Shiver of Fear

by Roxanne St Claire

  As Sharon turned, Devyn kicked out one leg, nailing the other woman in the hip and knocking her off balance. She struggled to get her footing with one hand holding the canister, the other arm flailing with the gun, enough time for Devyn to kick again, her foot aiming for the pistol. She made contact and sent the gun careening into the air.

  “Goddamn you!”

  “He already did,” Devyn said, fury bubbling up. “He made me waste my whole life wondering about you!” She kicked again, but Sharon dodged the blow and lunged toward Devyn, tearing the top off the canister and waving it at Devyn.

  “Botulinum in a bottle,” she screamed over the howling wind. “More deadly than the gun.”

  “Then we both die.”

  Sharon shook her head violently. “I can manufacture the antidote in a matter of minutes. No one knows I work for Malik. The SIS will call me a hero, and you will be… a shame. Good-bye, my child.” She reached for the canister.

  “I’m not your child!” Devyn spat the words and used the rage in her heart to take one more kick, but it almost toppled her. She frantically reached for the guardrail, missing it the first time, then grabbing hold just as Sharon lunged forward and cracked Devyn’s head with the canister.

  She let out a shriek and grabbed wildly for the safety rail, but Sharon thrust toward her again. Left hand behind her on the railing, she flailed to fight her off, hitting the cylinder.

  As she did, Sharon let go of it, and Devyn’s fingers closed around metal still warm from Sharon’s touch.

  Sharon lurched toward her, folding Devyn through the opening in the railing. She screamed as gravity took her body, grasping the railing with one hand as her hips, then legs, fell through. Only her left hand kept her alive.

  Sharon put her hand on Devyn’s and started to lift her fingers, one by one.

  If she let go of the canister, she had a chance.

  The gunshot split through the wind and exploded the side of Sharon’s face. Blood splattered, hitting Devyn’s fingers, but she managed to cling with all of her power and strength to the bouncing crane as Marc ran to her.

  “Devyn!”

  Her arm burned in agony, her fingers slipping on Sharon’s blood. Marc’s powerful hand closed over her wrist, and she looked up to see his beautiful, determined face right above hers.

  “I’m falling!” she cried. “I can’t—”

  “Yes, you can. Hold on.”

  “I’m going to drop this—”

  “No. Give it to me.”

  But the wind was so powerful she couldn’t lift her arm against it. “I have to drop it.”

  “No, Devyn, you can do this. Fight for it. I’m here. Come on!”

  She dug for strength, focusing on him, on the hope and the future and the love he promised. She could do this. She could. She had to.

  He was bent halfway over the railing, pulling at her. She finally managed to lift her arm, and he reached for the canister and stashed it in his pocket.

  “Now, Devyn!”

  She grabbed the railing with her free hand and pulled, kicking her legs, fighting for strength, holding on to Marc. One more relentless gust of wind almost took her, but he clung to her. For one long, agonizing second, she felt the railing slide through her grip and she looked up and held his gaze. This was it. The last time she’d ever see him. The last breath. The last vision.

  “I can’t…”

  “You can. This is what you’re made of, Devyn. This.”

  She gripped tighter and fought, through the air, through the railing, into his arms, into his heart, into whatever bliss he offered. When she made it, she let her head fall on his shoulder and shuddered with relief.

  “Are you all right?” He brushed wind-whipped hair out of her eyes, searching her face.

  She looked down two hundred feet and for the first time didn’t feel dizzy or terrified. Just free. To live and to love. “I’m perfect.”

  He took her face in one hand and tilted it toward him. “For me, you are.”

  CHAPTER 28

  I can’t do it.”

  At Devyn’s soft admission, Marc moved his hand lower over her abdomen, lingering for a moment on soft skin before inching his way between her legs. She was damp, swollen, as ready as he was for a bout of morning sex.

  “Feels like you can,” he whispered into her hair, fluttering a kiss against her ear.

