He crossed his back yard to hers and started in surprise. She was there, sitting on the grass in the middle of the yard, only the low security lights illuminating her. She sat huddled, hugging her knees, her face hidden in her arms. He watched her. She had changed her clothes, he saw, and was dressed comfortably, it looked like, but not nearly warmly enough for this chilly night. She must be freezing, he thought. He watched her. She didn’t move. Normally he would stay away. And this was her, after all. It must be nothing. She was thinking, maybe.
Except that his gut was churning. Everything about her screamed wrong to him, awakening a dormant instinct deep inside him. And that mission she’d just been in . . .
He moved before the thought had a chance to be argued in his mind, walked to her quickly, and crouched before her huddled form. “Lara?”
Nothing. He put his hands on her arms. “Lara.”
She raised her head slowly, and he flinched. She was pale, so pale, black shadows under tired, lifeless eyes. A single trace of a tear was visible on one cheek. His hands tightened on her arms.
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
She said nothing, just stared at him with a hollow look that pierced through him.
“Please.” His voice was soft but insistent. “I want to understand. I need to understand.”
Her eyes grew distant, and he knew she went somewhere inside herself, replaying.
“I get their files.” She closed her eyes as if the thought had an unbearable reality behind it. “I get their lives. All of it. Who they are, who they love, their fears, their dreams.” She opened her eyes again, and the intensity in them scared him. “Their reason to live. So that I can use it if I need to. To bring them back. Motivate them. Remind them.”
“Touch them,” he said, understanding. Like she had done with that soldier, Finn, made him think of his son.
“Touch them,” she repeated with that hollow voice that sent a stab of fear through him, fear for her. He thought about what he had seen in Mission Command. The depth of it. The intensity.
“So before a mission even starts, before you know if there’s even anyone left to save, you already . . . feel them,” he said slowly.
She nodded, focusing on him as if he’d hit the mark, and tears welled up in her eyes.
“And they died,” he said. He got it. He had seen many senseless deaths in his life.
She nodded again.
“All of them?”
She closed her eyes wearily and lowered her head to her arms again. Hiding. She was exhausted, and Donovan wondered when she had last slept. No way she could even begin to have the energy to deal with this. With death.
He remembered what Scholes had told him. About her opening herself up, looking beyond, feeling beyond, to bring back those she was there to save. “I wonder where she goes, how deep she really goes, to save them,” he had said. Oh, God, Donovan thought. Oh my God. So that’s what it’s like for her. Not the wins. The losses.
He wrapped his arms around her. She was ice cold. His mouth near her ear, he whispered, “Come on, let’s get you inside.”
He picked her up easily, cradling her in his arms, and took her into the house. He lay her gently on the sofa, then went back and closed the patio doors. On his way back to her, he stopped at the main console, started the heating, and turned the living room lights on low. Turning from the console, he looked at her. She’d remained where he’d put her, laying on her side, her eyes vacant. He wanted her to be angry at him for butting in, for not leaving her alone, wanted her to fight him, to be herself, to be all right. Wanted her not to go through this. How many times had she already, he wondered, alone?
He returned to her, took her slippers off and covered her with the throw laying on the back of the sofa, then sat beside her. He pushed a lock of soft hair from her face, and rested his hand on her back. “Close your eyes,” he said, his voice soft, his touch tender. “Let go.”
He sat with her while her eyes closed, sat there while her body relaxed and her breathing calmed under his touch. Sat there for a long time afterward. Then he got up and crossed to the closest couch, and sat down to watch her.
He was still sitting there, watching over her, when she woke up.
As sleep receded, Lara felt hazy, fought to remember. Getting home, taking a hot shower that did nothing to alleviate the tension, crawling into bed, trying to sleep. But the pain she felt deep inside her had been too great and she had to escape, needed air and so she went outside. And then . . . Donovan, she remembered and opened her eyes to find herself looking straight into his. Caring, she realized with confusion. He smiled, something new in his smile, and this only confused her more.
She sat up slowly and shook sleep away. The color had returned to her face, and her eyes had her strength in them again. And the confusion, he saw that, too. His smile widened as relief surged through him, and he masked it with the attitude he knew she would be more familiar with from him.
“Truce,” he said, raising his hands.
Confusion was replaced with embarrassment as memories came flooding in, and he saw it and got up before she could do or say anything.
“I’m thinking coffee,” he said as he walked to the kitchen. On the way, he ordered her home system to open the shades he’d closed earlier, and the early morning sunshine flooded the living room.
She followed him with her eyes, said nothing. She had no idea how to deal with this. With him, like this, of all people. She wasn’t used to anyone being with her when things got this way, seeing her this way. But also . . . this was him. And the way he was now, the way he’d been the night before . . .
She had no idea how to even begin reacting.
He brought the coffee mugs over, handed her one, her favorite reddish brown mug, and she wondered fleetingly how he knew, then remembered.
She took it hesitantly. Abruptly she said, “Thank you,” and meant more than the coffee.
He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. Returning to sit on the couch he said, “I had no idea.”
