He all but held out his arms to her. Please come to me, Beth. Please trust me!
There wasn’t even a flicker of response. She barely glanced at him before she walked into the kitchen without looking back.
Chapter 8
A s soon as the door swung shut Beth leaned against the cool, tiled wall of the kitchen, shaking.
It was one thing to suspect he knew, even to hear the names, but it was another to see cold hard evidence. He knew it all, even things the press had never printed. The only thing he didn’t know was which of the de Souza girls she really was.
She had to get out of New Zealand tonight. Taking Danny’s security away for now was only less appalling than the thought of the destruction of his gentle heart, loving trust and timid, stuttering shyness at his father’s ruthless hand.
She would find a location in a place where she could buy safety from extradition laws, and get Danny back into a stable life. She’d dump everything, change their lives completely. She’d heard people could buy fake birth and death certificates through hackers on the Net. Maybe if she bribed someone to create graves, she could kill off both their identities forever, and start over—
“Here. Let me.”
She gave a stifled cry as hot milk splashed over her wrist; she held back the gasp as McCall took the pan from her hands.
“Don’t handle hot liquids while you’re working out how to give me the slip.” He stirred the chocolate into the milk, and shoved a mug toward her. “Drink that. It’ll calm your nerves.”
He knew.
With those simple words he’d robbed her of all breath, all thought. On autopilot she did as he bade her, but she couldn’t taste the rich sweetness on her tongue. She felt hollowed out, empty, brainless, unable to continue her plans for escape.
“Ken and Donna Richards are here. I promised I’d take Danny his drink before he went.” He poured the milk into Danny’s mug with a steady hand. “Come and see Danny off, then we’ll talk.”
Graceless, nerveless, all she could do was put down her mug and follow him. How to tell Donna she had to collect Danny again tonight…that Danny couldn’t go camping after all….
Her heart ached. Poor little Danny—such a simple thing to want, and she had to rob him of the chance. She knew he’d resent her for years for what she had to do, but at least he’d still be alive, with his innocence intact. She could live with his anger at denying him a normal life. She’d find his forgiveness one day for what she had to do to him, hiding in the shadows, watching through locked and bolted windows while others laughed and loved and lived, free of the constant, haunting shades of terror.
A life lived in fear is a life half lived.
Her eyes squeezed shut. I’m so sorry, my baby. This is all I have to give you….
As soon as she entered the living room, Donna’s gaze sharpened for a moment; then, as if she’d seen Beth’s inner stress, her face softened into a grin. “Looking forward to your get-out-of-jail-free card, Beth? Three nights alone for the first time in almost seven years…”
She forced out a laugh, and ruffled Danny’s hair. “It hasn’t been a sacrifice.”
Danny was bouncing from foot to foot, even as he gave her a fierce, if brief, hug. “Can I go now, Mummy?”
She kissed the top of his head. “Go, sweetie. Enjoy yourself.” She smiled, watching as he bolted out the door with Ethan and without his bag. With an understanding grin, Ken tossed it over his shoulder.
With sudden inspiration Beth took a step back, and made a sign to Donna—thumb to ear, finger to mouth. I’ll call you.
Donna showed no sign of seeing it, but Beth knew she had caught her signal when she turned to distract McCall. “It’s been nice to meet you, Brendan. See you around—with Beth, maybe? So where are you from, Brendan? Are you American or Canadian? You have any family back home?” She fired question after question with a hint of archness in her tone. Playing the nosy girlfriend to perfection. A deflection with the skill of a professional—and McCall kept his face away from Beth as he answered.
She dragged in a silent sigh. A moment’s relief was all she could ask for right now. The reckoning was in front of her face, and she didn’t have a clue how to fight it.
As soon as she shut the door behind the Richards family, she turned and walked straight into the kitchen and stood with legs splayed, holding the bench as if it were her last friend.
