Even as she drew him closer, she knew deep down that it was the wrong thing to do, and perhaps in some part of her mind, she was hoping he would break the contact.
He’d come in here to challenge her. But it seemed that she’d succeeded in making him forget his reason for being in her room, and she was having a similar reaction. As he moved to gather her close, any hesitation she felt was simply blotted out the way strong sunshine strikes a windshield and temporarily blinds you.
Mack Bradley filled her senses as he lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss that took up where they had left off out on the grass. Both of them had been powerfully aroused not long ago, and now that arousal fused them together as though the physical separation during the time they’d spent in the bar afterwards had only been a way of increasing their need for each other.
Part of her mind still knew that this personal contact was wrong in so many ways, but she was beyond heeding anything besides her own needs—and his. If she could give him nothing else, she could give him herself. At least for this small space of time.
He angled his head, drinking from her like a man who had been stumbling across a desert, sure that he was going to die—then finally finding the one thing that would keep him alive.
And she silently admitted that the kiss was no less potent for her. She drank him in, tasting the bourbon on his breath and also the need. She knew he’d been alone for a long time. She knew from poring over his biography that it wasn’t easy for him to let down his guard, but here he was clasping her to him, running his hands up and down her back, cupping her bottom as he drank her in with an urgency that made her own needs rise to meet his.
When he pulled away, she heard a sob of protest rise in her throat, but he was only giving himself the space to yank the tee shirt he wore over his head. She did the same with her own shirt and bra, discarding them and tossing them away.
She and Mack were both naked to the waist, and she fought the impulse to cross her arms across her breasts as his scorching gaze traveled over her, making her nipples tighten to hard points.
“You are stunning,” he growled.
Nobody had ever said that to her.
“Am I?”
“Oh yeah.” As he spoke, he reached for her again, pulling her close.
She gasped at the skin to skin contact, her nails digging into his naked back. She could feel his erection pressing against her through the fabric of his jeans and her trousers.
He muttered a low curse, and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. The rest of their clothing was in the way.
She found the button at the top of his jeans and opened it before reaching to open his fly. He was doing her the same favor, dragging her pants down and out of the way. When they were both naked, they clasped each other, exchanging hot kisses.
He filled her senses, taste, touch and the rough sound of his voice as he whispered hot, erotic words.
Lifting her up, he carried her to the bed, laying her down gently, his gaze roaming over her. She stared up at him, admiring his strong body and the thick erection that stood out in front of him.
“And you are breathtaking.”
She flushed when she realized she’d said that aloud.
“Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” she echoed as she clasped her hand around his cock, feeling the weight and the power of him.
His gaze burned into hers as he watched her stroke him.
“Don’t make me wait,” she murmured.
He answered with an inarticulate sound, coming down beside her on the bed and sweeping her into his arms. Their legs tangled together as they rocked in each other’s arms, hands stroking, mouths seeking and finding. He rolled her to her back, and she opened her legs for him, clasping him again so that she could guide him into her.
When they were joined, he went very still, poised above her as though he were committing every detail of this moment to memory.
Then he began to move, a few slow strokes that quickly turned to a fast rhythm that she strove to match as they both drove up a steep incline. When they reached the top, they flew off the edge together, clinging to each other as sensation swept through them.
For a few moments they had been somewhere else. She didn’t even know where. Then she heard his harsh breathing, felt his weight settle.
He raised his head, staring down at her, before rolling to his side, taking her with him.
For long moments, neither of them spoke.
Finally he said in a gritty voice, “I’m sorry. You didn’t exactly invite me into your bedroom.”
“It worked out okay,” she answered, wondering when sex had ever been that shockingly powerful.
“The thing is, we haven’t even had a first date.”
“Are you having regrets?” she heard herself ask.
“Probably that should be my line.”
She shook her head. “Neither one of us was prepared for what that trip into the woods did to us.”
He stroked his hand up her arm. “Yeah.”
“Has anything like that ever happened to you?” she asked.
“No, you?”
“No.”
Her skin had been flushed. Now the cool air was uncomfortable. When she reached for the edge of the spread, he climbed out of the bed so that he could pull the covers down before getting back under and covering them both. She moved back toward him, and he turned on his side so that he could gather her close.
Neither of them spoke again for a while, and she wished they could just drift here, calm and peaceful in the afterglow of making love. She didn’t want to think too much about what they had just done, or why. Or what might come next. Logically, making love with him had been an act of madness, because nothing could come next she told herself.
He caught the shiver that went through her.
“What?”
“I was thinking about this place,” she said, not exactly lying, she told herself.
“You mean, that we both grabbed the opportunity to get away for a little while.”
“I hate to put it that way,” she whispered.
“How would you put it?”
“We’re both feeling shaky—and we turned to each other.”
“Okay.”
