by Lyn Stone
She moved with him, against him, her total focus on increasing the sensations he caused within her. He set the pace and held to it no matter how she pleaded with her body for him to increase it.
Suddenly, she shuddered, came apart in all directions at once until there was nothing left but pure white ecstasy of motion. All senses coalesced into an explosion that rocked the universe. Her cry, his. An indrawn breath that captured his unique scent. The slick sweet feel of his skin on hers. She forced her eyes open and looked directly into the deep brown depths of his.
What she saw there both frightened and reassured her. No wonder he had said she scared him to death. He had known before she had. Martine blinked and looked away, then closed her eyes again, unwilling to put voice or even more thought to what she had realized.
This had been a mistake. A gloriously wonderful terrifying mistake. One that she doubted could be undone. One night was all she had wanted with him. One experience, one adventure. Not a soul deep connection. So she’d thought.
“Oh, no,” she whispered. This felt like love.
“Yeah,” he agreed with a heavy sigh. “Yeah.” Then he lowered his head, resting it on the pillow beside hers, their bodies still joined, their awareness perfectly attuned. Neither of them was ready for what they had discovered in the other.
After a few moments, he slowly disengaged and moved off of her, leaving the bed. Martine kept her eyes shut and curled away from him. She snuggled into the quilted bedspread when he draped it over her, then retreated into herself, trying not to think, trying to obliterate the need to have him hold her and tell her that somehow they would resolve this.
Totally exhausted and her body sated, she needed to sleep. But that proved impossible with Joe lying so close. This might never happen again. She couldn’t hold on, but neither could she let go.
Joe knew he couldn’t love her. Didn’t dare. Talk about a patently counterproductive thing to do.
“Falling for you would make me crazy,” he said, his words barely audible. “I’d worry myself to death.”
“I can take care of myself,” she answered, her defiance evident even in the softness of her voice.
Being without her would make him crazier. He’d been this close to plenty of women without even thinking about a future with them.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he had thought about that. For the last few years, he had doubted he even had a future to think about. Well, that had changed.
When Humberto was out of the picture and Joe began the new job—if he decided to take it—maybe he wouldn’t be risking his neck on an hourly basis. Oh, there would almost certainly be danger involved in some of the assignments, but his days of constantly living under the scythe of the grim reaper were over. Maybe he could actually have a life.
How could he possibly hook up permanently with a woman who planned to keep doing that? He had never asked a woman to put up with that kind of worry about him, so why should he have to endure it himself?
But how could he not? Even if they shook hands right now and faked a cheery little goodbye, how could he not worry about where she was and whether she was safe?
This just wasn’t like him, this asking for trouble. He might appear to be a devil-may-care risk taker, but he was secretly a planner. That’s how he’d survived this long on missions that outwardly seemed suicidal. He sure hadn’t intended to get this involved.
He had been in the field way too long. His brain must have been affected. This should be a simple decision, quickly made and implemented. But he kept on vacillating. One minute, figuring he’d better kiss her off for good and the next, struggling like mad to think of a way to make it work out.
“Joe?” she said softly, turning to him, her graceful hand sliding lightly over his chest, one finger threading through the hair, her nail gently scoring his skin. “Are you all right?”
He grasped her hand in his and squeezed lightly. “Pole-axed. Too confused to think straight. You?”
She sighed, a luscious sound that sent his temperature climbing, and stretched that gorgeous body like a satisfied cat. “I’m hungry again.”
“That makes two of us,” he muttered, giving up without a fight. He kissed her again, answering the demand she hadn’t even made yet. As surrenders went, it beat any kind of victory to hell and back.
Martine awoke to his shaking her shoulder gently.
“Come on, sleepyhead. You need to get up and get dressed. I called in our location. They’ll be here soon to pick us up.”
She wanted to resist and kept her eyes closed.
He persisted, caressing her arm, but it felt impersonal somehow. Distant. “They’ll impound the rental car and arrange a flight for you.” He sounded very businesslike, she thought.
How should she respond to that? As determined as she was to present a woman-of-the-world face to him this morning, Martine didn’t think she was capable of it. She certainly couldn’t do flip, not after they had turned the world upside-down. About the best she could hope to do was to answer in kind.
She sat up. “All right. I’ll be ready in ten.” With all the dignity she could muster, she got up and walked naked into the bathroom and shut the door.
He had removed her clothes from the shower rod and folded them neatly on the counter by the sink. She wanted to cry. Instead, she turned on the shower, waited patiently for the water to run hot, then stepped under the spray.
Her body ached but not nearly so much as her heart. It was not simply sex. The connection had gone much deeper than that, just as he had known it would. It had provided the culmination of all the feelings, risks and hidden hopes they had experienced and shared since they met.
Joe had not wanted to make love to her and now she understood why. Their goals in life were so opposed.
She was only just coming into her own, realizing her potential, waking up from a slumberous life lived under a heavy cloak of male protection. First her father had kept her wrapped in batting. Expected her to stay safe, weak, dependent, like her mother. Even before he had died, Steven had stepped in, determined to guide her into teaching. Her attempt to assert herself had ended that, but had fallen flat when Sebastian hired her, then refused to let her do anything meaningful. Even Matt still tried to shelter her.
