by Gayle Wilson
Jordan nodded slowly, only after he’d considered his options. “That might not be a bad idea. It offers Hawk more protection. It might even make our witness feel more comfortable to have another woman there.”
“A woman?”
“Hawk tracked her down just in time to keep the real assassins from killing her. She’s been with him since.”
“With him where?”
“I don’t know,” Cross said. “He hasn’t told me.”
“Doesn’t he trust you?” she asked, challenging.
“I didn’t need to know,” Jordan Cross said, smiling. “The only thing I do need to know is if you are willing to help him.”
“I’m not exactly willing,” she stated.
“I know,” he said, holding her eyes.
“But...I’ll see what I can do,” she said softly.
There was a long silence, and finally Jordan broke it. “I don’t know if it’s important to you, but Griff wasn’t often wrong about people. He wasn’t wrong about Hawk. And I knew he hadn’t made a mistake when he chose you.”
She wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but she could tell from his tone and from what was in his eyes that it was supposed to be a compliment. “Thank you,” she said finally, her voice as low as his had been.
“How long will it take you to contact them?” he asked.
“One phone call,” she said.
She had surprised him again. Maybe he hadn’t thought she’d know who to call. She had her grandfather to thank for that information. And her grandfather’s name would be a powerful introduction to the person she would need to contact to set up this meeting.
“Then I’ll call you tonight,” Cross said.
He released her arm and turned, striding across the floor of the memorial. His figure was almost immediately swallowed up in the crowd of tourists coming up the stairs. Claire watched until he had disappeared, his words echoing in her head. “I knew he hadn’t made a mistake when he chose you.”
It had been almost flattering to be included in that circle. The people Griff Cabot had chosen. And of them all, only she, apparently, had ever failed to live up to Griff’s expectations. Now, it seemed, she was going to be given a second chance.
“SHE WANTS TO BE IN on the meeting,” Jordan said.
“Too risky.”
“That’s the only way she’ll do it.”
“Then we don’t do it,” Hawk said, more than willing to let this whole plan drop. He hadn’t dreamed Cross would go to Claire Heywood. He had thought Jordan understood that she was off-limits, that Hawk had changed his mind. He had found out only when he called Jordan tonight that he’d been wrong.
“You want your witness in protection?” Jordan asked.
“Yes,” Hawk said.
“Then this is how we do it.”
Jordan was waiting for him to respond, he knew, but Hawk didn’t like either of the choices. They had had no right to involve Claire Heywood in this, although it seemed she was willing to be involved. And if she did manage to set this up, then Tyler would be protected.
“By the way,” Jordan said into his silence, “they found no bodies in that house in Mississippi. Apparently when your assailants didn’t report back, somebody came out and collected the corpses. They even cleaned up the mess.”
“Efficient bastards, aren’t they?” Hawk said.
“They’ve got lots of money. And lots of willing helpers. Speaking of helpers, NYPD’s officially releasing the shots from the security videos tomorrow. You know what that means.”
Hawk did, of course. All of it. He had gone over and over the options. There hadn’t been that many to begin with. A nationwide manhunt would restrict his movements more than they were restricted now. Eventually, he knew, someone at the agency would remember this place. Maybe even remember that he had been brought here to recuperate after that botched mission. And when they did, someone would come out to check.
Or some of Amir al-Ahmad’s money would buy that information. Just as they probably already had his picture. Maybe even his name. If you’re willing to throw enough money at something, you can always shake loose someone who is willing to talk, Hawk thought.
If those bodies in Mississippi had been retrieved, then they knew Tyler Stewart was no longer alone and defenseless. Someone in al-Ahmad’s group had probably already put two and two together and figured out who was with her. Track Hawk down, and they’d find her. And when the law put out those bulletins tomorrow...
He and Tyler needed to get out of here, he realized again, but he knew there was really no place to go. And in less than twenty-four hours his face would be almost as familiar to the public as Tyler Stewart’s was now.
“Tell her to do it,” he said softly.
“Claire’s office,” Jordan said. “Noon tomorrow. There’s a parking garage below and a basement entry.” He gave the address and the codes for entering the garage. “Park in spot 121 and take the elevator to the sixth floor. They’ll be in her office.”
“How did she arrange that?” Hawk asked, amused at the thought of them coming to her.
“I didn’t ask,” Jordan said. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.” The deep voice was filled with amusement. And admiration.
Griffs would kill me, Hawk thought again, but this time the thought of Griff’s displeasure had nothing to do with the possibility of involving Claire Heywood with his enemies.
HAWK WASN’T SURE how he had ended up here, standing again at midnight outside the door of the room where Tyler was sleeping. Maybe it had been Jordan’s phone call. The realization that it was all winding down. Very soon looking after Tyler Stewart would be someone else’s responsibility. Hawk knew, because he was aware of how those things worked, that when it was, he’d never see her again.
So maybe that’s why he was here. Because right now she was still his. His to protect. Standing guard over the things you love. Griff’s words, which had once meant something entirely different to him, echoed in his head.
