They’d exchanged maybe two dozen words since their altercation on the mountain, and the words had been curt. He was furious at her, but Annabelle didn’t really care. She was pretty furious herself.
How could a man be so physically courageous and such an emotional wimp?
She’d bet her bottom dollar that it went back to that family of his. To his crazy father. Back during the Fixer days, Mark had let slip little snide remarks about the man from time to time. Then during one of their weekends after they married, she had invited him to attend a volunteer dinner where she was to receive an award. He begged off, explaining that it conflicted with the Callahan brothers’ annual get-together in memory of their youngest brother, John. When she’d asked what the brothers did to mark the occasion, he’d replied that they usually spent the weekend fishing and cussing their father’s name. The venom in his voice when he’d said it had taken her aback.
Now as Annabelle waited for the police to begin their interrogation of her, she wondered just what Branch Callahan had done to make Mark hold him responsible for the car accident that killed his wife and child.
Mark’s wife. She wanted to know the other woman’s name, how long they’d been married, everything. They had to have been young—barely twenty, if even that— for the timing to work with Desert Storm. Had they been high school sweethearts? Or had Mark met her after Branch Callahan exiled him from his hometown?
Branch Callahan. Now, there was a man whom she’d like to slap upside the head if she ever had the opportunity to meet him. From what she could tell, he was the one who put the ‘‘dys’’ in the dysfunctional family.
The door opened and a cop walked in. ‘‘Ms. Monroe? You are free to go.’’
She frowned at him. ‘‘But you haven’t questioned me.’’
‘‘It’s not necessary. Mr. Callahan gave us a rundown of what transpired.’’
Annabelle opened her mouth, then shut it. She knew she should keep it shut, stand, and make her exit, but she couldn’t hold back the words. ‘‘And you believe him? Just like that?’’
‘‘We got a call from the Pentagon that backed up everything Mr. Harrington said. We were preparing to begin a search for you and Mr. Callahan when you arrived here. Now we’ll start looking for the woman who impersonated Brooke Mercer.’’
Annabelle’s mind snagged on the name. ‘‘Harrington? Tag Harrington called you?’’
‘‘No, ma’am. He’s—’’
‘‘Here.’’ Tag stepped past the policeman into the room. ‘‘I’m here.’’
The solemn look on his face had her stomach sinking. ‘‘What’s wrong?’’
‘‘Noah and I couldn’t reach you. We were afraid you had run into . . . trouble.’’
‘‘We did.’’
‘‘So I understand. That’s a bitch about Rocky.’’
He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and she waited, knowing there was more. Who was it? Noah? She braced herself as he opened his mouth, but nothing could have prepared her for the words he spoke.
‘‘Annabelle, we got a call from Kansas yesterday. There are no fatalities, but there’s been an attack on your family.’’
Everything within her froze. ‘‘Excuse me? What did you say?’’
‘‘He hit your family farm. Apparently it was someone’s birthday and a crowd was there. Something exploded in the kitchen. Luckily, almost everyone was in the dining room and escaped with only cuts and bruises.’’
Annabelle reached out and grabbed the back of a nearby chair for support. ‘‘Almost everyone?’’
‘‘Honey . . .’’ Tag’s blue eyes offered both encouragement and concern. ‘‘Your dad went back to the kitchen for more hot gravy. He’s expected to pull through, but the blast banged him up pretty bad.’’
Once it sank in, Annabelle couldn’t control a little hysterical giggle. ‘‘Mama always said his love for gravy would kill him.’’
‘‘Ah, Annabelle.’’ Tag crossed to her and took her in his arms. She buried her face against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist and held on as tremors shook her. He murmured gentle words of comfort and pressed kisses against her hair. ‘‘It’ll be okay, hon. It’ll be okay.’’
Annabelle’s mind spun. So much to do. She had to call Mom. Find the quickest way to Kansas.
Tag had said it happened yesterday. Though she guessed it was physically possible that the gallery woman hit Kansas after leaving Colorado, it didn’t seem probable. That meant that the gallery woman probably had a partner.
