years! But immediately the truth hit home: This revelation wouldn’t last. Even before Laura made it back to her room, the memory of these nasty moments would fade, like mist on a hot summer’s day.

Melanie pressed her lips together, trying to stay the impending tears. She turned toward the door leading to the patio, opened it, then walked to the railing and braced a shoulder against a stone column. She wrapped her arms around her middle and looked up to see the sky peeking through the dense trees shading the house. As hard as she fought against it, a single tear found its way past the barrier she had erected and slowly rolled down her cheek.

She told herself that all she had to do was just get through the next three weeks until she turned over the Big House to its new owners. Soon she would have to say goodbye forever to her old life. There could be no turning back, no more fairytale life—but also, she hoped, no more destruction of her family. Only then could she allow herself time to grieve and to say goodbye to all that she had lost.

Chapter 3

Fort Worth, Texas

Three weeks later

The move finally finished, Melanie made her last trek to the only home she had ever known. She wondered how she could have lost so much, so fast, as she rounded the curve and her beloved Big House came into view. She slowed the car so she could savor the last time she would call this home, a feeling of excitement mixed with dread. The majestic gates swung open slowly to reveal a vast expanse of lawn and gardens. The lushness stretched out before her as she proceeded down the drive to an impressive Italian Mediterranean villa. Its five grand archways created an enormous front portal, flanked on either side with stately wings that continued the Mediterranean design.

As she neared the front door, she felt again the thrill of entering their special place. Most would have described it as a mansion; but to Melanie, it had been simply home. At the Big House, life was special, filled with spice and adventure in every breathing moment. Melanie put her car in park, sighed deeply, and looked over the mammoth lawn where football games seemed to perpetually break out during their childhood years. She looked for her old hiding place behind the azalea bushes, useful when playing Capture the Flag. She could almost hear the grunts of her brothers and their friends and the squeak of tennis shoes during the many basketball games played on the backcourt by the garage.

She gazed up at the balcony, just outside her childhood bedroom. They sometimes called it the President’s Room, because five U.S. Presidents had stayed there,too. But that bit of history didn’t come to mind now. Instead she thought about the many times she and her brothers had climbed down the roof at night to play on the nearby golf course. Or visit the home of a boy that she or one of her friends had a crush on to wrap it with toilet paper. Afterward, they would sneak back to the Big House and meet in the massive kitchen, filling it with giggles and laughter as they relived their near escapes over ice cream. They reveled in the fact that, once again, they had pulled one over on the ever-present and all-knowing housekeeper, Mrs. Smith.

She wrinkled her brow as she thought, Funny how so few of my childhood memories include Vanetta. Her sister had not spent nearly as much time with the family at the Big House as Melanie had; she seemed more like a visitor. Once Vanetta turned fourteen, she lived mostly at a boarding school and seldom took part in family activities. Even though Melanie had spent equal time in boarding schools, somehow she had maintained close relationships with the family.

Wave after wave of longing engulfed Melanie as she stepped out of her car. She stood facing the home, then stretched her arms wide in a futile attempt to grasp the memories. A blast of nostalgia swept over her, almost making her knees buckle. She gathered herself, then shoved her heartaches into a place far away.

Never again would it be the same.

After indulging herself a few bittersweet moments, Melanie turned and faced the huge entryway door. With a heavy heart—and knowing how drastically it would change her life—she reached for the handle. For a split second, her hand froze but she willed herself forward, the door swung open, and a knot immediately formed in her chest.

Memories came rushing out.

Melanie took a series of deep breaths inside the immense entrance hall the black and white marble floor and the high, gothic vaulted ceilings echoed with each footstep. She stopped fifty feet in, closing her eyes to soak in the vastness.

She spun around and walked to one end of the room, took off her shoes and set them on the floor along with her handbag, and with the abandonment of a child, ran toward the opposite end. After gathering speed, she flew into a perfect slide, ending in front of the gargantuan doors that led to the drawing room. With pride, she looked back over her shoulder, knowing her brothers would envy her skill even today. It was a good slide.

