His hands snapped back. This time, he didn't let go. He couldn't. He dragged her closer, until he was staring directly into her eyes. "I told you, don't. I don't ever want to hear that word out of your mouth. Ever. Mike Foster, or whoever the hell he is, will not be talking to you, or about you again. He kept his mouth shut for seven years, till now, and he can damned well do it for the rest of his life. And trust me, he will." There was a wealth of steel in his vow. He'd forged every ounce deliberately. He needed her to know. To believe.
To feel safe.
Her eyes widened as she caught the rest of the message.
Pepe. As they'd left the hacienda this morning, the gorilla's scowl had turned so dark he'd told her what he'd done. "Tell me you didn't rupture Foster's eardrums, too."
He loosened his grip, caressing her arms lightly as he smiled. "Now, honey, I just talked to the man. That's all. Cross my heart."
"Yeah, right. And I've got a Canal I can sell you."
"From you, I'd probably buy it, too." He chuckled as he tucked a stray wisp of hair back up into that trademark regal twist that didn't bother him anymore. Truth was, he found it sexy as hell…when his fingers didn't itch to pull it down. They'd also gotten off the subject of her past. He didn't have the heart to drag them back. Not when she so clearly wanted to keep the conversation moving into the future.
"What else did you find out from Foster?"
He released her arms altogether, folding his over his chest as he leaned back against the desk. "Your cousin's in the radioactive material business."
"What?"
"Yup."
She slumped back up against the window, catty-corner to him, as she struggled to absorb the shock. The ramifications. "Oh, my God. He's going to ask you to build a dirty bomb."
He nodded. "Makes sense. Especially if you're right about that bill of lading. I'm betting it tracks to a medical equipment company instead of a drug distributor." Given their security clearances, they both knew cesium 137—the isotope found in a variety of medical equipment—was one of the easiest sources of radioactive material a terrorist could obtain. "There's also the fact that your cousin has refused to tell me jack about his plans. Hell, it'd gotten to the point that I wondered if Luis really wanted me to blow up anything at all. He's been more interested in pushing my relationship with you than discussing the job. But even his cupid stint makes sense now. Not a lot of guys would touch the stuff. He's probably decided to hold his cards until the last minute. He may not tell me anything at all until he thinks it's too late."
"By then it may be too late for us. For this city."
"Yup. What about you? Did you get anywhere with that bill of lading?"
She shook her head. "Meg hasn't called back yet. Turns out she's in Moscow, prepping for the same strategic arms convention Sam's headed out for. When we spoke, Meg was up to her ears in finalizing security arrangements. It seemed like such a long shot I told her it wasn't an emergency. Now I wished I hadn't." She shook her head as if she was still not quite convinced. "Foster's sure Luis is transporting radioactive material?"
"Man's wearing a radioactive dosimeter around the city."
She blew out her breath. "That's pretty sure."
"Yup. Parts of this still don't add up though."
"Like what?"
"Your cousin." Even Luis's part in the past she'd revealed just now supported his earlier doubts. "Do I think Luis could be making a profit off cesium 137? In a heartbeat. But from everything I've learned about Luis, unless he's currently embroiled in one of his rages, the man's just not one to sully his hands. What you've told me about Manny's death fits the pattern. The moment Luis came down from that bloodlust, he was the consummate professional, once again fanatically committed to the image he has of himself."
"You're right. He's a real Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde."
"What he is, is mentally crocked. Still, why would he want to endanger that pristine image as well as his thriving businesses—legal and illegal—by turning terrorist himself?"
She dropped her head back against the drapes, closing her eyes in frustration as she sighed. "I don't know. I wish to God I did. Before Manny died, Luis never said word one about a bomb. It was just weapons and the coke. Now the bomb is all he talks about. That, and throwing us together."
Tom reached out and slipped his hand over hers and squeezed. "Relax. I put in a call to SOCOM on the way here. They're on it, too. We'll get something soon."
He hoped.
