“Then there’s hope,” he said. “I dream of you at night, Eve.”
She turned and ran—as fast and as far as she could.
“I stayed up for hours that night,” Eve told Amy and the Bear, “writing Ralph a note, explaining that I was much younger than he thought. I wanted to be honest with him—to do the right thing. But my good intentions were completely blown to Hades the next day.”
Nick had woken her up, pulling back the heavy curtains in her room to reveal brilliant sunshine and a near perfect morning. Mrs. Johnson was packing them a picnic basket, he announced. They were going out for a jaunt in the Daisy Chain.
Ralph knew her weaknesses well. And although she’d planned to excuse herself from the day’s adventures, to drop her note into his hands and vanish from sight for a few million years, she found herself—a short hour later—floating on the almost ridiculously calm surface of the usually far more turbulent English Channel. The note she’d written was in the pocket of the dress she’d thrown on over her bathing suit.
“Today we shall read a play,” Ralph announced grandly, after they’d eaten their fill of Mrs. J.’s delicious cold chicken, “by Master William Shakespeare.” He took out his familiar tin of butterscotch candies. Butterscotch, he always said, went famously with the Bard.
Nicky was tempting fate, risking an unplanned dip in the ocean by dangling himself off the bow, but he turned eagerly, coming back to join them on the deck. He caught the piece of candy that Ralph tossed to him. “I’m Puck!”
“Excellent,” Ralph enthused. He held out the tin for Eve, far too much of a gentleman to throw candy in her direction. “Except for the fact that Puck doesn’t play a part in Romeo and Juliet.”
“Oh, yuck, a love story?” Nick leaned over the rope railing and pretended to throw up over the side.
Ralph grabbed him by the waistband and hauled him back. “It’s actually about murder and revenge, about two families who have been bitter enemies for years.”
Eve saw that he had two worn copies of the play, yet he didn’t open either of them once as he told Nick the opening of the story. He talked them right up to the scene where Romeo and Juliet first meet.
And then he gave one of the copies of the play to Eve.
“I don’t suppose you’d want to be Romeo?” he asked Nick. “Or possibly Juliet? Remember, in Shakespeare’s day, women weren’t allowed on stage and boys played all the female parts.”
“You wouldn’t get me into a dress,” Nick swore. “Not if you paid me a thousand dollars. I’ll be the audience today,” he decided. “Although I’d rather be fishing.”
“I’m sure old Will had one or two folks in his audience who’d rather have been fishing,” Ralph countered. “When we’re done here, let me know if you think this story could’ve distracted them sufficiently, too.”
“It’s not gonna work,” Nick muttered.
“If I were a betting man, I’d be tempted to place a wager on that.”
Eve stood up, gesturing to the top of the cabin. “This can be Juliet’s balcony,” she told Ralph. “I can climb up there and—”
“And you will,” Ralph countered, scrambling up to stand right there. “I always thought no red-blooded Romeo in his right mind would stay on the ground below after hearing Juliet say, ‘O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?’ ”
He spoke in a high voice, struck a pose, and Nick collapsed in a fit of giggles.
“Although rather long in tooth, I will be fair Juliet.” He fluttered his eyelashes and Nick was with the program, although still a little grudgingly. “And Eve shall be my Romeo.”
He jumped down off the cabin roof with a completely unladylike thud.
“You won’t need this.” Eve wound her hair up and put Ralph’s hat on her own head. She began unfastening her buttons. “And I won’t need my dress.”
Ralph turned quickly away, the way he always did when she stepped out of her clothes on the beach. It was silly—she was wearing a bathing suit underneath. What was the big deal?
All he succeeded in doing was to make her completely self-conscious. Which was dumb, since her blue and green flowered bathing suit covered her far more than the skimpy suits her mother had worn, lounging by their Hollywood pool.
“You better give Eve your pants,” Nick ordered his tutor. “She doesn’t look like much of a man in that. Better give her your shirt, too.”
