by Misty Evans
“Cal,” Bianca said, leaning toward him with a sly smile on her face. “Thought you’d never get here.”
The bartender’s gaze hardened. “Look, buddy—”
Laying his hands on the edge of the bar, Cal gripped it hard to keep from punching the guy. “Get out.”
“It’s okay,” Bianca said to the man. “He’s my husband.”
The bartender scowled and Cal scowled back. The challenge in his face or the grip he still had on the bar seemed to change the guy’s mind about staying. He threw down a bar towel he’d been wiping his hands on and headed for the door. On his way by Maggie, she growled low in her throat.
Before the door had even shut, Bianca was handing Cal one of the glasses. “Try this.”
“I don’t like wine.”
Her eyes were mischievous, playful. Was she drunk? “You’ll like this. It’s a petite sirah. Heavy tannins, lots of blackberry. Dark and brooding like you.”
“I’m not dark and brooding.”
She leaned forward, tilting her face up to his and patting his cheek. He smelled the wine on her warm breath. “Yes, you are, Cal.”
Taking the glass from her hand, he set it on the scarred bar top. Maggie was now making her way around the room, checking out the tables and chairs, nose to the floor. “What are you doing here, B?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“You don’t drink.”
Her eyes sparked. “Maybe I do.”
“Since when?”
She straightened her spine. “Since you left me.”
God, not this again. He set his jaw so he didn’t yell, and placed his elbows on the bar so he could focus on something besides the accusation in her eyes. After the last miscarriage, he felt so helpless, the only thing he could do was lose himself in work. Bianca had been devastated, but from a life filled with disappointments, she’d taught herself how to become aloof and apathetic in order to hide the pain. When he reached for her, to comfort and offer some type of solace, she acted like a cat. Her hackles went up and she moved away from him. As if it were his fault. As if his touch were like sandpaper.
Finally, he’d given up. He was hurting too, but he couldn’t express it. Couldn’t stand to watch her deny her own feelings even though he knew it was the only way she knew to get through the blow of losing a second child.
His heart beat a heavy rhythm in his ribcage as he tried to give her what she needed. “I’m sorry, B. About leaving. About the baby. All of it. I tried to be there for you, but it seemed like you didn’t want me. I never meant to drive you to drink.”
Her anger vanished. She slumped against the bar, putting her elbows on it alongside his and sighed. “You didn’t. I’m not a drinker. I don’t know why I said that. It’s this situation. The stress.”
He knew the feeling. “You really think there will be an attack on the president?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I’m surprised you aren’t panicking and calling Linc Norman to warn him.”
“I’ve notified the taskforce that something is going down. Cooper will alert the proper authorities.”
Cal’s pulse went into overdrive. “You did what? You weren’t supposed to contact anyone.”
“So sue me.” She met his gaze head-on. “I have to report any credible threat to the president. I’m not sure there even is a threat, but I couldn’t ignore the logic of this. I couldn’t call my boss at C&C, but I could at least put Cooper on the trail. And don’t worry, he won’t be able to find us, and even if he does, he’s not the one trying to kill me.”
Famous last words. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not the only one in this room with a hero complex, thank you very much.” She took another long sip and her voice was quieter when she spoke again. “My usual job at the NSA requires me to make tough calls to protect our borders and save lives, sometimes even the president’s. I thrive at my job. But here I sit, my career burned while I twiddle my thumbs and a senator goes free to leak more information that could endanger hundreds, if not thousands of Americans. Otto Grimes is still free. My president, the man I’ve been protecting for three plus years, could be in danger. The men in your unit died because of me, and all I’m doing is trying to save my own ass at the moment.”
“My men didn’t die because of you. They died because of me. I knew something was off that night. I should have called off the mission.”
She shook her head. “You were only following orders.”
Maggie came over to nudge Cal’s leg. He patted her head, and seemingly satisfied, she went back to the door and laid down. “Neither of us was playing with full knowledge of how the deck was stacked against us. We didn’t know about the leak.”
She closed her eyes, shook her head. After a minute, she said, “Do you know how many death threats the president gets a day?”
He had no idea. “How many?”
“The last president received on average twenty-four credible threats a day. Linc Norman receives on average one hundred and twenty-four.”
“A day? That’s a lot of damn death threats.”
“Yes, just slightly over five an hour. I don’t know how he does it. Ignore them, I mean. I have one death threat to contend with and I’m a basket case.”
“The president has the Secret Service. You don’t.”
“I could have this whole thing wrong. Those numbers may not be coordinates. Tephra could be playing games with us.”
Tephra didn’t seem the type to play games. “But why?”
“That’s what all of this comes back to. Why. I’m hoping Senator Halston can answer that for us tonight.”
“About that. You really think the guy will cop to leaking information? You don’t have any proof and he’s not going to blow up his career and freely admit wrongdoing if you don’t.”
She dropped her head into her hands. “I have a plan.”
He waited for her to expound on the plan, and when she didn’t, he nudged her with his elbow. “What are you going to do?”
Her eyes cut to him, away. “Bluff.”
