“Good?”
“Yes.”
She loved it. This. Him.
They were together again—perfectly together—and it was better than anything she’d ever felt in her life. Everything inside her tightened and tightened, until finally it snapped, and she cried out. He smothered the sound with a kiss as a wave of pleasure crashed over them, taking them both down together in a sweaty heap.
She couldn’t think. For seconds or minutes, she could only lie there, listening to their breathing. Then he rolled onto his back.
She sat up on her elbows to see him, and he looked as blown away as she felt.
“You okay?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, just stared at him as he got up and got rid of the condom. Then he was back beside her, and she felt a twinge of panic. She needed to think. She needed to try to make some sense of what she’d allowed herself to do. Again.
But then he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.
She wanted to stay. But that would only make the morning so much harder, and he was leaving soon.
“I should—”
He kissed her forehead. “Stay.”
* * *
In the darkness, a familiar ping.
Karly opened her eyes. She waited. It came again, and she felt the mattress shift.
She sat up groggily. She’d fallen asleep. No, more like she’d fallen into a coma. She looked around the room, surprised by the gray band of light beside the window. She hadn’t meant to stay the whole night.
Ethan walked back into the bedroom and handed her phone to her. She sat there, gaping at his naked silhouette. Then she looked at the device in her hand.
Text messages. Three of them. She didn’t recognize the number until she skimmed through the words.
“What’s the problem?” Ethan asked, his voice much too alert for—
“What time is it?”
“Oh-six-hundred. What’s the problem, Karly?”
“It’s Agent Mays. She needs—damn it.” Karly swung her legs out of bed. “She wants me to come into the office at seven thirty. They’ve brought a forensic artist in from headquarters. Oh my God, does she mean Quantico?”
“Or D.C.”
Ethan was pulling on his jeans. Karly’s gaze went to his hands, and she remembered boldly unzipping him last night after pushing him onto his back.
“Karly?”
She jerked her attention to his face and then looked away. “Where . . .”
But he was already out the door. He returned a few seconds later and handed her the clothes he’d stripped off her last night. She pulled them on, avoiding his gaze, and he set her shoes beside the bed.
Karly swiped at her phone. “I have to go.”
“What are you doing?”
“Calling an Uber.”
His eyebrows shot up. “An Uber?”
“There’s no need for you to get up. You can go back to sleep.”
“Are you kidding? I’m driving you home.”
He grabbed a shirt and walked out as she slipped her feet into sandals. She met him at his front door, and he had keys and a leather jacket in hand.
“Thanks for this,” she said, following him down the stairs.
When they got outside, he draped the jacket over her shoulders.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Take it. You’ll be cold on the drive.”
She was already cold, and she hadn’t reached the Jeep yet. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and tucked her wallet into the pocket as she followed him to his parking space.
The sky had lightened to a dull gray. Fog surrounded them, and a thick layer of dew covered everything. Ethan opened the door for her, and she climbed into the Jeep. She couldn’t read his mood as he slid behind the wheel and started the engine.
The drive was slow with the fog. The noise saved her from having to talk, and she tried to process what had happened yesterday, from the moment Mays had knocked on her door to the moment she’d fallen asleep in Ethan’s arms.
She cast a glance at his hand resting on the gearshift, and she remembered those skillful hands all over her body last night. He’d been insatiable, like he couldn’t get enough of her. And she’d been that way, too, because she knew he was leaving. Something twisted inside her, and she had to look away.
They sailed through intersections on a wave of green lights as he made his way through downtown and toward the magazine office, where she’d left her car. Traffic was practically nonexistent right now, but that wouldn’t be the case by the time she got home, showered, and headed to the FBI office. She wished she could go straight there, but she needed to shower and she was wearing the same clothes she’d had on yesterday morning, a little detail Mays and Hull might just notice, being investigators and all.
Ethan swung into the parking lot. It was nearly empty, only two other cars besides her red Audi. He pulled up alongside it and cut the engine.
He turned to face her, and she noticed the thick stubble covering his chin. Her throat tightened as she thought of kissing him good-bye.
“Can I see you later?” he asked.
“When later?”
“Whenever you get free.”
She hesitated. “Why?”
“I’d like to talk to you.” He reached over and took her hand. “I’ve had some stuff on my mind.”
He wanted to see her later. Later. After she finished meeting with the FBI again. After she finished the article that was going to be late and possibly get her fired—except for the fact that her boss still needed her to help land an exclusive interview with a traumatized nineteen-year-old. Karly’s life was spinning, and Ethan wanted to see her later.
Acid churned in her stomach, and she looked away. She was so bad at this. Especially face-to-face, with his warm hand folded around hers.
“It’s probably better if we just . . . leave things here.” She turned to look him straight in the eye and saw the flare of hurt there.
For an excruciating moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, “Is that honestly what you want?”
Honestly? No. And she couldn’t lie to him. She looked down at their hands.
