by Nina Bruhns
He tossed his wine down in a gulp, set aside the glass, and followed her to the front door, where she grabbed her purse.
He touched her chin with his thumb, pulling it down so her mouth opened a fraction. “You,” he said huskily, “are going to be the death of me.”
She just smiled. Oh, he had no idea.
ELEVEN
“I have something to confess,” Wade said.
Sarah took another spoonful of chocolate mousse. He’d brought her to a very nice restaurant on K Street, which boasted gourmet food and a subdued, romantic atmosphere. They’d eaten a leisurely dinner, talking about everything from rock music to zorbing; everything except why they were really there.
She regarded him with open curiosity as she slowly licked her spoon. Here it comes, she thought. At last.
He was momentarily distracted by her tongue painting up the silver dip of the spoon. They’d also been flirting all evening; a slow, delicious buildup to after-dinner possibilities.
“A confession?” she prompted. “Sounds ominous.”
He cleared his throat, dragged his gaze to hers. “Yeah, well. I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” he said.
Wow. That was unexpected. Just in case, she pretended she was only interested in relationship stuff. “Let me guess. You’re married.”
He blinked. “What? No. God, no. Not married. Not engaged or anything.” He paused. “But I used to be. Engaged.”
Double wow. This must be the kidnapped ex-fiancée Quinn had mentioned. Sarah couldn’t believe Wade was actually coming clean. “What happened?” she asked.
“She left me.”
Sarah tilted her head, decided to stick to the same tack. It seemed to be working. She gave him a sexy smile. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m really not.”
He returned her meaningful smile but it faltered. “She was everything to me. I was pretty angry and devastated for a while. A good long while.” He toyed with the stem of his wineglass. “Then I met someone else. Turned out she was married. The wife of a congressman, of all things.” He shook his head. “Obviously it didn’t work out. But I finally realized life goes on. If it kicks you in the balls, you can’t sit around and cry. You’ve got to kick back.”
Sarah nodded. “Moving on is a good thing,” she said. God knew, she’d done it often enough.
“I just wanted you to know that, before I tell you the rest.”
O-kay. “What rest?”
He sat back in his seat. “My ex-fiancée was . . . is . . . a genetic research scientist, a doctor, involved in developing a new type of pediatric immunization, delivered via aerosol. So a kid can just get a spray up the nose instead of a shot in the arm.”
Sarah took another bite of her chocolate mousse—which was amazingly delicious—wondering what that had to do with anything. “Sounds great. I hate getting shots.”
“Unfortunately, the same spray mechanism can also be used to weaponize biological agents that are harmful to people.”
She frowned, starting to get an inkling of a bad feeling. Hadn’t Quinn said Asha Mahmood’s cousin was a suspected terrorist? “You mean like biological warfare?”
“Exactly. Last year Gina was kidnapped by al Sayika.”
Sarah set her spoon down with a clatter. “Al Sayika the terrorist organization? Seriously?” She’d heard plenty about the fanatical group. Though smaller than al Qaeda, they were just as malevolent, and a whole lot smarter. “What did they do to her?” Sarah asked. She couldn’t even begin to imagine.
Fury flashed across his face. “They held her for three months, tortured her, and forced her to weaponize a hideous virus designed to kill millions of people—a hybrid of anthrax and avian flu.”
Jesus. “That’s horrible. She . . . succeeded?”
He blew out a breath. “Yes and no. She did, but thankfully she’s incredibly smart. She was able to imbed a non-replicator gene into the virus so when it was ultimately sprayed in a crowded sports arena, the disease wasn’t spread by the infected people to anyone else. And thank goodness, everyone survived because they got help right away.”
“Good lord! You’re talking about that incident last year in Louisiana? But they said on the news it was a lone crazy who did that. That they were never able to link it to terrorists.”
“The members of the al Sayika cell were all caught or killed. The two men still in detention have never admitted to anything, never said a word, and the only witness has been in hiding, unable to testify up until now. So the information was never released to the public.”
