Her voice dropped to a shaky whisper. She shifted her gaze so that she wasn’t looking directly at him anymore, but Kyle couldn’t take his eyes off her. She looked so fragile and weary, so unsure and unlike the lover he knew.
He needed to stroke his anger and pretend he didn’t care, yet he couldn’t bear seeing her so shaken.
“I got scared, really, truly scared, and I hate being scared,” she confessed raggedly.
When her lips quivered, his gut tightened. Her admission cracked through some of his newly polished armor. A good part of his remaining anger stemmed from the scare she’d given him, but they needed to hash this out.
“I thought you were fearless,” he taunted.
“I thought so, too,” she said, searching his face with eyes that made his skin prickle with awareness. “After my family was murdered, I couldn’t shake the guilt of surviving. No amount of counseling can completely wipe that out of a person’s system. Donald accused me of having a death wish, and maybe he was right.”
“You have a death wish?” The question seemed ripped from his soul.
“Not anymore,” she swore. “That’s what frightens me so much. I didn’t used to care if I lived or died. I only cared about vengeance and seeing Gregory brought to justice. Nothing and nobody ever tempted me to veer from a path of self-destruction.”
Kyle finally realized what she was telling him. “Until me,” he injected gruffly.
“Until you,” she answered softly, her gaze locking again with his. “You made me care again. You made me start thinking of a future and the possibility of a real, normal life. You made me feel things I didn’t want to feel. It…scares me.”
Her honesty and vulnerability stole the rest of the anger from Kyle, leaving him just as vulnerable. He unclenched his fists and took the steps that brought her within reach. Then he cupped her head in his hands, tilting it upward and forcing her to lock gazes with him.
“Do you care? Really care about more than the great sex?” he asked, his thumbs stroking the softness of her cheeks.
“Yes,” she whispered softly.
He closed his eyes, and then reopened them. He wasn’t ready to proclaim his everlasting love, nor was he ready to let her go. “I think we’ve got something special going, and we should give it a chance.”
Rianna’s expression went from vulnerable to incredibly sad. “I don’t see how,” she insisted. “I’ve been on this crusade to punish Gregory for too long to let it go now. My life can never be my own. Even if he’s found guilty and put behind bars, there will be years and years of appeals.”
He could feel her pain and disillusionment as she continued to bare her heart.
“He’ll still want me dead, and he’ll still have the wealth and power to have me hunted. I’ll never be completely safe, and I’d never ask anyone I care about to live that kind of life. I saw what it did to my parents. I couldn’t bear having it happen all over again.”
Kyle finally cut off the flow of words with a kiss. He hadn’t planned to kiss her, but he didn’t know any other way to stop the outpouring of worry and fear. He understood her concerns now, but they’d find a way.
“If we let him destroy our relationship, then he wins,” he told her, nibbling on her lips. He felt her sharp intake of breath and knew she understood. “He’s been controlling your life for too long,” he added. “It stops here. You’re not the only one who wants him to pay for his crimes. It’s us against him.”
With that, he dipped his head.
Rianna wrapped her arms around him and leaned into his kiss. Their mouths locked, tongues searching, soothing, and then demanding. In a matter of seconds, heat exploded between them, but she suddenly pulled away.
“There’s something else.”
Kyle knew by her tone and expression that he wasn’t going to like it.
“I was wrong to run today, but I’m right about you going home. You need to take care of things in Texas, or Gregory will have succeeded in destroying that, too.”
“The insurance company can handle the details,” he argued, not voicing his own concerns.
“We need some distance between us for a while.”
He wanted to argue, but she pressed a finger against his lips. “Please,” she coaxed.
Kyle nodded, and she continued.
“The psychologists warned me about becoming too dependent on anyone who helped me escape the undercover work. I know what we have is much stronger than that, but I’ll never be sure unless we give it some time and distance.”
“That’s bull,” he grumbled. “How we met isn’t what counts. It’s how we feel now.”
“I know, but I’m going to be trapped in a safe house with round-the-clock guards for the next few weeks. I don’t want you to be forced to live that way.”
“You think I’ll resent having to spend time with you? That makes me pretty shallow, doesn’t it? Sounds like you just want to be rid of me while you reevaluate our relationship.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” she said on a sigh. “It’s just not practical for you to go into hiding when you could be taking care of things at home. The agency will give you protection if you want, but Donald doesn’t want me that far from D.C.”
“You’ve talked to him and he’s suggesting we don’t see each other again until after Haroldson’s trial?”
“He thinks it’s the safest thing to do at this point.”
Her lips found the pulse at his throat. When she sucked at his flesh, he drew in a breath and his body started to sing with anticipation. A rush of possessiveness nearly brought him to his knees. No other woman had ever given him so much or claimed so much of his soul. Her virginal innocence combined with her innate sensuality made him feel humble and needy.
“Maybe we can manage to rendezvous every once in a while, providing you’re interested,” she whispered.
Interested? He’d have to be dead not to be interested, but he had a feeling it wasn’t going to happen.
