by Karen Anders
“I don’t like the sound of that silence. We agreed.”
“I know,” Jammer said.
“Don’t let your johnson make the decisions for you. You need to remember the name Shane McMasters along with the names of the others who died. They gave their lives for the cause.”
“Listen, don’t lecture me,” Jammer growled. “She’s been a valuable resource in all this. Fuentes has to go down, that’s what we both believe. You let me decide how that was going to happen. There is no one on this planet who wants him out of the picture more than I do. So honor your damn agreement and let me do this my way.”
“I’m just pointing out important facts.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve lost your perspective. That fiasco with DEA Agent Marshall was foolish. You risked exposure, and if Fuentes had figured out it was you who contacted Max Carpenter and spilled Rio ’s location, we would have failed the mission.”
Jammer’s heart clenched in his chest and then released. Rio was safe. “It worked out for both our benefits. She and that FBI guy are now off our backs. And Fuentes is now focused on what he has to do. So we don’t need to rehash that. I wasn’t going to stand by and let her die. I couldn’t.”
“No, I understand that. But it was a risk, just like the woman is a risk.”
He thought of her then, that soft, sassy mouth, silky-smooth skin and his need to hear her voice and see her smile. “A calculated one. The closer she is to me, the better I can keep an eye on her.” And the easier it was for him to touch her, take that soft, sassy mouth and make her cry out his name.
“Keep me apprised, and watch your back.”
“I will.”
Jammer closed the phone with an audible snap. It had been a reality check. So much had been sacrificed. He would do what his partner suggested. Use Gina, then neutralize her. That was the way it had to be.
A ghost was insubstantial and so, unfortunately, were his dreams.
4
CALLIE CLOSED HER EYES when he left the room, knowing she was on the verge of something so darkly forbidden that if she gave in to it she wouldn’t ever be the same. Even now, she sensed that once this op was over, she would be changed, and there wasn’t one thing she could do about it.
Damn her need for justice.
Damn her need for Jammer.
She stopped on the landing and peeked out the window. Jammer was walking with Jim to a small wooden shed, and they disappeared inside. She dashed down the rest of the stairs, listening for any telltale sounds of someone still in the house. Nothing and no one.
She went into the study and closed the door. Making her way over to his desk, she quickly riffled through it, but found nothing that would indicate he’d had any contact with the Ghost, or who the man was. She then focused on the laptop. She was not savvy enough with computers to break into it in the short time she had, so she pulled out her cell and dialed Damian Frost, Watchdog’s resident computer geek.
He answered on the first ring. “Took you long enough, love.”
“Don’t give me a hard time or I’ll kick your Irish ass.”
Many people when they first met Damian gave him a wide berth, for he exuded a lethal and deadly quality. But Callie was used to walking right into the tiger’s den and pretending she belonged there. It was second nature to her.
He laughed and said, “What’s the IP address?”
Callie read it to him, and while he was working his geeky magic, she went to the door to make sure Jammer wouldn’t catch her unawares.
Her heart squeezed in her chest thinking about what she would have to ultimately do. The look in Jammer’s eyes when she arrested him and turned him over to the courts would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Suddenly, she wanted to run, to get away from the reality of her mission. She turned back to his computer, thinking she could yank it from the desk, shut it off and tell Damian that Jammer had returned. She even took a step in that direction.
But caught herself. That would be treason and she’d sworn an oath. She couldn’t let feelings for a man stand in her way. No matter how much her stomach knotted and her heart twisted in her chest.
“What are you doing in here?”
Adrenaline pumped hard into her system and she whirled at the sound of his deep, demanding voice. She met his gaze-sharp and intense as it always was, but now there was a hint of suspicion.
“You startled me,” she murmured, forcing a smile. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came down to see if I could pass the time with a book.”
“A book?” he said, his eyebrows cocking, his mouth firming.
“Yes, a book. Are you insinuating that I wouldn’t get pleasure from reading?”
His eyes flamed at the word pleasure, but Callie couldn’t allow that to sidetrack her.
Hopefully, Damian had finished what he needed to do. Jammer went to the computer and looked at it, then at her. Callie’s attention was on his library. She was pretending to peruse the books, but when her eyes snagged on Scottish poetry, she reached up and pulled the volume from between two leather-bound books.
“Scottish poetry?” She turned toward him, but Jammer was looking at the laptop with interest. Finally, he powered it down and closed the cover.
“What?” he said, as if whatever he had found on the computer had distracted him. She edged toward the door just in case he had discovered what she had been doing in his library. But she froze when he stared up at her.
“What did you say?”
She held up the text. “Scottish poetry. You are Scottish, aren’t you?”
“I’d like people to think so,” he said.
“Is something wrong?”
“No. Why? Should there be something wrong?”
She smiled and opened the volume in her hand as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Even her heart remained calm, beating normally. Written on the page in a neat hand was an inscription. “To my son. Here is a bit of our heritage. Although we’re Americans, it’ll help you understand your roots and where you came from.”
