by Kylie Brant
His voice curled through her system, so low and silky she thought for a moment it came from memories of that night. “Tell me what you’re thinking, chérie.”
She wasn’t about to give voice to her thoughts, although she had an uncomfortable feeling that he could read them too well. Several moments passed before she finally said, “I don’t see a good ending in all this. At least not for me.”
“Mannen didn’t recognize you the other night. You’re as safe here as I promised you’d be.”
Safe, she thought, was a relative term. There was no safety here from the conflicting emotions Nick caused in her. But she couldn’t hold him responsible for them. No, those she’d have to deal with herself.
“But when this is over, what then? Nothing will have changed. Justice will have more against Mannen, but I’ll still have to testify against him. Then it’s back to what they laughably call protective custody, because regardless of whether Mannen spends pre-trial time free or in jail, his reach is long.” She broke off, emotion working through her. She didn’t speak again until she could be sure her voice would be steady. “Of course, after testifying, there’s always the witness protection program. Also under the Department of Justice.” She gave a humorless smile. “You could say I’ll have come full circle.”
Nick stopped and reached for her hand, bringing her to a halt. “I promised to protect you. There’s no time limit on that.”
His expression was a little frightening, a fierce, ruthless mask. A mental image flashed across her mind of the way he must have looked on missions for the Green Berets. But he couldn’t keep her away from the consequences of this thing when it played out, even if he truly wanted to. And for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a reason for him to try.
Cupping her nape in his hand, he drew her closer and rested his forehead against hers. “I wish you could trust me. Just a little.”
She went into his embrace without protest, gave in to the temptation to lean, just for a moment. Her response was muffled against his chest, but reverberated through them both.
“So do I.”
The house didn’t come equipped with a gym, so Nick had had two of his men haul some mattresses into the center of a large solarium. She worked with him for over an hour on the moves he’d shown her in the Keys, but her heart wasn’t in it. Her thoughts were still chasing one after the other, in a never-ending puzzle to which there was no solution.
“Pay attention.” His voice was sharp. Nick had always taken the training very seriously. “The minute you lose your concentration, you could be dead.”
He looped an arm around her neck from behind, and she didn’t even stop to think. Her foot slammed down on top of his and she drove her elbow back into his ribs. She twisted in his grip, ramming her thumb where his eye would be if he hadn’t suddenly let go of her.
There was a satisfied smile on his face. “I stand corrected. Maybe you do remember a few things I taught you.”
Sara was feeling a bit smug herself. “Now let’s practice that blow you showed me that causes instant diarrhea when it’s landed.”
His teeth gleamed and he backed away, scooping up a couple of towels and tossing her one. “Not on me. And you’ve done enough for one day. You didn’t panic when I came up behind you a moment ago.”
She was swiping the towel over her face, and her movements faltered at the words. Lowering the towel, she stared at him, stricken. It hadn’t even occurred to her. He’d grabbed her and immediately her attention had been focused on getting the best of him, a competitive edge. But the familiar panic hadn’t reared, fueled by old ghosts.
When she didn’t respond, his smile faded. She didn’t doubt that he’d been gentling her to his touch like a horse shaman did to a wild mare. It was one more example of how he’d chipped away at her well-constructed armor. Perhaps she no longer had to fear how she would defend herself from an attacker.
But her growing susceptibility to Nick Doucet was even more terrifying.
While Sara showered, Nick stayed downstairs to call Luc.
“Any messages from Whitmore?”
“Three yesterday. And the tone is getting shorter. I think he’s getting pissed. Probably because he’s wasted a lot of manpower searching for where you stashed Parker.”
Nick’s brows rose. “He has, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s got feelers out all over the Continent. You let him trace you as far as Brussels, didn’t you?”
“It seemed the thing to do at the time.”
“Well, like I said, he isn’t happy and he wants you to call him.”
“I’ll let you do that.” The messages Whitmore had left were delivered to an e-mail account Luc had set up. Efforts to trace the address would be met with as much success as locators on calls made from their offices. LeNoue was an electronics wizard. It was best to let him control the contacts from that end. Nick’s cell phone service didn’t allow for locator traces, but it was difficult to keep up with the government’s technical skills. There was no use taking chances.
He had no doubt that Whitmore had agents watching every movement Mannen made. Which meant he, as Michel Falcol, would come under scrutiny, as well. He wasn’t concerned. The Falcol identity was as impenetrable for Justice as it was for Mannen. Nick hadn’t given Whitmore any details of his plan—it’d be inconvenient for the man to disavow knowledge of activities he’d been briefed on. And Whitmore would no more expect to find Sara in Chicago than Mannen would.
Luc’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “So should I send him your love?”
Strolling toward the window, Nick looked out over the rolling expanse of lawn. “You might remind him that he gave me a job to do. I’ll be the one to decide how it gets done.”
“He’s going to want to know about the girl.”
“She’s twenty-three, hardly a girl.” And older, far older, than her years. “She’s safe. That’s all he needs to know.”
“And Mannen?”
“Things are progressing as planned. I’ll update him in a few more days.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s all you need to share with Whitmore. Between you and me, I think Mannen is planning to flee the country.”
