In the Dark

by Marliss Melton

  The waitress appeared with a basket of bread. “What can I get you tonight?” she asked brightly.

  Hannah chose the flounder. Luther opted for crab-stuffed clamshells. He handed the waitress the coupon Mrs. Dodd had offered them, and with a puzzled look, she moved away.

  Hannah took note of the waitress’s confusion.

  “How come Westy never told me about his grandfather?” Luther asked her, harking back to their earlier interrupted conversation.

  “Probably because you never asked him,” she replied.

  He just looked at her. “I’ve worked with him for three years,” he said. “He never talks about himself.”

  “That’s because there’s a lot in there that he doesn’t want to face.”

  Luther regarded her thoughtfully. “I think you’re right.”

  “What’s your code name?” she asked him abruptly. It had just occurred to her that Lieutenant Renault was called Jaguar and Chief McCaffrey was called Westy. So what was Luther’s code name?

  “Little John.” He helped himself to a roll from the breadbasket.

  “Little John?” She looked him over, her eyes widening. “Is there possibly some part of you that’s little?” she inquired, raising her eyebrows.

  Luther buttered the lower half of his bread very carefully. He took great pains to avoid eye contact, but to her amazement he appeared to be blushing.

  “Well?” she prompted.

  “John is my first name,” he explained. “John Luther Lindstrom. I was the youngest guy on the team. Hence, Little John, you know, from Robin Hood. The name lost its meaning after I was promoted to lieutenant.”

  Hannah frowned in concentration. “Why does that name sound familiar?” she asked. “John Lindstrom.”

  He leaned forward, pitching his voice discreetly. “You should know this already, sweetheart. We’re married.”

  The deep blue depths of Luther’s eyes captured her. She leaned in, too, so that their faces were mere inches apart. “Know what?” she asked, giving herself permission to study his strong-boned face, his nicely shaped lips. She remembered how they’d felt against hers, tender and restrained.

  “I played football for the Dallas Cowboys. That’s why I sit with my back to the room.”

  Hannah gaped at him, harkening back to Westy’s observation several days ago. You don’t know who he is, do you? he’d said. “Guess I picked a lousy partner to go undercover with,” she muttered. Then, because she knew she could get away with it, she stroked the hard curve of Luther’s jaw.

  Her touch so obviously unsettled him. She could tell by the wary look that stole over his features. With reluctance, she released him, noting the approach of the waitress again.

  “We serve a complimentary bottle of wine to all the newlyweds stayin’ at Magnolia Manor,” announced the girl. She displayed a bottle of white wine and commenced to fill up their empty wineglasses.

  “None for me, thanks,” Luther said, sliding his wineglass to the wall.

  “Is there something else I can get you?” the waitress asked.

  “No. Water’s fine.”

  “Your dinners will be right up then,” she said smiling.

  Hannah took a sip of the wine, which was tart and unremarkable. “Tell me why you became a SEAL,” she demanded.

  He glanced at the room’s reflection. The police were still eating.

  “Come now, I’m your wife,” she cajoled, unsettling him further. “Football is so lucrative, so glamorous. Why’d you quit?”

  “I got into a car accident,” he admitted shortly.

  Hannah eyed him with concern and waited for more.

  “I’d had too much to drink,” he added, glancing toward his empty wineglass, “which is why I don’t drink anymore. I couldn’t breathe. One of my ribs had punctured a lung. I was pretty sure I was going to die. But I didn’t. I was stuck in the car for hours. It gave me time to think about . . . what I was doing with my life.”

  She suffered an almost-overwhelming urge to grab his hand. “What happened?” she prompted.

  “I promised myself I’d make changes in my life; do something to make the world a better place.”

  She nodded with approval. “So you became a SEAL.”

  His smile was wry. “Not exactly. First I spent six months in traction. I trained for a year after that. Then I joined the Navy, went to Officer Candidate School in Pensacola. Then I went to BUDs—basic underwater demolition and SEAL training in Coronado. I had to roll out the first time around because my back wasn’t up to it. I finally graduated with class 235. That’s when I became a SEAL.”

