Uncut Bundle

by Susan Stephens

Matthew looked at the extended hand, then deliberately put his own hands in his trouser pockets.

  “Get the hell off my property, Colonel,” he repeated in a soft, deadly voice. “If I ever see you again, you’re a dead man.”

  Mia felt Hamilton’s fury in the way he tightened his grip on her wrist, but his voice gave nothing away.

  “Come, dear girl. We’ve given Mr. Knight a difficult time. Let us permit him to sulk in private.”

  Her feet wouldn’t move. Hamilton all but dragged her to the steps, then down them to the ground.

  “Matthew,” she said in a broken whisper. Hamilton clasped her more tightly but she turned and shot her lover a last look. “The same as choosing the skull and crossbones over the eagle… The end always justifies the means.”

  “One more word,” Hamilton hissed, “and you’ll sign his death warrant.”

  It didn’t matter. Her pathetic attempt at warning Matthew that Hamilton had forced her to go with him was a failure. Matthew had already turned his back and walked to the far end of the deck.

  He was lost to her, forever.

  The colonel half-dragged her around the house, to where his car and driver waited. Once there, he bound her hands and shoved her into the back seat, then got in beside her.

  The driver gunned the engine and the car sped up the road.

  Mia craned her neck, trying to see out the rear window.

  “The men with you,” she said desperately. “Call them off.”

  Hamilton chuckled. “Wasn’t that an excellent story? I’m delighted you believed it.” He leaned close to her. “I can hardly wait to get you home again, dear girl. What fun we’re going to have together.”

  She didn’t think. She acted, and spat full into his face. Hamilton snarled and backhanded her across the mouth but it didn’t matter.

  Nothing mattered, now.

  Nothing ever would, without Matthew.

  The sound of the car engine faded and silence returned to the forest.

  Matthew stood on the deck, unmoving, staring into the dark night while he cursed himself. And Hamilton. And the government…

  And Mia.

  How could he have been such a fool?

  He knew how easily a man could misjudge things when he was operating under stress, how simply he could be diverted from the truth.

  There were endless tricks of the trade in covert ops. Lies, fabrications, miscues. Double agents, men who’d look you in the eye and swear they were telling the truth.

  Women schooled in the art of deceit. The art of the honey trap.

  He clenched his fists. How could he have been such an easy target? He’d gone after Mia knowing exactly what she was but somehow or other, that reality had slipped his mind.

  She was innocent, she’d said. And, pow, just like that, he’d believed her. She hadn’t had to try very hard to convince him.

  A few passionate kisses—a few nights in his bed, he thought coldly—and he’d done the convincing all by himself.

  If there was any small comfort in all of this, it was that he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself tonight. What if he’d told her that he loved her? Just imagine if he’d stood on this deck, taken her in his arms and said, Mia, I love you.

  Except, he wouldn’t have done that.

  He’d have come to his senses in plenty of time because the truth was, he didn’t love her and never had. Thinking he loved her had been a lie he’d told himself.

  Maybe it had to do with the way they’d met. He as the hunter, she as his prey. There was something sexy in that, wasn’t there?

  Or maybe it was the way she’d trembled in his arms. How she’d lifted her face to his when he kissed her…

  Matthew gripped the deck railing.

  What the hell did it matter? It was over. Done. Finished, and to hell with standing around feeling sorry for himself.

  He spun on his heel, went into the house, picked up the pair of Baccarat brandy snifters and went to the sideboard.

  What he’d felt for Mia was lust. Lust…

  “Goddammit!”

  His face contorted. He pivoted toward the fireplace and slung the glasses into the flames. Then he grabbed the bottle of brandy and took a long swallow.

  He thought of all he should have said before letting her leave. How sleeping with her hadn’t meant anything to him. How he’d slept with a dozen other women who’d been better in bed than she could ever hope to be.

  How holding her in his arms through the long nights had just been part of the game.

  He took another drink.

  It had all been a game. For her and for him. And that was okay. It was fine. Hell, after a while, it might even make for a good story. How the hotshot ex-operative had spent a wild couple of weeks in Colombia, screwing a woman who’d turned out to be operating him.

  One more shot of brandy. And then another and another until the bottle was half-empty. Then he killed the fire. Grabbed his jacket. Made sure he had his keys, his wallet, his passport.

  “Time to go home,” he said to the silent house.

  Time to go back to his life.

  To Dallas.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IT WAS AMAZING, the things that money could buy.

  Matthew was rich.

  He never thought of himself that way. He’d grown up rich, but that money was his father’s. He hadn’t wanted any part of it.

