by Diana Duncan
The car zoomed onto the freeway entrance, and Zane stomped the gas. Horn blaring, hazard lights flashing, the Bentley tore up the asphalt, traffic in front of them parting in uneven waves.
Mia jerked upright, wiping her eyes. Apparently, when tears got dammed up too long, they flooded the gates. And while she’d never admit it, she did feel less like her heart was going to explode in her chest.
“Better?” Dallas asked.
“Compared to what?”
He chuckled. “There’s my girl. And by the way, sugar, playing the baby card with Esteban to convince him to turn us loose was pure genius.”
By the time the car hurtled down the airport exit five minutes later, she’d determinedly pulled herself back together.
The SWAT Team and a squadron of local police officers had assembled outside a makeshift command post in the building across from hangar sixteen.
Zane climbed out of the Bentley, yanked Paul from the backseat.
Mia exited the car just ahead of Dallas. She’d forgotten Paul was even there. For once in Grayson’s miserable existence, he’d played it smart and kept his mouth shut. So what if he’d seen her meltdown? He wasn’t going to be telling anyone except his new federal penitentiary butt-buddy.
Zane handed him over to a uniformed officer, and Dallas turned to Mia. “Are you up to staying and giving a statement? And make sure the locals dot all their i’s and cross their t’s. We don’t want any of the perps skating on a technicality. With you keeping an eye on things, nobody will get away with anything.”
She raised her chin. “You bet.”
“Mia, you did good. Damned good.” Dallas’ hand cupped her face, pain and regret and sorrow darkening his eyes. “It’s all over now, darlin’.”
His hard, desperate kiss felt heartbreakingly like goodbye. Then his tortured gaze lingered on her face for a heartbeat. “Everything is over. I have to go.”
He pivoted and strode away.
Chapter 18
Esteban’s plane never made it off the ground.
Three hours later while the SWAT negotiator was talking to Montoya, the rest of the team pumped tear gas into his plane’s ventilation system. Harper, Soledad, and Esteban stumbled out coughing, crying, and puking.
Dallas, Zane, and the team leader ordered the disheveled trio to their knees on the tarmac at gunpoint, cuffed them, then perp-walked them into the far end of the command post. In this case, the father was going to end up paying for the sins of the child.
And ironically, airheaded Isabel—who’d been rescued and was now recovering in the hospital—would end up inheriting what was left of Esteban’s empire when the Feds finished confiscating all illegal assets.
Mia, sitting at a card table with a cup of coffee gone long cold, lost sight of Dallas and Zane in the swarming cops, firefighters, and emergency responders.
She rested her weary, throbbing head on her pillowed arms. Over. Everything is all over.
Her chest constricted. Had Dallas been talking about just the case … or did his final words to her have deeper significance?
The talking and bustling around her faded to white noise. Had he regained consciousness in time to hear her declare she loved him? Had it spooked him? She’d seen the tender regard in his eyes, felt it in his touch, when they’d made love … but would finally taking down Esteban vanquish his demons and allow him to open up?
Dallas cared enough about her to risk his life to save hers in the fire. He’d also been willing to gamble his life to ransom Soledad. Because that’s how her cowboy rolled. Hell-bent on saving the world.
Mia’s empty stomach clenched. Was she only another rescue mission in his line-up … and now he was done with her?
She might have dozed off—she certainly wasn’t altogether there when Zane’s voice jerked her upright.
“Mia?”
She stared up at the enigmatic FBI agent. He was alone.
“Where’s Paul?” he asked.
“On his way to jail to become Big Bubba’s boy toy.”
He smirked. “Slick will be the most popular new prom date in the pen.”
“I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more. Him finding out that Daddy Senior, Esteban, and Soledad were about to jet to paradise without him crushed his ego. When faced with an array of charges from drug dealing to murder, the sniveling ratbag couldn’t sell out his pals fast enough.”
“Color me not surprised.”
