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Out of Time

Page 9

by Monica McCarty


  She had the gall to look affronted. “The sheriff? He’s not my new boyfriend. I barely know him. Where are you taking me?”

  “Where do you think? I’m taking you in—back to DC. There are a lot of people who want to talk to you. You can tell them your sob story and make damned clear while you are at it that I didn’t tell you anything.”

  She took a step back, clearly afraid. “You can’t do that. They’ll kill me if they find out that I’m alive.”

  “Is that supposed to be a deterrent? It’s no more than you deserve and probably what will happen to you anyway when they convict you of treason. But if by ‘they’ you mean your comrade Mikhail, you don’t have to worry about him.” He paused and gave her a hard look. “He’s dead.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Natalie reeled back at Scott’s pronouncement. She covered the gasp from her mouth with her hand. “Dead?” she repeated dumbly, too stunned to let herself dare to believe it and shout for joy.

  But Scott—this Scott who hated her and looked at her as if he didn’t know her—mistook her reaction from one of relief to something else. But could she blame him? She’d made them strangers by lying to him from the start.

  This whole thing had taken on the feeling of the surreal. How could she just be standing here with him and not in his arms? She’d mourned and missed him every day since learning that he’d been killed, and now that he was here all she wanted to do was plaster herself against that big, safe warrior’s body, let him hold her and make her feel better, and weep with happiness. But she couldn’t. Everything had changed because he knew the truth. There wouldn’t be any happy reunions for them. Hatred was her new normal.

  She’d feared this moment in her worst dreams, but it was far worse than she could have imagined. It felt as if her heart had been ripped to shreds and stomped on, leaving her with a longing so strong it threatened to cut off her breath. She wanted what had been so desperately, it was hard to accept this new reality.

  “Sorry to break the bad news,” Scott said—clearly not sorry. “But one of my teammates shot your comrade when the bastard tried to kill my sister.” His gaze sharpened as he appeared to have just thought of something. “Let me guess: there was more than just a love of treason and Russia between you and Mikhail.”

  Natalie knew Scott had every right to his sarcasm and every right to be angry and hate her, but she wasn’t going to take that—not about Mick.

  She looked him straight in the eye and spoke in a firm voice. “You are wrong. I barely remember Russia, and I’m glad he is dead. There was never anything between us. I despised Mick. He was the one who forced me into this.”

  Literally.

  But her words fell on deaf ears and an indifferent shrug of shoulders. “What makes you think I give a shit?” He picked up her purse, which she’d dropped in their scuffle, and tried to hand it to her. “You have three minutes to get you stuff together, and then we’re leaving.” He gave her a warning look. “Don’t try anything. I won’t go gentle on you next time.”

  She flushed, both angry and embarrassed. She hated how easily he’d evaded her defensive maneuvers. But that was the problem. Her training was defensive—meant to give her time to get away. She didn’t have the kind of training that would enable her to go head-to-head with him.

  There probably wasn’t any training she could do to do that.

  She knew every inch of his body. He was ripped. A physical specimen whose muscles weren’t just for show, they were for a purpose. They’d been built to help make him one of the most elite warriors in the world. His strength and skill were on a different level—i.e., not her level. Not 99.9 percent of the population’s level, either, for that matter. Even a small glimpse of his skill had proved that what she’d heard and read about tier-one SEAL operators was true.

  Although she probably shouldn’t be thinking about his body right now. Or have her head filled with visions of resting her cheek on that bare chest she was just imagining with his powerful arms wrapped around her after they’d . . . what? Made love? Had sex? Screwed like bunny rabbits?

  What meant one thing then was now confused. Tainted. It had been real for her, but in a fantasy world that was now gone.

  His body and what they’d once shared were off-limits. She needed to keep her head clear if she was going to get through to him. Somehow she had to convince him not to take her in. It wasn’t just about her; she had to protect her family and the child she was carrying. The only way to keep them safe was for her to stay dead.

  She ignored the purse he was holding out to her. “Please, Scott. I’m begging you just to hear me out. I know you have no reason to trust me—”

  He made a sharp sound. “Christ, if that isn’t the understatement of the year.”

  She ignored the sarcasm. “But if Mick’s superiors find out I’m alive, they won’t just go after me; they’ll go after my family. They know I betrayed them. I never meant to pass on anything important. I didn’t intentionally pass on information about your mission—it was a mistake. As soon as I found out about it, I tried to stop it and warn you. But then they tried to have me killed. I think they wanted someone to take the fall.”

  She could tell he was furious by how hard he tossed her bag on the sofa. “So let me get this straight. Your defense is that you didn’t intend to be a good spy, but when you actually gave them something worthwhile by ‘mistake’ that I should give you points because you tried to warn me?” His voice was reaching dangerous levels of anger and that well-bred facade was definitely looking a little volatile. Had she really wanted to see him lose control just once? Be careful what you wish for. “And now I should feel sorry for you because they decided to make you their patsy?” He laughed harshly and looked at her as if she were an idiot—which is about how she was feeling. “Tough luck, Natalya. That’s the chance you take when you get into the treason and spy business. But I’m not going to let you take me down with you. You are going back.”