She didn’t love the way he’d said that. But she wasn’t going to challenge him on his feelings.
“I don’t usually . . .”
“Hop into bed with a guy you hardly know,” he finished for her.
“Yes,” she agreed. “How do you know?”
He laughed. You are definitely not that kind of woman.
“What kind am I?”
“What they used to call a good girl. Casual sex isn’t part of your morality.”
She answered with a small nod. “And you’re a guy who spends long periods away from home. And when you’re on leave, you . . . tend to let your hair down.”
“We wear our hair short.”
“I meant figuratively.” She found his hand under the covers and wove her fingers with his. “So tell me about Mack Bradley.”
Again, she’d read his file and knew some of the basics. But she wanted to hear more of what he chose to tell her.
“I already said some stuff downstairs.”
“Yes,” she answered. “I know what you do and the last thing you remember before waking up here. But what do you think is important about yourself?”
He thought for several moments. “I don’t know. I had a pretty normal childhood in western Maryland. And I think I was lucky having a lot of freedom to just be a kid. Probably the most unusual thing about me is that I have a twin brother.”
“Were you friends or rivals?”
“Friends. And sometimes rivals. I think we both made an effort not to end up in exactly the same place. I went to the Naval Academy. He went to McDaniel College, then joined the CIA.”
“He’s still with them?”
“He left to work for a private security agency. Then he went back home to run our dad’s outfi
tter business.”
“He hasn’t settled down?”
“Neither have I.” He made a dismissive sound. “Well, I was married but it didn’t work out.”
“Why not?”
“I think she started off seeing my job as glamorous. Then she didn’t like the long separations. After she left, I focused on my career. Maybe I was trying to prove to myself that any sacrifices I made were worth it.” He snorted. “And now I’m here, which means that anything I was doing before this is . . .”
“What?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know. Did you ever watch Twilight Zone reruns?”
“Yes. My mom and I watched them together.”
“And a lot of times people were trapped in some kind of some kind of meaningless existence.”
“Why bring that up?” she asked, wishing she could soothe away his doubts.
His face hardened. “Because you know as well as I do that this place isn’t real.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then closed again as he kept talking.
“Maybe I could have convinced myself it was—at least for a while. But not after that crap with the sky—and then the woods. It’s like being on an LSD trip, only we weren’t imagining it. Were we?”
“No,” she whispered.
“What are the chances of getting out of here, do you think?”
She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. She wanted to assure him that, of course, they were getting out, but she knew it was almost certainly a lie.
She saw him studying her. “What?”
“What are you worried about?”
“The same thing as you.”
Although he didn’t comment, she wondered if he believed it.
Instead, he said, “Your turn.”
“To what?”
“Tell me something about yourself.”
“Like what?”
“Like why did you become a nurse?”
She swallowed hard, thinking that she would have phrased the question differently.
“Because of my little sister,” she answered. “When she was five, we were in an auto accident. She had refused to sit in her car seat, and she was thrown from the car. My dad was driving, and he said it was his fault that he hadn’t insisted on strapping her in.” She stopped and took a breath. “She was in a coma, and there was nothing they could do for her. The doctor wanted to pull the plug, but Dad insisted on keeping her on life support.”
“I thought you said she was dead.”
That’s what I usually say—so I don’t have to explain the rest of it. Really, she’s still alive. Well, her body is alive. She’s in a vegetative state.” She stopped talking abruptly, fighting the tears blurring her vision.
“That’s rough,” Mack said, stroking his hand up her arm.
“Uh huh,” she answered, still struggling to get her emotions under control.
“I guess your family is rich,” he said.
Her head jerked up. “Why do you think so?”
“You can afford to keep her in a hospital bed. That has to take money.”
She nodded. “My parents are well off, but not exactly rich. Dad’s set up a special trust fund to take care of Shelly.”
“How old is your dad?”
“In his seventies.”
“So he won’t be here forever to insist on your sister’s treatment. And then you’ll have to decide what to do.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Why do you put it that way?”
“I used to be very clear about what I thought. Somehow it’s gotten harder over the years—not easier.”
He nodded.
“Listen, I’m exhausted. Do you mind if I take a nap?” she asked.
“I thought nobody got tired here.”
“Maybe it’s emotional exhaustion.”
“Yeah. Or maybe they flip a switch, and everyone suddenly has to sleep.”
“Is that what you think?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
“I guess,” she agreed, not knowing what else to say.
