by Dee Davis
“Crystal,” Owen said, his fists clenched as he fought for control. “But you also need to know that I’ve been to hell and back again and I’ve survived, partly because I’m not big on cut and run. I stay to see things through. And that’s exactly what I intend to do now. So you can either work with me or against me. But I’m not walking away. Not from this operation. And not from Tyler. Got it?”
Surprisingly, the big man smiled. “I have to admire your determination. But I’m not sure that it’ll be enough. I’ve known Tyler a really long time. And she isn’t exactly the type to forgive and forget.”
“All right, so who can tell me the difference between the poem’s first two stanzas and the third?” Tyler looked out across her class, trying to keep her focus.
Everything in her life seemed to be imploding. She’d always prided herself on being able to deal with anything. And now it was almost as if fate were pushing back. Trying to see just how much it would take before she fell completely apart.
She should have known better. Known that Owen was too good to be true. So much so that he didn’t even exist. His interest in her had only been a means to an end. And Tyler had opened her heart like a star-struck adolescent.
With a sigh she pulled her mind back to the present and their discussion of Emily Dickinson’s poem 341. How utterly fitting.
“Brian,” she said, nodding at a student in the front row, waving his arm with an enthusiasm worthy of Harry Potter’s Hermione.
“The last stanza is a summary of sorts,” the boy began earnestly. “A clarification of the first two, really.”
“Well put,” Tyler said, forcing a smile. “Anyone else?” Of all the days to cover Dickinson’s poem about grief and the mind-numbing pain that comes along with it.
“Well, literally it’s about dying in the snow, isn’t it?” a girl in the corner shrugged. “I mean, first you think it’s all beautiful and then the next thing you know you’re colder than hell, and then you sort of just drift away, forgetting the very thing that’s killing you.”
“I think that’s a bit too literal. But you’re on the right track,” Tyler said. “Dickinson is using the snow to symbolize the journey we take in dealing with grief. At first it stuns us, and then we’re numbed completely, but eventually, the pain wins through and we face it and then finally we can let go. And while the obvious parallel is death. I think we grieve over all kinds of things.”
Like love lost and lying men.
As if conjured by her thoughts, Owen appeared in the doorway, and even though she was angry, she couldn’t help but notice how her heart lifted at the sight of his face.
Damn the man.
And damn Dickinson and her poetry. Snow, chill, stupor—her ass. Grief might be something one could let go, but betrayal was an entirely different thing.
“Anyway,” she continued, “though the degree of grief can vary, the process is always the same. What Dickinson has done is put it into universal terms. And that’s the essence of good poetry, isn’t it? Finding the right words? A truth that resonates with everyone.” She smiled at the class, careful to keep her eyes away from the door—and Owen. “Okay, that’s it for today. Next class we’ll continue with Dickinson’s poem 254.”
Great—from “grief” to “hope” in one fell swoop. God, life would be simpler if only she were a poet. She gathered her notes, avoiding her students as she made her way to the back exit, intent on avoiding a public confrontation.
But Owen clearly had other ideas, intercepting her before she could make it safely out the door. “I wanted to tell you myself,” he said without preamble, as several students gave them curious looks.
“Not here,” she said, grabbing his elbow and pulling him out of the lecture hall. They walked in silence to her office, and only when they were safely inside with the door closed did she dare to look at him, her heart pounding as both anger and disappointment swirled inside her.
“Tyler, I’m sorry.” He lifted his hands palms up in supplication, but she shook her head.
“I don’t want to hear it. In fact, I don’t want to hear you.”
“I can understand that,” he said, his dark eyes clouded with regret, “but you’ve got to give me a chance to explain.”
“Why? You’ve been lying to me from the moment I met you. I trusted you, Owen, and you made a fool out of me. Why should I listen to anything you have to say?”
“Because I care about you. And because you know that there’s something going on between the two of us.”
“Believe me, anything between us died the minute I found out who you really worked for. And besides, how can I possibly believe anything you’ve said, when clearly you were just working an angle to get what you needed.”
“I wasn’t working anyone. I told you I didn’t know I’d be asked to come here when we spent the night together.”
“Yes, but you were already lying. You told me you were MI-5.”
“Actually, you told me, if I remember correctly. I just didn’t bother to deny it.”
“That’s just semantics,” she said, waving her hand. “It’s still the same thing. And besides, it’s not just that you didn’t work for them anymore, they’d issued a burn notice. For God’s sake, Owen, you got your own people killed.”
“I promise you, there’s more to the story than that.”
“Well, I’m not interested in hearing it. I actually believed you were someone special. Someone I could believe in. Someone I could trust. And instead, you’re… you’re a figment of my imagination. Or yours. Was anything you told me the truth? Is your father really a fisherman in Cornwall? And is his name Cantor or Wakefield?”
“Cantor,” Owen said, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “And I didn’t expect any of this to happen. I was just doing my job.”
“Spying on us.”
“Tyler, you admitted yourself that there’s a problem within A-Tac.”