She glanced down at their hands as he gave her a second, reassuring squeeze—and gasped.
"What's wrong?"
She glanced at her own watch and shook it. Listened. Frowned. "Is it really four?"
He checked his watch and nodded. "Why?"
"I'm late. I was supposed to meet Luis at the hospital half an hour ago. He's fine, by the way. But they had some tests to run, so he told me to go eat and come back."
He cursed. "I've got some more calls to make. Think you can get me invited over for a late dinner?"
"I'll try. If not, I'll tell him I'm heading out to share dessert with you. He'll be thrilled." The moment the words came out of her mouth, the air turned thick, hot.
His groin followed.
Dessert twice in one day with this woman? Luis wasn't the only one who'd be thrilled.
Tom couldn't help it, he took her hands and tugged her into his arms, claiming her lush mouth in the kiss he should have given her the moment he'd walked in the door. Within seconds, the kiss had flared out of control. So had he. Before he'd realized what he was doing, his hands had slid up the column of her neck and reached her hair. His fingers dug in on their own. Satisfaction seared in as the heavy silk tumbled down, cloaking them as intimately as it had on that ottoman. Somehow, he managed to clamp on to the ends of his rapidly disintegrating restraint before it was too late. Every nerve in his body screamed in protest as he forced himself to break off the kiss and lift his head. This close, despite the dim light, he could make out her eyes clearly.
Her pupils were wide, lazy with passion.
Her sigh washed his lips. "I…guess I should…go."
"Yeah." But he leaned down and covered her lips again. Within seconds, the fire had reflashed. Somehow he managed to pull back once more; this time, his mouth growled at the loss. He nearly lost his renewed restraint as the tip of her tongue slipped out to lick her bottom lip in an unconscious invitation as old as the desire raging in his groin.
"Tom, I…"
"…need to go."
She nodded. "Yeah."
"Go put your hair back up. I'll grab your keys. See you down to your car." Maybe an audience would make this easier.
He turned to the desk before he could change his mind, scooping up her keys and the purse he'd retrieved from Curundú early that morning as she headed across the room and into the bathroom. It all seemed like a lifetime ago. Especially the nightmare last night. God willing, he would never go through that again. He wouldn't survive. Not with her on the line this time. Not with them.
He opened her purse to slip the keys inside—and froze.
The hidden compartment was open.
Why? It hadn't been this morning. He knew because he'd secured it himself. Dammit, stop. She'd just checked on the switchblade and the spare set of car keys that contained the remote control for the bug in her chest, that was all. He glanced at the bed, at the purse she'd brought with her out of her cousin's house that morning. Hell, maybe she even opened it to hide her sorority sister's ring back inside.
Don't look, buddy. It ain't healthy.
But he had to.
He shoved his hand inside…and damned near died.
There was no use in trying to stanch the nausea that surged in his gut as he wrapped his fingers around the bottle. He already knew it contained more than just that ring. He could hear the pills rattle, feel their weight. See the taunting, telltale shadow of those white tablets crowded up against the side of the opaque container. Even before he pulled the vial com
pletely from her purse, he knew in his heart that he'd also already seen their goddamned seductive lure take hold—again—on her. Her pupils hadn't relaxed as a result of his kiss. The pills she'd swallowed before he arrived had finally taken effect. Ibuprofen his ass. The caplets had been a cover. His mom had pulled that one enough times he should have seen it coming a mile away.
At least he saw her coming.
She rounded the bathroom door and froze. Cursed. A very unladylike curse it had been, too. But there wasn't anything polite about her true nature was there? Or his mood.
"Tom, I can explain—"
He stabbed his stare straight into hers. "Really." He had to hand it to her, she kept coming, crossing the room, closing in on the bomb even he could hear ticking. In himself.
