Fatal Fallout

by Lara Lacombe

  He walked forward, stopping a few steps away to study her. “How are you?”

  She tried to smile. “I’ve been better.”

  His gaze traced her cheek and she lifted her hand, placing her fingertips on the slightly raised edge of the cut. “Does it hurt?” he asked, his own hand coming to rest on his neck in a sympathetic echo of her gesture.

  “Not really. More annoying than anything. What about you?”

  He smiled down at her, and the combination of his dimples and the sparkle in his eyes made her catch her breath. “The same. I have to go back next week to get the stitches out, but other than that it’s no big deal.”

  “That’s good.” She winced inwardly, feeling suddenly awkward. Why did he have to stand so close? That starchy, soapy smell she would forever associate with him was having an unwelcome effect on her emotions, making her want to close the distance between them and press her nose to the hollow of his throat.

  “Listen, Claire, I was hoping we could talk.”

  No. Absolutely not. No talking. No discussion of feelings, of that kiss. Talking would only make her want him more, and she’d already decided there was no future for her down that road. She couldn’t let him distract her now.

  Claire looked down, casting about for something to say that would change the subject before Agent Kincannon asked her about last night’s kiss. Her gaze caught on the papers in his hand, and she seized on the excuse with the relief of a drowning man who has reached the shore.

  “What are those?”

  He frowned slightly as he followed her gaze down to the pages. “Oh,” he said, as if just now remembering he held them. “That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about. They’re the decoded pages that Dr. Novikoff sent you. I thought you could have another look at them, see if anything jumped out at you.”

  Claire reached out and took them from him, excitement and anticipation flaring as she flipped through the papers. Finally, something else to concentrate on! Looking for a hidden message among the seemingly random collection of words would provide a wonderful distraction from thinking about her own situation. Even better, focusing on the papers meant she could no longer focus on Thomas and her confusing reaction to his continued presence in her life.

  She returned to the table and sat, spreading the pages out so she could see all of them at once. Maybe they had to be read in a certain order....

  Annoyance sparked as Thomas sat down across from her, but he remained silent, his own attention on the papers. She was uncomfortably aware of his nearness, but a second set of eyes wouldn’t hurt.

  Soon she was completely oblivious to his presence. She read the words over and over, arranging the pages in different patterns and trying every combination she could think of to tease out a hidden message. So far, nothing had worked. Still, the more she studied the words, the more convinced she became that they were not the random scribblings of a delusional mind—there was a meaning here, a pattern, and she just had to find it.

  Please, Ivan. Help me understand.

  * * *

  Something was off.

  It was clear when he’d walked into the room that Claire was uncomfortable. What he couldn’t figure out was why.

  Was she scared? James had said they’d passed a quiet night, but he hadn’t actually been in the bedroom with her. Maybe she hadn’t slept well; maybe she’d been too shaken to close her eyes. Not that he could blame her. It wasn’t every day she was attacked by a knife-wielding sicko, and given the earlier shock of Novikoff’s death, she had to be on edge.

  Still, something about her demeanor made him think this wasn’t totally about fear. It was the way she avoided his eyes, the way she’d abruptly changed the subject when he’d said he wanted to talk to her. She’d looked almost panicked at the thought of having a conversation with him. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d actually bolted from the room. She probably would have, too, if she hadn’t seen the papers.

  He studied her now, her head bent in absorption as she pored over the documents. Every now and then she’d tilt her head to the side, her blond hair turning a warm gold in the afternoon sunlight. Normally he’d be a bit more covert about his surveillance, but Claire was so totally focused that he could watch her freely, with no fear of being caught staring. She hadn’t looked up when he’d brought her a fresh cup of coffee earlier, and he realized that she had no idea it was there. She had the enviable ability to concentrate so intently on one task that the world around her disappeared.

  He idly wondered if she ever used that laserlike focus in bed and immediately quashed the thought before he got himself into trouble. Too late, though. He had a sudden, vivid image of her with her head thrown back and her eyes screwed shut as she moved over him, her lips parted on a gasp....

  He shifted, casting a glance in her direction as he discreetly adjusted his pants. Thankfully, she hadn’t noticed.

  The image of her mouth brought another possibility to mind. Was she upset with him for the kiss last night? Although technically she had kissed him, he certainly hadn’t held back. Perhaps he’d come on too strong, and she was afraid to be alone with him. The thought made his stomach cramp. The last thing he wanted was for her to be afraid of him. He’d never deliberately hurt her; in fact, he would do everything in his power to keep her safe. But how could she know that?

  Christ, he thought, running a hand through his hair. She’d kissed him last night, and instead of recognizing it as the gesture of a woman who was overwhelmed, scared past all reason and seeking reassurance, he’d seen it as an invitation. He’d yanked her on top of him and plunged his tongue into her mouth, too caught up in his own arousal to recognize her hesitance. No wonder she didn’t want to see him today. He’d been a first-class ass, and she probably figured he was more interested in bedding her than protecting her.

  The realization hit a little too close to home, making him wince. Way to make an impression, Kincannon.

