Secret Agent Sam

by Kathleen Creighton

  “Come on, Samantha. I’ve never lied to you and you know it.”

  “No-that’s right. You don’t lie. You just leave blank spaces.”

  “Blank spaces? What are you talking about?”

  “You, dammit. You’re one big blank space.”

  “Sam, you’re being ridiculous.”

  “Don’t you dare go all tight and reasonable on me,” she fumed. “Do you realize I don’t know anything about your past? Your childhood? How long were we together, and yet, I don’t know what kind of child you were-what kind of books you read, what games you played, what songs you sang. Nothing. I’ve told you every little thing about mine-I even taught you the Wishing Star poem, remember? Almost the first time I met you. But you’ve never told me…anything.”

  “You’re talking about facts, not feelings. I told you I grew up in foster care,” he said quietly. “Okay, you want feelings? It wasn’t fun. What else is there to say?”

  “You see?” She gazed at him for a long moment, then shook her head and said in a voice tight with frustration, “Maybe it’s because I don’t know the right questions to ask. That’s your talent, not mine. You have that gift, you know? You can get inside people’s heads. Before they even know it, they’re telling you their life history. I wish I could do that, but I don’t know how. Which probably explains why, even after all the years we were together, I don’t really know you at all, Pearse. What does that tell you?”

  He’d never seen her look at him that way before. The bewildered anger in her face tugged at his heart, but it was the bleakness he saw there that shocked him. She looked…defeated. Sammi June, his Sam, who he’d never known to be any way but upbeat, determined, confident…who went gung ho after what she wanted with chin held high and never even considered the possibility of failure. How he’d loved her arrogance, her self-confidence, and at times, drawn strength himself from her courage. Now, the sadness and defeat in her eyes was more than he could bear. He reached for her, then remembered his promise…

  But almost at the same moment, she jerked away from him with a small cry that pierced him like a dart. “No. I’m not going through this again, Pearse. I’m not.”

  He snatched his hands back, held them up and away from her, then folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the breezeway’s rattan railing. The door to his room was only a few feet away, with Tony’s next to it and Sam’s a little farther on. He glanced at his door, then away, while words, thoughts and emotions pounded like thunder in his head. Knowing any attempt to voice them would be futile, he simply shook his head.

  “Why did you do it? Why did you call me…after the divorce?” Her voice sounded so small, but still it managed to hold all the anger and bewilderment, the sadness and defeat he’d just seen in her face. She didn’t wait for him to answer, but plunged on in the tiny, wounded voice that was so not Sam. “I mean, what did you think was going to happen? What did you expect me to do? Or say?” He looked at her then, opened his mouth to reply, but again she rushed on.

  “Like-you getting divorced just…erased everything? Hey-maybe getting a divorce erased your marriage, but it didn’t erase anything else, you understand?”

  She was gazing fiercely at him but tapping her own chest with an angry finger; that, and the stark anguish in her eyes told him what he knew she’d never say: You hurt me, Pearce. Nothing can fix that or take it away.

  “No, you’re right,” he said stiffly. He wanted to swallow, to cough, do something to relieve the tight, raw feeling in his throat. “That was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done it. What you said to me-I deserved that.”

  She didn’t answer. He heard a faint creak as she, too, leaned her hip against the railing. Beyond it-and utterly wasted on the two of them, Cory thought-the sea shimmered in the light of an almost-full moon like a tropical hideaway ad in a honeymoon brochure.

  After what seemed like a very long time, he heard her say in a soft, bleak voice, “Anyway, it wouldn’t have worked, because nothing had changed. That was the thing, you know. It still hasn’t. I still am a…pilot. I have a career that…well, you know. And you want…”

  “Yeah,” he said, straightening abruptly. What in the hell did he want? He wasn’t sure he knew himself, anymore. He’d once thought he did, and look how wrong he’d been.

  Right now, all he knew was what he didn’t want, which was to stand here talking about it with the one thing he wanted and couldn’t have-a woman he’d been craving like an addict and hadn’t even known it…a woman he wasn’t allowed to touch. His whole body, every muscle and nerve and sinew in it, quivered with the strain of denial.

