by Lyn Stone
He made a beeline for the bed, stopped when he reached it, turned and sat down. His gaze wandered around the room. She watched him draw in a deep breath, stretch out his arms and lean back on them. “This is your room,” he remarked, his voice free of any inflection.
“Yes,” she admitted, smiling down at him. So he had noticed only her things were in here. He could see. Or maybe he realized he had turned left instead of right. Or maybe her scent was stronger in here. “It’s mine, but you may as well lie down. Save yourself a trip across the hall.”
He stared out the window. “Don’t you want to come back to bed?”
“You wish,” she said with a teasing laugh. “I’ll tuck you in, though, before I go for coffee.” She had made a fresh pot when she woke up at five and couldn’t go back to sleep. “I’m ready for another cup.”
He didn’t move when she approached him. He didn’t look up at her. But as soon as she was near enough to touch, he grasped her arm and drew her to him, parting his knees so that hers came flush against the bed between them.
He lifted his face to hers, eyes closed. “One kiss,” he said, hardly louder than a whisper. “Just to prove we’re over our idiocy.”
“Are we?” Slowly, inexorably, she leaned down to meet his lips with hers. His were closed, exerting only a gentle pressure when they touched. A sweet kiss, kind and forgiving. Then only giving, a slight increase, an angling of the head, a parting of lips and touch of the tongue.
Holly knew she could pull away if it got too intense. Will was an extremely good kisser, she decided. Probably had lots of practice at gauging his partners’ reactions, without getting involved himself.
She enjoyed it for what it was, meeting him on equal ground, maintaining distance in the small intimacy while basking in the tactile sensation. That’s all it was.
Then his hand slid up her arm, his thumb straying to the side of her breast, distracting her from the simple pleasure of his lips. Not simple any longer, she realized suddenly, her breath catching in her throat.
His mouth had turned hot, wet, just short of demanding. She answered with a foray of her own, unable to deny herself a little more of him.
He was right here. They were alone. Just a kiss. And touch, she realized, as his hand closed over her breast and squeezed. And the other one followed. Under her shirt.
The sensation of his palms on her bare skin, on her nipples, sent a shot of lust straight through her. She pressed into his hands, asking for more.
She meant to pull away. In a minute. But he stretched back, taking her with him, on top of him. Then he turned so they lay on their sides, one large palm on her spine, urging her closer, then onto her back. He ground his body to hers and she welcomed it, opened her legs, lifted herself to feel more.
The kiss went on, unending, escalating, encompassing her. Reason became skewed. She didn’t care.
This could happen. There was no reason it couldn’t. One time, that was all. Just one time.
They had agreed on that once, hadn’t they? She had agreed. She did agree.
With one hand, she blindly grabbed for the small bag on the nightstand that held the condoms she’d bought at the gas station. Now he would think she planned this, bringing him into her room instead of his.
Thoughts melted into need, a frenzied, not-to-be-denied hunger neither fought. Instead, they battled clothing, covers, anything that dared impede such a shared craving.
His mouth, that wonderful mouth, strung scorching kisses down her throat, over her chest, closed around her and drew her in. She was inside him.
And with a slow, definitive thrust, he was inside her, too. Holly cried out his name, overwhelmed by sheer gratification. And a feeling of absolute belonging and trust, of mutual giving and getting that defied description.
Sensation billowed through her, building with each stroke of his body, with every clutch of her own around him. Faster and faster he moved until she came apart in his arms, flying free into an unknown zone of pleasure she had never reached before. He gave a final thrust, with a cry of total surrender.
She had never felt so victorious or so conquered, and as if his mind touched hers, in that few seconds she knew he felt exactly the same.
Breathing ceased, muscles collapsed. Little aftershocks of the enormous quake they had survived provided the only movement between them.
“Breathe,” he gasped, shifting to one side, their skin slick with perspiration.
“Practical…suggestion,” she said when she could form words. Her head was still spinning. Never in her life…
“I’m not sorry,” he whispered next to her ear.
Good grief, neither was she, Holly thought, but she didn’t answer. What could she say?
“Hello?” A shout came from the front of the house.
Oh God. “It’s Jack. And Clay,” she whispered. “They’re early.”
This was all she and Will needed, being found in the sack together. She rolled away from him and snatched up her scattered clothing.
“Just a minute!” she called.
“Everything okay? What’s going on?” Jack shouted.
“Nothing! Nothing at all,” she answered loudly, putting a cheery note in her voice.
Will raised himself on one elbow, his head in his hand, his narrowed gaze resting somewhere in the vicinity of her breasts.
“Nothing at all? Thanks a lot,” he said, his voice tinged with sarcasm.
She was dancing around awkwardly, trying to get her feet in the legs of her slacks. “Don’t mention it,” she snapped as she jerked up her pants and zipped them.
She yanked her shirt on over her head and plowed her fingers through her hair. “I mean, seriously, don’t ever, ever mention it.”
He grabbed the quilt, pulled it up to cover himself, and rolled over so she couldn’t see his face. Great, now she had insulted him. Men were way too sensitive when it came to performance. How could he not know how great he was in bed?
Well, she would have to reassure him later, because right now she had to cover for them if she could.
