So are you planning to share this big idea with me? she teased.
No, he said flatly. I want to position the cameras again. And this time I want you to set the ones in the house.
Why?
Do you have to know everything? Cant you just trust me?
She gaped at his unexpected, unjustified outburst. I have been trusting you. I do trust you. Cant you trust me?
Not with this. Its too weird. Too wild. He let her go and went to the back door and stood, staring out at the yard. His shoulders were rigid. His whole body radiated tension and distress.
Her heart tripped in her chest. He pivoted and met her gaze, his blue eyes dilated and deep, pleading forwhat? What did he want from her?
Please, Sam. The words sounded torn from him. Can you do this for me? Will you set the cameras?
Confused, concerned, she promised, Ill do anything you want.
But her offer failed to close the distance between them. For the rest of the day he hardly spoke to her. Barely looked at her. He demonstrated how to set the cameras and then disappeared downstairs while she rigged one in the upstairs hall and hid another in the bathroom.
Her chest aching, she watched him pretend everything was under control while the shadows shifted and the long afternoon struggled and gave way to an uneasy night.
It was his job, she told herself. She was his job, and he took his failure to protect her seriously. The reminder did not comfort her.
The night was hot, filled with dreams and sudden starts. He didnt come to bed until he thought she was asleep. Neither of them slept well. But sometime in the restless stretch of darkness, in the long and aching hours before dawn, he turned to her, frustrated and fiercely claiming, his hands abrupt and his mouth bruising. Awakened, aroused, she welcomed him with her body, took her own kisses and claimed her own territory, running her hands over his strong, solid muscles and smooth, hot skin. He thrust into her, deep and fast and hard, and she shuddered, cried out with pleasure and relief.
His weight pinned her. His strength filled her. He was inside her as deeply as he could get. There was nothing between them, no words, no light, no air. They were close, closer, urgent, moving. Swept away by the dark tide of desire, she clutched him, her knees lifting, her hands pressing his back as he plunged and pounded into her, as she gasped and arched, until his need and her pleasure coiled. Crested. Broke. Spent, they clung to each other in a sweaty tangle of arms and legs and sheets.
He kissed her cheek. She stroked his hair, tenderness raking her heart. Comforted, she slept.
But when she woke, Marcus was sitting on the side of the bed, a camera in his hands and his expression shattered.
Samantha sat up, misgiving cold in her stomach. She rested one hand on his broad back. His skin was damp. His heart thudded under her palm.
What is it? Whats wrong?
I was right. He turned his tortured face to her. Somebody was in the house. Somebody is trying to kill you.
She moistened her lips. How? Who?
He met her gaze, hell in his eyes, and whispered, Me.
Fourteen
M arcus wanted to cry.
Samantha was staring at him, her eyes huge and dark in her pale face, as if hed just sprouted horns and a tail. As if hed backhanded her across the jaw. Which he hadnt.
That he knew of.
Yet.
He winced.
What are you talking about? she asked.
Like there was any way in the world he could explain. Like there was one chance in hell he could make sense of the unthinkable, the incomprehensible.
His hands tightened on the empty camera. This morning when I got up, I checked all the cameras. The ones downstairs, the ones I set, hadnt been triggered. The ones up hereafter I found them, I downloaded the pictures.
She waited, her silence pressing.
If he spoke very carefully, sticking to the facts, using short sentences and little words, he could get through this. There were eight shots. Three in the hall, five in the bathroom. In most of them, you could see the guy. The intruderthe man in the imageswas me.
She swung her long, smooth, bare legs over the edge to sit beside him. The mattress sagged beneath her weight. So you got up to use the bathroom. That does not make you an intruder. Or a killer.
She didnt get it. Or she didnt want to get it. He didnt blame her. He didnt get it either. If there was any other explanation
Then why dont I remember getting up? he asked.
Maybe you were too tired. Maybe you were walking in your sleep.
Maybe I did more than walk, he said grimly.
She seized his shoulder, fierce in his defense, stubborn in her denial. Look at me. Im fine. Im here, arent I? You didnt do anything.
He would not meet her eyes. Yeah. I did.
Thats stupid.
He jerked like shed jabbed him with an electrode. Fine. You asked me who. I told you. You asked me how. Ill show you.
Grabbing her hand, he pulled her off the bed and out of the room after him. Her bare feet made no sound in the hall. He dragged her into the bathroom and nudged her against the sink. Their bodies crowded together in the cramped, cold space. She was warm and smooth and smelled like sleep and sex. He released her hand abruptly.