  He turned and lurched for his door, at the same time plunging a hand into his pocket and pulling out his room key. It was the old-fashioned kind, the metal fit-into-a-lock-and-turn kind, and while he was struggling with it, he felt Sam come up beside him. Felt her warmth like a tropical breeze on his skin…her womanly scent like an intoxicating drug. His head swam.

  The key turned and he shoved the door inward. It was all he could do to say thickly, “Look, I’ll see you in the morning, okay? Shall we say…whoever gets up first, rouses the others?”

  “Fine with me.”

  He stepped into the room and turned toward her. Instead of backing away, saying good-night, she followed him in.

  Hell. He’d forgotten the maps.

  His overnighter was on the floor beside the door. He unzipped the outside pocket, took out the folded maps and handed them over without looking at her. “I’ve marked the rendezvous point and the location of the airstrip.” His breath felt meager, his chest tight.

  She nodded-he could see that much as he flattened his back against the open door, making room for her to slip past him. Then she moved, and he had time for one surprised breath before she stepped close, slipped her arms around his neck, lifted herself and pressed her mouth against his.

  Oh, no, she’s still the same. Still Sam. The confidence, the certainty, the sheer possession in the way she kisses me.

  She knew him so well…knew just how and where to touch him…how to slide her body against his…melt her mouth into his. Fire squirted through all his veins; his thoughts turned to vapor, his bones to water.

  Oh, God, she’s still the same.

  “Sam,” he said feebly when at last she pulled away, “I promised I wouldn’t-”

  “You promised,” she said in her old, familiar, arrogant way. “I didn’t.”

  She patted his chest once with the folded maps, then went away and left him standing there.

  Chapter 4

  As the plane droned steadily eastward, the sun rose like an angry red sentinel and rushed to meet it. Sam blinked as its heat struck her face and its light assaulted her eyes even through the dark lenses of her sunglasses, and she drew a long exhilarated breath. It seemed like a personal challenge to her, that sun, a gauntlet thrown down in her path. Confidence swelled inside her, warm and red as the sun.

  Yes! Whatever this day brings, I can handle it.

  She glanced over when Cory eased into the copilot’s seat beside her. Something fluttered in her stomach, up high near her heart, then eased, leaving only the quickened tap-tap-tap of her pulse.

  “Hey,” she greeted him, not trusting herself with more, for fear the gladness, the exhilaration inside her should leak into her voice. She hadn’t expected it, waking up this morning with this happiness, this almost giddy sense of triumph and well-being.

  Last night had been a test of her strength and will, and she’d passed it with flying colors. Yeah, sure, the hunger, the lust, the craving for him were still there, and as powerful as ever. But it wasn’t an addiction. I can control this. I can handle it. I won’t let myself be hurt again.

  “Hey, yourself,” he answered in his neutral way, and she could feel him studying her with his probing, inquisitive reporter’s eyes.

  “Sleep well?” he inquired.

  What with the hurry and hustle of getting everyone up, breakfasting, gathering belongings a
nd equipment, getting to the airport, filing flight plans, prepping the plane and getting underway, it was the first moment they’d had alone together since she’d left him the night before.

  “Yes, I did.” She didn’t try to keep the satisfaction-maybe even smugness-out of her voice. “How ’bout yourself?”

  He made a soft dry sound, then muttered something under his breath. Something along the lines of, “Same old Sam…”

  The urge to grin made the muscles in her face cramp, and she bit down hard on her lower lip to quell it.

  Cory clasped his hands together, then leaned forward to gaze through the windshield at the low, cloud-shrouded smudge on the horizon. Fidgeting. The thought flashed into her mind: That’s not like him.

  She said, “That’s the island you’re looking at out there. We’ll be landing in about…forty-five minutes.” He nodded but didn’t reply.

  After listening to the droning of the aircraft’s engines for several minutes, she said, “Mind if I ask you something?” The look he threw her was both surprised and wary-she didn’t usually ask permission. “I’m curious-Will and I both were, actually. Why charter a plane for this? Why didn’t you just hire a boat? Woulda been a lot simpler-cheaper, too.”

