Fatal Fallout

by Lara Lacombe

  It was time for her to move on.

  Three weeks later

  Claire closed her eyes and lifted her hands to her head, rubbing her temples in a vain attempt to soothe the ache that was her constant companion of late. There was just so much to do and not enough hours in the day.

  With a sigh, she returned to her computer and the half-finished email on her monitor: Therefore, we recommend increased security and heightened restrictions for access to all nuclear materials, regardless of quantity...

  In the weeks following Victor’s death, her workload had exploded. Ivan’s papers had been sifted through by her Russian counterparts, and thanks to the packet he’d sent her, a clear picture had emerged: Ivan Novikoff was not selling nuclear fuel on the black market, but he was quietly investigating individuals and groups who had expressed an interest in obtaining those materials. His records had been thorough and meticulous, and unfortunately, they’d also been his undoing. When the Russian mob had gotten wind of his off-the-books investigation, they’d moved quickly to eliminate the threat.

  Fortunately, Ivan had been quicker. Realizing the danger he was in, he’d shipped off the most incriminating documents, unwittingly exposing her to the danger as well.

  While Claire was relieved to know that her friend was innocent, she wished he’d gone about his search differently. Not for the first time, she wondered if he would still be alive if he’d only involved the authorities.

  I wish he would have told me. I could have saved him. How, she didn’t know, but she couldn’t help but feel that if Ivan had let her in on his thoughts, she could have done something to protect him. It was one more stone of guilt to add to her already heavy burden.

  She glanced out the window, hoping for a distraction to redirect her thoughts. It was overcast and gray, a perfect complement to her mood. She watched as pedestrians hurried along the sidewalk, umbrellas tucked under their arms in preparation for the threatening rain. A woman in a silver raincoat flitted past, artfully dodging the slower walkers who ambled along. Claire watched her move, envying her energy as she slipped through the crowd like a darting minnow.

  A splash of color caught her eye, and she focused on the small red maple planted in the square across the street. It was beautiful, the leaves a jumbled combination of reds and oranges and golds, glowing like a living flame in stark contrast to the colorless day. The vibrant splash of colors made her think of Thomas, and she felt a flutter in her belly as she pictured his face.

  Had the bruises faded yet? Was he being a good patient? She snorted, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Not likely. He was so stubborn, so determined—he probably wasn’t resting or sitting still for very long, which would only prolong his recovery.

  She shook her head, wondering for the millionth time when she’d forget about him. Wasn’t it enough that he’d used her? Why did she have to keep being reminded of him every day? Her brain recognized it was time to move on, but her heart, that weak organ, hadn’t gotten the message. She found herself thinking of him at least a dozen times a day, wondering if he was okay, if Emily was doing better. It was pathetic, really, the way she ached for a family and a connection that had never been real.

  She turned back to her computer, the blinking cursor mocking her. Maybe one day, she wouldn’t think of him every time she closed her eyes, wouldn’t picture those blue, blue eyes and red hair. The curve of his mouth when he gave her that sexy grin she loved. The way he rubbed his chin when he was deep in thought, or the way his hair felt against her skin.

  Yeah, right.

  Just thinking about him made her pulse pick up, her traitorous body desperate to see him again. To feel him again. They had fit so perfectly together, almost as if they were made for each other. She’d never experienced that with anyone before, even though it had turned out to be a lie. She had the sinking feeling she never would again.

  But what was that saying? Better to have loved and lost? Something like that. Cold comfort at a time like this, though.

  Shaking her head, she placed her fingers on the keyboard, determined to get back to work. She’d wasted enough time mourning the loss of a relationship that had never been. Time to focus on the things that were still a part of her life.

  “Do you ever take a break?”

  Claire jumped at the unexpected question, her hand flying to her throat too late to stifle her startled squeak. She glanced up to find Thomas standing in the doorway, his gaze serious as he took in her office.

  “What are you doing here?” Her question came out in a rush of breath, but she didn’t trust herself to speak again. Instead, she ran her gaze over him, drinking in the sight.

  He looked surprisingly good for a man who had been shot in the head. His hair had been shaved for the surgery, but it was growing back quickly, a red-gold fuzz that looked wonderfully soft. She wanted to rub her palm over the top of his head to let the strands tickle her skin but settled for clenching her fist instead.

  His cheekbones were a bit more prominent, a testament to the fact that he’d spent the past few weeks recovering from a major injury. He wasn’t gaunt, but she could tell he’d lost a few pounds. It didn’t detract from the width of his shoulders or his height, which were still as imposing as ever. If anything, this new, leaner appearance gave him the look of a jungle cat: eerily still, but coiled and ready to spring.

  And with his blue eyes fixed on her, cold and assessing, she had the sinking suspicion she was the prey.

  “I’m here on official business,” he replied, moving into the office with a casual grace. “I wanted you to know that the FBI’s investigation has formally concluded, and you are no longer thought to be at risk.”

  Claire raised her brow at his statement. “What happened?”