Holly stuck her feet in her shoes and marched out of the bedroom, her skin still tingling from the delicious climax.
Damn Will, anyway. What did he expect her to do—wait in there, propped up against the headboard next to him to greet their boss?
Jack wasted no time in delivering the data he had acquired on Arbin and Hackers, but he kept giving her that look. She knew he knew.
Holly pretended to focus all her attention on the photos and faxed reports he had spread out on the kitchen table. Clay remained silent, almost grim. He knew, too.
Or maybe she was just paranoid. How could they know? The scent of sex on her, maybe, but the smell of the burned coffee was pretty strong.
She ran a hand over her neck. No beard burn. Will had just shaved. Her hair was too short and curly to be all that mussed, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup to be smeared.
With a tremendous effort, she shoved the worry aside and concentrated on what Jack was saying.
“Turkel’s name came up, but it’s most likely an alias. He’s probably a sleeper, but we don’t know for whom. We do know he’s lived in the States for at least fifteen years, and we have one photo, group shot and not very clear, taken at a mosque in Atlanta right after the New York attack. That’s about all we’ve got.”
He picked the photo out of the stack and placed it in front of her. “I take it that’s not the guy in the hospital?”
“No, he was definitely Caucasian,” she replied. “I think it was probably Arbin I saw, though he was disguised if it was.”
“Eric told me. You think you could give a positive ID if you saw him in person?”
“Probably. Have they found him yet?”
“Not yet. He could be anywhere in the world by now. Every agency is all over this with all available personnel looking for both Arbin and Turkel.”
“It’ll be a miracle if they find Turkel. He could be set up anywhere,” she said.
> “It’s likely he’s within a five-mile radius of the airport. Any farther out and using the Stinger successfully might prove problematic, since it’s one of the older models. Right after takeoffs and just before landings are the optimum strike zones. Planes are moving slower and it’s easier to identify them then.”
He collected and stacked the photos and paperwork, laying them to one side in a neat pile. Then he crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “Now then. How’s your mission progressing?”
She almost gulped, but managed to don her best poker face. “Will’s vision is better, he says. And he…he seems to be getting his strength back.”
Clay gave a grunt that sounded almost like a chuckle. If Will was usually quiet and reserved, Clay was even more so. His strongly chiseled Native American features betrayed no emotion whatsoever unless he was working at it.
He played to his heritage, wanting everyone to see him as the invincible, stoic warrior. She usually loved trying to shake him up, surprise him, make him laugh. Right now she was not in the mood. She shot him a nasty look.
Jack persisted. “Is he getting enough rest?”
“Absolutely. Will’s in bed right now.” Oops. Wrong thing to say.
Jack gave her that tongue-in-cheek look again as he continued to stare at her, making her nervous as a cat. “Clay, would you excuse us, please?” he said without glancing away from Holly.
Clay rose without a word and headed down the hallway, his steps silent. Holly heard the click of a door closing.
Jack cleared his throat. “Stop looking as though I’m about to rip your head off, Holly. I’m only worried about how this could affect you and Will. And the team, of course. It’s very easy to get caught up in something when excitement’s running high, and then later regret it.”
She shrugged. “Well, you did order me to look after him. I’ve been doing that.” Deliberately, she neglected to mention that he himself had been caught up in something on his last big mission. Something that had resulted in marriage. Did he regret it?
Jack was shaking his head. “Solange and I have worked it out. So have Joe and Martine. Will would worry about you the way we would worry about them if they were in dangerous occupations. It could compromise his effectiveness in the field.”
“That’s sexist tripe and you know it, Jack, and I’m surprised at you. You think your wives don’t worry about you when you and Joe go out? How does that impact on their jobs? Ever thought about that?”
“They know we can handle ourselves.”
“And Will knows I can, too. I’ve probably had more field missions and experience in firefights than either you or Will have. He trusts my abilities.”
“Yes, but that could change if he falls for you, Holly.”
She gave up; there was no point arguing with him when it was all over, anyway. “I know. This was a temporary thing.”
“Was?” he repeated.
“Was. As in a one-time occurrence. So set your mind at rest. He and I are back to buddy status, and that’s it. No need to ream him out about it, or even to bring it up. This was my bad, okay? It’s over.”
After a few moments assessment, Jack nodded. “Duly noted.”
With only one clue, Will knew who had entered the room. A very faint smoky scent of sage surrounded Clay unless he was actually going into the field. Then he was undetectable in all respects unless he wanted to be noticed.
Now he was waiting for Will to acknowledge him. “Clay,” Will said.
“You can hurt her.”
“I would never do that,” he answered.
“Intent does not predict outcome.”
“Spare me your old grandfather’s nebulous sayings,” Will grumbled. “They sound strangely like Confucius, and I think that’s the wrong tribe.”
“It is a truth, regardless of the source.”
Will sat up, crossing his arms over his chest. “Hit Holly with it and see what she says.”
Clay grunted. “She would tell me my pigtails are too tight.”
Will couldn’t stifle a laugh. “Yeah, I expect she would. What do you see ahead for us that’s so bad, Clay?”