That would be a coup. Ralph never took off his shirt, even when they went swimming. But he did it now, pulling it over his head. And sure enough, there was a flush of pink on his cheeks as he handed it to her. He couldn’t quite manage to meet her gaze, because—horrors—he was standing shirtless in front of her.
And the really dumb part was that he was built like a movie star. His skin was pale, though—but that was to be expected since he never took off his shirt.
“Every time I see an English baby, I’m amazed.” Oh, cripes, she hadn’t meant to say that aloud.
Ralph looked questioningly up at her, and, of course, she had to be gazing directly into his eyes as he figured out what she’d meant—that her amazement came from seeing the proof that an English man and woman had actually managed to quit having tea and apologizing to each other long enough to procreate.
They’d had this argument about Englishmen versus Californians—completely in fun—before. She thought that the English were too bloody polite. But now it took on a whole new edge.
“You’d prefer it if I weren’t polite?” he murmured as he handed her his pants, too.
With his clothes on and his eyes twinkling, Eve could forget that he wasn’t sixteen or seventeen. But dressed only in his bathing suit, it was obvious Ralph Grayson was a full-grown man. The muscles in his shoulders and arms were well defined and—it was hard not to stare—he had hair on his chest.
Thick and dark, it looked as if it would be soft to touch.
Eve jerked her gaze away, feeling her own cheeks flame, felt them heat even more as she realized the note she’d written to him last night was still in the pocket of her dress. Which he was now rather grimly stepping into.
“You’d make a fortune in Hollywood,” she told him in her mother’s voice—light and breezy—as she pulled on his trousers. They were still warm from his body heat, and his shirt was slightly damp from perspiration. It smelled of his soap and the distinctive brand of cologne he wore. It smelled of Ralph. She breathed in deeply as she pulled it over her head.
His pants were much too big for her, and she pulled his belt as tight as it would go.
“I’m not that good an actor, I’m afraid,” he replied.
“I didn’t mean as an actor,” her mother’s voice countered. “I meant as a gigolo.” With his British accent, pretty eyes, and gentleman’s manners . . . yeah, he’d make a bundle.
“Is that supposed to be some kind of California style compliment?” His voice was light but his eyes held danger.
Why was she doing this? She was playing with fire.
Nick was laughing at them both, unaware of the undercurrent of tension. “Eve, you look like a boy with your hair up like that, but Mr. Grayson is the funniest looking girl I’ve ever seen.”
Ralph hadn’t been able to button the top few buttons of her dress, and dark hair poked through the gapping neckline, in direct contrast with the tiny blue flowered print. It would have been funny, if she hadn’t completely ruined things with her stupid comments.
“Act one, scene five,” Ralph told Eve, flipping through the pages of his playbook.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I don’t know why I’m so rude sometimes.”
“I do, and it’s all right,” he said quietly. “I’ve got you figured out—so you can’t offend me.” He glanced up at her, and the smile he gave her was so sweet, Eve felt her eyes start to fill with tears.
“The line is yours,” Ralph told her. “ ‘What lady’s that which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?’ ” He looked at Nick. “Romeo spots me while I’m dancing,�
�� he added, doing something that might be called dancing if you were from Mars, “and it’s love at first sight.”
The picture Ralph made, dressed as he was, hopping from one foot to another, swishing the skirt of her dress around, was unbearably funny.
Nick laughed so hard, he nearly fell off the boat.
Ralph would have won his bet. It wasn’t long, as they read through the few scenes that were actually between Romeo and Juliet, and talked through the rest of the story, that the boy was completely absorbed by the play.
And by the time Juliet awakened from her feigned death to find Romeo dead by his own hand from poison, Nick was holding his breath.
“ ‘What’s here? A cup closed in my true love’s hand?’ ” Ralph wasn’t reading anymore. He knew these words by heart. Eve kept her eyes tightly shut as she felt him gather her into his arms. He radiated such heat, she felt nearly on fire. After he gave it back, her dress would smell like Ralph. She would never wash it again.