Sarah had worked in Washington, D.C., long enough to know such things happened all the time. Ostensibly to protect the public and prevent panic. “What happened to your ex? Was she . . .”
He shook his head, obviously relieved when he said, “DHS, along with an agency called STORM Corps, located where the terrorists were holding her, and mounted a rescue. They also retrieved all the virus canisters so it’s no longer a threat.”
“Thank God,” she breathed. At the mention of Commander Quinn’s outfit, her attention spiked. She’d checked online and found the Strategic Technical Operations and Rescue Missions Corporation website, which had been impressive. But anyone could put up a website; that didn’t mean STORM was legit. However, she had called his references at DHS and they’d also checked out. Quinn had been telling her the truth and this confirmed it further. “I’m glad she’s okay. You said her name is Gina?”
“Gina Cappozi. Except she isn’t okay. Al Sayika is out for revenge because of the failure of the virus attack. Or possibly they want to finish what they started. Or some other totally irrational reason, because this morning she was kidnapped again.”
The true horror of the situation hit Sarah hard. No wonder he was defying orders to investigate this.
“Oh, Wade. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah.” He looked down at his half-eaten plate of food and took a deep breath, looking shaken. Sarah’s heart went out to him. “It’s somewhat complicated,” he continued, “but this morning when she was taken, three of her four attackers were killed. And here’s the thing: one of the dead men was a cousin of your vic from the alley yesterday.”
Quinn had already told her that. “Asha Mahmood.”
He nodded. “They’ve found evidence that the cousin, Ouda Mahmood, is connected to al Sayika. I’d like to know if Asha is, too.”
Sarah held his gaze, wrapping her mind around all he’d said. Damn. This was way bigger than she’d ever imagined. “Jesus, Wade. Why didn’t you tell me right off? Naturally the Metro Police Department would cooperate.”
He sighed, closed his eyes for a second, then gave her a weak smile. “Here’s the part where I throw myself on your mercy. I’d really like access to everything you find out. But you should know, I’m not officially on this case.”
Wow, he really was confessing. “And the FBI wants you nowhere near it,” she completed for him, an uncomfortable mix of relief and pique running through her. “Because of your personal involvement.”
He nodded. “I was reprimanded for involving myself in the original case without disclosing it, so if they find out I’m doing this, it’ll either mean my job, or I’ll find myself SAC of the Nome, Alaska, field office, and living in an igloo.”
They both chuckled, but she felt his pain. She knew what it was like when emotions trumped one’s good sense.
Like now, for instance.
She picked up her wine and took a swallow. The cab was full-bodied and strong, just how she liked it. She’d drunk just enough to feel relaxed, but that was probably not a good excuse for what she said next. Chalk that up to good old-fashioned disappointment. Even though she knew better. God, hope was such a wretched thing. “So, you decided to seduce the lead detective in order to gain access to the investigation through the back door,” she said, more regretful than angry. “Thank God I was a woman,” she drawled.
Surprisingly, instead of looking guilty, his smile tilted rakishly. “Yes, but hell, no. I
decided to seduce you for entirely different reasons. Which is why I’m telling you all this. So you won’t think I have ulterior motives.”
She couldn’t help herself. She smiled. Either he was a remarkable liar—a distinct possibility, considering his occupation—or he really meant it. Against her better judgment, the hope in her heart reared its pathetic head again. “You realize we’d both be in deep shit, not just you,” she ventured, “if anyone found out.”
“You already know I’m willing to risk it. What about you?”
She laughed. God, she was such a goner. “Are you always this direct, SAC Montana?”
“Only when there’s something I want, Detective McPhee.” The glitter in his eyes sent a shiver deep inside her. She was so insanely tempted just to say “yes” to him and “screw you” to the color guard doing a frantic routine in her head.