Gathering herself, she reached to grasp the familiar brass knobs on the towering mahogany doors. As they swung open, the magnificence (and emptiness) of the wood-paneled room overwhelmed her.

The imported four-century-old hardwood flooring enhanced the regal splendor of the Elizabeth I fireplace that dominated the awesome space. Kings and queens had sought out her radiant warmth, as had presidents, statesmen, business tycoons, and a host of great and charming women.

Melanie approached the fireplace and leaned her head against the ancient, carved granite. Its familiar coldness somehow warmed her. She squeezed her eyes tightly so tears had no opportunity to flow; she knew that if one snuck past, the dam would burst.

Pushing away, she headed for the light switch. She wanted to see the reflected glory of the magnificent paneling, long polished by loving hands. As she reached out to touch it, a time portal in her mind seemed to open. Today faded, and a glorious picture of a wonderful time long ago, overflowing with anticipation, became real. She slid down the wall, crossed her legs, and remembered.

Chapter 4

Fort Worth

June 1962

Melanie smelled the garden’s freshly cut roses, profusely displayed in every room. Music serenaded guests as servers passed through crowds of beautifully dressed people, offering one and all glasses of wine and champagne.

Snippets of conversations drifted through the air as Melanie, a young woman on the brink of adulthood, wound her way through the crowd. She needed to find her father.

Melanie, you look lovely tonight.

Melanie, this is a magnificent party. Your mother has once again outdone herself.

The compliments came sweetly and often as she passed friends and acquaintances.

But then Melanie bumped into an arm, spilling a drink. She turned to offer a sincere, Oh, I beg your pardon, but when she looked up, she realized the arm she’d nudged belonged to her sister.

Glittering yellow-green eyes looked down at her condescendingly. Look at the mess you’ve made. Vanetta swung her long, Titian red hair down to cover her face as she hissed under her breath, You little bitch, you did that on purpose.

Melanie grabbed a napkin off the tray of a passing waiter and began to wipe off her sister. I’m so sorry. Vanetta, I really didn’t see you. I promise.

Vanetta swallowed her sharp reply when she realized that Hunter, her longtime boyfriend, was watching. Her smile grew tight as she composed her beautifully bold features and turned to Hunter. Darling, I’m so sorry, she said in a syrupy voice, but Melanie has made it impossible for me wear this. I simply have to go up and change. She smiled sweetly at him. You’ll be all right while I’m gone?

He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. No problem, he replied, you go take care of that and I’ll meet you in the garden later.

Hunter and Melanie watched the tall redhead leave the room, then turned to each other. Melanie rolled her eyes. Okay, so shoot me, she shrugged, then continued, I guess I’m guilty of murdering her dress. Melanie always felt small in the presence of her sister’s statuesque beauty. She had yet to fully blossom and had no idea that one day she would give her sister a run for her money. But their strikingly different features and coloring made it hard for most even to identify them as sisters.

He chuckled. Like I said, it’s no big deal. If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about it. Go on and enjoy the party, while I go fetch myself another drink. You want one?

Melanie looked around at the crowd. No thanks. You haven’t seen Dad anywhere, have you?

He drained the last of his drink. He’s over there, talking with Reagan. Hunter waved a hand to direct her and then walked toward the nearby bar.

Thanks. She turned and located her father among a group of men listening intently to his every word. He seemed to command a vast amount of respect. The fabulously handsome Anderson Stuart stood a dapper six-foot-one-inches tall, with black hair, a strong square jaw line, and green eyes that held an all-knowing twinkle. As Melanie approached her father, Anderson stepped back to place his arm around her.

I believe you all know my daughter, Melanie. He smiled broadly, And I think you know everyone here. He brought her forward so that she could greet each gentleman.

Indeed, I do, she said, acknowledging the men. And good evening, Uncle Ronnie.