“Yes, but it’s our problem. We don’t need some has-been from NSA snooping around. We can take care of our own.”
“I’m not really seeing a lot of evidence of that.”
“Yeah, well, you haven’t exactly changed the status quo, either. You’ve been too busy seducing the enemy. Too bad I didn’t roll over and give you everything you needed to convict me of something I didn’t do.”
“I wasn’t trying to railroad you. I was just following leads. And the reality is that you looked guilty as sin.”
“So you bedded me,” she said with a tight little smile. “Makes perfect sense.”
“I didn’t bed you. I made love to you. And I might add, you were the one who did the original seducing.”
“Because I thought you were someone else.”
“Yes, a one-off. Not exactly sterling behavior on your part either.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. And I certainly didn’t think we’d be working together.”
“I’m just saying that maybe you ought to be a little more introspective before you start throwing around accusations.”
“Don’t put this off on me. I didn’t lie to you. I didn’t pretend to be someone I’m not. In fact, if anything, I opened up to you. Told you things I’ve never told anyone. Damn you, Owen, I believed in you.”
“I’m still here. I’m still the same man.”
“How the hell am I supposed to believe that?”
“You look in my eyes, and you see the truth.”
“I look in your eyes and I see a low-life slimeball who’s been digging for dirt using any means necessary. And even if I did see something else there, I wouldn’t be able to trust it. Don’t you see, you’ve ruined everything.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that. All you have to do is give me a chance.”
“I gave you a chance. I went against all my better instincts and I let myself care about you. And then I find out that everything about you is a lie. Put yourself in my shoes. Would you give yourself a second chance?”
“Probably not,” he sighed. “But
you’re a better person than I am.”
“Clearly,” she said, wishing to hell that she’d never laid eyes on him. “I tell the truth.”
“So do I.”
“Yeah, right.” They were standing nose to nose, and Tyler could feel the heat of his breath against her face. Emotion threatened to swamp her, but she wasn’t Zachary Hanson’s daughter for nothing. “That explains the false name and fake background.”
“I mean when it counts. And don’t tell me you haven’t used aliases for an operation before.”
“Not in order to seduce someone. I don’t use people like that.”
“Neither do I.” The words came out staccato, his anger almost palpable. “What happened between us was real.”
“What happened between us is over.”
“So what do you propose we do? We can’t exactly ignore each other. We still have to work together.”
“You could crawl back under the NSA rock and let A-Tac handle things.”
“Not going to happen. I finish what I start.”
“Well, so do I. And we’re talking about finding the people who murdered my father. I’m sure as hell not walking away from that.”
“Understood. So we’ll just have to find a way to get along.” His eyes met hers, his words meant as a challenge.
“I’m a professional. I can handle that. But you have to understand that there can never be anything else between us.”
“Are you so certain that’s what you want?” He reached out to stroke her face and she shivered, desire surging up to mix with her anger.
“Yes.” She jerked away, covering her cheek with her hand. “I’m positive.” Except of course that she wasn’t. A part of her yearned for him. For the joy she’d felt just this morning. But it had all been a lie. And she’d do well to remember that fact. “We’re over, Owen. Hell, the truth is that we never really were.”
“I beg to differ,” he said, his gaze still locked with hers. “But I won’t press the point. And for the record, I wanted to tell you everything. I tried last night.”
“But I stopped you? So what? Now it’s my fault?”
“Of course it isn’t your fault. I’m the one who didn’t disclose everything.”
“Owen, you told me you were something you’re not. And to top it off you were tasked with finding evidence to prove I was part of the plans to steal the detonators.”
“I was doing my job.”
“Maybe so, but you were also making me fall in love with you,” she whispered, the words coming of their own accord. “And under the circumstances, that’s about as reprehensible as it comes.” She turned away, staring out the window, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole.
“Tyler,” he said, her name like a plea. “If I could go back and do things differently I would. The last thing on earth I wanted was to hurt you.”
“Well, you did.” They stood for a moment in silence, Owen standing just behind her, his physical presence surrounding her—tempting her to throw caution to the wind. Despite everything that had happened, she still wanted him. Once a fool always a fool and all that.
“Tyler?” The door behind them squeaked as it opened, and she turned to find Jason standing in the doorway. “I’m sorry to interrupt. Avery told me you might be here.” Her friend shot an angry glare in Owen’s direction. “I wasn’t expecting him.”
“You and me both,” Tyler said, forcing a smile. “But we don’t always get what we want. So what did you need?”
“Oh, right,” he said, still frowning in Owen’s direction. “I’ve got good news. We’ve got a solid ID on the origin of Smitty’s emails. They came from a computer that belongs to the German consulate in Manhattan. According to the logs, it’s assigned to a low-level bureaucrat there. Marta Waller.”
“Is she still in New York?” Tyler asked, her mind turning instantly away from her problems.
“Best we can tell, yes. We secured her home address. Figured it’d be easier to confront her there than at the consulate. Either way it’s going to be tricky. Diplomatic immunity and all that. Anyway, there’s a helicopter waiting and I’ve got all the info you need right here.”