But there was one last thing she needed to know. “Why do you care so much?” she asked. “She’s your ex. And you’ve been ordered away from the case in no uncertain terms.”
The glitter dimmed perceptibly. He didn’t answer right away, but spun his wineglass by the stem. At length he said, “I guess I feel partly responsible. It’s a long story, but the short version is Gina called me last year when a friend went missing overseas in some monumental CIA snafu. I’m sorry to say, I didn’t go out of my way to help her. She ended up being subverted and used by a CIA covert operative who turned out to be a traitor to his country. He’s the one who gave her to the terrorists. And my money’s on him being the one who has her now. I couldn’t live with myself if he . . .”
Sarah’s mouth dropped open. “Surely, you can’t blame yourself for any of that, Wade! It isn’t your fault the man is a traitor.”
“I know. But that doesn’t make me feel any better. And Gina’s already been through so much. I need to find her, Sarah. And I need to get the man who did this to her and see he’s put away for good. If only to ease my conscience.”
She could understand that. “Of course I’ll help however I can.” She made a snap decision. “Look. I’m going to Mahmood’s apartment tomorrow morning. Why don’t you come with me?”
He reached across the table, put his hand over hers, and gave it a squeeze. “Thanks. I really mean that. I know you could get in big trouble for this.”
“So what’s new?” she said dryly.
His smile changed character as he turned her hand over, and with his other forefinger slowly traced the lifeline down her palm. His touch tingled, zinging awareness through her body. “A troublemaker, eh?” he murmured.
“Can’t help myself.” And wasn’t that the truth.
He lightly caressed her hand. “I do like the sound of that.” He met her gaze. “You never answered my question.” The feel of his fingertips on her skin, stroking the sensitive nerves in her palm, made her insides coil with desire.
“Which question is that?”
“Are you willing to risk sleeping with me?”
She wet her lips. There he went, being direct again. Normally a man didn’t ask permission to take things too far. But she had to admit, it had a certain charm. And hell, she had worn her best black lace underwear.
She leaned in over their twined hands; a wash of arousal shimmered through her. “Are you any good?” she asked with a naughty smile. Still unsure. But boy, was he tempting.
He closed the scant inches between their faces and brushed a kiss over her mouth, touching his tongue to the seam of her lips. “I guess you’ll just have to try me and find out.”
GINA had fantasized about Gregg van Halen ever since the day they met. Hot, thrilling fantasies of kinky sex and breathtaking submission. Oh, yes. She’d been thoroughly and completely under his masculine spell from his first audacious kiss, mere hours after meeting. The man oozed primitive, carnal power, and she’d been instantly captivated. She had given herself to him without reservation, in ways she’d never before dared imagine, lying under his bold, muscular body as he turned her inside out with pleasure.
She’d dreamed of him unceasingly, to her waking consternation. When they were together; when she was a captive; after her rescue. Even while she hated him with a burning passion, convinced without a doubt that he’d been responsible for all her pain and suffering, she’d still welcomed him into her dreams so he could bind her to his sturdy iron bed and have his wicked, wicked way with her.
Which was the only possible explanation for what she did as they lay spooned together that night.
She mixed up dreams with reality.
She’d been dreaming of being in his arms, so when she found herself there, bathed in the darkness of his bedroom, she didn’t think twice about it, she did what she’d done a thousand times before in the middle of the night, both awake and in dreams. She reached up, put her lips to his, and kissed him.
He must have been fast asleep, because his reaction was slow. He didn’t move at first. Only after she teased his mouth with her tongue did he respond with a soft groan deep in his throat. And opened to her.
A spill of desire zinged through her at the familiar, heady taste of him, so arousingly male. Tonight, so much more vivid and earthy than usual. Oh, how she had missed that sensual flavor . . .
