She opened it to find a stone-faced guard with a tray on which were arranged a small pot of tea, a cup, a woven bowl containing fruit, and a covered container she was sure would hold the usual concoction of vegetables and rice. She smiled and thanked the guard in Tagalog, but, naturally, got no response. He merely handed over the tray and retreated, pulling the door shut after him.
“Have a nice day,” Sam said dryly. She stood for a moment, holding the tray and chewing her lip, trying to decide whether to displace the basin of water and use the table and stool, or go for the floor and cushions.
“Oh, hell-when in Rome,” she muttered with a shrug as she placed the tray on the floor and sank cross-legged onto a tufted purple cushion.
The next few minutes she spent refueling with gusto and efficiency. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was-probably, she thought, anger and adrenaline would tend to have a dampening effect on a person’s appetite. Gradually, though, as the void inside her filled, a sense of peaceful lassitude settled over her. It was a good feeling; the first part of her job had been done, and for the moment there was nothing more she could do. And she was tired; she’d had only catnaps the past few days, and here, for the first time since Zamboanga, was both privacy and comfort. Her body relaxed…her mind drifted. Once again her guard slipped, and the memories came pouring in.
It’s autumn, the days are growing short and in Athens, Georgia, the leaves are already falling. But the sky is wonderfully blue and the air smells crisp and good, and Cory’s here! I haven’t seen him in a while, he’s been out of the country on assignment, but now he’s back in Atlanta again, taping something for CNN, and it’s the weekend and he’s driven over to Athens to see me. We’ve been to a football game-the Bulldogs won, not that I care, because all that matters is Cory’s here, and we hold hands as we stroll through the campus, kicking through the fresh leaves and laughing at nothing, because it’s enough just to be together. We spread our jackets on the grass and finish the rest of the tail-gate lunch I’d fixed for before the game, throwing bits of bread crusts to the squirrels.
I look at Cory, and he’s smiling that gentle smile, and his eyes look back into mine with such understanding, and his face is so beautiful I hurt inside, and I have to fight back tears. I lean over and kiss him, and his lips are warm and the shape of them against mine is the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt. His lips part under mine, and I laugh, low in my throat, because he tastes like mustard and onions, and so do I, but what do either of us care? I’m trembling when he pulls away with a soft little sigh of regret, and I want him so much…the wanting fills every part of me, and I know I won’t be able to hide it from him. I wonder how much longer I’ll have to wait for him to get past the notion I’m too young for him, the daughter of his closest friend, and decides it’s okay to make love to me. I wonder how it’s possible to be so happy…and feel such pain…
She must have slept, because she woke with a start to find herself sprawled in a jumble of cushions with her arms and legs every which way, and the silhouetted figure of a man standing in front of the window. She sat up too quickly, clammy and jangled, and the figure moved away from the light and became Cory.
“Hey. Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said softly, smiling that gentle smile that was so much like the one in her recent memory-or had it been a dream?-it made her heart flip-flop.
She scowled at him. “What’re you doing here, Pearse?” And her voice sounded gruff and cranky, because that was her best defense against the way she felt. Vulnerable. There was nothing in the world Sam hated more than feeling vulnerable.
“Are you okay?”
And sympathy didn’t help matters, either, especially coming from the person whose whole entire fault it was she felt this way. “I’m fine,” she said with an impatient wave of her hand, whisking away the question like an annoying fly. “No big deal. I wasn’t crazy about being sent to my room like a-” She broke it off while she pulled her feet under her and prepared to stand up, then amended it. “Being treated that way by that SOB, but hey-I’m over it.”
Cory stepped closer and held out his hand to help her up. His eyes were amused. “Come on, Sam, I know you too well. If ever I saw murder in a woman’s eyes…” He paused, patiently waiting for her to take his hand, as if it had never occurred to him she wouldn’t. “I know that can’t have been easy for you,” he said, and his mouth tilted wryly. “For what it’s worth, though…thank you for not making a scene.”
Telling herself it would be pointless-and childish-to ignore his offer of help, she grudgingly put her hand in his. The familiar warmth and strength of it made her breathing catch. “Guess that makes us even,” she said lightly as he pulled her easily to her feet.
“Not even close,” he said softly, and instead of letting go of her hand, enclosed it in both of his and drew her closer.
She could have pulled away, of course she could have. Should have, no question about it. He would have released her at even the slightest sign of resistance, she knew that. Instead, she let herself be reeled in, all the time telling herself, This is a mistake…you know it’s a mistake…for God’s sake, Samantha June, have good sense for a change!
She did put her free hand flat against his chest, though, maintaining at least that much distance between them, and although she held her head high, she kept her eyes fixed on her captive hand and refused to meet his eyes.
The breeze from his exhaled breath tickled her temple. “I know I hurt you. God, I’m sorry. If I could go back and undo it, I would. But I can’t, Sam. I can’t.”
Bitterly, she thought, Oh? Which hurt are we talking about this time?
She shrugged, drawing herself in around the misery inside her, hunkering down behind the questions she wasn’t brave enough to ask. “I’m over that, too, okay?”
