“You’re good, MacGregor. That what you wanted to hear?”
She turned back. “But you don’t like it.”
His face hardened. “No. I don’t. But I’m not paying the bills.” He rounded the car.
She didn’t care what he thought. Wouldn’t let herself.
The drive back seemed to take hours.
* * *
Shirtless and barefoot, Cullinane watched her sleeping. Unable to sleep himself, he cursed her ability to drop off so easily—but then, she’d had a very strenuous day.
He couldn’t send her away now. She’d proven herself, even he had to admit it. Hafner was jubilant, the other men accepting. Only Cullinane balked, with no other reason than his instincts to guide him.
But those instincts had kept him alive for a long time. He turned away from the monitor in disgust, wishing he could get a handle on what it was that bothered him so much about her.
Get real, Drake, he chided, one hand swiping his hair. She bothers you on every level. He wheeled around to glare at the screen.
Jillian stirred, and the sheet slipped down, drawing his gaze down with it to the nipple about to be revealed. He swore darkly, jabbing at the switch for that monitor, dissolving the image into darkness.
You can watch for the sake of security, Drake, but not because she sleeps naked.
But how did he wipe the image from his mind, prevent himself from dreaming it? With a muffled curse, he moved to his room, popped the buttons on his jeans and stripped, then climbed into his own bed.
And tried not to wish he were climbing into Jillian’s. The feel of the sheets against his skin maddened him, too reminiscent of how little separated them...only a little distance down the hall, only the bare covering of two sheets on their bodies...
Only a lifetime worth of hunting a killer.
Growling, Cullinane punched his pillow and flipped on his side, closing his eyes....
And prayed for merciful oblivion.
* * *
The sun bright in the sky the next morning, Cullinane rapped impatiently at Hafner’s door.
“Who is it, at this godforsaken hour?”
“It’s ten o’clock, Klaus. Open up. We’ve got problems.”
Too many moments passed. Cullinane was reaching for the knob when the door swung open onto Hafner’s private lair. Cullinane barely registered the dark room, the sinister black and gold scheme. He thrust a sheaf of papers into Hafner’s face.
Hafner blinked sleepily and frowned, running fingers through his short gray hair. “What’s got you so riled up at this hour?”
“She’s a liar. Jillian MacGregor doesn’t exist.” Pacing, he tried to still the thoughts swirling around in his head. He’d known something wasn’t right. Now he’d proven it.
“So?”
Cullinane whirled in amazement. “So? You can ask me that, with this evidence? Have you lost your goddamn mind, Klaus? She’s not who she says she is—she could be anyone, ATF, FBI, an assassin sent by some of your less well-meaning admirers...she’s got to go.”
“No.”
Cullinane swore. It wasn’t likely she was any sort of government agent, but she could be working for someone who hated Hafner—God knows plenty of people did. If it weren’t so serious, he’d laugh. If he didn’t believe in the soundness of his cover, he’d almost think Hafner wanted to keep her just to confound him.
Frank’s question returned to his mind, but did he dare question in that direction? Had Hafner brought her in to watch him?
Nonsense. She wasn’t that good an actress. And he could almost swear he’d seen her respond to Hafner with revulsion. Wouldn’t it make more sense for her to seduce him if the goal was for her to watch Hafner closely, to exert some control over him?
Cullinane felt every minute of his sleepless night. Running one hand over his face, he grappled for patience. “You’ve never been like this since I’ve known you, Klaus. Tell me why you’d jeopardize everything for this woman.”
“She intrigues me.”
“She has the skills to kill you.”
“Ah, but I have something she doesn’t. You.”
“I can’t be with you every second. And that’s where you’re headed, anyway, to being alone with her. I can’t protect you then.”
Hafner’s smug expression vanished. “All right, Cullinane. I’ll grant you that we don’t know much about her...”
Cullinane snorted. “We know nothing about her, Klaus.”