  Risk Management Specialists had made him wealthy in his own right, but he never really thought about it. He’d bought a bi-level condo in Turtle Creek and a Ferrari. He lived well, traveled well, bought things that caught his fancy, gave the women he dated expensive gifts.

  Now, for the first time, he knew what money could do.

  It made it possible to put a piece of your life behind you.

  He drove out of the valley, heading for a small, private airport, tearing along the narrow roads at speeds that would have been foolish even if he hadn’t drunk all that brandy, but he didn’t give a damn.

  The night, the fast-moving clouds, the sharp drop-off to his right, all suited his mood.

  The truth was, he didn’t much care what happened next.

  It was the way he’d started feeling just before he left the Agency, that I-don’t-give-a-crap state of mind that he knew was dangerous as hell—and couldn’t prevent.

  He’d always survived those black moments in the past and he’d survive this one, too.

  It was close to midnight by the time he pulled into the airport. It was unstaffed—he’d figured as much— but there was a telephone number posted on the gate. For Emergencies, it said in English and Spanish.

  Matthew decided that’s what this damned well was, and took his cell phone from his pocket.

  A couple of calls, and he was talking to a sleepy-voiced guy who owned a Learjet 60. Si, he could fly the señor to the States but no, he could not do it now. It was impossible. He could not fly out of the Cachalú at night. The darkness, the mountains… It was too dangerous.

  In the morning, and for the right fee…

  “What’s the right fee?” Matthew said.

  The pilot hesitated. “Fifty thousand dollars American,” he said.

  Matthew didn’t blink. “Fly me out now,” he said, “and I’ll double it.”

  An hour later, they were in the air.

  Five hours after that, he wasn’t home. He was in Houston.

  His father answered the door himself.

  Avery was unshaven and bleary-eyed but then, it was barely six in the morning. Matthew had phoned as the plane touched down, awakened his old man and announced that he’d be there in half an hour.

  At that, he figured he’d been more than polite.

  A man who sent you into an Agency-connected mess without warning you first didn’t deserve a lot in the way of good manners.

  “Coffee?” Avery said. “I just made it.”

  Matthew nodded and followed his father into the kitchen. The coffee was strong and hot and he loaded his cup with sugar. A
caffeine high, a sugar rush… He needed both.

  “How was Cartagena?” his father said, sitting across from him at a marble-topped table.

  The question of the year, Matthew thought, and smiled tightly.

  “Hot.”

  “Yes, well… I assume you met with Douglas Hamilton?”

  “Oh, I met with him, all right.” Matthew narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, father, when you asked me to help him, did you know what kind of man he was?”

  “What kind of—”

  “Hamilton’s a slimy son of a bitch.”

  “Is he? I’ve never met him. It’s his father who was my friend.”

  “He wanted me to hunt down a woman.” Matthew’s jaw knotted. “His woman.”

  “That’s what he wanted? I’m sorry, son. Had I known, I’d never have bothered you with it.”

  Matthew felt some of his anger fade. Avery’s bewilderment couldn’t have been faked.

  And when had he ever heard the old man call him “son,” or say he was sorry?

  “Yeah, well, I found her.”

  “Then, why do you look so distressed?”

  Matthew stared at his father. None of your business, he started to say…but what came out was something entirely different.

  “I got involved with her,” he said quietly. “The whole thing got personal, and it shouldn’t have.”

  Avery nodded. “Caring for a woman can complicate things.”

  “I didn’t care for her,” Matthew countered sharply. “I told you, I got involved, that’s all. I just—I just—” His eyes met Avery’s, then slid away. “I made a fool of myself, is what I did,” he said. “Damn it, I should have known better!”

  “You can’t know better, when you fall in love.”

  “Father, I keep telling you—”

  “It’s what happened to me, when I met your mother.”

  Matthew’s eyebrows lifted. He couldn’t recall his father ever talking about his mother before.

  “I loved her so much that I was afraid to show it. Your mother changed my life and I guess I figured, if she ever stopped loving me…” Avery gave a self-deprecating laugh. “But she never did. Her love was the one constant in my world. When she died…when she died, I was lost. I poured myself into my work and—and I neglected you and your brothers. I regret it, to this day, but—”

  “Yes,” Matthew said bluntly. “You did.” His voice softened. “But—but I’m glad you told me the reason. I mean, I can understand how losing her must have—must have devastated you…” He cleared his throat. “This isn’t the same. This woman—she didn’t love me. And I didn’t love her.”

  Avery nodded. “Of course not,” he said softly.

  Father and son sipped their coffee in companionable silence. Then Matthew sighed and rose to his feet.

  “I’ve got to get to the office.”

