by Debra Webb
“You’re not coming back, are you?”
The faint glimmer of desperate hope in her voice stopped him halfway to his destination. He closed his eyes and willed away the emotions twisting inside him. He shouldn’t feel any of this. “No,” he admitted, brutally squashing that tiny seed of hope to which he knew she still clung.
“And if I try to stop you?”
Raine turned around slowly to face her. Her grip tightened on the Beretta, but she made no move to take aim. Don’t do this, Kate. No way could he bring himself to hurt her. Pushing aside the unfamiliar emotions that bound him to Kate, he reached deep inside until he found that desolate place where he felt nothing at all. “Attempting to stop me would be a mistake.”
Silence screamed around them for several tense seconds before she spoke again. “I can’t let you go.”
Despite having fully anticipated this possibility, betrayal stung Raine. He almost laughed out loud. The great Jack Raine, who made a career out of betrayal, had just gotten his in spades. What a fool he was.
Kate lifted her right arm, holding the Beretta like a practiced professional. A cold emptiness stealing through him, Raine watched her determined stride as she moved toward him.
She stopped directly in front of him, a bead dead center of his chest, her gaze locked on his. “I won’t let you go.”
“Don’t leave the room,” he told her again, as if she’d said nothing at all, as if the weapon were not in her hand and aimed at his heart. “I’ll call to let you know when it’s safe to leave. Don’t believe anything until you hear it from me.”
“I said,” she repeated, “I’m not letting you walk out that door.”
“Then shoot me.” Raine turned his back on her, took the final steps to the door and walked out without looking back.
Chapter Twelve
Kate stood in the middle of the hotel room with nothing but the echo of the closing door to break the absolute silence. He was gone. Her entire body shook from the receding fear and adrenaline. She glanced at the gun in her hand. Could she have stopped him? No, not without using the gun, and she knew she couldn’t and wouldn’t have done that. Would she? Fear and confusion twisted inside her. She blinked, feeling as if she was coming out of some sort of trance. Why did she draw the weapon on him in the first place? Is that what she was supposed to do? Stop him? She frowned, trying with all her might to remember.
What did it matter now anyway? He was gone.
Kate blinked again, then slowly surveyed the luxurious room. Without Raine’s presence, previously insignificant details seemed to rush in on her all at once. The crystal chandelier hanging overhead. The lavish arrangement of fresh-cut flowers setting on the mantel above the marble fireplace. The lush burgundy carpet and drapes with gold intricately woven throughout. The perfectly coordinated French provincial furniture. And the wide inviting bed with its ivory brocade coverlet and tangled sheets still scented with their lovemaking.
…he needs protection.
Kate drew in a shuddering breath. She had to go after him. The assignment. She had to salvage this assignment…. to bring him in either way. Kate raced across the room and fumbled with the lock on the door.
Don’t go out for anything. Raine’s words slammed into her head, stilling her trembling fingers on the ornate gold lever that would disengage the dead bolt. Kate squeezed her eyes shut against the confusion, against the words and voices churning in her head.
What should she do?
She pressed her forehead to the door’s cool surface and willed herself to relax, willed the panic rising inside her to retreat. Her heart thumped frantically in her rib cage, ignoring the command to slow.
Her medicine, she needed her medicine. With all that had happened since their arrival at the hotel, Kate had forgotten to take the little blue pill that kept her heart condition under control. Her condition—the bane of her existence. Kate opened her eyes and exhaled shakily. She straightened and pushed away from the door.
Smooth move, Robertson, she chastised as she retraced her steps across the room and located her purse. Kate froze, the prescription bottle in her hand.
Robertson? Kate frowned as the name whirled around her like a tiny tornado. Katherine Robertson. Katherine. Katie. Her father called her Katie. But she preferred to go by Katherine, it sounded more professional.
Adrenaline rushing through her, Kate set the pills aside and dug through the purse until she came up with her driver’s license. Anticipation pulling at her, she studied the picture, then the name listed. Why would she be using the name Kate Roberts if her real name was Katherine Robertson?
