McCall swallowed something the size of a brick inside his throat as he held Danny close. It didn’t occur to him to lie to the boy. It would be as if he lied to the voice of his own heart. “Yeah.” Except when I was with Delia. When Delia loved me, I never felt alone.
He felt Beth’s gaze on him with the words he’d left unspoken, and felt her doubt, her fear and wonder touching his skin, like a living current arcing between them. Strange that with so little trust between them, the connection was so strong he could read her every emotion right now, and she could read his. They were both scared, so damn scared to reach out and trust….
Yeah, they were opposite ends of the social spectrum, the dark-souled, hard-ass McCall and Princess Beth, but in essentials, they were two of a kind.
“Are you lonely sometimes?” Danny snuggled into him, sliding toward the wonderland that is the right of every child at sleepy-time. “D’you ever want somebody to just hug you?”
McCall closed his eyes. Before today, he couldn’t remember the last time anyone touched him without violence, or just straight-up raw sex, a slaking of long-denied male need with a woman whose name he’d never be able to remember by the next morning. “Sometimes.”
“Mummy’s lonely lots of times.” Danny had almost gone right over into dreamland now. “Sometimes she cries when she thinks I’m sleepin’. I think she wants a big guy to help her and hug her, y’know. Like I hug Bark.” Danny sighed and snuggled in more. “I think she needs all the kissy-kissy stuff grown-up girls like.”
McCall, seeing Danny had fallen into sleep with those final words, glanced at Beth. “Shall I shatter his illusions, and tell him big guys like it, too?”
Beth shook her head. “Let him be innocent for as long as he can,” she whispered back, looking at her son with melting tenderness. “But one day he’ll need to know.” She looked up and smiled, and the sweetness in her eyes socked him in the gut. “He’ll need to know it’s all right to want a girl to kiss and hug him.”
The brick in his throat became a boulder. Just as he’d been ready to give up, had Beth seen past the cloak of dark mystery and violence to glimpse the man inside? “So it’s all right for me to want you?” he asked in almost a whisper, not wanting to wake Danny. Wanting her so bad he ached and burned—the sweet torture he couldn’t seem to live without.
Her gaze fluttered to his mouth, and her gentle hunger touched his lips like butterfly wings. She leaned toward him. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, it’s all right…”
And she kissed him, there in the warm half-dark of the firelit room, sitting on their knees and a sleeping child between them. A chaste, barely there kiss; yet as their kiss earlier tonight slammed into him body and soul, this one tiptoed inside his heart. All he could see, feel, smell, taste was Beth—Beth was all around him, surrounding him, inside him.
The kiss went on, slow and gentle and so infinitely tender. A kiss that shimmered with promises…promises to give him all he’d lost—all he’d never had.
Promises. Yeah, sure. Delia had promised him forever ten years ago, and left him with nothing…
From between them, a sleepy little hand reached out. As if guided by God, that little hand landed right over McCall’s heart, speaking silent words foreign to McCall’s experience. Trust us…
As if she felt his gut-tearing emotion, Beth’s mouth grew softer on his, enmeshing him with a gossamer web of tangled emotions. Hope and fear, need and wanting, and the promise of sweet, sweet love.
Damned addictive, gut-clenching, soul-destroying love, that turned a strong, independent and functioning man into a mess of need and hope and fear and jealousy.
He wanted her like hell, and that was all. He’d do his duty by her, but he’d walk away this time. Love only led to trust, a belief that he had someone to care for him, and then he was alone again, alone in the darkness, aching for promises unfulfilled. Love could be damned, too. He lived alone, and he’d die alone. But he’d make a difference in the world. That was all he had, and it was enough.
But damn it, he couldn’t make himself desecrate this moment with quick, hard passion.
You’re a fool, McCall. You’ve been a fool for this woman before, and you’re making yourself one over her again.