She might not be good at handling her liquor, but she was an ace at holding her cards close to her chest. “With what?”
Capturing one of the glasses, she twirled the stem between her fingers. “Fake evidence isn’t that hard to manufacture.” She took another sip of the Zinfandel she liked and eyed him over the rim.
“You’re going to falsify evidence?”
“Only in order to make him incriminate himself.”
This wasn’t the Bianca he’d grown up with. The one he’d married. This was the Bianca who lay in wait under the surface. The NSA agent and one person in the world willing to do anything in order to clear his name and give him his life back.
He loved her for that.
But it wasn’t going to work. “And if Halston sees through your bluff and still refuses to admit he leaked the intel?”
“Then like I told you and Emit at breakfast, I’ll hack into the NSA and finish my investigation on the senator and Killer Kathy. The problem is, that type of investigation could take days, weeks, even longer. I’m good, but I’m not that good. The NSA will figure out they’ve been hacked at some point and shut me down…even if I live that long.”
He brushed a strand of hair back from her face. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Not even myself. “You’re in good hands with Emit and his crew.”
She set down the glass and turned her stool to face him. Leaned forward and put her lips to his cheek, laying a light kiss there. “I’m in better hands with you.”
Her lips grazed his jawline, traced their way down the side of his neck.
“Bianca…”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and slid halfway off the stool, pressing her breasts into his chest as she kissed his collarbone. Her hair tickled his nose. “We have a lot of time to fill until tonight,” she murmured against his chest.
True. And they were all alone, except for th
e bodyguards outside the door.
His cock twitched and his fingers wound around sections of her hair, gripping it and drawing her head back. She stared up at him with heat and lust in her eyes. He wanted her so bad it hurt.
But then an image of her terrified eyes from the previous night flashed through his mind. His stomach clenched.
She reached out and ran a finger over his lips. “Stop thinking.”
If only he could. He closed his eyes and leaned away from her touch, mentally cursing. He didn’t want to stop this, but he had to.
Her hand dropped to his belt, fingers working to undo the buckle. He grabbed it and held her by the wrist. Her pulse jumped under his thumb. Shifting them both, he pressed her gently against the bar. “We can’t do this.”
“The hell we can’t.”
“Bianca, I’m serious.”
Her eyes were clear and steady. Determined. “So am I. You’re my husband, and I love you, even if you love your career more. I’m not giving up on us.”
His throat tightened at her admission. “I’m dangerous.”
That sly grin slid across her face again. “Knew that when I married you.”
Damn this woman. “I pulled a gun on you last night.”
“You don’t cure PTSD, but you do learn to live with it. Plenty of people have. I know some experts who can help.”
He would get help. Anything to be with her again if she would take him back. “But right now, it’s not safe. You can’t be alone with me.”
“You mean like, right now right now? Because I don’t see you freaking out or being disoriented about where you are or what we’re doing. Nothing’s going to happen, Cal, except you and me enjoying each other for a little while.”
He touched her cheek, slid his fingers into her hair, wishing he could believe that. “We can’t take the chance. I don’t know what could trigger an episode.”
“Having sex with me could trigger PTSD?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “You really know the way to a girl’s heart, don’t you?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” Jeez, he was digging himself in deeper. “I mean…oh, hell. You know what I mean. The stress of sex could trigger it.”
She held out a hand. “Give me your gun.”
“What?”
She waggled her fingers at him. “Come on. Give it up.”
He withdrew the gun and handed it to her. Setting it on the bar top, she sent it sliding down to the other end. “There. Nothing to worry about.”
He set his hands on her hips, pressed into her ever so slightly “I can kill you with my bare hands.”
Her eyes were excited, eager. “Sexy.”
Leaning in, he dropped his eyes to her lips. “You’re sick. Or crazy.”
“Don’t use the crazy word with me.”
“Sorry.”
“You won’t hurt me. I believe in you.”
As she tried to kiss him, he drew back. “You shouldn’t.”
She grabbed his shirt, balling it in her fist and pulling him forward hard enough that he had to grab the bar to keep from falling completely into her. “Stop it. You’re the only person in my poor, pathetic life that I’ve ever trusted one hundred percent. I still do.”
“But I have hurt you.”
“Not physically. Emotionally, yeah, we’ve both thrown our share of daggers at the other. Relationships are hard. Harder yet between people like me and you. We don’t do well with emotions or sharing our thoughts and feelings.”
“It doesn’t come easy.”
“Nothing worth fighting for does.”
She was right. He searched her face. “This is different.”
“How?”
God, how could he say all the thoughts crashing around in his brain? He started to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.
She waited, her gaze still steady and eager. He tried again. “You mean everything to me, B. Letting you down tears me up. And I’ve let you down time and time again.”
“Because you’re a hero. A hero I kept trying to keep all to myself.”
She released his shirt, smoothed it. “It’s me who needs to let you go. That’s why I filed for the divorce. You’re the real hero, here, Cal, and I’ve been holding you back. I wanted the white picket fence and all that. A real family. You, me, and a kid or two. But underneath, I was scared and stupid, so I kept sabotaging myself and our relationship.”
