Daddy!
His child. His.
He clenched his hands into fists and leaned his forehead against the cool glass. He had nothing left with which to fight. He’d been drained of all strength. With a giant shudder, he released the last of the tension from his body and prepared for the onslaught.
His eyes drifted closed. He tried not to think, not to remember, but he didn’t get a choice. The memories came at him, weaving and ducking like ghosts in a low-budget horror film.
Faces of the dead. Men he’d killed, those who had died under his command.
John Alder, age twenty-seven. Killed in a climbing accident near the southern border of the former Soviet Union.
David Weeks, age thirty. Murdered by terrorists in a rebel camp in Central America.
Ronnie Maple, Jeff Harrison, Graham Everett, Albatross. There were dozens of other names, and many more he’d never known. Enemies he’d killed himself, civilians, locals and those with the simple misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The ghosts of the dead surrounded him, mocked him, hurled their insults, and he knew they spoke the truth. His fault. His fault. The smell of death was everywhere. He could feel it on his skin and seeping through his body.
Forgotten moments roared back to life. Decisions he’d made. Times he’d been so sure he was right. How had he known? How had he been so arrogant?
The past was everywhere. He staggered under its weight, moved across the room and fell into the chair. This was what he’d feared. This was why he’d kept a tight cover on his emotions. Feeling anything, even affection or regret, unleashed them all. Sorrow, sadness, anger, rage, fear, horror. They forced him to the brink of madness and threatened to push him off the edge.
Daddy, help!
The voice of a child called him back to sanity. He turned toward the sound, but the blackness of the room smothered him. A child. New life.
A possibility? A second chance? A reward for doing the one right thing in his life—for loving Jamie?
But he’d had to let Jamie go. It had been the right thing. A noble act. A—
He pushed to his feet with such force that the chair shot out behind him and slammed into the wall. Zach stalked to the window and stared out at the heavens.
“No!” he yelled, then hung his head in shame.
She’d been right. He was a coward.
He’d let her go because he was afraid. He’d let her go because he’d feared he would never be enough. That once she knew the truth about him, once she glimpsed the horror and darkness he’d trapped inside, she would be repulsed by him.
He’d let her go because the dream of living a normal life, of loving one person, of trusting in the future, was beyond him. He didn’t have that much left in him. He’d let her go because it was easier to deal with her anger and pain than with her contempt.
He’d let her go because, as the dream had shown so vividly, he would only end up destroying her.
You can be the warrior or you can be the man. You have to choose.
He’d chosen to let her go. Because he was afraid to be a man. He knew how to be a warrior. That part was easy. She’d been right. It didn’t take much courage to risk it all when he had nothing important to lose.
Yet look how much she’d risked. She’d bared her heart, then begged him to accept her love. He’d trampled all over her feelings, yet she’d kept giving, kept offering. Kept loving.
If she knew the truth…
He pounded his fist against the window frame and acknowledged what he’d always suspected. Jamie knew the worst about him. She knew because those same demons lived inside her. She’d experienced the same life, she’d seen death, caused death, had made decisions and had to live with them. She wasn’t afraid of the past or of him. She wasn’t afraid to love. Did he really want to walk away from his last chance ever? Did he want her to go the rest of her life without knowing how much he loved her?
“No,” he said, quietly this time, and headed for the door.
“Jamie?” he called.
He stepped into the hallway and listened. When he’d come back from his run, she’d been in her room. Was she asleep or out on the porch? Silence surrounded him. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep or even what time it was. Somewhere around midnight.
He knocked on her bedroom door, but there was no answer. He pushed it open and flipped on the light.
It was as if she’d never been there. The bed had been tidied, and the dresser was bare. Her luggage was gone. Even the scent of her had disappeared.
He knew the truth instantly, but still he searched the house, hoping he was wrong. Naked, he stepped out onto the porch. The Bronco was gone.
She’d left him, just as he’d asked.
Chapter 16
Jamie cradled the cup of coffee in her hands. When she sipped the steaming liquid, it felt warm, but when she held the mug, her fingers couldn’t absorb the heat. She knew what the problem was—she was turning to ice on the inside. All the hot drinks, warm showers and thick blankets in the world couldn’t solve that problem.
She drew her knees up to her chest and leaned back in the wooden deck chair. She sat on the balcony of her San Francisco apartment. From here she could see across the bay. It was a postcard kind of morning. White, puffy clouds, people out on sailboats, warm air perfumed with sweet-smelling flowers. The kind of days families spent together, or lovers savored as they stole time to be in each other’s company and make love.
Jamie sniffed a couple of times but refused to acknowledge the burning in her eyes. She was finished with crying. She’d done nothing else for the past week. Seven whole days of feeling sorry for herself. Seven days of tears, of second-guessing, of trying not to go back to the cabin and beg one more time.
The only thing that had kept her from hopping on a plane was the thought that Zach was already gone. By now he would be involved in his next assignment. While she didn’t think he would forget her, she doubted he would allow himself to think of her often. He might miss her, but he wouldn’t mourn her as she mourned him.
