Mack's Witness

  A red-hot fling leads to peril on the Emerald Isle…

  Hearts & Heroes, Book 2

  Tired of eating sand and dodging bullets, Marine Captain Mack Magnus is ready to relax and enjoy his brother’s Dublin wedding. If that involves a few pints in a quaint Irish pub and getting laid by a pretty Irish lass, all the better.

  Instead he winds up getting ordered around by the cousin of the bride. Fed up with her mouthy attitude, he kisses her to shut her up. Now he has a new mission: get into the sexy redhead’s panties.

  Busy international model Deirdre Darcy knows the six-foot-four Marine’s type: hit-and-run sex and off to the next port. Fall into bed with an arrogant bastard like Mack? No thanks. When she stumbles upon a couple of Irish gypsies leaving a murder scene, she must go into hiding or become their next victim.

  His protective instincts kicking into high gear, Mack whisks Deirdre away to a small town where it’s easier to keep her safe. Except there’s no escape from their growing attraction—or from the one thing neither of them thought they wanted. Love.

  Warning: Battle-hardened, ready-to-cut-loose Marine teams up with a stunning Irish lass who thinks she can handle him. You’ll need the luck of the Irish to hang onto your seat for this sexy, suspenseful race across the Emerald Isle.

  Mack’s Witness

  Myla Jackson

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to our military heroes past and present without whom we would not be the free nation we are.

  A special thanks to Ireland for being such a fun place to visit. I hope to return soon!

  Chapter One

  “Captain Mack, sniper on the south corner of the building ahead.”

  “Keep him in your sights, Gunny.” Mack Magnus led one squad of his men toward the village from the south, while two other squads flanked the village from the west.

  His point man had the best eye for spotting trouble. If not for Gunnery Sergeant Roy Tyler’s eagle eye, they’d have lost a lot more men in the thirteen months since they’d deployed to Camp Leatherneck in the Helmand Province of Afghanistan.

  This particular night they were operating on intel indicating a Taliban stronghold had been established in the small village nestled in the rocky hills. They’d spent the better part of the day maneuvering into position to storm the village at night when the enemy slept. The problem usually arose when the Taliban surrounded themselves by innocent civilians—women and children. They knew the American soldiers would balk at destroying an entire village if innocents were involved.

  Cowards. This particular faction had recently lit a teenaged girl on fire and thrown her out of a speeding vehicle in front of a checkpoint to make an example of people who sided with anyone but the Taliban.

  Embedded news reporters had a field day with the horrific images. No one could get to the girl without taking on live fire. By the time they reached her, she’d been burned to death, her screams something he’d never forget.

  The squad halted outside the walled village and waited for the other squads to maneuver into place. Then one-by-one they slipped over the wall and dropped down on the other side, moving through the village to the largest building at the center where a Taliban meeting was said to be taking place that night.

  Earlier, they’d watched from the nearby hillsides as vehicles entered the walled village, some were trucks loaded down with men in turbans, carrying Russian-made AK47s. Others were vans or cars. For a small village where most inhabitants didn’t own a motorized car or truck, it was a lot of movement.

  Mack had waited until dark before giving the order to move out.

  Now inside the compound, they moved toward the target. Gunny climbed to the top of the building where the sniper sat and dispatched the man before he could fire a single round. The man must have fallen asleep at his post. He’d never do that again.

  As the squads moved on the main building at the center of the village, the first shot rang out.

  “Let’s rumble,” Mack said into his mic as the other squads moved into position. With his night vision goggles in place, he took the lead, moving building to building, firing on Taliban sentries.

  Gunny dropped down from the sniper’s position and joined Mack and the rest of the squad rushing the building.

  Mack reached for a concussion grenade clipped to his vest, pulled the pin, kicked in the door to the building and tossed the grenade inside.

  He ducked to the side of the door and held his hands over his ears as did the others. The grenade went off with a muffled whomp. His feet vibrated beneath him and the wall he leaned on shook.

