by Cindy Dees
As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she was able to make out the face of the driver and recoiled sharply. “Oww!” She couldn’t help but cry out.
Gray’s arms went around her immediately. He lifted her off her feet and carried her quickly to the sofa. Despite her protests, he turned on a lamp, lifted her shirt and checked her bandage.
“You didn’t tear your stitches,” he announced in relief.
“I know who’s watching us.”
“Who?”
“My ex,” she answered sourly.
“The psycho?”
“Yes. Ricki the Rocket. He earned that nickname by having a volatile temper, by the way. It goes off like a rocket.”
Gray sagged in relief. “I thought it was someone out to kill us.”
“Ricki probably plans to kill me at a minimum. I don’t know if he’ll go after you or not.”
Gray’s eyes went hard and cold. “I welcome him to try.”
“Don’t underestimate him. He spent a year doing hard time and probably learned some nasty tricks in jail. It would be his style to use the time in the slammer to become even more dangerous and violent.”
“Don’t underestimate me, either, Sam. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you.” An unspoken promise of death to the ex hung in the air between them.
She smiled weakly. “Okay, then.”
Gray looked surprised. “You’re not going to fight me on this? You’re actually agreeing to accept protection?” He added dryly, “Will wonders never cease?”
“I’m hurt, buster. As soon as my stupid side’s healed, all bets are off.”
Gray grinned. “There’s my girl.”
She scowled back at him. “What are we going to do about Ricki?”
“Perhaps a small conversation with the fellow might be in order.”
She clutched his arm in concern. “Promise me you won’t provoke him. He’s really nuts when he gets mad.”
“All right. If you insist. But it might be easiest if I just march down there, pull him out of his truck and teach him a lesson in manners.”
“Please, Gray...”
“Fine. I won’t pick a fight with the guy tonight. He gets until tomorrow morning to leave and never come back.”
She subsided, relieved. Her tummy was doing the strangest little flips, all fluttery and girlie-feeling. What was that about? Was she seriously getting all worked up because some big strong man was looking out for her? Except it wasn’t just any man. It was Gray. She didn’t care what he said. He was definitely knight-in-shining-armor material. She gave him a lopsided smile.
He met her gaze for just a single, naked second of understanding, and then he predictably made a beeline for the kitchen. She listened to him banging around and knew it for the stress it was. She smiled indulgently. At least he hadn’t openly denied that he was a good guy this time. Maybe there was hope for him yet.
When midnight rolled around and Gray announced that he was turning in, she decided to move to her bedroom for a change of scenery, too. She put up cheerfully with Gray fluffing pillows and tucking in blankets and generally making her feel about five years old. He really was being sweet to her. The guy was a natural family man. How he’d denied this side of himself for so long was hard to fathom. Maybe he’d just lost this part of himself for a little while. She was happy to help him rediscover it.
More optimistic than she’d been since he’d kicked her out of his bed, she snuggled down to sleep.
Chapter 14
More terrified than he’d been in a long time, Gray lay in bed staring up at the ceiling in the dark. It would be so easy to fall into the comfortable relationship Sam represented. His bed—and his arms—felt empty tonight, and it was a fight not to get up, go fetch her and carry her back here. But he’d pretty much blown up that particular bridge when he’d thrown her out of his bed and his heart two nights ago.
Or at least he’d tried to throw her out of his heart. The way he was feeling right now, he clearly hadn’t succeeded. But it wouldn’t be fair to her to even suggest engaging in a relationship. He wasn’t remotely close to whole emotionally, and Sam ought to have someone who could give her everything she needed and deserved.
A faint scrape from what sounded like the kitchen drew his attention, and irritation flared that Sam was traipsing around getting things for herself instead of asking him to do it. He climbed out of bed and headed down the hall to tell her so.
She’d left all the lights off—must be nice to be able to see in the dark—but his eyes were also adjusted to the darkness. He drew breath to scold her and prepared to round the corner into the kitchen...and froze.
He backed quickly into the shadows of the hallway, his entire being screaming a warning at him. Intruder!
Ricki the Rocket thought he was going to scare Sam, huh? Gray’s eyes narrowed in satisfaction that the jerk had handed him this golden opportunity to kick some psycho, ex-boyfriend ass.
Gray spun into the kitchen low and fast. He drove his shoulder hard into the guy’s back and slammed Ricki to the floor. The guy grunted in surprise and something thick and black skittered away from his grasp. Gray recognized the shape in shock. Ricki’d been carrying a gun?
But then Ricki twisted fast and hard in his grasp and kneed him viciously. Pain exploded in his crotch as the guy ripped away and rolled to his feet. Gray forced his body to move, to ignore the breath-stealing agony, and rolled to the other side of the kitchen table, springing to his feet as well.
A blond, mature man with a square jaw and military crew cut stared grimly across the table at him. Not Ricki.
The knowledge exploded across his brain, so unexpected it almost didn’t compute. Who in the hell was this guy? The intruder’s gaze dropped down and to his left for just an instant. But it was enough. Gray lunged, not to race the guy for the gun lying by the stove, but to slam his foot up and into the guy’s face as he bent down to scoop up the weapon. The blow connected solidly, and the intruder staggered back, holding his face. Definitely a busted nose.