She still couldn’t sleep at night, so she used the time to relive the weeks at the cabin. She replayed entire conversations, wondering what she could have done differently to change the outcome of the last time she’d seen Zach. There were no miracle answers, no moments of insight or revelation.
She’d left him again. She’d sworn to love him forever and she’d left him for the second and last time. It had been the right thing to do. She knew that. It had also been the hardest thing she’d ever done. Leaving him had been like cutting off an arm or a leg. He was a part of her very being. How long would it take the wound to stop bleeding?
She’d expected to feel pain. What she hadn’t expected was the sensation of her emotional self draining away. And the questions. Had she left too soon? Should she have tried harder?
Jamie rose to her feet and shook her head. She’d run out of words and arguments. The bottom line was she couldn’t make him love her and she wouldn’t be with him if he refused to admit he cared. If he’d given her a hint it might all work out, she would have held on forever. In the face of his stubborn rejection, she’d had no choice but to go.
It was probably the kindest act. In the end, her love would have destroyed him. He wasn’t ready to face his past and let the ghosts go. He had to do that in his own time. Until then, she would survive without him. Eventually she would figure out how to have a good life without the agency and without Zach. If he changed his mind, she wouldn’t be hard to find. Not that she expected him to show up on her doorstep. The coldness in her heart told her he might never show up at all.
That meant she had to get on with her life, which sounded simple enough. If only she had a clue what she wanted to do. Not many of her skills were going to translate to the private sector. Not many companies needed employees well versed in the art of killing.
She walked into the living room. A cream-colored sofa sat in front of a bleached-pine coffee tab
le. There was a gold-tone floor lamp in the corner and a stereo system sitting on the floor. She’d never used the fireplace. The walls were bare. She wanted to compare it to a hotel room, but hotels put a lot more thought into their decorating.
The bedroom was just as bad. A bed had been pushed up against one wall. That was it. No pictures, no furniture. In the closet, built-in drawers held her small collection of cotton underwear. Her clothing consisted of jeans, shirts and one black lacy dress.
“Pretty pathetic,” she muttered, slipping off her robe and reaching for a pair of jeans.
She’d spent the past week immobilized by pain. She wasn’t going to do that anymore. She had to get on with her life. The task seemed daunting, but that was because she was looking at it all at once. She would do better to break it into smaller, more manageable sections. At least there was plenty of money in her account. The agency had paid well, and she hadn’t been around to spend much. She could go back to college or travel. She didn’t have to find a job anytime soon.
But she did have to start living.
She pulled a sweatshirt over her head, then brushed her hair. After weaving it into a braid, she collected her keys and her credit cards, then headed out.
Jamie hovered outside the boutique. The fancy lettering on the window scared her. She knew she didn’t look like any of the well-dressed customers that had gone in while she’d been lurking on the sidewalk. Yet the store had everything she’d wanted. Over the past week, in between crying jags, she’d called around to find a place that would fill her needs. Now all she needed was the courage to step inside.
She reminded herself that less than two months ago, she’d walked into an armed enemy camp and carried out a wounded prisoner. Compared to that, what was a little shopping?
Inside, the air was comfortable and lightly scented with roses. Jamie glanced at all the racks, trying to figure out what she needed first. The boutique had a wide selection of clothing, undergarments and accessories, including shoes. In theory, she could get everything she needed with one stop. That was her goal. Later, when she had more experience, she would venture out to a mall.
“May I be of assistance?”
She turned toward the voice and saw a small gray-haired woman standing in front of her. The woman couldn’t be much over five feet tall, with a tiny waist and miniature feet. Jamie felt as petite and graceful as a giraffe. The urge to bolt was strong.
She sucked in a breath. Only the truth would work in this situation. “I need help. Bad. I’ve only ever worn jeans. I want to dress better, but I don’t know what styles look good on me. I’m hopeless with accessories and makeup. I haven’t done anything but trim my bangs and occasionally hack off a couple of inches of length on my hair.”
The gray-haired woman smiled. “What’s your name?”
“Jamie.”
“Jamie, I’m Sandra and I’m going to change your life.”
Four hours later, Jamie found out Sandra wasn’t kidding. They started with casual clothes. Although Jamie liked the frilly blouses and fuller pants and skirts, they looked horrible on her. Fitted or tailored was better. Pants with tucked-in shirts, coordinated belts and flats emphasized her athletic build. For fun there were shorts, denim skirts and one scrap of black leather that barely covered her thighs. She tried on a couple of suits she just had to have, then they moved to dressier clothing.
Shortly after two, Sandra sent out for sandwiches. When they’d eaten, Jamie stripped and began trying on lingerie. Soon she had a wardrobe of lacy bras with matching panties.
Earrings had never been part of her style. She couldn’t wear them on the job, and she’d never bothered in her off-duty hours. But she allowed a young man to pierce her earlobes, then chose a collection of pretty earrings to wear when she could take out the diamond studs she now wore.
By three-thirty she was being escorted across the street, where Andre promised to work a miracle on her hair. Her skin was vacuumed, her pores cleansed, her feet pedicured and her fingers massaged. While this was done, Andre cut off six inches of hair, gave her a deep conditioning, then blew her hair dry over a fat, round brush.