  Then he moved into the building and stepped over the bodies of two men and gathered the guns they’d carried, handing them back to Gunny, who would quickly strip the bolts out of the weapons and slam the stock into the wall to break it against any future attempt at use against American forces.

  The deeper he moved into the structure, the more he realized there were no other men but the original sentries.

  “Got trouble on the south side of the village!” Someone shouted into his headset.

  Sounds of rifle reports came to Mack through the thick walls. Mack pointed to the exit and shouted, “Go! Go! Go!”

  As he emerged from the building, he nearly tripped over Lance Corporal Jenson lying on his side moaning, his hand clutching his thigh drenched in blood.

  A bullet hit the building over Mack’s right shoulder, dusting him in powder and pebbles from the stucco.

  He dropped to his haunches and glanced up through his night vision goggles. On the top corner of the building down the street from where he crouched, he saw the green heat signature of a warm body and the bright flash of bullet rounds. Mack raised his rifle to his shoulder, held his breath and squeezed the trigger. The man on the roof tipped over and fell to the ground.

  Mack shouted, “Gunny, stay here and help Jenson.”

  “Yes, sir.” Gunny bent over the lance corporal, administering a quick field dressing and light tourniquet to slow the bleeding.

  Mack moved through the maze of streets and walled yards, following the sound of rifle fire, hurrying to join the others.

  As he rounded a corner, something dropped in front of him and rolled.

  “Grenade!” he shouted and threw himself back around the corner, knocking into the rest of his squad.

  A loud bang shook the earth.

  “Sir.” A slender hand shook his shoulder and a voice with a light Irish lilt said, “Sir, we’ve just landed at Dublin International Airport. Are ya all right?”

  Mack blinked awake and sat up straighter, taking a moment to orient himself to his environment. “Dublin?”

  “Yes, sir.” The diminutive, older woman sitting beside him smiled. “You were having a wee bit of a bad dream.”

  Mack ran a hand down his face, wishing he’d had time to scrape the day’s growth of beard off before heading straight for his brother’s bachelor party. Hell, he’d like to have slept a day or two before the events. He’d pulled every string to fly out of Afghanistan a day earlier than the remainder of his unit re-deploying stateside.

  “Are ya here on business or pleasure?” the woman asked as the plane taxied down the runway to the terminal.

  He hadn’t talked the entire trip, closing his eyes as soon as the plane took off from Frankfurt. He’d arrived at Ramstein Air Force Base and made a mad dash to the international airport at Frankfurt, Germany, to catch his flight to Ireland. Exhausted and in need of rest, he’d leaned back in his seat and gone right to sleep. Now that he was in Ireland, he was expected to be awake and ready to celebrate Wyatt’s wedding festivities.

  Mack swallowed a groan. “I’m not here on business or pleasure. I’m here for my brother’s wedding.”

  “A weddin
g, is it?” The woman smiled and patted his hand on the armrest. “A fine place for a wedding. There’s no better place in the world than the Emerald Isle. Their wedding will be truly blessed.”

  “Sure.” Mack didn’t have a whole lot of faith in wedded bliss lasting. The odds of most marriages ending in divorce were too high for him to take the leap. He couldn’t believe his brother was willing to commit himself to the institution. Mack wondered if he’d knocked her up and felt obligated to marry her. Having been on maneuvers for the past few months, he hadn’t had time to talk with Wyatt about his engagement or the upcoming wedding.

  Hell, none of his brothers had met the woman. She might not even be right for Wyatt. With him in the army, the chances of this marriage lasting were even slimmer. All the more reason for Mack to make the effort to get there before the wedding. He needed to talk to Wyatt and remind him it wasn’t too late to call it off.

  “Your brother is a lucky man to have found love in Ireland.”

  “He didn’t actually find his fiancée in Ireland. They met in San Antonio, Texas, in the U.S. I don’t know why they decided to have the wedding in Ireland. I think she has relatives here.”