That wouldn’t keep someone from using you to get to me. Raine was right. Her own suspicions were right on the mark. She had been sent to find him…to get close to him. And to bring him in. That was her assignment. But she’d failed. Though she had no idea who had sent her, the fact that she had failed—failed miserably—resurrected a pain that was all too familiar. It squeezed at her already tight chest. Tears stung her eyes. She was a failure. Again.
Kate clenched her jaw against the self-pity that threatened. Her inability to get the job done didn’t matter right now. What mattered was that Raine was about to get himself killed while she stood around feeling sorry for herself.
“Damn,” she hissed, throwing the bottle against the wall. Kate closed her eyes and rubbed at her forehead with the heels of both hands. Losing it wasn’t going to help. Reaching for calm, she crossed the room and snatched up the bottle and twisted off the cap. Pill in hand, she trudged to the sideboard and poured water from the crystal decanter into a matching goblet. After taking her medication, Kate stared into the large, gilt-framed mirror hanging on the wall.
“Who the hell are you?” she muttered to the familiar yet strangely alien woman staring back at her. Kate placed the ornate goblet on the silver tray and turned her back to the puzzling reflection that seemed to mock her.
To her way of thinking she had two options. She could stay put as Raine had instructed or she could call for help. Call in, the voice she recognized as Aunt Vicky’s urged. Kate concentrated hard on the voice of the woman who identified herself as Kate’s aunt, but no further recognition came. Aunt Vicky was probably an alias. Maybe this Vicky person had hired Kate to find Raine. She couldn’t take the chance that whoever sent her might be out to hurt Raine. Dillon and Vicky could be partners. Kate hadn’t forgotten that Dillon had shown up at their motel in Charlottesville only hours after her call to Aunt Vicky.
No, Kate had to call someone Raine trusted. If Lucas can’t be trusted, there’s no one else, he’d said. Kate reached into her jeans pocket and withdrew the slip of paper that contained Lucas’s number. Fear welled inside her again as she studied the bold handwriting that belonged to the man she loved. No matter that he would never want to see her again, and certainly would never trust her again. Somehow she had to help Raine. Lucas Camp was her only hope.
TWO GUT-WRENCHING, hand-twisting hours passed before the expected knock came. The gun in hand and her purse strap looped over her shoulder, Kate jumped from her seat and rushed to the door. She peered through the peephole at the man standing on the other side. He was tall, dark-haired, and he wore a suit. Kate frowned at his spit-and-polished appearance. She’d somehow expected Lucas Camp to be a little older, and a lot less stiff-looking. His phone voice in no way matched his image.
When the man knocked again, Kate swallowed back her indecision and summoned a businesslike tone. “Yes?”
“Miss Roberts, I’m Agent Hanson. Lucas sent me here to see that you’re escorted to a safe house,” he said with a definite air of authority.
Kate moistened her lips as she mulled over his voice. He sounded trustworthy enough. “I need to see some ID,” she told him, adhering to the side of caution.
“Of course.” He reached inside his jacket and removed the leather case containing a picture ID, which he held in front of the peephole for her perusal.
Hanson, Zachary P., Agent, Specia
l Operations. The ID looked authentic enough, Kate decided. She had no choice but to take the chance. It was the only shot she had at helping Raine. With a deep bolstering breath she opened the door, the gun still gripped firmly in her right hand. Agent Hanson surveyed the room before stepping inside.
He turned to Kate and smiled. “You’ll need your coat, Miss Roberts.”
Kate nodded and started to turn away.
“I’ll have to take that for you,” he offered kindly as he reached for the gun she held. “Regulations,” he explained when she hesitated.
For a moment Kate considered refusing to release the weapon, but what choice did she have? In his eyes she was an unknown factor, a loose cannon, she supposed. He probably didn’t relish the idea of riding in a confined automobile with an armed woman. She would do the same if the situation were reversed. Kate allowed Agent Hanson to take Raine’s Beretta, then retrieved her coat and preceded him out the door.