Hello to you, too, Melanie. Say, where’s my hug? He brushed her hand aside as he put his arm around her. He said to the circle of friends, You know, I’ve known her since she was just knee-high, and look at what a lovely young lady she’s grown to be.

Melanie basked in his warm praises, You know, flattery like that could take you all the way to the White House.

Joe Ambrose spoke up: And that’s just where we want him! Some day you’ll be able to say you knew him long before he ever became ‘Mr. President.’

I’m sure I will, and I’ll be mighty proud of it, too. Melanie gazed up at her uncle Ronnie Reagan, beaming with pride. And I want to be the first one to cast my vote.

All of the men laughed as she returned to her father’s side, where she felt most comfortable during large functions in this grand old home. She reveled in her father’s large, secure hand, his strength reflected in his comforting grasp. He glanced down and gave her a reassuring squeeze. That was the way it was between them. They took comfort in knowing the other was always there.

As the conversation drifted around her, Melanie suddenly spied a handsome young man. A hunk if ever there were one! she thought. He stood at least six-foot three, with an olive complexion and snapping brown eyes, a strong, straight nose and full lips that looked as though they held back a smile. She watched him as he wasted his charm on a woman of at least two hundred and fifty pounds of gabbing drivel. Melanie couldn’t quite place him, which merely heightened the intrigue. She felt she knew him. But where? When?

Just then, he turned his head and slid into the most heartbreaking, sexy grin she had ever seen. The heat that passed between them could have melted steel. Her insides turned to mush. Melanie began to panic when she saw him excusing himself to make his way toward her. Just then her best friend, June Skeffington, grabbed her arm and dragged her straight toward the approaching hunk. June threw her arms around the mysterious male and gave him a big hug. Melanie, here’s my all grown-up brother, Marcus. He just came home for the summer from college.

Recognition instantly registered even as her embarrassment mushroomed. Again, Marcus’ sexy grin captivated her; she could hardly hear anything June said.

Marcus leaned closer. Why, Melanie Lane Stuart, you have definitely changed. You’re as pretty as a budding rose. He leaned back to take a better look. Who would have thought six years ago that the gangly young girl would have grown into such a lovely, exotic flower? I just have to find out if you smell as sweet.

He leaned toward the crook of her neck, drew in her scent, and whispered in her ear, Ummm, just as I thought. You smell as lovely as you look.

Melanie’s knees weakened and she struggled for air. Thank God for sisters like June, who elbowed her brother to admonish him.

Marcus Skeffington, if you don’t stop, her daddy is going to tear you limb from limb. Now, behave yourself!

Do you see me misbehaving? Marcus protested. Melanie, I ask you, as a long-lost acquaintance who used to sit next to me in her highchair when our parents got together for dinner—have I misbehaved in any way? He looked as innocent as a masked bank robber with a gun in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other.

Why, Mr. Skeffington, I do believe the blarney in you has reached epic proportions. If you don’t watch out, it could get out of control completely. And then I would definitely have to resort to desperate measures.

And what might those be? he probed. I hope that in your case, the consequences are severe, indeed.

Oh, they will be. Melanie smiled coyly, then sauntered around Marcus, exiting with contained dignity—at least, until she entered the hallway, when she burst into uncontrollable laughter. June whipped around the door, giggling as she grabbed Melanie’s hand. Together they rushed up the stairs to Melanie’s room.

June, why didn’t you tell me Marcus was home? Where has he been all this time, and why didn’t you tell me how good-looking he is?

June shrugged. He just arrived today, when everyone was expecting him to spend his usual summer in Hyannis Port with one of his friends from that fancy ivy-league school he goes to. Anyway, the friend ended up going to Europe instead, so Marcus came home. He’s going to spend the whole summer here. Isn’t that cool? June fell back on the bed with a sigh.

Melanie frowned. Hasn’t he been home at all in the past six years?

June propped herself up on her elbows. Only for the occasional long weekend. She wiggled her eyebrows. You know how well Marcus and Daddy get along. So Mother decided that it was easier to keep the peace if she kept them separated. Anyway, Mom and I make the trip up to New Jersey to visit him instead. But it’s been awhile since I’ve seen him.

