Outlaw Derek

by Kay Hooper

  “Yes, I know.” Her voice was still toneless, and she wouldn’t look at him.

  No time. Dammit, no time! He led her to the closet and his escape hatch, guiding her firmly, instructing her when necessary. They were soon moving quietly through a narrow tunnel lit only by the flashlight he carried.

  Idly, Shannon counted their steps; she had reached fifty when they made a right turn. Fifty more steps and they had reached a ladder. Obeying his low-voiced command, she waited at the bottom of the steps, holding the flashlight, until he came back for her. Then she followed him up.

  They emerged inside a building crowded with unidentifiable machinery, hulking in shadows. A gray dawn light struggled to penetrate the high, dirty windows. The flashlight had been left behind them in the tunnel and Shannon could hardly see, but Derek was holding her hand and that was enough. She felt numb.

  Derek had started toward what seemed to be a door, but he stopped suddenly, and she could feel his tension, could literally feel his senses flaring out in a sudden probing search. And Shannon wasn’t really surprised to see a tall figure step from behind some of the machinery, because Derek had somehow known he was there.

  “It’s been a long time, Derek.” The man’s voice was low, calm but guarded.

  SIX

  SHANNON STILL FELT Derek’s tension, but it was lessening, or somehow different, and his voice was soft and guarded as well.

  “Prague, wasn’t it?”

  A quiet laugh came from the tall man. “You left me in a very difficult situation, my friend.”

  “The fortunes of war, Alexi,” Derek responded a bit dryly.

  “Yes. And how well we know them, eh?”

  There was a moment of silence, and then Derek said, “You aren’t with them.” It was a statement of fact.

  “No,” the man named Alexi agreed.

  “How did you find this?”

  The man took the question literally, as Derek had obviously intended. “You always plan a way out. This seemed the most likely spot.”

  Derek nodded. “I see.”

  There was another silence, and then the man said, “I need a white flag, Derek.”

  “All right.” Derek’s agreement was instant. “When and where?”

  “There is a park a mile west of your apartment. A gazebo by the lake. In three hours.”

  Derek inclined his head slightly. “I’ll be there.”

  Without another word, the man melted back into the shadows. And Derek never even glanced toward those shadows as he led Shannon past them and out of the building.

  He was still holding her hand, guiding her firmly between two more buildings, down an alley, across a street. He said nothing, and Shannon, bewildered by his terse, cryptic exchange with the strange man, remained silent as well.

  Still numb, she felt suspended, as if nothing that was happening was real. This wasn’t the man who had trembled with need in the night, the man who had made love to her so tenderly and passionately. This was another man, a terse, impersonal man with an animal’s instincts for danger and a professional’s instant response to that danger.

  And she wasn’t, she realized with a sense of grief, the woman who had given herself so passionately. That woman belonged to the night, had fled in the gray light of morning. She was just Shannon again, alone and afraid. Or was she? There was something more now, she thought, something different. But she was too numb to try to understand.

  They walked a careful path in shadows between buildings for nearly half an hour, until Derek stopped by another somewhat battered car. Detached, she watched him unlock the door, and asked mildly, “Just how many cars do you have, anyway?”

  He looked down at her, hesitated, and then shrugged. “A few. Get in, honey.”

  She got in. When he had stowed their bags in the back and gotten in as well, she idly watched his long-fingered, powerful hands at the wheel of the car. Such strong hands. “Are we going to another one of your burrows?” she asked.

  After a moment, he said, “Yes. Another one. Shannon, I’m sorry this happened. I didn’t think they’d find us so quickly. If we’d had a few more days—”

  “How many burrows do you have?”

  Derek was automatically concentrating on driving, and shot her a quick look. She didn’t seem to be withdrawn so much as just not there. It worried him. “A few. Shannon—”

  “A few cars. A few burrows. And a girl in every port, I suppose.” She seemed distantly amused. “Mixing my metaphors. Who was that man?”

  He ignored the question. “It didn’t change anything between us, honey. I want you.”

  “You had me,” she murmured.

  The look he sent her this time was hard. “Don’t say that. As if it didn’t matter. As if it were just—”

  “Sex?” She shook her head, puzzled by him or by herself, or by what they were saying to each other. “Where are we going?”

  Derek decided to drop it for now: Shannon wasn’t in any condition for this. “A house,” he answered, sighing.

  “Yours,” she noted. “Like the apartment and the loft and the other burrows and cars and women. Yours.”

  He didn’t respond, falling silent and remaining that way. It was another half hour before he turned the car into the driveway of a semi-secluded house, not small or particularly large, just neat and rather—homey. Shannon thought the word both apt and ridiculous: apt because that’s what it pretended to be, and ridiculous because it was a burrow.

  There was an automatic garage-door opener in the car—of course, she thought—and Derek drove the car in, closing the door behind it. She got out without being told to and followed him from the garage into the house, also not surprised to see him unlock the door. There were a number of keys on that ring he carried. She had a fleeting vision of burrows and cars stretching into infinity, and swallowed a giggle.

  It was better than being embarrassed.

