Dark of Night

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Tracy couldn't find her panties, so she pulled on her jeans without them as she answered, “You're not going to like what I'm thinking.”

  Decker stood there, looking at her. Without his shirt, and despite the bandage around his arm—or maybe because of it—he looked like he was ready to pose for some kind of super-sexy, rough-and-tumble Men of the SpecWar Community beefcake calendar. Except for the consternation on his face. “Try me.”

  She couldn't find her bra or her shirt, so she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders—the one that he'd brought her while she was sleeping—and she sat down wearily on the couch. “I lied,” she said, “about not wanting forever.” She closed her eyes. “I do the same thing with every new guy. I have sex, and I fall in love, only this time I fell in love with you before we had sex, and I don't know, I thought maybe that meant when we did have sex, I would have some sort of clarity, I guess, about what I really wanted, but all I want is you. And right now? Forever doesn't seem long enough.” She laughed—to hide the fact that she was crying again. “Commence the running and screaming. Join the club and move to Maine.”

  She felt him sit down next to her, heard him sigh. “Tracy,” he said. “For the record? Whatever I do, screaming or not, I seem to end up running, full speed, toward you.”

  “Is that a compliment or an insult?” She looked at him. He was so tired, he looked as if he were having trouble focusing his eyes.

  Still, he managed to smile at her. “Just a confirmation that the universe doesn't seem to recognize don't”

  Tracy laughed—for real this time.

  But then his smile faded as he reached over and took her hand. “I don't just want,” he told her. “I want you. I got clarity.” He paused. “Good word. Clarity. It's a good thing to have, too. I recommend it. Along with a nap. Which now I really need.”

  She looked at him. “Are you telling me that… ? I mean, the you-want-me part, I get, but…”

  Decker kissed her, and his mouth was so soft. “Sleep,” he said. “As in must. Now. Me. Please, may I share your couch and blanket?”

  Tracy nodded.

  “Thanks, honey,” he said, and he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back so that they were both lying on the couch.

  “Mmmm,” he said as he realized she'd never found her bra and shirt, as he discovered and covered her bare breasts with the warmth of his hands. “This is a bonus.” He nuzzled her neck. “You always smell so good … so sweet. …”

  And with that, he fell soundly asleep.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  Jimmy sat in the dark living room, looking out the big sliding glass doors at the desert.

  The moon was full and its light cast shadows on the rock-and brush-cluttered surface of the hillside.

  Nothing moved—it was as if the world were in a vacuum. Or as if this house had been built on the surface of the moon.

  Jimmy heard Tess coming—she wasn't trying to be quiet. She also didn't turn on any lights, which was good, because he didn't want to see her eyes.

  He spoke first. “You read fast.”

  “I skimmed,” she admitted as she sat down, way on the other end of the sofa. “I'm going to go over it again, more carefully. I've marked seven ops that made me go huh. Some of them are because I worked support on a related op. Some of them, I'm not sure why, but I figured this was a good time to trust my gut. Watch your eyes.”

  She reached over then, and clicked on the lamp that sat on the table beside her.

  Jimmy squinted, but the light was dim enough and his eyes adjusted quickly. She was holding out his entire massive list, and he took it from her because she seemed to want him to.

  “The yellow are the seven in question,” she told him.

  But there were other marks, all the way down the page, slashes of pink, highlighting almost every single black op mission that he'd listed there. It was entirely like Tess to use color coding, but… He flipped it over, and the pink marks were on the second page, too. And the third and … It was only on the last page—those listing the ops he'd done after “leaving” the Agency—that the pink disappeared, and he couldn't figure out what that meant.

  “The pink are the ops I knew about,” Tess told him quietly. “Granted, I didn't know everything about them, but I knew enough.”

  Jimmy looked at her, shocked.

  She nodded. “Yeah. Despite the covert nature of the Agency's black ops division, they kept information on these assignments in your file.”

  She'd hacked his file, years ago, back when she was working for the Agency's support staff.

