Under Cover

by Donna Ball

  She met his gaze levelly. "Oh, yes, it was simple. Simple to play with you, simple to flirt with you, simple to fall in love with you. What wasn't simple was believing in you, but I even did that." The pain caught again and twisted. She released an unsteady breath, trying to control it. "You were good, David," she said simply. "You were damn good."

  He looked at her searchingly. The lines on his face were taut. "But I wasn't good enough, was I? Because you're still thinking with your head and not your heart, and you never believed in me at all."

  She lurched to her feet, and for one brief moment control snapped. "Stop it! Just—" she drew in a breath through her teeth, clearing the fog of rage and hurt with one final, decisive stroke of will"—stop it."

  "Or maybe," he said softly, "you weren't good enough."

  She didn't know what he meant, and she didn't want to know. She made herself calm inside; she made herself very, very cold. "It was you who pulled the strings down at city hall to get us off the case, wasn't it?"

  For another moment he looked at her intently. She saw the struggle behind his eyes—the anger and the hurt and the longing—and it stirred her. It made her, for a moment, uncertain.

  Then, as though forcefully subduing his inner emotions, his face went blank. He answered simply, "Yes. You were getting too close, and I thought it would be easier—on both of us."

  A wave of tiredness swept her, and defeat rose up in its wake. She closed her eyes slowly. "I wish you'd done it sooner," she said softly, with an effort. "A lot sooner."

  He came toward her, and he took both her arms. His grip was not hard, but it made her look at him. He said quietly, "You should know two things. First, you're not leaving this place unless I want you to. But I guess you knew that when you came in."

  She met his eyes without fear. "Yes, I guess I did."

  The harsh lines in his face softened, fractionally and just briefly. Then he went on, "Second, you're not nearly as smart as you think you are, Detective Saunders, and at this moment I can't think of a reason in the world why I should give you a second chance. But I'm going to."

  His lashes lowered for a moment, obscuring his eyes, and when he looked back at her the anger was gone, and so was the calculated indifference. There was nothing there but resignation. "This might strike you as funny, but there was a time there when I might have given it all up for you. But seeing the way you struggled with your conscience—seeing the devotion you had to your duty and how much you were willing to sacrifice for it—well, it reminded me that I have some honor left, too. Warped though it might be, I've made commitments, too, if only to myself, and I'm going to carry them through. It would be easy for me to blow it all now, Teale, but I'm not going to do it.

  "Let me tell you this." His hands tightened on her wrists, and intensity flared in his eyes, dark and low. "I have told you the truth. I have given you all the evidence you need, and if there were anything inside you at all that ever cared for me—if you wanted to believe, even the slightest bit—you would know the truth. That's all I can do. I can't make you love me, and I for damn sure can't make you trust me. It's up to you."

  For a moment she wavered. This was David, her David, with whom she had shared intimacy of body, mind and spirit. Deep down inside her something stirred and responded to him and wanted, even now, to believe him. Furiously, determinedly, she fought back the instinct.

  And he saw it in her eyes. He released her arms and stepped away, and the sorrow in his eyes was something she would never forget. "I'm sorry, Teale," he said quietly.

  She turned and ran from the room.

  *************

  TEN

  Teale didn't remember driving home. She didn't remember opening her door or walking inside or opening the curtains. She must have started to straighten up the house, an automatic, routine action that was nothing more than the result of shock, because the next thing she knew she was in the bedroom, staring at the rumpled sheets where she and David had lain the night before, lifting a pillow and bringing it slowly to her face, inhaling the lingering scent of him.

  And then she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her arms wrapped around herself, doubled over with the waves of agony that wracked her. It was a physical thing, clawing at her stomach, knotting her muscles, cramping in her throat and chest. She couldn't cry. There was some pain that was too strong for tears. She could only hold herself and rock back and forth, and occasionally a dry, harsh sob would be torn from her throat. But the tears wouldn't come.

  Visions of David kept stabbing at her. Sleek and sophisticated at the party, bending to kiss her hand. Candlelight dancing in his eyes, the sea breeze tossing his hair. His face flushed with passion above her, gentle in sleep, tight with anger, naked with longing. And now.. .just now, the sorrow and the disappointment and the hurt when he looked at her.

  She had no need to wonder why he had let her go. Nothing she could do would stop him now. He held all the cards. He had planned it perfectly. She knew about Diangelo, and she knew about tonight, but she was powerless. Without backup she couldn't make the bust, and without authority she couldn't make the case. He had nothing to fear from her. He had won.

  But he hadn't looked like a man who had won. It haunted her, it tore at her, the look in his eyes when he let her go. Where had she seen that look before?

  Her father. That was the way he had looked when he knew she hadn't believed him. It was the look that had haunted her for four years, and she had seen it again today, on David Carey's face.

  A sound caught in her throat, harsh and scraping, like a gasp of horror or a choked-off sob. She sat up, slowly pushing a shaking hand through her hair. "Oh, no," she whispered. Her muscles tightened, and she squeezed her eyes shut against it. "Oh, no, don't let this be happening again."

  I have given you all the evidence you need, David had said to her. If you wanted to believe, even the slightest bit, you would know the truth.