  The house was decorated the way houses usually were, with furniture and things. Nothing too shabby or too expensive, and nothing out of place in its surroundings. A nice, homey little house-burrow. She knew the refrigerator and cabinets would be stocked, the beds made with fresh linen. It must cost him a bundle, she thought, to keep himself in ready burrows. Another giggle locked behind her teeth.

  She wasn’t stupid. She recognized hysteria when it was trying to get her by the throat. She was rather proud of herself for not giving in to it. Well, not completely giving in to it.

  “Shannon.” Derek dropped their bags in the middle of a cozy living room and turned to face her, grasping her shoulders firmly. “Are you all right?”

  She debated how to answer that. And she must have debated too long, because he shook her gently. “Why wouldn’t I be all right?” she asked finally as a sort of compromise.

  “Shannon—”

  Something broke. He broke it with his rough, unsteady voice saying her name, with his nearness, with his sapphire-flecked eyes. He broke it. She didn’t know what it was that had broken, and she didn’t really care, but suddenly she was crying in painful sobs that shook her entire body. Crying, and in his arms, holding on to him, to his warmth and strength, barely aware of his crooning voice.

  At some point, she became aware that she was weeping like a rainy sky and drenching his shirt, aware that she was clutching him as if he could save her from drowning in her own tears. She tried to push herself away from him in that moment of conscious understanding, but he wouldn’t let go of her.

  Finally, she was spent, and felt unsettled to discover they were on a couch. Or that, more specifically, he was on the couch and she was on his lap. She felt like a tearful child after a tantrum. The feeling increased when he produced a handkerchief and ordered her gently to blow her nose. She felt a little mutinous, but blew. Then she sat bolt upright on his lap and glared at him.

  “I wasn’t hysterical,” she announced with a firmness only slightly marred by a stray sniffle.

  He was studying her face intently, a frown of worry draw
ing his brows together, but at this masterly inaccuracy the frown vanished and a gleam of laughter was born in his eyes. “No, of course not,” he agreed gravely.

  “Don’t humor me!” she snapped. The feeling of rebellious childishness grew. She didn’t like it.

  The amusement remained in the curve of his smile, but his eyes were intent again, searching. “Shannon, you had every right to be hysterical,” he told her quietly. “I was afraid you’d try to keep it bottled up inside you, instead of letting go. What happened this morning would have driven any sane woman over the edge. You should never have been hurt like that.”

  She avoided his gaze suddenly. He’d gotten too close last night, but it was morning now and she couldn’t let him get that close again. There was too much potential hurt in his closeness. On the point of withdrawing emotionally, she saw abruptly that she was sitting in his lap and her feet wouldn’t reach the floor, and it annoyed her.

  She felt … strange. Wary, guarded. But he was there somehow, too close to push away. She couldn’t lock her emotions away anymore; they were all confused in her mind, and she couldn’t get hold of them. And there was something else inside her, something new and different. Something tough. And she wondered suddenly if the explosive passion of last night had changed her in some way she could only sense.

  “Shannon? Honey, I’m sorry we had to leave so suddenly like that. But it didn’t change anything between us. I still want you, more than ever—”

  “No.” She hadn’t even realized until then that she was going to say it.

  Derek was very still. “No, what?” he asked steadily. “No, I don’t want you? No, you don’t want me? Or no, it was just a one-night stand?”

  She wanted to hide from his questions, but couldn’t. This time, she couldn’t. Looking fixedly at the fingers twined together in her lap, she said softly, “You said it would be a mistake for us to—to—”

  “Make love,” he supplied harshly.

  Shannon winced. “Yes. You said it would be a mistake, that the timing was wrong. And you were right. It shouldn’t have happened.” She could feel as well as hear him draw a deep breath before responding.

  “But it did happen, Shannon. And you wanted me as much as I wanted you.”

  “I can’t deny that.” She flushed as she remembered her abandoned passion of last night. Had that really been her? “I’m not blaming you. But it was too much, just as you said it would be. I can’t think.” She hesitated, then said almost inaudibly, “It would be so easy to stop thinking. Because last night I forgot everything but you and the way you made me feel. But I can’t let that happen again, Derek.”

  After a moment, Derek reached out a big hand to cover both of hers. “I was afraid something like this would happen.” His voice was quiet, rough-edged. “That’s why I wanted to wait.” He hesitated, then said steadily, “Shannon, you’ve been through a hell of a lot the last few days, and I don’t want to push you. But no matter what, don’t forget that I care about you, all right? No matter what happens, no matter how confusing everything is or becomes, count on my feelings for you.”

  “All right.” But she slipped from his lap before he could stop her, moving away to sit in a chair near the couch. She felt like crying again for some reason, and determinedly changed the subject. “Who was that man? And what did he mean by a white flag? A truce of some kind?”

  Derek was reluctant to leave things as they were—an emotional minefield where an unwary step could destroy both of them—but knew he had no choice. She hadn’t completely withdrawn from him; he was thankful for that. Her guarded wariness was a natural reaction, and even if it did hurt him, it was not unexpected. There was nothing he could do except be as patient as he knew how until she worked everything out for herself.

  “That man is Alexi. He’s sometimes a friend. Usually an enemy.”