She prayed he wouldn’t feel the way her heart was pounding.
“ ‘Poison I see has been his timeless end.’ ” His voice broke. “ ‘O churl, drunk all; and left no friendly drop to help me after? I will kiss thy lips; haply some poison yet doth hang on them, to make me die with a restorative.’ ”
And then it happened.
Ralph kissed her.
It was the softest kiss, just the sweetest, gentlest pressing of his lips to hers.
Eve opened her eyes.
They were nose to nose, and she was in his arms, half lying across his lap.
She expected him to be shocked. She thought he would be appalled at what he’d done, but instead she couldn’t begin to read the odd expression in his eyes. Was it a glimmer of . . . satisfaction? Had he planned this from the start?
“But wait, methinks I best try that again,” he said. “Perhaps a deeper kiss will do this thing.”
The lines weren’t in the script, but he spoke in perfect, poetic iambic pentameter.
And he was going to kiss her again.
Eve knew she should move. She should tear herself out of his arms. She should leap up and away before he got himself into even more trouble.
“ ‘Go breath, go soul . . .’ ” Ralph’s gaze was locked on hers, she couldn’t have looked away, let alone moved out of his arms if her life had depended upon it. “ ‘. . . with thou who holds my heart.’ ”
“That’s you, sweet Eve,” he whispered, and kissed her again. Not as Juliet kissing Romeo, but as Ralph kissing Eve.
And oh, it was wonderful. His lips were so soft against hers, his mouth was sweet. He tasted of butterscotch and sunshine.
She knew all about kissing from the movies, and she’d always been afraid of laughing the first time someone tried to put his tongue into her mouth.
But suddenly, there she was, kissing Ralph, and it wasn’t funny or strange or even the slightest bit disgusting. Instead, it was perfect.
His mouth was warm and he tasted delicious. Dizzy and giddy and melting inside, she clung to him, wanting . . . what? She wasn’t sure, but it definitely involved kissing him like this forever.
“Can we skip the kissing part?” Nick demanded plaintively.
Ralph pulled back, and Eve knew from the sudden flare of chagrin and embarrassment in his eyes that he was about to apologize for what had to be the best thirty seconds of her entire life and—God help her—transform back into a proper, too-polite Englishman.
She wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“No,” she told her little brother, grabbed Ralph by the front of her dress, and kissed him again.
She could taste his surprise, feel his laughter.
This time, when he kissed her back, he wasn’t quite so gentle. This time her mouth—no, her entire body—felt on fire.
It was terrifying. And wonderful.
And over far too soon.
Ralph was breathing hard when he pulled away from her. She was, too—and her heart was pounding. And if it hadn’t been, the heat in his eyes would’ve kicked it into double time.
“You will have dinner with me tonight,” he told her.
Eve nodded. Yes.
He smiled then, and she knew she had no choice.
She reached around him, into the pocket of her dress, and took out the note she’d written just last night.
She scrambled to her feet and flung it over the side of the boat.
Ralph came to stand beside her as she watched it float for a moment, the ink slowly running and turning the paper blue, before it started to sink beneath the surface.
“What was that?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She wouldn’t tell him—she couldn’t tell him. Not now. If he found out the truth now, after kissing her that way, he’d leave. She knew he would. And she’d be unable to bear that.
Instead she’d somehow manage to bear deceiving him.
She gave him a bright smile. “Shall we finish the play? Where were we? Romeo’s dead and poor Juliet just found his body.”
“No more kissing,” Nick said.
As Ralph handed Eve her copy of the play, he smiled, and she knew. There’d be plenty more kissing.
Just not in front of Nick.
Ten
NILS HADN’T LIED to Lieutenant Paoletti. Not really.
The SEALs had been assigned to continue to be on standby at the K-stani embassy. Even though there was no longer any threat, even though Meg had escaped with Razeen, the FBI wanted them to remain.