  But what truth? What evidence? She wanted to believe him, it seemed at times her entire life and all she had ever valued depended upon believing in him. But what truth?

  All the evidence.

  Strange things began to come back to her, then; things that didn't entirely make sense. That conversation they had had the night of the storm, when he had told her about his foster father. It was destroying him, David had said. And I was angry. Not that anything I can do makes much difference in the big scheme of things, but it helps to keep my hand in. That didn't sound like a man who wanted to continue the business that had killed his stepfather. It sounded like someone who wanted to fight it....

  She remembered the way he had awakened yesterday, swift, alert, ready for self-defense. Like a soldier, she had thought at the time. And she remembered the other thing that had puzzled her, scraps of a conversation that had been buried beneath her own anxiety and fear of believing. I've been shot at in the Sudan, lost in the jungles of South America...

  What was David doing in the Sudan? Or South America? Or being kidnapped in Ireland, for that matter? None of it fit his freewheeling playboy image; those were not locations in which a small-time gambler was likely to find himself, or even a big-time operative in a crime syndicate, whose only concerns were profit and loss.

  Small things, vague things, things which taken separately would mean nothing. Things which, even in the overview, could be interpreted more than one way.

  Have you learned to listen to your instincts, Teale? Have you?

  How was it that David had known every move they were going to make before they made it? No one was that smart or that lucky. The sudden orders from the chief's office, the missing records, the blatant gaps in his file.... Who would have the power to erase a man's entire identity at whim? Did even Diangelo's influence reach that high? Was he capable of performing the kinds of things Teale had seen these past weeks?

  Perhaps not. But the United States government was.

  It wasn't a conscious decision made through logic and the rational processing of facts and i
nformation. The empiric skills in which Teale had trained herself so carefully had very little value at that moment. No, the truth came from deep within her, certain and sure, but not explicable even to herself. She simply knew.

  She gripped the edge of the mattress to still the tremors in her arms. She was shaking all over. "David Carey, you son of a—" The exclamation was broken off in a gasp, though whether it was a reaction of shock or wonder or sheer joy she could not be sure. She was weak with the power of discovery, and she had to catch her breath.

  She brought an unsteady hand to her face, pushing back her hair, and a slow, amazed, slightly rueful smile broke through. "You're one of the good guys!" she whispered.

  *****************

  Teale didn't have a designer gown or borrowed jewels that night, but otherwise the scene at David's beach house was unchanged from the first time she had been there. She wore a simple black sheath so as not to be too conspicuous among the partyers, but she didn't take a chance on being refused admission at the front door. She entered David's house the same way she had that afternoon and for twenty minutes mingled with the guests so as to draw no attention to herself.

  She knew she would be recognized, of course—if not by David, then by one of his henchmen—and that, most likely, she would be forcibly escorted away. David had gone to a lot of trouble to avoid local police involvement, and he wouldn't be pleased to find her here tonight. In fact, if she were any kind of professional she would have respected his wishes and stayed away—but she was too much of a woman in love to do that. Not when David's life might be in danger, not when he might need her, not when he didn't know that she was on his side.

  David had been clever to disguise the meeting beneath the routine activity of one of his parties. Diangelo would enter by an unobserved door, and David would make sure to hold the meeting out of the way of innocent bystanders. Teale's guess was the secret room. When she tried the handle of the game room and found it locked, she was certain of it.

  She stationed herself in the hallway nearby, pretending to check her makeup in her compact mirror. She didn't have to wait long before the mirror reflected someone coming up purposefully behind her. It was the large, blunt-faced man whom David had introduced as George.

  "Good evening, George," she said, returning the compact to her evening purse. "You should know two things. First, I'm not about to be thrown out of here. Second, I've got my hand on a .38 special, and I guess you know I can use it."

  As she turned she allowed him to see the barrel of the revolver she had hidden in her evening purse, and he stopped, his eyes going dark.

  “Now." She spoke quickly, before he could get the wrong impression, but she kept her tone pleasant. "I want you to take me into that room with David and Diangelo. Very quietly, very casually. I'm not going to make a fuss. But if David needs any help I'm going to be there to give it to him, do you understand?"

  He didn't look as though he was sure he did, but when she moved her purse a fraction, he had no choice. "I guess my partner underestimated you," he said lowly.

  "No," she said, and a shadow of sadness almost blurred her concentration. "For a while there, he might have overestimated me. But I'm not going to disappoint him again. Come on, George. I'll stay out of the way, I promise. But if you don't take me to him, I'm going to make a scene like none you've ever seen, and that will be sure to blow the deal. So let's go."

  "Lady," he said sourly, "you are more trouble than you're worth. I tried to tell him that from the beginning."

  But George was taking out a key and moving toward the door, and Teale smiled. "I'm glad he didn't listen."

  There were three men in the room besides David. Diangelo was seated at a card table, and two men, whom Teale took to be his bodyguards, flanked him. David was standing on the other side of the table. Open on the table between them were two briefcases, containing more packets of cocaine than Teale had ever seen in her life.