  She had never hated her birth name as much as when he said it. It was worse than the grade-school teasing she’d endured that had precipitated the change to Natalie. Apparently, he was done listening to her. He grabbed her arm and started dragging her toward the door with one hand, and with the other grabbed her coat and threw it at her.

  “Wait! I need my—”

  “Too late.” He opened the door and tried to shove her through it in front of him. “Your three minutes are up.”

  But she stopped in her tracks, refusing to budge. “Stop, Scott!” she repeated. “You can’t do this.”

  “The hell I can’t. I’m taking you back if I have to tie you up and drag you.”

  He was about to physically force her forward and close the door behind him—with her purse and keys inside—when she blurted, “I’m pregnant!”

  His forward momentum came to a chillingly cold stop. But it was nothing compared to the icy glare he leveled at her. It was a look as sharp and eviscerating as the edge of a razor. “What did you just say?”

  She swallowed uneasily, having never been the recipient of that much raw hostility directed at her, especially by a man who’d once looked at her with such tenderness. “I . . . I’m pregnant.”

  Her wobbly, uncertain voice apparently didn’t help her credibility any.

  He still had her arm and hauled her up to meet his gaze. “You’re lying.”

  The hatred emanating from him made her want to shiver. And cry. Most of all cry over what she’d lost. But maybe she’d never really had it. Whatever feelings he’d had for her had been predicated on a lie.

  But not all of it had been a lie. She had to try to find a way to convince him.

  “I’m n-not. It’s the truth, I swear.” Suddenly she thought of something. “I can prove it to you tomorrow morning.”

  “Why not right now? I’m sure we can find a store with a pregnancy test. Or
didn’t they teach you how to fake a pregnancy test in spy school?”

  Her cheeks flooded with heat, but she didn’t rise to the bait or let him distract her. This was about the baby. Their baby. He might hate her, but he couldn’t change the fact that they were going to have a child together. “I fainted after I thought I saw you—or rather, did see you—at the light in town earlier and hit my head. The sheriff and town manager took me to the urgent care. The doctor drew blood and discovered the pregnancy. You can ask him. The drugstore in town is closed. There’s a Walmart about twenty miles away. It might be open—or you can wait until morning when the doctor is back and ask him.”

  Natalie could tell from his stony expression that he didn’t believe her—or didn’t want to believe her. But there was just enough uncertainty for her to add, “It’s your child, Scott. I’m pregnant with our baby.”

  If she hoped that her words might bring a drop of softness to his gaze, those hopes were quickly dashed. If anything, it only seemed to make him angrier. His expression grew fiercer and the icy barrier in his gaze more remote.

  “How convenient for you.”

  She jutted her chin up, responding to the snideness in his voice. “No, it isn’t, as a matter of fact.”

  Did he have any idea of how hard this had been on her? Pregnant and alone, trying to protect not only herself but the baby she had no idea how she was going to provide for and keep safe? Did he think she’d planned this as some sort of elaborate scheme if he miraculously returned from the dead to exact sympathy from him? He’d read too many bad spy novels.

  He held her gaze for so long she felt like squirming. But she didn’t. She forced herself not to look away. She was telling the truth.

  About the pregnancy, at least.

  Seven

  Pregnant.

  Even just thinking the word made Scott feel sick.

  It couldn’t be true.

  He had no reason to believe her, and she had every reason to lie. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book, wasn’t it? An attempt to play the one card that would guarantee his sympathy and stay his hand with caution.

  Scott should call her bluff and take her back to DC right now. It was his duty, not just to the SEAL badge or the bars on his uniform but to his men, and she’d already compromised his job enough. The job that he’d built his life around. He needed to stay on track. To not let her distract him with pregnancy tests and doctors.

  She made a fool of you. . . .

  But what if she wasn’t lying? If there was even a small chance that she could be telling the truth, he had to know.

  Damn it, a baby?

  His stomach turned again, but he stepped to the side to let her walk back into the house. “If you are lying about this, Natalya, I swear I’ll kill you myself.”

  How someone who had betrayed him so horribly and committed treacherous and treasonous deeds that led to the death of eight men could manage to look so affronted—as if he was the one in the wrong—he didn’t know. But her acting skills were Oscar-freaking-caliber.

  “I’m not,” she said, brushing by him.

  It wasn’t just her nose-in-the-air, “how dare you question my honor?” attitude that pissed him off—although it did—it was the brushing part that really made him angry. Or rather, his reaction to it. How could he feel anything after what she’d done?

  But he felt it, all right. He felt the same blast of heat and firing off of every nerve ending—including the major one—that he had when she’d accidentally brushed by him on the way to the bathroom at the bar that first night they’d met. He’d never felt anything like it. It had almost been like the zap of an electrical current of attraction. Instantaneous, shocking, and sparking with all kinds of intense impulses.

