Dancing in the Dark: A Novella
Virginia Kelly
Copyright ©2013 Virginia Kelly Vail
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
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Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Author’s Note
Book List
Author’s Bio
Dedication
To Bruce, as always
Thanks to the usual suspects. You know who you are. You're my first readers, advisers and mentors. NOS!
Chapter One
Not quite-dark-o'clock. Matt Kincaid rubbed the back of his head and stretched as he peered out the living room window. The lights were out, but he could see the flooded street.
The lights were out.
Great observation. If he'd been this observant while on this last op, he'd probably be dead.
Off the adrenalin high of work, his body begged more sleep. A glance at his watch told him he'd forgotten to reset it. It still read Abbottabad time, but he was too fuzzy-headed to do the math.
Rain fell in sheets and rushed downhill to swirl into an overflowing drainage culvert. Good thing his mother's Victorian era home sat high on brick piers.
His usual long flight home from an overseas op, along with the debriefing from hell, had been punctuated by a hair-raising flight from D.C. to Tallahassee and a nightmare drive on slick two-lanes into Walton Springs. Exhausted after thirty-six hours of travel, he'd collapsed onto the couch sometime after midnight. Now the time was a total mystery.
Coffee. He needed coffee. He walked into the kitchen in the semi-darkness.
A sudden gust of wind lashed rain against the windows as he reached into the cabinet for the coffee his mother kept there.
Nothing. He reached right, then left.
What the hell? A creature of habit, his mother always left the coffee next to the pot.
There was just enough daylight filtering in for him to see she hadn't…probably because she'd been in a mad rush to meet her sister for their drive to the mountains.
Hell, what did it matter? There was no power. No power, no coffee.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
He really needed coffee.
With a deep sigh and a stretch that ended in a twist at the waist that popped his back and cleared his head, he walked back into the living room and turned on the battery-operated radio on the bookshelf.
"At nine a.m., the National Weather Service out of Tallahassee issued a flash flood warning for residents of all coastal Florida counties in the Panhandle. A low pressure system that moved in overnight is expected to bring five to seven inches of rain to the region in the next few hours. All residents of low-lying areas should be on alert."
So, it had to be after nine. Matt listened a bit longer, then the warning claxon came on and he turned off the radio.
No coffee. No power. Floods.
What the hell else could happen? Earthquakes and lightning?
A flash lit up the living room, followed by a boom of thunder so close the house shook.
Yeah, lightning.
And he knew better than to tempt fate.
He looked at his watch, again. Judging from the time in Abbottabad, it had to be nine-thirty a.m. here.
He could use another couple of hours of sleep. Maybe then he could straighten out his sleep patterns and enjoy the next few weeks off. He'd promised his mother he'd take care of some problems on her always-in-need-of-repair one-story. And he'd promised himself some fishing.
He rolled his head and shoulders to loosen the kinks of sleeping on the too short couch, and made his way down the hall to the bedroom he used when he visited, pulling off his shirt as he went.
Thunder boomed, rattling the windows. The spare room door opened and a person stepped into the hallway.
In one quick movement, he lunged forward and executed a chokehold that efficiently subdued the intruder. "Don't move," he ordered, and instantly realized that his intruder was small and soft and wore a too big shirt that shifted so he touched bare skin.
Not his mother.
He recognized her just from the way she smelled, fresh and unpretentious and familiar. From that silky skin. From the feel of her curves against him.
Hell, earthquakes and lightning were nothing.
Janey Blackmon was everything.
***
Heart thundering in her chest, Janey struggled against the strong arms that imprisoned her. Then he released his grip so quickly the momentum of her efforts sent her careening toward the hallway wall.
"Christ, Janey," Matt said, as he grabbed her arm and steadied her. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you." She pulled down the T-shirt she'd dug out of a drawer last night when she'd decided to wait for him. "Where have you been?"
"What do you mean, where have I been?"
"Your mom said you'd be here."
"My mom..." He looked puzzled. "What are you doing here?"
"I told you—"
"Waiting for me, I got that. When did you get here?"
"Late last night before the rain got bad. When it did, I decided to stay. Your mom said it was okay to use the spare room. I should have told her to tell you, not just showed up—"
"I'm not questioning—"
"I have no right, I know."
"That's not what I was going to say."
Matt wouldn't say that. Ever. That wasn't who he was. No, Matt had given her carte blanche once. That he'd rescinded his invitation was one of her greatest regrets. But that wasn't why she was here.
"JP's missing."
She wished she could see his face clearly in the dim hallway; she did see him tilt his head slightly.
"Missing?"
"He's my brother, Matt. Let's not pretend. I know what you do, what he does."
He didn't react. Matt was the Sphinx. Inscrutable. That's what JP had always said. Matt was one of the reasons JP had joined the army.