Goodbye, Brendan…
It took all she had inside not to let the tears fall as she kissed him and he kissed her, but Beth managed it. For the first time in ten years she had seen inside the soul of the man…and the woman, locked away too long, cried out in answer. Needing to touch, to take and give in return. To claim McCall as her man, now and forever, in the most elemental way a man and woman can. To give him the love he hadn’t known in his life.
But she had to leave him—and if he followed, she had to make him think the worst…even if he had to hate her, so be it. The truth could make him become those two words she’d outrun the past ten years.
Collateral damage.
Tonight, Brendan had proven himself as the man he’d claimed to be. She and Danny were safe, against all odds, and it was thanks to McCall’s mysterious group of spies.
And Falcone would have McCall mowed down for it. He’d know the name of the man in his way, and have it wiped, deleted like a virus in a computer. Falcone had had Dan Cassell, an eighty-five-year-old man, shot execution style through the head for helping her. If she let McCall into her life, let Danny love him, she could only imagine what Falcone would do to him.
Years ago her fame, her father and a team of bodyguards had protected her from becoming a victim to Falcone’s desires—or any man’s. Then Ana’s innocent curiosity led to a meeting, diamonds and yachts and a wedding ring within a month. And Falcone, who had married Ana under the name Delia de Souza, obsessively believed he had the right to claim the real Delia, body and soul.
Or kill her for taking his son away from him.
It was only now that she realized the foolishness of making her dream come true. Yes, she was normal, invisible, anonymous—and she had no protection apart from that anonymity, and the measures Dan and Harry had set up for her. She had little to no chance of getting away.
She wasn’t invisible enough. She had to disappear completely this time—all traces of her existence had to vanish.
But she couldn’t make herself break the kiss. Oh, how she needed him close, needed that taut, hot body beside her, making her feel alive after a decade of cold, dark shadows.
It was the baby sigh, the little hand fluttering from McCall’s heart to hers, that brought her back to reality. I have to leave. I have to betray him, for his own sake, and Danny’s.
With exquisite slowness she pulled back, watching his face.
He looked as moved as she felt. In the warm firelight, he looked sculpted, a thing of intense masculine beauty crafted by flame. His eyes were black with emotion. “Beth…” The name was a guttural whisper, as if he wasn’t capable of speech.
Shaken, she reached out with trembling fingers and brushed his hair back from his face. “I know,” she whispered back.
As if her tender touch undid him, he closed his eyes. His face followed the movement, and he kissed her palm.
The smiling lips warming her skin melted what little ice was left around her heart.
It was at that moment that she realized the truth. Whether she believed his story or not was immaterial. She loved Brendan McCall, in all the sweet flush of first love with which she’d loved him ten years ago. Maybe she’d never stopped. She’d probably never know. Papa’s words had destroyed her trust, and put her heart in permafrost, waiting for Brendan to come back to bring them, and her, to life. She’d become a shadow-being the day she’d learned of McCall’s treason, frozen inside, a dead thing encased in a living body, existing for Danny alone—until he came back to her.
Only McCall could save her from this invisible cage, trapping the woman within. Only he could awaken her from the deep-frozen emotional sleep she’d put herself into.
But she had to leave him behind. Too many people had already been de
stroyed by Delia de Souza. Delia had to remain dead. Forever.
So she smiled when she desperately needed to cry, made her eyes twinkling when they stung and burned. “It’s time for this boy to go to bed—and I smell hot chocolate waiting for us.”
“It’s probably cold by now.” McCall smiled back at her, warm and strong and all man, his barriers of remoteness smashed to pieces at her feet, and she melted all over again. “We seem to have bad timing with hot chocolate tonight.”
Bad timing. It seemed to be the chant of their relationship, both times they’d been together. She longed to ask, Did my father lie about you?—but McCall’s sense of duty was strong. Within hours his spy group would have his confirmation of her identity, her decisions out of her hands, taken over by the CIA, MI6 or any other governmental or international organizations after the tapes on Falcone. She’d be in protective custody within hours, separated from Danny while they asked day after day of questions.
