by Rita Herron
Matilda tsked in disapproval as if Stella were an obstinate child. “Mr. Sutton said to tell you he’s taking care of everything.”
Stella pushed back the covers and started to stand, but the woman suddenly moved in front of her. “Mr. Sutton has always protected you, Stella. You must cooperate if you wish for him to clear up this mess.” She grabbed Stella’s arm and jammed the shot into her flesh.
Stella flinched and stared at the nurse, for the first time recognizing a cold, calculating woman with a warning message in her eyes. Stella had best not fight the woman. If so, she wouldn’t win.
The realization triggered a wave of nausea and renewed panic. She had to escape.
Where had she put that card Luke Devlin had given her?
The pocket in those prison clothes… She took a step forward, glanced to the side in search of them. Maybe they were in with the dirty clothes. But where? In the bathroom…
No, Matilda had changed her gown each day, had carted each item of clothing away.
“Matilda, my clothes—”
“Lie back down, Miss Segall,” Matilda said coldly. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
The room grew fuzzy. A fog floated in front of her eyes. Stella had to find that card. Call Luke. Figure out the reason Sutton was keeping her locked inside.
She swayed, staggered forward, but the room spun in a circle, the white whirling around and around. Stars exploded in front of her eyes, pinpoints of light flickering like fireflies. Matilda pushed her back onto the bed. She tried to fight, but her limbs were so heavy she couldn’t make them cooperate. Luke’s face flashed into her mind just before she succumbed to the exhaustion and curled onto her side.
She felt the brush of the comforter whisk over her legs as Matilda covered her, then heard the door close and the lock shift into place.
Seconds later, she was alone again. Just like she had been years ago.
Just as she would always be.
No one knew where she was. No one was coming back for her. No one loved Stella.
And no one could save her…
AFTER THREE DAYS, Devlin had had enough stalling from Sutton. The photos had definitely raised his doubts. And he had discovered that Sutton had contributed financially to CIRP, cementing a connection. The conversation with the reporter haunted him. Stella had used him. Had been working against him.
Was it possible?
He cursed and grabbed his keys, but his cell phone rang, and he checked the ID.
Myra, J.T’s wife. “Hello.”
“Luke, hey…I just wanted to check in.”
“How’re you doing?”
“Okay.”
She sounded depressed again. “What’s wrong, Myra? Missing J.T.?”
“It’s not me, it’s little Jimmy. He dreamed about him last night.”
“That’s rough.” Luke sighed, tired, feeling as if he’d let her down as he had J.T. and Stella. “I’ll drop by there soon, take him out for the day.”
“Thanks, Luke. I’d appreciate it. Any news on the investigation?”
Guilt struck Luke for putting J.T.’s case on hold for his own selfish purposes. “No.”
“What about your wife?”
He hesitated, then told her everything except that he suspected the two cases might be related. He just didn’t know how yet. J.T. had worked undercover to find out what kinds of top secret research CIRP might be conducting. J.T. had discovered cloning experiments. And Luke had met Stella shortly after J.T.’s death… The timing seemed too coincidental.
“Gosh, Luke, I’m sorry. And here I am whining to you.”
“It’s okay, that’s what friends are for. Listen, Myra, I put a check in the mail today. You should have it in a couple of days.”
“You don’t have to keep sending money, Luke.”
“It’s for J.T.” And you and little Jimmy, he wanted to say. The family he’d never had.
But he refrained. He didn’t want to give Myra the wrong idea. He’d never see her as anything but J.T.’s wife.
“I’ll keep you posted if I turn up anything. Take care.”
He hung up and glanced outside at the clouds rolling in.
It was nearly night once again, and Sutton hadn’t returned any of his calls. Luke headed to his car, climbed in and pulled into the late-evening traffic.
He was finished being told that Stella was resting. That she couldn’t be disturbed. That the doctors had ordered complete bedrest.
Sutton was up to something, and Luke intended to pay him a surprise visit and find out exactly what he was hiding.
It was almost as if Sutton had sequestered Stella away from everyone else, so he could manipulate her or the situation. But why? Because the reporter was right, and Sutton was involved in Stella’s espionage activities.
He muttered a curse. He had no concrete proof that the reporter’s information was correct.
The pictures certainly hadn’t been conclusive. And when Luke had phoned in a few favors at the bureau, no one had known anything about such an operation.
The feds had been looking for Stella for over a year now. If someone had suspected her of spying, wouldn’t they have told him?
Not if they thought you were involved.
Although in light of this new possibility, Spencer Grossman’s suspicious reactions to Luke the last year took on a new meaning. The man was looking for a reason to fire Luke. Had even suggested that Luke might have been involved in J.T.’s death.
A light switch flicked on in his head. If Grossman thought Stella had converted Luke to her side, then they would have treated him as the enemy. Kept him out of the loop. Uninformed.
His mind ticked away the pieces of the puzzle. The mysterious events and experiments at Nighthawk Island flashed back, giving the entire situation a sinister feeling.
Except so far, barring the location of Sutton’s estate and his donations, Luke had found no connection between Sutton and the research facility. And the police hadn’t yet determined the identity of the man who’d been murdered in Stella’s motel room.