  Her eyes widened. “What—”

  “He’s Russian, Shannon.”

  She blinked. “Oh.” She couldn’t think of a better reaction to that startling bit of information. “Is he a part of what’s happening at Civatech?”

  “He says not; you heard him. He’s not with them. ‘Them’ meaning the ones we were getting away from. But he followed us from the apartment to the loft.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Makes sense. He couldn’t have found it any other way. He doesn’t have the connections here to find every buried deed with my name on it.”

  Shannon was confused. “But if he isn’t involved, why did he show up?”

  “He wants to talk.”

  “Is that what a white flag means?”

  Derek nodded and leaned his head back against the couch. “There are rules,” he explained slowly. “Even between enemies. Maybe especially between enemies. A white flag is a truce always honored. It has to be honored by both sides, because none of us can work completely without rules.”

  She shook her head, thinking of the dangers of that kind of trust between enemies. “But it sounds perfect for some kind of setup,” she offered.

  “Of course it is,” he said frankly. “And that’s why a white flag has to be honored. If an agent offered a truce and then broke it, word would spread through the intelligence community like wildfire. That agent could never be trusted again. By either side.”

  “A question of integrity?”

  “Maybe. And maybe it’s just a core of sanity in an insane business.”

  Shannon thought it over. “So Alexi is sort of your counterpart? An agent for the Russians?”

  He nodded.

  “Do you think he followed us here?”

  “No.”

  He sounded so sure, and Shannon looked at him doubtfully. “How can you be certain?”

  Derek smiled a little. “Another sort of rule. Alexi had a string on either me or you—we can’t know which yet, but he was watching one of us. He followed us to the loft, and kept a close eye on the place. But by coming out into the open and asking for a meet, he cut the string, stopped the surveillance. It was meant to be understood by us that he wouldn’t follow this time.”

  She had a sudden flash of intuition, and wondered if she could possibly be right. There was more here. “Derek, you said he was sometimes a friend.”

  “Yes.”

  “How could he be? He’s an enemy agent.”

  After a moment, Derek said soberly, “Ideologies don’t mean much in the field. Governments aren’t always practical, but agents have to be. Sometimes there are common goals, Shannon. And sometimes the best way to achieve those goals is by hanging out a white flag and working shoulder-to-shoulder with your enemy.”

  “You like him,” she said softly.

  He smiled. “I like him, yes. I respect him. And I regret the necessity of living in a world where he and I can’t be friends … all the time.”

  Shannon chewed her bottom lip. “It’s more than that, though, isn’t it?”

  Derek’s smile widened. “You’re very perceptive. It might be wishful thinking on my part, but I’ve more than once suspected Alexi could be a double agent.”

  “Working for both sides?”

  “Primarily for ours, I’d like to think. There have been a few occasions—” He abruptly rose to his feet, stretching his muscular arms. “It’s a crazy game,” he murmured, then apparently shook off the thought. “We have time for breakfast. And then we have to go and meet our—enemy.”

  She got up, gazing at him hesitantly. “We?”

  He caught her hand and carried it briefly to his lips. “We. I told you. I want you with me. I won’t leave you alone, no matter what.”

  The comment was light and casual, but his eyes were something else. Shannon allowed herself to be led toward the kitchen, struggling with a sudden pulsing awareness of him.

  Had she been blind to him before last night? She’d been aware of him, yes, but not like this. Was it because they had been, however briefly, lovers? Never before in her life had she been so conscious of a man’s body, of his blatant
sexuality. That look in his eyes had been intent, somber … and more. She’d felt a sudden heat, a vibrant awakening of all her senses as if he’d touched her physically the way he had last night, with hunger and passion.

  She hadn’t counted on that. It had seemed so simple in the sane light of morning. Just stop it, stop it all. No complicated physical relationship and so—no problem. It hadn’t occurred to her that her own body and senses could betray her. She hadn’t realized she would be fighting herself.

  But she was awake, really for the first time in her life. He had awakened her.

  And as she looked at him now, watched him move about the kitchen with efficient grace and seemingly unaware of her gaze, she felt those awakened senses fill with him. He seemed to … radiate heat and power. She wanted to touch him, wanted to feel the fine golden hairs of his forearm under her fingers. She wanted to press her suddenly aching body against his, bury her face against him and inhale the pleasing musky scent she remembered so vividly.

  She wanted to feel his hands on her, stopping her breath, his mouth arousing her to the incredible heights of ecstasy he had taught her to feel. She wanted him.

  Shannon drew a deep, silent breath, shaken. Her heart, that physical organ, pounded against her ribs. But the emotional organ that was also her heart lay solidly protected beneath the layers of pain and wariness that years had built.

  Her heart was safe, she thought. Safe. Safe from pain. Safe from him. Her body would betray her before her heart did.

  Zach Steele leaned forward to point to the computer printout in front of him on the coffee table, glancing at his companions. “Civatech has a regularly scheduled shipping point in Norfolk. They transport overland that far, and then load the ship—it’s theirs, by the way—and just sail out. They sell their toys overseas to our allies, so what’s to stop them shipping out this device along with the rest?”