Shiver of Fear

by Roxanne St Claire

  Finally, she started to feel warm.

  “I have more information about your… about Dr. Greenberg.”

  Her lust subsided. “What is it?”

  He didn’t speak, but she could see his silhouette as he shifted from one foot to the other. He didn’t want to tell her. This wasn’t good.

  “I spoke to my brother again.”

  “The CIA agent.” She let just a little cynicism taint her tone. Because, really, who knew a CIA agent, let alone grew up with one?

  “He actually doesn’t work for the CIA.”

  She snorted softly. Case closed. “Then you misled me.”

  “He works for a contractor for the CIA, but he is extremely well connected in the world of dark operations and—”

  “Dark operations?” She almost pushed open the glass door so she could really nail him with a look, but she still needed the barrier. “What the hell does that mean, Marc?”

  “It means he knows exactly what your birth mother is doing and who she is doing it for.”

  She felt her legs weaken just a little, the familiar cold in her gut radiating over her, counteracting the hot water that still sluiced over her body. All because of the way he said that.

  She didn’t answer, waiting for the verdict. Good or bad? Guilty or not? Pride or shame?

  “She’s working for a broker, making biochemical weapons of mass destruction that sources believe are being sold to the Pakistanis for future terrorist attacks.”

  Her stomach turned to ice. “What sources?”

  “Really fucking reliable sources. She’s a traitor to our country, Devyn, working on a project that needs to be stopped or a lot of people could die.” Each word stabbed, more hurtful than the stinging water.

  “Fortunately,” he continued, softening the blow with a gentler voice. “There’s a whole bunch of guys out there closing in and trying to stop her and catch the real terrorists who are buying and selling and using what she’s making. We cannot get in the way of that, Devyn. It would be foolish and stupid.”

  And she could not have a relationship with a woman who would commit such acts. That would be more foolish and more stupid.

  Oh, God, where did that leave her? Alone and ashamed and… alone.

  Just like that, everything that mattered stopped mattering. Everything she wanted dried up. There would never be a connection with that woman, only another shadow of shame.

  “Devyn.” He said her name as his hand landed on the door, but she was fast and grabbed the handle, holding the glass shut. “You’re deluding yourself if you think—”

  “Not anymore I’m not.” She closed her eyes as the pain rolled over her.

  He tugged at the door again, but she clung to the metal bar, refusing to face him, naked and shredded and vulnerable.

  At least she hadn’t sold Finn MacCauley’s phone number for this information.

  “Please,” he said softly. “I understand this is difficult for you, but it’s time to end this search. We’re not infiltrating a terrorist cell so you can face these facts in person.”

  “Yeah, I got that, Marc.” She waited for the fury to rock her, but nothing came. No drive to know the truth. No determination to face her real mother.

  “Devyn.” This time he was truly gentle, coaxing her. “Please, honey. Come out here.”

  And do what? Let him comfort her with kisses and sex? All meaningless, without a future, without hope because she could never have anyone. Not anyone who wouldn’t betray her. Not even…

  But she could. She could have someone.

  She gave the door a push, and it popped open, a puff of steam trapped in the shower fogging over Marc.

  Without hesitation, he stepped into the spray, wrapping his arms around her so that they touched full length, nothing but water between them.

  “You know I’m right, don’t you?” he asked, no smugness in the question at all.

  She nodded.

  “You’re going to give this up, aren’t you?”

  Another nod.

  “We can go back to the States and you can—”

  She put her hand over his mouth. If they were going to do this, then it wouldn’t be with him under the illusion she was paying with Finn’s number. It wouldn’t be under illusions or delusions. She’d tell him the truth about everything.

  “I burned Finn MacCauley’s phone number.”

  For a moment, he said nothing, no doubt processing what she meant. Would he explode in anger? Steal this chance before she even took it?

  “I know. I saw you.”

  “Oh.” The word came out like he’d punched her. “And still… you risked your life today.”

  “So did you,” he whispered. “And this was never about getting information about Finn, Dev.” He eased her to the wall, bracing her there.

  Against her stomach, his erection grew, and deep in her belly, she responded, unable to stop the twist of longing that made her want to rock against him. Nature’s way, of course.

  “This was never about fooling you,” Marc said, already starting to move against her. “Or seducing you or getting you to do anything except leave Belfast.”

  “And yet,” she said, looking up at him, lost in the depths of his eyes as the first shards of ice began to melt inside her and her need took hold. “You somehow did all those things.”

  He gave her a smoky half smile. “I’m good like that.”

  “Oh, yes, you are.” So, so good.

  Why couldn’t she have exactly what she wanted? From him, by him, with him?

  It didn’t have to mean… forever. It was just that he was perfect in every way. So perfect that he could give her the one thing she needed so fundamentally it was like breathing.

  Her hope for a bond with her birth mother was gone, lost forever. But her hope for another kind of bond, the one she longed for the most, was right here in her arms.

  A baby. He could give that to her.

  She curled one leg around his calf, somehow managing to get them closer still.

  “Marc.” She spread her hands on his chest, the flesh and sprinkling of hair soaked under her fingers, the muscles hard under her palms. “I need something from you.”

