His gaze cut to the screen.
Dont look! she said sharply. Turn it off.
He turned back to her and frowned. Samantha
I saw it. In that game. Words flashing, like a subliminal message. Kill Barnes. Turn it off.
Okay. Its okay. His voice was soothing as he pressed the keys to shut the computer down. Honey, youre overreacting. This situation has you seeing things. I may be nuts, but theres nothing wrong with my eyesight. Ive logged on to that site every day since we got here, and Ive never seen those words.
Marcus, listen to yourself. Youve checked it every day since we got here?
Because Baxter told me to. Look, I appreciate what youre trying to do. You dont want this to be my fault. Hell, I dont want this to be my fault. But Im still responsible.
Baxter told you to check the Web site. Did Baxter give you the computer?
Yeah.
When?
When he gave me the order to extract you to a safe house. He said Rebelia and the Coalition were both gunning for you, and he couldnt trust his own people because of a leak in his department.
Possibilities plucked at her. Her mind raced. A leak? Or a traitor?
Marcus frowned. Youre thinking its him? Hes the traitor?
He assigned you to me. He arranged for us to be alone. He gave you access to a site that contains commands to kill me. That puts him at the top of my list.
Careful, babe. Youre starting to sound as crazy as me. But Marcuss expression was thoughtful.
At least admit we need to stay out of Washington until Matt gets back.
No way. I tried to kill you.
Baxters trying to kill me. If Im right, youre just a tool.
Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because its not helping.
Im simply saying now that we know Baxter is the culprit, I should stay with you until hes removed.
Wrong. Marcus was angry. Emphatic. Im still the culprit. And youre not safe with me.
Im safer with you than anyone. At least you want to protect me.
When Im not hearing voices I do. And if this was a physical fight, I could. But these weird mind gamesI dont know. He looked at her, and the uncertainty in his eyes broke her heart. Mental battles have never been my strong suit.
Hed told her hed struggled in school. She knew she was asking for more than he felt he could give. But the alternative would leave him discharged and disgraced.
The alternative could leave her dead.
This isnt about IQ scores or test grades, she argued. This is about willpower. I trust your mental toughness. And your honor. Two days, Marcus. Give us two more days, until Matt gets back. Hell know how to deal with Baxter, and well have time to figure out how to deal with these subliminal suggestions. Maybe a good psychiatrist
No psychiatrist, Marcus said.
She was genuinely surprised. Why not? If its the only way toto
Fix me?
She flushed. Youre clearly vulnerable to some kind of mental suggestion. A competent psychiatrist could identify the cause and help you overcome it.
And being evaluated as mentally unfit could cost me my career.
Oh, and you going in to your commanding officer and telling him you feel compelled to kill me isnt going to do the same thing?
His head jerked as her point struck home. Still, he muttered, I dont want some shrink messing with my head.
She ached for him. But she said, Your head has already been messed with. You need help to clean up the mess.
His mouth twisted wryly. Youre not going to let me duck this, are you?
Her heart beat faster. In hope? Or sympathy? No. You need to know whats going on, Marcus. You need help to stop it.
And what if your shrink finds out more than I want to know?
What do you mean?
Its not just the last couple of days that are a problem, sweetcakes. Ive got ten years missing. I dont know that I want them back.
She reached out and took his hands. Strong, tanned hands, capable and kind.
Those years are part of who you are. Part of who I love, she thought, but did not say. I dont think you need to be afraid of what youll find.
He turned his palms over and gripped her hands. Maybe, was all he said.
She tried to imagine what it must be like for him, having a void where his childhood should be.
Im a complete zero before the age of ten.
Samantha considered herself essentially alone. Husbandless. Childless. She had no brothers or sisters. Her father had died while she was still in college. Her mother lived a continent away. But Samantha had memories, good and bad, enriching and informing her life. She chose where she was going based in part on where shed been.
What did it do to a child to have all that taken away?
I always figured I must have done something pretty damn bad to wipe out my entire childhood.
You dont remember anything? she asked.
No. SometimesWhen I was a kid He stopped.
She waited.
I used to pretend I had a sister, he admitted. Not Honey. I mean, I love Honey, but I used to pretend I had somebody my own age. Somebody really smart and pretty who didnt make fun of me. Like an imaginary friend, I guess. Sometimes Id dream about her. He shrugged. Pretty lame, huh?