The words touched her-a father giving a collection of poetry to his son so that he could have a sense of family and belonging.
Moments later she felt his hand on her nape, the warmth sending little prickles of sensation down her back and arms, but she kept her eyes glued to the page. “Did you read this?” she asked.
“Do you want me to tell you it’s all for show?”
She closed the book, wishing he didn’t evade every question she asked him. It was like he was the one who was the ghost.
“We have to be on our guard all the time. It’s the nature of the business. So you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me. We aren’t a couple. We don’t have any intention of staying together. I know this is a deal with fringe benefits. So you can lie to me if you wish and I’ll pretend that it’s the truth.”
“Then why do you ask me so many questions?”
Callie’s stomach jumped. Of course, the reason was because she was undercover to reveal the identity of the Ghost, and how to get to him. But if she was honest with herself, the real reason was because she wanted to know. She had this insatiable need to discover everything about Jammer.
But she tamped all of that down and responded with the easiest answer. “Just wondering. You’re an enigma, Jammer. Just trying to find out what’s behind it.”
“You’d be better off not knowing anything, Gina.”
“You’re probably right.” He was, too; she had to get her wits back. She had to keep telling herself that this man wasn’t who he seemed to be. He was in a dangerous business. He bought and sold weapons to perpetuate wars and death. He did it for profit. She couldn’t be blinded by the way he treated her or how she felt when she was close to him.
Just because she couldn’t reconcile what he’d done for her sister or the DEA agent didn’t change the cold, hard facts. Jammer, the Ghost and-if she could manage it-Fuentes would all go down and be nothing but
names on a prison roster when she was done.
She closed the book and went to return it to the shelf, working to corral her feelings, to get the right perspective on the situation.
But he bent his head down, his lips close to her ear. “What if I said that my ancestry is Scottish? That the book you hold was a present from my father, who wanted me to understand my lineage? Who thought that it was important to know where you came from before you found out where you were going? Who every day of his life gave me the wisdom and the nurturing that a father is supposed to give his son? What if I told you that he instilled in me a sense of place, an anchor to ground me? An anchor that has helped me in both hard times and good times?”
She steeled herself against the tortured tone of his voice, the raw emotion in his hands as they settled on her shoulders and squeezed gently. The trouble with being undercover was that she had to decipher what was real and what was fabricated. She had to step lightly to keep herself alive, and not fall for a charming gunrunner with a depth she hadn’t expected and couldn’t buy into. Her heart had to remain untouched.
She turned around and faced him. “I would say that you’re very good at lying, Jammer.” She tried to push down the lump in her throat as she pushed the book into his hands.
“I would have to be lying, wouldn’t I? With a father like that, with that kind of upbringing-to be that boy, one lucky enough to have that kind of parenting-I wouldn’t have turned out like me. A ruthless, greedy bastard, selling death.”
She smiled as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Exactly. You ought to think about writing fiction. You’d be very good at it.”
“No, the thoughts I have in my head should stay there. Truth is more chilling than fiction. Keeping you alive will be enough for me to worry about.”
“Why is that?”
“I’ve lost everyone who matters to me. I’ve got enough death on my conscience to last me more than one lifetime.”
A thick, heavy silence hung in the air as their gazes held. Jammer’s expression was turbulent, wistful, his fingers tight on her upper arms. She had the realization that he could have snapped her in half like a twig. She had never been quite so aware of the differences in their sizes, had never felt quite so overwhelmed by a man before.
“I’ve got enough death on my conscience to last me…” The words sank into her brain one by one to be scrutinized and a chill ran through her.
She stared at him for a long moment, watching him struggle to rein back the emotions that swirled in his eyes. She forced herself to relax by degrees, and breathed easier as his grip loosened. His hands settled on her shoulders.
“Would you like to unburden yourself?” she asked softly.
Very deliberately he lifted his hands from her shoulders and turned away from her. “No, I wouldn’t.”
She couldn’t admit she was shaken or show that her legs and her heart had been affected by his words. She wouldn’t believe that the affection in his voice, that terrible sense of loss in his eyes, was real. She was the one in charge of the situation. She was the one who had to remain calm and aloof.
She walked out of the room, digging in her pocket for her cell phone. She had a new determination to call Damian and find out if he’d gotten what he needed, or if she would have to make another trip down here to fulfill her mission.
“I think I will take that nap now, Jammer. Wake me in about an hour, would you?”
She vowed not to let the image of him standing there holding that book in his hands affect her as she headed for the stairs, her fingers already pressing the digits as she climbed. The faster she found out who the Ghost was, the faster she could get out of this situation.
She stopped on the steps and closed her eyes. Damn him and his secrets and his feigned vulnerability. For that was what it was. He was good, but she would have to be better.
She ignored the voice in her head that told her she was wrong. She wasn’t wrong.
When Damian answered, she stepped into Jammer’s room and closed the door.
JAMMER STOOD IN THE library, the leather of the book smooth against his palms. Why did she have to choose this volume over all the others? It was the only one in the room that was connected to a dead man. A ghost.
