“Physically, I’m okay except for my knee and a sore spot on my shoulder. Otherwise, I don’t feel anything.” Her legs refused to move, and her mind hid behind a million what-ifs. “Can I crash here for a little while until I fly home?” The words practically choked her. She could barely walk, and every part of body and soul hurt, but begging a man to stay with him for a few days had never been part of her personality.
He nodded and approached her. “Stay as long as you want. I like seeing you in my bed.”
“It’s comfortable.” Stupid small talk. In reality, her mind raced with questions about her future. A future with no family and nothing anchoring her anywhere.
He sat next to her and held her. His silence was a blessing. She didn’t want to talk. She’d lost the one person who mattered. She’d lost her identity. Macknight’s presence let her breathe. She had no idea what would happen tomorrow, so she held on to him with all the strength she had and prayed he wouldn’t release her for a long, long time.
Being wrapped in his arms was a heady experience, one that lifted her fog a bit and gave her cravings she didn’t need. She never did get a complete taste of Macknight the man. In her condition, that wasn’t likely to happen too soon. And time had already run out. A wobbly smile lifted her lips. Her world was falling apart, and she was adding to her grief because she couldn’t screw the handsome guy sitting beside her.
It was a reaction to the stress she’d been through. Under normal circumstances, they would never have crossed paths. She’d never been the most receptive person to relationships, and after the loss of her father, she didn’t have anything left in her heart to spare. Yet, Macknight was here and caring and strong enough to hold her demons back for the moment.
He left her to prepare breakfast, leaving the door open so he could talk to her between the rooms. She pulled herself up in bed and grabbed the book he was reading from his bedside table. A Higher Call, a story about WWII pilots. She turned the book over—the book was about morality at war. Something no doubt Macknight struggled with every day.
As she flipped through the pages, she heard Fleming bark at the door. Fleming never barked.
“Down, boy,” a woman called out with a whisper-loud voice. Not scared. More amused.
“Fleming’s a girl,” Macknight said, as always, dead serious.
“Makes sense,” the voice replied. “She senses I’m competition.”
Emma wanted to see this competition in person, but her knee boycotted all movement.
“You must be Trinity. I’m the team leader, Liam Macknight.”
“Hello, Liam,” she drawled with a British accent, an affectation like buttery pancakes. Sweet, decadent, and satisfying. Not exactly the voice Emma wanted moving into the flat with the person she had no hold on.
“Call me Macknight. You’re in the room over there,” he said out of Emma’s view.
She shifted in bed and fixed herself up somewhat. Her bedhead and a face full of bruises made improvement difficult.
Ten minutes later, Macknight returned to Emma’s side with a plate of eggs and toast.
“You’re the best.”
“That’s what everyone says.” He grinned that rare smile with the full-on dimples. Damn, he was so gorgeous, especially without the grungy look he’d worn as a prisoner. The tighter buzz cut came off well with his square jaw and hard eyes, although to run her fingers through his long black hair again would be worth a holiday visit to London. If she were even welcome.
“Who’s Trinity?” Emma asked, curiosity killing her.
“She’s replacing Lucy. She’s a specialized operative.” Lucy’s shadow darkened his features.
“What’s her specialty?”
“Seduction.” Macknight leaned against his dresser and took a sip of coffee, avoiding eye contact.
That wasn’t the response she wanted. Maybe demolition or bomb disposal. Even canine handling would be better.
As Emma swallowed a forkful of eggs, Trinity appeared at the door. It had to be her, because no one could look that good and be a real human being.
“I knew I heard another female,” she said, leaning on the doorframe. She assessed Emma with one sweep of her eyes. “Are we teammates or are you Macknight’s special guest?”
Trying to stay positive, she smiled. “Neither. I’m staying until my leg heals, and then I have to return home.”
“American?” Trinity’s brows lifted as though some Al Qaeda terrorist had moved into the flat.
“Sort of.” Emma didn’t know how to answer that question anymore, but she no longer cared. She was who she was.
Macknight sat on the bed next to Emma and placed a hand on her leg, which seemed unusually possessive for him, not that she’d complain. “Emma was the key to rescuing two important operatives in Russia. She risked her life and saved Owen. We owe her a lot. She’s on loan from the States.”
Trinity’s gaze fell to Macknight’s hand, and she nodded. Her aggressive posturing ratcheted down a notch. “Owen? I’ve heard of him. He’s the team sniper?”
“We all have multiple responsibilities. Don’t pigeonhole yourself. We may ask you to do a million different tasks outside of your specialty.”
She seemed perfect for her specialty. With long, blond hair and a body that screamed sex, she was a guy’s fantasy come to life. Despite Macknight’s touch trying to ease her worries, Emma lost her appetite. It would be impossible to leave Macknight and not wonder about his interactions with Trinity, goddess and expert seductress. Especially knowing how much he’d cared about Lucy, the last seductress of the group, even if it was with more brotherly affection than anything more passionate.
After Trinity disappeared to introduce herself to Jack, Macknight closed his door and sat next to Emma again. He was so handsome, and this would be a heck of a way to wake up every morning. “You could stay, you know.”