  “I can’t meet him face-to-face.” She turned to look at him, her eyes distant, probably off where her head was—anticipating today’s debriefing. Her body, on the other hand, was right here in his bed, where she had been every night since they’d returned from Northern Ireland.

  Her response to his touch was always positive, easy, and enthusiastic. Her response to the potential meeting with her biological father was exactly the opposite.

  “You can’t put it off any longer,” he said, tempering the words with a gentle caress of her thigh. “We’ve been back for three weeks. This debriefing of our findings in Northern Ireland is the final official step.”

  “Why does he have to be there?” She rolled on her side, facing him. “I don’t want to meet him. I’ve met one of my biological parents. That was enough.”

  “Could you do it for me?” he asked.

  “No. Not even for you.” She stroked his cheek with one finger, their gazes locked. “But you are welcome to keep touching me like that in a fruitless effort to convince me to say yes.”

  He traced the inside of her leg again, grazed her sex, then slid his hand around her hip to pull her closer to the erection that he’d fought all night while she sighed in sleeplessness.

  “Devyn, I know you’re still raw from Belfast.”

  She just closed her eyes. “I’ll get over it.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “You will. But not completely, not until you face Finn.”

  Her eyes stayed shut tight, but she slowly wrapped a silky leg over his, closing all space between them. “Let’s not talk about it.” She kissed him, but he inched away.

  “We have to.”

  “Marc, this is my problem. Not yours. I know you want to help, but—”

  “No, actually, it’s my problem.”

  She just looked at him. “How?”

  “Until you deal with the demon that you think is Finn—”

  “Did you see that indictment list? There isn’t a crime the man hasn’t committed. I know he tried to make up for it, and getting Malik and Baird was a good thing all around, but why should I give him the satisfaction of meeting me?”

  “Because he’s in my way,” Marc said.

  She just frowned, searching his face.

  “Until you face him, accept him, and, hell, even forgive him, I don’t think you can give me what I want.”

  She swallowed visibly. “What do you want?”

  “For you to love me the way I love you.”

  The words, spoken for the first time, hit their mark. Her eyes widened, her jaw loosened, her body stiffened.

  “Please don’t act like this is a big surprise,” he said. “I’ve shown you every way possible. I love you. I’d like to love you for a long, long time. But I won’t compete for space in a heart that’s still devoted to hating and resenting another man. Even if that man is your father.”

  She still stared at him, her eyes moist. “You love me.”

  He let out a soft laugh, enjoying her surprise but a little dismayed by it. “Yes, Devyn, I do.”

  “When did you know?”

  Leaning back on the pillow, he considered the answer. When did he decide that? When she saved herself on the crane? When she fought relentlessly to find her mother, only to learn the worst about the woman? When she dropped from a bell tower to save his life?

  “I think when you crossed that rope bridge and trusted me to get you to the other side. I saw your strength and determination and… something else.”

  “Panic?”

  “Guts.”

  She just laughed. “Buried in the body of a chicken.”

>   “Nope, you have guts. Maybe that’s what got stamped on your DNA, and if that’s the case, then thank your parents for it. Because your courage is what’s going to make you a great mother someday.”

  She sucked in a little breath, then finally smiled. “I’m not so scared of heights anymore.”

  “Good. Then have the guts to face one more fear.”

  The fight raged on her face. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to. He coaxed her with another touch, softer, sexier, enough to make her eyes flutter closed. He kissed her lips, opening his mouth over hers, easing his body on top until their hands and legs and hips and mouths were in place for what had become a comfortable and thrilling connection.

  She curled her legs around his thighs and arched her back under his touch. “Guts, huh?”

  “You got ’em.” He punctuated that with a kiss to her throat, then down to her breast, where he feasted on her sweet, creamy skin.

  “Thanks. But I still don’t want to do it.”

  “You want to do this?” He joined their hands so they could guide him inside her body.

  “Where’s the condom?”

  He just smiled. “No guts, no glory.”

  “Is that what you want?” she asked, her voice quivering with the question.

  “Yes,” he said simply. “I love you, Dev. And this is what I want.”