A frown pleated Melanie’s brow. To be honest, I had almost forgotten about him. Although I do remember that every time he ran by me, he pulled my ponytail. I used to get so mad that I wanted to spit; but then he would smile and that was it. She threw up her hands and grinned. I couldn’t stay mad at him for very long. God, he’s gorgeous! How could you have kept him a secret for so long?

June replied with a yawn, You know, one never thinks of her brother in that way. She paused, then grinned. But you’re right, he is a hunk. Anyway, he’s here now, so let’s get back downstairs before Kerrie MacAfee gets her hooks into him.

June skidded to a stop when she reached the back salon; moments later, Melanie bumped into her. As the band played Stardust, the sight of Marcus dancing with Kerrie greeted them. Kerrie caught their woeful looks and waved as she triumphantly caressed the back of Marcus’ neck.

June whispered as they passed by, See, I told you she was going to get her hooks into him the first chance she got. What are we going to do now?

Melanie squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and shook her head. Nothing. If Marcus wants to dance with Kerrie, then let him dance. I’m going for a walk. You coming?

June paused as she saw Clinton, her boyfriend, make his way around the room toward the girls. Melanie took one look at Clinton and sighed. Forget I asked. Here comes loverboy. And knowing Clinton, he’s going to want to dance.

June squeezed her shoulder, Are you sure it’s all right? I mean, we can come out with you, if you want us to.

Melanie frowned. Are you kidding? You think Clinton is going to let this dance go to waste? No, you go have fun and I’ll see you later. Melanie turned, slipped out the back door past the swimming pool, and began to wander over to the gardens. The air felt delicious with the hum of summer on the evening breeze. She meandered to one of her favorite places in the lower gardens, where giant, live oaks spread their sheltering limbs over a small fishpond.

Melanie leaned up against the old tree and studied the moonlight dappling the lawn. She jumped at a noise in the darkness. My God, Hunter, she exclaimed, you scared me to death.

A deep chuckle wafted along on alcoholic fumes. My Darling Melanie, Hunter said with a slight slur, you should never be afraid of me. He frowned. You aren’t, are you?

Good heavens, no; why would I be? she declared. You just surprised me, that’s all.

Oh. He blinked, trying to focus on the pretty girl leaning against the tree. Well … maybe you should be a little frightened of me. He grasped a low limb, trying to steady himself. He tilted a little closer and whispered, Maybe you should be more careful of the dark. There could be a big, bad wolf lurking around these parts. A pirate’s leer matched his gently mocking tone.

Melanie grinned. So… are you the big bad wolf I should be afraid of?

Hunter tried to look injured. Are you saying I’m not?

Yes, Hunter, I have to say you’re not. You’re…. She thought for a second, then with a cheeky grin declared, quite harmless.

Pretending to be deeply offended, Hunter grabbed his chest and blustered. You wound me greatly! I’ll have you know I’m a mighty and powerful wolf. By reputation I am feared by one and all. I am my own man! He raised his hand in a grand gesture which nearly knocked him off his feet. He blinked to refocus and reclaimed the branch to stabilize himself.

Melanie couldn’t help but laugh. Right you are, except you are Vanetta’s …whatever you want to call yourself. She waved her hand in a circle. And anybody who belongs to Vanetta … . Well, you understand what I mean.

Hunter frowned. No, I don’t know what you mean.

Come on! You know that you are Vanetta’s.

I’ll have you know, he insisted, that nobody owns me, not even your sassy sister.

Okay, if you say so, Melanie replied. But I think you’d better let Vanetta know that, too.

She began to step away from the tree when Hunter reached out to grab her arm. She glared at his hand, then back to his clouded face.

Nobody owns me! he said more fiercely than necessary. Got that?

Well, you two have dated so long, who can tell the difference? Melanie answered. She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he refused to let her go. Come on, Hunter, let go of me. She tried to pry his fingers away, but couldn’t budge them.