  “The wedding is in Dublin?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “I met me husband in Dublin when I was a young lass. He swept me off my feet and carried me away to a castle.” She stared out at the terminal as the plane rolled to a stop at the gate. “If you have the opportunity to visit Cahir, please, come stay with me in my castle. Me husband and I converted it to a bed-and-breakfast to help with the expense of upkeep. Now that me husband is gone, I manage it mostly by meself. Castle O’Leary B-and-B is its name.”

  “Thanks, but I think we’ll be staying in Dublin the entire time, then I’m headed back to the States.” Ah, the States. He planned on taking the full four weeks off, relaxing somewhere on a beach in California near the Marine base. He might even fly out to Texas to his little stretch of heaven in the hill country. The hundred acres of scrub he’d purchased with his signing bonus.

  The woman held out her hand. “Me name’s Katherine O’Leary, but me friends all call me Kate.” She handed him a business card. “If ya ever find yerself in need of a place to stay in Ireland, come to Castle O’Leary. I serve a fine Irish breakfast each morning.”

  To be nice to the woman, Mack took her card and slipped it into his wallet as the seatbelt sign blinked off. He stood, grabbed his backpack from the overhead bin and stepped out of the way for Kate to stand in the aisle as they waited for the doors to open and the flight to offload.

  “Is someone meetin’ ya here, or will ya be takin’ the train into the city?”

  “I’m supposed to have a ride.”

  “A ride, is it?” She giggled. “Just so you know, in Ireland a ride means sex. It’s a lift you’ll be wantin’. Well, then, Dia dhuit.” Kate smiled and translated. “That’s Gaelic for God be with you.”

  “Thank you,” Mack said, not certain how to respond to the older woman who’d just set him straight on sex. “And Dee a dwaht to you,” he added awkwardly.

  The door opened to the jetway and passengers shuffled out like cattle in a chute. Mack couldn’t wait to get his feet on solid earth and a beer in his hand. After thirteen months in an alcohol-free combat zone, he was ready to relax.

  As Kate, an Irish national, went one way, Mack joined the long line of foreigners waiting their turn to process through customs. After another forty minutes, he was finally headed toward the door marked Ground Transportation. If his ride—he chuckled—lift wasn’t there, he’d hire a rental car and get himself to the hotel.

  That’s when he remembered…he didn’t know what hotel they were staying at. The e-mail he’d gotten from Wyatt had been vague. Fiona’s cousin would be waiting for him near the exit for his terminal.

  Hell, he’d been in such a hurry to catch his flights he hadn’t stopped to ask who Fiona’s cousin was or what he looked like. In a terminal full of people coming and going, he could spend a lot of time searching for the cousin.

  He stood staring through the exit door and looking back over his shoulder in case he’d walked by the cousin and didn’t know it. He felt stupid for not asking for a name or description.

  A man walked by carrying a sign with a name on it. Mack started to follow him, until he turned and Mack could read the sign. O’Brien.

  He resumed his position near the exit and waited, tired, a little on the grumpy side and ready for that beer.

  A woman stepped into the terminal wearing a white, calf-length trench coat, sunglasses and a scarf over her hair. The little bit of legs Mack could see below the coat were trim, smooth, well-defined and gorgeous. He couldn’t tell what color hair was beneath the scarf, nor the color of her eyes beneath the sunglasses. The manner in which she carried herself was enough to make Mack look twice. She could be a runway model the way she strode across the floor, one foot in front of the other, the trench coat in no way disguising her tiny waist and slim hips.

  A woman like that had to be high-maintenance and completely full of herself, and most likely boring in bed. Basically, an ice princess. Though she was wonderful eye-candy, Mack was not the least interested.

  He glanced back at the entrance, wondering when his lift would show up, starting to think he might have to find his own way there.

  “Excuse me, sir,” a lilting Irish voice said. “What is yer name?”

  Mack’s insides tightened, and he turned to face the woman with the voice that tugged at something primal.

  The ice princess stood in front of him, her full, lush red lips pressed into a thin line. Then she snapped her fingers in his face. “Are you addled?”

  “Addled?”