The trip to the lobby was made in silence. They stepped off the elevator and onto the white mosaic tile that stretched across the elegant lobby. A towering vase of fresh-cut flowers sat atop a pedestal table beneath a huge crystal chandelier that sprinkled shards of light over the shiny floor. Kate managed a smile for the blue-jacketed clerk as she passed the mahogany-paneled registration desk. A lush red runner carpeted the foyer and led the way past a security guard and through the brass revolving doors.
“This way, Miss Roberts,” Agent Hanson said as he paused beneath the canopied marquee.
With another friendly smile, he led Kate to a dark sedan parked at the curb. The windows were tinted, making it impossible to see anyone who might be inside. Reminding herself that she was doing the right thing, Kate thanked him when he opened the door. She had just taken her seat and reached for the seat belt when someone spoke.
“Nice to see you again, Kate.”
The air in her lungs evaporated as her senses absorbed, analyzed and recognized the voice of the man who had spoken.
Dillon.
DUSK HAD ALREADY SETTLED before Raine entered the deserted warehouse. The place hadn’t been used in years, and time and the elements were wearing on the huge structure. At one time the warehouses on this dock had been in high demand. But not so much anymore. Like several others along this stretch of waterfront, the one Raine had selected for his meeting with Dillon now amounted to nothing more than a crumbling relic of a different time and way of life.
Raine took up a position inside that would give him an unobstructed view of the entrance. A streetlight provided just enough illumination for him to see any comings and goings near the open door leading into the building. He checked the Glock under his jacket, then the cellular phone in his right pocket. The old man had insisted that Raine contact him immediately after his business with Dillon was complete, and since there were no working phones in the vicinity, Ballatore had provided a means of communication as well.
Raine never allowed himself to develop any sort of attachment to his assignments. He shook his head when he considered the strange relationship that had evolved between him and Sal Ballatore. Maybe it was because Raine had never known his own parents, and had spent his juvenile years in one foster home after the other. He and the old man’d had that in common.
Distrustful of relationships, just like Raine, Ballatore hadn’t married until well past middle age. He was pushing seventy now, and his twenty-year-old son had been the light of his life. Raine supposed that being thirty-four, he had served somewhat as a generational bridge between the old man and his son. Michael had taken to Raine from the start. Raine almost smiled as he recalled the serious case of hero worship the kid had had. The reputation the agency had set up for Raine, too realistic and ruthless, had intrigued Michael.
Raine shifted against the cold invading his body. He pushed away any further thoughts of Ballatore or his son. That mission was over, and once Dillon had been taken care of, Raine and Ballatore would never have contact again. That was the way it was supposed to be—the way it had always been.
Permanent ties weren’t a part of Raine’s life, professional or personal. The only long-lasting relationship he had allowed was the one with Lucas, and it only bordered on friendship, staying for the most part a professional relationship. That suited Raine just fine. He’d never had any desire for long-term on a personal level.
As if to refute the thought, Kate’s image filled his mind. Raine blinked to dispel the vivid mental picture, but she refused to go away. Those dark eyes, going even darker with desire for him. Those tempting lips that made him ache for another taste of her. And all that long, silky hair begging for his touch. No one had ever made him feel the way Kate did. The range of emotions that tightened his chest were so foreign, he felt at a complete loss to try to sort the tangle. How one woman could hold this kind of power over him baffled Raine.
He had never been in love with anyone, and he assured himself that he wasn’t in love now. But the denial sat like a stone in his gut, and that annoyed him beyond reason. He felt responsible for Kate, protective even. But he didn’t love her—he couldn’t love her. Surely some skill was involved in an emotion that strong, and Raine had never mastered any such talents. This thing between him and Kate was nothing more than physical attraction complicated by her vulnerability. It just couldn’t be anything else.