At last, with this initiative in Colombia, she finally felt alive. Capable of doing anything.
But Joe craved peace. He had lived on the edge for so long that he had earned the right to a comfortable life free of danger and worry.
His concern was very real. Flattering, but it would be stifling, too, if she let it.
What a great beach bum he would make, she thought with a wry smile. The spray of water on her face obliterated the tears and sluiced over her body to wash away the traces of their lovemaking. She only wished it could take away the memory they had made together, but nothing could ever do that. There would never be another man who could measure up to Joe Corda. She’d just have to get over him somehow.
Dressed in her wrinkled pants and shirt, her damp hair slicked back behind her ears, she took a deep breath and went out to face the music.
“Coffee?” he asked, sipping his own and pointing at the cup he had poured for her.
“Yes, please.” Room service again. She could use a decent meal, but food was running a distant second to what she really needed.
“I don’t recommend the pastries for taste, but they’ll help to fill you up.”
Martine sighed. Nothing would help do that. “Thanks, just the coffee,” she said, taking the chair across from him, glad of the distraction the meager breakfast provided.
“Martine…” Oh God, he sounded apologetic. She didn’t want an apology, one that she’d have to echo. What had happened was definitely her fault.
“Let it go, Joe,” she advised, not meeting his eyes.
“These things happen. Hazard of the occupation, I guess.”
He remained silent for a few long seconds. “We could give up the occupation and see if w
e still—”
“No.” Not an option, she thought, shaking her head for emphasis. She could not become what she once had been. Not that clueless, plain vanilla, too-eager-to-please copy of her mother. God, she might as well move back to the old country.
“I’ve seen too much, Martine,” he said, his voice only slightly above a whisper. He pleated a paper napkin between the fingers of one hand, worrying it, shredding it, then crushing it in his fist. “No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop the evil. If I thought I could, I’d keep going, you know? But it grows like kudzu, covers everything. Kills it.”
She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes, but if we all stop trying, where would we be?”
“I know what you’re saying. I’ll give the Sextant team my best shot. At least for a while. But I know I can’t watch you put your life on the line every day and then die for nothing in some godforsaken jungle.”
He reached over and took her hand, held it, caressed it hard with his thumb in that way he had when he grew intense. “I’ll stay with it. Forever, if you’ll just get out of it now. If you don’t, you’ll be where I am one of these days.”
She reached up and brushed her fingertips over his forehead, then traced the healing scar where the ricochet had nicked him. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded and leaned away, releasing her hand and breaking all contact. It wasn’t an angry move, she could see that. He just seemed resigned.
For a long time, they didn’t speak, didn’t look at one another. Martine felt a keen sense of loss already. How much worse would it be when he was out of her life forever? “Joe? I know this sounds like the world’s worst cliche, but we could stay friends.”
To her relief he smiled. “Yeah, that’s what they all say.”
The next silence proved more than she could stand and as she struggled to find something to say to show she was holding up better than he was, she heard someone knocking on the door. She got up.
He beat her to the door to check out their visitor. “Who is it?” he called out.
“Jack Mercier,” the man answered.
Joe’s eyebrows rose as he cast her a glance of surprise. Then he opened the door, one of the pistols in his hand. “Identification?”
Mercier flashed a badge and picture ID. “Your office notified me after you called in.”
Martine thought he looked much like he had sounded over the phone. She had taken his call to Matt about the mission to Colombia and they had talked at some length about it. Mercier was definitely on the spring side of forty, well built, deeply tanned. Early silver streaked his dark hair and his eyes were the color of polished steel.
Mercier was handsome and distinguished, but with an edge she imagined could turn menacing if he were crossed. That gray hand-tailored suit he wore fit to perfection both his body and the current image he was projecting. He wore it extremely well, but it seemed a disguise all the same.
Now he was assessing her. “Ms. Duquesne? I believe we spoke on the phone when we hired your brother.”
“Martine,” she affirmed and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you in person.”
He smiled, transforming his face into a charming expression of determined diplomacy. “Surviving to do that must give you even greater satisfaction. It has been a near thing, so I hear.”
She shrugged, risking a glance at Joe to see what he thought of Mercier. He was frowning now. She slid her hand through the crook of Joe’s arm. “It was, but Mr. Corda knew precisely what to do in every instance. You’ll be very lucky to have him on your team, sir.”
Mercier looked from one to the other, his smile fading. “No doubt.”
“What are you doing here?” Joe asked him.
“You’ll be debriefed by your supervisor at our office in McLean since you’re one of us now. I thought the trip back would give us a chance to get acquainted.”
“I’m not one of you yet. What about Humberto? Have they got him yet?” Joe demanded.
“No. They found the Jeep abandoned five miles from the turnoff that led to the caves. He could be out of the country by now.”
Joe cursed. Martine felt like it. She knew as well as Joe did that Humberto would never give up and go away forever. Unless he was found, they could expect him to turn up sooner or later to complete his vendetta. Now no one knew where he might be or what he was driving.