The camera was in the tub. My back was to it most of the time. But you can still see this. He picked up the hair dryer from the side of the sink.
Samanthas deep blue eyes widened in confusion. I dont understand.
He unscrewed the plastic cap that covered the filter. His hands were trembling. He wondered if theyd been steady last night when he did this thing. This horrible thing.
This is batting. He dug the damp white fluff from inside the hair dryer and showed it to her. Cotton balls, I guess, soaked with an accelerant. Not gasoline. Nail polish remover, maybe, or hair spray. He sniffed. Yeah, hair spray. See how it was packed against the heating element? And the insulation is all peeled back here. So when the coil heats to a certain temperature, it ignites the batting and instead of a hair dryer, youve got yourself a nice little flamethrower.
You Now she got it. Her throat moved as she swallowed. She was looking at him now like he was some kind of monster. Which he was. You did this?
Last night. To punish himself, to make sure there was no chance of misunderstanding what had happened, what he had done, he added, I tried to kill you.
No, you didnt. I dont believe it.
Gratitude slid between his ribs, unexpected and painful as a knife. It killed him to say it, but he did. Yeah, I did. Weve got it on camera.
If you wanted to kill me, why go to all this trouble? Why not just shoot me?
Horrified, he objected, I couldnt.
She tilted her head to one side. Precisely.
Standing there in her bare feet and his worn navy T-shirt, her red hair tumbled around her face, she still managed to look smarter and more confident than any woman hed ever known. But she was wrong. About this. About him. He had to convince her. Her life depended on it.
Look, you asked me who and how. The camera proves who. And this he waved a hand at the neat fire trap dismantled over the sink this is your how. There are your answers. Those are the only answers I can come up with.
Then I need to ask another question.
What? What else could you possibly need to know?
Why? she asked quietly.
He stared at her. What do you mean?
Do you want to kill me?
No! God, no.
Then why would you try?
Does it matter? he asked bitterly. Because Im crazy. I forget things, remember? I cant remember last night. Just like I cant remember anything from before the adoption.
Samantha blinked. Youre adopted?
Hell. Just what she needed. Another reason to mistrust him.
He hadnt told her because she had some kind of prejudice against adoption. It was a gamble, shed said. An adopted child could have unidentified problems. Special needs.
Well, she got that right. He definitely had problems.
He clenched his fists. Yeah.
When you were ten?
Nothing wrong with her memory. Yeah.
Well. Her gaze clouded, refocused. Her full lips pursed. He could practically hear the wheels turning inside her pretty head. So you were born in, what, sixty-nine?
Seventy. So?
And you have no memory of your childhood before your adoption?
I told you that.
Yes, butOh, its unbelievable. The pleat between her eyebrows deepened. On the other hand, so is the idea that you would want to hurt me.
Samantha. He strained for patience. What the hell are you talking about?
Your being adopted. It changes things.
Thats what I was afraid of. Listen, I didnt mean to lie to you. I
She interrupted him. What do you know about the Proteus Project?
The what?
Code Proteus. Philip gave me a newspaper clipping recently
I dont have time to read the paper. Isnt that the mutant kids? Secret government experiments in the sixties? Tabloid stuff.
Well, yes, thats been my assumption, too. But the story in the Post suggested that there are children who survived the dissolution of the project. If there werespecial children, who needed to be hidden, who needed to be integrated somehow into society, doesnt it make sense that they would be adopted? Like you were.
His head hurt. He didnt want to think about it. Didnt want to accept itDidnt want
What difference does it make? Who cares if the government cooked up a batch of superbabies over thirty years ago? What does that have to do with His breath hissed in. You think Im one of them, dont you? The freak kids.
Her eyes were deep blue wells of compassion. I think the time frame makes it a possibility. It would certainly explain a few things. Like your really remarkable strength. And your memory losses.
His brain felt like it was exploding. But not why Im trying to kill you, he said, deliberately distracting her. Deliberately brutal.
She flinched. No, she admitted. Not that.
Well, right now thats all Im interested in. That, and keeping you alive. We need to go back to D.C. Today. Now.
She stuck out her chin. No.
He glared at her. What do you mean, no?
What are you planning to do in D.C.?
Turn you back over to Walker. Turn myself in.