She couldn’t see his features in the dark, but his fingers tightened just a little on her waist and in the long tangle of her hair, letting her know he wanted her to continue. He let her kiss him, let her use her tongue to explore the soft warmth of his inner mouth. How unlike him to lie back and receive instead of being the aggressor, the dominant partner. She was delighted.
“Gina,” he whispered, sliding his hand over her hip. “Sweet baby.”
She kissed him and kissed him, until her body hummed hotly with pent-up passion. And still he urged her to take the lead. So she did.
She shoved aside the covers, wanting to feel his bare torso, to smell the dusky essence of his skin up close. She tugged up on his T-shirt and he pulled it over his head for her. But he didn’t reach for hers. She did it for him. Tossing it aside, she pillowed her naked breasts provocatively against his chest. As one, they moaned at the mutual burst of pleasure from the contact. She rubbed up against him, his curly hairs tickling her, bringing her nipples to rigid attention.
He groaned her name. And she could feel his cock come to rigid attention, as well. She reached down, slid her hand under his sweatpants. And touched him. His body bowed up and he gave a strangled growl, then twisted and fell onto his back, taking her with him.
It was the jolt from the fall that jerked her fully awake.
She came hurtling out of the twilight dream, sprawled on top of him, her lips to his chest and her fingers around his rampant cock.
She gasped and shot up, scrambling away to the edge of the bed. There she knelt, shaking, with her arms wrapped around herself, panting with the sudden cold and the shock of what she’d done . . .
And from breathless arousal.
She stared at him in the dimness of the bedroom, mute with confusion.
But there was no accusing him of anything. He’d been the reticent one. She’d been the one kissing him. Touching him. Seducing him.
In the shafts of moonlight shining through the window she could see his arms stretched over his head. His hands gripped the iron bars of the headboard. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Moonbeams danced over his body like fairies.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t look. Didn’t move.
The silence stretched.
Her shoulders notched down a little, but she was still shaking like a leaf. Her fingers touched the warm silver heart clasped around her ankle. She remembered his promise. To always be there. As her protector.
But who would protect him . . . ?
“I’m sorry,” she said in a whisper.
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple a shadow of movement on his pale throat. “I’m not.”
Hearing his deep, gritty voice, goose bumps shimmered down her arms. Oh, God. How could she possibly still want this man? And wi
th a searing need that shook her to the core?
She crept a few inches toward him on the mattress. As it dipped, he opened his eyes and looked at her. The intensity of that look almost sent her scurrying away into the next room.
But she didn’t. She moved closer. Warily. Like you’d approach a wild beast. She lifted her hand to—
“Gina . . .” he warned, unfurling his fingers from the headboard and lowering his arms. “Don’t.”
Her heartbeat sped. Her nipples ached. And she made a stunning realization. She needed this. Desperately needed the intimate contact. Needed the physical confirmation of life.
It didn’t matter that she didn’t trust him a hundred percent. Wouldn’t matter if she still hated him. He was her lover. And she badly needed him to show her she was really alive. That she had survived all the horror of the past eight months. That she was still a woman worthy of loving . . . if only by a man like him.
“I want to,” she told him, her voice quavering but insistent.
“You’ll regret it.” His voice was flat.
“I don’t care.”
She slipped off her sweatpants and crawled to him. Then pulled the covers up over her back and lay down, canting her body over his.
All the while he watched her, his hard blue eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t begin to name.
“You know me,” he warned her. “It’s been a long time. I’ll want to be rough with you. I’ll want to crush you under me. I’ll want to tie you up and spank you. I’ll want to make you beg . . . but you’ll be begging for real and I won’t know it. I’ll hurt you.”
She shivered, knowing it was all true—all except the last part. “You’ve never hurt me, Gregg,” though it pained her to admit it. “Not in bed.”
“But it’s different now,” he said, his words hoarse with need. “You’re different. You need someone gentle now. I don’t know if I can stop myself from doing those things. It’s who I am.”
“Then let me be in control,” she said. “Let me tie you up. That way you won’t—”
