How ironic that it was harder to face Sloan now, than everything else she’d endured the last twenty-four hours.
No. That wasn’t true.
Believing Sloan had been killed had been worse. Although she knew the risks that came with being in the field, she never wanted to experience that fear again.
Allison took a deep, cleansing breath, opened the car door, and stepped out into the night air. She checked for traffic before crossing the emergency lane to the visitors’ entrance.
Familiar, sterile odors of hospital antiseptic greeted her, and brought forth memories of all her hospital stays following surgeries to repair her shoulder. She still hated the smells, and waited for the usual combination of anger and dread to permeate her senses. Instead, a feeling of peace filled her as she walked the hall toward the elevator. Sloan was alive, and she was on her way to see him, to embrace the rest of her life, whatever it might hold. All the unpleasantness of her past had been exorcised.
As she pressed the elevator call button, her heart thudded a little harder in anticipation. Would Sloan be awake? Happy to see her? She stepped into the elevator to find out.
She walked onto the fourth floor, checking the room numbers on the plaque on the wall. Room 4042 was to the left. Allison passed the nurses’ station and headed toward Sloan’s room, her heart pounding in rhythm with her stride. The door was slightly open and she paused just outside to take another deep breath.
Regardless of what happened next, her life would take a whole new direction when she left the hospital.
“Darling, I can’t imagine how you managed in such a dreadful place.” A sultry, feminine voice floated through Sloan’s open door. He already had a visitor. “Two nights and two days. I couldn’t have handled it.”
Allison hesitated, good manners stopping her from interrupting Sloan’s guest.
“Idaho is a long way from everything.” Allison froze at the sound of Sloan’s voice, agreeing with the woman’s harsh statement.
“You poor baby,” the woman replied.
They weren’t discussing his hospital stay. Sloan was talking about his time at her home. Had he hated it that much? Allison’s feet froze in the doorway.
“Oh dear, I got lipstick on you.” The woman giggled.
Allison’s blood turned to ice water. There was no way she could enter Sloan’s room. She wasn’t sophisticated enough to compete with one of his girlfriends. If she walked in, she wouldn’t be able to hide her jealousy and hurt. She wasn’t uncaring enough to brush off the cruel comments about her home. Not anymore. Not after she’d torn down her own protective firewall.
Allison’s feet started moving—backward, away from the door. She bumped into the wall behind her and leaned against it for support. Thank heaven she hadn’t rushed inside. How humiliating it would have been to burst in on the lovers’ tête-à-tête and declare her feelings.
Obviously, Sloan didn’t have those same feelings. He wasn’t missing her. His only thought was relief to be free of her—of her simple life.
She’d wrongly interpreted his actions as something more. All this time, he was just being nice, fulfilling the duty his job required. She swallowed the lump that suddenly filled her throat and turned to leave.
At the same moment, a nurse exited the room next to her. They collided. The nurse dropped a dinner tray and dishes clattered to the floor. The noise echoed through the hallway.
“I’m so sorry,” Allison said.
“Oh, no problem,” the nurse replied. “It was an accident.”
Allison laid Sloan’s get-well card on the floor and helped the nurse clean up the mess.
“Allison?” Sloan’s voice carried out into the hallway.
She couldn’t let Sloan know she was there. She picked up the last dish and handed it to the nurse. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’ve got to go.”
“Wait,” the nurse called.
Allison rushed down the hall. She caught the elevator just as the doors started to close and slipped inside, ignoring startled looks from the other occupants.
As the elevator reached the ground floor, so did the pain in her heart. She followed an elderly couple out of the elevator, and when the walkway opened up ahead, she hurried around the couple and outside into the dreary January night. The damp cold mirrored her feelings. She wrapped her jacket tighter to ward off the night’s chill. But nothing would cure the chill in her heart.
This pain—this gut-twisting, heart-shattering pain—was her fault. What had possessed her to think Sloan felt the same way about her that she felt about him? How foolish she’d been to believe he could love her the same way she loved him. She’d let down her guard and exposed herself to heartache. Was this what love did to a person? Did it take away all reason, all logic, until only raw emotion remained?
Allison reached the car and unlocked the door. Even after she climbed inside and turned the heater to its highest setting, the cold remained. A tear slid down her cheek. Followed by another. She dug a tissue out of her pocket and swiped at the tears. It was a losing battle. She let them fall…until there were no more.
Chapter Twenty
Sloan eased the SUV around another curve and slowed in deference to the icy surface. Although his was the only car on the road, he gave the hard-packed snow all the respect he’d give any traffic jam on the D.C. beltway. He hadn’t traveled this far only to end up in the hospital again.
The moment he was told when he’d be released from the hospital, he’d bought the plane ticket to Boise. After spending nearly a week in the hospital, waiting to be released, nothing was going to keep him from making this trip.
The drive through the mountains to Allison’s house was longer than he remembered—different this time. The doctors had warned him to take things slow, but he had to make this trip. Because he was still recovering from major surgery, he’d followed the doctor’s orders and stopped frequently during the long drive.