A long whistle was heard on the line. “Got proof of that?”
Nick shook his head, unmindful that his friend couldn’t see the action. “Just some things he’s said. He’s not worried at all about the charges currently pending against him. I know there’s an assistant state attorney pretty anxious to match his voice prints to a tape recording of him hiring an assassin. And Whitmore claimed Justice is close to untangling his offshore accounts and hanging a money laundering charge on him. But I don’t see Mannen sweating any of it at all.”
“Maybe he knows he can afford to buy himself out of the trouble,” Luc suggested.
“Or maybe he’s looking to make a huge profit on this job and find a country without an extradition treaty with the States. He placed an order for eight hundred illegals. He stands to sell each for a cool thirty, forty thousand each. Subtract my fee and expenses and he still stands to clear between twenty to thirty million. Not a bad nest egg for someone looking to disappear and start over.”
“You might be on to something. Want me to do some checking into that?”
Nick remembered Sara’s words earlier that day. I don’t see a good ending in all of this. “Yeah. Let me know whatever you find out.”
As he tucked the phone away, Sara came into the room. Her gaze raked him. “You haven’t cleaned up yet.”
“No.” Her hair was damp, and left to dry in layers around her face. Regardless of the new color, the cut suited her. She’d donned a casual cotton dress that left her limbs bare. Her skin still bore the kiss of the sun from their time in the Keys, and he was blindsided by the desire to stroke his hand along the length of her legs again. He swallowed, fighting the knee-jerk reaction. She looked completely different than she had in New Orleans when they’d first met, but her effect on him was
the same. The woman had started affecting him long before he’d ever met her.
With a mental curse, he turned away. There were priorities to adhere to, and he wasn’t going to be able to do his job if he allowed himself to be led around by his hormones. But the reminder fell flat. It wasn’t just any woman who had come close to managing such a feat, it was this woman. Only Sara. And that realization filled Nick with approximately the same emotion as having a live grenade tossed at his head.
Dammit, it shouldn’t be so hard to do his job without feelings entering into it, had never been this impossible before. He’d been a machine for the last five years, taking one assignment after another, establishing a reputation as a dependable operative. It was a damn inconvenient time to start feeling. And, he thought savagely, he certainly didn’t need to start wanting now, with a deep vicious urge that churned relentlessly.
Despite the thoughts, or perhaps because of them, he took the phone from his pocket. “You know, there may be some good to come out of all this.” Ignoring her expression, he held the phone out to her. “It’s untraceable. If you want to contact your family, you could.”
Her face grew still, then bloodless. Wondering at her reaction, he went to her. “It’s been years, Sara. Don’t you want to talk to your mother?”
He noted the effort it took her to swallow, and the way she was eyeing the phone as if he were offering her a live tarantula.
“You know, not everyone has a family like yours,” she murmured.
Thinking of some of the dysfunctional relatives with whom he shared a bloodline, he gave a wry smile. “I sincerely hope not.”
She backed away when he would have put the phone in her hands, and clasped her fingers behind her back. “I haven’t spoken to my mother for eight years.” Her voice was flat, with no noticeable note of regret. He was getting the idea that this topic had been a grave mistake.
“A lot can change in eight years.”
Her lips twisted in something that didn’t resemble a smile. “Not that much, they can’t.” With visible eagerness to change the subject, she asked, “Do you have plans for today?”
He would have liked to have interpreted her question as a desire to spend time with him, but he was beginning to know her too well. Cocking a brow, he asked, “Bored?”
“To death. I’m not used to having a lot of time on my hands. There’s nothing to do here but watch TV. Can you believe in a house this size there’s not a library?”
Intrigued, he asked, “You like to read?”
Her shrug was embarrassed. “I’m not totally ignorant, although I don’t have a diploma to prove it.”
“You’re not ignorant at all.” His flat statement was no more than fact. She was touchy about not graduating from high school, but he knew of few people with her age and experience who could have pulled off what she had for the last six years. That took creativity, ingenuity and a wisdom far beyond her years.
He considered her request. He had appointments with four different Realtors to look at some properties for purchase. But if Nick was followed today as he made the rounds, it would look odd for him to have taken his lover along on that type of business. The less involved Sara got in this end of things, the better.
He looked at her face and felt an unusual tug in his chest. “I don’t see why you have to stay in all day. You and Kim could go somewhere. A bookstore, maybe.”
He was rewarded for his suggestion with an incredulous smile. “Really?”
The impact hit him square in the chest with the force of a brick. Her smiles were much too infrequent to be taken lightly. Feeling slightly strangled, he cleared his throat. “Sure. Just let me arrange it.”
He watched her leave the room with a spring to her step, and mentally began planning the arrangements. It shouldn’t present much risk. If Kim was with her every second, there would be few opportunities for Sara to slip away.
It was doubtful whether she’d notice the white utility van that would follow them closely. Its ConEd markings would make it blend in with the cityscape, but if she observed it and guessed its true purpose, that wouldn’t matter.
Even if she objected, she’d understand the need behind it.
