by C. J. Snyder
Max cleared his throat after a long silence. “Be right back. Make yourselves at home.” She heard the screen door close just as Greg’s hands closed around her bare upper arms. “What’s wrong?” Her world shifted, focus tightened and she lost the battle to fight the awareness of him, so male, so strong and warm. Besieged by an urge to lean back against him, to relish the unique sensation of his skin on hers, she turned to face him instead. “I don’t do ‘this’,” she whispered, spreading her hands to include their surroundings. “Why are we here?”
“To have dinner with friends.”
Mykael met his eyes. Huge mistake. Especially when his grew warm with emotion. He brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek. “You’re doing fine, angel.” She wasn’t, but she didn’t know how to explain what was wrong. Not without sounding like a petty child. Heavens, she’d sat through more boring dinners, with far worse company. She’d make it through this.
“Have any idea how much I want to kiss you?” Cupping her face, he traced her lips with his thumbs.
Mykael shuddered, eyes fluttering shut, her body helplessly remembering the taste of him. “Aw, hell,” he growled. “I want to do more than just kiss you.” He fingered her earlobe and she shuddered again. Greg leaned closer, nuzzling her jaw now. “I want to carry you to that picnic table over there and throw your knees up on my shoulders.”
“Are we interrupting?” Mykael jumped back like she’d been bitten by a rattler, but not before she saw irritation and regret in Greg’s eyes. “No, of course not,” Mykael murmured, offering a smile so forced it hurt. Greg moved to the railing, his back to their hosts, leaving Mykael to face Max, who held the door open for Kat. “Looks delicious,” she offered when Kat set down a tray. Iced tea and a platter of the cute little quiches Melina had always liked. Mykael thought she’d rather have a beer, but kept her mouth closed. Kat’s fingers brushed a little too close to Greg’s when she handed him his tea, but when she smiled at her husband with a die-for-you look in her eyes, Mykael relaxed a little.
As if she could read her mind, Kat turned her sharp blue eyes on Mykael. “Greg saved my life.” Max’s arm slid around his wife’s shoulders, squeezing. Interesting. Was Max warning Kat about something? If he was, she laughed it off. “Just over a year ago. I’ll be forever grateful.”
“Max would’ve killed me if I hadn’t,” Greg replied matter-of-factly. Everyone but Mykael laughed. Greg still hadn’t turned around. She took a quiche, a glass of tea, and backed into a double swing, perturbed when Kat followed her and took the other half of the swing.
“What sort of work do you do, Mykael?” Kat obviously wasn’t going anywhere soon. “She’s a hacker,” Greg offered, finally turning around with a smile. He shot her a wink, then turned to Max.
As when they’d first arrived, Max hadn’t taken his eyes off her. Kat drew her attention away with a friendly pat on the arm.
“Interesting. What company?“ ”I consult. My own business.” She grappled in the small bag she usually carried. Where had she tucked those business cards? There. She handed one to Kat with fingers that didn’t betray the turmoil inside. In truth, between Greg’s sensual assault and worry for Sean, the whole evening stretched ahead like some sort of twilight-zoned-small-talk nightmare. .Her baby brother was back in the midst of the snakes by now, sealing deals that would ensure his death if he were caught while she sat in the middle of nowhere eating quiches.
Pretend she’s the wife of a Caldera.
Mykael’s smile grew less forced. “You’re a psychiatrist, I hear.”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t seem there’d be much call for one up here.” She swallowed, “in the middle of nowhere” just in time.
“No, my practice is in Denver. I mostly do consulting myself. Trials, that sort of thing.” “She’s famous.” Max’s unapologetic boast made Kat smile. Max lifted the pitcher of tea, offering to refill the drink she hadn’t touched. “Tell us about yourself, Mykael. Where do you live?”
Greg angled himself between Mykael and Max and she heard him murmur something that sounded like, “not tonight.”
Max kept his eyes on her. Weird. Definitely weird, and despite what Greg said about dinner with friends, there was more going on here than he’d told her.
“Currently Texas.” The lie came automatically. “Just outside of Dallas.” If he asked, she could be specific. Her Texas office was a standard part of the lies she lived.