  Not for the first time, he wished Roger were here. His brother would know what to do, how to apologize to Claire. Roger had always had a way with words. Even when they were kids, his fast-talking had frequently come to the rescue, saving them from several well-deserved punishments. The two of them had been quite the handful growing up. It was a wonder their mother had survived.

  “Me?” Diana had said incredulously, when Roger had brought it up last Christmas. “It’s a wonder you boys survived! There were plenty of times I wanted to lock you out of the house, or drive you to the middle of Rock Creek Park and turn you loose.” She shook her head, her mouth curving in a smile as she stared at them affectionately. “But I suppose I’m glad I didn’t, now that you’re both grown and useful.” She reached up to pat them gently on the cheeks.

  “Gee, thanks, Mom,” Thomas replied, rolling his eyes.

  “What do you mean, useful?” Roger asked, affecting mock indignation.

  “Well, you’re very good at carrying heavy things,” Diana offered. “And you’ve given me grandchildren. At least, one of you has,” she said, with a sidelong glance at Thomas.

  Thomas raised his hands in surrender and backed away. “Hey, don’t look at me. I’m not the one who’s married. Talk to him.”

  Roger laughed and threw an arm around Thomas’s neck, pulling him closer. “Don’t worry, little brother. Your time will come. In fact, I bet you a round of golf at Congressional that you’ll have a girlfriend by spring.”

  “You’re on,” Thomas said, offering his hand to seal the deal. “Loser also springs for lunch at the club.”

  “You’d better save your money,” Roger taunted, a sly grin spreading across his face. “I’m going to be hungry.”

  As it turned out, Thomas had won the bet, but he’d never had a chance to collect. By the time spring rolled around, Roger was gone, leaving a hole in Thomas’s soul that he didn’t think would eve
r fully heal.

  It should have been me.

  Thomas shook his head as old, familiar irritation surged anew at the thought. Even if he lived to be a hundred years old, he would never understand why his brother, a family man and absolute good guy, had been killed that day, while he, a single guy married to his job, was still here. It really should have been the other way around. And sure, his mother would miss him if he were gone, but at least his brother’s family would still be intact.

  Claire moved again, shifting as if trying to find a more comfortable position. He watched her finger trace the words on the page, her lips moving as she silently read to herself. She was lovely to look at, especially now when her expression was unguarded and her features relaxed. More than that, though, she was a good person. He knew from her dossier that she was heavily involved in nuclear safety. He’d read several articles detailing her role in securing radioactive fuel from decaying reactors in unstable areas. She was, essentially, trying to save the world, one spent fuel rod at a time. And he admired her for it.

  Maybe, just maybe, she was the reason he was here. He’d read enough popular science articles to know that a butterfly flapping its wings in Chile could trigger a monsoon in India. Maybe his initial choice to ask Roger to take their mother that day had set off a chain of events that had resulted not only in his brother’s death, but also in Thomas being here, at this moment, keeping Claire safe so she could protect the rest of the world.

  He found the thought oddly comforting, although part of him wanted to dismiss it as outright bunk, the product of blood loss and lack of sleep. He wasn’t sure he believed in fate—it was a bit too convenient as far as explanations went. Even though Roger’s death had demonstrated once and for all that he couldn’t control everything, Thomas didn’t like to dwell on the knowledge that there were things beyond his influence, events and circumstances that he couldn’t affect. Still, despite his rejection of fate, he couldn’t deny that the idea he might serve a greater good by protecting Claire made the loss of Roger a bit easier to bear.

  At least for today.

  * * *

  Casting covert glances from under her lashes, Claire watched in fascination as an array of expressions paraded across Thomas’s face. Suspicion gave way to amusement and then to pain, before something like resignation settled over his features. She was used to seeing humor on him—he always seemed to have a smile lurking just under the surface—but pain was something different altogether. It wasn’t the look he’d worn last night, when he was physically hurting from his injuries. No, this was the expression of a man who had experienced a soul-deep loss. She recognized the look, as it was the same one she wore in her heart where the memories of her father lived.

  What loss haunted him?

  Against her better judgment, she found herself wanting to comfort him. It bothered her to see him like this, subdued and hurting. She wanted to see him return to his old self, the confident, joking agent who had protected her, made her feel safe and secure. Not the man in the hospital bed who had blamed himself for their attack, or the man in front of her now, lost in remembered pain. She didn’t know what ghosts plagued him, but she did know that he deserved better.

  She made a show of gathering the pages together, tapping them into a neat stack with a loud sigh. When she looked at him again, she found he was watching her, all traces of sadness gone, his lips curving up slightly to form a muted version of the smile she already knew so well.

  “Any luck?”

  Claire shook her head. “No. Maybe.” She shrugged, trying to ease some of the tension in her shoulders. “It’s like the answer is right there, staring me in the face, but I just can’t see it.” She rested a hand on the pages, as if physical contact would induce them to reveal their secrets. “Do you ever feel like a word is on the tip of your tongue, but you just can’t say it?”

  Thomas nodded, leaning back in his chair as he regarded her. “Sure. It’s annoying as hell.”

  “Exactly!” She let out her breath and slumped forward, fatigue and defeat getting the better of her. “That’s how I feel right now. Impotent and completely useless.”