She shrugged slightly, lowering her eyes to the mug. Trying to hide again, he thought. But he wasn’t about to let her do that, to go back there alone. Not anymore.
“To do what you do, wouldn’t it be easier to keep your feelings out of the way, think logically? It would shield you, wouldn’t it?”
“The feeling part helps me lock on them, know what’s happening to them, and then I can see what’s around them, make connections I can use to bring them back. I do whatever it takes.”
“And then what, you just come home and deal with it alone?”
“It’s not always this bad. This mission . . . it was a rescue mission to try to get out people who’d been caught in hostile territory.” She hesitated, although his clearance and recent events meant she could talk about it. And she knew he would understand better than most. “In Somalia, just a couple of weeks ago. But when the would-be rescuers got in, we found that they were already dead. And when the rescuers tried to get out, they were ambushed. By the same people.”
“You got them out.”
“But just them, and just barely. And they couldn’t even take their dead friends with them.”
“Are they sure . . . ?”
“Yes, we found them. All of them. What’s left of them. The way they were killed . . .” She closed her eyes. Didn’t want to remember. “Why didn’t they involve us earlier? In the original mission? Maybe . . .”
“You didn’t know about the original mission?”
“No. This was an African Independent Territory mission. They’re not officially a part of the alliance yet.”
He nodded slowly.
She held the mug with both hands, as she had when he saw her that first morning he discovered she was his neighbor, and looked down at it. “I shouldn’t be reacting this way, it’s stupid, I knew there was a chance they were dead. I guess it was a dead-end mission to begin with.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Right. First of all,
you either take it to heart all the time or not at all, and I’m guessing part of what makes you so good at what you do is that you take it to heart all the time. And second, how many missions have you been involved in since we met? No, forget that. How much sleep did you get since we met?”
She shrugged again. “It’s worse for them.”
“You know,” he said, leaning forward. “I’ve seen enough combat soldiers return home after a tour of duty wiped out because of the emotional burden they were subjected to. And the way I understand it, you deliberately set yourself up to feel it all when you go into your Mission Command.” He shook his head. “Maybe you’re not living it every day for months on end, like they do, but you are getting concentrated bits and pieces of it all the time, sometimes without warning, don’t you? And they finish with the mission and come back, while you immediately go on to the next one, and continue dealing with mission after mission, living that reality every single time.” He leaned back again, shook his head. “How do you deal with it?”
She smiled. “Donna, sometimes. And that should tell you a lot.”
He conceded the point, smiled back, but what he really wanted to ask, and couldn’t, was why she didn’t come home after a mission to a man who would hold her, not let her go, why a woman like her went to bed alone at night. Couldn’t, because of the realization that had finally come to him sometime in the small hours of the night as he watched her, that he wanted to be that man.
He concealed his thoughts by standing up and going to the kitchen to refill his coffee cup, and keeping his back to her for the moment it would take him to ensure he could mask his feelings.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asked.
“Some,” he said and turned back to her. “Comfortable couch,” he added appreciatively.
That made her smile, just Lara’s smile, and his heart beat just that much faster.
He went to the refrigerator and opened it. “You don’t rely much on ready food, do you? There’s an awful lot of real cooking in here.”
“I like real food. What are you doing?”
“Making breakfast,” he announced, and proceeded to do just that, taking out what he needed. “I never would have thought you cook.”
“I don’t.” She found her slippers neatly placed beside the sofa, put them on and joined him in the kitchen. “Rosie does. My housekeeper. She does everything around here, wouldn’t have it any other way.” She got some vegetables out. “She always tries to feed me. If it were up to her, I’d weigh half a ton at least.”
He threw an appreciative look at her. “Doesn’t look like she’s succeeding.”
Color rose in her cheeks, and she turned away, flustered. She wasn’t used to this, to having a man in her house, or being taken care of this way. And Donovan was one hell of a man, she couldn’t help but admit. And as if that wasn’t enough, the way he looked at her disconcerted her, threatened places in her she’d thought safely immune by now.
“Do you cook?” she asked, to change the subject.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I do.” He took the vegetables from her and his hands brushed over hers, fleetingly but it was enough. “When I have the time. The coffee is good, by the way. It’s real, isn’t it?” Too many things were synthetic nowadays.
“I have it flown in through our diplomatic branch in Sumatra.”
“Oracle has its perks,” he mused.
She smiled mysteriously, then laughed, and he wondered at that, at how good this, the two of them making breakfast together in this kitchen, felt.
He took the lead on making breakfast while she went up to her bedroom to change. The next hours were for her an unexpected reprieve, a door into another reality without missions, without someone hunting her, without memories. A new reality, here, in her house, with this man she never expected to feel this comfortable, this good with.
When Donovan left Lara later, it was only to go next door to change. He was due back at IDSD and wanted to get in touch with Ben at USFID, was anxious to get on with finding Elijahn. Lara would need to go back to IDSD, too, and he preferred that. He would feel better with her safe in the impenetrable missions building and its war room.