Someone attacked her family. Oh, dear Lord.
‘‘We have to find these bastards, Tag. We have to stop them.’’
It wasn’t Tag who answered, but Mark. ‘‘We will.’’
Annabelle looked up. Her ex was watching her with a blank, unreadable stare, though his left hand was fisted at his side. Tag glanced from Mark back down to her, a question in his gaze.
Annabelle ignored him, ignored them both. She didn’t have the time or the energy for rooster barn-yard posturing.
‘‘Mark, my dad . . .’’
‘‘I just got off the phone with the hospital. My pilot is filing a flight plan as we speak.’’
Cold fear washed through her. ‘‘Is he . . . ?’’ ‘‘He’s stable, Annabelle. I spoke with a doctor named Ellis.’’
‘‘He’s our family doctor.’’
‘‘He said to tell you that your father’s hard head came in handy for once. You are not to worry, that he has every expectation that your father will make a full recovery.’’
‘‘How badly is he injured?’’
Mark’s gaze flickered away. ‘‘HIPAA laws . . .’’
‘‘Mark, please.’’ She knew the man better than that.
‘‘They operated to stanch some internal bleeding, and he came through that just fine. He had a couple broken ribs, a concussion. They’re a little concerned about his blood pressure, but they’re monitoring him closely.’’
‘‘That’s all? You swear?’’
‘‘You have my word.’’
‘‘Good.’’ She shut her eyes. ‘‘That’s good.’’
Reassured, she started thinking again. She glanced up at Tag. ‘‘Is Noah with you?’’
‘‘No. He flew to Florida. His parents retired to Captiva Island, but he couldn’t reach them by phone. He’ll rejoin us once he makes sure everything is fine in Florida.’’
‘‘Your family?’’
‘‘My parents have been gone for years, and I was an only child. Not an issue with me.’’
Annabelle raked her fingers through her hair. ‘‘Who are these people? Why would they go after our families? What’s—’’ She broke off abruptly. ‘‘Your brothers, Mark.’’
‘‘I’ve already called ’em. They’re fine and they know how to take precautions.’’ He crossed the room and smoothly separated her from Tag. ‘‘C’mon, Belle. We need to grab a shower and something to eat before we leave. Harrington has some calls to make. He’ll meet us at the plane.’’
‘‘You’re coming with us, Tag?’’
‘‘Yeah.’’ He shrugged. ‘‘You have a large family. We figure having an extra gun around can’t hurt.’’
The weakness slowly began to leave her and anger flowed in to take its place. ‘‘I hope there’s a special level in hell for whoever is doing this.’’
‘‘And I hope we make sure they get to visit it ASAP,’’ Tag added.
Twenty minutes later, Mark unlocked the door to a hotel room and ushered her inside. She spied a change of clothing for both of them lying on the bed—jeans and T-shirts and underwear. Two sets of inexpensive sneakers sat on the floor. ‘‘The sandwiches I ordered should be up anytime. You want to hit the shower now or after you eat?’’
‘‘Now.’’ She’d been hungry following their trek down the mountain, but her appetite disappeared once she’d heard the news about her dad. At the moment, she didn’t care if she ever ate again.
She gathered up the
clothes and carried them into the bathroom, where she checked the sizes. Everything was perfect. Leave it to Mark Callahan to remember the details.
The luxuriously equipped bathroom offered a separate shower and tub. A long bath sounded lovely, but she couldn’t afford the time, so Annabelle opened the shower’s glass door and turned on the hot water, then stripped bare and dumped her torn and dirty clothes in the trash. Steam billowed and she adjusted the temperature to just below scalding and stepped into the stall.
Water cascaded over her. As the heat slowly permeated her skin, she twisted the spigot and increased the pressure. At some point, the pounding heat warmed her enough to melt the cold chill inside her and Annabelle began to cry.
She didn’t cry very often, so when she did, the tears came from the very depths of her soul. Events of the last few days overwhelmed her and let loose a hurricane of emotions. Fear. Despair. Guilt. Regret. Grief. She buried her head in the crook of her arm, leaned against the shower tile, and sobbed.