  She closed her eyes in agreement, relaxing enough for him to enter her slowly. Easily. Deeply.

  Her flesh closed around him, and he lowered his head to kiss her while they made love. Their heartbeats matched, their breath grew ragged, their moves took on a synchronized rhythm.

  “Marc.” She gripped his arms, a light sheen of sweat glistening on her cheeks, dampening her hair. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

  He just nodded, rocking, kissing, connecting, until they both lost control and fell over the other side with long shudders of pleasure.

  She slowly wrapped her arms around him and put her lips to his ear.

  “You know when I knew for sure?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Right now.”

  “Took you long enough.”

  “And, yes, Marc. I’ll meet him.”

  When Marc slowed their steps in front of a high-end lingerie store on Newbury Street, Devyn had to laugh, despite the pressure that had been building in her heart since they’d left Marblehead to drive into Back Bay.

  “Seriously? You want to buy sexy undies now?”

  “No, I want to go up there.” He pointed to the bay window jutting out from the brick walk-up directly above the store. “The international headquarters of the Guardian Angelinos.”

  Where Finn MacCauley waited to meet her. “Unusual place for a security firm.”

  “We’re an unusual security firm. You ready?”

  She nodded. She had to do this. Had to prove she had the guts worthy of Marc’s love and the gift he’d just given her. Inside the vestibule, she took the first step up the narrow stairs, her next breath jammed in her chest.

  What would she say to him? What would he say to her?

  Already a step ahead of her, Marc turned and gave her hand a tug. “I’m with you all the way, Dev.”

  Nodding, she continued, counting steps, counting seconds, counting clamoring heartbeats. At the end of the second-story corridor, a simple, unmarked door opened as they arrived.

  “You made it.” Vivi Angelino, who Devyn had met a few times at Marc’s house in the past few weeks, beamed her infectious smile. She wore the only style Devyn had ever seen her in—baggy pants and a couple layers of tank tops, her hair mussed and gelled, her giant brown eyes unadorned with makeup, giving her a youthful appearance even though Devyn knew she and Vivi were the same age.

  The outfit made Devyn feel a little overdressed in silk trousers and a knit tunic, but Vivi hugged and kissed her cousin and gestured them both into the hip and edgy reception room, taking any discomfort away.

  “We got the CIA, the FBI, the SIS.” Vivi rolled her eyes and laughed. “The conference room looks like alphabet soup.”

  But what about Finn? Devyn glanced toward the archway that led to the back offices, unable to see anyone but hearing men’s voices. “Is everyone here?” she asked.

  Next to her, Marc put a protective hand on her shoulder. “She means is Finn here yet?”

  Vivi bit her lip, her dark eyes searching Devyn’s. “I just found out he’s not coming.”

  Devyn felt a wash of relief pour over her body, weakening her knees. Then they almost folded with an unexpected thud of disappointment. “He’s not?”

  The other woman shrugged and added a sympathetic hand to Devyn’s arm. “I guess he didn’t have the guts to face you.”

  Devyn drew back, then looked at Marc. “That’s funny, because I have the guts to face him.”

  He gave her a nudge toward the back offices. “Let’s get this over with, then, Dev. We’ll celebrate with a swan boat ride in the Garden.”

  “Fun!” Vivi said, brightening. “Can I come?”

  “No. You have a business to run.” The order came from a formidable figure of a man who filled the hall, looking menacing with a black leather eye patch and a decent-sized scar running along his left cheek.

  “Zach Angelino,” he said, introducing himself by shaking Devyn’s hand and adding a slow, genuine smile that instantly erased the darkness of his scars.

  She recognized the name instantly.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Zach,” she replied, taking his hand. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me, and for investigating Joshua’s murder.”

  “I had help,” he said with a modest shrug.

  “And now he’s marrying that help,” Vivi added. “So he should thank you. Come on back, Devyn.”

  There were familiar faces gathered around a formal conference table, all of them beaming as they stood to great Devyn.