And the moment they got what they wanted, they’d turn their precious resources to more important witnesses on other cases, and she and Danny would be left to the mercy of Falcone’s hired hit men. And what he’d do to McCall—
“I’ll put him to bed. Which way is the bedroom?” McCall looked down at her son, cradled in those big, strong arms. Oh, how she wanted to nestle there, too, to find safe harbor finally after years of dark storms.
Again she fought the pain, willed it away with a smile. One hint of her pain and he’d know, know she was going to run. “Down the hall, first on the left,” she whispered.
One lithe movement and he was on his feet, so smooth Danny’s breathing barely changed rhythm. With the grace and silence of a jungle cat, he left the room. She averted her gaze—it seemed held there, dark magic holding her will—and she, with far less grace, uncurled her legs and forced leaden feet to the kitchen.
She had more codes to give to Donna.
Escape tonight seemed impossible now, with the police, McCall and his friends watching, but she had no choice.
She couldn’t even give Danny a day to run and play with his friend, a day’s innocent camping fun, one more day for Danny to stay in sweet childhood. Oh, for just one day, one day to cement all her plans.
Don’t lie to yourself. You want one more day with McCall. One more touch, another kiss…
Disgusted with herself, she forced her thoughts onto escape.
Chapter 12
S he was going to run.
He didn’t know how he knew. Instinct. Razor-honed gut guess. Maybe no other guy would pick it up—Anson sure as hell would laugh at him for it—but he knew her. Her face and voice were calm, but her words…the tripping of her cultured tongue—the almost rhythmic hand movements as the ums and ahs came—
Morse. It was like Morse code, the way she spoke to Donna Richards in the quiet warmth of the kitchen, and the strange responses on Donna’s part, so utterly everyday.
Too commonplace. Like a code long devised.
Was he going nuts, or did the other Nighthawks, sitting in silence at the kitchen table with their prosaic hot chocolates, pick up on the code?
He looked at Wildman, then Braveheart. Saw the half-confused recognition of men who didn’t know what was happening, but their radars were out and screaming.
He didn’t know why she was going any more than they did. He didn’t know how she’d manage it with Danny here. He just knew she was planning on leaving. Without telling him a thing.
His gut churning—how, how could she kiss him like—like she cared, and calmly plan to run out on him?
Hating this whole charade he turned away, pretending to look out into the quiet darkness of country night, and reached into his pocket. The pager was a part of him after eighty-odd missions with the Nighthawks; he knew how to use it without looking.
Ghost. Subject planning escape. Check all charter plane companies for hire by anyone, man or woman, and block it.
Moments later, the silent vibration of the pager told him Ghost had received and understood.
It was more than he knew Beth would. She’d probably never forgive him for the betrayal. But damn it, he was doing this for her—for Danny. She couldn’t get out of the country alone, not with the forces Falcone had marshaled against her. Alliance with the Nighthawks was her only hope of survival and freedom.
He had to get her alone, to talk to her. And no kisses this time…no sweet, drugging kisses that made the operative in him submerge like the Titanic, becoming all needing man, believing in her while she made plans that didn’t include him.
With a motion, he left the kitchen to the backyard, Wildman and Braveheart nanoseconds behind. “What happened tonight?”
Wildman shrugged. “Cops took jurisdiction, sir, but it seems they ignored our orders and woke the family, demanding to see the boy, concerned for his safety. They scared the hell out of the poor little kid.”
McCall nodded grimly. “The subject is planning escape. Ghost will be checking all hired escape routes. Buses and trains are too slow, but I want you to check out any fast routes to a sea escape, or to airports. I can’t see her using commercial airlines, but she might have fake passports for them. Check all incoming and outgoing calls and Internet bookings—call in the telephone company for data during the past twenty-four hours.”
Wildman frowned. “What about the kid? She wouldn’t leave without her kid, and he’s here.”