When she eased down in the bed, he stayed beside her, and she wished there were some way to tell him that she was feeling the effects of too much intimacy. She’d focused on her career for a long time. Being with Mack made her realize that maybe she’d been too quick to give up . . . what? Marriage and a family? She’d always told herself she could do without those things. Now she wondered why she’d been so willing to set them aside. Was she like Dad—feeling guilty that she had survived the car crash with hardly a scratch, and Shelly had lost everything?
oOo
Paula Rendell looked toward the stairs. Mack Bradley and Lily Wardman had been gone for a long time. Maybe they’d gone to one of the bedrooms to talk, but Paula didn’t think so. She’d always been good at reading people, and she was pretty sure the two of them were attracted to each other. She got the feeling that Tom Wright had found them in a compromising position outside, although he hadn’t said much—only thrown some broad hints. And then the couple had gone up stairs, which she could view as keeping them out of trouble.
Her attention was refocused when a nearby door opened and, speak of the devil, Wright came out, his face a classic picture from one of those TV commercials where a poor jerk learns he’s been doing something all wrong. In the next scene, he’s going to find out the magic product to solve his problem—like a special machine that works much better than crunches to flatten his stomach. For three easy payments of $9.99. Only Paula suspected that there wasn’t going to be an easy solution for Wright—or anyone else who had ended up in the Mirador Hotel.
When Paula started toward him, his head jerked up, and she was pretty sure he hadn’t wanted to be seen coming out of the business center. Interesting.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“I . . . I need to contact my wife.”
“You have a wife?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t seem like the type.”
He shrugged. “We had a fight. I want to make sure she’s okay.”
Paula nodded, wondering if that was the real story. “And the computers and phones aren’t working?”
“Yeah.”
With a quick shake of his head, he turned and strode away.
Chapter Thirteen
Like a felon behind the wheel of the getaway vehicle after a bank heist, Grant drove with one eye on the rearview mirror. But he kept his speed below the limit as he headed away from the scene of the crime. Not his crime, he reminded himself. Now that he was in the car and driving away, it was impossible not to flash back to the impact of the bullets hitting the man he’d been holding up as a human shield. He’d thought there was no way the colonel’s men would shoot one of their own. He’d been dead wrong—although he was the one who had gotten away, leaving a bloody corpse in the shrubbery. And now that he’d made his escape, he had time to reflect on just how ruthless and brutal the attack had been. All Grant had wanted was information about his missing brother, and they’d gone to unimaginable lengths to make sure he didn’t get it.
Christ, what was going on here?
As soon as he’d opened that coffin and found the dummy inside, he’d known in his gut that something sinister was in play. He’d wanted to convince himself that there was some legitimate explanation. Now that was impossible—not after the ambush at the memorial and the hail of bullets. But, odd as it seemed, the way things had gone down gave him a tiny spark of hope.
Mack could still be alive, being held captive. But for what purpose? Like did he have some piece of information that would help a group of jihadists or something? The colonel had sounded like an American, but couldn’t that be true of a terrorist?
As he thought about the fierce attack again, Grant fought the urge to get out of sight by pulling into a downtown parking garage. But he couldn’t do it because, if they had already spotted him, he’d be trapped. Instead, he kept driving just below the speed limit and headed for up
per Connecticut Avenue. A few blocks from Chevy Chase Circle, he turned off onto one of the residential side streets and pulled up under a line of mature trees along the curb. Leaving the engine running, he retrieved the dead man’s wallet from the glove compartment and riffled through the compartments.
There was about five hundred dollars in cash, but no credit cards and no ID.
Cursing under his breath, he started pulling up leather flaps and found a Maryland phone number. Just the number. No name or clue about where it was located. But Frank Decorah had allowed him to keep his password to the Decorah Security database, and Grant had left his laptop under the driver’s seat.
When he pulled it out and put in the phone number, he found it came from a facility called Hamilton Labs. And when he did some further poking around, he gathered that the place was a hush-hush biotech company.
What did that have to do with Mack Bradley? Could his brother actually be there?
Grant fought to quash the surge of hope bubbling up inside himself. It could be that the number was totally unrelated to the Mack Bradley case. But that seemed unlikely, since the operative had taken all the identifying evidence out of his wallet except this one piece of contact information.
The only way Grant was going to find out anything was to go there. And put his life in danger again?
Yeah, because that was the only lead he had.
But when he started to shove the paper with the phone number into his pocket, he realized he was wearing the pair of Bermuda shorts and tee shirt he’d just bought. His next stop was a discount department store where he bought a dark tee shirt and pants plus clean underwear, shoes and socks. No point in squishing around in wet footwear when you were sneaking up on guys who wanted to kill you.
It gave him some satisfaction to use money from the dead guy’s wallet to pay for the purchases. Then he returned to his car and took the spare handgun out of the trunk.
oOo
Lily tried to relax, but she could feel the tension building inside her as if a little man were sitting at a control panel inside her and relentlessly messing with her vital signs.
Mack turned his head toward her. “What?”
She swallowed hard. “Like I said before, this is all moving pretty fast for me. Are you going to be . . . angry if I say I need some time alone?”
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