“He said they also have a chemist on their payroll. They smuggled the cocaine into the States by adding it to the mixture when they manufactured Angelico’s gift boxes in Costa Rica. The drug was actually integrated into the makeup of some of the cardboard boxes, which made it odorless and undetectable to customs’ dogs. Then those boxes that arrived here stamped with a certain configuration of angels were separated out at Esteban’s recycling plant and trucked to secret locations where the cocaine was distilled out and cut for market.”
“Damned clever.” Zane shook his head. “Esteban really didn’t know?”
“No, Paul bragged about how they had him totally hoodwinked. But after Esteban was recently alerted to a confiscated cocaine shipment from one of his factories, then discovered the criminal activity going on in his organization that looked like it was his doing, he was loath to bring in the police and risk having his business confiscated under the RICO statute. So he asked his trusted attorneys for help, and hired Dallas to protect him and his family.”
“McQuade lent an assist to get himself hired.”
“I know.” She bit her lip. “Is Dallas … where is he?”
Zane’s stoically contained expression made Mia’s nerves jitter. He looked like man about to deliver unwelcome news.
“Yeah, well … I’ve only been on this case a few months. Dallas has been deep under a long time—five years. There’s protocol. He’s being flown to D.C. to be thoroughly debriefed and put through psych and physical testing. Not sure how long it’ll take, couple weeks maybe. He’s got a lot to tell them. McQuade’s in isolation, not allowed any outside civilian contact. He asked me to get you safely home and make sure you have everything you need.”
She swallowed. There was only one thing she needed, and Zane Wolfe couldn’t get it for her. “Okay.”
As she rose on wobbly legs, Zane took her arm. “Mia, you understand that neither of us could say anything to anyone? That’s the way these ops work. We can’t risk doing anything to burn our cover, especially not with so many lives at stake. Don’t be pissed-off at McQuade for not telling you.”
“I’m not.” But Dallas had gone so far as to marry her in order to maintain his cover. And he was keeping other secrets from her. Secrets that had nothing to do with his job.
She asked Zane to take her to her apartment. Dallas’ house was no longer her home, and she couldn’t assume he’d welcome her presence there when he returned.
It wasn’t what she wanted at all. But what she had to do.
This was the one thing she couldn’t force or push. She trusted Dallas with her body, her heart and her soul…but only he could make the decision to trust her in return.
Inside her dark, cold apartment, she staggered to the bathroom and showered off the mud, the blood, and the tears. Then she dragged her tattered stuffed Bugs Bunny from under the covers and curled up in bed. With Bugs hugged to her chest, she braced herself to do the hardest thing she’d ever done.
Wait for her husband to come back to her.
Or not.
With her heart bruised and aching worse than her battered body, Mia let Dallas go.
* * *
For the tenth … and last … time in ten years, Dallas gently laid a bouquet of sunflowers at the base of the gleaming white marble headstone topped by a fanciful winged unicorn.
I got them baby sister, just like I promised. And put them away forever, where they’ll never hurt another innocent.
He raised his chin to the sunrise cresting the wide Texas horizon. Locking his wrists at the smal
l of his back, bracing his legs, he prepared to stand a silent twenty-four hour vigil for Tyler-Anne.
Only when the hours had passed and the sun was again about to rise to mark the beginning of his last hour, did Dallas allow himself to think of Mia.
Eighteen days.
Eighteen endless days and nights.
He’d been released from briefing three days ago, but he hadn’t called her. What he had to say couldn’t be said over the phone.
Emotions he’d only now allowed himself to acknowledge tangled inside him like a nest of writhing snakes, nearly strangling him. Relief Mia was okay. White-hot fury at coming so close to nearly losing her. Guilt at deceiving her.
The worst though, was doubt. The doubt that if she knew the entire truth, she might not want him any longer.
The last time he’d seen his wife, her clothes had been torn and filthy, her hair askew, and she’d been covered in mud. Rumpled, exhausted, and unbelievably beautiful. His Mia was one hell of a woman. One of a kind. When all was said and done, would she still be his?