  The reaction to her entry was immediate and alarming. Diangelo's eyes sharpened and narrowed; the two men beside him reached inside their coats. David turned, his face hard, his eyes dark with shock and fury. Their gazes held for an instant—no more— and with all the power in her soul Teale tried to communicate the truth to him.

  David lifted a mild hand and half turned to the three men. "Gentlemen, you know my partner, George. And this—" he extended his hand backward for Teale "—is just my girl. I'm thinking of keeping her around for a while; she might as well get used to the action."

  Teale went to David, relaxing her grip on her evening bag fractionally. David's arm went around her tightly, almost protectively. He was still angry, but Teale had expected that. It's going to be all right, David, she thought. I promise.

  Diangelo chuckled, and the men beside him relaxed. "You sure do things in a funny way, Carey. Either you're a sloppy fool or too damn confident for your own good—I haven't figured it out yet. But it won't take long. If you're a fool, you'll end up dead. If you're really as good as you think you are, well, like I said, we'll see."

  His eyes wandered to Teale, stripping her up and down. David's arm tightened on her waist.

  "Hell," Diangelo said, "let her stay. Let's just get this over with. I've got other appointments."

  David reached down and took a briefcase from under the table. He snapped the locks and set it before Diangelo. It was filled with money. "There you are. Take your time counting it."

  Diangelo looked at him shrewdly. "You can be damn sure I will."

  "Meanwhile," David took a small, almost casual step to the side, keeping Teale in back of him, and in the same motion he pulled a revolver from inside his jacket. "You're busted. DEA."

  Teale whipped out her weapon from her purse and leveled it at Diangelo. Diangelo started to rise and George drew on him from the side. The sliding panel of the mural wall snapped open, and the room was filled with federal agents.

  The next few moments were a blur. People we're everywhere, tension was high, movement was constant. Teale didn't know how many people she explained her presence to, she didn't even count how many agents filled the house. She did know that at some point she lost sight of David.

  When she found him again, they were taking Diangelo away. David was a shadow on the back deck, standing with his arms braced against the railing, looking out over the sea. Teale left the noise and confusion and stepped out onto the deck, sliding the door firmly closed behind her.

  She could see the tension in his shoulders and the cords of his neck; she could feel it radiating from him in waves. She knew how it was. The adrenaline high that followed a bust, the singing nerves, the frantic plunges between euphoria and despair. She did not speak for a time, and when she did it was very softly.

  "Are you mad?"

  "Damn right I'm mad." His voice was harsh, and he didn't look at her. "You could have been killed. You could have gotten me killed. You could have blown the bust. And to think I argued for letting the locals in on this."

  "Did you really?"

  "Of course I did," he snapped. "After I met you... hell, it doesn't matter. They were right. Working with local authorities has never been anything but trouble."

  "I know," she said quietly. "And I'm sorry. I knew I was taking chances and it was unprofessional... but I couldn't let you face it alone."

  For a moment, just a moment longer, she thought she had lost him. Her entire soul and all she had ever cared about in the world, seemed suspended in the agonizing silence between one heartbeat and the next. And then he took a breath and spoke again, slowly. "What changed your mind?" He still didn't look at her.

  She took her time forming a reply, and when she did it was another question. "Why didn't you throw me out?"

  Slowly she felt some of the tension leave his shoulders, and he made a soft sound that almost could have been a laugh. "I should have, I suppose. You scared me out of five good years."

  Hope soared, cautious but brilliant. She touched his arm, lightly. "But you knew I wouldn't betray
you."

  He turned to her. His eyes were bright, electric and intense. "Yes," he said quietly. "That much I did know."

  His eyes searched her face, hungrily, and she knew he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her, with all the desperation in her soul.

  But he merely took another calming breath and deliberately did not touch her. "So," he said, and his tone was almost neutral. "I guess the cop in you finally put the pieces together.

  “No." She shook her head, holding him with her eyes, pleading with him to understand. "The woman did. David, I'm sorry," she went on in a rush. "I'm sorry for the trouble I caused, for the things I said, for not being grown-up enough to trust my own emotions, for not believing you."

  He lifted his hand and lightly touched her hair. She saw the change come over his eyes, a softening and a welcome, and her heart swelled. "For the trouble you caused," he said, "we have a jurisdictional dispute to thank. For the rest... well, we're working on that, aren't we?"

  She nodded and went into his arms. For a long time they simply held each other, drawing comfort, soaring with relief, forming quiet promises. Then, abruptly, Teale pushed away.

  "I could strangle you for what you put me through," she said angrily. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I was under cover, too," he reminded her. "And under orders. The whole operation depended on its going down just like we had mapped it, and I don't mind telling you, you gave us a few bad moments."

  "I know that. But later, after we... David, you could have told me then! How could you put me through that?"

  The lines around his eyes were strained, and he clasped her hands, warmly, but with pressure that suggested he was afraid she might even now slip away. "Teale, I tried every way I could to tell you without compromising my integrity or the operation. You had a job to do, too, and I couldn't ask you to just back away on my word alone. At some point you had to either believe me or not. I know it was asking a lot. Probably too much. But it was the only thing I could do."