by Gayle Wilson
Nobody’s white knight, he thought again. He never had been, and no matter what she believed about him, Hawk knew the truth. All the truths about the man he really was.
One of those truths was that right now Tyler Stewart needed protection from him as much as she did from the assassins. And the sooner he got her off his hands, the better it would be for both of them.
Chapter Eight
“I think we should try for a meeting,” Hawk said into the phone. The morning sun washed the desk he was sitting behind in light, reflecting off the glass that covered the image in the small silver frame.
“What changed your mind?” Jordan Cross asked.
Hawk knew the answer, of course, but it was something he would never confess. Not considering the things that were likely to result from the meeting he’d just suggested.
“It seems the smartest thing to do,” he said, instead of explaining. “Once they put my picture out, any chance of making a deal is over. And the witness needs protection. The real kind. The kind they can provide.”
That was a decision he had reached last night, after hours spent tossing and turning. The vision of Tyler Stewart, the thought of her vulnerability, kept intruding between him and the sleep he needed.
If Amir al-Ahmad had been involved in his father’s death, then he now had the means to send out an army of assassins to find his fiancée, a woman whose face was too well-known to allow her to simply disappear. So damn beautiful and because of that, so vulnerable. Hawk would willingly give his life to keep Tyler safe, but with those odds, he had finally been forced to the conclusion that, despite his experience at this kind of game, that might not be enough.
He also knew that eventually the government would find him, no matter how skillfully he played hide-and-seek. Especially if they chose to go public with the search by releasing the pictures from the hotel cameras. Hawk understood what that would mean. Every law enforcement officer in the country would be after him.
Using his own psychological profile against him, the agency would eventually find a pattern of behavior he wasn’t aware of. They would use everything in the bag of tricks they had access to and all their experts to figure out what Hawk would do next. Where he would go. And there was always the possibility that when they found him, if she were still with him, Tyler might get hurt. That was a chance Hawk wasn’t willing to take.
“You want me to set it up?”
A friend’s offer, of course, but if Jordan tried to act as a go-between, the agency would know they had been in contact. No matter what story the two of them came up with, the company would suspect Cross’s loyalty lay more with the team than with them. And Hawk would no longer have access to the information Jordan was providing.
“I don’t want you tied to me,” Hawk said.
“They’re going to deep-six the team. We both know that. My name’s bound to be high on their list of people they can do without.” Jordan was too smart never to have crossed the boundary between playing by the rules and questioning them. That was one reason Griff had valued him so highly.
“Yeah, but keep your nose clean and you may still get that sweet government pension,” Hawk said.
The laughter on the other end indicated Jordan’s appreciation of the sarcasm, as well as his knowledge of the exact size of that pension.
“Besides,” Hawk added, “you’re my inside line. I don’t want to risk that. I may need you later. More than I need you as negotiator now.”
“So who did you have in mind?”
“It’s got to be somebody with no connections to the team,” he answered. “But somebody who’s very familiar with how things work. Someone they can’t bully. Maybe even...someone they’re afraid of. Someone we can trust.”
“You don’t want much, do you?” Jordan said, his voice filled with amusement at Hawk’s list.
“I just want a slightly more equal playing field,” Hawk replied softly, thinking about the truth of that.
“They aren’t afraid of many people,” Cross said, his voice serious again. That was another reality they were both aware of. “A lawyer, maybe?” he suggested. “Somebody with a lot of clout. Ex-congressman who’s gone into private practice, but still has influence on the Hill.”
“Maybe,” Hawk conceded, considering those possibilities. Unconsciously, his gaze lifted, looking right into the blue eyes of the child in the silver-framed photograph.
“You have somebody in mind?” the voice on the other end of the line asked. “Somebody who’s going to make the company think twice about whatever action they take where you’re concerned?”
He had had this same thought before, Hawk realized. Just a general idea then. Not personalized. He had already realized there was only one possible ally the agency feared who might also be interested in fighting this one-sided battle.
“Claire Heywood,” Hawk said softly.
He wasn’t sure he had intended to voice that name aloud, but it was too late to take it back. The quiet on the other end of the phone line stretched across several slow heartbeats. And with Jordan’s silence Hawk realized how impossible the suggestion was. Griff will kill me if I involve her in this, he thought.
Then, suddenly, overpoweringly, Hawk was again aware of that sense of loss. Griff Cabot would never know what he had done. But he would know. And he would never forgive himself if anything went wrong. “Bad idea,” Hawk said.
“No,” Jordan Cross replied, finally responding to a name he had obviously never expected. “Actually...” He hesitated before he went on. “Actually, it’s a very good idea. But she’s out of the country. She has been...since Griff’s death, I think.”
“She’s back,” Hawk said softly. “I saw her at the grave.”
The silence was almost as prolonged as before. “She’s just not...” Cross paused again, probably thinking about the difficulties inherent in that choice. “Not someone I would ever have come up with,” he said finally.