  “Do you not speak English?” She stood so close Mack could see several wisps of deep auburn hair sneaking out from beneath the scarf.

  He wanted to reach out and yank the scarf from her head and let the dark red hair free. “Yes, I speak English.”

  “American, eh?” The woman drew herself up on her heels almost but not quite eye-to-eye with him. “Perhaps you could help me. I’m looking for an American named Mack Magnus.”

  So she was his ride…er, lift. A thrill of annoyance and desire speared through him. Her attitude was beginning to get under his skin along with the desire to pull her into his arms and kiss the lush red lips until he smudged her lipstick.

  “Silly name, if you ask me.” The ice princess glanced around and back to him, her head dipping as if she was looking him over from head to toe. “You sort of fit the description I was given, but I assumed he’d be a bit more…”

  “Handsome?” Mack fought the smile pulling at his lips.

  Her brows lifted above the rims of her sunglasses. “The word I was looking for was intelligent.”

  Mack chuckled. “It just so happens I know Mack Magnus.”

  “You do? Could you point him out for me?” Again, she looked around at the crowd of people moving in and out of the terminal.

  “I could…on one condition.”

  Her brows disappeared below the edge of the big sunglasses. “Condition?”

  He nodded. “Show me your eyes.”

  Her lips pursed, making Mack want to kiss them even more. “And why should I show you my eyes?”

  “I’m curious as to what color they are.” He reached up to touch the scarf covering her hair. “Red hair should have green eyes.”

  She snorted. “My eyes have nothing to do with you or my finding Mr. Magnus.”

  “I guess you don’t want to find this Magnus person.” He nodded toward the rush of people. “Go on. Find him yourself.”

  The woman squared her shoulders and performed an elegant spin worthy of a runway model and marched away.

  After a full two minutes of weaving in and out of the crowds gathered around the baggage carousels, she returned.

  “Fine. I’ll show you my eyes if you’ll point out Mack Magnus. Only briefly, because I don’t normally take off my sunglasses in pu
blic.” She turned her head left then right, before removing the sunglasses. “There. Are you happy?” She blinked up at him, her eyes a smoky shade of blue that contrasted brilliantly with her deep auburn hair.

  “Beautiful,” he said, mesmerized by them.

  For a long moment she stared back, the blue of her eyes deepening. Her tongue darted out to swipe a glistening path across her lips and she pressed the hand holding her glasses to her chest. “Are you always this bold?” she whispered.

  “Always.”

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and her gazed lowered to his mouth.

  He could swear he’d seen those eyes somewhere. Recently. His brows drew together as he tried to remember. “Do I know you?”

  She sighed and slid the glasses back on her face. “No. Surely, had I met you before now, I’d remember you for the attractive, yet unfortunately rude and obnoxious, American you are. Now, please point to Mr. Magnus. I have much to do and collecting him is cutting into my time.”

  “Then you’ll be happy to know you’ve been talking to the man with the silly name all along.” He swept a low bow in front of her. “I’m Mack Magnus.”

  “Jazus, Mary and Joseph.” Her smooth tones slipped into an earthier Irish accent and she planted her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

  “I would have, but you were on a tear to be as rude and obnoxious as you claimed I was being.”

  “Jeekers, come with me.” She spun on her heels and tripped over Mack’s backpack where he’d dropped it on the floor.

  He reached out, snagged her hand and yanked her into his arms to keep her from falling flat on her face. The scarf slipped from her head and the sunglasses fell from her face. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders in wild disarray.

  Fourteen months in the desert was a long time to go without holding a woman in his arms, a long time without the taste of a woman, without the feel of the soft curves of her body…Mack groaned. The urge to kiss her won and he lowered his lips to hers, claiming them in a searing kiss.

  Deirdre Darcy gasped and Mack’s tongue swept through the gap between her teeth to caress hers in a long slow glide of wet, sensuous heat. Her fingers curled into his shirt, dragging him closer when she should have pushed the bloody bastard away. Damn him for being so good-looking and cocksure.