  But that didn't make sense. He knew he had a regular Agency file but… “Information about these jobs were in there?”

  “Yup,” she said. “And—for the record? About four months ago, I have to confess that I hacked back in. You were acting crazy and I wanted to see if you were still working for the Agency. But there were no additional entries in your file—in fact it was marked Closed. At the time, I assumed you had a separate file for black op assignments. I dug for it, but I couldn't find it. But you don't have one, Jimmy.” She tapped the paper that held his list. “These assignments that you listed here were in that closed file. Except for the last page. Those are all new.”

  “Mother of God.”

  Tess nodded. “We need to stop looking at the Agency, and instead look hard at former Agency operatives and especially former Agency support. People like me, who could still have access to Agency files and information. People who have the information—and the power—to make former operatives believe that they're still being hired to work for the Agency.”

  And there it was. He'd been doing black ops for someone who wasn't part of the Agency. But when he'd gone into the Agency's D.C. annex and pushed his way into Doug Brendon's private office to talk about his “ongoing” association with the black ops division, Dougie had kicked his ass out into the street. No investigation, no inquiry, no nothing. Which meant Brendon was either involved—or a moron.

  “You okay?” Tess asked, and he turned to look at her.

  She was sitting there looking back at him exactly the same way she always had. With interest, expectation, intelligence, humor, love, and, yes, not an entirely small amount of exasperation.

  “I wish you had trusted me,” she whispered. “That's all I've ever wanted from you. Trust and honesty and respect. You say you love me, but without the trust—”

  “There's too much to tell,” Jimmy said. “Where do I start? With my mother? She sucked and I left her behind. Because that's what you do— you decide if you're going to live or you're going to die, and I chose not to die. I found people who saved me, only they sucked, too, and I went to jail out of loyalty, for something I didn't do. And I don't want to talk about any of it because, like Deck always says, it's over and done.”

  “Fair enough,” she said—which was something else Decker always said. “But—”

  “What if there's no but,” Jimmy said. “What if there's just me, relieved beyond belief that you aren't avoiding eye contact and backing away from me because of everything on that list. What if there's just me, promising to be honest. Promising”—he choked it out, because he knew what was coming—“to respect you.”

  “Really,” she said, but she didn't sound particularly convinced.

  “We've started over,” Jimmy told her.

  “Yeah,” she pointed out. “Too many times to count.”

  “No,” he said. “Not like this. I died, Tess. On that chopper. I died, and I knew it, and I was apeshit, because I also knew you needed me. And there was this light, this beautiful light, and it was so warm and peaceful and the pain was gone and it freaked me out.” It still freaked him out to think about it. “I tried to scream, but nothing came out, so I tried harder and … I don't know what I did, but I did it.”

  “The paramedic said you scared the crap out of him,” Tess whispered. “That he used the defibrillator on you and it wasn't working, and then you just suddenly s
tarted … roaring, he said.” She laughed, but there were tears in her eyes.

  “Yeah. I don't know exactly what happened,” Jimmy admitted. “But I knew I was back because it hurt like a bitch. But that was a good thing. Because as warm as that light was, I knew I wouldn't find you there.” He took her hand. “I didn't choose to come into this world the first time around. But that day, in that chopper? That was my choice. I want to be here and I'm not going to screw it up this time around.”

  Tess reached over and turned off the light.

  It seemed like a strange response, a little distant and cold, like she was going to walk away, but then Jimmy realized that there were headlights approaching, way in the distance, down along the road.

  And his heart started to pound.

  Tess stood up and moved to the intercom on the wall. Pressed the button. “We've got a vehicle approaching.”

  “Roger that.” Alyssa Locke's rich voice came through the speaker, calm and relaxed. “It's Ric and Annie. Sam and Jules are going down to meet them at the gate.”

  Jimmy closed his eyes. Holy Mary, he was jumpy.

  “Have you talked to Jimmy?” Alyssa asked.