Mercier studied Joe for a moment. “There’s a chopper waiting for us.”
He continued, speaking directly to her as they left the motel room. “Martine, we have arranged for you to be interviewed separately, of course. Standard procedure. We’ll part company at the airport, and you’ll be flown directly to the D.C. office with an escort from the DEA. After that, they will see that you get back to Atlanta and have protection until Humberto is apprehended.”
Martine looked at Joe. When he said nothing, she nodded at Mercier. “Thank you.”
“We’re good to go then,” Mercier said. “I’ll need the keys to the car you drove here. We’ll see that it’s returned.”
Joe handed over the keys, then opened the front passenger door of the Ford that Mercier indicated was his. He waited for her to get in. Martine hesitated. “No goodbyes, okay?”
He glanced at Mercier who seemed to be ignoring them. “A clean break is better.”
“Clean break it is, then,” she muttered as she climbed in the car. “So much for the friendship.”
Joe didn’t answer. He simply got into the back seat where he remained silent for the entire fifteen minutes it took them to reach the airport.
Once they met her contact, a clean-cut young agent by the name of Willowby, and were about to go their separate ways, Joe grabbed her hand and turned to her. “Look. I’ll call you once in a while. Just to make sure you’re all right.”
“Will you?” she asked, noting that Mercier was studiously looking the other way and pretending hard not to listen. “You were right, Joe. Let’s keep it simple. Clean break.”
He released her hand, his dark eyes holding hers for two full seconds. Then he gave a decisive nod and turned away abruptly, striding for the gate to the runway where the helicopter waited for them.
Had that been anger in his eyes? Or regret? Martine supposed she would never know, but the question troubled her.
Even after a week to get over what had happened, Joe felt a large gaping hole in his chest where his heart ought to be. That part of him had gone on back to Atlanta, he guessed. The old heart, wherever it was, certainly wasn’t in his work.
He liked Jack Mercier. He liked the other members of Sextant, too. But he just couldn’t get worked up about throwing himself right back into the fray, even if it was a slightly different fray. Instead of insinuating himself into some drug lord’s confidences or portraying a potential big-shot buyer in order to make a bust, he would be playing other roles, ferreting out terrorists. And he wouldn’t be working alone anymore.
He sat in front of one of the computers in a security-cocooned inner office in the heart of McLean, pretty much up to speed now on an aspect of the world situation he had so far touched on only marginally.
For fifteen years, the drug culture had permeated his professional life. At times he’d become so immersed in the horror of it, it seemed that’s all there was. Now he knew there were even worse threats.
Mercier entered, took one long assessing look at him and drew up a chair. “You’re not ready yet, are you?” he said, his voice father firm.
“No,” Joe admitted. “I’m not.” He swiveled away from the desk and leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees, and faced his new supervisor. “I might never be.”
“There’s no great rush. This is a big decision for you.”
“Jack, I’ll be honest. I’d hoped the change of pace, the difference in focus, would make a difference.” He sighed wearily. “What you’ve got to deal with here needs someone clicking on all cylinders. The missions are critical, more so that what I’ve been doing.”
Mercier nodded a
nd sat back, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. “You’re exhausted. I still think you’re the man. You just need a break, Joe. Take a couple of weeks. Go lie on a beach.”
Joe laughed. “Is there anything you don’t know about me?”
“I know what’s good for you right now. Just go. We’re pretty much in the organizational stages here and the alert level’s low right now. You still have to go through a little training before taking on an assignment. The job will be here when you get back.”
“You’re not going to let me quit, are you?”
“If I thought you really wanted to do that, I wouldn’t have you here right now.”
Joe nodded. “I’ll go down to the Gulf. See the family. I promise to give you an answer within a couple of weeks. How’s that?”
Jack grinned, another stab at the camaraderie he worked hard to establish among his crew. “Think you might swing by Atlanta on the way?”
“That’s not an option.”
“Giving up personal relationships is not a requirement of the job, Joe.”
“It’s definitely a requirement as far as Martine’s concerned.”
“What’s the matter, you don’t trust her?” Mercier asked, frowning.
Joe shrugged. “Worse than that. I think I love her.” He managed a wry smile. “But I’ll get over it.”
Mercier nodded thoughtfully. “Well, you’d know best about that, I guess. But if you do decide to see her, give her my regards.”
Like hell he would, Joe thought. The relief he felt at actually being encouraged to abandon his duties for a while made him almost forget that avid perusal Martine and Mercier had given one another when the two first met. Joe had experienced an unreasonable spurt of jealousy and he knew it was unfounded, had known it even at the time. He certainly didn’t need a woman who clouded his judgment that way.
But maybe he’d just layover in Atlanta for a few hours and check in with Matt Duquesne at Ames International. He didn’t even have to see Martine while he was there and stir up anything.
Wasn’t he sort of obligated to make sure she had adequate protection? Even if Humberto had seemed to drop off the face of the earth, Joe knew he was still out there, biding his time, waiting for defenses to drop.