Just last week, Sloan had been elated when he’d heard Allison’s voice outside his hospital room door. When she ran away, he was angry because she hadn’t had the courage to see him. Then he realized how badly she must be hurting. Because of him. By not trusting his own instincts—by not showing he believed in her—he’d forced her away.
His mind wandered through the foggy memories of the few days they’d had together. He should have confided in her. Shown her the trust she deserved. Asked her to explain away the things Tom and O’Neal suspected. Instead, he’d assumed that Tom and O’Neal were right. They had believed Allison was the hacker. They’d all been played by Drew Getty and his scheme to free his brother.
Sloan blamed himself for putting Allison’s and Mitch’s lives in danger. In hindsight, the reasons for bringing them to Los Angeles were simply not compelling enough. Allison had every right to keep her nephew safe. He never should have left them at the safe house with only one agent for protection.
Thank goodness, Agent Kane regained consciousness and would fully recover. Once awake from his coma, Kane contacted the officer in charge, corroborated Allison’s story about the kidnapping, and cleared her name regarding the shooting.
O’Neal had cleared Allison’s record as far as Northstar was concerned, too, and offered her a job as an agent. Sloan didn’t know how he felt about that yet. He was relieved she hadn’t lost her job over his mistakes, but did he want to see her exposed to the dangers of being an agent?
The snowbanks were higher than he remembered. Sloan worried he might miss the turn to Allison’s house. Then he remembered her sister lived at the end of the road. No way could he miss it.
He wondered what kind of reception he’d receive. Would Allison be glad to see him? Would she even let him through the front door? He remembered how she looked that first night. Those sexy jean-clad legs had tripped up his breathing. So very different than the severe styles she wore at Northstar. The sparks they’d created at Northstar, with just verbal exchanges, couldn’t compare to the heat he felt now.
He wanted Allis
on. No question about his desire for her—only her. However, he wanted to earn her friendship, first. He wanted to show her he was worthy of her trust once again. To do that, he’d better rein in his thoughts.
Trust. Honor. The Bushido Code. The warrior’s code. Those were the things he should focus on.
Inside his jacket pocket, he carried the tools to help him gain entry back into Allison’s life. He had Mitch’s tablet. He’d kept it safe, as a reminder of what had been lost and then found. Now he would return it to its rightful owner. He also had Allison’s confession of love, in her own words, on the card she’d left behind. It gave him hope that his efforts wouldn’t be in vain. In case neither of those worked, he was prepared to—
Finally. Allison’s house.
Sloan turned into the driveway and parked to the side of the garage. The sky was overcast, yet no snow was falling. Getting stranded in a blizzard with the most desirable woman on the planet wouldn’t happen today. If he stood a snowball’s chance in hell of staying more than five minutes, it would only be by Allison’s grace and goodwill, not a random act of nature.
An unfamiliar nervousness crept into his gut as he knocked on the front door. He couldn’t remember being this jittery on his first date. Taking a breath of cold winter air, he waited for an answer. Through the side window, he saw a shadow and heard the floorboards creak as someone stepped to the door and opened it.
Dim light from the interior framed Allison in the doorway. No firelight glowed in the living room. The house seemed colder, less inviting. The knife she held in her hand lent a silent threat.
Sloan looked at the knife and then at the glint in Allison’s eyes. A shared recollection of their encounter in the kitchen flared between them. For an instant, he wondered if she was glad to see him. Then the glint disappeared. If she had any friendly thoughts toward him, she effectively hid them.
“You really should consider answering the door without a weapon in your hand.” He groaned inwardly at his poor attempt to lighten the situation.
She glanced at the knife and then back at Sloan. There was the briefest hesitation before she opened the screen door.
He stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him.
Allison turned and walked into the kitchen. She hadn’t said a word.
He couldn’t recall a time when Allison was at a loss for words. Sloan sensed she was struggling with something. Whatever internal battle she was waging, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to make it easy or hard for her. All he knew was, it took every bit of willpower not to grab her by the shoulders, whip her around to face him, and plant a thoroughly satisfying kiss on her tempting lips.
****
Allison set the knife next to the cutting board while she kept her back to Sloan. He’d shown up at her door, unannounced and uninvited. She wasn’t prepared to see him so soon. She figured she had at least another week—that she wouldn’t see him again until after they both returned to Northstar. They’d be in a safe and public venue. So much for her plans. With a steadying breath, she turned around and faced him.
He looked good. Barely a week out of the hospital and she couldn’t tell he’d ever been laid up. “How are you?” She was thankful her voice remained steady.
“Sore in places, but getting better every day.” He glanced into the great room. “Where are your sister and her husband?”
“They are taking advantage of the rest of their vacation and spending the weekend in Boise. I’m just grateful they still trust me to watch Mitchell alone.”
“So he’s here?”
She nodded. “Finishing up another history report.”
“That kid’s going to do just fine.” Sloan smiled, his fondness for Mitchell showing through the tone of his words.
Allison savored the sound of his voice. She missed hearing it—missed him. Every thought, every unsaid word rolled through her mind. Nothing she wanted to say—needed to say—would come. “I was going to talk to you when I got back to D.C.” That was lame.
“Oh?”
“I…I owe you.”
“Owe me?”
“For coming to our rescue. You got my message that night.”