“I like Dallas.”
“I’m not there often enough,” Mykael replied, with just the right amount of wistfulness. This conversation she could have in her sleep. “So you travel?”
“Mmmm. Extensively.”
“Ever been to Mexico?”
Greg again blocked her line of vision to Max. She looked at down at her hands, rather than let her eyes linger on his broad shoulders. “Shall I show you the schematics I came up with for your new system?” he asked his friend. Mykael fought a sudden surge of anxiety.
“Go on, Max,” Kat urged softly. “You know that’s one of the reasons you invited him up here.”
When the men had gone inside, Mykael turned back to Kat. “Have you known Greg long?” Maybe she could get some information about his past from the too-friendly shrink. “Just over a year. We met the day he saved me.”
“What did he save you from?”
“It was a medical condition. A short-term medical condition.”
End of that conversation, Mykael thought and stifled a sigh. This was going to be one long evening.
Fortunately, Kat picked up the conversational ball again. “How did you meet Greg?” “We worked a job together.” Bad trail. She had no idea what Greg had told this lovely, clueless couple he did for a living. “How long have you and Max been married?” “A year.” Her lips twitched as if she’d just remembered a secret. “We, uh, knew each other in college, then were reunited last year.”
Mykael sincerely hoped there’d be wine or something with dinner. She heard the distinct sound of eggshells cracking under her feet. Thankfully, by the time Lizzie reappeared with baby Nathan on her hip, announcing that dinner was ready and it was a good thing because she was starving to death, Kat had already noticed her untouched tea and offered her a glass of wine. If more was served with dinner, she might just live through this boring, normal dinner.
It wasn’t that Kat and Max weren’t nice, and baby Nathan was certainly adorable, all coos and wet grins, but she’d chosen the life she had precisely because this type of American dream felt like Area 51 to her. Happily ever after didn’t exist in her world. Hadn’t ever existed in her world. She knew it did for others, her grandparents were a fine example of that, but she felt...smothered. And sad. For all her strange attraction to Greg, the dinner was a nasty reminder that they ultimately came from different worlds. She’d never fit in his. No sense in pretending. Middle-class America she was not.
The chicken dish was delicious, though, and Kat seemed genuinely pleased when Mykael told her so. While Kat excused herself to bring dessert to the table, Greg launched into another of his seemingly endless reminisces with Max. Directly across from her, Lizzie leaned forward with wickedly enchanting grin.
“I was kidnapped once. They cut off one of my toes. Want to see?”
Mykael worked hard to keep her mouth closed. How did you respond to a statement like that?
Apparently Lizzie didn’t need a response. “It’s okay if you don’t, even though it’s not gross now. Least I don’t think it is. That’s when my real mom almost died.”
Kat wasn’t her real mother? Mykael hid a smile. Apparently this post-card for the allAmerican family was just a little out of focus.
“My mom almost died too. She’s my dad’s sister.”
Mykael nearly choked on her wine. Weird didn’t begin to cut it. Kat cut in to explain that Max’s sister had raised Lizzie. Lizzie looked slightly annoyed at the interruption, like she’d already made it perfectly clear. “See, my real mom,” she smiled at Kat, then
back at Mykael. “She thought my grandmother was crazy. That’s why she didn’t want to raise me.”
Mykael thought the whole family might be skewed towards the grandmother’s genetics. “Hmmm,” she offered politely, wondering if Greg knew all this. He didn’t seem to be listening, but Max was.
“Lizzie, that’s enough. Mykael doesn’t care about the entire family history.” On the other hand, talking with Lizzie was far more entertaining than making small talk with her mother, real or otherwise. “It’s all right, Max. Lizzie’s quite interesting.”
Lizzie, she noted, waited for her father’s nod before continuing. “Kat said you do computers? I love ‘em. I know more than Kat, but not as much as my Dad. He’s amazing.” Mykael smiled at the bright little girl. “What do you like to do on them?” “Everything. It’s a necessity when you live up here. Although there’s nothing better than when Kat takes us to Denver with her.” Lizzie lowered her voice. “She likes to shop in person— like at Cherry Creek and downtown and stuff. Then after shopping, we always go to the movies. When I’m thirteen I’m going to get my belly button pierced like yours.”