She shook her head. Her hair brushed the tops of her breasts. Absolutely not. You could be risking my life. Not to mention ruining your career.
Dont worry about my career.
Dont worry? What were you planning on telling your commanding officer?
He sucked in his breath; released it slowly. The truth.
Which truth? That you brought me here to protect me? Or that youve been walking in your sleep?
He didnt say anything. He didnt even want to think about it. The navy was his life. Turning himself in to face certain disciplinary action would be like death, worse than death. But his silence was answer enough for Samantha.
Oh, no, she said. Theyll think youre delusional. Or theyll believe you when you tell them you tried to murder a United States ambassador. Either way, theyll lock you up and throw away the key.
Babe, dont you get it? I deserve to be locked up. Im dangerous to you.
Maybe not. If we could find the reason
We know the reason. Im crazy.
I dont believe that. What if your behavior is the result of your experiences as a child?
She was so earnest. So sweet. So determined to find an excuse for the inexcusable.
Yeah, thats what they say about serial killers.
She narrowed her big baby blues at him. Its not the same thing at all. If you really are the product of some genetic engineering project
Hed be a freak. For real. Unnatural. Unaccepted. His mind revolted at the thought. His stomach felt queasy. It wouldnt make a damn bit of difference. Except maybe to make things worse. Not just a psychotic killer with military training, but a psychotic killer with military training, superhuman strength and unknown genetic makeup? Oh, yeah, I can definitely see a review board making an exception in that case.
She opened her mouth to speak and then pressed her lips firmly together.
Had he finally succeeded in shutting her up?
I need to talk to Matt, she said.
You do that, said Marcus. After we get to Washington.
I want to call him first.
His throat was tight. Fine. You can use my cellphone.
That was what he wanted, wasnt it? He needed her to recognize the seriousness of her danger. He wanted her to take steps to protect herself from him. He was thrilled she was turning to her high school boyfriend for help.
Sure he was.
Believe me, Ambassador Barnes, Matt wouldnt mind at all being called back to Washington for an emergency. The warm, amused voice of Matts male secretary came clearly through the phone. He took Carey to visit the in-laws. All the in-laws, which means theyre up to stepmother number four by now. Are you sure you dont want me to have him call you?
Samantha watched the back of Marcuss head. He bent over his computer, his shoulders tight with strain. Love and worry closed her throat.
She coughed delicately to clear it. No, this is something Id rather discuss with Matt in person. Youll put me on the schedule as soon as he gets back?
He comes in from the coast tomorrow and gets back to the office the day after. Ill fit you in right after his meeting with the White House chief of staff, Kip assured her cheerfully. Say, ten?
Ten would be wonderful. Thank you, Kip.
Not a problem. Hows the cold?
Excuse me?
Philip told me you were sick. He sounded quite worried about you, actually.
Oh, yes. I
m feeling much better, thank you.
Or she would be once she figured out how to get through this mess with her skin and Marcuss career intact.
She exchanged another round of thanks and goodbyes with Matts assistant before she ended the connection.
Matt wont be back in the office until the day after tomorrow, she told Marcus. What do you think about staying here another day?
No answer.
He seemed transfixed by the computer. Hed told her he wanted to check in with Baxter through regular channels, but as far as she could tell he wasnt reading e-mail. He was caught by some silly computer game with a tiny green character parading erratically across the flat screen. Boys and their toys
She smiled and moved closer to watch.
KILL.
The word flashed upon the screen so quickly it barely registered. Samantha gasped.
The little green man resumed his jerky march.
BARNES flashed on the screen.
Her mouth was dry. Her palms were sweating. Her heart pounded in her ears.
Marcus?
KILL. BARNES. KILL. BARNES. KILL. BARNES.
He turned his head, his face hard, and a stranger looked out of his eyes.
Marcus!
He blinked, and the alien vanished. Hey, babe. Did you reach Tynan?
Her heart threatened to pound loose from her chest. She could barely breathe, could not force enough oxygen to her brain to think.
She worked enough moisture into her mouth to speak. Marcus?
He regarded her. Patient. Quizzical. Himself. Yeah?
He didnt see it, she realized, concerned and relieved at the same time. Why didnt he see it?
I A little air returned to her lungs. A little confidence returned to her voice. I think I know the why, she said. Its the computer. Theres a command or something on your computer thats ordering you to kill.
Family Secrets: Books 5-8 Page 18
