Situation: Out of Control/Full Exposure

by Debra Webb

  She'd fallen for him—fallen in love with a man incapable of loving her back.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Cole pulled out and quickly righted his trousers.

  What the hell had he done?

  He reached for the roll of paper hand towels mounted above the sink, pulled off a few and offered them to her. "Clean yourself up."

  When she'd scooted off the counter he washed his hands and turned his back to give her some privacy.

  How could he have been so stupid?

  He'd been slowly losing it since laying eyes on her and now…Well, now he'd really screwed up.

  He never made mistakes like this.

  But she'd pushed him.

  He closed his eyes and swore softly.

  She'd pushed him until he couldn't do otherwise.

  Yet, he couldn't blame her. He'd started it with that kiss. He'd made a mistake.

  No condom. Nothing.

  Stupid. Stupid!

  Not that he feared disease from her. She didn't fool around—hadn't, as best he could ascertain, since the man who'd fathered her child. Pregnant women were tested for most anything a sexual partner would need to be concerned about.

  "I don't usually have unprotected sex," he told her, in case she might be wondering the same thing. "You don't have to worry about that."

  The water running in the sink was his only response.

  "That shouldn't have happened," he added, more to himself than to her.

  "Why?"

  He faced her, saw the anger in her pale eyes.

  "Because it proves you're human?" she tossed in for good measure.

  Why lie? "Yes."

  She'd zipped up the jacket, hiding the gorgeous body she'd so readily displayed minutes ago. She was so beautiful. His muscles contracted with want. The insistent ache in his side reminded him that he'd been shot recently. But he didn't care. He only cared that her sweet face showed signs of his aggression. There would likely be bruises on her arms tomorrow where he'd held her too tightly. There would be other aches, as well. He'd given her what she wanted, savagely so. All in an attempt to walk away unscathed.

  It hadn't worked.

  But she didn't have to know that.

  She came toward him, her tousled hair making him want to touch it. His fingers itched to go there. Soft, like silk, like an angel's hair. He wondered if that's how she'd gotten the name. She looked like an angel. So pale and ethereal, like a vision. Her blue eyes so translucent they reminded him of light reflecting off water. All captured in a beautiful face that broke through his defenses with such ease.

  "You still didn't answer my question." She lifted her chin in defiance of the emotions still glowing in her eyes.

  "What did Stephens and Leberman do to you?"

  He took a moment to check the monitor. Nothing. Clark hadn't come out of the office, nor had the other man. The third man remained outside, likely freezing. Maybe he would freeze and that would be one less life to take to accomplish his mission.

  "I won't stop asking until you tell me," she prodded.

  "You might as well get it over with."

  He relaxed against the wall, took his time buttoning his shirt, then adjusted his shoulder holster. "What difference does it make?" A flagrant stall tactic.

  She shrugged self-consciously. The answer would be more telling than she wanted but if she wanted him to spill his guts, then she would, as well.

  "I want to understand you," she admitted. "I need to know what drives you. What makes you push the rest of the world away?"

  This had gone too far already. He didn't like what he saw in her eyes. He wasn't the right kind of man for her and he didn't want to hurt her. The father of her child had done that rather well four years ago.

  His own questions nagged at him. Things he suddenly wanted to find out when he knew with complete certainty that this impulse was utter foolishness, supreme stupidity.

  "All right. I'll answer your question if you answer mine."

  "Mine first," she interjected. "You already know a lot more about me."

  "Fair enough." He folded his arms across his chest, gritting his teeth against a particularly nasty jab of pain. Overly aggressive sex wasn't exactly a smart move under the circumstances, but a long-buried flaw in his personality wouldn't let him regret the actual act. It was the consequences that bothered him.

  "Where do you want me to start?"

  He should never have asked that question.

  "Where were you born?"

  He glanced at his watch. "We only have two hours," he reminded—and that was assuming Clark didn't make any unexpected moves.