She froze when she saw his face. He looked as though he had never really seen her before. She had always been Vanetta’s little sister, with pigtails flying and giggles trailing in her wake. Now he saw a beautiful young woman with luminous eyes that glittered in the moonlight, her glossy brunette curls stirred by the evening breeze. Overnight, it seemed, she had blossomed. How had this happened so fast? His inebriated mind couldn’t quite catch up with the vision before him. He touched her lower lip with his thumb, eliciting a gasp of stunned surprise.

With liquor bubbling through his veins, Hunter lowered his head, just to taste those delicate lips. A brief butterfly of a kiss instantly sparked a fire. He raised his head slightly and saw that she seemed just as affected as he was. He couldn’t resist a fuller taste.

Melanie gave a soft moan and he pulled her to him. Only slowly did the rustling of the trees and the night sounds around them begin to penetrate Melanie’s consciousness. With a jerk, she pulled back, her lips on fire and her eyes reflecting her surprise. She put her forehead down on his chest to gain a modicum of control before she made a bigger fool of herself. Hunter looked up to the dappled, moonlit leaves and drew in several deep breaths, realizing he’d probably just made the biggest mistake of his life.

Maybe you’re right, Melanie stammered as she took a step back. There is a big, bad wolf out here.

Hunter reached out to stop her. Melanie, he declared, I’m so sorry. This never should have happened.

She whirled away, tears glistening. That’s right, Mister. And it won’t happen again! Her words drifted back to Hunter on the warm evening breeze. He stood unsteadily, caught between conflicting emotions. His whiskey-soaked brain could barely sort out what had happened, but the encounter left a smile on his lips.

A rustling from the nearby bushes prompted Hunter to turn in that direction, where he spied a seething Vanetta, her arms crossed. She nodded toward Melanie.

What was that all about?

His grin disappeared. Oh, honey, it was nothing. I was just trying to teach your little sister a lesson. He picked up his unfinished drink and swallowed it in three gulps.

Vanetta gritted her teeth. You’d best not let me catch you doling out any more ‘lessons,’ or I’m going to lesson you one. She caught herself before she flew into a full rage. Besides, she’s not worth your time … when you have me.

Vanetta offered herself to him, but while she pawed away at his body, Hunter watched Melanie crossing the lawn. He could think of nothing but those stolen kisses.

Chapter 5

Early the next morning, Melanie wound her way past the caterers picking up after the party. A promise to meet Marcus for a ride along the West fork of the Trinity River had her headed for the stables, wearing a pair of figure-hugging jeans and well-worn Justin riding boots. The morning dawned so beautiful that she decided to walk down the road that led to the small New England village constructed on the property, her entourage of dogs on her heels. As Melanie approached the stables, she saw Marcus arriving from the back entrance of the property.

His lethally handsome looks almost stopped Melanie in her tracks. There’s nothing better than a hunk in the morning daylight, she thought, especially one wearing tight jeans, boots, a well-worn western shirt, and a battered cowboy hat settled just right. Marcus greeted her with a low whistle.

Good mornin’, Gorgeous! My, my, you do know how to fill out a pair of jeans. He didn’t try to hide the once over he gave her.

Marcus, if you don’t behave yourself…

You’ll what? he challenged.

She shrugged and replied, Well, I guess I’ll just have to find me a real man who’s not so full of malarkey.

He stepped closer with his hands open wide. Darlin’, I’m all the man you are ever going to need. And he gave her his best slow, sexy grin.

Soon they were riding down the lane to the river, her dogs trailing in a pack. As they reached the riverbank, Melanie kicked her mount into a gentle lope while Marcus did the same. As they rode side by side, they started to catch up on the missing years. Marcus revealed how wide the rift had grown between him and his stepfather.