He came in and stood beside her, refusing to sit at the stool, but towered over even her tall frame. Watching her. “You need to know what’s going down before you make any decisions.” His eyes lingered on her, assessing her. “I got word two hours ago. Falcone’s on the move. He’s left his island. His men have already reached Auckland, and showing your photos—you know the ones I mean—asking if anyone knows you. It’s only a matter of hours, maybe a day, before they know where you are.”
The quiet words hit her with sledgehammer force. She reeled, holding the bench to stop herself from falling over. “W-who?” she whispered in flickering defiance.
His voice was bleak, his wild, rugged face inscrutable. “I’m risking my career telling you this.”
Her defenses, and the life of her son, depended on her lie. “Who?” she asked, stronger this time. “Sorry, I must still be a bit weak from when I scalded my wrist.”
McCall’s jaw tightened; he loomed over her like an avenging Fury, even as he checked her wrist, saw the red patch. Without a word, he grabbed a clean towel and wet it, then wrapped it gently around her burn, soothing it. “Danny’s father is on his way to claim his son, and to kill you. Is that easier to cope with?”
Hearing what she already knew, but put so bluntly, made her knees give way. “N-no…”
McCall held her up with strong arms, his face stern and darkly beautiful in its concern. “I’m here. I’m here.”
“And that’s supposed to help?” She gripped the bench with fingers gone white from the unrelenting pressure.
“I want you to think so. I am here to help.” Though his strength easily tripled hers, his words were gentle, tender as the arms that held her. “It’s over, Beth,” he murmured, giving her the name she preferred, giving her the dignity of being who she chose to be. “Please, trust me. I want to help you.”
A dark, gypsy whisper, with an insidious sweetness almost compelling her to obey. She dragged in a harsh breath, releasing it only when she felt her diaphragm protest that it couldn’t give any more leeway. Danny’s life depends on this. You can’t trust him just because you want to!
She kept her gaze fixed on the volcanic pattern of the bench top, drawing patterns on its surface with an absent finger. “You won’t tell me who you represent, or give me proof. Do I hand my life over to you on the basis of a few words?”
After a long moment, he nodded. “You’re right. But even if I weren’t under orders, I’ve been trained to keep my career close to the vest for a long time.” He expelled the air, and as he stalked past her, the scent of warm, sweet chocolate came to her. Luscious danger…the chained jaguar unable to reach its prey by conventional means, and she held her breath again, sensing that McCall was finally going to share something of himself, and his life. “My boss ordered me to tell you nothing until I have a confirmation of your ID, and the evidence we need to get the government of Minca bel Sol to overwrite their extradition laws and hand Falcone over. But my boss doesn’t have a little boy whose life is on the line.” He almost threw the words at her, his voice grating and stark. “I think the time has come for the truth—from both of us.” He tipped her face up and looked in her eyes, his own hiding too many secrets and too much at stake to tell them all. “I’m sure from the way you never contacted me after our last date that your father told you about my dishonorable discharge from the SEALs. He would also have told you why it happened, at least as far as he knew. What he said wasn’t the real truth, though we’ll never know if he knew that or not.” He rubbed his jaw, as if the late-night shadow on it bothered him. “I don’t want to tu
rn you against your father. I wouldn’t tell you this if I had another way to convince you. I can’t give you the details surrounding the terms of my discharge—it’s highly classified—but it was always a fake. It’s my cover, an intricate story with full legal backup to get me into where I need to go for my job.”
“And what job is that?” she asked, losing the feeling in her hands as she gripped on. Everything hinged on his answer now.
Dragging in another harsh breath, he swung around to face her, his eyes the color of a storm-tossed ocean, and burning hot. “I could be court-martialed for what I’m about to tell you. I belong to a top-secret group of mostly ex-military fighter-pilots, a CSAR-combat search-and-rescue-team. Most of us were recruited from the elite squads, the most dangerous—Green Berets, SAS, SEALs, ParaRescue Jumpers, etcetera. Our job description includes gathering information and rescuing people in places governments can’t or won’t acknowledge they have vested interests in. We infiltrate drug and gun-running rings, fight in unacknowledged war zones, rescue hostages from deadly places—and we find people who don’t want to be found.” A little, grim smile. “We also find people in deadly danger who refuse to take help, or even admit they’re in peril. People who put their own kids at risk because they’re too proud and stubborn—or too scared—to reach out and trust us.”