Besides, what kind of life could he offer a woman like her? She had a family somewhere, one that loved her like he wouldn’t begin to know how to. She might already have a husband or boyfriend. His jaw tightened at the notion. He didn’t want to think about that part of Kate’s life. He would never see her again anyway. Like Ballatore, she would be just another part of Raine’s murky past.
Kate didn’t need a man like him anyway. He didn’t know the first thing about family or any of those other forever kind of things. He lived from one mission to the next. Hell, he didn’t even know if he could survive retirement. He had lived on the edge so long with nothing but adrenaline for a companion, that he wasn’t even sure he could pull off a “normal” life.
Raine folded his arms over his chest to ward off the increasing chill that seemed to come more from inside him than from around him. Kate would be much better off without him. He knew it, and deep down she knew it or, at least, would come to realize it later. He hadn’t intended to let their relationship go so far. She would have enough regrets when her memory returned. She would regret letting him walk out of that hotel room alive. Whether she had a boyfriend or husband or not, she would regret sleeping with Raine. He closed his eyes to block out that image.
Kate was better off without him.
He was better off without her.
Especially considering their entire relationship was built on lies. Nothing had been what it seemed. Raine laughed at himself. Was it ever?
The almost imperceptible squeak of leather drew Raine’s full attention back to the door. Tension and adrenaline did their job as he reached for his Glock. Two seconds later a dark silhouette moved in the shadows just outside the circle of light bathing the entrance. Raine clenched his jaw when Dillon stepped into the light and proceeded through the open door as confidently as one who had already decided that this battle belonged to him.
Dillon was alone and that didn’t sit well with Raine. Danny and Vinny were probably right outside, but Dillon wasn’t a man who took unnecessary risks. And Dillon had a lot riding on this little showdown. Something didn’t add up.
As though he owned the place and had absolutely nothing to fear, Dillon walked just beyond the reach of the light and waited, facing the entrance, his back to anything that might be lurking in the dark warehouse. Sensing a setup, Raine silently made his way to the right until he stood directly behind Dillon’s position. Less than a dozen soundless steps later, Raine had the barrel of his weapon nestled at the base of Dillon’s skull.
Dillon turned around slowly, his hands held high in a gesture of surrender, a sadistic smile curving his thin lips. “I told you it’d only be a matter
of time until we met again.”
“Too bad I’m the one with the bead between your eyes,” Raine returned, carefully diverting the rage building too quickly inside him to something more appropriate for the moment—revenge.
Dillon shrugged. “You know, it doesn’t have to be this way. We could split the money. With your expertise, Ballatore would never find you, and, of course, I’ll be long gone.”
“I don’t think so, Dillon.” Raine felt one corner of his own mouth lift into a satisfied tilt. Was that desperation he heard in Dillon’s voice? Good, Raine mused, he liked to see that in an adversary. For all his cockiness, maybe Dillon wasn’t quite as sure of himself as he pretended to be. “I don’t want to make a deal, amigo.”
Dillon shook his head, frowning dramatically. “Gee, Raine, that’s too bad. I guess that leaves us with nothing to talk about.”
“Not quite.” Raine snugged his finger around the trigger. The line of sweat on Dillon’s upper lip provided instant gratification. “We still have to discuss that little detail of who dropped the dime on me.”
Dillon’s smile returned. “You don’t really expect me to reveal my sources, now, do you? Especially since you’re so unwilling to share the spoils of victory. And surely you’ve been in the spook business long enough to know what happens to those who kiss and tell.”
“In that case—” Raine leaned closer, dropping his voice to a deadly level “—I’m afraid you don’t have an option. Fact is, if you don’t start singing the tune I requested, I’m going to hand you over to the old man. And he knows you killed his son.”
Dillon didn’t flinch. Raine’s gaze narrowed. He knew. Somehow Dillon already knew.
Wariness, much stronger than before, gnawed at his gut as Raine continued, “But if you give me what I want, I’ll put you out of your misery right now.”
“Oh, that’s a tough one.” Dillon pursed his lips in exaggerated indecision. “I can either die now, or later—after endless hours of less than imaginative torture.”