Hafner held his hands up, palms out. “That’s not quite right. We know she’s gutsy and has nerves of ice, she’s strong and beautiful and smart. She’s an uncommon woman, unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and I want to keep her around for a while.” His tone was final. “I’ll agree to avoid being alone with her until we can find out more about her, but I’m not sending her away. I trust your system, and face it, Cullinane—we can watch her better here than outside. If she’s really out to get me, she could do it anywhere. Let’s keep her where we know what she’s doing. There could be other reasons for her to be using an alias besides wanting to do me in. If she’d wanted that, why didn’t she let me take a bullet yesterday? She didn’t know it was a setup.”
“I don’t know—and I still don’t like it.”
“Objection noted.” Hafner’s expression was almost fond. “I know you’re only trying to do the job I hired you to do. You’ve done it damn well. Just give it some time, all right? So far, she’s doing a great job.”
Cullinane stabbed a finger at him. “Don’t go back on your promise not to be alone with her, Klaus. Don’t kid yourself—she’s dangerous.”
Hafner nodded soberly. “I know. It’s part of the fascination.”
Cullinane retrieved the sheaf of papers. “I’m going to figure out who she really is.” He made for the door.
Hafner spoke. “I’ll agree the timing isn’t great. I’ve got a big shipment coming in on the twenty-first, and there will be special arrangements.”
Cullinane’s hand stilled on the knob. “When do you want to go over them?”
“I don’t have it all worked out yet, but soon. I’ll need to work through part of it with you tomorrow, the rest later. There will be other players involved in this one.”
Cullinane choked down his jubilation and nodded curtly. “You know where to find me.”
Then he left, more determined than ever to find the leverage to get Jillian MacGregor or whoever the hell she was out of his life.
Quickly.
* * *
When Jillian finished her solitary lunch on the patio, Cullinane slipped up beside Alice as she carried the dishes into the kitchen. Removing the glass Jillian had used with a napkin, holding it gingerly at the base, he placed one finger against his lips and winked. Alice looked confused, but nodded.
Upstairs, Cullinane lifted the fingerprints carefully. He’d have to make a special contact to get the Bureau to run these, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling that her true identity was important. Despite Hafner’s willingness to gamble, Cullinane would not. Knockout redheads in body-hugging black didn’t just drop into your life for no reason. If nothing else, her timing was lousy. He didn’t need any surprises right now.
He left the compound. Whoever she was, he’d know soon.
On the way to his car, he heard the voices of children chanting. Searching for the source, he spotted Alice’s two girls playing jump rope.
With Jillian. Or whoever she was.
Unbelievable.
Lily and Mary Beth were turning the rope while Jillian jumped, her cinnamon mane flowing in ribbons with each leap, her laughter musical and inviting.
Then she saw him and missed a step. She stopped and tilted her head. Realizing his own smile had triggered her curiosity, he sobered. When her face fell, he had a sense of something intimate lost.
She’s a liar, Drake. He got into his car and drove away, more disturbed than ever.
He was a liar, too. Maybe her reasons were as good as his own.
* * *
Jillian watched him drive away, frowning.
“What’s wrong, Jillian? You can have another turn,” Mary Beth offered. “We don’t have to count it.”
“What?” Jillian pulled her gaze away from the car driving off. “Oh—no, that’s all right, sweetie. I’m a little winded, anyway. It’s Lily’s turn now, right?”
Lily, though older, was more shy than her sister. She flushed, then handed her end to Jillian. She waited patiently for Jillian and Mary Beth to get their rhythm going before jumping in, but Jillian was finding concentration hard to command.
He’d smiled at her, actually smiled. She’d have to admit that she’d admired those lips before, but they were always set in resistance to her, so hard and often angry. She thought she was almost glad now. That smile was deadly.
“Jillian, can you go faster?”
“Oh—sorry.” Jillian frowned. For one heady moment, he’d looked years younger, like someone approachable instead of a hardened warrior. Shaking her head, Jillian resolved to forget about Cullinane for a while. He took up too much of her thoughts, anyway. It was a beautiful day, not even too humid, and Alice’s girls were lovely children. Forget Mr. Granite.