Hero. He hated that word. “And now?”
She raised her eyes to his. “Like I said, nothing worth fighting for is easy. My whole life, nothing has ever been easy and I’m tired of fighting. For my career, for people’s respect, fighting to make a difference in the world. But one thing has become clear to me over the past two days.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re the one thing I do want to fight for.”
Plunk, ping, smack… Tiny pieces of his resolve were crumbling to the ground in his mind. “You sure about that? I’m not exactly a prize right now.”
She moved in close and clutched the front of his shirt again, drawing his face to hers. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
Her lips were on his before he could reply, her hold on his shirt keeping him close. The final pieces of his resolve collapsed under the realization his wife still loved him, no matter what.
He grasped her head between his hands, kissing her in return. He raked his fingers through her hair, as she released his shirt and she sighed into his mouth.
Relief.
Her fingertips slipped under his shirt, her nails raking his back, clutching him to her as he bent her back over the bar. He couldn’t help it. He needed her, wanted her. He’d never been able to resist her and never would.
She laughed, low and wicked, laying back to give him access to her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. A smile crept across his face and he drew a breath…the first in weeks that felt right, normal.
Bianca was right; they were a team. Together, they could take on anything.
“You and me,” he said to her.
“You and me,” she echoed.
He dipped his head and kissed her jawline, then nuzzled her neck, making his way down to those glorious breasts she had put on display.
Everything was going to be all right.
Chapter Twenty-four
When the knock on the door came, Bianca was in such a lust-induced stupor, she didn’t notice.
Cal had set her on the bar, pressing himself between her legs as he ran his hands over her body and murmuring how badly he needed her. How much he wanted her. She’d heard those words before, but this time they’d seemed more urgent, more…emotional.
Hot damn. She was really and truly making headway with him, and that alone was an aphrodisiac to beat all aphrodisiacs.
She’d lost her—his—T-shirt somewhere along the line and was getting ready to lose her bra when he froze, one hand cupping her left breast and his mouth gorging on her right. His lips vibrated against her skin…was that a growl coming from his throat?
“What…is it?” she murmured. Over Cal’s shoulder, she could see Maggie facing the door, ears pricked and body on alert.
The knock sounded again, and oh, yeah, she’d heard the first one but had been too deep in Wonder-Cal-land to put two and two together.
Cool air replaced Cal’s mouth on her breast and she groaned. He kept his back to the door, shielding her. “Go away,” he called.
“Sorry to interrupt, bra.” Emit’s voice was muffled through the wooden door, but his tone was serious. “We have a situation.”
Cal let out a heavy sigh and hung his head for a second, his hair tickling Bianca’s breasts. “Can’t it wait?”
Bianca looked down at the top of his head, baffled for a moment. While she was completely annoyed at the interruption, it surprised her Cal hadn’t switched gears in a heartbeat, ready to throw open the door and take on whatever Emit was worried about.
“Turn on the TV above the bar to the l
ocal news station. You’re going to want to see the breaking story.”
“Shit,” Cal mumbled, his head coming up and his gaze locking on hers. He released her and scrambled around behind the bar, searching for the TV remote. Bianca found her lost shirt and pulled it back on.
A second later, the screen came to life, already on a local channel. The headline at the bottom of the screen read, Senator falls seriously ill during wine tasting. Rushed to hospital.
As Bianca listened to the reporter state the facts, Cal opened the door to Emit. The two men joined her at the bar as the reporter went on.
“Senator Patrick Halston was on a wine tasting trip through the Sacramento Valley today, meeting with local farmers on a last swing through the state gathering votes for President Linc Norman. On his third stop of the day,”—the reporter searched her notes—“at Woodglen Winery off Interstate 80, the senator gave a rousing speech on President Norman’s behalf, and then enjoyed a lunch and wine tasting ceremony. During the lunch, Senator Halston fell ill and was rushed here, to UC South Medical Center. Details on his condition are pending, but a source inside the hospital claims Senator Halston is seriously ill.”
Emit used the remote to mute the TV. “I have a source inside the hospital who says Halston’s initial symptoms resemble potassium cyanide poisoning. He’s a very sick man. They don’t know if he’ll make it.”
The air went out of Bianca’s lungs and she staggered against the bar stool next to her. “A poison pill?”
Emit nodded. “Sounds like he thought it was his irritable bowel acting up when he got sick and didn’t seek immediate medical attention. The cyanide was probably in his wine.”
The room spun; the floor under her feet dipped. The wine in her stomach, while not much, threatened to come back up. Cal’s warm hands landed on her arms, supporting her.
Thank God. Otherwise, her butt would be making quick friends with the floor.
Her voice sounded floaty and far away as she spoke. “Someone tried to kill Senator Halston?”
From the look Emit and Cal both shot at her, it was a dumb question. And yes, she knew it was before she even asked, but her brain couldn’t seem to wrap around this latest turn of events. The man could die. The horror of it rushed over her and once more her legs went weak. “I need to sit down.”