What could he say? There had been other women, women who were attracted by his body or his uniform or his parents money. But no one like her.
Not by you, he said.
She grimaced slightly. Thank you. Its nice to be special. Is that because Im older than the others or because youve been assigned to me?
The edge in her voice surprised him. Her insecurity surprised him. Didnt she know she was perfect?
Its because He swore, frustrated. Look, Im no good with words.
She touched his arm, instantly reassuring. It doesnt matter.
But it did matter. It mattered to her. And because it did, he had to try to put into words things he would normally rather die than say.
With the othersIt was physical, all right? Ive always been good at the physical stuff. With you He shook his head. Im not saying this right. Its more, okay?
I think you said it perfectly. There was humor in her eyes, and understanding, and something else. Something that made his heart pound. Its more for me, too.
He wanted to ask her how much more. Only he couldnt. She depended on him to keep her safe. This was a hell of a time to put her in the position of telling him she wanted to be just friends.
It would be easier if he could take her back to bed. When they made love, he could show her the things he could not say. He wanted to peel that skimpy shirt off her, inch by inch. He wanted to have her, take her, keep her.
He shook his head to clear it. He didnt get to keep her. That wasnt the assignment. His mission was to protect her.
I should check the cameras, he said abruptly, pushing back from the table. Are you okay here?
Just peachy, she assured him.
She dimpled, pleased with her small joke, and his need for her pressed on his chest until he could hardly breathe.
If he lost her
But he wouldnt. He couldnt. He would do whatever he had to do to protect her.
He went to inspect the cameras.
Two of them had been triggered during the night, one at the side window facing the barn and one on the front porch. Well, hell. He retrieved the digital film cards and returned to the kitchen.
Samantha stood at the sink, washing the lunch dishes, up to her smooth white elbows in lemon-scented suds. She took one look at his face and asked, Problem?
He didnt want to scare her before hed even had a look at the cards. Naw. He booted up the laptop. Got some pictures, though. Probably some real nice shots of shadows. Or rats. Plenty of rats in a barnyard.
How lovely. She dried her hands. May I see?
His instincts and his training both said no. If he had captured an intruder on camera, he didnt want her to panic. If hed made another mistake, he didnt want her to know. But if some lowlife was this close to her, then she had the right to know.
Even if it was a rat. God, he hoped it was a rat.
He plugged in the card-reader, buying time, and began to download images. Nothing to see.
That much at least was true. Even with the cameras low light requirements, the thumbnail images were dark. He adjusted the brightness, trying to find whatever visual changes had triggered the camera.
He missed Garcia. Missed Jimmy. His equipment was good, but it couldnt replace the resources and know-how of his squad.
There, maybe. What was that in the shelter of the barn? He zoomed in and recentered, but the details remained stubbornly in shadow. Frustrated, he clicked on the next image.
Samantha leaned over his shoulder Hello, breast and pointed. Whats that?
He jerked his attention back to the screen. Garcias cameras could refocus and take a new frame every five seconds. They hadnt captured much: a deeper darkness here, an inconsistent angle there, a blur that might have been movement. But the gaps told more than the images themselves. Whoever, whatever, was out there didnt want to be seen by anyone watching from the house. Marcus scowled. Or else their nighttime visitor knew exactly where the cameras were placed and how to avoid them.
Son of a bitch.
Hard to say, he lied.
Samantha didnt look back at the screen. She watched his face instead, like a good poker player, trying to figure out what he was holding and what he wasnt telling. All right, fine. But if you decide to share, Ill be in the living room.
With a mixture of relief and regret he watched her go, the back pockets of her jeans swaying.
And then he loaded the memory card from the other camera into his computer. Click, download. Click, view. Click, enlarge.
Behind him, he could hear Samantha moving through the room, the slight shuffle of her feet, the scrape of the piano bench. The hair at the back of his neck lifted in warning. The tap of his keys was overwhelmed by the opening ripple of hers.
Tada tada tada tada dum
Something was wrong. Cold foreboding snaked down his spine. Clenched in his gut.
tada dum, tada dum.
He stood, jerked to his feet. Samantha?
Tada tada tada tada dum
He lunged for the living room. Samantha! Stop!
She turned her laughing face toward the doorway, puzzled and amused. I thought you liked my playing.
He was sweating. Shaking. I do. Its just
Her fingers still hovered over the keys.
The words burst out of him. Christ, stop it!