He felt all the ghosts in his life crowding him. Shifting his shoulders at the deep well of pain and loss, he reached up and slid the book back in place.
She was killing him by slow degrees. For the first time he chafed at the constraints he’d agreed to willingly when he went into this arrangement.
She was far too close, and every facet of his equilibrium was threatened, physically, emotionally, intellectually.
The urge to tell her the truth was there, the words right on the tip of his tongue. And that urge was so strong it actually made his insides cramp. He knew she couldn’t possibly guess at what was really going on.
He was disappointed that she hadn’t questioned him further, tried to glean whether or not his little “story” about his father was real.
His brain scrambled to logically weigh all the pros and cons of truly opening up to her, but his head was in a constant war with the reactions of his body and his heart. It was all such a huge jumble, there was no way he could make a rational judgment. Not with her looking at him with those bright and direct eyes and him wanting all sorts of things that were in conflict with why he was here and what he’d promised to get done. But his mind wouldn’t stop spinning, teasing him with ridiculous possibilities, ones that should seem outrageous at best, terrifying at worst. And yet he couldn’t stop that little voice from whispering tauntingly, teasingly, that perhaps it was possible he could somehow come out of this alive and free, and she might be the one woman with whom he could become whole.
Yeah, he was very good at spinning fiction-both with his words and in his head.
WHEN CALLIE WOKE UP the sun was low in the sky and she felt refreshed. She took a quick shower, then put on a pair of tight black shorts and a skimpy white cotton peasant top that bared her midriff.
Slipping her feet into a pair of black gladiator sandals, she exited the room, listening intently for any noise from the interior of the house. Hearing nothing, she walked downstairs and out into the yard. Wondering if Jammer had gone back to the shed, she made her way there. Pulling open the door, she was greeted with the sight of him dressed in a pair of cutoff denim shorts and a muscle T-shirt, standing next to a wooden table. The aroma of alcohol laced with…cherries hit her as she stepped inside and shut the door.
“What are you doing?”
He looked around, his hair spiky, his eyes a bit lazy. He smiled and it was as if the sun came out in that small space. His teeth were white in the dimness and she literally had to catch her breath.
“Tasting the cherries to see if the brandy is ready.”
“I’d say you’ve done your fair share of tasting.”
He laughed. “I have. Come over here and help me.”
“You were supposed to wake me.”
“I know, but you were tired and I thought I’d do some more work before you got up.”
“This is work?” she asked with an arched brow.
“It is.” He laughed again and she realized he was a bit tipsy.
And she had to wonder if he’d come out here to escape from the tortured thoughts that haunted him.
“I’ve lost everyone who matters to me.”
“I’ve got enough death on my conscience to last me…”
Who had he lost? Who had he cared about? Why were their deaths on his conscience?
She stopped herself from going down that road. It was dangerous to want that knowledge. She had all she could handle just getting through this op.
“Come here,” he said softly. Something in his voice sent off fireworks in her midriff. At least she could pretend that was part of the op.
She approached him and could immediately feel the heat from his body as she got closer.
“I don’t want to interrupt your…wor
k,” she said with a teasing smile.
“Tasting cherries is one of my favorite things to do. I don’t mind sharing,” he said. His eyes ran down her body to her groin, where they lingered, frank and outrageous.
She didn’t move. Couldn’t move with the aura of sin around him like a halo. He was temptation personified.
She had the sense, as she looked up into that calm, stunningly handsome face, that he was running possible scenarios through his head. Hot, dark, erotic. The air around them seemed suddenly charged with his powerful sexuality. It enveloped her, penetrating through the pores of her skin and stoking her blood with fire.
A delicate shiver of arousal rippled through her, followed closely with an aching tension deep in her core.
She couldn’t help remembering the way his words about his father had touched her even though she hadn’t wanted them to.
Sympathy was equated with weakness in her line of business; it could draw a person into a situation where perspectives could become warped, and emotions took over where logic should rule. But she’d already succumbed to it once.
He startled her with his next words.
“You don’t trust me,” he whispered, tenderly brushing the wet strands of her short hair then grazing his fingertips along the line of her cheekbone. “You shouldn’t. I’m not good for you.”
The warning was diluted to nothing by the sadness in his face. His mouth twisted into a half smile that was cynical and weary. His dark eyes looked a hundred years old. Bad Jammer. The devil in cutoff denim. Self-professed seducer. Warning her away. He didn’t see the paradox, but Callie did. He was nobody’s hero, but he would save her from himself.
She had spent too much of her life with truly evil people. Jammer claimed to be bad and she had the reports to prove it. But why didn’t she sense it in him? She wouldn’t want him to kiss her right now, touch her, hold her while the scent of desire and cherries surrounded her.
He’s deliciously dangerous.
Yes, she had thought that. And if Jammer himself wasn’t dangerous, then what she felt for him when he was this near surely was. She couldn’t fall for him, not for his body or his tarnished soul or his allure of the forbidden. There was no room in her life for a rogue. She couldn’t have her heart stolen by a man like him. She was above that. She had to be.