"I know you flushed them. But when I woke up, Juju—"
He stiffened and it wasn't from the hand she'd laid on his arm. "Juju gave you pills?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to tell you. I knew you wouldn't understand—"
"You're goddamned right I don't!" He shoved the vial in the purse and slammed it on the desk so he could grab her arms and shake some sense into her. "Score one for the clever damsel in distress. She manages to suck an undercover DEA agent into her tawdry game, too. I can't believe I went to bat for you today—with SOCOM and the bloody CIA. You were right, lady, my ass is on the line over this, over you. And what do you do? You're up here in my hotel room behind my back swallowing another handful of those precious pills the first chance you get. Well, I hope you got your rush 'cause, honey, you just swallowed any chance we had at a future together along with them." But that wasn't what enraged him the most. Much less what cut so deep it made his stupid dreams bleed out right there on the carpet between them. What truly killed him was that it had all been a lie to begin with.
She'd had the pills all along.
While he'd been busy falling in love, she'd been more concerned with finding the time and the space for her next fix. And she'd gotten that crap from his own friend. He shook her again, harder, glaring at the hair that tumbled down, this time from his fury instead of passion. "What did you offer Juju, anyway? I know you didn't have the rifle on you. Did you promise him Luis? I'll bet he was thrilled with that bargain. Or did you two just settle on yourself?" He regretted the ugly accusation before it even came out.
But it was already too late.
He watched her hand fly and just stood there and took it. The flat of her palm smacked into his cheek, the force slapping his face several inches to the right. The blow stung like hell, too, but not as much as the anguish that filled her eyes as she blinked up at him. Those damned pupils were so wide and so full of hurt, he couldn't tell if it was from drugs or the tears anymore. Her ragged sigh ripped through him.
"Score one for the major in tarnished armor. In fact, I think you just won the war. Congratulations. I'll slink off to my twelve-step program now and lick my wounds. But don't you worry none. I may be an addict, Tom, but at least there's hope for me. You? You'll always be a bastard."
She was correct as usual—cuttingly correct, but correct.
"I'm sorry, Anna. I had no right to imply—"
"No. You didn't. But I think maybe it's best you did. Gets it over with clean and simple. Quick. And that's how you wanted it all along anyway."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Gayle."
He hadn't even seen that blow coming. It struck twice as hard as the flat of her palm had. "What do you know—"
"—about her death? I know she was drunk. I know she wrapped her car around a tree. I know she took another passenger with her, some guy she'd picked up to party with because you wouldn't. I even know you'd just kicked her out of your house and your bed the day before it happened. See, Sam was worried. You know, that other person who put her ass on the line for me. But this one, she still believes in me. Despite the pills. And I gotta tell you, that means a lot to me, because I put that woman through hell nine years ago. But she still believes. So much so, she had Bud look into you, too, right along with Foster. Meg filled me in on the whole story when I called her this afternoon right before you walked in. So don't stand there and tell me you care about me. You just couldn't walk away. Deep down, you know it. You've been planning to drive me off since the moment I got too close."
That was not true. The rest of it was, yeah. But that last was just not true. "Bull—"
"What color are your eyes, Tom?"
He closed them. Oh, Jesus. He knew she'd seen that box. He'd just been too damned rocked over Foster's revelation that he'd shoved it back into his bag, hoping he could shove it—this—away until later. Well, later was here. "Anna, I—"
"And your hair?"
This time the curse ripped free.
"You know, your dye job is actually pretty damned good. But next time, I recommend you don't strip in broad daylight in front of your mark. Not if she's foolishly interested in another part, an intimate part, of your anatomy. She just might notice the color difference in the hair down there."
"Honey, I can—"
"No. You can't explain. I don't think either one of us really can. You were right this morning. This wasn't meant to be easy for us. I'm beginning to think it wasn't meant to be at all." To his horror, she picked up the purse. "I could explain this bottle, and it might even make this whole argument go away. But it would be back. Again and again, until it drove us apart for good. I don't think either one of us is up to that. You know what else you told me this morning?"
He shook his head. He truly had no bloody clue.
His heart hurt so goddamned bad at the moment, he couldn't remember his own name.