Her smile faded. Her hands dropped to her lap. She didnt understand.
He didnt understand himself.
Whats wrong? she asked quietly.
He didnt know. His mouth was dry. His heart was pounding. His muscles were rigid. His body was in full flight-or-fight response, and he didnt know where to run or who the enemy was.
Could you He inhaled carefully. Combat breathing. Get away from the piano.
All right. She raised her hands to push herself away.
No!
She froze.
His soldiers sense was screaming. Why? Why? Nothing was wrong. She wasnt doing anything wrong, just sitting there at the piano.
He felt something twist and shift inside him.
The piano.
He didnt stop to question how he knew. In battle, survival depended on reaction time, on that mix of observation, insight and training so ingrained that warriors called it instinct.
Something about her hands above the piano keys, ready to strike
Dont. Touch. The. Piano, he ordered. Get up and get over here.
Her brows lifted, but she obeyed without question. She probably thought he was crazy.
Hell, he probably was crazy.
He resisted the urge to grab her, to hold her, to reassure himself that she was safe. She wasnt safe. Not yet, anyway.
He couldnt send her outsidenot alone into the open. Shifting his laptop to a chair, he tipped the heavy kitchen table onto its side.
> Behind here. Kneel down.
Graceful, reluctant, she lowered herself to her knees. Marcus, whats happening?
He didnt know. He only feltsomething. Something big. Something bad.
Stay, he commanded, as if she were a dog, and crossed the plank floor to the piano.
Well.
Samantha pressed her lips together. She wasnt stupid. She wasnt about to ignore a direct order from the man responsible for protecting her life. But when this was overwhatever it washe had some explaining to do.
What was he doing?
She raised her head above the edge of the table to watch. Marcus was examining the piano, with his eyes and with his hands. He felt along the cracks on the top and sides, and then, very cautiously, he lifted the lid.
His breath hissed.
Her stomach churned. Her trepidation grew. What is it?
He didnt look at her. All his attention was focused on whatever lay beneath the lid of the old upright.
Its a bomb, he said flatly. Wired to the keyboard.
A bomb? Her voice squeaked. She bit her lip.
Looks like it. He angled his head above the narrow opening to peer inside. Theres this little piece of metal tape on one of the hammers. Hit the right key, and it completes an electrical connection to the batteryyeah, here it isand that sets off the detonator.
Both his hands were inside the piano.
She winced, unable to watch, unable to look away. What key?
How should I know? His shoulder moved as he reached for something. She held her breath.
Its in the middle somewhere, he added.
In the middle? In her mind, she ran through the piece shed been playing. Fur Elise. E above middle C with the right hand. Another three measures, and shed have been dead.
She shuddered.
She heard the sound of tape ripping. Then Marcus set something on the bench where shed sat to play less than two minutes ago. It looked like an ordinary C battery with black and white wire attached.
Not a mistake. Her heart tripped. A bomb.
He turned. There were deep creases between his eyebrows. His jaw was tight. His mouth was grim. He looked safe and sane and angry, and more than anything she wanted to run to his arms so he could hold her. Except that probably was a really bad idea right now, since he was holding this little plastic bag covered with duct tape and if she threw herself into his arms, shed probably set it off.
Her stomach crowded her throat. Is that it? The bomb?
Would you get down behind the table, please?
She crouched there, listening to his footsteps cross the kitchen. He wasnt behind the table. He wasnt protected at all.
Silence. She waited, ears straining, nerves stretched. Marcus?
Water sloshed and dribbled in the sink. Yeah?
What are you doing?
Im diluting the chemical components of the explosive so it doesnt blow us up.
Oh. That seemed pitifully inadequate, so she added brightly, Thats good.
Babe, there is nothing good about this situation. Somebody knows youre here.
I already figured that out.
He was in the house.
She swallowed. Yes.
He knows you play the piano.
Samantha stood, supporting herself with one hand on the overturned table. Her knees were shaking. Philip ordered a piano for my suite at the hotel. My piano playing is hardly a state secret. It may even be in my official bio.
Marcuss eyes were dark with disbelief and fear. Right. Ambassador Barnes earned her masters degree in public policy from Harvards Kennedy School of Government. She likes taking bubble baths and playing the piano.
She attempted a smile. I dont, actually. Like to take baths.
Thats not the point. The point is this guy is too close.
What do you want to do about it? she asked quietly.
