Who Do You Trust?

by Melissa James

  “Permission denied,” Anson snapped. “You signed a three-year contract and you’ll fulfil your final year.”

  Mitch felt his jaw set, hard. “We have three children, sir. My kids need me at home.”

  “I don’t need reminding of your children, Skydancer. You wouldn’t have your sons at home—and neither would your fiancée—if I hadn’t found them for you and made all the arrangements for them to be with her.”

  He felt Lissa start beside him, but still she remained quiet. She’d been silent from the moment Irish apologized to her for the cuffs as soon as they were inside the safe building.

  He was grateful for her instinctive wisdom. Nick Anson, ex-CIA operative, had a perpetual mistrust of “outsiders”—those outside the military—that ran too deep to be mere prejudice alone, but whatever had happened to him, his boss kept it to himself. “I know, sir, and I’ve thanked you over and over for that,” Mitch replied now, “but I still had to stay away from them another five months during the problems in the Java and Arafura Seas. I don’t want to be away from them that long ever again. I’ve risked my neck for national security and regional stability enough times. I won’t do it again, not for any other reason. My sons are emotionally fragile. They’ve been hurt enough by their mother. They need to know I won’t take off without notice, and they need to feel secure that I’ll come home in one piece.”

  “Risk is the nature of our beast.”

  “For single guys like you, sir, and Flipper and Braveheart and Irish and the other Nighthawks—even Songbird and Heidi love the game. But it’s not for me anymore. I have a wife and family who need me and I won’t leave them alone or at risk.”

  Anson’s fair hair glinted in the artificial light of the office. “The contract’s nonnegotiable, McCluskey. Our work’s too important to throw away. I feel confident that when your lady knows the score about what you do, she’ll agree with me.”

  Lissa, her gray eyes wide in awe—by what she’d heard, or, like many women, by Anson’s rugged, Nordic god looks, Mitch didn’t know—ventured a smile. “Maybe I will, sir. ‘Skydancer’ has this annoying tendency to want to overprotect me. He doesn’t know what I’m capable of doing on my own.”

  He grinned at her and rolled his eyes. “I’ve been learning lately, Lissa. Constantly learning.”

  She smiled up at him, with a sweet relief in her eyes, and belatedly he realized he hadn’t smiled at her since last night. “Good,” she teased, looking so dainty, as ethereal in her faerie-like loveliness as ever—yet he knew she could kick his arse into tomorrow without breaking a sweat. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, my gallant —um, ex-squadron leader.”

  “Ah, I see your lady has spunk and sass.” Anson gave Lissa his slow, reluctant grin—the smile guaranteed to make Songbird and Heidi, their two female operatives, plus most other women, weak in the knees. “I like her, McCluskey.”

  Mitch flicked a glance at Lissa, who was watching his boss in turn. While he could see she wasn’t immune to Anson’s lethal, unconscious charm and lazy, deep New Orleans accent, he could tell it didn’t go beyond a natural inclination to look. There was no flicker of feminine awareness in her eyes. He grinned back at Anson. “So do I, sir.”

  Anson waved them out, too absorbed to even notice, let alone worry about Lissa’s reaction to him, too obsessed with saving the world to notice any woman at all—even the gloriously beautiful, sophisticated Songbird, and the equally dedicated-to-the-cause mountaineer operative, Heidi. “Take her to Tumah-ra if you have to. But tell her only what she needs to know, in a soundproof room in this building. Don’t give any names of our operatives.”

  “I don’t know their names,” he retorted dryly. “And, sir, I think it’s better if we talk out in plain sight. Our boy will be timing us if he followed us here, checking who owns this place and drawing his own conclusions. Which could rebound on the Nighthawks. If he’s after me, it’s best if the Nighthawks don’t appear in this at all.” He hesitated. “Livewire in bag, sir.”

  Anson nodded. “Okay, Skydancer, we’ll do it your way. A thirty-four. Who do you want?”

  “Angelo. Just the bag. We’re clean.”

  “I know that,” Anson retorted in withering sarcasm.