  “Any regrets?” she asked.

  A few bleak memories flickered in his eyes but he shook his head. “Not about quitting football, no.”

  They fell quiet as the waitress reappeared bearing their meals. “Flounder and stuffed clam shells,” she announced. “How’s the wine?”

  “Delicious,” Hannah replied with an innocent smile.

  “Enjoy your dinner,” said the girl, moving away.

  “You know, if you weren’t so famous,” Hannah remarked, cutting into her flounder, “you’d be great for the Agency.”

  “Thank you,” Luther said, “but I’ll stay where I am.” His expression darkened. “Unless Jaguar loses his case.”

  “He won’t,” she promised him.

  They fell quiet as they savored the food. Luther nudged her under the table, bringing her gaze up sharply. One of the cops was coming toward them. A fish bone lodged itself in Hannah’s windpipe. She snatched up her water and chased it down.

  “Evening, folks,” said the bewhiskered cop with a shallow smile. “How’re you doin’ tonight?”

  “Just fine, Officer. Yourself?” Luther dabbed his mouth with his napkin.

  Hannah’s gaze dropped to the officer’s name tag. Duffy.

  “You must be from out of town,” the officer wagered.

  “Yes, we are.” Luther’s tone was affable.

  “Where you from?” the man persisted.

  “Virginia Beach area.” The restaurant seemed to have gotten awfully quiet. “We’re on our honeymoon.”

  “Congratulations. I don’t suppose you own that little Nissan parked over at Magnolia Manor?”

  Luther betrayed no reaction to the question, even when it was blatantly obvious that the cop was fishing for information. “No, actually, the car belongs to a friend of mine.”

  “Ah, well. I happen to run a check on all the cars that come to town, and I come to find that car’s got an unpaid speeding ticket.”

  “Does it? I’ll have to remind my friend to pay it.”

  “You do that. We run a pretty tight ship up this a’way. Bein’ in the Navy you ought to appreciate that.”

  “Navy?” Luther shook his head.

  “Your friend has military stickers on his car,” the cop explained.

  “Ah,” said Luther, admitting nothing.

  “You mind showing me your driver’s licenses?” he asked. They’d come to the point of this conversation. “Just in case you’re the owner of the car and you’re shy ’bout tellin’ me,” he added with an oily smile.

  Luther tugged his wallet out of his rear pocket and handed over his license, taking care to hide his military ID. The cop seemed more interested in seeing Hannah’s ID. She was grateful that they’d waited a day for it. As the police looked at her photo, then her face, then back at the card, turning it over to assess its authenticity, she held her breath.

  “Good picture, Miss Lindstrom,” he finally said, handing their IDs back. “Can’t say the same for you, though,” he added, needling Luther. “Ya’ll enjoy your stay. Ma’am.” With a final nod, he moved away to join his buddies who, in one accord, stood up to leave.

  Luther kept an eye on the window.

  Hannah cut out another piece of her fillet and chewed it slowly, covering up the fact that her heart was beating fast. They waited until the chatter in the restaurant resumed its normal volume to discuss the confron
tation.

  “What do you think?” Hannah asked.

  “Lovitt gave them a heads-up, but they’re not sure it’s you,” Luther guessed.

  “We need to move fast,” Hannah suggested.

  “No. They’ll be watching us tonight. We go straight back to the B and B and we stay there. Tomorrow we’ll sightsee,” he added, “keeping our eyes peeled. Don’t forget Westy’s out there making inquiries.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Hannah conceded.

  At the same time, it occurred to her that it might just be more dangerous to lock themselves in their room—just the two of them—than to be out and about, scrounging for evidence. Spending time one-on-one with Luther was quickening something inside her, something that demanded her attention. If she wasn’t careful, her feelings for him would threaten the plans she’d nurtured for years now. She was growing less obsessed with returning to the CIA and more interested in spending time with Luther. Right about now, she’d give anything for a second kiss.