The tape loop was going to be kept running, to avoid the embarrassment of having to explain the current situation not just to the Kazbekistanis but to all the CNN and other news cameras positioned outside. The SEALs’ presence would help with the charade, at least until Meg Moore and Osman Razeen were apprehended.
Tom Paoletti had looked hard at Nils when he’d asked for the next thirty-six hours off. “Do you have a guess where Meg Moore is?”
“No, sir,” Nils had said, looking Paoletti straight in the eye. And it wasn’t a lie. Nils wasn’t guessing. He knew where Meg was. “I need a whole lot of uninterrupted sleep.” That wasn’t a lie either. He needed the sleep—he simply wasn’t going to get it.
Paoletti nodded. “Go and crash.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“John.”
Nils turned back.
Lieutenant Paoletti looked tired, the lines in his tanned face more pronounced than usual. “This probably isn’t going to have a happy ending. You know that, right? Meg’s either way over her head with Razeen—in which case he may well have already overpowered her and . . .”
And killed her. Nils nodded. He knew that. There was a chance he wouldn’t be tracking Meg with WildCard’s system, but rather Meg’s body.
“Or she’s working with Razeen,” Paoletti continued, “in which case she’s not who you thought she was. In which case she never was.”
“I’m aware of that, L.T.”
“Good.” Paoletti didn’t try to force a smile, the way some people might have. This sucked, and they both knew it. He didn’t try to pretend that it didn’t. It was one of the many things that made him a great CO. “I’m sorry, Johnny. Go get some sleep.”
“Yes, sir.” Nils turned and went, feeling like shit on a stick for being unable to come clean with the man.
He and WildCard had nearly made it out of the lobby when Senior Chief Wolchonok flagged them down. WildCard was needed back at the other hotel. There was some kind of technical glitch with the backup tape loop that only the boy genius could handle.
WildCard told the senior he was on his way, handed Nils his laptop, and gave him a crash course in his tracking system. Nils would need to use a cell phone hooked into the computer, and he could run the laptop with an extension cord that plugged into any car’s cigarette lighter. Easy as pie.
WildCard went in one direction, Nils in another. He rented a car, picked up some coffee, and within thirty minutes was heading south on Route 95.
Ni
ls knew Sam would be pissed that he’d gone after Meg by himself, but every minute that he delayed, she was getting farther away. And while he wasn’t exactly UA—guilty of an unauthorized absence—there were elements of potential goatfuck written all over this.
Yes, if he managed to find Meg and bring both her and Razeen back alive, everything would be cool. But if something went wrong, the FBI was going to start shouting about aiding and abetting and obstruction of justice and God knows what else. It was bad enough that Sam and WildCard were involved. Nils couldn’t bring any of his other teammates into this mess.
The sound of the tires against the road was much too soothing and Nils turned on the radio to keep himself awake. He didn’t have time to be exhausted, but his body was struggling to stay alert. The fatigue came in waves—he had to fight harder when it hit. Country music blared, and over it, Lieutenant Paoletti’s voice seemed to echo, tinny and distant, like some disconnected DJ who didn’t realize the mike was still on.
If she’s involved with Razeen, she’s not who you thought she was.
This wasn’t a good sign. When Nils started hearing voices in his head, echoes of conversations past, he was well on his way to falling asleep.
And at 80 mph, that could be messy.
He opened the hot top on his coffee and took a sip even though it was still close to the temperature of molten lava. It burned all the way down.
Pain was good. Pain meant he was awake. He took another even bigger slug, making his eyes tear. Christ, even his stomach felt scalded.
Paoletti’s words still echoed, but he was over the hump. He was awake, and by the time he finished the large cup of coffee, the caffeine would have kicked in.
If she’s involved with Razeen, she’s not who you thought she was.
That was for damn sure.
Best case scenario had Nils catching up to Meg when she stopped to get some sleep at a roadside motel. He could get through the cheap lock on the door in a heartbeat and once inside . . .
Worst case scenario had Nils walking in to find Meg and Razeen together, in bed.
The Defiant Hero Page 15