He thought she needed some rest, a bit of time off. There had to be a way even for Oracle to have that. But at least she’d slept, and had a good, relaxed breakfast. That thought, spending the morning with her that way, made him smile, and he wondered. That it felt that way, that he thought about it with a smile. That he wanted to do it again.
That he wanted more. He had never wanted more.
Still wondering about this, about the effect she had on him, he changed into a crisp white shirt and a dark gray suit. The man he saw in the mirror hadn’t slept more than a few hours the night before, and on a couch, but was alert and energetic, adrenaline rushing through him.
He would not let anyone take her away from him.
Chapter Fifteen
The small woman looked up at him with suspicion.
Donovan flashed his most winning smile and indicated the grocery bags. “May I help you with these?”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Donovan, Donovan Pierce. I live next door.” He took the bags from her and followed her to the kitchen, where he put the bags on the counter. He’d returned to Lara’s house through the patio doors just as the housekeeper, who he now knew was called Rosie, came through the front door.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m also working with Lara on a case.”
“Case?”
“I’m a US federal investigator, ma’am.”
“Don’t you ma’am me, young man. I’m Rosie.” The suspicion waned a bit. She looked him up and down openly. He had a feeling if she didn’t like him or thought he was any danger to Lara she would easily proceed to try to chase him away with those fresh carrots she was holding. Luckily for him, her gaze turned approving. “You are a good-looking man. How old are you?”
“Thirty-six,” he answered obediently.
“Hmmm.” She assessed him. “Married?”
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Why?”
It took him a moment. “I, eh, haven’t found the woman for me until now.” He hoped he answered that one right.
To his relief, she nodded approvingly.
He half expected her to ask if he was currently sleeping with anyone, but she spared him that, at least. Just to make sure, he took over.
“I’ve seen you before,” he said conversationally. “A few times.”
“Yes, I come here two, three times a week. More, sometimes,” she said, putting the groceries away, apparently deciding he was harmless. “I do everything here. Miss Lara has no time for anything, she works so much. I think when she doesn’t work she should rest, maybe have fun, a young woman like that. Not worry about the house and shopping and cleaning. So I do it.”
“How long have you been working for her?” He was genuinely interested.
“Five years. Since she first came to live near Miss Patty and Miss Donna.” She appraised him again. “Good body. My husband, God rest his soul, had a good body too. Shorter, but good body. Very important for a woman, a good body.”
He sat by the counter and listened to her, bemused. Then a thought struck him and he used a rare pause in her thorough description of her deceased husband to interject. “Rosie, how did you know I didn’t just spend the night here, with Lara?”
“No, no.” She shook her head emphatically. “Miss Lara never brings men home. So you can’t be a man.”
His eyebrows rose. He could argue the point but had a feeling he might actually lose to this small, decisive woman. So Lara doesn’t bring dates home, he thought, interested. He was about to dig deeper into that revelation when Lara herself came down the stairs, striking in a sleek black suit that hugged her body, a gold-colored top that accentuated her eyes, and mid-heel black shoes. Oblivious to Donovan’s admiring gaze, she smiled at Rosie as s
he came toward them and placed her briefcase on the counter near him, her IDSD ID on it.
“Morning, Rosie,” she said, and cast an amused glance at Donovan when he took her ID and scrutinized it.
Unlike his, which also held his photo and title for easy recognition when he was out on an investigation, and unlike some of the IDs and badges he had seen at IDSD, hers only had the IDSD symbol on it, and a holochip. He chuckled and looked at her. She shrugged sheepishly.
Rosie looked at Lara with a happy smile. “Miss Lara, how about I make you something nice to eat? You look a bit thin,” she added reprovingly.
“Thank you, but we’ve already had breakfast. And we have to go.” She turned to Donovan. “Frank called, he was worried about me. And he says your IDSD assigned team has something for you.”
“That’s our cue,” he said, and they left Rosie humming a cheery tune while she took over the house.
Donovan watched Lara’s car leave, then waited a beat until he saw the other car he was expecting move out to follow a discreet distance behind her. Nodding to himself, the intense gray in his eyes drowning the warm blue, he got into his car and followed.
He wasn’t escorted by a security agent inside the missions building this time. Coming from its guest parking lot, he found Lara waiting for him in the lobby. As they walked together through to the elevators, no one delayed them until the doors to the war room slid open before them.
IDSD’s war room seemed calm. No missions that day, it looked like. It was still busy but the sense of efficiency, of organized concentration, lacked the tension Donovan had felt both times he’d been there. Lara barely took a step in before a young aide, whom Donovan recognized as the one who had accompanied her after the mission on the day he was told she was Oracle, intercepted them. Acknowledging Donovan with habitual formality, he proceeded to inform Lara about an assortment of materials she had waiting in her office—the Somalia mission he mentioned was the only one Donovan recognized—and a meeting she had later in the day. Lara nodded at Donovan and allowed the energetic aide to whisk her away. Before she even reached her office she was intercepted again twice, and Donovan noted with appreciation the smooth, practiced way her aide had her free and continuing on her way each time, until she finally walked in. The aide stood for a moment at the outer door, taking a long look around him before returning to his station, and Donovan had a feeling not many would dare deal with him. Good.
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