So that explained the sudden camaraderie Lizzie obviously felt for her. Mykael hid a smile. “It’s a big decision.” “Yeah, but they’re so cool.” Lizzie sighed and Mykael could see a future in Hollywood for her. “And it’s not such a huge decision–not like what you’re going to do with your life or anything. I’m going to be a programmer.”
Mykael’s smile became a genuine grin. “Lots of hard work, that.”
“I’m already taking a class, online from a school in Denver.”
“That’s impressive, Lizzie, especially at your age.”
“Yeah, I know. I wrote a program for Dad, and he’s going to use it in his new security system.” She gave a satisfied nod, took a drink and then leaned close again. “Did Greg tell you he and my dad used to be spies together?”
Chapter Nine
Max’s wineglass crashed and disintegrated on the fine wood table. Hundreds of tiny puzzle pieces settled into place. Kat’s involvement with Crater’s rehab, a job that would normally be handled in-house, or at least in Virginia. The lack of any information in Ice’s file–Ghost would have removed it to protect his old college buddy. The strange notation she’d found just two days ago on his updated calendar: Ice. Ref: GL agenda. GL. Greg Lassiter.
In slow motion, Mykael turned away from an expectant Lizzie, gaze traveling over the miles of glass-shrouded fine wood to the end of the table, up a wine-splattered oxford shirt clinging tightly to a muscular chest. A neck corded with sudden anxiety, lips tight with tension, the eyes of the man she’d sought for over a decade. “Ice.”
“Kat, take Lizzie.” Kat already had, ushering her daughter out of the dining room and down the hall before Max–Ice–had finished speaking.
“It was you.” Not really a question, and not much of a statement, either. Mykael clutched the small bag in her lap, waiting only for confirmation. “You’re the infamous Ice.” “Was.” Max’s face was grim, his eyes pleading. “I was Ice.”
Pleading like Peter had? “He wasn’t a mole.” She couldn’t stop the outburst. “I know that now. I didn’t at the time. I was set up as surely as Blade.”
She allowed herself one quick, cold smile. “Only you’re here, with your lovely family, aren’t you?” Her fingers slid inside her bag, curled around heavy steel. An icy determination settled over her. She watched him carefully, noted how his hands rested on the table. He wouldn’t fight her. Good. A quick, clean kill, better for everyone.
“I want to show you, Maria.” Mykael couldn’t stop her instinctive flinch at his use of her name. How did he know? No one knew, no one but Sean and Peter…and Greg. “Show me what, Ice? I was there. Or have you forgotten?”
“Not one second of it. I have nightmares–relive it constantly. I’m sure you do too.” She didn’t look away from his eyes, but she could see his hands flatten on the table, heedless of the broken glass underneath them.
“I want to show you what Viper showed me. The evidence against Blade. The reason I obeyed Viper’s order.” She didn’t want to see it. Didn’t care what it said. He should have known Blade would never betray Black Fire. Should have known Blade would have died for any of them. It was how the unit functioned, what kept them all alive–as much a part of them as breathing. How dare he believe otherwise?
“Kat.” The soft call heralded an immediate response. Their gracious hostess wasn’t smiling now. She placed a file folder on the table and went to stand behind her husband, hands on his shoulders. Offering what? Courage? Support?
Mykael pulled the gun from her bag and leveled it at Max’s forehead, eliciting a gasp from Kat and no response at all from her target. “He’s a murderer, Kat.”
“I know.” The quiet response wasn’t what Mykael expected. Her gun never moved, but her gaze traveled up to meet Kat’s. The psychiatrist looked back at her with a mixture of sorrow and sympathy. “I know what he did. I know why he did it. And you have to believe me when I tell you he was set up, as surely as your lover was.”
“My husband,” Mykael corrected, voice much too shaky for her liking. The trembling didn’t listen to silent commands to cease, however, moving from her voice to the fingers that clenched cold steel too tightly.
Kat held her gaze, refusing to look away. “If you shoot him, you’ll also be killing me. At this range the bullet will easily travel through him into me. If that’s your decision, there’s nothing more to say. For the sake of my children–your child–I ask you to look at the evidence first, before you make that decision.”