She cried for her daddy, for her family home, for Rocky and his lady and the Russos. She cried over blistered feet and bug bites and broken hearts. She cried for the child she wanted so desperately, but had to hope did not result from her impetuousness last night.
She cried hard and she cried long, and at some point she became aware of the naked arms wrapped around her and of the soothing words being murmured into her ear, of the tender kisses being pressed against her brow, her temples, her lips.
‘‘Hush, now, baby. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.’’
His hand stroked over her naked skin and she melted against him. Slowly, she turned and leaned against his familiar form. Reaching down, she touched the tips of her fingers to his beneath the spray. He laced their hands without another word and pulled her closer.
There was no question about what he wanted, no question about what she needed. His naked and aroused body spoke for him as he gently pressed her against him. His mouth sought hers and Annabelle was lost.
So sweet. So soft. The warmth of the water sluiced over them as he whispered her name amid hot, open-mouthed kisses that stole her breath. Her heart slammed against her chest, and somewhere deep in her brain, Annabelle knew she shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t do this. . . .
Yet she needed it so badly. Needed Mark so badly that she could no sooner stop this than cease breathing.
Make it go away. The pain, the worry, the fear, the confusion. Raising her eyes to his, Annabelle made a silent plea for him to pull her into a place where she didn’t have to think.
Blinking away the emotion, she reached up and kissed him again, not wanting to think about babies or bombs or even tomorrow. Especially tomorrow. He took her cue and deepened their connection, his tongue plunging in and out as prelude of what was to come.
He ran his hands down over her body, over her breasts, her stomach. His fingers teased against the juncture between her legs and she lurched up with a gasp. A shiver made her hot and cold at the same time, and the steam radiating from the shower only enhanced the heat between them.
He knew where to touch. Where to kiss. Where to arouse. He buried his face in her shoulder and nipped along her neck as he eased one finger up inside of her.
Her head lolled back as he trailed his mouth downward, settling on an extended nipple. He drew on her with soft pulls, his tenderness more affecting than she could bear. Stroking his hair, Annabelle sighed and arched her body farther, moving against the rhythm his hand created, letting him take her into the sweet bliss of oblivion.
But she wanted him. Didn’t want to go alone. Needed the connection. Needed Mark. Pulling back, she reached down blindly, tugging him to her, aligning his body with hers. In one stroke, he entered and Annabelle nearly cried with relief.
Lifting her knee, she brought him deeper, feeling her body tighten and climb the ladder, rung by rung. Her senses reeling, her mind vacant of all save him, she rocked against the tide and came apart with a throaty sob.
Gasping, trembling, she looked up at him in the dim light of the shower stall, his eyes glittering with a myriad of emotions as he pulled her closer, driving himself to the hilt.
He held her in place and made such sweet love to her that Annabelle cried more silent tears against his shoulder. Her Mark. Her husband. The only man who would ever hold her heart. He’d known she needed him and he’d come to her.
Cradling her in his arms, Mark murmured words that had no meaning and found heaven himself.
Chapter Nine
Annabelle remained quiet as they left the hotel and headed for the airport. She fell asleep before the plane was airborne. During the flight, Mark attempted to focus on the phone calls and faxes that had piled up during the time he’d been out of touch, but his gaze kept returning to Annabelle.
Exhaustion added a fragility to her beauty that he’d never seen in her before today. Despite the exposure to the sun during their trek down the mountain, her complexion appeared pale and almost translucent. She had dark circles under her eyes and a little furrow of worry between her brows even as she slept.
Annabelle Monroe was just about the strongest woman he’d ever known, and seeing her this way, hearing her sobs earlier, tore him up. As he watched her now, he silently swore that when he finally tracked the killer down, the bastard would pay for every tear this woman had shed.
‘‘So what’s with you two?’’ Harrington asked.
Mark jerked his attention to the man seated across from him, who now stared at Mark with a penetrating gaze. Mark tried to fake it. ‘‘What do you mean?’’
‘‘Guess you two worked out whatever differences you had in Philly. How long have you been sleeping with her?’’