  He gave her a look and said mildly, “I’m going into a terrorist’s hideout to interview one of the most wanted and dangerous men in the world. When I’m done with that, I’d rather not have to get through forty miles of jungle before I’m home free.”

  “Okay, I can see that. Then wouldn’t a helicopter be more practical?”

  The look he gave her this time was wry. “I was specifically warned not to use a helicopter. Apparently, both Philippine government forces and U.S. Special Ops are active in that area. When al-Rami’s troops see a chopper they do their best to shoot it down.”

  “Ah,” said Sam, keeping her voice neutral. “So…” she persisted after a moment, “why did you ask for such a big plane? There’s just the two of you. Why not a Cessna? It’d be a whole lot easier to land and take off on those remote airstrips.”

  He shifted again as if something was irritating him, but replied in a calm, almost conversational way. “That’s not a problem. Apparently, there’s a landing strip near the rendezvous point that was built by the Americans during World War Two, and the villagers have kept it up-they get most of their supplies that way. The roads in and out of the region aren’t reliable at the best of times, and during the monsoon season they’re sometimes impassable.” He threw her a grin. “You shouldn’t have any trouble. In fact, this old bird ought to feel right at home.”

  Sam frowned at the cloudy horizon. “That still doesn’t explain-” Then she broke off as it hit her. “Oh, good God. They have hostages. You’re going to try to get them out.” He didn’t answer. She looked over at him. “Aren’t you? That’s what this is all about-the interview-” Her hands tightened on the wheel. “That’s how you were able to get approval from State, isn’t it? I should have known.”

  Dammit, I should have known. Why weren’t we told about this? Same old story…left hand doesn’t have a clue what the right hand’s doing…

  Cory’s quiet, reasonable voice broke in on her silent fuming. “I intend to try to negotiate for their release during the course of the interview, sure. How can I not try? What else would you expect me to do?”

  She let out a short, sharp breath. “Nothing-absolutely nothing. It’s exactly what you would do. Like I said-I should have known.” She threw him a distracted glance, not even registering the puzzled look on his face or the probing intensity of his eyes as she switched to her captain’s voice.

  “Uh…look, we’re coming into Isabella airspace…I’m gonna need to be talking to their tower…if you wouldn’t mind taking your seat…”

  “Oh-sure, no problem.”

  Sam was already fiddling with the radio and hardly noticed when Cory eased out of his seat in the overly careful, oh-Lord-don’t-let-me-touch-anything way he had and made his way slowly back through the radioman’s compartment. She did glance up, though, to make sure his back was still turned while she tuned her radio to a frequency not monitored by any airport control tower anywhere in the world. Only when she was certain he was out of earshot did she begin to speak into her mouthpiece, in a monotone designed to carry no farther than the confines of the cockpit.

  “Uncle Willie, this is Junebug calling. Come in…”

  She waited, counting off the seconds, then repeated it. “Uncle Willie, this is June-”

  “Hey, Junie-baby, this is your old Uncle Willie. How’re ya doin’, sweetcakes?”

  One side of Sam’s mouth quirked upward. “Oh, fair…just fair. Got a few clouds on the horizon…”

  “Yeah? How bad? Look like it might spoil our party?”

  “Don’t know yet. Seems our guest of honor has some plans of his own. Might be a conflict, can’t say for sure. Does complicate things, though.”

  There was a brief and thoughtful silence. Then: “Okay, stay on top of it. I trust you can handle our guest if he gets…uh, difficult?”

  “He’s not exactly the ‘handling’ type.”

  “Be a shame,” the voice said smoothly, “if the party had to be cancelled. The other guests would not be happy.”

  “Right.” She let out a gust of breath. “I know. I’ll take care of it. Oh-Uncle Willie-one more thing.” She lifted a hand to her right headphone, then lightly touched the tender spot just beneath a small fresh surgical scar hidden in the thick hair behind her ear. “How’re those pictures I’ve been sending you? Still getting to you okay?”

  There was a fat-sounding chuckle. “Gettin’ some as we speak, sweetcakes. Nice of you to share. Almost like bein’ right there with you.”