Mykael didn’t want to look. Not at the evidence, not at Kat, not even at Max as she tried to find the cold-hearted killer she knew was there inside this warm-hearted family man. She searched his face again, saw only what she’d seen when she arrived. An attractive man, in love with his wife and children, who’d built a life for himself–a good life by the looks of the house–in the middle of nowhere. The life she’d meant to have with Peter.
Emotions coursed through her. Stunned denial that her decade-long quest was over. Disbelief in what her very eyes told her. Aching grief as the knowledge she’d held in her head filled her heart as well. Killing this man wouldn’t bring Peter back. Wouldn’t breathe new life into Edward’s still body. Wouldn’t change anything. Sadness that in spite of those truths, the deed must still be done. She’d promised to avenge Peter.
Kat leaned over Max’s broad shoulders and nudged the file closer to Mykael. “Just look,” she pleaded softly. Mykael straightened her shoulders. Kat pleaded for logic–she could be logical. But even logic demanded this man’s blood, regardless of what the file held. During a normal kill, what she was about to say would never happen. Only nothing about this kill was normal. “I’ll look. If you’ll sit.” She tipped her head slightly toward Kat’s empty dining chair. There was no reason to deprive Lizzie and her baby brother of a father and a mother.
She could tell Kat understood the offer and its implications. Max, who’d had hold of his wife’s wrists over his shoulders, released them immediately. “Deal.” Mykael pulled the file in front of her, but didn’t open it. Max had agreed, but her offer had nothing to do with him.
From another room, baby Nathan’s giggle broke the strained silence. Tears slid down Kat’s cheeks as she pressed her cheek against her husband’s, whispered in his ear and resolutely took her place at the table.
The barrel of the gun never wavered, even as Mykael flipped open the manila file folder. Six gruesome photographs were inside, accompanied by field agent reports. The first was of a legitimate kill, a terrorist who’d taken twenty school children hostage, murdering two of them. Blade’s vicious response displayed his special hatred of those who hurt children. The next two were similar, if neater. She was familiar enough with his handiwork to recognize it and she’d actually been present with him for the third.
With a brief glance at Max to make certain he hadn’t moved, she flip
ped over the page. An agent the lettering below the picture named as Flame lay on his back, sightless eyes seemingly fixed straight at the camera, accusing. His shirt lay open at his sides, displaying obvious knife wounds, the telling slice of a blade clearly visible on his abdomen. Blade’s work, only it wasn’t. She checked the date, glanced at Ghost for the first time. “We were in Oregon.”
He nodded. “We know that. Now.” His gaze was glued to the photographs. He looked like he was trying hard to capture an elusive puzzle piece. “Ice, somebody killed these guys.” Max’s hand, pulling even more pictures out of the folder, stilled. “Somebody besides Viper, you mean?”
Ghost shook his head, but the frown on his forehead was still there as Max—Ice—she reminded herself, continued. Two more pictures followed, two more reports dated on two subsequent days. Three days, three kills, three agents gone. Knife prints carved each body. A fingerprint accompanied the last. “Blade never left a print. Not ever. And we were in Oregon–the entire time.”
She made her comments to Ghost, but it was her target who cleared his throat and spoke. “I was shown these pictures two days after the last kill. Told the unit had a mole. Instructed to eliminate the problem. I was also shown proof of Blade’s travel: airline, hotel, car.”
“ Who showed you? It’s impossible. We were in Oregon. He never left my side.” Not even to shower, she remembered suddenly, could almost feel his arms around her as he scooped her out of bed–and a sound sleep–to deposit her under a warm spray.
“Viper. I assume he’s also the only one who knew you were in Oregon.”
A fact. Still. . .“Where’s the proof of travel?”
“Disappeared. I have the pictures because I insisted on having them looked at by an expert. He concluded all six kills were enacted by the same man. Once I found out it wasn’t Blade, I always assumed it was Viper. Maria, I know it’s an old adage, but it’s never been more true. I followed orders. I was protecting my team, my brothers, from a man I believed was killing them. Blade would have done the same thing if the situations were reversed.”