  Padraig Fallon held out his arms, and Devyn hesitated only a moment before accepting his embrace.

  “I’m so sorry, lass,” he whispered in her ear. “She had us all fooled. Even Ian.” He stepped back and gestured toward a tall, handsome man whose deep blue eyes glinted under a mop of black hair. “My fellow MI5 agent, Ian O’Rourke.”

  She reached out and shook his hand. “Good to meet you, ma’am,” he said, his Irish thick but understandable. “Thanks for the help on our assignment.”

  “I don’t know if I helped,” Devyn said quickly. “I interfered.”

  “Except that she had us all fooled,” Ian said.

  “True, and if you hadn’t interfered and pursued her, she might have succeeded in her plan,” Padraig said.

  “Which was?” Devyn prodded.

  “She could have made it look like Finn had screwed the CIA and SIS, not her,” Padraig continued.

  Another man, not quite as tall as Ian but just as imposing, all American and conservative-looking, stepped forward. “She might have even succeeded in pretending to try and save you as a hostage, ensuring that she looked heroic, putting enough blame on Finn that he couldn’t possibly negotiate a pardon in time.”

  In time for what? Before she could ask, the man reached out his hand to gather hers, no smile on a serious but handsome face. “I’m Assistant Special Agent in Charge Colton Lang.” His golden green eyes warmed as they shook hands. “Representing the FBI,” he added. “The official client of the Angelinos.” That warmth deepened when he glanced at Vivi.

  “And not our only one,” she said. “Since this job has already brought in more business.”

  Two other men were introduced as representatives from the British Secret Intelligence Service and two men from the CIA.

  “We have a lot of questions for you, Ms. Sterling,” ASAC Lang said, “but we’d like to start this debriefing by giving you any answers you might need after all you’ve been through. That seems only fair.”

  She had many, but only a few this group could answer. The rest were for a man who hadn’t had the nerve to show. “
Okay, I assume that Finn MacCauley offered to assist you in bringing in a terrorist and stopping this exchange from Northern Ireland to Pakistan so he could qualify for a pardon or lighter sentencing, correct?”

  “Precisely,” ASAC Lang confirmed. “We closed in on MacCauley the week your husband was killed, and he presented us with this proposal. He knew Liam Baird through his distant relatives in Belfast, and Baird had asked him for help on his project. Finn asked Dr. Greenberg to go undercover.”

  She managed not to react. “They were in touch?”

  “Evidently he maintained contact with her, but only because of you.”

  Was Sharon telling the truth when she said Finn had tried to get a pardon because he wanted Devyn’s forgiveness and a relationship? No, she even said he’d use any tactic to get what he wanted. Otherwise, he’d be here, right?

  There she went, dreaming about a connection again. Hadn’t she learned her lesson with her mother? Wasn’t Finn’s no-show enough to confirm that was the case with him as well?

  “So, she agreed,” Devyn said, pulling her thoughts to the real problems. The ones she’d help to solve, not the ones she imagined. “She told me she’d been approached before but never accepted the job for”—Devyn sighed—“ethical reasons.”

  “Which was why we agreed to use her,” Padraig said. “She checked out as clean.”

  “What about her run-in with the FBI as a grad student?”

  “She told us everything,” ASAC Lang said. “We interviewed her thoroughly. Apparently, she was quite the actress, already negotiating with Malik while we were prepping her for the assignment.”

  She looked at Marc, who’d been quiet but held her hand on his thigh under the table. “Who was trying to make me leave Belfast?”

  “Everyone,” ASAC Lang said with a smile. “We wanted you out of there for your safety but were concerned you might have already gotten on Baird’s radar, which you had. Dr. Greenberg wanted you out until, apparently, she realized you could help her.”

  “And you?” She looked at Padraig.

  The older man smiled. “I was her contact over there, the only call she could make. When you showed up in Bangor, I knew we were dealing with”—his gaze shifted to Marc—“professionals. I decided to let you know just enough to scare you out of there and give you somewhere specific to go.”