“I need to understand what happened to Jozsef. But like I told you, I never loved him. I think I need to acknowledge that to myself.” She glanced at the pendant resting on the white linen. “Taking that off is like removing a weight. It makes it final. I can’t explain it.”
“Why were you going to marry him?”
She set her fork down next to her plate. “I guess you have a right to ask that question.”
He shrugged. “Do I?”
She took in a breath, slowly released it. “Jozsef walked into my life one day. And he was so right. He knew all the right buttons to push. We liked the same things, shared the same interests. He was fascinated by my work, wanted to know every little detail.” She fiddled with the stem of her glass. “He made me feel wanted. I needed to feel normal, Scott.”
Her candor made his brain stumble. “And you thought marrying him would make you feel normal?”
“He asked me. It seemed a logical step to take.”
“But you didn’t love him,” he insisted.
She looked down at the garnet liquid in her glass, spoke softly. “I didn’t know if I knew how to love…how to feel. I’ve been numb. For a long time. A very long time.”
He lifted his glass and sipped. “And now?”
Her eyes flashed up to his. Color flushed her cheeks. “I think you know the answer to that.”
The wine seeped warm in his chest. He could feel it smolder in his belly. He looked into her eyes. And he wanted to kiss her.
“And you, Scott? What’s your story?”
He blinked at the rapid turnaround. “Me?”
“Have you ever felt numb, Scott? You know, when you’ve been out in the cold too long and you freeze, then when you find warmth again, you thaw, begin to feel, and it hurts like all hell?”
He didn’t know what to say.
“Well, have you?” she pushed.
He swallowed, still speechless.
She leaned forward, lowered her voice to a whisper over the table. “You know what? I think you have. I think you were burned once, badly, and went numb, like me.”
He couldn’t breathe.
“But you’re not going to tell me your story, are you?”
The room was closing in on him.
“You want me to trust you and you won’t tell me anything about yourself,” she said softly. “You said trust brings freedom. But you won’t trust me. You’re not free, either, McIntyre. You’re just as trapped as I am.” She lifted her glass, sipped, eyes watching him over the rim.
He felt like bloody two-faced Janus. He was building a web of deceit, trapping this woman. This woman who’d been hurt so bad by something she’d gone numb.
Like him.
It’s your job, Agent. What in hell is wrong with you? He reached for his glass, took a deep swig, swallowed the bitter pill, choked as the drink went down. This was way wrong. This shouldn’t be happening. He took another swig. Like the Janus creek itself, he had a head pointed in each direction. Armstrong looking one way. McIntyre the other.
But deep down, they were one and the same, flowed from the same source. And into the same ocean.
“Scott?” Her light silver eyes bored into his. “Oh. I see… It’s double standards.” She held up her glass. “You look like you just lost your appetite.”
He had. For this mission. Deceiving Skye Van Rijn suddenly tasted real bad. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t playing fair. He breathed in deep. “I lost my family. My wife and my baby.” He said simply.
She paled.
“And I’m not inclined to talk about it.”
Neither of them was able to finish their meal.
Skye felt light-headed, surreal, as Scott led her to the front of the restaurant to get her jacket. His words had shifted her world. She suddenly saw him differently. He shared the pain of a lost child. She felt crass for having pushed him. But in a way she was glad she had. Because with those few words he’d opened a window through which she could suddenly see him. She felt as though she could understand this man. Relate to him.
And she felt something else.
A need to help mend his wound. A need to nurture. It was weird, but it felt as if her breasts were full and swollen again. As if the female part of her that had withered and died with the loss of her child was once again stimulated, full, pulsing with a new kind of life. As though she had something to give.
The waitress was waiting up front to say goodbye. Skye pushed her gold beetle necklace into her hands. “For you.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly take it—”
Skye closed her hand tightly over the woman’s. “Please. I want your sister to have it. It’ll make me happy that it has a true home.”
“I—I can’t thank you enough—”
“Don’t. I hope your sister finds her place in her chosen profession. It’s a fascinating field.”
Skye felt liberated by the simple act. She reached for her jacket hanging on the coatrack just as two burly men entered the restaurant.
They glanced at Skye, stared at Scott.
Skye could swear she sensed his hackles rise in primitive instinct at the sight of the men.
An unspoken aggression simmered in the air around him, like waves of heat from a flame.
It made fear stick like a hard ball in her throat.
Her eyes darted to his, questioning. But he made a slight movement with his lips, his eyes, telling her to be quiet.
He casually edged around her, shielding her from view as he helped her with her coat.
The men brushed past them, heading into the restaurant.
Scott whirled, grabbed her arm. “Quick,” he whispered. He yanked her out the door, ushered her smartly to their SUV.
A dark green Dodge truck was parked right outside the front door. Scott swore.
“What is it?” she whispered.
He stared at the plates on the truck as he steered her to their vehicle. “Get in the car.”
She didn’t resist. She didn’t like the razor edge in his voice.
He started the engine, but he didn’t gun the gas. He moved smoothly, quietly, out of the parking lot, like a hunter through night shadow. But once he was a block away, he stepped on it.
