Talons of the Falcon

by Rebecca York

  Then he felt the old fear gnawing in his gut. This was where it had happened—whatever it was.

  He slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. He wasn’t going to run away this time. When the image faded, he tried to call it back. But it was like trying to dig his fingernails into a cloud. The effort made his head throb again the way it had this afternoon, and he eased himself down the edge of the bed. Eyes closed, he leaned forward, cradling his forehead in his palms as he struggled to calm his breathing.

  In a moment the pain passed, to be replaced by frustration. It was the same stone wall he had come up against again and again. There was something here he wanted to understand, had to understand. The pain and the memories of those six months were tied together in a way he couldn’t explain. But maybe Eden was right, maybe he didn’t have to do it by himself. All at once he realized he wanted to talk to her about it. That knowledge made him feel as though someone had just lifted an enormous weight from his chest.

  Quickly he glanced toward the bathroom door, where his room connected to Eden’s. There was only dim light coming from underneath. She must be in her room with the door open. That meant she was still awake.

  Crossing his room, he turned the knob and stepped onto the tile floor. Then he realized his assumption had been mistaken. Eden was standing in front of the bathroom mirror brushing her golden brown hair in the half-light that filtered in from her room.

  Mark’s breath caught in his throat. Every detail of the scene was instantly impressed upon his senses. She was wearing a sleeveless satin gown that tantalizingly cupped her breasts, narrowed in to emphasize her slender waist, and descended in graceful folds around her legs. Her hair cascaded around her head like a burnished halo. Her blue eyes were wide with surprise as they met his in the mirror.

  Neither one of them spoke. They simply stood there looking at each other.

  “What is it, Mark?” she finally whispered.

  “I wanted to talk to you about something—a piece to the puzzle.”

  But now that he was here, seeing her like this, what had brought him to her was no longer important. A wave of intense longing washed over him, threatening to drown him. He wanted her with all his being, yet he was still afraid of what he might discover about himself in her arms. Without even knowing that he was crossing the tile floor, he came forward and put his hands on her shoulders.

  In the mirror he saw her lips part, as though she might be going to ask another question, but the words remained unspoken. Her eyes never left his, and he felt her shiver as his fingers began to stroke the vibrant warmth of her skin. He had never felt anything quite so sensual. After weeks of denial, he gave in to the luxury of nuzzling his face against her hair, letting the scent of almonds and exotic spice envelop him. He heard her sigh with pleasure, felt her arch against him.

  When his eyes asked a silent question, her reflection answered. With fingers that were far from steady, he slipped the straps of her gown down her arms and watched as the satin bodice followed their downward progress. He held his breath again as the tops of her breasts were bared. All at once the fine material lost the battle with gravity and came to rest around her waist.

  In the dim light her breasts were alabaster, her nipples dusky pink. Even as he watched, they puckered and hardened. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

  Eden swayed backward against him, her arms trapped at her sides by the satin straps of her gown, her very being trapped in an invisible net of silken threads. She felt the intensity of Mark’s gaze like a burning caress. She longed to feel the sweet reality of his touch.

  “Please.” The word was a whispered supplication.

  “Oh, Eden. If I touch you now, I won’t be able to stop.”

  “I don’t want you to stop.”

  In slow motion, his hands slipped from her shoulders to graze her breasts. Then he was cupping them, feeling their weight in his hands, gliding his thumbs across the taut nipples.

  She closed her eyes and arched her back, straining to increase the contact. The pleasure of it was a raw ache deep inside her.

  Answering an elemental need to give as well as receive, she turned in his arms, her mouth seeking his. Their lips fused together in a searing kiss that finally proclaimed all the pent-up needs and longings that neither of them had been able to banish.

  He reveled in the taste of her sweet mouth, the feel of her soft breasts pressed against his naked chest, the sensual response of her body to his.

  He felt her struggle impatiently with the straps that held her arms. Free of the restraints at last, her hands came up to knead the muscle and sinew of his shoulders and tangle possessively in the dark hair at the back of his head.

  When their mouths finally drew apart, they were both breathless—yet burning for more.

  “Come to my bed,” she murmured.

  “Yes.”

  She pushed the gown down over her hips and let it pool around her feet. Stepping gracefully out of it, she took his hand and led him through the door. The room was a landscape of unreality. They had eyes for each other alone.

  “You have too many clothes on.” The words were spoken as her lips hungrily nibbled at his bare neck and shoulder. And then her fingers were unashamedly fumbling with the button at his waistband. He stepped away slightly so that she could help him out of his jeans and briefs. Then he was pulling her against the taut, naked length of his body.

  “You’re so damn soft,” he marveled.

  “And you’re so hard.” Her hand closed around him, her fingers clasping him as her body soon would. There was nothing tentative or unsure about the gesture.

  The intimacy of the touch brought a gasp of pleasure to his lips. How many times had he dreamed about her caressing him like this? The certain knowledge that she had shared his longings seemed to shatter the last barrier between them.