  “Hey now,” he said, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “I didn’t say I know what it feels like to be impotent.”

  Claire couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head at his audacity. “Perish the thought,” she replied, batting her eyes at him in an exaggerated tease.

  He winked back, and something deep in her belly flared to life. It must have shown on her face, because in the next instant, Thomas’s expression went from good-natured fun to absorbed attention, his blue eyes twin flames of need.

  She felt her body tighten in response, her skin tingling in anticipation of his touch. She already knew what his mouth felt like—what would his hands do to her? She dropped her gaze to the table where his large hands rested, fingers relaxed and gently curled. Did he have calluses on his palms? How would they feel, dragging across the sensitive skin of her thighs, her breasts? The thought made her shiver, and she swallowed hard, forcing her gaze up to his face.

  He stared at her, the silence between them growing heavy and charged. The unspoken question hung in the air, and Claire knew, without a doubt, that she had only to nod and Thomas would be all too happy to demonstrate the truth behind his earlier statement.

  She was sorely tempted to let him.

  Even though she knew it was dangerous, Claire ran the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip. Thomas’s gaze tracked the movement, sharpening as he watched her. His eyes were predatory now, and an electric tingle skittered through her limbs at being the focus of his attention.

  He sat forward slowly, his muscles tense with leashed power. She couldn’t take her eyes off the shifting fabric of his shirt as it molded to his broad shoulders and chest when he moved. With his laid-back disposition and ready smile, it was all too easy to forget that Thomas was a physically powerful man. Seeing that power on display now called to something feminine inside her and served to further weaken her earlier resolve to keep her distance.

  She felt herself soften, as if in preparation for an encounter with the hard planes of his body. Without conscious thought, she leaned forward as well, needing to get closer to him, to feel his warmth. A flicker of what might have been satisfaction flared in his eyes, but it was gone before she could be sure.

  He stood with casual grace, unfolding himself from the chair with fluid movements that made her think of a panther on the prowl. Then he stalked toward her, his eyes never leaving her face as he approached. Claire felt trapped in his gaze, frozen in delicious terror with the knowledge that this man wanted her.

  And she was going to give herself to him.

  She stood on shaky legs, bracing her hands on the table for support. Thomas stopped a few inches away from her, but the heat of his body washed over her like a caress. She felt drawn to him, her body like a compass needle that had found true north. She held his eyes while she raised her hand and placed it gently on his chest.

  His heartbeat was strong against her palm, and she curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, wanting to have an anchor when she kissed him. The first time she’d felt his mouth on hers, she’d been leaning over him with no chance of falling. Now, standing upright, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep her balance at the next touch of his lips.

  Slowly, so slowly, Thomas leaned down to bring his mouth to hers. She rose on tiptoes to meet him halfway, her heart picking up speed as the distance between them shrank. Claire closed her eyes as his breath drifted across her lips, savoring the sensation. Oh, yes...

  The shrill ring of a phone made her jump, startling her out of the moment. She opened her eyes to see Thomas staring down at her, regret and disappointment mixed in his eyes. “Damn,” he muttered, casting one last look at her before stepping away to pull the phone from his pocket. “Damn it all to hell.”
>
  Her body agreed with the sentiment, even as her mind was rapidly coming back online. Thomas turned away to take the call, evidently wanting some privacy. She let out her breath in a heavy sigh as her personal space returned. What had she been thinking? Only a few hours ago, she’d made a conscious decision to stay away from Thomas, to avoid the temptation he represented. All it took was a sad expression on his face and she was falling over herself to make him feel better, and in the process, breaking her own rules about getting involved with him. For all she knew, he was upset that his favorite sports team had lost their game last night. Her reaction was totally inappropriate, and she had to rein in her emotions before she really lost control. Next time, she might not be saved by a well-timed phone call.

  But she knew, deep down, that Thomas truly had been upset. And though she was angry at herself for her reaction, she did want to offer him comfort. Just not of a physical kind.

  Her body still tingled with the lingering sensation of having him so near. She’d been so ready to kiss him, to be kissed, that the interruption had left her feeling unsatisfied and edgy. Seeking a distraction, she turned back to the pages of words. The text was cold comfort to her libido, but she needed to figure out why Ivan had sent her these documents, and kissing Thomas wasn’t going to get the job done.

  Though it would have been a hell of a way to recharge.

  * * *

  It was time.

  He’d spent the morning learning her routine, watching her every move. She’d been oblivious, of course. Children were always easy to spy on, as they were such self-absorbed little creatures. He had to admit, though, she was better behaved than most of her classmates. She didn’t run or push others down or talk back to the teacher like some he’d seen. She was quiet, almost reserved, a fact that pleased him greatly. Hopefully she wouldn’t be too much trouble.

  She was standing a bit apart from the gaggle of other children, her head turned to the side, obviously looking for her grandmother. According to the neighbors, the woman usually walked from the metro to meet Emily after school, and the two would set off together, sometimes stopping at McDonald’s for an after-school snack. It was a sweet little ritual, a nice bonding time between grandmother and granddaughter.