Swinging her into his arms, he carried her to the bed, and then fell on it with her. He locked his arms around her and moaned with delight as she held on just as tightly. Everything else could wait until he’d found a physical release for all the pent-up emotion.
Then they could talk logistics.
Chapter 13
Paris, France
Steven studied his image in the mirror. Short, thin, balding and nondescript. That was the real Steven Partoll’s reflection, but he never left France without a disguise. In all the years he’d traveled the world, he’d always presented a different, unmemorable facade. Interpol had a photo of him on file, as did the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation, but those images were just two of the many faces he’d used and discarded.
They called him Le Ferret, but he despised the appellation. It sounded more like a rodent than the powerful beast of prey he epitomized. He’d privately called himself Le Parisian, a proud, suitable nickname for a national treasure, he thought, his laughter echoing through the spartan apartment.
This would be his last job, and he’d decided to be himself. The idea was so ingenious that he laughed out loud. Who would ever suspect a mild-mannered, smalltime tabloid editor of being a hired murderer? Who’d ever guess he topped Interpol’s list of most wanted international hit men?
He planned to retire on the five million Haroldson had promised. The first million had already been deposited in his Swiss account. The rest would be transferred once the hit had been confirmed.
He’d considered taking the million and disappearing. Haroldson was in no position to come after him, he thought smugly, but even professional criminals had reputations to uphold. He planned to retire in a blaze of glory that no one would ever duplicate.
Besides, this would be the ultimate test, a challenge unlike any other. The hit would go down in a U.S. federal courthouse, with metal detectors, armed guards and FBI’s finest agents. The job would be his swan song, his pièce de résistance. Others might view it as a suicide missi
on, but they didn’t have his skill and daring.
He was the best, and this job would prove it. He intended to live a long and pampered life with the earnings from this final paycheck. He already had his sights set on a lush plantation in South America. He planned a complete physical transformation with the best plastic surgery money could buy. He’d grow a little opium for pleasure, buy the favors of some beautiful mademoiselles, and thumb his nose at international extradition treaties.
The woman.
He should have killed her years ago outside her family’s burning home. He’d recognized her among the horrified bystanders, but it had been too late. He hadn’t dared to draw attention to himself at that point, so he’d let her live.
It had been his first job, and he’d done it for a mere pittance. His brow creased at the memory. Haroldson had put a price on each family member’s head, so he’d lied and sworn they were all dead.
She’d been a dent in his pride for years, but he’d been given a chance to restore his self-image. This job would prove, once and for all, that no man could match him in courage and cunning.
Viva le Parisian.
Chapter 14
Margaret Wilding owned an elegant old Victorian home along the craggy shoreline of northern Maine. At seventy years old, she was as weathered as the rocks along the waterfront, but still as strong and sure as the tides. She welcomed Rianna and Special Agent Payne with open arms and a minimum of questions.
After Rianna introduced her bodyguard and briefly outlined the situation, the older woman made them comfortable in her home and treated them like long-lost relatives.
For the next few weeks, the bodyguards came and went in a regular rotation, while the women developed even deeper bonds. Margaret’s old house was in serious need of repair that she couldn’t afford on her social security income. Rianna sold the jewelry she’d mailed from Somerset to fund a renovation. Then she threw herself into the project, desperate to fill the long hours of waiting and isolation.
When she wasn’t working on the house, she spent a lot of time watching the water beat against the rocks and wondering about the purpose of life. She risked an occasional call to Kyle, but their conversations were brief and strained.
Tabone had never been apprehended, so her security was too tight to allow for a romantic rendezvous. She wondered if Kyle had some other less-complicated woman who was willing to warm his bed, but she couldn’t find the courage to ask him.
While alone at Margaret’s, she kept asking herself what she wanted from life. The answer remained the same.
Kyle Tremont.
She loved him, missed him unbearably, and badly wanted a chance for a normal relationship.
The blistering heat of the Texas sun had faded a bit as autumn progressed, but it still beat down on Kyle’s head as he hammered another nail into the roofing shingle. His muscles strained and sweat glistened over his bare torso, but the hot, physically taxing work gave him a satisfaction that little else had these past few weeks.
It had taken a while to get all the insurance claims settled and even longer to get his house back to normal. He’d decided to rebuild it himself, and now the wood shop was nearing completion.
He’d thought the hours of backbreaking work would help keep his mind off Rianna, but he’d been wrong. Images of her filled his thoughts daily, sometimes hourly—her sweet, tantalizing smile, her sexy confidence and her iron determination to see justice served.
His isolated lifestyle no longer appealed. He ate because he needed strength, but he didn’t enjoy much of anything. His sleep was restless, at best. His body yearned for its mate. The occasional phone calls just intensified his need for a more permanent arrangement.
The damage to his personal property hadn’t been that devastating. Things just weren’t important. He couldn’t work up much enthusiasm for his business, though he’d tried to bully himself into caring.