Gray jumped forward to grab the man. He had a few questions for this character. But the guy was fast and leaped away, racing down the hallway toward the bedrooms...and Sam. Spurred by sheer, raging terror, Gray sprinted after the guy.
The intruder raced past Sam’s bedroom door, careened into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Gray rattled the lock and slammed his shoulder against the panel. The door was old and made of solid wood. He heard the bathroom window squeak open. The intruder was getting away!
Swearing, Gray turned to head outside.
Sam’s bedroom door swung open. “What’s going on—”
“Lock yourself in your room,” he bit out as he ran past her. He yanked open the front door and tore outside. But he was too late. A dark-colored car peeled away from the curb, its taillights retreating fast. Too fast for him to catch a car model or license number.
Sam spoke up from directly behind him. “Y-Q-R-3-5-4.”
“What’s that?”
“License plate.”
God, he loved her eyesight. “I thought I told you to stay in your room and lock yourself in.”
“You looked like you might need help.”
“I had it handled,” he bit out.
“And what was ‘it,’ exactly?” she asked as he retreated inside the house, herding her before him.
“Make that a ‘who.’ We had an intruder. I thought it was Ricki, but it wasn’t. The guy looked more Proctor’s style.”
“Would you recognize him again if you saw him?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Can you describe him to me? I might be able to make a sketch of him. I’m assuming you don’t plan to go to the police over this?”
“Not until I figure out if our intruder is connected to Proctor and his gang.”
“How can a break-in to our house not be connected?”
“Exactly. Let’s see if we can come up with a sketch, and I’ll show it to a few people. Ma
ybe we’ll get lucky and get a hit.”
If nothing else, keeping the house lights on and staying awake awhile would ensure that the bastard didn’t try to come back and finish whatever it was he’d started.
Gray found the legal pad Sam had been drawing on yesterday morning and scared up a couple of pencils. He carried them to the living room and sat down on the sofa beside her. She roughed out a human face, and then made changes as he described the guy. He leaned closer to point out what he meant about the man’s nose shape, and she nodded, concentrating intently.
Her hair smelled good. She used some sort of fruity organic shampoo, but it was tangy and a little sassy, like her. Her elbow bumped into his side and he started to move away.
“Come back here,” she murmured absently.
Startled, he scooted close so their thighs pressed against one another. He draped his left arm across the back of the sofa cushion so he could lean in closer and point out little tweaks to the unfolding sketch. She was a talented artist. Another benefit of her enhanced sight, he supposed, was that she had such an eye for fine detail.
Finally, he nodded down at her. “Perfect. That’s the guy.” Sam’s drawing was so detailed it looked more like a photograph than a pencil sketch.
She tore the sheet off the pad and handed it to him. “Maybe your NSA database will be able to make a match off that.”
It still felt weird to have her calmly mention his association with the NSA. It had been such a big secret for so long that he had no idea how to react to hearing it referred to by anyone else. But that was the story of his life these days. He kept secrets, and Sam casually ripped away every one he tried to hide behind.
He glanced down at her. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay. Why?”
Usually, she replied with some perky adjective like “superlicious” or “fantabulous.” Translation: “okay” meant she was doing rotten, in a lot of pain and not about to admit it. “I’ll go get you a pain pill.”
He brought her both pill and water to down it with. When she’d emptied her glass, he took it from her and made to stand up.
Her hand parked on his knee, effectively freezing him in place. “Don’t go.”
His hand itched to creep forward off the sofa cushion and rest on her shoulder. “What’s up?”
“Who do you think that guy is?” She glanced at the sketch lying on the tray table beside her.
“No idea.”
“What’s your gut telling you?”
Gray frowned. “That he was too good a fighter and too fast a thinker on his feet to be some flunky of your ex’s. He’s one of Wendall Proctor’s elite guys. Ex-military if I had to guess.”
She nodded soberly. “It always comes back to Echelon, doesn’t it? Is it possible Wendall’s not the only guy out to destroy Echelon?”
“How do you know Wendall’s out to destroy the program?”
“It’s the only goal that makes sense.”
But as she spoke the words aloud, something in Gray’s gut rebelled, denying the truth of her assumption. He spoke slowly. “What if destroying Echelon isn’t what Wendall’s after?”
She frowned up at him, her golden eyes almost bronze with worry. “What does he want, then?”
“Did you see anything that could help us figure that out while you were up in that tree chucking pine cones at me?”
She grinned unrepentantly. Wench. “I took a bunch of notes about that while you were out earlier.” She filled him in briefly on the computers, small, homemade radio transmitters, and evidence that Proctor was digging a tunnel.
Dread settled in Gray’s gut. Whatever she’d seen, he was sure it all had to do with the heart of Proctor’s true operation.
Sam continued thoughtfully. “The thing I don’t understand is why he hasn’t already cut the cables. He’s been in the area for years, and that barn has rust around all the rivets. It has been there for at least a couple of years. Wouldn’t they have been able to tunnel their way down—or across or whatever—to the cables long before now?”