  She looked at him expectantly.

  He exhaled a heavy breath. "I was born in Louisville, Kentucky."

  "Really?" Her expression brightened at the prospect of learning his secrets. "You don't sound Southern."

  He laughed faintly. "Kentucky may or may not make me Southern but that was a long time ago."

  "So you grew up in a city?"

  He shook his head. "On a horse farm. City folks like you would call it a ranch."

  "Horses? You ride and everything?"

  "I used to. I actually spent a number of years in South Africa. My father was an ambassador."

  "Incredible."

  He rolled his eyes feigning impatience. "It's not that incredible."

  "Keep going," she prompted.

  "My mother and father have since retired from politics as well as horses to a vacation home in Florida. The farm still operates, breeding horses and the like but they rarely get back there."

  "And what about you, do you ever go back there?"

  "No."

  Angel sensed the change in him instantly. He didn't want to talk about his life. The extraneous was acceptable, but not his actual connection to any of it.

  "Any brothers or sisters?"

  "One brother. He's dead."

  Something about the way he said the last made her apprehensive. She wasn't sure she should pursue that avenue just now. His expression had closed completely. Time to take a page from his book of lessons. Distraction.

  "So where did you go to college?"

  "Yale."

  "Wow. Yale, that's…" A frown furrowed its way across her forehead. "You must be really smart."

  The shadow of a smile dimpled one jaw. "Not so smart."

  "What does a smart guy who goes to Yale major in?" Her distraction had apparently worked.

  "Law, with an emphasis on foreign affairs."

  "You could have become a politician or gone on to become a lawyer," she teased, knowing he definitely lacked the necessary bedside manner, so to speak, for either.

  "NSA recruited me my final year in law school."

  "NSA?"

  "The National Security Agency. They were looking for graduates trained in foreign languages. That I spoke several flagged my file. My studies in foreign affairs only added to my value in their eyes."

  "What does a multilingual lawyer do at NSA?" Moving into hazardous territory again, she realized as his posture stiffened.

  "I'm afraid that's classified."

  She nodded, not doubting it for a second. "What happened to your brother?" She almost cringed, had hoped to slide that one in but he was far too fast for her.

  He stared at her for a second that turned to ten, his gaze looking right through her, lost in some time and place in the past. When he finally spoke his words were hollow.

  "He was murdered."

  She sucked in a sharp breath. "How?" She hadn't meant to ask that. She should have left that subject alone.

  "He worked for the State Department. He and his family went on a goodwill mission to Libya. The VIP vehicle that picked them up at the airport exploded. Everyone was killed."

  He didn't have to say more. "Leberman and Stephens were involved," she guessed.

  "I didn't know until several years later. I used my position at the NSA to do some investigating beyond where others had left off."

  Her puls
e accelerated at the horror he and his parents must have suffered. She wanted to reach out to him but knew her comfort, any kind of comfort, was unwanted.

  "I'm sorry."

  "So am I."

  She stared at the floor unable to bring herself to look at him. He wouldn't want her to see any emotions he might not be able to hide. She understood that about him. He didn't like being vulnerable and that obsession became suddenly, agonizing clear. Being vulnerable had gotten his brother and his family killed. A man wouldn't find himself vulnerable if he kept the world pushed away.

  "My father hounded me to let it go," he went on to her surprise. "He, apparently, didn't want to risk losing another son."

  "How are your parents now?" Time was the great healer but she doubted any amount of time would be nearly enough to heal that kind of wound.

  "I have no idea. We don't talk at all."

  Disbelief pushed past all other emotion. "Because you're obsessed with vengeance?"

  "Yes," he said succinctly. "And I will finish it."

  Angel pressed a tremulous hand to her mouth as she absorbed completely the full impact of what she'd learned. "That's why you're here." She breathed the words, a new kind of fear making her voice falter.

  "It has taken me eight years, but they're all dead now except one. Clark. He will die this day."