“I feel a connection with you, Karly. I don’t want to walk away from that.”
She bit her lip. Her chest felt tight. She didn’t know what to say, and when she opened her mouth, the words just came out. “When is your next leave?”
“I don’t know.” He watched her, searching her face. “I’ll probably be back in six to eight weeks.”
Her stomach knotted. Eight weeks? She’d been miserable with five.
She cleared her throat. “Where are you going?”
He shook his head. He couldn’t tell her.
He was going away for an unspecified amount of time to an unspecified place to do God only knew what. She wouldn’t know when or even if he was coming home. Her mind flashed back to that terrorist aiming the rocket-propelled grenade at their helicopter, and her stomach did a nosedive.
“I can’t do this,” she blurted. “I can’t handle some long-distance relationship with you. I did that once before, and it ended badly. He met someone else. Actually, several someone elses.” God, was she really telling Ethan all this? He was watching her closely. “I won’t do that again.”
“You won’t have to. I would never cheat. Or lie to you.”
“You say that now.”
“Hey.” He squeezed her hand. “I think we respect each other enough that if there’s a problem, we’ll put it out there and deal with it.”
Those blue eyes that had haunted her for weeks would be haunting her all over again. She shook her head and glanced down.
“Karly, look at me.”
She did.
“You think I can’t commit to you? That I can’t be honest? I’ve always been
honest with you, from the moment we met.”
“I think you’re being honest now, but . . . eyes wander. Interest fades. I don’t want to be back here waiting for you and missing you, and meanwhile you’re off on some rescue mission sweeping some woman off her feet.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You think I go around doing this? You think I’m going to pull some woman out of harm’s way again and fall for her?”
She stared at him. “You’ve . . . fallen for me?”
“Yes, I have. No, I didn’t mean for it to happen. Shit.” He raked his hand through his hair. “This isn’t normal for me, Karly. I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning here.”
Her heart raced inside her chest. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to at least try. But she was scared. Terrified.
He took a deep breath. “You don’t have to decide now. Just . . . promise to call me when you finish with the FBI.”
“I don’t want to promise that.”
His gaze held hers, and she knew he could read her mind. He could see all the conflict swirling in her eyes.
He reached out and touched her cheek. Slowly, he leaned in and tipped her chin up to kiss her. It was soft and sweet and so heartbreakingly gentle she felt like the world would stop.
He eased away. “Promise to think about it.”
* * *
She couldn’t think about it. Not yet. Not with her mind and her body still reeling from everything he’d done and said.
She pushed it away for later and focused on the FBI. On what they wanted from her. They needed her to sit down with the artist they’d flown in and help them identify Tango X.
Ethan’s reaction to the name had shaken her. Brutal, he’d said. But it was the grim look in his eyes when he’d said it that chilled her to the bone.
As Karly made her way home, she tried to picture the friendly man beside her lunch table building a bomb or plotting an attack. Tom Green. What an innocuous name. She pictured the easy smile on his face as he’d picked up her press pass and looked at it. You do print or TV?
A shiver of fear went down her spine. She could picture it now that she knew what his casual questions were all about.
She turned into her parking lot and slid her car into its covered space. She got out and pocketed the keys, and only then did she realize she was still wearing Ethan’s jacket.
Warmth flooded her. His backup plan. As if that kiss weren’t enough. He was clever. And persistent.
But long-distance relationships were tough. She didn’t want to think of all the endless weeks she’d be here worried about him, while he was off on some top-secret op, fighting terrorists and dodging bullets. She didn’t know a lot about what he did, but she’d gathered enough to understand that he was part of an elite unit. Ethan and Ryan and Jake and Lucas—all those guys she’d met took on the most dangerous missions, and there were no guarantees.
Karly didn’t want to think about it. But the prospect of turning Ethan down and never seeing him again? She didn’t want to think about that, either.
Promise to call me.
Again, she put off the decision as she climbed the stairs to her second-floor apartment. She had a jam-packed day ahead of her, and she couldn’t believe the FBI was counting on her to identify one of the most wanted men in the world, especially after she’d failed to find him in their vast array of photos.
How could a sketch artist possibly help? A photograph would be so much better. As Ethan had pointed out, it was something they could run through a database, possibly using facial-recognition software to get a match. And then they could circulate his name and picture at every border checkpoint, hoping to prevent him from ever setting foot in this country to carry out an attack. Karly wished her phone camera had yielded a picture. Or better yet, Drew’s camera. Or even better yet, she wished she had a fingerprint or a voice recording.
She froze on the stairs. Her fingers curled around the banister. She did have a fingerprint. He’d picked up her press pass.
She dug into the pocket of Ethan’s jacket and pulled out her phone. Heart thudding, she scrolled through to find the number for Mays. She called her and waited.
Voice mail, damn it.
She disconnected, then switched to the text screen to type Mays an urgent message.