"One step at a time. You promised you'd walk them with me." She shook her head slowly, sadly. "You can't even take the first one, can you? I'm not surprised. Not anymore. Not when it's become clear that you've got your own steps to walk. Your own addiction to fight. And you do have an addiction, Thomas Anthony Wild, whether or not you're ready to admit it."
He swallowed the tears burning in his throat. His words still came out hoarse. "And what am I addicted to?"
"The doubt."
He flinched.
She just reached out and slipped her cool, slender fingers behind his neck as she tiptoed up on her heels. He didn't resist when she guided his head down. Not even when she pressed her lips gently to his cheek. "Give me a call if you need help fighting it. I've had a bit of experience fighting it myself. Until then, I'll call you if I get something you can use on Luis. I've got to go now. It's never been a good idea to keep my cousin waiting, and I've done it for far too long today. Goodbye, Tom."
He just stood there as she turned around and left. It wasn't until the door closed that he realized she'd taken the purse—and those goddamned pills—with her.
But left him.
Did he ever think it would turn out any different?
Chapter 14
Her legs were still shaking as the elevator doors shut. Anna slumped into the corner of the lift and closed her eyes against all four of the glaring mirrored walls, especially their zealous depiction of her tear-streaked face, as she cursed Foster for the millionth time. If she could go back now to that interrogation room in San Diego, she'd never, ever agree to step into this mess of tangled lies. The hell with her career. It was over anyway. And now she'd lost her heart. To a man who would never trust her. Could never trust her. A man who, after all the pieces had finally fallen together, she now knew would never even want to trust her.
Doing so would risk too much in himself.
She opened her purse and pulled out the vial of pills that had sealed her fate so perfectly. If it wasn't so ironic, it would be funny. The most amazing man in the world had fallen in love with her because of a bottle of Percocet. And now she'd managed to lose him over a bottle of—
She flinched as her cell phone trilled.
God, here it came. Luis.
Oh, he'd be polite. Politely furious. And after that gutwrenching
fight with Tom she didn't have two nerve cells left in her body, much less her brain to rub together to come up with an excuse. She shoved the vial of pills inside the hidden compartment and retrieved her cell phone before she could chicken out, not even bothering to glance at the caller ID.
"Hola."
"Anna? Is that you?"
She stiffened. "Meg?" She hadn't expected an answer on the Chinese medical supply company this quickly.
"It's me." But it wasn't. Not really. Meg's voice was taut with barely suppressed panic. Hoarse. As if she'd been crying or trying not to. Meg Gallagher, crying? Somehow, from somewhere, she found the presence of mind to slam on the emergency stop button, killing the elevator's zip between floors with a screaming, heaving jerk. The car shuddered to a stop somewhere between floors five and four.
"Meg, what's wrong?"
Silence.
Her panic ratcheted straight though the roof. "Meg?"
"I'm sorry." A hiccup. "I just—God, I shouldn't have called you."
"But you did. Now, please, you're scaring me. Just tell me what's wrong. Is Sam there yet? Can you put her on the—" Dizziness ripped through Anna as the extent of Meg's panic slammed in. The only reason Meg would ever have called her in the middle of a case with sheer terror in her voice. "What happened? Is Sam—is she—Meg, are you telling me Sam is—" She was babbling. She couldn't help it. She just couldn't say it. She just couldn't get that word out. Not after they'd lost Carrie six weeks before. "Meg, please. Is Sam okay?"
"I don't know."
¡Ah, Jesús dulce, no! Anna gripped the phone so hard her fingers went numb. They matched her heart. "Just tell me."
She heard Meg's air shred through her lungs. "It's Sam's C-130. There's a fire onboard the airplane." There was more. And it was worse. Anna heard it in Meg's now openly trembling voice. "The plane's currently in Russian airspace—directly over territory seized by Chechen rebels early this morning. Anna…the pilot's trying to crash-land the Herc now. I know you don't need this. I shouldn't have called. I'm sorry. But I didn't want you to see it on the news."
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