A six-foot redheaded amazon beauty then explained the mysteries of makeup, chose a foundation that actually matched Jamie’s skin and didn’t streak.
By six Jamie was back in her apartment. She’d maxed out a credit card. Instead of feeling shocked, she was thrilled. “I should have done this years ago,” she said as she scampered to the bathroom.
She walked into the room, closed her eyes, flipped on the light, then opened her eyes. A stranger stared back. A pretty stranger with thick, shoulder-length hair that swayed and bounced. Andre’s cut had freed up natural waves Jamie didn’t know she’d had. He’d trimmed her bangs and thinned them until they were wisps. Makeup highlighted her wide hazel eyes.
Color stained her cheeks and her mouth. Diamond earrings glinted at her earlobes.
In place of worn blue jeans, she wore a denim skirt, a fitted T-shirt with a suede vest hanging open. Jamie laughed out loud. She looked…normal.
She stared at the piles of boxes and bags all over the floor. She had shoes, makeup, clothes, lingerie, accessories. She was going to have to buy a dresser. Maybe even a nightstand and another lamp.
She ignored the packages and walked into her kitchen. Sitting in the middle of the round oak table was the plant she’d bought herself. Coleus something. The man at the flower shop had sworn it was about as hardy as they came. She couldn’t kill it. She had detailed instructions about feeding and watering her new possession.
She’d never had a plant before. It implied permanence. That she would be staying here indefinitely. That she would be around enough to take care of it and talk to it. It made the sterile apartment more of a home.
She put a cup of water in the microwave to heat it for instant coffee, then leaned against the sink and stared out at the bay. The sun drifted toward the water, making the waves glimmer with gold. The emptiness inside was still there—it would always be there—but right now it was bearable. She hadn’t yet learned how to forget, but eventually she would figure out how to go on living. Who knows, she might even get herself together enough to go to the trouble to make a pot of coffee for just herself.
The microwave beeped and the phone rang at the same moment. Jamie’s heart jumped into overdrive. She reached for the receiver as her heart sent up a fervent prayer. Please, let it be Zach.
“Hello?”
“Sanders, you bored by retirement yet?”
The pain was so intense, she thought she might be dying. Not Zach. Foolish of her to think he would call. He’d made his choice and he was never going to admit he was wrong.
She sank to the floor and pulled her knees close to her chest. After taking a deep breath so her voice wouldn’t shake, she said, “I’m fine, Winston. How are you?”
“I’m spending a lot of time wondering how I’m supposed to get anything done without you.”
The microwave beeped softly to remind her about the heated water. She ignored it.
“You have lots of capable agents. I’m sure they can step in for me without any problem.”
“You were a little more than capable. What have you been doing with yourself? I’ve been calling every couple of weeks, and this is the first time I’ve caught you home.”
“I’ve been—” She squeezed her eyes shut. I’ve been falling in love with a wonderful man. I’ve been living the fantasy. I’ve been making plans and watching them disappear into dust.
“I’ve been adjusting,” she said.
“Not easy, is it?” His voice was low and sympathetic.
“No, but I’m determined to keep trying. I’ll figure it all out.”
“Maybe you don’t have to.”
“What does that mean?”
“I used to be a field agent, just like you. After ten years, I tried to walk away.”
The microwave beeped again. She opened her eyes and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I didn’
t know that.”
“Not many people do. The point is, I couldn’t make it on the outside. I needed the agency. It was in my blood. So I came back.”
“Is that what this phone call is about?” she asked, then shook her head. “I’m not interested, Winston. I’ve made my decision and I’m going to stick to it.”
“I’m not inviting you to go back in the field. I’m offering you something inside. A promotion. You’d be based here in Washington. Technology is changing and improving every day. We’re going to be adding another department. I’d like you to run that.”
She leaned her head against the cupboard door. “Would I be running agents?” she asked.
“Sure. You’d have a great team. The best. I’d let you pick them yourself.”
That’s what she was afraid of. “No, Winston. I don’t want the best. I don’t want to be responsible for sending other people into dangerous situations. I have to make a life for myself outside of the agency.”
“What if you can’t?”
She’d asked herself the question a thousand times. “If I can’t, then I’ll come crawling back and offer to work as your secretary.”
“That would be great, but I’m not going to hold my breath. You’ve never failed at anything, Jamie. I figured you were going to refuse, but I had to try. Stay in touch.”
“I will.”
He hung up without saying goodbye.
She sat on the floor and listened to the silence. She could have asked. It would have been so easy to casually ask if Zach was back on assignment. After all, she’d been the one to save his life. Winston wouldn’t have thought anything of the inquiry.
Where was he right now? The Middle East? Africa? South America? Was he even still alive?
That question kept her up nights. How would she know if something happened to him? Eventually information filtered down the agency grapevine, but she wasn’t hooked up to that anymore. Five years from now, would she run into Winston and ask? Would he look puzzled and say, Zach died years ago. Didn’t you know?
Surrender in Silk Page 21