  Of course he knew. The electronic detectors and portable sweeps inside the building here put Australia’s international airports to shame.

  The door opened behind them. The interview was over.

  “Thirty-four?” Lissa asked softly, in the outer office.

  Mitch led her to the front offices, lifted her bag from the security cupboard and lifted his finger to his lips.

  She nodded.

  They walked out onto the sunshine-soaked grass verge outside the building, leading to a park. “What the hell’s going on, Lissa?” he snapped, his eyes darting side to side, looking for a tail. “Why did those goons drag us out of bed and down here at six in the morning? What did they say to you?”

  “They strip searched me, of course—single mother farmers are obviously so dangerous to the Australian public! How would I know? What did they say to you?” she retorted, continuing the argument they’d started this morning after Irish and Braveheart cuffed them. “After all, it’s not like I disappeared anywhere the past twelve years. I don’t fly planes into dangerous places. I don’t consort with drug-addicted prostitutes!”

  Oh, she was good. He felt a crazy urge to laugh. Lissa had missed her calling in life. She could’ve made a fortune as a soapie actress or radio talk-show host. He led her down the streetree-lined park that bordered the Nighthawks’ headquarters near Lake Burley-Griffin, holding her arm as they walked along the winding path beside the manmade lake. “She was not a drug addict when I met her. And you’re on dangerous ground, talking about Matt and Luke’s mother like that,” he growled.

  A quick flash of worry came and went in her eyes, seeing his reassuring twinkle. “And what a mother she was! I’m their real mother and you know it. The only good thing she ever did was give birth to them—after that she dumped them on you, kidnapped them and damaged them just to get back at you for not paying for her drugs, or for standing by her in the first place, marrying her when she was having your kids!”

  Mitch stopped in his tracks. “Where the hell do you get off talking like that? My relationship with Kerin is none of your damn business!”

  “And why don’t the same high-minded principles stop you passing judgment on my relationship with Tim?”

  Passers-by were staring, looking away. Hurrying on. Wild ducks quacked, flapped their wings and took off into the bright, clear sky—and a thin dark boy came out of nowhere, snatched Lissa’s handbag from her shoulder and tore off.

  “Mitch!” she screamed. “That kid stole my bag. Stop him!” And she bolted after the kid.

  Mitch overtook her in seconds, sprinting in the same direction the boy had run. But the kid jumped into an open dark car without plates, looked at him with a big, smirking grin and slammed the door shut. Within seconds it was gone.

  Lissa joined him moments later, panting. “I hope I’m getting that bag back. I was fond of it.”

  Man, he’d never have thought Lissa would think so damn quickly on her feet or get the deal so fast. “I’ll get you a new one this afternoon, I promise.” Under the pretence of comforting her, he held her close. “Angelo signaled to me that someone’s following us, so I’ll make this quick. We’ll get a bus to the nearest police station and notify them about the bag. We can talk while we’re on the bus—the engine and talk around us should interfere with any signal he sends out. You all right, baby?” he asked aloud, caressing her, kissing her face.

  “I want to go to the police,” she hiccupped against his chest. “He’ll sell my bag for drugs!”

  “That’s what kids do these days. Welcome to city life, Lissa. This is why I want to bring the kids up in Breckerville.”

  “Huh!” she said, recovering in an instant. “What planet are you living on? Armed robbery and assault’s three times h
igher in country New South Wales towns than in Sydney, and double that statistic again for single mothers like me. I’ve been robbed four times since Tim left. The last time they put me in the hospital. Matt and Luke are probably safer in Bondi Beach than Breckerville.”

  “What?”

  She shrugged. “Why do you think Tim checks on me so often? Why he’s done repairs around the house so much? You know now it sure wasn’t for sex.”

  He felt sick, like he’d been kicked in the guts. His stupidity and selfishness in never coming home never checking to see if Tim had left her alone, so small and vulnerable, made him sick. And all because he thought he loved her too much!