  “Glad you’re enjoying ’em,” Sam said, grinning. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “You do that, Junebug-baby. Take care now.”

  “Will do, Uncle Willie. Out.”

  No longer wearing any suggestion of a smile, Sam returned the DC-3’s radio to its regular frequency.

  As Cory settled into his seat, Tony looked up from the paperback novel he was reading to give him what could best be described as a leer. “So, how’d it go last night? You and Captain Earhart patch up your differences?”

  Cory responded with a dismissive snort. “Sam’s and my differences are pretty much irreconcilable.”

  “Huh. That your opinion or hers?” When he didn’t get an answer, Tony dog-eared the page-making Cory wince-and closed the book. Tucking it between his leg and the armrest, he shifted in his seat in a settling-in kind of way and said in an undertone, “Okay. When last we left the romantic misadventures of Cory Pearson, you were telling me how you’d just, in effect, told the lady you love to grow up. After which, when she took offense-quite understandably, in my opinion-you went off and married somebody else. That doesn’t sound like ‘differences’ to me, man. Sounds to me more like you owe the lady one hell of an apology. Not to mention roses. And diamonds.”

  “Yeah, well…as it happens, I tried that-the apology, anyway. After the divorce was final. I…I actually called her.”

  “Yeah? And?”

  Cory’s smile flickered dimly, like a dying lightbulb. “About what you’d expect. She told me to get lost. Leave her alone. Never speak to her again.”

  Tony reared back in mock astonishment. “No kidding? What a shock, man. And I suppose you did just what she told you to.”

  “As a matter of fact I did, yeah.” Cory was beginning to find the whole conversation annoying. “What was I supposed to do? Stalk her?”

  “Woo her, man. That’s what she wanted, I guarantee it. Hey-after what you did, a phone call and a simple ‘I’m sorry’ ain’t gonna cut it. You gotta go back to square one, make her remember why she fell for you in the first place. You dig?”

  “Easy for you to say,” Cory said dryly. It was, too; he’d seen Tony in action. For reasons he’d never been able to figure out, in spite of his strong resemblance to a bald-headed pit bull terri
er, the man seemed to possess some kind of magic attraction irresistible to any human female between the ages of six and a hundred.

  Tony made a “Tsk”-ing sound and hitched himself closer. “Look, man. Any fool can see she’s still got a thing for you. And if the feelings are there, there’s no such thing as ‘irreconcilable differences.’ Know what I mean?”

  Would that that were true, Cory thought. He felt heavy and sad, thinking about it, remembering his conversation with Sam last night…remembering the way she’d kissed him. He wished Tony would leave it alone, just…shut up about it. But unfortunately, Tony’s looks weren’t the only thing about him that resembled a pit bull.

  He drew a resolute breath. “It’s not about feelings. In this case I’m not sure they even matter. What it is, is that both of us want something the other doesn’t have to give. If that doesn’t make it irreconcilable-”

  “Ah, come on, that’s just bull-”

  The cough of the intercom interrupted. To Cory, thoroughly sick of the conversation, Sam’s tinny voice came like the answer to a prayer.

  “Okay, we’re over the island…I’m gonna drop down under this cloud cover and see if I can find us a place to land. Fasten your seat belts, boys and girls…might get a little bumpy.”

  “That wasn’t so bad.” Tony was grinning, his jaws working like pistons on the wad of gum he’d been chewing to relieve eardrum pressure during the corkscrew descent.

  Cory gave him a look, then went back to scanning the jungle growth that crowded close to the plowed fields surrounding the grassy airstrip. Beyond the jungle, green mountain slopes, terraced for farming on the lower flanks, rose into a feathery gray mist of cloud cover. The air was still and heavy with humidity.

  He half turned as Sam came from locking down the plane to stand beside him. “I’d have expected more of a welcoming committee,” he said, frowning.

  They’d passed low over a village on the way in, but so far the only signs of life they’d seen had been the young boy of maybe nine or ten, wearing only a tattered pair of camouflage shorts, who’d risen from the grass at the edge of a rice paddy as the plane had braked to a halt, then scampered for the trees like a flushed rabbit.