Only after he ducked down yet another narrow side street did she speak. “What the hell was that about?”
His eyes flicked to hers, his features stark and dangerous under the sporadic illumination of streetlights.
“Our tail just showed up at the restaurant.”
“Those men? They were our tail?”
“Yeah.”
“But the brown car wasn’t in the parking lot.”
“Different men. Different vehicle.”
Skye looked at the dark road ahead. The sides of her throat stuck together. Nerves skittered through her belly. Scott McIntyre had not shown this kind of edge when the brown car was after them.
He knew something she didn’t.
The night sky was clear, the moon high when they crept silently into the parking lot behind the motel.
“Why are we coming back here? Why don’t we just drive through?” Skye tried in vain to keep desperation from creeping into her voice.
“We need to lay low.”
“What are you not telling me, Scott?”
“We picked up a new tail in Duncan. I thought we’d shaken them.”
Fear clawed her throat. “How did we pick them up?” Her voice was hoarse.
“Don’t know.” He parked right up close to their motel room door. Skye bit back her anxiety, waited in the vehicle while Scott let Honey relieve herself under the trees at the side of the building.
She watched as he and the dog made their way through the night shadows. He unlocked the door, then motioned for her to join them.
And a new kind of dread pooled in her stomach.
She was going to have to sleep in the same bed as this man. This man who knew how to reach right into her and take hold of her very soul.
H
e held the motel door open for her, flicked on the light. She hesitated.
“Come on,” he whispered.
She stepped cautiously into the room, saw it almost immediately. The cot. Under the window. She turned to him, eyes questioning.
He smiled, a gentle look in his features she hadn’t seen before. “I had them put it in while we were out. You take the bed, I’ll take the cot.”
An insane gratitude swelled through her chest.
She reached up, touched the rough stubble of his cheek with her fingertips. “You’re a good man, Scott McIntyre.” And she meant it.
As much as she’d tasted the raw lust in his kisses, as much as she knew he wanted her, he was giving her this space.
He wasn’t trapping her. He wasn’t using her. He wanted her to be free. Truly free. And the tenderness of it hurt so bad she felt wetness threaten her eyes.
His hand covered hers at his face. It was rough. Large. Protective. “Don’t be deceived, Doctor.” A quiet edge snaked through his words. “My intentions belie my actions.”
A dark thrill quivered, slithered, to her belly. He was still letting her know he wanted her.
He was giving her the choice.
Eyes meshed with hers, he took her hand from his cheek, turned her palm face up, put his lips there.
She gasped softly.
His breath was hot, his lips firm against her skin. The sensation was painfully erotic. He tested, briefly, with his tongue. And her knees turned to putty.
He lifted the strands of her wig, whispered darkly in her ear, lips barely brushing her lobe. “I really do not have your best interests at heart, you know.” He slipped his arm around her, gathered her close.
She could feel the hard bulge in his jeans press up against her thigh. His chest was solid under the swollen arousal of her breasts. Her heart staggered, her breathing became ragged. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of what is in my best interests…when the time comes.”
He stepped back, his voice dusky with desire. His eyes, dark and wild, looked down into hers. “When the time comes, then.”
She angled her head slightly. “You make that sound like a threat, McIntyre.”
“Think of it as a promise.”
The shrill ring of the cell phone in her pocket knocked them both back to the present.
“Oh…I—” She rummaged in her jacket pocket, pulled out the phone, turned her back on Scott. “Skye Van Rijn.”
“Skye, this is Martha Sheldon.”
“Martha?” Why was Charly’s mom calling? At this hour. “Is everything all right?” Skye yanked at her wig, tossed it onto the bed, waited for Martha to answer.
“It’s…it’s Charly.” The woman’s voice cracked.
Fresh panic clawed at Skye’s stomach. “What’s happened to Charly?”
“She’s… Oh, God, she’s in a coma, Skye. The doctors don’t know what’s going on. She developed pneumonia symptoms suddenly. They took her into hospital this morning. I just don’t understand. She seemed fine yesterday.”
“Where is she?”
“It’s no use coming to see her. They’re flying her to the mainland tomorrow morning. There are some specialists in Vancouver…” Martha’s voice wobbled, trailed off.
“Oh, Martha, what can I do?”
“Nothing. I saw you left a message for her. I just wanted you to know. She would want you to know.”
Skye clicked her phone off, sank down onto the bed. Her brain spun. She felt nauseous. She was vaguely aware of Scott watching her.
He locked the door and moved to sit beside her on the bed. “Who was that?” He nodded toward the cell phone still clutched tight in her hand.
“Charly…my colleague…my friend, she’s very ill. She’s been hospitalized. Doctors don’t know what’s wrong with her.” Skye turned to look at him. “She was my maid of honor at my…wedding.”
“Tell me what happened. What are her symptoms?” The bite of immediacy hardened his words.
“Her mother said it looked like sudden pneumonia. Now she’s in a coma.” Skye forced herself to her feet. “I must get to her.”
“No.” He grabbed her hand, pulled her firmly back onto the bed. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“Maybe there is. Maybe she just needs me there.”
“She has family, right?”
Skye nodded.