She wouldn’t be forgetting that smile anytime soon, though.
Lily stumbled, and Jillian snapped to attention, dropping the rope so the girl wouldn’t get tangled up and fall.
“Mama?” The girl glanced back at her mother, fear washing her face.
“I see him, honey.” Alice opened the kitchen door and stepped out, face hard as she looked toward the compound gate.
Jillian turned to see what it was. Two boys, one short and wiry, his whole demeanor shouting ‘attitude.’ A larger boy strutted beside him. Mary Beth slipped her hand into Jillian’s.
The larger boy scanned Jillian with eyes much too old for a face that was years from needing a razor.
“J.T., you come in now. You’ve got homework to do,” Alice ordered.
The two boys exchanged looks. Mary Beth’s hand squeezed Jillian’s.
“In a little while.” J.T.’s surly tone grated on Jillian’s nerves. If his mother hadn’t been there, she’d have liked to peel a strip off his hide, taken him down a notch. But these weren’t her children.
Alice’s voice shook slightly. “Rabbit needs to go home now. You can play later.”
The larger boy snorted. “Yeah, sure, mama’s boy.” His tone slid into sing-song. “You can find someone to play with when your homework is done. Maybe after the milk and cookies are gone. I’m outta here.” With an arrogant wave, he strolled back to the gate, whistling.
J.T. flushed, shooting his mother a look of naked hatred. Jillian could see the woman recoiling. To spare Alice discomfort, she busied herself with the girls. “Okay, girls, why don’t you go inside and wash your hands before your snack? Here, Lily, take Mary Beth.” The older girl stepped away from her mother and did as Jillian asked.
Alice dropped her head, shoulders sagging. “I should take them somewhere, get away from this place. But Klaus...”
“Why doesn’t he help you with them?”
The woman’s voice went quiet. “I don’t like to bother him with my problems. He’s a busy man, and I know the children’s noise sometimes upsets him. I don’t want to make too much trouble. I’m already beholden to him as it is.” She turned to walk away.
“Alice? Do you want me to talk to J.T. for you?”
The woman turned back, pale blue eyes brimming with unshed tears. “No. It’s not your problem.” Shuttering her gaze, Alice steadied her voice. “I have to learn how to take care of it myself. They’re my children.”
“Something wrong, Alice?” Jillian turned at the voice. Hafner’s demeanor was icy, his face hard.
Alice grasped the door handle, her face losing all animation. “No, Klaus. Everything’s fine.” Quickly she scooted inside, face pale.
Jillian frowned at the odd exchange. When Alice shut the door behind her, Jillian turned away, but Hafner grabbed her arm. “I’ve been looking for you.” His voice lowered to an intimate tone.
“I need you tonight.”
Jillian froze, every nerve screaming for her to run.
Chapter Seven
Hafner gazed down at her. “I have clients to entertain.”
Relief was chased by chagrin. She had to get past revulsion with him, if she were to succeed. Clearly she wasn’t there yet.
“Walk with me,” he urged, heading toward the gazebo.
Jillian noted Ron standing nearby, watching. His gaze told her nothing.
“You like children?” Hafner asked, nodding back toward the house.
“I guess so.”
“Alice’s lot hasn’t been easy.”
Jillian looked at him. “She told me about your college fund for them. That’s very generous of you.” Why would you do it?
He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”
Jillian studied him, confounded. This was her sister’s murderer. Like a many-headed hydra, he had too many faces. He sold arms to murderers, to terrorist scum. But he helped a woman like those his weapons killed daily, helped her send her children to college. Gave them a roof over their heads.
Where was the sense in this? The justice?
Hafner smiled, reaching out to smooth the skin between her eyebrows. “What troubles you so?” His eerie pale eyes held a look that was almost tender.
Jillian recoiled. “Nothing. I’d better go get ready. What’s the dress code tonight?”