She smiled at the offer. “I can’t. What would I do, sit around the flat and wait for you? That would bore the hell out of me. Maybe we could visit now and then.”
He nodded. “I’d like that. I only wish your job was closer. I’ll miss you.”
His push of affection weakened her backbone. It was important to keep her head. There was no future for them. “Give it a few weeks, and I’ll fade to only a blip in your radar.”
“I don’t think so.” He leaned in and kissed her as though he were imprinting himself on her so she’d never forget him, not that she ever could. Macknight wasn’t the kind of guy who would fade from her memory. He’d be there always. His caring ways, his strong hands, his idiotic assumptions, and his screwed-up past.
Owen knocked on the door and waltzed in without so much as an apology for invading their privacy. In this flat, privacy was probably nonexistent.
Macknight grumbled as he backed away from her lips. “Do you have a death wish?”
Owen wasn’t smiling, so that wasn’t a good thing. “We’re going fishing for a few days.”
“Who?”
“Federov.”
He glanced over at Emma, his hand resting on her thigh and making her wish he’d refuse to go. “When do we leave?”
“The plane takes off in an hour, so be ready in thirty minutes.”
“Are you headed after Maslov?” If so, she wished she could travel with them to slit the bastard’s throat.
Owen shook his head. “That assignment’s over. Something else came up. A Russian asset isn’t following the rules. We need to track him down and remind him what he signed up for.”
“Over?” She strained to understand how he could remain so casual about such a monster. “He killed all those people in Belarus. And what about Windfield?” And he killed her mother and sibling. The destruction this monster caused throughout her family history raged through her. Someone had to punish him for all the blood on his hands.
“It’s the job. If we chased down everyone we hated, we’d never get to the Queen’s work. But I promise you, if I ever cross his path again, I’ll pierce hi
s face with a bullet.”
That wasn’t good enough. She looked at Macknight.
His actions stilled, and then he glanced over to Owen. “We can’t take out everyone, true, though I wish I’d had the chance to eliminate him from the earth back in Russia.”
She bit back her annoyance and tried to see their side of it, but they were wrong. “You won’t avenge Lucy’s death? Or Grace’s?”
“I’m sorry.” Macknight kissed her forehead, as her father had done whenever he left her for a business trip.
The patronizing contact didn’t ease her tension. “If I had your resources, I’d destroy the bastard. He killed everyone related to me. He could still do more damage. Don’t you see an assignment through to the end? That asshole has to be stopped.”
“Our assignment ended the minute your father died.”
That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She wanted revenge. She wanted the team she’d been a part of for a brief moment to back her up.
Macknight grabbed a suitcase and threw in two pairs of jeans, three T-shirts, two sweaters, and two really nice suits. The reality of his departure lodged in her throat, blocking her ability to say goodbye. She had been a job as much as Maslov had been.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Macknight didn’t want to leave, but their asset, Alex Federov, would cause trouble unless he was contained. Work had to be his priority. Chasing down Maslov wouldn’t help anyone at this point. As much as he’d love a chance to destroy the bastard, it wasn’t under his control.
Someone had spotted Federov at a conference in Berlin. This might be the only opportunity they’d have to influence him outside of Russia. The timing sucked. Emma needed him, and if he cared to admit it, he needed her as well. It was as though every part of him had gone numb in the past few weeks, but her presence had resuscitated his heart.
He didn’t believe in soul mates, but something connected him to Emma, beyond mere physical attraction. This woman held all his dreams in the palm of her hand. For the first time in his life, he imagined something beyond his next assignment.
After he packed, he returned to her side. She’d wrapped herself in a navy afghan and held a book in one hand, while the thumb on her opposite hand rubbed over the spot of the missing ring. Fleming sat beside her and didn’t bother to move when Macknight approached.
He strolled over to the dog and rubbed her head, then turned to Emma, who seemed to have lost the adoring eyes she’d beamed at him only moments before. “How are you feeling?”
“As good as I felt a few minutes ago,” she said, putting the book down next to her. She stretched out her leg and winced but tried to cover it with a yawn. “Are you ready to go?”
“We’re all ready. It’s different having Jack and Trinity on the team, but Jack proved his mettle. I’m giving Trinity the benefit of the doubt until I see her in action.”
She lifted her jaw and tightened her lips. “Great.”
He took a seat. She circled her finger over the rim of her teacup without looking up. Jasmine tea, from the smell of it.
“When I return in a week or two, I could take a few days off and show you some of the city,” he said, trying to give her more, but unsure what she wanted.
“I have to get home.” Her words came out rushed, her focus pressing into him. “I have so much I need to ask you, but we have no time left.”
“Ask me anything.”
She lifted her eyes to his. Her expression contained the same strength she’d brought into Derek’s office the first day he met her. “Would you have killed my father if I weren’t standing over him?”
Dropping the noose around his neck, he nodded.
Her eyes, so beautiful, contained everything he’d never known he needed. Now they radiated bitterness. “That was your assignment.”
“I’m glad I never had to make that call. I never wanted to see you hurt.”