  But who did he love more—her, or himself? Love took risks, and all he’d done was protect himself. Damn his cowardice! Maybe Lissa was right in what she’d said last night in the plane. Maybe he’d never cared enough, never loved her enough. He should have come home, stopped worrying about his feelings and taken care of her. Then she’d never have had to live alone for the past six years. She’d never have been burgled or injured. And maybe, just maybe, she’d have some faith in him right now. “When? Who did it? How badly were you hurt?”

  “I had a broken nose, a few strained ribs. Nothing life changing. But I don’t own a VCR or computer anymore—it’s too much of an open invitation. He was a local brat on ecstasy—he’s long gone, disappeared to Sydney, probably dead or on the Wall,” she said tersely, referring to Sydney’s notorious area for boy prostitutes. “Tim got us a security system. Tim’s partner, Ron, built me a pull-out cupboard for the microwave and coffeemaker, to hide them.” She shrugged again, like it was no big deal. “I got out of hospital about two months before you called me about the boys.” She grinned. “Now you know why the family takes those kickboxing lessons you hate. I wanted the local punks to know we’re not such an easy target anymore.”

  He lifted her face, the awed glow in his eyes serious. “Baby, I’m so proud of you. For your strength. For your optimism. For your courage, after all you’ve been through. I just wish I’d been there for you. But from now on you’re not alone—and if you give me a second chance with you, you never will be again.”

  The shutters came down. “Mitch, I don’t—” Her eyes darted sideways, then back to him. “Kiss me, Mitch. I’m not as brave as you think I am….” When her lips met his, she murmured into his mouth, “He’s there. At the other end of the park. See him?”

  He maneuvered her around under the guise of tender kisses. “Uh-huh. He can’t have any long-distance equipment or he wouldn’t bother to show himself. My guess is he’s trying to intimidate us. Let’s find that bus.”

  They stalked to the main road, holding hands, and he didn’t have to tell her not to look back. They climbed on the first bus they saw, Lissa wailing that she didn’t like this park anymore.

  He’d never have thought of that, either. “You’re an awesome actress, you know that? Just who is the agent operative in this couple?” he murmured, as soon as the bus lumbered off and he was sure no one had followed them onto it.

  Lissa faced him, her eyes glittering, and he knew the games were over for now. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me about it, Skydancer? Tell me who you are, who that man is and what this organization does and why?”

  Crowding close, he murmured all she needed to know for now into her ear. About his reputation as a rebel in the Air Force—taking stupid chances with his life and his squadron to help people in need. How it resulted in a phone call two years ago from Anson, ex-CIA and head of an international group of operatives known as the Nighthawks, with head offices in Virginia, London and Canberra. What the Nighthawks did. How Anson offered him a place with the Nighthawks, doing what he did best—search and rescue in war zones, saving women and kids and political refugees. Offering Mitch an irresistible cover by having him appear to remain with the RAAF, and bona fide work with the Vincent Foundation—feeding kids and women in desperate need. The promise to find Matt and Luke, to get them back from Kerin. A guarantee he need only do backup, part-time work if he got the boys. The RAAF’s total cooperation with his cover, proving to him that the Nighthawks were definitely on the up and up. With the good guys.

  Slowly she nodded. “Did you bring that little girl illegally into the country?” She pretended to nibble his earlobe, then she giggled as an old woman huffed about declining morality in Australia. “Now I’m a wanton woman! Oh, this is fun. I haven’t had this much fun since we played spy games as kids!”

  Fun? He was going insane. “I don’t know about you, but I want the real thing,” he growled in her ear. “I love being this close to you, touching you, but I hate knowing it’s all fake. I want to get you naked again—totally naked—and not have to worry about listening devices or anything else but pleasing you. I want to make love to you so badly, and I want you to want me, to make love with me, too.” He looked in her eyes and found a compelling mix of heated desire and haunting uncertainty. “I want to see you—all of you—and touch you without games or doubts. I want to touch you all over—kiss your breasts, your face, your gorgeous bottom. I want my hands and mouth on every part of you until you scream my name again, scream for me to be inside you. I want to lie on you, to be inside your body, then have you take control of me. I want you to ride me until we both collapse. And then I want to start again, and then again. I—”

  “Stop,” she whispered, sounding anguished.