  “I'm doing it,” Tess said.

  “Let me know what you decide.” Alyssa signed off.

  Tess turned toward him, but her face was in shadows—backlit the way she was by the window and that gorgeous moon.

  It was respect time. And the pain he'd felt in that chopper was nothing compared to the way that this was going to hurt.

  “You want to go back to San Diego,” Jimmy said, managing to keep his voice even.

  “I need to,” she said. “I have to look at Tracy's computer—at the actual hardware. I can't do it remote, and I won't allow it to be sent here.”

  “Deck's gonna be pissed. He doesn't want you there.”

  “Decker doesn't want you there,” Tess told him. “And he thinks you're incapable of being a team player. He thinks you're a child—that you won't stay back unless I'm here to hold your hand. And he thinks—as do the rest of the Troubleshooters team—that your injuries would make you a burden if you insisted on going with me.”

  “Don't hold back,” Jimmy said. “Say what you really mean.”

  She returned to the couch. “You're amazing, Jimmy. No one thinks that you're not. It's incredible that you're up and walking so soon. But you're not up to speed. And you're also not fighting this battle alone. You're part of this team. And right now, the best thing you can do for all of us is to hang back, and to promise me—and Sam and Alyssa and Jules and Decker—that you will, absolutely, remain here.”

  So, let's see, me and the gay actor and the baby … We'll hide in the panic room while, hours away from here, where I couldn't possible reach you in time if something went wrong, these monsters are going to try to kill you? Jimmy clenched his teeth over the words that he knew he couldn't say.

  Tess sighed. “I know how hard this is for you, but you're not going to be sitting in the panic room twirling your thumbs. I need your help with research. I need more explicit details on these seven events I've marked on your list. I'll be calling you to get that information. It's not like I'll be out of touch.”

  Jimmy managed a nod.

  “But eventually, you are going to have to deal with that,” she told him quietly. “If not now then later. Because I'm good at what I do, and I'm going to be sent on jobs without you, the same way you're sent out on assignments without me. Which is hard for me, too. You know, it works both ways.”

  “But this one,” he tried to explain. “This goatfuck … it's my fault. They're after me.”

  Tess shook her head. “It started with you, but now they're after all of us. And if they thought they had problems when they went after you … ? They're about to meet the Troubleshooters team, and boy, are they going to regret ever messing with us.”

  Jimmy nodded again. And he made himself say it: “Go to San Diego. But you better finally goddamn marry me when this is over.”

  Tess was no fool. “Promise you'll stay here. Say the words.”

  “I promise I'll stay here goddamn it.”

  “Then, yes, Jimmy, I'll marry you.” She kissed him so sweetly and when she pulled back, he saw that she had tears in her eyes. “Thank you so much for coming back.”

  “You do the same, okay?” he whispered. “Just promise me you'll always do the same.”

  “This is a mistake,” Dave said. “We should wait for Tom.”

  “We waited for Tom,” Sophia reminded him, as she adjusted his arm around her shoulders and took more of his weight as the hotel elevator door closed. “He's downstairs, with the car.”

  “That's not good,” he said. “That I didn't remember that. What else don't I remember?”

  “You promised to buy me a boat,” Ken said from the far corner of the elevator. He'd apologized, in advance, to Sophia, for being unable to help her carry Dave downstairs. As their bodyguard, he needed both hands completely free. “A shiny red one that goes real fast.”

  “Yeah, Ken,” Dave said, wincing from the pain in his side. “I'm pretty sure I didn't do that. But nice try.”

  He glanced at Sophia, and she could tell from his eyes that he was hurting far worse than he'd let on. His wound was swollen and inflamed, and she could not believe that he hadn't mentioned that it had gotten so much worse. She still wouldn't have known, if he hadn't done that nosedive onto the hotel room floor.

  “That wasn't a dream, was it?” he asked softly. “What you said to me.”

  “Nope,” she said, as she stared up at the changing numbers over the door—fourteen, twelve, eleven—willing this thing to move faster.