Maybe she wasnt imaginary, Samantha suggested softly. Maybe youll find her one day. Your other sister.
Maybe, he said again, but she could tell he didnt believe it. Its no big deal. Im good with alone.
Did that make it hard for you when you joined the SEALs? Did you have trouble feeling part of a squad?
He grinned.
What? she asked defensively.
That is such a girlie question.
She tried to prim her mouth and failed. But did you? she asked.
Nope. I earned my spot on the Teams. Its the one place I always felt I belonged. Not to mention that when youre crammed on a rubber dinghy with six other guys, its hard to feel alone.
This time she didnt hold back her smile. But it was terribly, poignantly clear to her how much he was willing to sacrifice for her sake: not only his career, but his identity on the Teams.
Well, youre not alone now, either, she said. Were in this together.
For the next two days.
That wasnt what she meant or what she wanted. Was his impatience to get rid of her fueled by more than concern? Were two days enough for him? More than enough?
Two days, she agreed weakly.
Two days to neutralize the threat to her life without destroying his career. Two days before she had to return to the work she had chosen, and he went back to the life he loved.
Marcus leaned forward in his chair. And if I wait like you want, you have to do something for me.
Anything, she promised.
He released her hands. Reac
hing behind his back, he slid his gun from its holster and presented it to her, butt first.
She recoiled as if hed just presented her with a snake. Something small and black and deadly. Anything but that.
You need to protect yourself.
You can protect me.
His face was grim. You need to protect yourself from me.
I dont know how to shoot.
The Glock doesnt have an external safety. You pull the trigger, its going to go off.
I wont hit anything.
Women are instinctively better shots than men. If you fire at close range, youll hit me.
I dont want to hit you!
Lets hope you dont have a reason to, then. He took her hand and folded it around the grip of the gun. One other thing
She waited, her hands shaking, her stomach curling with dread.
He held her gaze and said, very steadily, If you shoot, shoot to kill. You wont stop me otherwise.
Fifteen
H is chest hurt.
His head throbbed.
He moved silently along the dark, windswept beach, seeking, seeking. His mission disappeared below the surface of his mind like a weighted explosive. The waves rushed and hissed behind him. His blood pounded in his head. His instincts were screaming.
He was still in his cold, rubber wet suit, but sweat poured down his back and stung his eyes. Something was wrong with his vision. Something was wrong. Even with the goggles, he couldnt see more than a few feet. He couldnt see his squad. He couldnt see his way.
Something was very wrong.
The enemy rose out of the darkness at his feet. He lunged to strike, to kill, but his arms wouldnt move. His body wouldnt obey him.
He was going to die.
Marcus woke with his breathing ragged in his ears.
And his fingers wrapped around Samanthas slim white throat.
He swore and flung her down on the pillows and scrambled to the other side of the mattress. This time, waking was worse than any nightmare. He couldnt stop swearing. He couldnt stop shaking. He couldnt stop praying.
God, oh God, oh Jesus, Sam, are you all right?
She raised herself on her elbows. Her red hair tumbled around her shoulders. Her eyes were huge and dark in her pale face.
She was crying. But she was alive. The silver tracks of her silent tears gleamed in the light from the window.
He wanted to die.
He wanted to grab her, seize her, hold her. He wanted to comfort her and reassure himself that she was still breathing. But he had no right to soothe her. He had no right even to touch her. He was a murdering moron, a nut job.
She threw herself across the bed and into his arms.
He held her tight. He stroked her back with trembling hands, buried his face in her hair and crooned reassurances.
Its all right. Its okay. I wont hurt you, I swear. Its all over.
She clung to him and cried, and he kissed the top of her head and wished a lightning bolt from heaven would come right down and kill him.
For Gods sake, why didnt you shoot me?
Her fingers tightened on his shoulders. I didnt have a chance, she mumbled.
He looked for his gun. It was right there on her bedside table within easy reach of her hand. Shed had the chance, all right. She just hadnt made the choice.
Although what did he expect? She was smart and resourceful, but she was no match for a combat-trained, combat-ready Navy SEAL. And hed known that, damn it, when hed given her his gun. Would have known it if hed been thinking with his brain instead of his glands.
Its okay, he said again, stroking her hair. Everythings going to be all right.
Which was pretty much a lie, but he figured she needed to hear it right now.
He held her a long time, until her trembling eased. Until her weight on his leg cut off the circulation to his foot. Even then, the smell and feel of her in his arms made the blood pool in his groin.