  Tell her. Let her know how much you want her. It was time to take Tim’s advice; they’d already lost so many years through his own stupid dread of losing her. “You don’t want me anymore? You don’t want me as much as I want you? Because my fantasies and needs are at the point of no return. Yesterday and last night was incredible, fantastic—but I need to be inside you, Lissa. I want to feel it, to be with you all the way.”

  A tiny gasp told him she wasn’t just listening but living and reliving his words in glorious Technicolor. “Tell me you want me like you used to, even if it’s just a little bit—please. Don’t punish me for the gutless wonder I used to be, for letting you down by not coming home. I always wanted you. I wanted to tell you so bad, baby. But you were everything to me. Everything. I’d have gone berserk if you didn’t want me. I couldn’t face thinking about you going to bed with him, wanting, aching for it to be me. I knew if I stayed around, you’d end up knowing how hard I get just from being in the same room as you. But I’m willing to risk it all this time, if you are. I’ll tell you how much I want you—I have to have you.” He tried to gauge her reaction but failed. “I need to know how you feel, too.”

  Silence; she hid in his shoulder. He closed his eyes, waiting, hoping for the smallest sign from her—a sign of passion, of need…of trust. And that, he found, he wanted most of all. Her trust. But he was getting nothing, nothing at all….

  n a shuddery breath filled his ear. “Yes. If it really matters—if this is the honest truth—I want you. I want you like crazy. I’ve never wanted any other man this way. Only you.” A sigh. “The man in the gray suit just got on the bus. Did you bring that child into the country illegally?” she asked again.

  “Yes.” He didn’t turn around. “No more now.” He held her close, in a mixture of play-acting and dead-serious desire. “Let’s look out for a cop shop.”

  “I want to look at mug shots,” she said venomously.

  He nuzzled her neck, feeling, oh, so happy. He hadn’t blown it. She still wanted him; she trusted him enough to stay on the plan, even after what he just told her about the little girl, Hana. “Oooh, baby, you turn me on when you’re vicious.”

  She giggled before she could catch it. “Behave yourself, will you, McCluskey? That poor lady behind us looks like she’s about to have a coronary as it is.”

  “Give our listener a sign,” he murmured. “Shake your head or whatever he’s waiting for.”

  “I already did,” she said simply. No big deal. “I think he wants to talk to me.”

  “I don’t care what he wants. The kids ar
e safe, Lissa. His hold over you is gone. And you’re not going to be more than ten feet away from me until I’ve put him out of action.”

  She put a hand on his thigh, caressing him. “Threat or promise, McCluskey? Because I think you’ll find I can look after myself. Stop underestimating me, Mitch. If I was an operative, wouldn’t you use me?”

  He wouldn’t hesitate. “But they’re trained operatives.”

  “Then train me.”

  He shuddered, but the agent in him knew she’d be an operative to equal Songbird or Heidi too damn fast. Her capacity for acting, for enjoying danger, already equaled anything he’d ever done or felt. “But they know the game, they realize the risks.”

  She laughed softly in his ear. “I think I’m getting the idea. I’ve been playing the game the past few weeks—and playing it well, so you tell me.”

  Damn, I wish she’d stop making sense! “They don’t have kids.”

  “You have kids. You’ve had them the whole time, even if you didn’t know where they were. You took the risks, knowing Matt and Luke had no one to rely on but you.”

  He opened his mouth and closed it. He had no answer for that one, and she knew it.

  She lifted a brow. “Well? Got any more buts?”

  The only ones he could think of he couldn’t say. Not now, not yet, not in a crowded bus—not until he found more courage than he had at this moment. But I wouldn’t be frightened as hell to use the other female operatives. Though I’d risk my life to save them, they’d be calculated risks. I wouldn’t take damn stupid risks because my heart was involved.

  I wouldn’tgive up and die if I lost them.

  He thrust a hand through his hair, feeling beads of sweat trickling all over his scalp. “Not right now. Give me a minute.”

  She chuckled, low and soft. “Oooh, baby, you turn me on when you’re frantically trying to protect me from myself.”