  Chapter Nine

  Sabena, Virginia

  25 September ~ 1:28 EST

  Luther floated in a semiconscious state, resisting the pull toward a deeper sleep. With the cops in Sabena so suspicious, it was safer to stay awake. He dozed sitting up in the sofa chair, his MP-5 propped within reaching distance.

  For the first hour he listened to Hannah toss and turn as she fought to fall asleep. Every sigh she made had him recollecting how soft her hands were, how long and slim her fingers. The rest of her body would be softer still.

  She’d said and done things tonight that had ratcheted his awareness of her to a whole new level.

  Is there possibly some part of you that’s little? she’d asked with a teasing smile that had made him realize that sex with Hannah would be downright fun. He’d envisioned himself pinning her to the wall, sliding himself up inside of her, and saying, Does that feel little to you?

  Luther shifted in the chair. Thoughts like those weren’t going to get him anywhere but into trouble. Hannah was hot, yes. He’d known that the minute he’d laid eyes on her, and he’d been wary of his attraction ever since.

  But she wasn’t the woman for him. She wasn’t going to keep the home fires burning while he went out doing what he did. In fact, she would rather be on the front lines, fighting alongside him. Therefore, regardless of how pleasant he found her company to be, how tempted he was to slip into bed with her and exorcize his burgeoning need for her, he wasn’t going to do it.

  His cell phone vibrated, doing a dance on the bureau. Luther leaped out of the chair, snatching it up before it wakened Hannah. He carried it into the bathroom and shut the door. “Lindstrom,” he said.

  “Sir.” It was Westy reporting in. “I’ve talked to several people this evening. I think I have a fix on Lovitt’s warehouse. It belongs to another Blaylock, the sheriff’s brother.”

  Bingo. “Where is it?” he asked, staring at the whites of his eyes in the bathroom mirror.

  “Just across the river from where you are, sir. You’ll see it when the sun comes up. I’m going in for a job interview in the morning. I’ll bring the camera, in case I see anything.” Master Chief had handed off the infrared camera he’d used to recon Miller’s apartment.

  “Good work, Chief. Keep me posted.”

  A strangled sound had Luther spinning toward the bedroom. He severed the call abruptly, wishing he’d brought his MP-5 into the bathroom with him.

  Cracking the door, he peered into the room. To his relief, there was no intruder. Hannah lay rigidly upon the bed. She’d kicked the sheets off, caught in the grips of a nightmare.

  “No!” she cried, bringing her fists up as if holding on to something.

  He went to rouse her. “Hannah,” he said, shaking her shoulders lightly. Even in the dark, her hair shone a deep, dark red. He was dying to run his fingers through it.

  To his astonishment, she threw her arms around him, seizing him in a headlock. He had one knee up on the bed, and as she rolled, she took his head with her. He ended up flat on his back with Hannah straddling his hips, pinning him to the mattress.

  He was immediately aware of her crotch, positioned over his hips. She smelled of the French milled soap that came courtesy of the B and B. And the only thing between him and her naked skin was Westy’s Harley-Davidson T-shirt and a pair of running shorts. His ears started ringing for the blood that surged abruptly.

  But there was just enough moon glow coming through the gauzy curtains to illumine Hannah’s dazed expression. She wasn’t trying to seduce him. She was caught in a state between dreams and reality. He’d seen that look on the faces of exhausted SEAL candidates during Hell Week.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, disoriented.

  “You were dreaming,” he explained, wriggling out from under her.

  “Oh,” she said, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Yes, it’s always the same damn dream. I’m so tired of it.”

  Her vulnerability tugged at him. The Hannah that he knew was amazingly strong, intelligent, fearless. This was the side of herself she kept under lock and key.

  “You want to talk about it?” he invited. It couldn’t hurt to alleviate some of the pressure she was under.

  She rubbed her eyes and sighed. “For some stupid reason, I’m in the plane with my parents. I’m the copilot, trying to help my father recover the plane, only it keeps going down.”

  Jesus, he hadn’t realized this was about her parents. He didn’t have the words to comfort her on that level. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, smoothing a lock of hair behind her ear. The endearment startled him, rolling off his tongue so easily. But then, he’d been calling her that all evening as a part of their role-playing.