She shifted and sighed. He gritted his teeth. Her face was damp against his neck. Her lush, round bottom nestled against his hip. He told himself he was some kind of sick, perverted bastard, getting turned on when she depended on him for comfort, but that didnt stop his body from reacting. Frustrated adrenaline flooded his muscles. He steamed with heat. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest.
Deliberate? No, it couldnt be. She didnt meanShe couldnt possibly want
She kissed his throat, her mouth warm and seeking, and he realized she could.
Samantha. He inhaled sharply as she rocked against him. We cant do this. His voice was hoarse. It was a total giveaway. He was a total loser. Not now.
She raised her head. Her hair brushed his jaw. Do you want to talk about what happened?
Hell, no. He didnt want to talk almost as much as he did want to bury himself inside her. We need to go. As soon as youre ready.
Go where?
He didnt answer her directly. I called Jimmy this afternoon. He said he could meet us. I just have to tell him when.
Where, Marcus?
Jimmy will help keep you safe until your friend Matt gets back.
But
Marcus knew what she was going to say. It was too late at night. It was too soon in the game. She was still in danger. He was deep-sixing his career.
He knew all that. And none of it mattered against the one, overwhelming fact: He had nearly killed her. With his bare hands, as she slept beside him.
He shuddered. No buts, he said fiercely. No more delays. No talking. Im not risking you again. I wont risk you again.
Which explained why, twenty minutes later, instead of dragging her down on the sheets and giving her the hot, mindless distraction she was looking for, he was loading her bag into the trunk and reconnecting the distributor cap so he could drive her back to the city and her good buddy Matt Tynan.
That proved it. Marcus made sure she was safely tucked inside the carlegs, fingers, seat beltbefore he slammed the passenger side door.
He really was crazy.
After Stan died, Samantha hadnt wanted to feel too deeply, to care too passionately, to risk too much. For the past thirteen months, she had protected her heart by wrapping herself in a soft, impenetrable cocoon of courtesy and work.
She turned her face to the window. Outside the car, the gray Virginia countryside rolled and stretched like a waking cat. Low clouds streaked the horizon ahead, their undersides pregnant with gold. Mere days with Marcus Evans had stripped her protective batting away. Despite her near exhaustion, she was physically alert, emotionally aware.
She felt things now.
She hurt.
She glanced over at Marcuss hands on the steering wheel, his strong, tanned, square-palmed, long-fingered hands. Hands that had stroked, coaxed and caressed her. Hands that had closed on her neck and throttled her.
She swallowed, her throat still raw. It was going to be really hard to enlist M
atts help if she was wearing a string of bruises around her throat like a necklace. Explanations were going to be tough enough already.
Yes, Marcus Evans kidnapped me, but he thought he was acting under orders.
He set traps to kill me, but he rescued me every time.
Hes responding to subliminal commands sent to him on his laptop, but hes not really crazy.
Oh, dear. Matt Tynan, cynical White House advisor, was definitely going to have trouble accepting that one. Samantha had trouble accepting it herself. And yet she believed in her heart that Marcus was sane and honorable.
Now all she had to do was convince Matt.
And Marcus himself.
Yellow lights winked on in distant farmhouses. A few cars passed them on the road, their headlights sharp in the lingering darkness. Gradually the farmers trucks and battered pickups were replaced with early morning commuters in sedans and tourists in RVs and rental cars anxious to get the jump on capital traffic. Samantha watched the citys haze spread on the horizon and wondered what time Matts flight arrived from the West Coast.
Almost there, Marcus said, breaking the silence of miles.
She leaned forward. Where?
They were nowhere near her hotel in Georgetown and miles south of Bethesda. Marcus turned onto Memorial Drive, heading toward the national cemetery.
Arlington?
It was still very early. The traffic guard wasnt on duty. The gates to the public parking lot were closed. But on the side of the road in front of the gates, a light-colored vehicle was parked. As Marcus pulled onto the shoulder behind it, one of the doors swung open and Jimmy Robinson got out, supporting his slight weight on crutches.
One worry eased. Marcus wasnt going to turn over the task of protecting her to a man who could barely stand. Which meant he must be going with her to see Matt. Which meant he wasnt planning to do anything precipitous that could end his career. With a sigh of relief, Samantha climbed stiffly from their car and followed Marcus across the tarmac.
Family Secrets: Books 5-8 Page 19