After sending it, she stared down at her phone. She had a fingerprint for Tango X. She pulled up Ethan’s number and bit her lip, debating whether to tell him. He would want to know, but maybe she shouldn’t involve him. He had a protective streak, and it would only make him worry.
Karly tucked the phone into her pocket and unlocked her door. She stepped into her apartment and froze, trying to make sense of the scene before her.
To her right, a noise. She lunged away, but an arm clamped around her neck, dragging her back and cutting off her scream. Karly’s heart skittered as something cold and hard pressed against her cheekbone. She looked down to see a big black gun.
TWELVE
* * *
“Where is it?”
Karly’s heart hammered. The arm around her throat tightened, and she tried to crane her neck back to breathe.
“The feds were here yesterday. I know they asked about me.” The voice was a low growl in her ear, but she recognized it. “Now, tell me where your press pass is, the one you had with you, or”—he smacked the pistol against her cheek—“you’re going to eat this gun.”
Karly struggled for air. Her vision dimmed. The arm around her neck loosened, and she slumped backward.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
A blast of pain as he punched her cheek. Stars danced before her eyes, and she was on the ground, staring at the sofa cushions that had been tossed on the floor.
She blinked up at him, her vision blurring. It was him. Green. X. He’d ransacked her apartment. He’d waited here for her. He was ready to kill her.
He would kill her as soon as he got what he wanted.
He grabbed her by the hair, and fire tore up her scalp as he yanked her to her feet. The pistol pressed against her cheek again, and he hauled her against him.
“Where. Is. That. Press pass.”
Her heart thundered. “It’s in—” It was in the computer bag in her trunk, but she couldn’t tell him that. “It’s in my desk at work. With the camera.”
He went still. The grip on her hair tightened, and tears burned her eyes.
“What camera?”
“We got a picture of you. It’s from a distance, but . . . the FBI wants to see it.”
Pain pulsed through Karly’s skull. The metallic taste of blood pooled in her mouth. She stared into his angry dark eyes and tried to hold back tears.
“We’re going for a ride.”
He swung her toward the door. She caught herself against the wall, and the pistol was back against her cheek.
“Don’t run or scream or say a fucking word to anyone. Got me?”
He jerked the door open and pushed her into the hallway. He followed her, and she somehow knew his gun was aimed at her back through the pocket of his black canvas jacket. He wore a baseball cap, too, pulled low to shield his face.
They reached the stairs, and Karly heard the high-pitched chatter of her neighbor’s daughter at the bottom of the stairwell.
“Goldfish, Mommy.”
“Not for breakfast, sweetheart. Eat your toast.”
Karly tripped on the stairs, catching herself against the banister. Green grabbed the collar of her jacket and pushed her forward. She rounded the corner on the landing and held her breath as they passed her neighbors in the foyer at the base of the stairs.
Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. Please don’t say anything.
Karly avoided eye contact as she pushed through the door of her building and calmly crossed the sidewalk to the parking lot. Another neighbor was
out with his dachshund, and Karly avoided eye contact with him, too.
Was she cut? Bleeding? She swished the blood in her mouth and swallowed it down as she made her way to her car.
Ethan’s jacket.
She was still wearing it, and her phone was tucked inside. He hadn’t checked her pockets, but any minute now, Agent Mays might call her back, drawing his attention to the phone.
“You drive. I’ll watch.” He tossed keys at her, and she caught them against her chest.
Her keys. He must have scooped them off her floor when she’d dropped them.
She popped the locks for her car. He walked her to the driver’s side, making sure she saw the bulge of the gun inside his pocket as he opened the door and waited for her to get behind the wheel.
Karly slid inside the car. He shut the door. Panic surged through her as he kept his gaze on her while he moved around the front. She didn’t have time, but—
She dug her hand into her pocket and fumbled with the phone. She hazarded a glimpse at it and made a few frantic taps at the screen.
The passenger door jerked open, and then he was inside.
“Go!”
She started the car and rocketed back from the space.
“Stop!”
She slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid hitting another car backing out. The driver tapped his horn and gave her a scowl.
Deep breath. She could do this.
As calmly as she could manage with her heart about to pound out of her chest, Karly exited the parking lot and headed for work.
* * *
Ethan’s phone vibrated again. He waited until he hit a red light and pulled it out to check the number.
Karly.
Her message was simple: XXX.
Ethan’s heart gave a kick. Triple X? Not exactly what he’d expected, but okay. He waited for more. Maybe a selfie of her just out of the shower or . . .
He stared down at his phone. XXX. The skin at the back of his neck prickled. No way. Impossible. But . . .
“Come on, Karly.”
No sexy photos, nothing. Ethan tapped the phone and started to call her, but then he stopped himself. What if she was sending him a message? Maybe she’d seen the man somewhere. Maybe he was with her right now.
Cover of Night Page 13