His stomach twisted. Because it wasn’t really all over … not unless he had the guts to throw the final Hail Mary pass.
For the first time since Tyler-Anne died, he cracked open his soul and honestly peered inside. What he saw rocked him to the core.
He was desperately afraid of losing Mia, just as he had Tyler-Anne. He was afraid of the all-consuming agony, the sick, swamping guilt, the icy shroud that encased him in a prison of pain.
And the fact was, he was terrified that when Mia discovered the truth, she’d hate him. He couldn’t bear to see the condemnation in her eyes, to watch her turn away from him in disgust. Despise him.
He nearly choked on the revelation.
How could he look Mia in the face—a woman so courageous she forged ahead no matter the odds, a woman who never let fear hold her back—and admit his selfishness, confess the failure that had shadowed his world a dull gray for ten years?
If he didn’t explain, he’d lose her for sure.
If he did, he could lose her anyway.
He clenched his jaw. After his debriefing and testing, he’d been commended and offered a promotion and a dangerous, intriguing new case half a world away. Two very different futures. Two very different possible outcomes.
My choice.
The sun flared bold and bright, burning into his eyes—releasing him from his obligation to Tyler-Anne. Stretching stiff limbs, rolling tight shoulders, he tugged his cell from his pocket and dialed the D.C. office.
Then he climbed into his car and drove toward the airport, where a ticket awaited him. He’d finally achieved what he’d craved, what he’d fought for with everything he had for a decade.
Why did he feel so desolate?
Chapter 19
During those eighteen days, Mia went through the motions of rebuilding her life. She applied to reinstate her attorney’s license and the process was moving in her favor, expedited by the DA’s gratitude for her part in decimating the Montoya organization.
Val had returned from Boston and Mia confessed all to her best friend, including her difficult childhood, and everything that had happened with Dallas … and received unconditional, loving support. Mia also reluctantly accepted a loan from Val and Jared to tide her over until she could find another temp job while her license paperwork cleared.
Mia went to Dallas’ house with a key and passcode relayed through Zane, and cleaned out her things. If they ended up living together, it’d be by mutual agreement and not because he’d felt obligated to move her in during the Montoya case. Although Dallas had bought the clothes, they were his gift to her, and she intended to keep them.
And yeah, she’d sobbed buckets during the entire process—again. Damn Cowboy had turned her into a crybaby. Once he’d unlocked her emotions, they refused to be stuffed back into the box.
Zane took her out for a wonderful Italian dinner to apologize for the angst he’d put her through, and she’d thoroughly enjoyed spending time with the intelligent, perceptive, dryly witty FBI Agent. She was looking forward to getting to know him better. And although he didn’t offer any truly personal information, now that he’d dropped the surly mask of his Montoya cover Mia saw a deep undercurrent of carefully hidden pain inside the alpha warrior.
She suspected she and Zane shared more in common than they’d ever realized.
She’d taken one day at a time, and staunchly refused to believe Dallas had permanently left her—until three days ago, when her bank had notified her of a mind-bogglingly large deposit into her account. She had no doubt who’d sent it, which meant Dallas was free and clear of the federal debriefing. But he didn’t call.
And despair began to creep in. Had her husband bestowed her with a pre-divorce settlement?
Oh, she’d survive, she always did. But her aching heart would belong to Dallas forever.
Tonight, Val had strong-armed her into a girl’s night, with ice cream sundaes for dinner and popcorn for dessert while watching DVDs of favorite action flicks. It was past midnight and her BFF had just left. Fighting the cold, echoing emptiness around her, inside her, Mia changed into her Roadrunner nightshirt. Then she fetched a damp cloth to wipe ice cream dribbles off the coffee table. “What’s this?” She bent and scooped a DVD case from beneath the sofa’s edge. “Transporter 3.”
When her doorbell buzzed, Mia hurried over with it in her hand and flung open her door, singing out, “Oh, you came back for Jason Statham, huh?”
At the sight of Dallas standing there, Mia’s heart lurched, and the DVD slipped from numb fingers.