  Thomas shrugged, as if the matter was of little consequence. “The Russians are cleaning house. The list of names you translated has resulted in a lot of arrests, and with so many of the players behind bars, you’re no longer a target.”

  She swallowed, trying to ignore the flutter of fear in her stomach. “What about the people who hired Victor?”

  If the name of her would-be assassin bothered him, he didn’t show it. “Victor was hired by a man with connections to the Russian mob,” he said, sounding almost bored. “From what we can tell, he was trying to make a name for himself within the organization, and to prove his chops he was tasked with getting the list from Dr. Novikoff. You were never supposed to be a target.”

  “But I was.”

  He nodded in acknowledgment. “He was an eager beaver who overstepped his bounds.”

  She didn’t miss his choice of words. “Was?”

  “If it makes you feel any better, the man is dead. Not only did he cost them Victor, one of their best hired guns, but his actions drew attention to the mob, something they don’t tolerate. The Russian mob doesn’t take kindly to failure.”

  She quickly slammed the door on the mental images that statement evoked. “How can you be sure they won’t come after me again?”

  “As I said before, you were never a target. Furthermore, the Bratva aren’t interested in triggering an international incident. They’re too busy trying to mitigate the damage from Dr. Novikoff’s list.”

  “I see.”

  “As long as you stay away from the Russian investigation, you’ll be fine. But should you have any further need of the bureau, don’t hesitate to call.”

  His tone was professional and detached, and it set her teeth on edge. After everything that had happened, everything he’d done to her, he was just going to dismiss her without so much as an apology?

  “You’re back to work already?”

  He didn’t answer right away. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he glanced down briefly before meeting her eyes again. “Not officially. But I wanted to deliver this message in person.”

  Of
course he did. Why waste an opportunity to twist the knife a bit more?

  Claire nodded, trying to keep her anger and pain from showing on her face. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he still had the power to touch her that way.

  They stared at each other for a moment, the silence growing louder as they faced off. Finally, she cleared her throat. “Well, it seems like your message has been delivered.”

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Sure looks that way.”

  “Was there anything else?” Go. Please just leave so I can cry in private.

  Thomas shook his head. “No.” He turned and took a step toward the door, then whirled back around. “Actually, yes, there is something else.”

  He marched forward, not stopping until he hit the edge of her desk. Claire leaned away, her heart pounding furiously. His face had reddened, and from the set of his mouth, she could tell he was gearing up for a fight. She met his glare with one of her own. If he wanted to have words, that was fine by her. She had things to say as well.

  “Why did you leave the hospital?”

  Claire blinked, taken aback by his question. She never would have guessed her motivation for leaving was unclear, but perhaps he needed things spelled out.

  “Let’s see,” she began, deliberately keeping her voice level in a bid to stay calm. “I had to run to keep up with you that day, only to arrive just in time for a front-row seat to you making out with your girlfriend, whoever she is. Mind you, this was after we had slept together, and after, I might add, you had told me that you weren’t seeing anyone. To say I was upset would be a huge understatement, and I had to leave before I did something stupid.”

  He waved his hand dismissively, as if her explanation was meaningless. “I’m not talking about when we brought Emily back. I’m talking about after I got shot. Why did you leave?”

  She frowned up at him. “What do you mean? I didn’t see you in the hospital after you were shot.”

  Thomas stared at her as if she’d sprouted a second head. “Yes, you did,” he said. “I was lying there on the gurney, and I heard your voice. You were asking to see me. Then you stood next to me and leaned over, and I reached up to touch your face, and I said—” He broke off and looked away, the tips of his ears turning pink.

  Oh my God. Was it possible?

  Claire reviewed her memories of that awful moment, seeing the encounter in a new, sickening light. If Thomas was telling the truth, he’d thought he was talking to her, not to that other woman. He’d meant to caress her face, whisper to her. She’d misinterpreted the whole thing.

  Her stomach dropped as the images she recalled started to assemble into a new picture.

  “I never saw you in the hospital,” she said slowly, her anger toward the mystery woman building anew. “Jenny wouldn’t let me near you. She said I needed to give the doctors room to work.”

  Her words hung between them for a long moment.

  “Then who—” Recognition dawned in his eyes, and his face went slack. “Tanya,” he whispered.

  Claire felt a hot spike of jealousy at the other woman’s name, but she held her temper in check. “Yes. I saw her lean over you, watched you reach up and say something to her. I was standing against the wall, just before Valdez escorted me out.”

  “So you never knew.” His whole demeanor changed, going from tense and brooding to relaxed and light, as if someone had flipped a switch inside him. He grinned down at her. “You never knew,” he repeated, his voice rising with excitement.

  “I don’t know why you’re so happy about that,” Claire snapped, her irritation with Jenny and the other woman still fresh.

  Thomas sobered, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “I’ve been angry with you this whole time, over something that wasn’t your fault. You have no idea the things I’d come up with to explain your behavior, and it’s a relief to finally know the real reason behind your silence. I thought you just didn’t care about me, but now I know the truth—you didn’t know how I feel about you.”