  Avery walked him to the door. “With luck, son, you’ll look back at this someday and find some good in it. Time teaches us lessons.” He smiled. “You know. Don’t cry over spilt milk, take things a day at a time…”

  “Yeah.” Matthew smiled, too. “And the end justifies the means.”

  Father and son looked at each other, then, a bit awkwardly, exchanged what might have passed for a hug. Then Matthew went down the walk and climbed into the taxi that had waited for him.

  “The airport,” he said, but what he kept thinking was what he’d just said to his father.

  The end justifies the means.

  Why would those words be rattling around in his head?

  The flight to Dallas took less than an hour.

  By midmorning, Matthew was at his desk, poring over the mail that had built up while he was gone…

  Trying not to think about Mia. About Hamilton. About what he was doing with her, in that big house up in the hills overlooking Cartagena.

  His brothers were in the office today, too. Unusual, Cam said, and it was. Generally, at least one of them was away on business.

  At noon, Alex rang their intercoms. “How about lunch?”

  “Fine,” Cam said.

  Matthew said he couldn’t spare the time.

  At one, it was Cam who suggested lunch.

  Alex said yes. Matthew said he wasn’t hungry.

  At two, Alex and Cam huddled in the conference room. Matt didn’t sound right, Cam muttered. Yeah, and he didn’t look right, either, Alex added.

  Something was up, but what?

  Five minutes later, they walked into Matt’s office.

  “Lunch,” Cam said firmly.

  “Right now,” Alex added, just as firmly.

  Matthew looked at his brothers. They stood, one on either side of his desk, arms folded, jaws set.

  He sighed.

  “What’s the deal here? We go for lunch, or I get to take on both of you?”

  “See?” Alex grinned at Cam. “Told you he had a functional brain.”

  Cam jerked his thumb at the door. “Let’s go.”

  Matthew thought about duking it out. A little physical action would probably improve his mood but his brothers, for all their swagger, looked worried.

  He sighed again and pushed back his chair. “How’d you guys know I was getting hungry?”

  They set out for a bar a few blocks away. It was a place where you could get a pretty good hamburger and a beer without stained glass hanging over your head or an asparagus fern dangling in your eye.

  The brothers settled in their favorite booth and gave the waitress their order.

  Alex commented on the weather. Cam commented on the traffic. Matthew made no comment at all.

  Cam cleared his throat.

  “So,” he said, after exchanging a meaningful look with Alex, “how was Colombia?”

  “Okay.”

  Silence. The waitress brought their beer. Cam raised an eyebrow at Alex. Your turn, pal, the raised eyebrow said.

  Alex cleared his throat, too. “You take care of whatever it was the old man wanted done down there?”

  Matthew raised his glass to his lips. “Uh-huh.”

  More silence. More looks flashing between Cam and Alex.

  “Guess I’m the only one hasn’t been asked to do a good deed for our esteemed padre,” Alex said briskly.

  “Give it time,” Cam said.

  “Yeah,” Matthew said. “And when he finally asks, watch your ass.”

  Nine whole words, Cam thought. Almost a record for the day.

  “Because?”

  “Because, you might just want to be smart and say, no way. You need a job done, do it yourself.”

  “Well,” Cam said carefully, “it worked out okay for me. I mean, if I hadn’t said ‘yes’ to what the old man asked, I wouldn’t have found Salome.”

  Matthew looked up from his beer. “You ended up in intensive care,” he said coldly. “Anybody in his right mind would just as soon pass on that.”

  “What counts is that I met the woman I love.”

  There was tension in Cam’s tone, almost a challenge, but Matthew ignored it.

  “Yeah, well, the love crap—” He raised his hands in apology at the sudden flash of heat in Cam’s eyes. “Sorry. I’m glad it’s real for you, man. Hell, I’m crazy about my new sister-in-law. You know that. But that doesn’t mean l-o-v-e isn’t b.s. for ninety-nine percent of the rest of us.”

  Another long look passed between Alex and Cam.

  “Are we, uh, are we talking about a particular woman?” Alex asked.

  “Who said we were talking about a woman at all?”

  “Well, nobody said it, but you said love was—”

  “I know what I said. And no, we’re not talking about a particular woman.”

  “Good. Good, because if we were—”

  “Do I look like the kind of idiot who would fall for a woman and let her make a fool of me? Do I?”

  Yes, both his brothers thought, because looking at him now, they could see a volatile mix of emotions in his eyes. Anger. Pain. Despair, and something else…r />
  “No,” Cam said slowly. “But, on the other hand, if maybe you ran into something, ah, something that shook you up, down in Colombia, well, you know, you might want to talk it out.”