Melanie already knew how Marcus’ mother, Marsha, had lost her first husband. She also knew how hard it was on Marcus when Marsha picked up her little family and moved back to Texas to live with her mother. There she had met and married Harold Skeffington, a widower himself with two children. It seemed only natural that two such lonely people should get together. For all intents and purposes, they formed a perfect family—even though Marcus bucked Harold at every turn.

In order to keep the peace, Marsha had separated the two by sending her son off to school at the early age of ten. From then on, the boy always felt on the outside looking in. He hungered for some elusive family bliss. The one great thing going for Marcus was his indomitable spirit. Somewhere in his gene pool, he’d inherited an invincible spirit of survival. Nothing could quench his excitement for living, an excitement that easily became contagious … as Melanie quickly discovered.

Marcus told Melanie about his time at school. It thrilled her to listen to his enthusiasm as he described his plans for the future, despite the censure of his stepfather. Soon they reached her favorite watering hole for the horses and they dismounted, sitting under the shade trees while the horses grazed. Melanie leaned back against the bank with London, her Australian Shepherd, by her side, while Marcus sat and braced his elbows on his knees. She tossed a few rocks into the river and watched the rings widen, as the other dogs joyously leapt in after them. As Marcus observed the animals playing, Melanie covertly studied his good looks. She marveled at his tanned, olive complexion that enhanced his coffee, almost black, eyes. His full lips fit perfectly within his strong jaw line, both defining his determined spirit. But she had no words to describe the boundless enthusiasm Marcus expressed for facing life head-on. He finally stopped and apologized for dominating the conversation, then asked about her.

Oh, I’ll return to school in Switzerland. I spent my high school years in a girl’s finishing school and now I’m enrolled in a small woman’s college near my old school. I’ll spend most of the year meeting Daddy around the globe as he travels to various places, selling his planes. That’s pretty much the way it’s been the last few years.

So what does your good-looking sister do with herself these days? Marcus asked. Does she travel like you do?

Melanie almost choked on her tongue to keep from spewing her disdain. No, she doesn’t travel as much. She shrugged and added, I don’t know; I guess she stays busy doing nothing. If you could count shopping as employment, then I guess you could say she’s a professional. Why do you ask?

Marcus pulled on a long stem of grass, absentmindedly chewing the end. Oh, I don’t know. I just saw her last night and wondered. He casually lifted a shoulder. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her and I had no idea she would turn out so hot. He left the rest hanging and watched the dogs chase a squirrel up a tree.

Had Marcus been more observant, the tightening of Melanie’s lips and the narrowing of her eyes would have given him warning. Instead, the unexpected shove almost toppled him.

Hey, what’s the big idea? He righted himself.

I’m sorry, but asking me about my stupid sister makes me mad. She blew at the hair dangling in her eyes.

Hey, all I asked was what she’s been doing. Don’t go ballistic just because I’m curious.

Melanie relaxed a bit. Okay, I’m sorry. It’s just that all the guys go ga-ga over her and they don’t know how she really is.

Marcus slanted a look at her. And how is she, really?

Melanie drew up her knees, rested her elbows on them, and stared across the river. Oh, I don’t know, she’s just…. She clamped her lips together, then burst out: It just makes me mad because she is so damn two-faced.

Marcus studied her profile as she struggled to control her emotions. When he remained silent, she glanced sideways and sighed, then looked away to watch as the squirrel taunted her dogs from his safe perch.

Quietly he leaned into her: That bad, huh?

That bad, she answered, then threw another rock. Look, you don’t need to get involved in the ‘battle of the sisters.’ I’m sorry I said anything. She just gets my goat, is all. She shot a lopsided smile his way.

Marcus changed the subject, asking about her plans for the summer. She brightened with a genuine smile. This summer, for the first time in a long time, we plan on staying here, she answered. We’ll probably go to my grandparents’ ranch in Aspen for a week or so, but we don’t have any big trips planned.

She wiggled her eyebrows and her eyes twinkled. We get to play, big time. All summer long! That is, if you want to … I mean, I could introduce you around. Or you could make it your job to rescue me from bandits or, heaven forbid, boredom.