But they were as true now as they had been when his total loyalty had been to a friend. To his country. Hawk had never failed either of them. Never failed in doing his duty. He wouldn’t fail here.
He reminded himself that nothing had happened last night He had stood beside her bed, watching her sleep, and then he had left. Tonight would be the same. He would check to make sure she was all right and he’d leave. It was all a matter of discipline, he told himself as he opened the door.
The lamp beside the bed was on again. Tyler had fallen asleep tonight while reading, her shoulders propped on the pile of pillows she had stacked against the headboard. The newspapers she had brought up from Griff’s study were spread out on the bed around her. There was a glass half-full of water on the bedside table, beside the opened bottle of the pain medication he’d left here yesterday.
Hawk’s eyes came back to the sleeping woman. Her right hand again cupped the elbow of her left arm. Still sore. Painful enough that she had taken more of the capsules. And if she slept sitting up like this all night, he thought, that wouldn’t be the only discomfort. She would probably sleep a lot better if—
Bad idea, he told himself harshly, fighting the image that had appeared in his head. Leave her the hell alone, he ordered. If she wasn’t comfortable, there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he should do. What he should do was leave. Back out of this room and close the door between them. He couldn’t afford another mistake. He had made enough of them already where she was concerned.
He should never have played Good Samaritan. Never have kissed her. Never allowed himself to even think about doing it again. Or about any of the other things he had imagined last night as he stood in this same dark room, watching her sleep.
But she would sleep more comfortably if he gathered up the scattered papers. Maybe removed one of those pillows from behind her shoulders. He could do that without waking her, especially with the pills she’d taken. Then he’d leave.
That’s all, he told himsel
f, taking a step forward. And then another, his eyes never leaving her face. Slow, silent footsteps, until at last he was standing beside her bed. Exactly where he had been last night. Fighting the same battle he had fought then.
Slowly he reached out and picked up one of the papers. She didn’t stir, despite the soft rustle of the pages. He gathered the rest of them off the counterpane, not bothering to stack or refold. When he had them all, he bent and put them down beside the bed. When he straightened, he realized that, despite the noise, she was still sleeping as soundly as she had been when he entered the room. As soundly as last night.
Then he reached out again, big fingers moving with deliberate slowness, highly disciplined, and switched off the bedside lamp. He waited in the darkness until his eyes adjusted, her face floating up out of the shadows. Infinitely beautiful. Peaceful.
One last task, he thought, stepping nearer the bed. He bent toward her. She wouldn’t wake up, not with the effect of the capsules. She would never know he’d been here. She hadn’t known last night.
Hawk slipped his right arm under her shoulders, lifting them. At the same time he pulled the top pillow out with his left hand. Removed it with infinite care and patience.
Suddenly her breathing changed. Her lips parted. Her tongue appeared between them, easing out to touch the top one with moisture. She turned her head, her hair brushing against his neck.
With her first movement, Hawk froze, his arm still behind her back. Her eyes didn’t open, however. And after an endless wait, he took a breath in relief. She had settled back into sleep, her cheek resting now against his shoulder. She didn’t move again, other than the measured regularity of her breathing.
She hadn’t awakened, only stirred in her sleep. But now, he realized, if he removed his arm, her head would be against the headboard. He needed to move her a little farther down the bed.
He pulled back the sheet with his left hand and slipped his left arm under the crook of her knees. He lifted, right arm under her back, surprised at how little she weighed. She was so thin she was almost... fragile.
Hawk laid her back on the bed, her dark head settled on a single pillow. Better, he thought, carefully sliding his left arm from beneath her knees. Remembering to take another breath.
He glanced to his left, his eyes searching in the darkness for the sheet he’d pulled away. She’d get a better night’s sleep this way, he thought again, congratulating himself on his success. Preparing to ease his other arm from behind her back.
Instead, her right arm lifted and her hand found the back of Hawk’s neck. The movement was slow, almost languid. Sleepy. But her fingers touched his hair, and then they opened, sliding upward, widened to cup the back of his head.
Hawk froze, not daring to breathe. He was still bending over her, one arm beneath her shoulders. When he looked back toward the head of the bed, almost dreading what he’d find, her eyes were open. Focused on his face. There was no surprise in them. No dismay at finding him here. No shock that he was bending over her in the inviting darkness of her bedroom. Her lips moved again. This time their corners edged upward. Tilted. She was smiling at him, he realized.
The fingers that were at the back of his head shifted, no longer drifting through the short, thick hair, but applying pressure. Downward pressure. Her face moved slightly, chin lifting toward his. Her mouth opened. Inviting also. Promising. Both beautiful and vulnerable.
Hawk’s head lowered in response. There was no conscious decision involved. There were no cautions left in his brain. Because Hawk was no longer thinking. He was feeling. Needing and wanting. Responding to an enticement that he knew was probably drug induced. It didn’t matter. It was far too late to withdraw. His mouth found hers, and the contact between them was as powerful as it had been before, that first time he’d foolishly allowed himself to kiss her.