“Forget it. She won’t agree,” Hawk said flatly, sorry now he had allowed it to go this far, even one person beyond himself. Pulling Claire Heywood into his situation was not something he could ever allow to happen.
Maybe Hawk had not fully understood the reasons behind the lengths Cabot went to in order to keep his relationship with the woman he loved separate from his professional life. Now he did. But he also knew he couldn’t sacrifice Claire Heywood, not even to protect Tyler.
“I think she might,” Jordan said. “If the approach is right. She’s perfect, damn it, and you know it.”
There was a trace of excitement in Cross’s voice. And Heywood was perfect. She had the right tools and impeccable credentials, just as Hawk had laid them out before he had even thought of her in conjunction with this.
The only child of the union between one of the most respected journalists in the capital and a wealthy Washington socialite, who just happened to be the daughter of a former head of the CIA, Claire Heywood was also a highly regarded lawyer. She was often called in as a consultant by the networks to comment on any story they were running that had both legal and political overtones.
Perhaps at first that had been because she was her father’s daughter, but her insider’s understanding of Washington was undisputed. And Claire was not only popular with the public, her insight, intelligence and honesty were also respected by the elite of both parties.
And since half the power brokers in the capital had also jiggled her as an infant on their knees, she had unquestioned access to the conclaves of influence, including those within the tight-knit intelligence community. Which was where she had met Griff Cabot. Where they had begun a relationship that had ended only when she had broken it off, more than a year ago.
“No,” Hawk said softly, remembering that relationship.
Claire Heywood might be a perfect go-between, but she was also off-limits. Griff had placed her off-limits; therefore, she still was. Hawk’s lips flattened, and he pulled his eyes away from the photograph, denying the temptation.
Her black hair was loose, its natural curl unrestrained. The color of her eyes was intensified by the dark blue of the robe. Still slightly shadowed, they were focused on him now and smiling.
“May I come in?” she asked politely.
Hawk felt his body respond, his arousal incredibly quick and powerful. He nodded permission before he spoke again into the phone he was holding. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said to Cross. “Something’s just come up.”
He saw Tyler’s smile widen and then dissolve into laughter at the unintended sexual connotation. He couldn’t remember having seen her laugh before, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her face. He hadn’t been able to, not since he’d looked up and found her in the doorway.
“Maybe I’ll have something definite for you by then,” Jordan said. “I’ll try.”
Hawk put the receiver down, almost before the sound of the last word had faded, no longer thinking about what they’d been discussing. After his nod of permission, Tyler had walked over to the desk. She stood before him, looking down at the stack of newspapers he’d read before he went upstairs last night.
She had just showered. He could smell the soap. Now that she was this close, he could tell that her hair was damp, the moisture adding highlights to the midnight strands. She was wearing no makeup, and she was so beautiful he wanted to pull the too-large, too-masculine robe off her body, which he suspected might be nude underneath, and make love to her.
Here. On the top of Griff’s big desk. Or on the softness of the Oriental rug. It didn’t matter. He just wanted to push into her, to feel her body move under his. Responding to him. Answering every demand. More than answering. Matching them. Exceeding them.
“Good morning,” she said softly, her eyes on his face.
Hawk realized he had simply been watching her, imagining the same things he had forbidden himself to think about last night as he had stood by her bed. Things he couldn’t afford to think about.
“Did you sleep?” he asked. Safe topic for conversation.
“Like the dead,” she said, and then suddenly her smile widened. “Not such a good analogy, I guess. Not after yesterday.”
He held her gaze, not wanting to make small talk. Thinking, against his will, about exactly what he did want.
“Those are some pretty powerful pills you gave me,” she said after a moment.
“How’s the arm?” he asked.
She touched the back of her left arm lightly with her fingers, running them up and down against the softness of the velour. “Sore,” she admitted.
“Want me to take another look at it?” he asked.
Whatever had been there yesterday was suddenly back in her eyes, and after a few seconds, she shook her head, making him wonder if he’d been right about what she was wearing under that robe. Not wearing, he amended.
“Maybe later,” she offered. “We probably should change the dressing eventually. Put on some more salve.”
“Okay,” he said.
They were both remembering. He knew he was. Touching her skin, his fingers on the soft silken underside of her arm. Sitting beside her on a bed. The conjunction of Tyler Stewart and bed in his mind was not a safe one, but despite his vaunted self-discipline, he was having a hard time denying the appeal of that combination.
Maybe that appeal was in his eyes because suddenly hers fell, the fan of dark lashes shielding whatever she had been thinking. “Did I make the papers?” she asked, turning the top one on the stack toward her.
He knew she didn’t care about whatever was in the papers. It had simply been something to say. And that had nothing to do with what was happening between them. Except, of course, it did. A lot to do with why there could be nothing between them.
At his continued silence, her eyes lifted again. “Hawk?” she questioned softly, examining his face. “Is something wrong?”