  He stroked her hair, his hand gliding down to caress her breast, filling his palm and thumbing her hardened nipple. “I noticed.”

  “I need you to give me something.”

  A slow smile pulled as he rocked his hips against her, the length of his erection branding her. “Right here. In the shower?” He kissed her forehead, already heading for her mouth, already caressing her waist and back possessively.

  “Yes, here. Now. Please.” Her heart hammered, the mix of hope and lust making her tremble from the inside out.

  He found her lips and they kissed under the spray, the water making their mouths slide against each other as he inched her back against the wall. With the hot, wet marble against her back and the hot, wet man pressed against her front, she felt a full-scale ache of need blossom between her legs.

  “Devyn.” He kissed her, touching her everywhere, his voice raspy with desire, his breathing already tight. “You sure you’re doing this for the right reason?”

  There was no other reason. “Yes.”

  She matched him move for move, caressing his body, adoring every inch of his physique, devouring every wet, hard, sexy piece of him. Their tongues collided, their hands meshed, their legs curled around each other as the blistering hot water pounded on his back and shoulders, exploding droplets on his tanned skin that she licked off.

  He sunk deeper against her, kissing her harder, sucking her tongue into his mouth and guiding her hands around his shaft. Stroking him, listening to him moan with pleasure, she spread her legs and let him slide her up the wall enough to get under her.

  With ease, he positioned his erection between her legs, and she rolled against the length of it, rubbing, riding, clinging to him with her arms and legs.

  “Inside,” she murmured, desperate. “Get inside.”


  He pushed her up higher, bringing them face-to-face, jabbing his tip at her opening. His eyes narrowed and his lips curled back. “Wait.”

  “No,” she insisted, letting herself down so he went in farther.

  “Wait.” He visibly dug for control, pulling out even though she tried to draw him in.

  Didn’t he get it? Didn’t he know what she wanted? One powerful thrust, a few strokes, and she could have—

  “I need to get something,” he said, slowly letting her return to shaky tiptoes.

  “No, Marc, please don’t.”

  He backed up, frowning at her. “A condom.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I’ve been to the doctor so many times,” she said. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  He just looked at her like she was crazy. “Sorry, it’s SOP.”

  She shook her head, biting her lip, knowing the tears were right there and praying he’d think they were shower spray. Didn’t he want her enough to ignore standard operating procedures just this once?

  “Can’t you… please…” Was he going to make her beg? To ask for what she wanted? She would. Right now, she’d get down on both knees and plead. “I need this, Marc. To be whole.” Her voice cracked and her throat closed. But she didn’t care. “Can’t you give this to me?”

  Very slowly, realization dawned. “You want to get pregnant.”

  Shame rolled over her, but she squashed it. So what if she was desperate? What did her pride matter? This was all that mattered. “Marc, I want a baby. That’s all I want.”

  His eyes widened. “So I’m, what, a donor?”

  “No, no. You’re… perfect.” She opened her legs more, let him in deeper, moved just enough to see the response he was fighting darken his eyes. “You don’t have to have any responsibilities, nothing. I just… want a chance.”

  For what seemed like an eternity, he just stared at her, no readable expression on his face, except the possibility of a raging internal debate.

  “This isn’t what you want,” he said.

  “Yes, it is.” Tears rolled now and her whole body trembled. “A child of my own, a chance for that bond, with no one to wonder and worry about what my half of the gene mix would bring.”

  “Devyn, you’re wrong about that. The right man would—”

  “You are the right man,” she insisted. “You are. Everything about you is so good and solid and right.” She moved again, barely aware she was grasping his shoulders, clinging to the last shred of hope. “Please give this to me. Please.”

  “I… can’t.” He stepped away and she almost cried out.

  “Yes, you can. I’ll disappear. You’ll never have to know what happened. I’ll leave you alone—”

  “That’s not what I want.”

  “But, Marc, it’s all I want. In the whole world, it’s all I want.” Tears continued streaming, salt rolling into her mouth, the sob choking her. “My mother… my father… my whole life is just empty. This is all I want.”

  He stared at her for a long, long time, and she waited again for a verdict.

  Finally, he put his hands on her shoulders, and she braced for him to say no, but he added pressure, pushing harder, taking her down to the shower floor. All the way he held her gaze, his eyes sharp, his mouth drawn.

  “This is what you want?”

  She nodded.

  Without warning, he was on top of her. Automatically, she wrapped her legs around his hips and lifted her mouth for a kiss, but he refused, holding his head up, bracing his arms on the slick tile, kneeing her thighs farther apart.

  He thrust inside her, a hard, vicious jam of flesh into flesh, bowing his back and lifting his head high enough to deny her the ability to see his face. Her eyes widened in shock as he went deeper, his breath growing ragged, his moans unstoppable as he pumped into her.

  Each stroke wound her tighter, made her want more, brought her to the breaking point. He was engorged, slamming into her with fury and purpose and sweaty need that matched hers. She reached up to his shoulders, but he remained impassive, a huge space between their chests, connected only at the hips, only by their sex.

  She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. She rode with him, doing everything she knew to pull an orgasm from him, feeling him stiffen, his balls as hard as stones against her.