Sloan nodded. “Bushido.”
He took a step closer and Allison braced herself against the countertop for support.
“I didn’t understand the rest of the message, but Tom did. He didn’t believe it at first.”
“I know.”
“He told you?”
Allison smiled, but not with humor. “He apologized. I don’t blame him. I would have thought the same thing, given the circumstances.” She couldn’t blame Sloan any more than Tom or O’Neal. Except Sloan had shared her home, part of her life. She had let him in. Yet he hadn’t believed in her.
Sloan’s jaw worked and he swallowed. He seemed to struggle for something to say. Then, he put his hand in a pocket and pulled out Mitchell’s gaming tablet.
Allison tried to think why Sloan would have it. Mitchell said he’d lost it when they were kidnapped. She’d been contemplating replacing it, but had noticed he hadn’t played any of his games since coming home.
“I found this in the bushes outside the FBI house the night you were taken.” Sloan held it out. “I think Mitch dropped it.”
“You kept it all this time?” Her fingers brushed his as she took it. A shock zipped straight to her heart. She jerked her hand back and nearly dropped the unit.
Sloan’s pupils darkened and he curled his fingers into his palm. “I wanted to return it myself. I know how important it was to him.”
And to me, Allison thought. The game—their discussions of the Samurai code—saved their lives.
“You were brilliant using the game’s theme to send the message.”
Sloan’s compliment warmed the cold regions in her heart.
“I didn’t have much time to make a message. Actually, it was Mitchell who reminded me of the game, and of honor. I hoped the word would get your attention.” I hoped you cared enough to be looking for me.
“It did more than grab my attention.” He drew close enough for her to smell his distinctly musky spice scent.
“What do you mean?” Allison’s voice grew husky in her dry throat. She moistened her lips.
Sloan’s eyes darkened. “That message made me realize what I hadn’t given you.” He captured her hands and held them in his warm, inviting palms.
She shook her head, her voice leaving her.
“Honor. I didn’t give you the honor you deserved.”
Honor? She didn’t want his honor, she wanted…
“Allison, can you forgive me for doubting you?” Sloan slid his hands up her arms and rested them ever so lightly on her shoulders.
“I… You… We…”
Sloan’s breath mingled with hers and stole her words as his lips brushed her mouth. Soft, like a fragile promise. He withdrew enough to gaze intently into her eyes.
Every one of her senses came to life and filled with the man holding her like a snowflake ready to melt in his palm. She labored for each breath. The sound of her heartbeat echoed in her ears. So tenuous was his touch, that if she wanted, Allison could have stepped away from him. Away from the burning desire to throw herself in his arms.
She couldn’t turn away. She was ready for Sloan to take her. Here. Now.
With some effort, she focused on what she needed from Sloan, not what she wanted. She brutally pushed her desire aside and stepped away, forcing Sloan to drop his hands.
Truth. Honesty. Those were part of Bushido, too. He had to know. He had to forgive her.
“After the raid,” Allison began, “when I saw you standing there. I forgave you.”
A smile broke over his face. He reached for her, but she stopped him with a raised hand.
“When you got shot…” She took a shuddering breath. Remembering how close he came to dying. “When I saw the blood, all I could think was that I killed you. Just like Reggie. You were shot because of me.” She wrapped her arms around
her middle to stem the sickness threatening to engulf her.
“No. Allison—”
“Please, let me finish,” she interrupted Sloan’s protest. “When Reggie died saving my life, I realized I’d been given another chance. A chance he would never have. I worked hard. Stayed focused on my objectives. I had to prove his sacrifice was worth my life.” She shifted, uncomfortable with the confession, but was determined to continue. “I shut out everyone. Kept coworkers at arm’s length. I thought I couldn’t let myself become distracted. It worked, too. Until I met you. You were more than just a distraction. Every time you stepped into my space, warning bells went off in my head. I went into a complete self-defense mode.”
“Allison, what are you trying to say?”
She lifted her chin and stared directly into his eyes. Honesty. She would give no less. “I gave you no reason to trust me. From the day we met, I ran from you. I hid my true self from you as much as I possibly could. You see, you were right about the cyborg queen. That was me, and I was proud of it. When I saw you dying from the bullet, I realized it was my fault. I couldn’t hide from the truth any more. Sloan, I caused your doubts. If I had been honest with you and myself, you would have trusted me. I’m asking you to forgive me.”
He made to move closer, but Allison held up a palm to stop him. She wasn’t finished. “There’s more. I won’t speak of it again after this. But I have to tell you the complete truth.” Her legs trembled. She was drained—physically and emotionally. “My world collapsed when you took the bullet. In that moment, everything became clear. Clearer than it had ever been. I realized I had fallen in love with you.” She rushed on. “I know you don’t feel the same way. I know there’s someone else and I don’t expect anything from you. I had to tell you, that’s all.”
Sloan closed the distance and gathered her into his arms.
She felt spent. As much as she wanted to collapse in his embrace, she couldn’t. She remained rigid.
He pressed her head against his chest. Even as she buried her face in his shirt, she didn’t shed any tears. She had shed them long and hard before he arrived today. Her penance was paid.
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