Mark scoffed. ‘‘What in the world gave you that crazy idea?’’
‘‘Crazy? I don’t think so.’’ Tag Harrington shook his head and clucked his tongue. ‘‘It’s written all over your face, Callahan.’’
‘‘The hell you say.’’
‘‘The chill in the air around you two in Philly led me to suspect that it was an affair gone bad. It’s not cold around you anymore. Besides, the look you gave me when you walked into that interrogation room and saw her crying on my shoulder gave the game away.’’
Mark knew then that there was no sense in fighting the inevitable. ‘‘It’s complicated.’’
‘‘Considering that some nutjob has a hard-on for us all—including our families—I’d say so.’’
Harrington’s mention of families brought Mark’s thoughts back to the Monroes and he grimaced. ‘‘You need to keep this to yourself while we’re in Kansas. Annabelle’s family doesn’t know about us.’’
‘‘I don’t know about you. What’s the deal?’’
Mark hesitated, not knowing just how to respond. He tried to think strategically, but as his gaze drifted again to Annabelle, that unusual and still-growing sense of protectiveness washed through him once again. The main question in his mind became, how much would Annabelle want him to reveal?
She’s tough. She’s brilliant. She’s worldly.
At her core, she’s still a Kansas farm girl. Her teammates’ opinions matter to her.
‘‘We . . . uh . . . were married.’’
Harrington couldn’t hide his shock. ‘‘You’re shit-tin’ me.’’
‘‘Emphasis on were.’’
‘‘You’re divorced?’’
‘‘Yeah, but her family doesn’t know about any of it, and she will want it to stay that way.’’
‘‘Details. Give me details.’’
‘‘No.’’ Mark rubbed the back of his neck. ‘‘What did I do to give us away? I need to make sure I don’t do it again.’’
Harrington’s mouth twisted in a wry grin. ‘‘You’ll probably be okay as long as you never look at her or speak to her. Better not stand next to her, either. I swear, the air sorta sizzles between you two.’’
‘‘That’s nonsense.’’
‘‘Hey, it’s your funeral.’’ Tag no sooner said the
words than he winced. ‘‘Sorry. Bad choice of words, under the circumstances, but you get my drift.’’
Yeah, he did. To Mark’s consternation, Harrington had it right. He couldn’t look at Annabelle the same way he’d done before they were married. He couldn’t look at her differently now that they were divorced. He wanted her too much. Way too much. Still.
‘‘I’m screwed.’’
‘‘Obviously. That’s the problem.’’
Well, it was a problem he had to solve. Annabelle didn’t need family drama on top of everything else.
Mark drummed his fingers on the table in front of him and muttered, ‘‘This is ridiculous. I can fix this. I can act the way I need to act, hide what I need to hide. I’ve successfully worked undercover in some of the most dangerous places in the world. I surely can do it in Kansas!’’
Harrington snorted. ‘‘Seems to me that it’s your undercover work that is the problem here.’’
Deciding he was done with the conversation, Mark gave his friend a sneering smile, flipped him the bird, then turned his attention to the faxes.
He had a killer to find.
He made calls to Texas, DC, and the security firm in Kansas he’d hired during the flight to Wichita. Annabelledidn’t open her eyes until he shook her awake after the plane had taxied to a stop at the airport. The two hours of sleep had eased the dark shadows beneath her eyes just a bit, but she still looked like hell. Well, as much as a beautiful woman could look like hell.
The car he’d hired met them at the plane. Annabelle didn’t speak during the ride to St. Joe’s, but she opened the passenger door before the car rolled to a complete stop at the entrance. ‘‘Wait,’’ Mark admonished, placing a hand on her arm. ‘‘Give the security guys a chance to take their places.’’
She climbed out of the car anyway. ‘‘This is home. My family is inside.’’
‘‘Dammit, Annabelle.’’ Mark scrambled after her, Harrington right behind him. He tensed, anticipating a sniper’s shot, as they hurried toward the front door.
They made it inside safely, and Annabelle went straight to the lobby desk, where she addressed the candy striper, ‘‘Intensive care?’’
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