  She was a knockout, but he’d known a lot of beautiful women. This had been different. It had been elemental. Bone-deep. Chemical. Whatever you wanted to call it. Whatever had caused him to leave the bar with her and spend the next forty-eight hours in bed with her.

  But instant attraction like that was one thing that couldn’t be faked. He didn’t know whether to be glad about that or not. Did the fact that some of it had been real make up for the fact that the rest of it hadn’t?

  No. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let it get in his way now. His dick might not have gotten the message, but he sure as hell had.

  He shut the door behind her. She crossed the foyer and started heading up the staircase. “Where the hell do you think you are going?” he asked.

  She turned around and glared at him. “To take a shower and then go to bed.”

  “At 2030 hours?”

  She held his gaze in a silent challenge. “It’s been a long day.”

  Did she take him for a fool? Better not ask that. It would just piss him off. But he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Not without me.”

  She arched an eyebrow in the way that she did when she was about to tease him. “You want to shower with me?”

  The naughty twinkle in her eye was so familiar it made the black hole in his chest squeeze. It was hard not to respond, but he tightened the steel vise around his emotions and ignored it. She needed to know that they were never going back to the way it had been. “If you want to shower, you can do so with the door open—after I make sure there aren’t any windows you can climb out of.”

  Her cheeks flushed as if the insinuation had offended her. Too bad. He didn’t trust her not to run the moment his back was turned.

  What he should do was drag her back to the urgent care and demand to see her records right now—whether the doctor was there or not.

  But that could attract more attention than he wanted. Like her, Scott was in hiding and supposed to be dead. Besides, he was almost certain she was lying about the pregnancy and would try to use the time to escape. He wasn’t going to show his face around here or anywhere else if he didn’t need to.

  But as sound as his reasoning was, he knew that wasn’t all of it. She looked wiped out. Fall-on-the-pillow-and-sleep-for-hours wiped out. He’d thought it was just exhaustion from a long day of work, but when she’d told him about fainting and hitting her head, he knew there could be a more serious explanation.

  If she wasn’t lying to him about that, too, that is.

  “I’m surprised the doctor let you leave if you hit your head when you fainted.”

  She stood on the stairs looking down at him for a few moments before responding, understanding exactly what he was getting at. “He advised that I stay the night. I wish I’d listened to him.”

  Her meaning was clear: because of Scott being here waiting for her. “I would have caught up with you eventually.”

  She shrugged as if it didn’t matter any longer—which it didn’t. “I’m supposed to have someone wake me up every few hours. I guess you get to play nursemaid.”

  He looked around; a thought suddenly occurring to him. “Is there someone else living here with you?”

  Someone like the sheriff?

  He felt a blast of something angry and irrational that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

  “No. I told the doctor I would call someone.” He waited until she added, “I lied.”

  Not for the first time.

  She sighed as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Can I go upstairs now? Or do you want to check me for weapons first?’

  “Good idea.” He should have thought of it himself. It was the first thing you did once you’d secured enemy combatants. A mistake like that could get him killed. He didn’t need another bullet in his shoulder. Which hurt like hell right now, by the way, after their scuffle.

  She gasped as he crossed the distance between them and started to pat her down. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t done countless times with suspects or prisoners in numerous places around the globe. But no matter how hard he steele
d his mind, he couldn’t separate the body he was feeling beneath the T-shirt and denim shorts from the naked one he’d caressed only a few months ago with his hands and mouth. He knew every inch of her. It had been consigned so deeply to his memory that even if he wanted to forget, he didn’t think he could. She was fuller—softer—but it was all there in scorching-hot XXX detail.

  No amount of steeling could prevent the rush of heat that surged through his blood from standing so close to her. She didn’t need a shower. She smelled incredible. The familiar citrusy scent of her girly shampoo and lotion filled his nose as the air between them grew thick with tension and memory.

  There was nothing sensual in the cold, impersonal slide of his hands over her chest, hips, and legs, but when his hand skidded over her breast and her nipple tightened reflexively, he felt a tug in his groin that was so hard that he stopped for just an instant and had to clench his teeth against the urge to rub his thumb over the tip.

  It was hard not to think about different times and circumstances. Times and circumstances where he would have let his hands linger. Where he would have pinched that beaded nipple between his fingers and then between his teeth. Where the slide of his hand up between her legs would have been much slower and with an entirely different purpose. To lead him to the sweet juncture between her thighs that was so soft and warm. She was always so wet for him. So slick and ready. She would tremble in his arms when he touched her. He could almost hear her soft little moan. A few strokes of his finger and she would go off like a . . .

  Shit. Not what he should be thinking about.

  He stopped and took a step back. But the feel of her still lingered on his hands and his body still swelled with heat.

  “Finished?” she challenged, the high flush on her cheeks a hint that maybe he hadn’t been alone in his thoughts. “Are you sure you don’t want to look closer? I might have a stiletto built into my bra or a wire noose spun in my watch.”

 

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