"He's missing. They called." She took a breath, tried to calm herself and get what she knew out correctly. "He said his name was Brooks. From the Agency, Langley, whatever you guys call it. He didn't say so, but I know."
"What did he say?"
"He asked if I'd heard from JP."
"Did you?"
"On Cassie's birthday, two months ago. We were at Mom's. He called."
"Where was he?"
Janey laughed, knowing she sounded too sharp. "Funny, Matt. Really funny. Like he would tell me that."
He shrugged. "He might."
"If he wasn't working. Which he was."
"Okay."
"Okay, that's it?"
"I'll see what I can do."
"Please, Matt," she paused, squinting to see his expression in the darkened hallway. "Do a lot."
He nodded and turned. As cool as ever. As untouched as ever. Oh, if she could maintain that sort of poise. But she couldn't. She was Jane Blackmon, Plain Jane, as she'd been known in high school, and he was Matt Kincaid, known only as Matt, when all the other Matts had to use their last names to differentiate themselves. An enigma even then, b
ut one that drew people to him. As she'd been drawn.
As she would always be drawn to this man who held a special place in her heart. His visits home over the years had solidified a friendship she hadn't dared threaten with any reminder of that first time he shipped out. She needed the easy conversation, the laughter. The comfort of being around him. If he knew how she felt, he'd— What? Laugh? No, Matt wouldn't do that. Matt would be kind.
And that would destroy her.
He walked down the hall, a tall shadow against the stormy sky beyond the living room window.
She followed.
Bare to the waist, all sleek muscle and effortless coordination, he bent to pick up the phone from the coffee table and pressed several keys.
"You use the phone?"
"I'm not a telepath," he replied with a smile that pushed at the dimple in his left cheek. That devastating dimple.
"You know what I mean. Isn't there a special phone or something?"
"Not really." He listened, waited. Moments later, he pressed more keys. "Yeah, it's me." He paused. "Yep. Thanks. Got a favor," he said. "Friend of mine, JP Blackmon." Pause. "Yes."
He turned away, the muted light filtering in from the outside made his dark hair look darker and shadowed the straight line of his backbone bracketed by muscle. Janey heard the sound of the tinny voice on the other end, but couldn't make out what was said. "No," he said into the receiver. After a moment, he added, "Let me know."
He hung up and turned to her. "They'll let me know."
"He said something about JP, didn't he?"
"He knew who I was talking about."
"Why?"
"That's his job. To know."
"Cut the crap, Matt. Where's my brother?"
His attention, so focused on her, made her breath catch and her stomach tighten. She couldn't get enough air to insist that he reply, afraid of what he might say.
Finally, when she'd almost given up, he said, "He's missing."
Chapter Two
"Is he—?"
Dead, Matt filled in, as Janey dropped into one of the leather chairs.
Janey wanted to know if her brother was dead.
Something inside him shifted at the sight of her, so alone, so small, in the big chair. The risks of the job had forced him to keep her at arm's length for so long, but he'd never quit wishing he hadn't. Wishing he'd had her all these years. But if he had, it would be hard not to tell her the little he knew.
He squatted before her, put his hands on the arms of the chair because he didn't dare touch her. "He's not dead." He said it as firmly as he could, knowing how wrong he could be. How wrong he probably was.
She sobbed, a single sound she managed to swallow, but tears ran down her cheeks.
"He's okay, honey," he said. The lie cut him to the quick. If JP Blackmon wasn't dead, he was on the run. And Matt couldn't say a damn thing to his sisters or to his mother because of the secrets his job dictated.
"I have to tell Mom and Cassie. They're worried."
"Call them." He stood, sure if he didn't, he'd touch her. Mrs. Blackmon and Janey's younger sister would hang their hopes on his words, just as Janey would. For the first time in forever, he asked God for help. Because he sure as hell couldn't do a damn thing.
She stood before he had a chance to move away. They were inches apart, Janey's beautiful face revealed to him by the lightning flashing through the windows. He brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs and she bowed her head.
When she looked up again, he could tell she'd brought her emotions under control.
Strength. That's what Janey had. He'd always admired her for it. He'd wanted her from the moment his hormone-laden nineteen-year old self had seen her. Fifteen and gorgeous. The idiots at school called her Plain Jane. There was nothing plain about Janey. She was soft and sweet and caring and strong. Stunning. He'd taken one taste when she was eighteen, one test of his willpower to resist her, and had nearly given in. But she was meant for someone who'd be there for her, so she wouldn't have to be strong. So she could be—Janey.
Except, right now, he was bone tired and not thinking straight. At least that was the excuse he used to pull her close. She held on, as she had before. And just as before, he bent, and kissed her.
She tasted like Janey…like home.
Like the tears that had rolled to her lips. That was what he needed to remember: that his life could only hurt her in the end. He had no right to touch her like this.
Cursing himself for a fool, he pulled away.