The Chicago skies opened up late that evening and pummeled the ground with leaden fists. Sara stood before the open window of the bedroom and watched the lightning dance across the heavens. She’d always found a curious sort of solace in observing nature’s tantrums. Perhaps she enjoyed the reminder that there were some things free of man’s manipulation.
When the door opened behind her she turned her head, saw Nick standing there. He moved into the room, closing the door behind him.
“Wicked weather.”
She hadn’t turned on any lights. It wasn’t until he moved closer that she saw he was drenched. He’d raked his hair back with a careless hand, but his clothes were plastered against him.
“I like to watch it.”
He shrugged, peeling off his sodden shirt. “You should close the window a bit. You’ll catch your death, as my grand-mère is fond of saying.”
She heard the scrape of a zipper, and a chill skated over her skin. Anticipation and trepidation drummed a duet in her veins. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to return to the way their relationship had been before it turned sexual. Even more difficult to pretend that she wanted it to.
She had no illusions about how this arrangement would end. But whatever twist of fate had brought Nick Doucet into her life, she was certain that, for better or worse, she would never meet anyone like him again.
That thought was as much relief as torment. She knew somehow that no one else would ever have this kind of effect on her. It was too powerful, too inevitable, too…overwhelming. There was security in the knowledge that she’d never feel this kind of blind need again, even filled as she was with uncertainties. And there was also a stabbing sense of pain.
Sharp little needles of rain slashed through the screen, whipped by the rising wind. She welcomed the sting. Her skin was hot, despite the occasional shiver that worked down her spine. The physical reaction had more to do with arousal than cold. She could hear the sounds of Nick readying for bed. In a few moments his arms would be around her again, and this time she would turn to him, invite his touch. There was a funny little zap of sexual hunger at the thought. There were still unanswered questions in this mess, plenty of them, but there was no question of her wanting him. Of taking what she could get for the short time allowed her.
She slipped into bed, and moments later felt the mattress dip beneath his weight. His approach had been silent.
“Mannen is having a large gathering at his house tomorrow night. He’s expecting us there.” His hand stroked down her leg, kneaded the muscles lightly, as if he could chase away the tension that had suddenly pierced her.
“What’s the occasion?”
“He’s a patron of the local opera house. It sounds like some benefactor thing that gets his name in the social pages. Who knows? Maybe it gives him an opportunity to thumb his nose at his detractors. That would be his style.”
So tomorrow she’d have to meet the man again. Sara took a deep breath, released it. At least it would be in another large group. And this time wouldn’t be such a shock to the system. She’d be prepared, at least mentally. Emotionally was another matter.
“Okay.”
He brushed a light kiss over her shoulder. “It will be easier this time, chérie.”
She turned toward him and his arms wrapped around her, bringing her close. A kiss was whispered across her lips. He lifted his mouth from hers a fraction and murmured, “Will you make love with me tonight, mon ange?”
In answer, she arched against him, near enough that he would feel her heart pounding, would read the response in her body. His mouth pressed hers open, and his tongue made a bold, sensual sweep inside. She felt the waves of need begin, cresting higher with each taste, as the kiss changed from soft to deep. Wet. Hard. When he lifted his mouth from hers, his v
oice was satisfyingly ragged.
“You must have let the rain in.” He stroked a moist area with his finger. “Your nightgown is damp.” Rolling from the bed, he strode to the window, and before she could summon a protest, pulled the sash down almost completely.
She swallowed, every vestige of her building desire dashed in an instant. He was back in bed in just a few moments, his hands drawing the nightgown over her head. But she couldn’t stop staring in the direction of the window.
It was almost closed.
Not quite. Logic came to the rescue, shaky but reasonable. It was open a little. It would take nothing at all to widen the expanse. Nick drew her back into his arms, but she couldn’t seem to relax again. Which was ridiculous, really. The window wasn’t completely shut.
Sneaky little fingers of panic were creeping up her spine. She was determined to ignore them. Closing her eyes, she slid a hand into Nick’s hair, pulled his mouth to hers and tried to lose herself in his kiss. The rain would stop. It couldn’t go on for much longer. And then there would be no reason not to have the window open. Scraping her teeth over his bottom lip, she couldn’t appreciate the sound of approval he made because the panic was sprinting up her spine now. Later, she promised herself, as Nick stroked her back. Maybe even soon. A few minutes, perhaps.
“You’re tense,” he murmured, his hand kneading the cluster of nerves at her lower back. “Chérie, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” The word sounded thready, lacking the conviction she was striving to summon. This was stupid. She wasn’t this weak. She refused to be. His mouth sampled hers, a sensual invitation. She turned her face away, her breath coming in gasps. And she knew that in another moment she was going to embarrass herself by flying into a dozen pieces.
She pulled away from him, strode to the window and threw the sash up, as high as it would go. She was ashamed by the deep gulps of air she had to take to ease her strangled lungs. And humiliated, with a bone-deep mortification, when Nick sat on the edge of the bed, watching her silently.
“I’m sorry,” she said when she was able. Her hands still clutched the windowsill in a death grip. It would be a while before she’d be able to let go. “I…it’s hot in here.”