“I truly did think you were through with me, after that night in Georgetown.” His eyes were sad, his smile crooked. “I was trying to move on. I thought…when I met Karen… But it was a mistake to expect someone else…” He paused for a breath, and when he went on his voice had filled with gravel. “We both knew the marriage was a mistake, Karen and I, almost immediately. We agreed the best thing would be to try and undo the damage as quickly as possible.”
Oh-his marriage. That’s what he’s talking about, she thought dismally. And how odd she should feel so deflated, when only a day or two ago the subject had been sore as a tooth-ache for her. She’d have put the day she’d heard the news about Cory’s marriage right up there with the day she was told her daddy was dead, shot down in his fighter jet over Iraq, as one of the worst days of her life.
“Of course…” And even through her defenses, though she tried not to, she heard the regret and irony in his voice. “I know some things can’t ever be undone.”
“Hey,” she said distantly as she turned away from him, “it’s ancient history. Forget it. I have.”
It surprised her to realize it, but it was true. She really was over it-or at least, the importance of it had been greatly diminished-dwarfed, in fact, by yesterday’s shocking revelation that the man she’d loved and shared her body, mind and soul with for almost six years had a whole bunch of brothers and sisters he’d never told her about. She’d been trying ever since to get her mind around that, but the questions kept battering away at her like attacking Furies.
What does this say about our relationship? What does it say about you, Pearse?
She was no psychologist, and God knows, no expert on relationships, but she was pretty sure it must mean he didn’t trust her enough to share his most basic self with her. Maybe it meant he was afraid or incapable of intimacy-the emotional kind, which even she knew was way more important than the physical, if a relationship was going to have a chance to survive the long haul.
So, what did that mean for her and Cory? His marriage-okay, that had been a mistake-a biggie, all right. A whopper. But mistakes could be forgiven. But this… If Cory’s failure to share something so important with her meant wh
at she feared it did, then there was simply no hope for them. None at all.
It was only then, as the pain of that truth slammed into her, that she understood that until that moment, hope had been alive. Somewhere deep inside her, hidden, sure, but there, like a buried coal, warm, glowing…alive. She hadn’t realized it was there until she’d felt it die, but now she grieved for the loss of it as she would for the death of a loved one.
“Sam…”
She felt his hands on her shoulders, the familiar and beloved fingers…so strong and yet so gentle…kneading the rock-hard muscles there in the way only he knew. She endured it for a long, aching moment, holding herself stiffly, jaws rigid, the pain in her throat so terrible she couldn’t even swallow, then jerked her shoulders in a futile attempt to shake him off. “That’s not gonna solve anything,” she said in a slurred voice.
“Maybe not,” he murmured, “but it doesn’t hurt, does it?”
Doesn’t hurt? Oh, God, you have no idea.
And she was being carried on the waves of that pain to a place, a time in her distant past…so long ago-ten years!-but it seemed like yesterday. Or…now, as if it was happening to her all over again, this very minute.
I’m standing in the middle of the tarmac, watching the plane that’s bringing my dad home taxi toward me through the heat shimmer. To me, the plane seems to be floating, disconnected from the ground. And all around me are crowds of people, flags waving, a band playing, little children holding up signs that say Welcome Home Lt. Bauer and We Love You, Tristan.
They’ve put down a red carpet leading out to the plane, and people in dress uniforms plastered with medals, and others in business suits, famous people whose names I can’t think of right now, are all out there shaking hands with someone I can’t quite see because of all the people. Then-suddenly, Grampa Max is there, too, strong, proud, unshakeable Grampa Max-and he’s grabbing hold of this tall, thin man in an aviator’s flight suit, wrapping him in his arms and hugging him, and there are tears running down his face.
Watching, I feel a bubble of laughter welling up inside me, and I know a sob is coming with it, and I press my hands against my mouth and I think-pray-Oh please, oh please, God, don’t let me cry. I don’t want all these people to see me cry. Especially my dad. Please…
Then, just when I think for sure I’m not going to be able to keep myself from falling apart, I feel someone’s arms around me. It’s my mom, and I think how long it’s been since I’ve felt her arms around me-I’m eighteen, after all, and in college; I’m not a little girl anymore. But, oh, how good it feels to have her hold me like this. She says my name…
“Sam…”
Sam. Not Sammi June. Because of course it was Cory’s arms she felt around her now, not her mother’s. The rest, though, was pretty much the same-the awful pressure of tears her pride wouldn’t allow her to shed, and thinking how long it had been since she’d felt these arms around her, holding her like this…and how good, how unbearably good they felt. And just as she had on that day of her dad’s homecoming, she allowed herself, just this once, to give in and accept the comfort offered.
Just this once, she told herself. After all, what does it matter now?
She turned in his embrace and with a sigh, slipped her arms into their special place, low around his waist. She felt the supple strength in his body, a sturdiness unexpected in one so slender…except to her. To her his body was just as she remembered it…so perfect for her, and so right. She lifted her face into the hollow of his neck and jaw and inhaled the warm familiar Cory smell, and…oh, God, she thought, how I’ve missed this. The sense of homecoming, of belonging, was a sweet and terrible joy.