She exhaled in a half laugh. “Bullshit. You told me that if he made it out alive, MI6 would send us both underground.”
His back against the proverbial wall, he prepared for the floor to fall out as well, because however he answered, it would be wrong. “Do you think he would have been happy with you losing your future?”
“I wouldn’t have lost him. That was all that counted. I wouldn’t have cared how I lived as long as he was with me.”
“It wasn’t your decision. It was his and mine.”
“I hate you.” A tear rained down across her cheek, and yet she’d never seemed more calm, more sure of what she was saying.
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough. You let my father die. You could have stopped him.”
Owen knocked on the door, telling them the others were already in the car downstairs.
Macknight approached her to kiss her goodbye, but the icy glare acted as a force field around her. “Stay until I return. We’ll work this out. I promise.”
“So you can convince me of the benefits of a father who blew his brains out? I don’t think so. You did what you had to. You took me, the bait, away from Maslov and eliminated the potential leak, Edward Ross.”
“You’re more than an assignment.”
“Please. We’ve known each other a couple of weeks, and now we’re destined to be together? I’m just as likely to be destined to be with Owen.”
She was right, he’d known her only a few weeks, including a one-week separation. That was it. It was nothing, and yet he wasn’t prepared to let her go. He’d felt her affection for him, too. It had to be there still, hidden under the grief. “I don’t know what it is we’re experiencing, but I’m willing to find out. Give me a chance?”
“You have a new assignment, and your new token female in the group.”
That annoyed him. No one on the team was a token. Everyone had a role and was valued. “I’ll be back. I hope you feel better soon.” He grabbed his bag and walked out of the flat with Owen. He wouldn’t argue with her because at present she was fighting with everyone. They needed space.
“Emma’s furious at me,” he said to his closest friend.
“Why?”
“She thinks my sole job was to murder her father.”
“It was. We had our orders. If I had an opportunity at the prison, I would have taken it.”
“Did you shoot him?”
Owen shook his head. “I had a clear shot, but she’d run behind him. I wouldn’t risk the bullet going into her as well. She is my wife, after all.”
“Your Russian persona is dead, and so is your marriage.” Macknight didn’t want anyone on the team claiming a connection to Emma. Selfish? Hell, yes. “I didn’t see who shot him. It couldn’t have been Maslov.”
“My guess is that one of the prison guards didn’t realize he wasn’t supposed to shoot to kill.”
“That makes the most sense. If only we can convince Emma. She thinks I let him die, that I could have saved him.” Maybe he could have moved him to the helicopter, but he would have died, one way or another. The irony of being blamed for his death when he never pulled the trigger annoyed him.
“How do you know what she’s thinking?”
“She told me. I need a way to get her back on my side.”
“She’s not a door prize, Mac.”
That’s what he’d always said about Lucy. The truth sucked when it caused so much pain to his heart. “If she gave me a few extra weeks, she might agree we belong together.”
Owen pulled up in front of him and placed a hand on his chest. He was as tall as Macknight, but his strength came from sinewy muscles and a sharp, focused mind that remained calm under hostile circumstances. The weeks in prison probably gave him even more mental strength and a more lethal demeanor. “She’s been to hell and back, and you trying to make her your girlfriend is not going to help her heal. She has a life away from us. A good one, from the information I’ve read about her. Sometimes, you don’t get the girl.”
Macknight found it harder to inhale the more he thought about her g
one. “She might not be here when we get back.”
“Good. I think she’s been with us a bit too much right now. It can’t be easy for her. We’re a constant reminder of being kidnapped, shot at, manhandled, and treated like shit. I’d want to leave London, too.” He punched a finger into Macknight’s chest. “I’m warning you. Treat her with care, or I’m stepping in as her ex-Russian husband and kicking your ass.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
For six days, Emma dreaded Macknight’s return. Her body healed as her spirits sank. MI6 had been gracious enough to send a physical therapist to the flat and to not insist upon a return to the basement hospital while she recuperated. When she could move about without crutches, she contacted Chief Nolan to discuss her return. The sooner she was back at work, the better.
He took the call immediately. The warmth of his voice propped up her spirits. “Sorry to hear about your father. I always respected him.”
“Thanks. You were the only person he trusted with my career. I don’t think it will sink in with me until I get home and start organizing his things. Give me two weeks, maybe three, and I’ll be good as new.”
There was an uncomfortable silence on his end of the phone.
“They still want me in the SWAT unit, don’t they?” she asked.
He cleared his throat. “There’s been a hiccup. Something came up in your security clearance. A glitch I’m sure, but until we can work it out, I have to place you on paid leave.”
“A glitch? What are you talking about?” Her voice went hoarse.
“If it were anyone else but you, I’d withhold this information, but you need to understand what you’re up against.” He read off the accusations against her, all coming out of the National Security Administration. Something about a violent killing in London, another murder in Dover, and the theft of information from international intelligence agencies.
Each offense, whether or true or not, sent more and more of her career down the toilet. The words ran together. She walked to the window and glanced at the street below. “The CIA suspects me of murder and espionage?”
London Calling Page 25