  To his dismay, tears welled up in her eyes. She twisted away and dropped her face into her pillow. She lay there as still as a statue, not making a sound.

  Luther heaved a silent sigh. Shit. He couldn’t ignore her upset just because she threatened his self-control. That would make him an ass.

  He lay down cautiously beside her. Keeping several inches between them, he swept a comforting hand up and down her back. Her chest convulsed. God, he hurt for her. He didn’t even want to imagine what it would be like to lose both parents at once.

  And then to be the oldest child, to put her dreams on hold in order to care for her sibling. It took a special kind of person to get through that, still capable of smiling.

  Without warning, Hannah rolled toward him. She threw an arm around his neck and held on tight. And just like last night, her trim, athletic body conformed to his. Last night he’d had jeans on. Tonight he wore pajama pants that did nothing to conceal his mounting awareness of her. But Hannah seemed oblivious. She sniffed, wiped her eyes, released a shaky sigh. And then she fell asleep.

  Again.

  Luther regarded the flecks of moonlight dancing along the ceiling. Honestly, this had never happened before. He’d had women drooling over him for years, practically begging him to get in bed with them, and here Hannah had fallen asleep on him, not once, but twice. He felt a little chagrined.

  On the heels of chagrin came flattery and gratitude. She must really trust him. Nor did she tempt his restraint by trying to seduce him. He knew what would happen if they made love: He would like her even more than he did now, which was a hell of a lot.

  Hannah wasn’t for him—no way. In fact, aside from her unfaithfulness, Ronnie had come closer to fulfilling his idealized version of the perfect mate. Hannah was a future case officer, eager to put her information-gathering skills to work and to head out overseas. She was the last woman in the world who’d want to settle down and live a simple life.

  So, come morning, he’d be glad that he didn’t slide a hand up under her T-shirt. But all night long, apparently, he was going to have to battle the impulse.

  Hannah hummed in her sleep, reveling in her starkly sensual dream. Her arms were locked around a massive chest, one leg crooked over a muscled thigh. This had to be Luther she was tou
ching. No other man in the world had a body like this.

  She smoothed a hand over a flexing pectoral muscle. His skin was velvety smooth, sprinkled with crisp chest hair that tickled her fingers as she sifted through it. Remembering the line of fuzz that arrowed over his abdomen, she traced it with her fingertips, driven by female curiosity.

  The fuzz grew softer, less distinct. To her disappointment, she encountered the barrier of an elasticized waistband. But, wait, this was a dream, so the only true barriers were those in her mind, right?

  She slipped her fingers under the elastic band and . . . oh, my.

  He was as hard and smooth as a fantasy ought to be. And that code name, Little John, was a serious misnomer.

  Thrilled by her obvious effect on him, she banded the offering and he jumped against her palm.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  Luther’s rough inquiry had her questioning reality. She cracked her eyes open and found herself lying hip to hip with him, her mouth pressed to his shoulder, her hand inside his pants.

  She snatched it free, looking up at the same time into his dark blue, highly alert gaze. “Sorry!” she exclaimed. She rolled away so fast that she fell off the bed.

  “Careful.”

  “I’m fine.” She jumped up, too mortified to look his way. Throwing open her suitcase, she snatched up the clothes she would wear that day, along with her disguise. All the while, she could feel Luther’s brooding gaze on her.

  With her hands full, she raced for the bathroom, shu the door between them and put her back to it, humiliated.

  Now he knew that she found him h-o-t, hot. Not only was his body incredible but he was hero material right down to the bone. He’d held her all night long because she’d needed him. He was appealing enough to begin with—earnest, honest, all-American. But his kindness was the clincher. It made him irresistible.

  Only Luther couldn’t make it more obvious that he didn’t want to get with her. Sure, he’d offered comfort when she needed it, but there was a look in his eyes that warned her to keep her distance. She could only guess that he wasn’t over Veronica yet. Or maybe he found Hannah revolting in her disguise. Or, more likely still, he figured she’d make a lousy lifelong partner.