Immediately he leaned forward. Little lady, he declared, it will be my undying pleasure to defend you against all of the bandits and outlaws prowlin’ these parts. He grinned and took on a deep Texas drawl. As a matter of fact, I appoint myself as your protector ‘exceptionale.’ Now, surely that deserves a reward of the most high kind, don’t you think?

Absolutely, Melanie answered. I think I’ll bestow on you the privilege of cooling the horses when we return.

Incredulity passed over Marcus’s face. What? What kind of reward is that?

The best kind ever when I beat you on the race back home.

She jumped up to grab her horse’s reigns, leaving Marcus to struggle to his feet.

Hey, wait a second!

He ran to his mount, then raced after Melanie’s laughter as it caught the wind.

They charged down by the Trinity River, across a stream, and into the field leading to the stables, hurtling forward, neck and neck. He could hear the flap of leather beating against the horse’s sides as they raced toward the barn. He pulled up alongside of her and caught a glimpse of her face. Her look of sheer exaltation caught him off guard and a desire to share in her utter joy welled up inside him. She toyed with him, allowing him to ride beside her, and then with a mischievous look she leaned down and whispered to her mount. Instantly they shot ahead, beating Marcus to the barn by two horse lengths.

As Melanie’s horse slowed to a stop, she swung down, landing on both feet and throwing her hands into the air.

You know, losers have to cool down the horses and groom them, she declared. Besides, I have to go to the house and get changed for a luncheon we are having for Reagan. If I don’t hurry, I’m gonna be in trouble.

He grabbed her around her waist and pulled her to him. Whoa, he commanded. He looked deeply into her eyes, leaned into her and said, First, I’m claiming my reward. Before she could object, he covered her mouth with a sweaty kiss. Melanie’s heart seemed to stop, then she struggled to free herself.

You can have only what I’m willing to give to you, Mr. Skeffington, she said defiantly. And you’ll have to do more than that to win a kiss from me. She raised a haughty brow. A lot more.

And then it was his turn to wear the startled look. Melanie kissed him hard, turned on her heel, and called the dogs to follow. Marcus stood there, pleased with himself, and yet a bit dazed. He looked after her with a half smile and wondered what it would feel like to really kiss her.

Wayne, the stable hand, soon showed up to take the horses off Marcus’s hands. Marcus got a drink from a water fountain in the stable and as he turned toward his car, he found a smug Vanetta leaning against one of the stalls, smiling at him.

Well, well, well. I do believe my little sister has you dancing to her tune. What is a good-looking guy like you messing with a baby? You know, what you need is a real woman.

Marcus slowly wiped his mouth on his sleeve as he studied her. He should have seen a girl just out of her teens; instead, he saw a curvaceous female with well-used goods. Her strong, beautiful features—classic, yet stunning—already reflected her toxic view of life. Her venetian-colored hair perfectly complemented her extraordinary yellow-green eyes. Unlike Melanie, there was nothing svelte or petite about her. Vanetta carried her tall frame with intense, even bold, power.

Marcus could see she relished his close inspection. As she mockingly approached him, he remained silent until only inches separated them. He watched with fascination at the unspoken, yet open invitation. He waited patiently for her next move. She looked him over seductively, then trailed her hand up his body, trying to mesmerize him with her come-hither eyes.

How could you want that simpering baby, she whispered huskily, when you could have a woman like me?

Chapter 6

Washington D.C.

CIA Headquarters

September 1962

A rap on the door made Arthur Jameson, the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, slightly annoyed.

Director Jameson, I believe you need to see this. Harold Robb handed his boss a communiqué and stood patiently, anticipating an agitated response.

When did this happen?

Last night. He was found floating in the Persian Gulf. Picked up by local fishermen. He was supposed to check in three days ago, but this explains why he didn’t.

Who else knows about this?

Aside from Garrett, who took the communiqué, you and I are the only ones to know so far, sir.