Heat and movement Incredible hunger. His. And hers. There was nothing one-sided about what was happening. Hawk was aware of that. If he hadn’t been, he might have found the strength to stop. He didn’t, because it was obvious she didn’t want him to stop.
Instead, her desire matched his. Her tongue explored, challenged, taunted. Her lips released, more tempting in their small denial, and then as quickly found his mouth again, renewing the contact between them with the same hot surge of need he had felt before, simply standing beside the bed watching her sleep.
She wanted this. There was no doubt about that. Wanted his mouth over hers. Wanted him... Wanted him? Sanity reared its ugly head. Only two days ago, she was supposed to marry someone else. Maybe, dazed by sleep, she thought...
Infuriated at the possibility that she might not know who he was, Hawk raised his head, pushing strongly against the slender fingers threaded through his hair. Her eyes opened again. What was in them now was clearly shock. Her lips were parted, and he fought the urge to cover them with his.
What the hell does it matter who she thinks she’s kissing? he wondered savagely. The reality was she was kissing him. He was the one who was here in the darkness. Her small breasts were rising and falling against his chest, her fingers locked in his hair. What kind of stupid bastard would question that reality?
This kind. The kind of bastard he was, Hawk thought, watching her eyes widen at the anger in his face. Seeing the tip of her tongue ease between the trembling lips. Wanting it moving again under his.
“I’m not Ahmad,” he said, his voice harsh with need.
He wanted to see that knowledge in the depths of her eyes. To read it in her face. The words were only a whisper, but they seemed to echo in the darkness, filling the small loneliness of space he had created between his mouth and her lips.
“I know,” she said. “I know you’re not Amir.”
Her hand slipped from behind his head to cup his cheek. Her thumb caressed the tightness of the muscle beside his mouth. Even under that gentle pressure, it didn’t relax. The tension didn’t ease. None of the tension between them.
“I don’t want there to be any mistake,” Hawk said, his voice cold. Her eyes searched his face, and even in the darkness he could see the pain in them.
“Hawk,” she whispered.
He wasn’t sure if his name was protest or affirmation. Confirmation that what he had just accused her of was untrue, or proof that she knew exactly who he was. Not the fiancé she had almost certainly been sleeping with only a couple of days ago.
That realization hit him hard, nausea stirring at the thought of someone else making love to her. Of her responding to another man as she had been responding to him. Inviting someone else—
“What’s wrong?” she asked, just as she had today. Her fingers moved against his cheek, nails scoring lightly over his skin as they traced downward. “What’s wrong?” she repeated more softly, pressing her thumb again into the tension at the corner of his mouth.
“Did you love him?” he asked.
Her hand fell away from his face. It curled against her throat. The knob of bone in her wrist was very prominent. Thin. Like a child’s bone. Fragile and vulnerable.
“No,” she whispered. Her eyes didn’t avoid his.
“You agreed to marry him.” That had been in the back of Hawk’s mind all along, almost from the moment she had entered his room, begging for his help.
“It wasn’t for the money.”
“Then why?” he asked. Other than the fact that he had that much money, why would she agree to many a man she didn’t love?
“Because I was afraid.”
The words were only a breath, but he was so close that he heard them. Too close. He could smell the fragrance of her body, released by the warmth of the bed or by the heat of the kiss they had shared.
“Afraid of what?”
He wasn’t really thinking anymore about what she was saying. He had accepted her denial because he wanted to believe it. Needed to believe. Because he wanted to touch her. To put his fingers around that childlike wrist. To put his lips against her throat, exactly where her hand lay, fingers
curved inward and relaxed. Trusting. He wanted to bury his face in the shadowed softness between the rise and fall of her small breasts.
He wanted her. His body ached with how much he wanted to bury himself within her. Deep and hard and tight. And as wet as only he could make her. He could. He knew that. Had never doubted it.
I know you’re not Amir, she had said. And then his name. The only name she knew. Hawk. The single syllable had slipped out of her mouth as smoothly as he wanted to push into her body.
“Afraid of what came next, I guess,” she whispered finally. “Afraid of the rest of my life. Of what it was going to be. Afraid of being alone. Afraid...there were no more dreams.”
Hawk didn’t have any idea what she was talking about. There were no more dreams. He had known that for a long time. Since before his mother died. No more dreams. Not in this world. Not in Hawk’s life, at least.
“Dreams?” he asked. He had intended the word to be mocking, but it sounded only questioning, his voice almost as soft as hers.
“Dreams,” she repeated. “I thought there were no more dreams left to come true. But...I guess maybe I was wrong.”
Her hand moved, fingers touching his face again. The tips of them slid over his cheek, then lightly traced the outline of his lips. She was watching him, watching her hand move against his mouth. Then her thumb found his eyelid, and she brushed it across the short thick lashes.
He turned his head, avoiding her touch. Avoiding the tenderness it communicated more clearly than words.
“Make love to me,” she whispered.
This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be, Hawk thought. This was something that should never have been allowed to happen between the two of them.
No more dreams... That had reverberated in his head, echoing all that he already knew. All that life had taught a man called Hawk.