He ran a hand through his dark hair, leaving it streaked with moisture. Ive got to move you.
Where?
I dont know.
We could go back to D.C., she suggested.
Marcus shook his head. No good. I had to get you out of D.C. Baxter warned me theres a mole in his department.
Baxter is your contact at the Bureau of Diplomatic Security?
Special Agent in Charge Jerry Baxter. Yeah.
But you said no one at DS knew where you were taking me. No one knew at all, you said. Except for
Except for James Robinson. His swim buddy. Jimmy.
Marcus swung away from her, his shoulders rigid. Ill contact Baxter.
We dont have a phone.
He gave her a get-real look, and she flushed. Of course he had a phone. Navy SEALs were always prepared. Or was that the Boy Scouts?
He reached for the black leather briefcase that held his computer. Slipping a cellphone from a side pocket, he turned it on.
Well, wasnt that just dandy. She felt like a fool. She might have a masters degree from Harvard, but she had clearly flunked Hostages 101. She could have called Philip at any time. She could still call him.
Marcus spoke into the phone, his voice low. Sir, we have a situation here.
She couldnt hear the other side of the conversation, so she watched Marcuss face instead.
He looked taken aback. No. No, shes still alive. But His jaw set. I understand, sir. But theres been an attempt.
He listened in silence, his free hand clenched at his side. Very seriously, sir. I want to bring her in. No, sir. Now.
Tension coiled in the pit of Samanthas stomach. Her hands trembled. She laced her fingers together, forcing herself to concentrate, forcing herself to listen.
Marcuss voice was tight with frustration. Over, how? Over, when? With all due respect, sirYes, Ill continue to monitor the Web site. But
He paced the kitchen, increasingly agitated. No. No. What about backup, then? Yes, sir, I understand that the more people who knowDamn it, somebody knows shes here.
He stood very still by the sink, then slowly lowered the hand holding the phone. He clicked it off and swore.
Samantha raised her eyebrows, deliberately cool. I take it that didnt go well.
He scowled at her. Son of a bitch hung up on me.
Im sorry, she said sincerely.
He said they were very close to achieving their objectives. His mimicry was savage. Fat lot of good it will do them to dig up their mole if youre already dead.
She couldnt help it. She winced.
He saw and swore again. Sorry. My God, Im sorry.
He came to her and pulled her into his arms. He felt hearteningly solid, reassuringly strong. She turned her face to his shirt and breathed him in, the scents of clean cotton and dish soap and hot, frustrated male.
Weve tried your contacts, she mumbled. Want to try
mine?
He snorted. Pansy Phil?
She lay her cheek against his chest. Youre wrong about Philip. But as a matter of fact, I was thinking of someone with a little more influence than my secretary.
Weve got to be careful who you talk to, babe. According to Baxter, the problem goes across the board and pretty high up.
As high as the White House?
His arms tightened around her. What are you thinking?
I could call Matt Tynan.
And who would he call? We dont know who the bad guys are. Assuming were dealing with the Coalition and not Rebelia, they could be anywhere.
She raised her head. Im sorry, I just cant be that paranoid.
I can, he said grimly. Hell, Samantha, this bastard got into the house.
She shivered. Marcus, are youAre we sure James Robinson didnt somehow let our location slip? Perhaps without knowing it or intending
No. We may not know who the bad guys are, but Jimmy is one of the good guys. Id trust him with my life.
You are trusting him with your life.
He shrugged. Not for the first time.
She wasnt about to dispute the bonds forged by duty, danger and friendship. They were comrades. Swim buddies. And yet it had to be said. Youre also trusting him with mine.
You think I dont know that? I know. He sounded miserable. Miserable and determined. But its not Jimmy. It cant be. Id just as soon suspect myself.
She drew back to look into his face, his strong, honest, handsome, utterly unhappy face.
Shed told him she trusted him. Did she trust his judgment, as well?
All right, she said slowly. Its not Jimmy. Its someone else who knows my movements, who knows my habits and who knows how to rig a bomb. Any ideas?
Maybe. One.
But he didnt sound very happy about it. Her declaration of faith didnt seem to have cheered him at all. In fact, he looked just as miserable and every bit as determined as before.
She waited for him to explain, but this time he wasnt drawn in by her silence. His eyes were haunted. His mouth stayed stubbornly shut.
Family Secrets: Books 5-8 Page 17