He missed her more than he’d ever thought possible. He loved her, and it was his first experience with the deathless, aching kind of love he suffered. He’d cared deeply for Margie, but even those emotions seemed mild compared to the depth of feeling he had for Rianna.
He wasn’t coping very well, and he wondered how she was dealing with the situation. Had she decided they had something worth fighting for or that he was just a means to an end? Now that her quest for justice would soon be complete, would she want independence more than commitment?
After weeks of slow, painstaking construction, he should be excited about the progress of his new workshop, but he couldn’t think much beyond the progress of Haroldson’s legal case. It was nearing time for the case to go to trial.
He still hadn’t told her how much he loved her. Kyle asked himself why, as he lay in bed and ached for her. He’d been slow to recognize the emotion, slow to put a name to the feelings he experienced every time she smiled or spoke or made love to her.
He was in regular contact with the assistant U.S. attorney in charge of the case, availing himself for interviews and volunteering to back up Rianna’s testimony. He’d submitted a detailed case report and undergone a lie-detector test.
She might not want him involved, but he was already in, heart-and-soul deep. He didn’t trust Uncle Sam’s best to protect her once she appeared in court. Her identity and location would be compromised by then, her every move monitored.
Kyle planned to do some monitoring of his own.
National and international news had been slow, so the media created a circus around the Haroldson case. Reporters for every major news operation had probed for details on the affluent banker and the undercover operative who’d posed as his fiancée. Rumors were rampant, though most remained unsubstantiated.
It was the stuff of TV movies and best-selling novels, so everyone and his brother wanted a piece of the action. Sullivan managed to get background checks on each reporter and photographer that was granted access to the courtroom. Security was especially tight, but Kyle had no trouble getting preferential clearance.
As the courtroom started filling for the first day of the trial, Kyle, Sullivan and a team of other agents watched each attendee as he or she passed through the door. They made sure every face was recorded on camera and mentally cataloged every man and woman who entered the room.
When the judge took his seat behind the bench, Kyle took his a row behind the railing that separated the galley from the prosecution table.
Rianna wasn’t let into the room until everyone else had been seated. She’d reverted to her undercover disguise with platinum blond hair and blue eyes. She wore a demure blue suit with a plain white blouse, and looked like one classy lady.
Kyle feasted on the sight of her, absorbing every nuance of her voice and re-exploring every beloved feature. She only allowed her gaze to meet his once, albeit briefly, but the awareness of each other’s presence throbbed strongly between them. It was an emotional connection that he couldn’t have described if his life depended on it.
His presence symbolized his support. He wanted her to be one hundred percent sure of him. He nearly burst with pride as she took the stand, and then answered hour after hour of questions in a calm, professional manner.
Her voice remained clear and firm as she related the personal tragedy she’d experienced and then the aspects of the case she’d been professionally assigned. For every accusation she made, the AUSA presented evidence to back it up. There were computer files, ledgers, videos and tape-recorded conversations between Haroldson and his staff. There were bank records, and evidence of money laundering in a six-state radius.
It didn’t take a genius to realize she had the jury in the palm of her hand by the end of the morning session. A couple of jurors blinked tears from their eyes, while other expressions ranged from shock to outright horror. The looks they sent Haroldson were telling.
As much as he preferred to keep his attention on the government’s primary witness, Kyle couldn’t afford to watch her for very long. He listened intently, but kept his
gaze roaming the room, searching each face and then searching his memory for any connection with Haroldson.
Despite Sullivan’s efforts to minimize the risks, there were still too many strangers in the courtroom with too many cameras and too much high-tech equipment.
During the break for lunch, he and Sullivan compared notes. “Are you having the courtroom checked?” he asked Sullivan when the two of them met in the outer hallway.
“We’re running metal detectors over every inch of it, every time we get the chance.”
“Someone could use a plastic explosive.”
“Which would kill Haroldson, too, and have a whole host of law enforcement agencies out for vengeance. Not to mention the media.”
“You don’t think Haroldson has associates who’d like to see him dead?” asked Kyle, his gaze perusing the throngs milling in the hallway.
“I’m sure there are plenty, but probably none stupid enough to pull off a hit in a federal courtroom. Still, we have dogs searching for anything out of the ordinary.”
“Good,” said Kyle. Then he changed the subject. “How’s Rianna?”
“You mean our Mary?” asked Sullivan.
“I mean your star witness,” came his terse reply. “I want to talk to her.”
Sullivan raised his brows and stared at him for a minute. “I’ll see what I can do, but only if she agrees.”
“After court today?”
The deputy director hedged. “That might not be a good idea. Everybody who makes contact with her increases the danger. You know that.”
Kyle would protect her with his life. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her, but he needed to see her and get close to her. Then he’d know if her feelings had changed.
“How long do you expect the trial to last?”
“At first, Haroldson’s lawyers were in a big rush to go to trial in hopes of having the charges dropped or the case dismissed. Our case is too airtight for that. Next, they’ll try to discredit Rianna. Failing that, my guess is they’ll try to lay the blame on one of Haroldson’s other employees.”
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