She absorbed the information with a strange sense of calm. Much as part of her didn’t want to believe him, it all made sense. She’d known all along that McCall was a hero junkie. It made complete sense that he’d be a spy who rescued people.
If he’s telling the truth, why didn’t my father know? As an ambassador to the United States, he’d have had clearance to find out.
The logical conclusion to that question was too painful to explore. So she lifted her chin, choosing defiance. “Would either of us be in peril—would this Falcone person know where we are if you hadn’t come?”
She felt his shrug, the mental withdrawal, his own trust, and his unspoken hope withering under the quiet question. “We only got your name because Falcone’s men were searching in the South Pacific region. He’s been searching for you both for a long time. He never believed in your death, or his son’s.” His gaze sharpened. “You know the deal. We know you’re either Delia or Ana de Souza. From there you hold the cards. We want the evidence to send Falcone to the electric chair. He’d be indicted in Texas. For that evidence, we guarantee your safety.”
“I don’t have any evidence. My name is Beth Silver.” She kept her gaze on his face—no hardship, since looking at him was an addiction, as all-consuming as Ecstasy—as she had to deflect him. “You’re not the first person who’s confused me with Delia or Ana de Souza,” she sighed. “Obviously this Falcone man has. Danny’s real father did, too. He fooled me into believing he loved me.” Forgive me, Ana, for borrowing your story. Until he confirms who he is with reasonable proof, I must make McCall believe that Danny’s father isn’t Falcone! “It wasn’t until Danny was on the way that I saw his obsession with her had transferred to me. The violence and anger that I wasn’t the woman he really wanted left me with no choice but to run. I’ve been running from him for years.” She finally released her fingers from the bench, and the ache came, rapier-sharp, through her hands, but she welcomed it right now. Physical pain she could handle. “If this Falcone person takes us, believing us to be his wife and son, so help me, Brendan McCall, I will kill you.”
His eyes bored holes into her soul, but not her story. “Are you telling me you’re not Robert Falcone’s wife?”
Dear God, Falcone’s wife. She wanted to throw up. “I’m nobody’s wife,” she answered him with a queer sense of gladness that she could be honest in this, at least. “I never have been.”
He frowned. His hunter’s instinct had obviously heard the truth in her words. “You didn’t marry Danny’s father?”
She shook her head. “No, but it won’t stop him trying to kill me if he finds me—and it won’t stop Falcone taking my son, if he believes Danny to be his child.” Again, her gaze locked on his. Moving closer to him, body against will. “You say your group is above the government, in league with the CIA and MI6?”
He nodded, his face wary.
“So are you responsible to them, or free agents? You promise protection in exchange for evidence, but do we have an expiration date? Do I get effective protection, or a so-called safe house that he could infiltrate in hours? Would your group betray my trust and my son’s safety to achieve your higher purpose? Are our lives an acceptable risk to your boss? Would my son and I become collateral damage to him in a greater war?” she demanded fiercely, in total contrast to her tremor-shaken body.
The finger still touching the soft skin below her chin fell. Her knees shook; illogically, she felt as if her last support had vanished beneath her feet. “Damn it, woman, you know where to hit, don’t you?” He wheeled away, dashing a thick lock of hair from his face with careless grace. “I won’t lie to you. I can’t guarantee he won’t, Beth. I know my boss. He’d blow the world apart to save one of his operatives, to stop a war or bring down scum like Falcone, but though he’d expect me to give my life to save you during the mission, individuals like you and Danny are blips on the screen in the longer-term picture. He’d arrange for your safety, sure, but unless he had reason to believe you were in danger again, he’d forget about you when the next disaster came along.”