What was Luke missing?
And why didn’t Sutton want Stella to see him? Was he afraid she’d remember something? Admit to him that she was a spy? That she’d used him all along?
Bitterness and hurt swelled inside of him, robbing him of air as he drove toward Sutton’s residence. He would see Stella tonight or use his trump card and threaten to arrest Sutton and take Stella into custody himself.
Then he’d make her talk.
He approached the iron gates with determination, rolled down the window, the heat suffusing him as he pressed the security buzzer, then waited for security to reply. “Special Agent Luke Devlin here to see Mr. Sutton and Stella Segall.”
“Do you have an appointment, sir?”
“No, but tell Sutton if he doesn’t let me in this time, I’m calling backup with a warrant and slapping him with a bail violation hearing. And if I do that, I’ll make sure Stella Segall is removed from his estate.”
A long, tense silence vibrated in the air as he waited on the reply. Seconds later, the sound of the buzzer announced he’d succeeded in making his point. He gripped the steering wheel with sweaty fingers as he tackled the driveway, his gaze scanning the property. High-tech cameras dotted the wooded area, indicating that Sutton probably maintained a state-of-the-art security system.
For protection, or to keep people out of his private compound? And who exactly did Sutton need protection from?
It damn sure couldn’t be to protect his prized paintings.
Then again, Luke had never been into art.
Except in the form of a beautifully shaped woman like Stella.
He consciously banished that thought with a reminder that Stella might be a spy and had probably cozied up to him hoping to extract secret, confidential information about Nighthawk Island from him.
If so, why had she left though?
Unless she’d been found out by an enemy…
If so
, who? One of his colleagues? Someone who’d withheld the information from him because they suspected he was a traitor too?
STELLA HAD FINALLY awakened before dinner and dragged herself into the shower. She was determined to stay awake and speak to Sutton. And if he refused, she’d discover a way out of this place and track down Luke Devlin.
She rang the intercom, asked for Sutton and was surprised when he showed up five minutes later.
“How are you feeling this evening, dear?” he asked as he entered her sitting room.
She twisted her fingers together. “Better, Mr. Sutton.”
“Oh, honey, please call me Drake. You always have.”
She nodded, although she still felt uncomfortable in his presence. “All right, Drake, I’ve asked Matilda to stop giving me those injections. They make me so groggy I can’t function.”
“You needed rest, Stella,” Drake said. “Doctor’s orders.”
“But the drugs triggered nightmares.”
“What kind of nightmares?”
Stella hesitated weighing her choices. If Sutton was going to help her, she had to admit the truth. “About being a killer.”
Sutton nodded. “From the other night?”
“Yes,” she said in a low voice. She studied her hands for a minute, remembered the blood on her fingers.
“What else do you remember, Stella?”
She met his gaze, saw understanding in his eyes. Acceptance.
“I dreamed that someone told me to kill Luke Devlin. Then I took a .38 and shot him.”
A slow smile spread across his lips. “Obviously that hasn’t happened.”
“No.” But it still disturbed her. “Have I ever done anything like this before?”
“You’re referring to your memory loss or the shooting?”
Stella swallowed hard, not certain if she wanted the answer. “Both.”
He crossed one suited leg over the other, then glanced away as if biding his time. “Yes.”
Stella clutched her hands together as that revelation sank in.
“I’m not sure you’re ready to hear about your background yet.”
“Hear what? What’s wrong with me? Am I mentally ill?” That might explain her panicked reaction to the hospital.
“No, Stella, you’re not mentally ill. You’re a very intelligent, ingenious young woman.”
“Then tell me the truth. My body has had enough rest—I can take it. But I can’t keep going on in this blind tunnel not knowing who I am or what kind of person I was. Or if I’m going to prison for murder.”
Drake’s dark brows furrowed. “I promised you I’d take care of the situation, and I will. I should hear from your attorney tomorrow.”
Her gaze shot to his. “Have you talked to Luke Devlin?”
Drake frowned. “Actually he’s here now. The butler is supposed to show him to my study. I’m meeting him in just a moment.”
Stella heaved a relieved breath. Maybe she’d been overreacting, imagining that Drake Sutton was holding her prisoner.
“Can I go with you? I’d like to hear what he has to say.”
He hesitated, then narrowed his eyes. “Only if you listen to me first.” He crossed the room, glanced out the window, then pivoted back toward her with a grim but resigned expression. “You’re right. You need to know what’s going on, so you can monitor your conversation when you talk to Devlin.”
“I don’t understand.”
Evening shadows played along his jaw, adding to his intimidating stance. “Stella, you are part of a secret organization of spies. Agent Devlin was investigating Nighthawk Island, and was about to expose us. Your last assignment was to cozy up to Agent Devlin, seduce him if necessary, then kill him to protect us.”
Stella gasped and rocked back in shock. The nightmare she’d had this morning was supposed to have really happened? She was a hired killer?
She stared at her hands in renewed horror. Of all the scenarios she’d feared hearing, that hadn’t been one of them.