***
Surprise was the mildest word that came to Janey's mind. Nothing had changed. She wanted Matt Kincaid just as she had the first time he'd kissed her. And foolishly, she'd thought he'd wanted her. Oh, he had, that had been obvious, but he didn't want more than sex. She would have given him that, too. He'd offered, after all. His words were imprinted on her memories. "Today won't count," he'd said. "I can't promise you tomorrow." Foolishly, she'd agreed, but he'd had second thoughts and pulled away. Just as he did now.
"Call your mom, Janey." His voice sounded rough. It did things to her that a voice shouldn't do. But this was Matt. She was hard-wired to respond.
Someday, she'd sworn. Someday she'd respond as she should have. She wouldn't take no. She'd insist.
He released her and stepped away, taking with him the comfort he'd given her with that kiss. It wasn't time for kisses or memories. It was time for reality. Reality was her missing brother. Reality was calling her mother.
Which she did, trying to sound like JP was fine, that he'd be in touch. She suspected her mother didn't believe her, but she played along just the same. It would be best for all of them. For now. She told her mom she loved her and hung up.
The radio, which Matt had been listening to during her conversation, cut across her thoughts.
"County Emergency is asking everyone in the city of Walton Springs to stay inside. Flood waters are over both the First Street and Blakely Street bridges. This means that those in the historic downtown area cannot get out. Please stay tuned to this radio station for the latest updates. To repeat, flash flood warnings are in effect for Emerald County and all Florida panhandle Counties."
"We're stuck." Matt turned off the radio. "Where's your car?"
"In front, on the street," she replied, aware of the implications.
They both headed for the window. Her silver Toyota was parked across the street. Water rushed beneath, but had not swamped it.
"It should be okay there," Matt said.
"What about yours?"
"On this side," he indicated his old Ford pick. "Mom left it at the airport for me."
The street was lower there, but the pickup sat high. Maybe it would be okay.
"Wow, it's really coming down," she said, watching the wind lash the rain horizontally.
"What did your mother say?"
"She didn't say so, but she knows it's bad." She hugged herself, then turned to face him. "It's bad, isn't it?"
"Janey—"
"Please, this one time," she begged. Begged. She hadn't done that since the day he'd refused her. She knew her voice quavered. "You always told me you'd be honest with me. Be honest."
***
She'd thrown down the gauntlet. Matt had never promised her anything but honesty. He remembered clearly how badly he'd wanted her, how he'd almost taken. But he'd been honest. No future. That's what he'd told her. Hell, she was eighteen, he'd already been in the army for four years, and he was shipping out on another of his many tours of duty. He had to give her honesty.
"It's not good."
"How bad is it?" she whispered.
"They don't know," he said. He shouldn't be saying anything at all, but had to in order to be honest with her. "He's just vanished."
"Where?"
He shook his head. "You know better than to ask."
"Under what circumstances?"
"Janey," he shook his head. "I can't. You know I can't. JP would know I can't. He wouldn't ex
pect me to."
"No, he wouldn't expect it," she agreed. "That doesn't make it easier for Mom, for Cassie and me."
"Then you understand."
"Yes." She bit her lip. "Unfortunately, I do."
"Look, JP's a big boy," he said quickly trying to reassure her. "He can take care of himself."
"He's my little brother."
"Your little brother is one of the best. He was trained by the best. He can take care of himself." He smiled, forcing himself to sound confident. "Don't worry. Couple of days, you'll see."
"Days?"
Hell, he'd already given too much away. Not that his contact had said anything, but he'd heard the nuances just the same. "I'm pretty sure."
"I don't know if I can handle the wait."
"Best way to handle anything is to stay busy." Her words while he'd waited to hear from the doctors when his mother had a mastectomy. "Someone famous once told me that," he teased.
And just like that, she smiled. One of those smiles that lit up his soul.
"How will we stay busy?"
Christ, what a loaded question. He could think of a great way, but he'd never say such a thing to Janey. Never again.
"Maybe you should change," he said finally, careful to keep his eyes on her face when all he wanted to do was look at the way his old white T-shirt lay across her full breasts. Just knowing she'd worn something of his to sleep, that the only other thing she wore was her panties, didn't help.
Apparently exhaustion didn't mitigate lust. He tried not to adjust the front of his jeans. "Then, uh, we should eat breakfast."
Yeah, changing and breakfast were good ideas. If she didn't change, Janey might be breakfast.
With no shirt to cover his lap, Matt sat before he embarrassed himself.
***
"That's when Seigfried told us to stop."
Janey smiled around a mouthful of the cold pizza she'd left in the refrigerator when she'd arrived the night before. Throughout their meal, Matt had entertained her with stories he probably thought made her forget what he was. A covert government officer, not that he'd ever admit such a thing. But honestly, how many people from Walton Springs had ever met someone named Seigfried?
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