He stared at Sam. “What are you saying?”
“I’m wondering what else they could do with those cables. Assuming they could even actually intercept a signal, the NSA must encrypt the living daylights out of any signals intelligence it wants to move from Antenna A to Computer Array B.”
He nodded numbly, not liking her logic, but reluctantly acknowledging its accuracy.
“So why do they need access to those cables?” she continued. “What’s so important about them?”
What, indeed? One thing he knew for sure. Whatever Proctor was up to, it couldn’t be good. And the guy was willing to use whatever means necessary to hide it. A shooting, a car bomb and now an armed intruder who fought like a trained soldier...or a spy, like him.
“Did you see anything else? Anything at all?” Gray asked urgently. “No matter how trivial or unimportant it seems.”
She closed her eyes, obviously picturing remembered sights. She murmured, “I doubt it’s important, but the day we went to visit Wendall, I saw what he was reading when we got there.”
Gray remembered the pointed way Proctor had ignored them and cruised through that stapled sheaf of papers.
“It was a study by a wildlife biologist about using radios to track the migration patterns and feeding habits of wolverines in Alaska.”
“Now why would something like that interest Proctor?” Gray speculated. “There aren’t any wolverines in this part of the country.”
“No, but Wendall’s guys are building those little radios. Could they be for use on animals?” Another piece of information obviously clicked into place in Sam’s brain as her face lit up and she snapped her fingers. “Molly told me the folks in the compound rehabilitate injured wild animals. I don’t recall what all she told me they had, but they apparently heal up deer, foxes and even little critters like squirrels and return them to the wild.”
He stared at her in surprise. “Wendall Proctor rescues bunnies?”
“I know!” she exclaimed. “I couldn’t believe it, either.”
No way could Gray reconcile the cold, calculating man he’d met with anyone who’d rescue wild animals.
Sam shivered beside him, the ripple of movement traveling through her thigh and straight to his heart. He did wrap his left arm around her shoulders then. “Cold?” he murmured.
She leaned into him before she remembered and jerked away from him, stiffening.
“I’m not going to bite you.”
“Too bad—” she started cheerfully. Her gaze snapped up to his in dismay and then slid away guiltily. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”
Remorse speared through him. It was his fault she was this jumpy and awkward with him. “Sam, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me. I was an ass the other night, and I’m sorry.”
“For which part?”
He frowned. “The part where I kicked you out. Is there something else I should apologize for?”
She went even more stiff. “Gee, I don’t know. You tell me.”
Emily had never stood up to him like this, and he frankly had no idea how to handle a prickly female. He went for the blanket, I’m-a-big-fat-jerk apology. “Whatever I did or said to hurt you, I’m sorry.”
She shifted to face him and he caught the momentary wince that crossed her face. “You are in pain,” he accused. “I’m carrying you back to bed right now.”
He stood up, but she did the same. They were abruptly chest to chest with one another. The passion and fury of two nights ago slammed into him like a freight train. He craved the physical and emotional release he found in her arms so much it nearly drove him to his knees.
“Sam, I—”
She put her hand over his mouth. “Unless you plan to kiss me again very soon, please don’t say anything. Let it be.”
He didn’t want to just kiss her. He wanted to inhale her. To pull her inside his soul and absorb every bit of the laughter and attitude and joy she had
to give. It was insane to even contemplate. But his head was tilting down.
He’d already made the break with her, already shattered her hopes and maybe her heart by declaring in the strongest possible terms that he didn’t want a relationship with her. He’d be a cad to offer her renewed hope that there could be anything between them. But his arms were tightening around her.
He shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t want her. But without question, he did. Her fingers slipped away from his mouth and their lips touched. She moaned softly in what sounded like distress.
“Did I hurt you?” he muttered, startled.
“Not in the way you think. Please. Kiss me again, and don’t ever stop.”
He simply didn’t have it in him to say no. Not to her, not to himself. Not to his loneliness, nor his empty soul. He could call himself every name in the book—weak, selfish, cowardly—but it all paled in the face of her effect on him. She ripped away everything from his past and left him reborn into a new life. A new soul. How could any sane person say no to that?
He kissed her gently at first, but she leaned into him impatiently, grabbing his shirtfront to drag him closer, to demand more. And, God save him, he gave her everything he had to give. Not that it was enough. It would never be enough. But he couldn’t hold back anymore.
Carefully, he scooped her up in his arms, never breaking the contact of their mouths. She tasted like the fresh pineapple he’d cut up for her earlier and mint toothpaste. He strode down the hall, checking his steps momentarily in front of her room, but then continuing on to his bedroom. Kicking open the door with a foot, he carried her over to his bed where she belonged. He eased her down to the mattress, but as he laid her down, Sam wrapped her arms around his neck and made it clear she had no plans to let go. He stretched out on the bed beside her, cautious of her wound.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he mumbled.
“Then you’ll have to distract me,” she retorted. She rolled fully on top of him and he smiled up at her boldness. He’d never been with a woman like her, and he definitely liked it. He loved her confidence and her willingness to express her desire.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked her.