She grappled to make her voice work. “What about the man in the motel room?”
Drake shrugged. “That man, Raul Jarad, was your handler. Someone got to him, though, turned him. He was going to give you up.” Drake made a clicking sound with his teeth. “A shame, but Jarad had to be taken care of.”
Disbelief roared through Stella’s head. His story was too horrible to be true. Drake was lying. She couldn’t kill someone in cold blood. And she wasn’t a spy…
Flashes of the erotic dreams of Luke raced back. Luke naked and taking her to bed. Stripping her clothes slowly and teasing her legs apart. Whispering to her in the dark. Loving her until morning. Touching every inch of her naked body. Torturing her until she could do nothing but breathe his name, feel his lips on her skin and memorize the taste of him forever.
Had their romance been a lie? An act on her part?
Her gaze rose to meet Sutton’s, the atmosphere charged with tension. “Does Luke Devlin know that I’m a s-spy?” There she’d said it, but she still didn’t believe it.
Drake’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “It’s possible. That’s one reason you need to be wary, Stella. You were playing up to him to kill him, essentially sleeping with the enemy.” He hesitated. “I’m not sure what his motive was. He might have figured out your motive, and he went along to lure you into a false sense of security before he took you down.”
Realization dawned like a knife stabbing Stella. If Drake wasn’t lying, and Luke had known her identity, then he had probably planned to arrest her all along. Maybe she’d figured out that he was onto her, and that was the reason she’d disappeared on their wedding night.
In any case, it meant that Luke didn’t really care for her. That he’d made love to her and married her for his own deceptive reasons. And that once again, there was no one she could trust.
Chapter Six
Luke studied the sleek cherrywood desk and leather furnishings in Drake Sutton’s study. Not only had the foyer been filled with expensive, original artwork, but his office showcased similar pricey pieces. That and several crystal flutes filled with pricey liquor, Waterford wine goblets, highball glasses, champagne flutes, and ashtrays that cost more than Luke’s own cabin on Skidaway Island. An elaborate computer system completed the office, one which would also put Luke’s to shame. He wondered what type of security Sutton had on the machine. What kind of secret businesses he indulged in.
More importantly, he desperately wanted to know what Sutton was doing with Stella.
Had he hurt her? Touched her…?
Stella. God, he had to put that spark of emotion that reared to life at the thought of her in its place. He had important decisions to make—like how to play it with Stella. If she’d truly lost her memory, she wouldn’t be able to explain her actions in the pictures the reporter had shown him. That fact gave him the advantage.
An advantage he fully intended to use.
Just as she had used him.
He searched his memory for a reason why she might have targeted him specifically. The only case high on his priority at the moment, other than hers, was the research facility at Nighthawk Island. In fact, when they’d met, he’d been coordinating with a team of medically trained agents in D.C. to choose an agent to go undercover at the facility. He’d decided on Quinn Salt, a special ops forces agent who had majored in bioengineering and medical sciences, and had worked in various areas of biological and chemical warfare research for the government. Luke’s partner, J.T., had been undercover for a while.
Then he’d ended up dead.
Was that the reason Stella had come onto him? Did she want or have information about the secret projects being conducted on Nighthawk Island? Then why not go straight to the scientists? Or maybe she wanted to find out how much he knew? She could have fed him false information to protect Sutton’s secrets But they had never discussed the research part. They’d been too busy…
Irritation needled him at the mere idea that he’d been s
uch a sucker. He strode to the window and peered through the glass at the wooded area that encompassed Sutton’s property.
What had happened to his suspicious nature where Stella was involved? He’d never let down his guard before, never allowed a woman or any other suspect to snowball him in such a way.
Never let sex detract him.
Hell, he’d had lots of women before Stella. So many that their faces blurred into a virtual sea of strangers lost in his own memory. Just as the evenings he’d spent with them had.
All meaningless sexual encounters that had sated him physically but left him emotionally barren.
Which was the way he’d preferred it. Uncomplicated.
Until Stella…
But her touch had made him delirious. Made him lose his sanity. Dream about a future. Get married.
God, he’d been such a fool.
“You’re a gutless failure.” His father’s words echoed in his head over and over. The constant put-downs. The expectations. The battles over what Luke would do with his life. His father had wanted him to join him in the business. A theft ring that had been famous for stealing jewelry from trusting women.
Law enforcement was the last thing his father would have chosen for him.
Maybe that explained why Luke had gravitated toward it.
The streets had needed cleaning of scumbags like his old man, and he’d taken it upon himself to do just that. Still, he hadn’t had the courage to actually lock up his father. But he’d never crossed the line to protect him, either.
God help him if his dad ever got out of jail. Over the years, Luke had worked up nerves of steel. And his conscience had been destroyed.
Sure, he’d taken advantage of women. He’d used them in undercover assignments without batting an eye, which technically put him on par with his father— something he wasn’t proud of. But he had always done whatever necessary to complete the job, because ultimately enforcing the law meant protecting the innocent.
He fisted his hands and stared at the elaborate pattern of the oriental rug on the hardwood floor.