  "You killed them all?" He'd led a one-man hunt, played judge, jury and executioner.

  "All but one. Leberman. Someone else took care of him."

  As he'd told her this awful truth she'd watched the cold, hard mask he'd worn when she first met him fall into place. She'd been wrong about him being afraid to be vulnerable. That wasn't it at all. The real reason he kept everyone at arm's length, even his own parents, was so that he could be an unfeeling, relentless machine. He'd closed out the world.

  He inclined his head and studied her in that arrogant way he had of lending intimidation. "Now you know."

  She nodded. "Now I know."

  Her gaze drifted down to her hands. She thought about the way his skin had felt beneath her touch, hot and smooth. The way he'd held her after the first time she'd come apart at his touch.

  "Cole." She approached him, uncertain how he would respond. It was the first time she'd called him by his first name without taking it back. "You did what you had to. If someone had done this to me, I would have reacted just as you did. I actually tried. I even bought a gun. You're punishing yourself for doing the right thing. You can't let it keep eating at you."

  His gaze collided with hers, the fury there making her take a step back. "It has a name. Vigilantism. I killed those men in cold blood. Don't forget I know the law. Murder one. So don't try to pretty this up. I know what I've done. I don't regret it."

  "But you knew they wouldn't stop." She reached out to him, let her hand come to rest on his arm. That he didn't flinch or draw away gave her courage to continue.

  "You did what you had to. What no one else had been able to do."

  That fierce gaze wavered just a little. "Don't do this. Don't even bother." He laughed but the sound held no malice. "Don't try to save me, Angel. I know what I am. What I've done."

  She lifted her chin in defiance of his summation. "You're right. I don't have to try and save you. I know you, better than you think. When you've finished this, you'll save yourself."

  That's where the conversation ended.

  He didn't even bother taking his turn.

  She'd said more than enough for both of them.

  The only thing they could do now was wait.

  3:45 a.m.

  COLE BENT OVER the handheld monitor watching the activity below.

  Rather than give his appointment a final destination Clark had ordered two members of his team standing by at Lincoln Park to intercept his expected guest en route to an unknown destination. Clever.

  Stephens had chosen wisely when he picked this one. Too bad his time on this earth was sorely limited. Clark would be the next to die.

  Angel whimpered in her sleep. Cole glanced in her direction. She'd settled on the floor in the corner, her legs pulled tightly to her chest. He looked away. Unable to bear the idea of her getting hurt in the events about to take place. There was only one way he could ensure her safety.

  He'd searched the supply cabinets and found duct tape. That should hold her.

  He checked his weapons once more. The one in his shoulder holster and the one at his ankle he'd retrieved from his pack. He was ready.

  His gaze drifted back to Angel. She wouldn't go along with this. That left him with only one option.

  He crossed the small room and crouched next to her. "Angel," he whispered. "Wake up. It's time."

  Her lids fluttered opened, revealing those luminescent blue eyes. "What time is it?"

  He pressed his finger to his lips. "Almost four."

  He assisted her to her feet.

  "What're they doing down there?" Her gaze moved to the monitor.

  "Turn around," he ordered quietly.

  Her gaze swung back to him. "What?"

  He made a circular motion. "Turn around."

  She looked at him. "What're you doing?"

  "Making sure you stay safe."

  When she would have argued, he plastered a piece of the two-inch-wide tape across her mouth. She glowered at him and reached for the offending tape.

  He shook his head, touched the butt of his weapon in warning. Her eyes widened in surprise. He averted his, not wanting to see the hurt or disappointment that would surely be there, as well.

  When he'd turned her around, he bound her wrists behind her, then ushered her back down to the floor. He wound a few loops of the tape around her ankles.

  "I assume you know better than to make any noise," he noted. "Giving away my presence wouldn't help your aunt."

  He did look at her then. She looked ready to murder him. He almost smiled. Good girl. Don't let a bastard like me get you down.