“Let them take care of Charly. The bedside of your ailing friend is one of the first places these guys are going to go looking for you when they can’t find you here.”
“If they can’t find me here.”
“They won’t.” He grabbed her by the shoulders, forced her to look at him. “Trust me, Doctor. Believe in me, and they won’t.”
She didn’t doubt it. Not at this moment. Not by the look in his eyes. Not by the dangerous undercurrent in his voice. And more than anything, she needed to trust someone right now, to turn to someone. Because her world was crumbling around her. And a sinister thread of thought was twisting through her brain: What if everything was connected? What if this was all just too big for her?
Chapter 10
Scott held Skye until she finally stopped shaking and fell asleep in his arms.
She’d said nothing as he cradled her.
He’d said nothing.
It was the most comforting silence in his life. He’d only stroked the incredible silk of her hair as she’d nestled into the crook between his shoulder and his neck. And despite the sinister turn of events, Scott felt ridiculously fulfilled in some basic way.
Honey was making little muffled snores at his feet. Scott’s leg was stiff, sore. But he was loathe to move. He didn’t want to disturb Skye now that she finally slept. He looked down at the smoothness of her face. He tentatively lifted a hand, ran the backs of his fingers softly along her exotic cheekbone, marveled at the way tension had seeped from her features in sleep.
In his arms she was like a vulnerable child who needed protection from the badness of the world. But that child lived in the sinfully sensual body of a strong and infinitely capable woman, one who sent his libido off the Richter scale.
He moved a strand of hair from her face and a strange and unfamiliar ache, warm and liquid, swelled through him, caught in a ball at his throat.
He tried to swallow it down. But it was a tide beyond his control. It crept right up into his eyes. He clenched his jaw, fought to bite it back. He was almost successful, apart from the small wet tear that escaped the corner of his eye. The ball in his throat hurt. He wouldn’t let it out. Couldn’t. Because it scared the hell out of him. What would happen if he released?
He edged Skye carefully over into the center of the bed, laid her down. She curled into a fetal ball as he covered her with a blanket. He turned, walked to the window. He clenched and unclenched his fists, stared out at the moonlit night, at the silhouettes of heavy brooding pines. By God, he hadn’t had that feeling, that sweet painful ache, since he’d held his Leni and their precious, beautiful little Kaitlin.
All these years of hiding out in raw primal jungles and under the naked skies of deserts and it was back. All that running from his pain and it hadn’t gone away. It had merely been buried. And now, this woman had unearthed it. She was right. When the numbness started to wear off, it hurt like hell.
He thudded his fist into the windowsill. Damn her.
He spun around to look at her. The light of the moon bathed her face, giving it the look of fragile porcelain. Her mouth was parted, breathing gently. As he watched, she muttered something in her sleep. Something foreign. He leaned forward, tried to catch a word.
She murmured again.
He frowned.
It sounded like Greek. He knew the language well. It was one of the many he was fluent in. He leaned even closer. But she said nothing more, just rolled over.
He turned back to the window. Skye dreaming in her native Dutch he could understand. But Greek? His mind went back to the sight of Skye, dressed like a Greek goddess for her wedding.
And at dinner she’d tried to brush aside an obvious expertise in Greek mythology. But she said she’d never been to that part of the world. She’d been quick to deny it. Too quick. She’d been nervous. Why?
She held so many secrets. And like him, she seemed to be running from herself. He gave a soft snort at the irony of it. They shared a kinship, a strange pair of outlaws fleeing down the same road. But the very thing that bound them together—their deception—would ultimately tear them apart. They were on a collision course and both would do well to keep their hearts from becoming collateral damage.
Scott bit at the inside of his cheek. He needed to maintain emotional distance. And not just for his sake. He didn’t want to hurt her. Whatever she’d done, whatever crime she’d committed, whoever was after her, he believed there was an innate goodness in this woman.
And there was someone after her. Someone other than the feds. He checked his watch. Almost four in the morning. He wanted to be gone within the hour. He wanted to leave under the cloak of darkness.
Dawn broke bright over the sea, stealing grays and silver, infusing the world with yellows and greens. Mist rose from the ribbon of tar as dew evaporated under the kiss of morning sun. And steam curled up from their coffee mugs, filling the interior of the car with warm scents of morning.
Skye bit into her cranberry bran muffin, listening halfheartedly to the chatter on the Island radio, meteorologists warning of a storm front that should hit by evening. Hard to believe it, looking at the cloudless blue of the morning sky.
She turned her attention from the weather to the man driving at her side. He’d woken her before the break of dawn, bundled her and Honey into the SUV. She felt rested.
But he hadn’t slept. She’d noticed the untouched covers of the camp cot in their motel room. And she could see the lack of rest in the depth of the lines around his eyes and the ones that bracketed his mouth. What, she wondered, had happened to his wife and child, his family?
She turned back to face the road, sipped her coffee, the warm steam of it moistening her face. They should be at Campbell River within the hour. Another three and they’d be in the wilds near Zeballos. In the middle of nowhere. Where would they all end up when this was over? Would he ever forgive her if he found out who she was?
Safe Passage Page 13