“He’s not my type,” Dallas’ husky voice rumbled. “I came back for you.”
He looked exhausted. His Levis and black button-down shirt were wrinkled, his hair tousled. Stubble that had seen five o’clock several days ago dusted his strong jaw, and purple shadows smudged weary, haunted cobalt eyes.
She’d never seen anything more wonderful.
He shifted. “Look, I don’t blame you if you’re furious as hell, but if you’ll—”
“Dallas!” She leapt onto his arms, wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. Hugging him, she rained kisses all over his face.
The taut wariness eased from his big body, and he smiled. “Well, hello to you, too.”
“I’m not mad. I know you had to finish the job. And I understand about agency confidentiality.” She captured his face, kissed that beautiful mouth. “However, if you’d made me wait much longer, I might’ve been forced on general principle to kick your gorgeous ass around the block.”
“I’m sorry about that.” His smile turned rueful and he carried her inside, kicking the door shut behind them. “I’ve missed you with every heartbeat, sweetheart. Every single breath.”
“Oh.” The chill inside her melted as every doubt fled. “I’ve missed you, too.”
“I had to debrief for fifteen days. Then … I … I’ve been with Tyler-Anne. I just walked off the plane and drove directly home. When Zane said you wanted a key, I figured you were living there. But … you were gone.”
“I couldn’t assume—”
He shuddered. “I tell you, walking into that empty house gave me a bad few moments. Then I figured you’d returned here.”
Which explained why he looked like he’d been put through the wringer. But even tired and hurting, he’d come straight to her.
“Every year on my sister’s birthday, I stand a twenty-four hour vigil.” Dallas drew a ragged breath. “Seems the least I can do, seeing as how I sent her to her death.”
Mia swallowed, disengaged her arms from around his neck as Dallas eased her down onto the sofa. “You want to tell me why you believe that, cowboy?”
“No.” He sat beside her, propped his elbows on his knees and scrubbed unsteady hands over his face. “But I have to.”
“I’m listening. I’m here for you, Dallas.”
Fear and hope tangled inside Dallas, tying a hard knot in his gut. Dammit, this w
as more nerve-jangling than his first firefight.
He took a slow breath and marshaled his courage. “I graduated high school early in an accelerated program, then started college on football scholarships. At the beginning of my senior year of college, Torie and Christy started as freshmen at the same college. Mama began dating again. And Tyler-Anne, who was fourteen, starting running with a wild crowd. She stayed out at all hours, shirked her responsibilities and lashed out at Mama’s every word.”
“Fourteen is a tough age.”
As the memories bombarded him, he jumped up and began to pace. “Mama tried talking to her, but Tyler-Anne either ignored her, or flat-out defied her. Mama asked me to talk to her, because she’d always listened to me, and I promised I would.” His hands fisted. “I’d started training for my senior football season. We’d had scouts from professional teams watching our practices, and the rumor going around was that at least two teams wanted to offer me a contract. Back then, playing pro ball was my lifelong dream. I’d worked long and hard, and I doubled my efforts, hoping to impress the scouts.”
Shame washed over him and he lowered his voice. “But I was too busy to talk to my sister. I fully intended to, but never quite got around to it. I wasn’t unduly worried about her, the other girls went through some rocky times during their teens, too. I figured she’d eventually grow out of the phase, like they did.”
“A natural assumption,” Mia said.
His stomach clenched. “Well, it was one hell of a wrong assumption. A few weeks later, I got a phone call pulling me off the practice field. Tyler-Anne had gotten high … and thinking she could fly, jumped off the grandstand at the county fairgrounds.”
Mia made a soft, horrified sound in her throat. “Oh no.”
“She was still alive, but messed up bad. Both body and mind. After she healed from the worst of her injuries, the hospital recommended a private clinic in Miami for continuing physical therapy and drug rehab. They’d had remarkable success with troubled adolescents. You think I would have known better by then, but—” Continuing to pace, he watched his boots crushing the carpet with every step.