“Sounds great,” Tyler said, reaching for the folder Jason held out, but Owen was faster.
“Excellent work,” he said, tucking the file under his arm.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her voice terse.
“I’m going with you,” Owen said, his eyes sparking a challenge. “We’re a team, remember? And besides, I told you, I always finish what I start.”
CHAPTER 18
The Manhattan apartment building was a relic from an earlier time when tenement flophouses were the norm. Entire families crowded into a single room in a five-story walk-up. Now blocks like these were being razed for newer skyscrapers, so-called luxury apartments with exorbitant price tags and little or no curb appeal. Still, as far as old buildings went, this one had seen better days.
A row of buzzers outside the front door indicated that there were six tenants, the rest of the building empty, as witnessed by boarded-up windows and occasional broken glass. Marta Waller lived in 4B.
They’d made good time flying in from Sunderland, but the afternoon was waning, the sun sinking low on the horizon. Shadows stretched across the tree-lined street, the West Side quiet as the day faded into dusk.
“Not exactly the lap of luxury,” Owen said, nodding up at the battered old building. “I guess maybe this explains why she’d find the dark side enticing. Anything for a step up from this dump.”
“Hey, this is a good neighborhood. And in the city, that counts more than the physical apartment. And besides, we don’t know for certain that she’s actually involved in any of this. The only thing that we can be sure of is that her computer sent emails to Smitty. It’s possible for someone to use a computer remotely.”
“Yes, but Harrison didn’t find any evidence of that. Anyway, the only way to find the truth is to find Marta Waller.”
“Well then, let’s hope we catch her at home, or at least find something incriminating, because once she realizes we’re interested in her, she’ll head for the sanctuary of the consulate. And then nobody will be talking to her.”
“Maybe the Germans will surprise us.”
“And admit they have a potential terrorist working for them? I find that highly unlikely. In my experience, governments, including mine, are far more likely to cover up that kind of thing than admit they allowed a mistake of that magnitude to be made.”
“There’s truth to that, I suppose,” he acknowledged as they walked up to the apartment building door. “So do we ring the bell?”
“It’s a buzzer. And no, I’d rather not announce ourselves.”
So far they’d managed to keep everything on a purely professional level. The ride in the helicopter had precluded talking and they’d limited conversation on the way over to reviewing background info on Marta Waller. But despite all the effort, there was still an undercurrent of tension, both physical and emotional. And it only made their current situation more difficult.
“Right, then,” he said. “So I’ll see what I can do about picking the lock.”
“Might be better to just wait for someone to come in?” She nodded toward an approaching couple. They were totally into each other. Eyes for no one else. Tyler shook off a wave of jealousy.
She grabbed Owen’s arm and nuzzled his ear, giggling as if he’d said something charming. “Just play along,” she whispered, as his eyes widened in surprise. With a nod, he framed her face with his hands, making a play of kissing her.
Her stomach swooped all the way to her feet, the stupid organ clearly not having gotten the memo about playacting. Fortunately, she could see the other couple over his shoulder, the girl digging in her purse for keys.
“Almost there,” she whispered against his lips, trying not to think about the feel of his hands warm against her back.
Damn the man.
“Hang
on,” Tyler said, laughing breathlessly, as the other woman opened the apartment door.
She and Owen moved forward, holding hands, as the man held the door.
“Have a good one,” she called over her shoulder, as the other two followed them into the foyer. The door clicked closed behind them, and the other couple turned into the first-floor hallway. Tyler dropped Owen’s hand and headed up the stairs.
“Quick thinking,” Owen said. “Except that now they’ll have seen us.”
“It’s not as if we’re here to commit a crime.”
“Maybe. But I’d have preferred that we be a little more circumspect.”
“I didn’t notice you complaining outside when you were kissing me.” She clenched her fists as they rounded the second-floor landing.
He stopped her, his hand closing around her arm, his fingers burning through the thin cotton of her blouse. “I’m not the one who has a problem with our relationship. Kissing you for business or pleasure is one and the same as far as I’m concerned.”
“Oh, please. There isn’t a relationship. You made sure of that when you pretended to be something you weren’t.”
“I’m not the one who brought up kissing,” he said, with a crooked smile.
She clenched her fists, giving him what she hoped was her most indignant stare. “Can we please just get on with it?”
“Fine,” he said, heading up the second flight of stairs. She followed behind him, fingering her gun, imagining all kinds of lovely comeuppances. Most of them ending with Owen groveling at her feet.
The third set of stairs was narrower than the first two, the risers worn and uncarpeted. The paint on the walls was peeling to reveal old wallpaper beneath. In its heyday the building had been loved. Not so much now.
They reached the top of the stairs and moved cautiously into the hallway. There were three apartments, Marta’s the second one from the landing. They stood for a minute, waiting, listening, but everything was quiet, a fluorescent light bulb in the ceiling buzzing as it flickered off and on again.