  They were on the bed then, holding and touching and tasting each other with an urgency that was almost frightening in its insatiability.

  For Eden, two weeks of living together—yet apart—made this more intense than anything she had experienced in the past. But there was an underlying familiarity that made her heart race with joy. He knew her body, knew what pleased her, knew what drove her to a frenzy of wanting. And that was exactly what he was doing as he slipped his finger inside her and then out again in a tantalizing rhythm.

  “Mark, please...”

  He looked down at her. Her hair was in erotic disarray, her lips slightly swollen from his kisses, her eyes begging him not to wait any longer for the final joining. She didn’t have to beg. He was powerless to deny her.

  His mouth sought hers, even as he covered her body with his. There was no hesitation. In one powerfully satisfying stroke he was deep inside her. She felt like a tight, hot cocoon, pulling him deeper into her velvet warmth.

  Every stroke bound him to her until there was nothing in the universe but Eden. He felt her trembling beneath him. She called out his name again and again, as the spasms of her ecstasy contracted around him. And then they became his own.

  There was no thought of muffling the shout of satisfaction that started deep in his throat.

  They were both out of breath. For several heartbeats he simply held her close. Then she felt him stir.

  She clasped his shoulders more tightly. “Don’t leave me yet. I don’t want it to be over.”

  He caressed her cheek with his and hugged her fiercely.

  She felt a warm glow surge through her. This was the Mark Bradley she remembered. She smiled up at him. “It is really you, isn’t it?”

  The tenderness went out of his face, to be replaced by pain and then a cold expression that gave her a sudden chill. “You’re dead wrong, Eden. I’m not the Mark Bradley you used to know.”

  He rolled off her and turned away, his back rigid.

  The grating words made all Eden’s old doubts rush back. Had she just made love to an impostor? In fact, had she surrendered to the enemy? The thoughts made her w
ant to cringe away toward the other side of the bed.

  She forced her rational thinking processes to push away blind fear. If this man were an impostor, surely he would be all too happy to let her go on thinking that he was Mark Bradley. No, in this case it was Mark’s own uncertainties that had prompted his words. He must be motivated by an inner hopelessness, not from a desire to hurt her. And she was trained to deal with that.

  That thought gave her the courage to put a questioning hand on his shoulder.

  “Leave me alone.” The words were a savage growl.

  She stared at his unyielding back. “Don’t shut me out. Not now.”

  The plea in her voice pierced through to his heart. God, how he wanted to be the man that she remembered. A moment ago when they had made love, he had been able to catch hold of flashes of his old identity. But they were little more than disconnected fragments.

  Yet what had he expected, after the things that had been done to him in that “hospital” in Leipzig? Making love with Eden could only be a moment out of time. And yet, she was right. He owed her some explanation.

  “Eden, it can’t work for us. I must have been crazy to have let this happen.”

  “Mark, you’re not making sense.”

  He turned back to face her, his face an angry mask. “What do you want from me?”

  “The truth.”

  Before he could respond, a floorboard in the hall creaked. They both froze.

  Mark was instantly alert, their personal differences forgotten, as his years of Peregrine training took over. He put a finger to his lips and shook his head vigorously.

  She nodded her understanding. They waited in silence. This time the sound of a foot being carefully placed was almost imperceptible. But they heard.

  Mark sat up. He looked toward the door, then back at her. “I’m going to take a shower. Want to join me?”

  For a moment she was completely confused. Then she realized the running water would serve the same purpose as the waves pounding the shore. They would be able to speak without being overheard.

  She recognized the ploy. “That sounds like a good idea.” Her words were calm, but inside she was battling with equal parts of fear and outrage. Someone had been listening outside her door while she and Mark had been making love.

  Taking her hand reassuringly, he led her back to the bathroom. Neither of them spoke until he had turned on the water full force.

  “Who?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know. The elevator and the stairs are locked. The door to the next wing is bolted. No one could get up here—unless they have a key.” As he spoke, he stepped under the hot water and pulled her in after him. Then he closed the curtain.

  Her arms went around his shoulders and she clung to him, feeling the hot water pounding down against them.

  The water made his skin slick. As her hands slid over his back and shoulders, she was more aware than ever of the uneven ridges of scar tissue. She thought again about the horrible burns and shuddered.

  He mistook the reaction for present fear and held her tightly, his cheek pressed against hers. The urge to comfort and protect her almost overwhelmed him. But he had to think, not just react.

  Names were spinning in his head. Downing, Price, Hubbard, Yolanski, Walker, Marshall—even the other enlisted men. At least one of the crew here was working for someone besides the U.S. Air Force.

  There hadn’t been much for Mark to do except study their personalities and resist their interrogation. He’d had to assume the Russians had sent someone to Pine Island to protect their man in the Pentagon. In the two months since arriving here, he’d been speculating about who it might be.