  “I’m glad we cleared that little mystery up,” she said. “But I’m still angry, and I’m afraid I can’t turn my emotions off as quickly as you do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m talking about the other woman. Tanya.” At the mention of her name, Thomas’s face fell. Claire continued, “I have to be honest with you, I have no idea what to make of the two of you. You tell me one thing, I see another. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

  “Tanya is no longer an issue,” he said quietly, looking down. His refusal to meet her eyes only added fuel to her already blazing temper.

  “Oh, really? And does she know that? Because it seems to me she’s under the impression the two of you are an item.”

  When Thomas didn’t respond, Claire shook her head. “I’m not interested in a competition. And I’ll be damned before I’ll share.”

  He did look at her then, his blue eyes sparking. “No one’s asking you to share.”

  Claire raised a brow. “No? You sure about that?”

  “Tanya and I dated, a few years ago. Then she left me.”

  “She left you?” Claire echoed, at a loss. What kind of woman would leave a man like him?

  Thomas pressed his lips together in an expression of distaste. “To be more specific, she cheated on me. Packed up her stuff and moved to Chicago. She came back to D.C. a few months ago, started hanging out with Jenny again.” He looked down, shaking his head. “Seems the guy she left me for cheated on her, and she was hoping to pick up where we’d left off.”

  “I see.”

  “That day in the hospital—it was the first time I’d seen her in years. She came on strong in the hopes that I’d take her back. But I told her there was no chance. That I’d found someone else.”

  Claire’s heart thumped at his words, a tingle starting low in her belly as she met his gaze. “Oh?”

  Thomas nodded. “But there’s something I need to know. Why didn’t you trust me? I know you were upset by what you saw between me and Tanya, but I told you multiple times that I wasn’t involved with anyone. Why didn’t you believe me?”

  Now it was her turn to look away. “It was too hard,” she said, feeling ashamed. “I wanted so desperately to believe you, but what I saw...” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I couldn’t reconcile your words with the actions.”

  “I see.” His voice was flat, expressionless, and she had the vague sense that she’d disappointed him somehow.

  “Can you blame me?” she asked, feeling defensive. “I didn’t really know you. My friend was dead, I had been attacked and I was feeling vulnerable. I slept with you, and the next day I’m treated to the vision of you locked in a passionate embrace with another woman.”

  He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand to forestall his response.

  “I know now that wasn’t your fault, but at the time, I had no idea. Then when I see you again, you tell me there is no one else, but your actions at the hospital say something different. And yes, I see now that it was all a misunderstanding, but I had no way of knowing that. All I could see was that I had opened up to you and shared myself with you. I thought we had a connection, but you didn’t seem to feel the same way. Is it any wonder I was hurt and angry?”

  “No.” He ran a hand over his head, a faint rasping sound accompanying the gesture. “When you put it that way, it makes perfect sense.”

  He sank into one of the chairs across from her desk, and they fell into silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Thomas spoke again.

  “God, given the way you must have felt, it’s a wonder you even spoke to me when I pulled you from the alcove.”

  Claire raised a brow. “If you recall, I did shoot you in the head,” she said coolly.

  He shot her a cocky grin as he rubbed the side
of his head with his fingertips. “Are you saying that was my punishment?”

  “No.” She shook her head, all teasing gone. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I was so scared, but I knew I had to do something.” She broke off to wipe her eyes, rubbing away the tears that had formed at the memory of that horrible day.

  “It’s okay.” His voice was soothing as he leaned across the desk and took one of her hands in his own. “You did great. Besides,” he added, his grin returning, “I’d rather get shot by you than him any day.”

  Claire huffed out a laugh. “That’s what Valdez said.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  She nodded. “When the forensics report came back, it proved that I had been the one to shoot you. Valdez hadn’t believed me when I told him, but he couldn’t argue with the data. I felt horrible about it, and I started crying. Not pretty, delicate crying either, but huge, wet sobs that made me sound like I was choking on bagpipes. Valdez’s eyes got really big, and he pushed a box of tissues over. When that didn’t help, he sat next to me and started to pat my back.” She pantomimed the awkward motion of his exaggerated gestures, which made Thomas laugh. “He told me it wasn’t my fault, and that it was okay. Then he said he was sure you wouldn’t mind, because it was better that you were shot by me rather than Victor.” She made a face at the memory. “I’m not quite sure why that is, since you would get hurt either way, but whatever.”

  He gently squeezed her hand. “I knew if Victor fired, he wouldn’t miss. With you, I at least had a chance of not getting hit.”

  Claire stared at their joined hands for a long moment. When she looked up, Thomas was watching her, a small smile on his face. She smiled in return, feeling curiously light.

  “So where do we go from here?”

  She didn’t miss the “we” in his question, and she felt her chest grow warm, as if a candle had been lit in her heart.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. And she truly wasn’t. Now that she knew Thomas didn’t have any feelings for Tanya, all her insecurities had melted away. She could allow herself to believe that they had a chance, that things might really work out between them. “Why don’t we start with you telling me what you said in the hospital?”