All right, let’s keep a lid on this until we find out more. Who do you have working on it now?

No one, so far. I can put Garrett on it right away, to eliminate possible leaks. I know he’s young, but he’s well trained, sir.

Jameson nodded his head. Get him on the next flight to Bahrain. We need to know what happened. Things are too volatile over there right now.

I’ll get right on it. Robb started to turn away, then halted. Jameson looked up. Will you notify the family, or shall I?

No, not until we have an autopsy done. I want all of the particulars ASAP. When you talk to Starkey’s wife, find out if he contacted her before he was killed.

Yes, sir. Robb replied, leaving the director uneasily contemplating a potential disaster.

Jameson stood up and turned toward the window, deep in thought, pondering what could have gone so wrong. The Middle East—on the surface, at least—seemed to be making strides toward pulling itself out of the dark ages. Now, with the discovery of vast quantities of oil beneath its ancient sands, the battle for control was heating up. Something big was brewing with the old sheikh, if Jameson’s nose for intelligence had it right. But what? Starkey must have uncovered something big. Big enough to get himself killed, Jameson thought.

How had he blown his cover? With a mother from Bahrain, he fit right in. He spoke the language perfectly. He got an ideal job, working for the Emir’s personal assistant. Starkey had tunneled so deep undercover that he found it tough to stay in touch. So how did he get unmasked?

Jameson stuck his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders as he stared out of his window.

Damn it all! Jameson cursed silently. Garrett had better get over there, and fast, before the KGB gains a stronger foothold. For months, Jameson’s best people had been running into a stone wall. Subterfuge, obfuscation, and mayhem were a field agent’s constant companions; yet he sensed a different, and bigger, kind of rumbling just below the surface. Something enormous appeared to be happening deeper down the pipeline—and the senior spy didn’t like it.

Jameson picked up the communiqué once more and read again Starkey’s name. He secretly wished that dead men could talk. Did that old oil tycoon, Alexander Wyatt, know about any of this? Alexander might just be America’s only hope in the Middle East; he just didn’t know it yet. All other avenues had failed, but somehow this old man had an in with the Emir. Could he help his country secure the military base in Bahrain that the English were about to abandon? Jameson desperately hoped so.

The worried man rubbed his chin, wondering how he could make the oil tycoon compliant. But that was for later; now he would have to wait to see what Garrett turned up. In the meantime, Jameson would call Masterson in the Swiss Embassy. Kelsey Masterson and Louis Starkey were supposed to meet the following week, and he needed to know if Starkey had contacted him before everything had gone so very wrong.

Bethesda, Maryland

Same Day

Betty Starkey had just started painting her guest bedroom when the doorbell rang. She put down her paintbrush, wiped her hands on a cloth, and left to answer the door. A courier stood on her porch, holding a special-delivery package. After confirming her identity, he indicated he had a package for her from a Louis Starkey. She signed for it, took the package, walked to her kitchen, and poured herself a cup of coffee. She sat on a kitchen stool, wondering what special thing her husband could have sent her. Louis had been gone so long; she could hardly wait to open his package.

Inside she found a letter attached to a separately wrapped packet. She tore into the letter, excited to get some rare mail from her much-missed husband. Moments later, she paced around the house, peering outside her windows to make sure no one was watching from the street. Seeing no one, she returned to the kitchen, picked up her phone, and made a person-to-person call to a specified number in Texas.

Sir, this is Betty Starkey, she said. When a deep voice replied, she continued: Sir, I have something for you. You’ll need to come right away. When can you be here?

She listened for a few moments, then replaced the receiver. She walked to her bedroom to change clothes, stopping only to get a sewing bag out of the hall closet.

The following day, a very distinguished, white-haired Texan stepped off of his private plane at Washington National Airport and strode into a waiting limousine. The limo whisked its passenger to a quiet park in a Virginia suburb, where the driver opened the door to let the man out. Dressed in a handsome, grey western-style suit, black ostrich boots, and a black Stetson, he walked over to the bench