  “Marry me,” he said. “Will you marry me, Soph?”

  She didn't answer right away. She wanted him to wonder and maybe even to sweat. It was stupid. She was being stupid and a little petty—giving him a ten-second punishment for hiding his pain from her. As if that would make him think twice next time.

  And there would be a next time.

  As frightened as she was at the idea of losing him, she was not going to make him sacrifice his career for her.

  But Sophia didn't answer Dave's question about getting married right away, and then she couldn't answer, because the elevator dinged and the door opened on the eighth floor.

  And everything went into slow motion.

  Two men—one tall, dark-haired, and almost too handsome, one shorter and wearing a hat—were standing on the eighth-floor landing.

  Ken stepped in front of the open door. “Sorry, gents, you'll have to catch the next—”

  There was a sound, like a pop, and the SEAL took a jerky, halting step back as Sophia was sprayed with …

  Blood?

  Dear God, she was covered with what had to be Ken's blood as she heard the popping sound again, and this time Ken fell to his knees.

  He was shouting—something—Sophia couldn't make out the words. And Dave was shouting, too, as he pushed her roughly, almost brutally down onto the floor of the elevator. “She's hit,” Dave was screaming, “she's hit, too, she's dead, you killed her,” his eyes lit with his fear and apology, and with …

  Resolve? His mouth moved —I love you, he told her silently.

  “I'm not,” she tried to tell him, “I'm okay—”

  But Dave swung and hit her and the world turned gray and vanished with another of those awful pops.

  Decker woke up feeling if not quite refreshed, then pretty damn close.

  He'd wrapped himself around Tracy, who was still asleep, breathing slowly and steadily.

  His hand was still on her breast. And even though he knew it would probably wake her, he couldn't keep himself from touching her, letting all that smooth, sleek skin slip beneath his fingers, brushing the softness of her nipple against the too-sensitive palm of his hand.

  She hadn't understood the significance of what he'd told her, when he'd said that he didn't just want—he wanted her.

  It hadn't been that way with Emily. H
e'd wanted. Anyone. And she'd walked into the bar, and into his life. He'd loved her because he was with her—not the other way around. And on some level, she'd probably always known that.

  And then there was Sophia—another random anybody. Made worse by the fact that he'd known she was desperate when he'd let her unfasten his pants.

  And maybe he was lying to himself—he was pretty good at that—but he couldn't imagine having that random kind of sex-for-the-sake-of-sex with anyone, especially not a stranger, no matter how beautiful and alluring, on the desk in his office.

  But for Tracy … ?

  He'd planned it. He'd done it. And now, after the fact? He wasn't beating himself up about it. In fact, as he lay here on his couch, smiling at the memory, with Tracy's breast in his hand and his incredibly happy dick pressed tightly against her heart-rate-revving posterior, he could imagine—in the very near future—breaking his rule all over again.

  Her nipple had tightened and peaked beneath his touch, and she stirred and stretched and pressed herself more fully into his hand. “I like that,” she murmured.

  “Mmm, me, too.”

  “You know, that's an often neglected erogenous zone,” she told him.

  “It won't be with me around,” he told her.

  “No.” She laughed and took his hand. “Not me, you. This.” She brought his hand to her mouth and kissed him, right on his palm. “You like touching things, don't you? You're into the tactile. You know how I know? I've seen you stop yourself from doing it, from reaching out—like you're afraid it might overload your senses.”

  She moved his hand back to her breast, and keeping his fingers open, she drew circles on the center of his palm with the very tip of her taut nipple.

  And he went from semi-to fully, painfully aroused—a fact that she couldn't fail to notice, considering their proximity. “Hmm,” she said, laughter in her voice. “That's going to be fun to experiment with.”

  Decker laughed, too, as he turned her to face him. “I think,” he said, “that has more to do with you than me. We're not going to get the same reaction if, say, a big fat man touched the palm of my hand with a pencil.”