“Danny,” he snapped, knowing naming the boy betrayed his feelings about his subjects, but unable to stop himself. “She’s got something going down with the Richards woman. Rendezvous, pick-up point, something. Panther will watch the house and follow them wherever they go. They won’t know him, and he’s our best at invisible tailing. Heidi can back him up in a second car at a prearranged point.” He turned back to the house. “We’ve been out here long enough. Procedure clear?”
“Hoo-yah, sir,” Wildman answered, and McCall could hear the grin in his voice. Yeah, he’d given away that he was in way over his head this time—but the cheek in Wildman’s tone told him that he wasn’t going to rat. McCall believed Wildman had his own, unspoken reasons for keeping quiet. A tall, blond, very sexy and full-of-attitude reason—one Wildman had made every excuse to not work with for the past year.
Another career man in over his head…because Wildman’s personal reason may have held a knife against Beth’s throat less than two hours ago, and driven into the night after trying to kill them both. And while the thought of the fiercely efficient and seemingly loyal Angel’s being the rogue Nighthawk got to them all, it seemed to torture Wildman.
“Roger all procedures, sir.” Braveheart’s tone was quieter, with respect for more than McCall’s commander rank. Braveheart carried on a constant, if quiet, rebellion against the Nighthawk anonymity policy, annoying Anson whenever his fanaticism got in the way of operatives’ personal lives. His answer now was his way of saying that his superior’s relationship with Beth and Danny Silver was nobody’s business but his own.
“Good. Leave unobtrusively within five minutes and start obtaining objectives, including a tracking device on the Richards’ car. Report back to me with any progress, and keep the exclusive channel open. You may need to close in within minutes.”
“Roger that, sir.” This time the men spoke as one. They dipped their heads in acknowledgment of the orders, and went inside to thank Donna Richards for her hospitality.
And through the pretty bay window filled with potted flowers, a pair of eyes slammed him with unspoken accusation. She was determined to do this on her own. Stubborn woman. Why wouldn’t she accept the help he offered her—
Falcone.
He closed his eyes. God damn him for a blind, infatuated fool! He might have forgotten, but she never had, not for a moment. That kiss in the living room had been her way of saying goodbye. Because of their passionate encounter in the kitchen tonight. She might have wanted it, but she knew she had no right.
He’d done a lot of low things in his life, but tonight
he had almost made love to a woman on her kitchen bench…and no matter what she’d said earlier, he couldn’t believe she wasn’t a married woman. He’d known she felt alone and terrified and vulnerable, needing comfort, and he’d used that to slake his own need.
He’d hit a new low in a life marked by foul takes, lower drops. Tonight he’d downgraded from badass to pond scum. He was a Nighthawk, sent here to protect Beth and Danny. No matter what his feelings were, he was not supposed to seduce her, either in word or in deed. He was here to find out if she had evidence on Falcone, and save her life. And from now on, he’d keep his hands off her lovely body. It didn’t exist for his pleasure.
But Falcone, the conscienceless slime, believed it did—for his pleasure alone. And his pleasure was, if his sources in the world of organized crime had it right, to kill Beth himself, for making him appear a fool in the eyes of his associates. And though he wanted his son, he didn’t care enough about Danny’s feelings to leave Beth alive. Danny meant nothing to Falcone personally. The boy was merely the heir.
McCall swore one thing at that moment—he’d set her free from Falcone, no matter what it took. He was a trained killer; he knew ways to take out filth without leaving a trace. And whether she chose to come to him once she was free, to give and receive the full promise of pleasure they’d known tonight, would be up to her. He’d be waiting.
Liar. He’d claim her, brand her with a searing iron the second Falcone was out of the picture. McCall’s woman. He knew he could make her want it as bad as he did.
Walking into the kitchen, he placed a tiny device by the door before entering. He nodded to Beth, as remote as he’d always been on point, as detached as he wished to God he felt. “Thanks for everything, Donna. We’d better go back and check out the damage to Beth’s house, and secure it so she can sleep.”
Beth gave a little gasp. “Thank you, Brendan,” she said, giving him the personal name she only used in front of others. “I’d forgotten about the break-in.”
Dangerous Illusion Page 12