  Almost any of them could use the money. But somehow he couldn’t see that as a motive for Downing. He was obviously acting from the strength of his convictions, whatever they were. On the other hand, Hubbard was such a weakling that he might be easy prey for an enemy blackmail scheme. Walker, Ramirez and Yolanski might be bitter about the American dream turned sour for minorities. And what about Price and Marshall? They were both after status in their own way. Warm appreciation from the Soviets and a chance to feel important might go a long way with men like that.

  There was suddenly so much to talk about—and so little time.

  “You wouldn’t have hit me with Erlich’s name if you were on their side,” he finally murmured.

  She felt his body tense. It cost him a lot just to say that name.

  “I wanted so much for you to believe I was here to help you, but I just couldn’t spell it out.”

  He hugged her fiercely. “They don’t want me to know what happened in East Germany.”

  “Can you tell me anything more about it?” It wasn’t safe to speak above a whisper.

  He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Eden, I’m not the same man who went to West Berlin for the Falcon. I don’t even feel as though this patched-up body is really mine.”

  “Oh, Mark.” Her hands traced over his shoulder and down his side, feeling again the scar tissue from the skin grafts. Then she reached up and delicately touched the line between nose and mouth. It owed a great deal to the plastic surgeon’s art. How would it be to look in the mirror every morning and know you weren’t seeing quite the face you had been born with, to see scars that would never entirely fade? Her heart went out to him at the thought. Yet it didn’t matter to her that his exterior was somehow different. The important thing was that his body was whole and well again and he was getting his strength back.

  But he wasn’t finished. “Eden, that’s not the worst. It’s what’s inside that’s driving me crazy. They’ve done something to my mind. And I don’t know what. I may be some kind of time bomb. I may hurt you. Destroy the Peregrine Connection. Compromise national security by betraying the Orion project. In fact, I may have already done it.” He had finally voiced the fear that had been gnawing at him for what seemed like an eternity.

  “You couldn’t!”

  “Don’t be too sure.”

  “We’ll take care of whatever it is.”

  “That might be impossible.”

  “Mark, Gordon told me you had learned some sort of self-hypnosis technique—a protection against interrogation.”

  “Yes. But not against Hans Erlich.” Again she felt his frustration and his torment. If just the mention of the doctor’s name was so destructive, what had the man himself been able to do?

  “He may be trained to hurt. I’m trained to heal.”

  “Oh, God, Eden. You don’t know. You can’t know.”

  They clung together for long silent moments, letting the hot water pound against them. Finally he shifted his body so their eyes could meet.

  “We can’t stay in here forever.”

  She tried to laugh.

  He bent to lick droplets of water off her shoulder. It seemed a familiar gesture to him. Had he done this before?

  She smiled. “You always did like to do that.”

  “I still do.”

  It was tempting to give in to the sensuality of the moment. But there were still issues to settle. “I need to know some things.”

  She nodded.

  “That first morning when the lights went out. Tell me what happened.”

  She quickly filled him in on the hair dryer incident.

  He swore. “Someone tried to kill you!”

  “Or warn me.”

  “You’re in worse danger now. If someone is sneaking around in the hall, he must be desperate.”

  “An East German agent?”

  “No. They’ve spent a lot of time and money patching me up, because they want something from me. They wouldn’t waste their investment by killing me.”

  The casual way he spoke made her shiver, even under the warm, pounding water.

  “It’s got to be the Russians,” he continued. “They’re the ones with the mole in the Pentagon. If I can nail him, the guy’s had it.”

  “Can you?”

  “Yes. But he’s so high up, no one will
believe me without proof.”

  “You have it?”

  “Yes. In a safe place—I hope.” His jaw firmed. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “How?”

  “Swim maybe.”

  “Impossible. It’s too far.”

  “I was a high school champion freestyler.” She heard the doubt in his voice even as he tried to sound confident for her sake.

  “But you’re out of shape,” she reminded him gently.

  “I’d rather die trying to get away than get it in the back here.”

  Their eyes met and held. He squeezed her arm reassuringly. “We’ll make it. Can you get an emergency message to the Falcon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do it. Tell him the situation.”

  A new thought struck her. “I’m the one who put you in danger. As long as the agent down here thought Downing wasn’t getting anywhere, you were safe.”

  “No. It was only a matter of time, if he was planning to use that drug.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t.” Mark stepped back and looked at the shower head. “I’ve got to turn off the water or somebody’s going to come find out why we’re spending the night in here. You understand it won’t be safe to talk.”

  She nodded in frustration. He was right, yet she knew he was also deliberately cutting the discussion off.

  “We’ve got to behave as though we don’t know we’re being stalked.”

  “I know.”

  Reaching out, he turned the knobs and the water subsided. Then he pulled her into his arms. His lips found hers in a hungry kiss. To her surprise, despite the danger, or maybe because of it, she found herself responding with equal passion.

  * * *

  THEY PARTED before dawn, to any observer, lovers with nothing on their minds but each other. Yet as they’d lain in one another’s arms in the early hours of the morning, each had been silently assessing the critical elements that would have to come together if they were going to make good their escape.