  He told himself it was a mistake but he just couldn't resist. He kissed her forehead and murmured, "Take care."

  He didn't look back for fear of changing his mind. Instead he unlocked the door and slipped out, keeping a close eye on the monitor.

  Before dawn it would all be over.

  * * *

  LUCAS CAMP HAD NO CHOICE but to allow the two men to escort him inside the warehouse. He'd kept the appointment just as the man who'd called had re quested. Lucas had insisted his team of Specialists stay as far back as possible. Risking Mildred's life was a chance he wasn't willing to take, not even to safeguard his own. His men wouldn't be far behind. Still, as he walked toward where a man waited in the middle of the main warehouse floor, he couldn't help feeling uneasy. He was unarmed and a pair of police-issue handcuffs rendered him pretty much powerless.

  "The master spy, Lucas Camp. Well, well, we finally meet."

  Lucas waved off his inspired greeting. "I'm afraid you have me at a distinct disadvantage."

  "Ah," the man said in mock surprise. He extended his hand. "Wyman Clark."

  Lucas declined the gesture. "One of Leberman's recruits," he suggested.

  "I was recruited by Howard Stephens actually."

  "Do tell," Lucas said facetiously. "And to what do I owe the distinct dishonor of this clandestine rendezvous?"

  Clark gestured for three of the four men present to go outside. He no doubt suspected that Lucas would have backup.

  "I'm afraid you've caused me quite an inconvenience," Clark said then. He nodded to the fourth man present and he retreated to what looked like an office only ten or so yards behind his boss.

  "I'm certain it wasn't inconvenience enough since you're still breathing," Lucas returned, seeing no point in keeping up the ridiculous chatter.

  A red fury rimmed Clark's thick neck. "Cole Danes has proven a far worthier opponent than we anticipated. Since you commissioned his assignment to find and destroy me and the only remaining original member of my team, I thought you might like the pleasure of watching him die.
"

  "Unfortunately," Lucas told him, garnering a great deal of glee from revealing this little tidbit, "I can't take credit for siccing him on you and your team. He's been picking you off one by one for years."

  Clark looked bewildered. "Impossible. Only one of my men was killed by professionals, the others had unfortunate accidents."

  Lucas smiled knowingly. "Unfortunate accidents orchestrated by Danes. And now, you're the last man standing. Didn't your buddy Stephens tell you before he took that swan dive off that mountain? I'm sure he must have figured out the connection."

  The red bloom of fury crept up Clark's neck and over his face. "No NSA paper pusher would be good enough to take out one of my men, much less three."

  "I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree. Why don't you ask him for yourself? He's probably here right this minute, watching you."

  Clark glanced around, a nervous sweat breaking on his forehead. "No more games," he snarled. "Maybe you're right, maybe he is here. That would be good. He can bear witness to what his elusiveness has caused."

  The fourth man emerged from the office. Mildred, bound and gagged, struggled in his hold.

  Lucas felt the air rush out of his lungs. He couldn't let Clark kill her. Her frantic gaze landed on Lucas's and she let out a moan that ripped him apart inside.

  "Let her go, you son of a bitch. You have me now."

  "What I have," Clark countered, "is a helicopter standing by. I know when I'm cornered. But you haven't seen the last of me." He glanced back at the man holding Mildred. "Kill her."

  "You don't have to do this," Lucas urged, keeping the desperation he felt out of his voice. "Let her go. Take me."

  Clark laughed. "Oh, no. It's far too much fun to watch you squirm knowing there's absolutely nothing you can do to save her."

  Clark walked away, leaving his man with a gun to Mildred's temple.

  Lucas readied to ram him. If he got off a shot Mildred would die, but, as it was, she was dead anyway.

  A shot exploded in the air.

  Lucas blinked.

  The man holding Mildred dropped to the floor.

  The side entrance flew open and another of Clark's men rushed in. Lucas rushed against Mildred, taking her down to the floor and shielding her body with his own.