For another moment or two his hands went on stroking up and down her back, kneading her shoulders in that knowing way he had. Then his breath sighed across her hair, and his arms came around her, wrapped around her like sheltering wings, like fortress walls keeping the world and all its doubts and fears away. He held her close, so close she felt the thumping of his heart against her own chest, but with restraint, too, so that she also felt the minute tremors quivering through his muscles.
“This isn’t gonna solve anything,” she whispered again.
But this time, instead of answering with words, his hand came to curve around the side of her neck, just below her jaw. Gently, he tilted her head back…raised her face to his…and kissed her.
It had been inevitable, of course, from the moment she’d taken the hand he’d offered. She supposed she’d known that, and had let it happen anyway, for no other reason than that, in the very depths of her being, she’d wanted it, and in her arrogance, believed she could handle whatever might come of it. Now, she knew how foolish she’d been. Because all at once she was eighteen again, crazy in love and filling up with that same terrible wanting she’d remembered-or dreamed-such a short while ago. She’d always been so certain, in her likes and dislikes, her wanting and not wanting. Now she was discovering how wrong she could be, how wrong she had been, because what she’d been so certain she didn’t want, ever again, she now knew she’d been wanting with a deep-down yearning all along.
Tears squeezed between her eyelids as he kissed her; she tasted them on her lips, and knew he would, too, but suddenly she didn’t mind. The salty-sweet wetness was like rain to her thirsty soul. With a shuddering laugh she opened herself to it, and parts of her that had been parched and barren for years sprang to joyous, pulsing life. She rubbed her hands over the front of his shirt, her skin hungry for the feel of his, and felt his hands grow urgent on her back, gentleness giving way to the restless jerkiness of passion. One quick tug and her shirt was free of her belt, and her skin silvered under his touch. She shuddered again, but with a whimper this time.
“Sam…” He whispered it deep in the kiss, his mouth changing shape against hers, his lips sliding over and between and around hers, slick with that sweet essence that was like a drug she couldn’t ever get enough of. And it was both a question and a plea.
Hearing it, she felt something break apart inside her, the way the earth itself rips when the pressure of opposing forces inside it becomes too much to bear. With a wild little cry of anguish she tore her mouth from his and spun away from him, then stood stiffly with her back to him, shivering and hugging herself, trying desperately to hold the shattered pieces of herself together.
It seemed to her the room behind her had gone utterly still-though for all she could have heard above the storm within her, an army might have been marching through it. Her heartbeat was thunder in her ears, her breath like fitful gusts of wind. Tension seemed to crackle all around her as she braced herself, expecting, half dreading, half hoping for, the gentle weight of his hands on her shoulders.
But it didn’t come. Instead, when he spoke his voice seemed to drift from far away. “What happened to us, Sam? How did we lose this? How did we let this get away?”
She turned slowly, carefully, keeping her arms wrapped protectively around herself. Cory was leaning, half sitting, on the windowsill, the way she’d been doing herself not so long ago. He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were closed, and he’d taken off his glasses and was scrubbing his face with both hands. For the first time she noticed how exhausted he looked, his eye sockets more shadowed than ever, cheeks gaunt, with sharp grooves etched from his nose to the corners of his mouth. She caught a breath and ruthlessly quelled a fierce and terrible yearning to go to him and smooth those hollows away with her hands.
“‘This’…has never been our problem, Pearse,” she said bitterly.
He lifted his head. This time the silence was all too real…the tension profound. Breathing and even heartbeats seemed to wait while he looked at her a long suspenseful time. And then he said softly, “No.”
Sam let out a slow and weary breath. So, she thought. We’ve finally done it. Both of us. Admitted we have “a problem.” Wow.
But she felt a small surge of hope, too, because wasn’t recognizing the existence of a problem supposed to be the firs
t step in solving it?
Then just as quickly she deflated, because she seriously doubted the “problem” she and Cory had in mind was the same one. He’d be thinking about her job, of course-her career. As far as he was concerned, that had always been the big thing between them, and according to Tony it was what had driven him to marry someone else. Okay, so fine. Just as well, she thought. At least reminding her of that fact had brought her mind back on course.
“What are we going to do about this, Sam?” It was his normal, quiet voice, and he was smiling at her now, his usual gentle smile.
She shrugged and unwrapped her arms from around her body, forcing rigid muscles to relax. She gave an offhand, one-shoulder shrug. “Nothing we can do, is there? Not right now. For sure not here. You-” and dear Lord, she’d almost said “we” “-have a job to do. Right?” Her lips twisted into something she hoped would resemble a smile. “How’s that going, by the way? The interview?”
He let out a gusty breath and pushed himself away from the window. “We start this afternoon-after lunch-or dinner, or whatever. I have some prep work to do first, since all my questions-my research notes-were on my laptop. I’ve asked for some writing materials-I’m going to have to cobble something up in a hurry. That’s where I’m going now, actually.” He offered her a rueful smile, though his eyes remained shadowed and troubled. “I just stopped by to see how you were.”
“So,” said Sam, carefully ignoring the look in his eyes as she settled into the spot against the windowsill he’d just vacated, “I guess this means I’m going to be stuck here in this room for the rest of the day?”
Secret Agent Sam Page 12