He smoothed his palm along her arm, and it was all she could do not to shudder.
Gazing deeply into her eyes, he squeezed her elbow in his large, warm hand. “Dress to the nines, Jillian. Let me see one of my new pretties on your lovely body.”
She fought to remain impassive. “What time?”
“Seven. You might want to rest a little first; it will be a long night. I want to dance with you, Jillian. I want to hold your body against mine.”
“Seven.” She nodded. “I’ll be ready.” She turned to go.
But she’d never be ready for him to touch her.
“Jillian,” he called out. She didn’t look back. “I can be very good to you, if you’ll let me.”
With all the dignity she could muster, she walked away slowly, when what she really wanted was to run.
* * *
“MacGregor,” Cullinane spoke out across the dinner table. “Where does that name come from? Your people Scots?”
She evaded his gaze. “The name is. My coloring suits it, don’t you think?”
“Where is your family?”
“My father’s dead.” Sadness pervaded her voice.
He wanted her to squirm, but not this way. “I’m sorry. Your mother’s alone?”
“She left when I was very young.” To her credit, she held his gaze steadily.
“Where was she from?”
“Is this a dinner party, Cullinane, or an interrogation?” Hafner drawled.
The other diners at their table tittered. Jillian glanced away.
“Just interested in your new companion, Klaus.” He toyed idly with his wine glass, running a lazy finger around the edge. “Simply making conversation.”
Jillian looked up at his tone. There was an unnatural brightness to her eyes tonight, almost a desperation.
The band began its first set. Klaus stood, holding out a hand to Jillian. “I believe you promised me a dance, my dear.”
Jillian glanced over at him. Cullinane shrugged his shoulders negligently. What did she expect of him, when she’d already promised Klaus a dance? He didn’t care what she did, as long as she didn’t foul up his operation.
But he watched them and, damn it, he burned for her. The long meal had taken its toll, Jillian so close but out of reach, wearing that damned short red sequined dress she’d modeled for him. He’d seen her first, hadn’t he? And she looked back at him often. In the gym, she’d taunted him, on the mats, her reaction had been as combustible as his o
wn...
Hell. He shifted in his seat to look anywhere else, but that was no help. His gaze was inexorably drawn back to her, and he was dogged by a feeling of inevitability. How long would he be able to keep his hands off her?
He scanned the others in the dinner party for someone, anyone he wanted to dance with. Some of the other men had brought beautiful companions, women who were more polished than Jillian, women who knew the score, who would provide hours of physical pleasure...
But she outshone them all.
His gaze returned to Jillian, her body held close against the length of Hafner’s. Too close. But she was a cool customer, her face a mask of icy unconcern.
Cullinane stood up, turning to the woman next to him. “Care to dance?”
Startled, she nodded. He held out a hand, knowing from What’s-Her-Name’s expression that she thought she would be dancing with the devil. He forced himself to smile and make small talk, maintaining an easy rhythm to help her get over her nerves. She barely reached halfway up his chest, so he had a clear shot to watch what he really wanted to see.
Jillian.
The short red dress followed the lines of her body, the fringe softly swaying with each move, tiny sparkles glinting red fire. Her long burnished hair swept against pale skin, hair that had brushed his cheek as they’d danced only a few nights before.
He remembered the feel of her body against his, the clean apple scent of her hair, the warm sigh of her breath against his throat...the silken texture of her skin.
Hafner’s fingers slipped beneath the low back of her dress, and Cullinane’s jaw clenched. When they turned, Cullinane noted the unease in her eyes.
Damn it, Jillian. MacGregor. Whoever you are.
“Is something wrong?” his partner asked timidly.
“What?” He glanced down. “Oh. No, nothing.” He smiled to put her at ease.
The woman couldn’t hold his gaze long. As soon as she looked away, he glanced back. Hafner’s arm had wrapped all the way around Jillian’s back, pulling her into him, the fingers of one hand stroking near her breast.
The Choice Page 7