  He was almost there. Almost.

  He swore softly, his face reddening, his mouth pulled as he got lost at the brink of an orgasm.

  “Marc, please, honey, please.”

  At her words, he looked down at her, and for one flash of a second, their gazes clashed. He closed his eyes and thrust again and again, all the way in, over and over and over right to the very edge.

  He gritted his teeth and tendons pulled in his neck, his control nearly obliterated. This was it. He was…

  He yanked himself out with a guttural cry. “I can’t,” he moaned, crushing his erection against her. With a low, long growl of release, he spurted his seed all over her stomach.

  All she could hear was the hiss of the shower and the pain of his breathing. She felt the pounding of his heart as a sob lodged in her chest.

  “Devyn.” He forced her to look at him. “I can’t make a baby like… this.”

  Like this… with her. Of course. The crush was so hard on her heart that she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move.

  But he did. Barely recovered, he kneeled over her and turned his face up to the water and let the spray pour over him. She touched her stomach, the few drops of his semen sticky, then washed away by the shower water. He remained facing the water, his hands hung at his sides, his chest heaving.

  After a moment, he stood and reached out his hand to help her up. She shook her head.

  “Leave me alone,” she whispered, her voice cracking with shame so deep she could taste it. “Just, please. Leave me alone.”

  And he did, closing the glass door with a final click. She lay in the shower spray until it turned ice cold, matching the temperature of her heart.

  When Zach Angelino got mad, it wasn’t a pretty thing.

  “What the fuck are you trying to do, Vivi, put us out of business? Not to mention this information is critical to Marc’s case. Finn MacCauley recruited Sharon Greenberg to work for this Baird guy?”

  The facts were there, in the fugitive’s handwriting.

  “I’m not trying to put us out of business, Zach,” she said. “I’m trying to do just the opposite. Look, there’s a phone number right next to his name. A 617 area code, here in Boston.”

  “Have you called it?” Zach demanded.

  “No,” she said. “It could be tapped or traced and then get disconnected. That’s why I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried to call Marc about ten times, but he’s not answering. I thought you and I could brainstorm another direction.”

  Zach considered the letter again, then looked up at Vivi. “The only direction is downtown to One Center Plaza.”

  The FBI’s Boston office. “I knew you’d say that.”

  “Then why didn’t you do it?” Zach asked harshly. “Quit trying to be a bounty hunter. That’s not what we do.”

  “I’m not,” she denied. “I’m investigating this letter. If it leads to one of America’s most wanted, can you imagine what that’ll do for the Guardian Angelinos?”

  He clearly didn’t agree. “This could be crucial evidence, and by holding it, we are putting our company in jeopardy.” He stood, sliding the letter back to her. “Get your ass over to Lang’s office and give it to him. That’ll get us more business, and frankly, I want paying clients, not glory.”

  “I want high-profile clients because they pay more,” she countered. “How else can we grow?”

  “One case at a time,” he said. “But, Vivi, I’m not going to argue with you. Do what’s right.”

  “That’s just the problem—I don’t know what’s right.” Before he could argue, she leaned forward, pinning him with a look. “For some reason, I don’t
trust Colton Lang. He makes me feel funny.”

  Zach puffed out a breath. “He has the hots for you is all.”

  “Hah, very funny. He wouldn’t look twice at a woman like me, and honestly, I wish it were that simple.”

  “How so?”

  “I can’t explain it, Zach, but my gut’s on fire.”

  “It’s on fire with ambition, Vivi, and while that’s an admirable thing, you can’t let your dreams of big business make stupid decisions for you. Lang is one of the top guys in that office, probably in line for an SAC position. Plus, he’s a straight shooter. What’s not to trust? The fact that he has a crew cut and wears golf shirts? That makes him ‘the man’ to you?”

  She smiled. “I’m not indicting the guy because he’s J.Crew on the putting green. I just get the sense that he’s not telling us everything.”

  “He’s not,” Zach agreed. “He openly admitted he wasn’t.”

  “And he’s told us finding Finn MacCauley isn’t a priority. Why should we hand this to him?” She shook her head. “He doesn’t even know Marc’s been looking for Dr. Greenberg. We could get in trouble for not following his orders.”

  “I respect your gut feelings, Vivi, and we’re equal partners in this, so I’ll go along with what you decide. But you asked for my advice and I’m giving it: turn this over to the FBI and we’ll benefit more in the long run. Now, I gotta go. Sammi found a house and we’re going to meet the Realtor there.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “And good luck with that.” He pointed to the paper. “Do the right thing. That’s my motto.”

  “I thought your motto was ‘go with your gut.’ Right now the two are at war.”

  He nodded to someone in the hall. “Here’s Nino, eavesdropping like a spy. See what he says.”

  Nino walked in, not even slightly ashamed to have been caught. “I think you should turn it over to the FBI.”

  “So I’m outnumbered.” She fingered the paper and leaned back in her chair, tipping it onto the back legs, her gaze on the damning words in front of her. “Look at what he wrote, Nino.”

  “ ‘Sometimes a few have to die for the needs of the many,’ ” he quoted. “I’ve read the letter a few times.”