“Nothing. But you know how it goes. Alone is better in what we do.” The resignation in his voice was in no way concealed. Nor was the sadness.
What had happened to him? Will had no information about Clay’s background other than what Jack had revealed along with his qualifications when he was hired. Raised on a reservation, special scholarship, uncanny ability with languages, tracking of all kinds including electronic, and hell on any kind of wheels.
“This was only a brief break in the aloneness,” Will assured him. “We’re allowed that once in a while, don’t you think?”
A long silence ensued, then Will sensed movement. He could see Clay’s tall form limned in sunlight, and tried to make out his face. It was impossible.
He kept attempting to focus while Clay left the room as silently as he had entered.
Will figured he might as well face the music with Jack and get it over with. He rolled off the bed, felt around for his sweats, found and pulled them on. It wouldn’t hurt to be fully dressed for this, he thought.
His room was the one across the hall. Will could see the shape of the door and made for it, striding instead of groping tentatively as he had been doing. Near as he could tell, there was nothing in his way.
Despite the exhausting lovemaking with Holly, he felt energized. Her hasty exit and apparent shame at what they had done still ticked him off, but he would survive that.
What had he expected—for her to fall madly in love with him after one roll in the hay? Holly didn’t do love. And neither did he.
The doors to the rooms were offset, not directly across the corridor, and he almost walked into the wall, but put his hand out just in time.
In a matter of minutes, he had found the sports bag they’d bought for his change of clothes, and put on the new jeans and shirt.
He felt marginally better able to greet the world. Now if he could just get to the other end of the house without breaking his neck…
Will trailed one hand along the wall until he reached the well-lit living room and could see the kitchen door. He approached it, arms at his sides.
He didn’t expect to fool anybody for long, but it just felt more normal not having to grope in front of him with a vacant look on his face. He could discern where people’s heads were if the light was good. Might as well pretend he was looking them in the eye.
He thought there were two people sitting at the table, but couldn’t be sure. There wasn’t enough contrast. “So, what’s up?” he asked, sounding a little belligerent, more so than he meant to.
“Holly will fill you in later,” Jack said. “Right now I need your help.”
Well, that was a surprise. “With what?” He squinted at the jumbled shapes again and went for what he took to be a chair back. Luckily, it was. He dragged the chair out and sat down, keeping his eyes lowered.
“We have some clothing appropriated from Arbin’s apartment in D.C. I want you to try to make a connection. Eric’s not here,” Jack told him.
“I haven’t had any success with that,” Will warned him.
“Neither did he with the shell casings. But those aren’t personal items. There were no prints on them, anyway, so Arbin probably only touched them with gloves. Try this.”
He placed what felt like an article of clothing in Will’s hands.
No amount of clutching or fondling produced anything. He lifted it to his face and sniffed. “Old-fashioned Bay Rum, I think.” Not even a trace of body odor. “No starch. Cling fabric softener.”
“Thank you, Martha Stewart,” Holly quipped.
“You’re welcome. So lock me up, but I’ve got no insider info from this, okay?” He tossed the garment aside. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Jack said, his impatience evident. “Maybe we’re barking up the wrong tree, anyway. We’ll get Eric to try when he gets
here. Have you had any further psychic experiences since you felt Odin approach the safe house?”
Will thought about it, but then Holly answered for him. “He was sure the shooter would catch up to us, and said so when we were still at the police station.”
She sounded so proud of him. Didn’t she understand how iffy this psychic thing was? How unreliable and easy to misinterpret?
Will tried to explain that. “But I had no clue that he would follow us from the station. I had it in my mind he would be waiting at the hotel, and that nearly got us killed. How’s the cop, Ruis?”
“Downgraded from critical to serious. He’ll make it. Did you actually see the perp you shot?”
“Silhouette only. And the gunfire. I aimed for the body,” Will admitted.
“Can you see much now?” Jack asked.
Will hesitated over the painful admission. “Not really.”
“So stop pretending,” Holly ordered. “You got me all excited for nothing.”
He kept his mouth shut, not about to touch that line.
Jack was watching him; Will could feel it. Now he would get the lecture, but he suddenly didn’t care. What did it matter? He’d be out on his butt soon anyway, off the team, sitting around somewhere learning braille, waiting for experts to train his new guide dog.
Time to stop kidding himself. This latest improvement could be as good as it got.
The flash of self-pity disgusted him. He couldn’t give in to that. If he gave up and admitted he was blind, that would make it so. “It’s gradually coming back. Just not as quickly as I had hoped.”
“At least it’s happening,” Jack said, sounding relieved. “Clay can drive you to the airport first thing in the morning. You and Holly are flying to Walter Reed so you can have further tests.”
“No!” Will exclaimed. He realized Holly’s own protest had coincided with his.
“Why not?” Jack asked reasonably.
“Because I might be needed here. I’ll go right after we get Turkel and the missiles,” Will insisted.
“Besides, if we don’t get them,” Holly added, “won’t all commercial flights be canceled?”
“Not until just before midnight tomorrow. The next day is Thanksgiving,” Jack said. “Announcing that we’re doing that will cause mass pandemonium, not to mention what it will do to the economy in the days to come.”