Everything you believe about me, he thought, but instead of telling her that, he shook his head. No explanations. He had already decided that. And no confession. If he succeeded in setting up the meeting he’d asked Jordan to work on, she’d know all of it soon enough.
She waited a moment, eyes still on his, but Hawk’s face gave nothing away, the control too ingrained to be destroyed by his dread of what she would feel when she found out who and what he was. And why he had really come to find her.
Finally her eyes went back to the paper, and he watched her begin to read. He didn’t bother to wonder which one she’d chosen. They all carried essentially the same story.
“So I’m in seclusion. Grief stricken over the sheikh’s death,” she said, her eyes still scanning the columns of text. “How long does Amir think he can get away with that?”
“Just until they find you,” Hawk said.
Her eyes came up, no longer smiling. The remembrance of what had happened in Mississippi was in them.
“He was in on it,” Tyler said. “He had to have been. My God, he was involved in his own father’s death.”
SHE SUPPOSED she had to have known all along that Amir was involved. Malcolm had told her he had just left the room. The same room where the assassins had been waiting.
“They know the shot came from the hotel,” she said. “I thought they could trace the path of a bullet. They should be able to figure out it came from Amir’s room.”
“In those circumstances, from that height and at that angle, it would be hard to prove exactly where a bullet came from. It must have gone nearly straight down. Besides, even tracing it to a floor wouldn’t prove Amir had anything to do with the assassination. He’s blaming it on the religious extremists in his country who had targeted the sheikh before. And they could have infiltrated Amir’s entourage. Bought somebody off.”
“But you don’t believe that?” she asked.
“Not really. If he had just left that room, then he had to have known what was going on.”
She nodded. That was the same conclusion she had come to, as incredible as it seemed. “Why would he kill his own father?”
She realized, even as she asked, how ridiculous that question was. People killed members of their families every day. Mothers killed their own children. And for far less reason than the billions of dollars and the almost unlimited power that were involved here.
“Dumb question,” she said, without giving Hawk time to answer. “It was all about the money. I guess he just didn’t have enough.” Her tone was bitter, thinking of what she had seen Amir spend in the last six weeks. A lot of it had been lavished on her, on the wedding. Now she knew why, of course.
She laughed, shaking her head at her gullibility. “I always wondered why he picked me,” she said. “But I guess I just didn’t...” She hesitated, embarrassed to admit that she hadn’t wanted to question his proposal. That she had wanted so much to believe that he loved her. That he wanted to take care of her.
“Why would you wonder?” Hawk asked.
Apparently Hawk hadn’t figured this part out yet. But then he wasn’t the one who had all along felt that sense of wrongness. Those feelings she had tried so hard to ignore. Sadly, she had succeeded in blocking them from her mind. At least up to the final morning. The morning of the wedding.
“Out of all the women he could have chosen, I always wondered why he would want me,” she said. “Now I know.” At last she understood what had really been going on with Amir’s determined courtship. She supposed it was better to know, even if the knowledge was painful. “He needed someone who would agree to marry him quickly and without asking too many inconvenient questions about the arrangements. Someone...”
She paused again, recognizing finally that she had been absolutely perfect for Amir’s plan. She didn’t know exactly how much Amir had known about her
situation when he met her. But obviously, it had been enough to realize she would be a potential target. And eventually she had shared everything that had gone on in her life. Paul’s betrayal. The loss of her career and her savings.
So Amir would have realized how vulnerable she would be to his flattery. How worried about the future. Insecure about her ability to make a living. “Just smile at them, sweetheart, but don’t open your mouth.”
“Almost any woman would have jumped at the chance,” Hawk said softly. “You had no reason to doubt his motives.”
“A few,” she said bitterly. “If I’d stopped to think it all out.” But there was no doubt Amir’s rush to get her to the altar had been balm to her battered self-esteem. God, she thought, I was such easy prey.
“I wonder what he would have done about the wedding if his father hadn’t agreed to come to New York,” she said.
She knew now that had been the whole point of that civil ceremony. All Amir’s talk about showing her off was to cover his real motive. Which was getting his father out of his protected stronghold so he could be killed. Putting his father in a situation where he was vulnerable.
“If his father hadn’t agreed to come, what story do you suppose he would have given to the press about why the ceremony had to be cancelled?” she asked. It was rhetorical, of course. Because none of it mattered now.
“Maybe it wouldn’t have been called off,” Hawk said. “He had nothing to lose.”
“Marrying a woman he didn’t love?” she asked. Amir hadn’t loved her, of course. That was something else she had felt all along. Felt and ignored. Denied as much as she’d denied her own lack of feeling for him.
“A civil marriage wouldn’t have been binding on him. It would have given you no rights. He could divorce you at any time.”
“And all the prenuptial contracts we signed were to have gone into force when the religious ceremony took place,” Tyler admitted. “It never would have. He would never have gone through with that, would he?”