A fire-streak of agony flashed through her brain, leaving her weak. “So why should I confirm or deny anything? Why should I try to bargain with you?”
He threw her an intense look over his shoulder. “Because I’m not my boss. I give you my word, Beth, here and now—if you trust me with your lives, I’d lay down my life before I’d let anyone touch you or Danny. I’d refuse direct orders, turn my back on my career, take another treason charge, stand in silence through a court-martial, even commit murder to keep you both safe. I’d walk through burning hell to save you.”
The power of those raw words sent tremors through her entire body; but a flicker of doubt, of fear, made her ask, “If I’m Delia, you mean? What if I’m not her?”
His gaze narrowed for a moment; then he came back to her, putting his hand under her face again, caressing gently. Giving to her because he wanted to, not because he was trying to force her secrets from her. “I just gave my word to Beth,” he growled, his dark, stormy face beautiful in its masculine intensity. “Don’t you get it? It might be my job, and the right thing, to find out if you could rid the world of that filthy bastard Falcone with that tape, but I don’t give a damn who you are. It’s you…you and Danny I’d lay down my life for, whether you’re Beth and Danny Silver or Delia and Robbie Falcone.”
Aching, she whispered, “Prove it.”
“There’s only one way to prove it—and that’s with my life.” He released her chin and paced the room, seeming to take the night with him; then he stalked over to her and took her cheek in his hand, caressing her with tender reassurance. Close, too close. Never close enough. “I told you I’d walk through hell burning for you, and I would,” he growled against her mouth, his breath mingling with hers. “Come with me, Beth, and I’ll prove it any way I have to. If it comes to that, I swear to God that I would die to save you and Danny.”
Chapter 9
I would die to save you.
Slow and unwilling, her eyes lifted to his face. Her eyes burned with all that was said, or had been left unsaid between them. After years of expecting darkness and torrential rain, she’d been led into the sunshine, and she blinked, dazzled by the power of it. Could she—dare she believe him?
In return his dusky forest gaze was unerringly gentle. “I can help you. I can save you and Danny. Trust me, Beth.”
She drew in choppy breaths. Like a fool, she was praying for another miracle to show her the way, when all the magic she needed stood right here looking at her, touching her.
He didn’t move, just kept his gaze locked on hers. Using his dark-eyed gypsy magic on her, willing
her to believe. “Use your gut. Use your heart. You know the truth. You know me.”
Et tu, Brute. And Judas betrayed his Lord with a kiss. “When it comes to my son’s safety, I don’t trust anyone.” She pushed her hair behind her ear with a shaking hand.
Instead of the anger she expected, his face gentled with empathy. “I know, baby. How do you get your innocence back once it’s gone? How can you look in anyone’s face—even people you’ve cared about—and know what they’re saying is the truth?”
Speechless, she stared at him.
The small half smile was filled with understanding, yet hard-edged in irony. Combined with his dark fall of hair and a body made to bring a lover to unequaled satisfaction, it was a lethal combination to a starved woman. “Sometimes you have to risk it on a throw. If you don’t, you condemn yourself to a life alone. Danny will grow up, Beth, and then what do you have?”
So many answers she could give him to that. A grown-up son who can live, work, marry and have kids untainted by his father’s filth. A son who will see his twenty-first birthday without holding a gun or killing anyone who annoys his papa.
For once, the answers felt like a hollow rehearsal; she couldn’t utter them. A life lived in fear is a life half lived. She wanted far more than that for Danny…and for the first time in years, she wanted more than that for herself, too.
A finger touched her face, lifting her gaze to his face. “You can’t carry it alone forever. Give me the burden. Talk to me, Beth—tell me who you really are.”
A king hit to the gut. She took the blow without movement or signal, forcing her eyes to remain calm as she physically restrained the tremors, stopped the tortured scream escaping her throat. She lost more control with every second that passed, giving her life and secrets into McCall’s dark keeping.
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