by Paula Graves
She jerked her arm away from him. "I trusted you!"
"You don't understand-"
She looked from him to Quinn and back. The look of betrayal on her face made his stomach ache. "You're in on it."
"Tell her who I am, Maddox."
Maddox shot a look at Quinn. "Are you sure?"
Quinn nodded. "I was going to tell her myself, but she kept fighting back, I wasn't expecting that."
"Who are you?" Iris asked. She looked at Maddox, lowering her voice. "For that matter, who are you?"
Maddox laughed, the absurdity of the situation hitting him like a body blow. A day or so, his only worry was whether he had enough spending money to get by another week without dipping into the trust fund. Now here he was, standing in the wrecked remains of his bedroom between a pretty tourist and a man he'd hoped he'd never see again.
"I'm just a beach bum, sugar." mirthless laughter lingered in his voice. "What you see is what you get. But him?" He gestured at Quinn. "That's Alexander Quinn of the CIA."
Iris released a soft hiss of surprise. "CIA?"
"Central Intelligence Agency." Quinn offered helpfully.
Iris rounded on him, her eyes flashing with fury. "I know what CIA stands for."
Quinn glanced at Maddox. "Beach bum?"
Maddox didn't answer, shooting him a warning look.
Iris crossed the bedroom, stopping a couple of feet out of Quinn's reach. "What does the CIA want with me?"
"I'd like to know that myself." Maddox murmured.
Iris turned around slowly, a look of hurt spreading over her face. "Why didn't you tell me who he was?"
"I couldn't." He knew it probably sounded like a lame excuse to her. But he'd learned a long time ago that loose lips didn't just sink ships, they got people killed.
He wasn't going to be the guy to burn a CIA agent.
Understanding flickered in Iris's eyes. "You couldn't blow his cover. Of course you couldn't tell me. It's like treason."
"Why don't we go in there and talk-" Quinn began.
Maddox glared at him. "Why don't you start explaining why you broke in here and what you want from us?"
"I don't want anything from you." Quinn met Maddox's gaze with a cold stare of his own. "It's her help I need."
"She's not going to play spy for you " Maddox said.
"I think that's up to Ms. Browning."
"For God's sake, call me Iris." she interjected.
She was exhausted, she was afraid, and she was tired of being buffeted like a beach ball between the iron wills of the two men sitting across from her. "You probably already know my bra size and the results of my latest dental exam, anyway."
"A cavity in your left bicuspid and a molar that needs watching." Quinn murmured with a half smile.
Iris felt a spark of humor breaking through the emptiness coming from him, like a bubble popping in her chest, "Funny"
"I need you. You have access and a strong motive to help me get inside the Cassandra Society's focus group" Quinn pinned her with gaze so intense, it felt like a sledge hammer slamming into her body. "You want to find Sandrine Beck. I want to know if Dr.Grinkov's experiment is a cover for terrorist activity. We can both get what we want'
"How could a hoodoo convention be a cover for terrorists?" Maddox's question drew Iris's attention to him. He had asked the question of Quinn, but his gaze was fixed on her face.
"It's not exactly unheard of for intelligence agencies to experiment with parapsychology." Quinn answered.
"Remote viewing experiments." Iris murmured, turning her gaze to the CIA agent. "I thought that was a myth."
"We are not talking about governments here." Maddox argued. "Since when did terrorists get into the hoodoo business?"
"That's part of what I want Iris to find out."
Iris felt a surge of dark energy flow from Maddox. He stood suddenly and started pacing toward the window. "You know what she can do, don't you?" he asked Quinn.
Iris looked at Maddox, her emotions trapped somewhere between bemusement and dismay, "Of course he does"
Maddox returned to the sofa. "This is crazy."
She took a deep breath, trying not to be hurt by his words. It was a lot to process, and he'd already had a hellish day.
She looked at Quinn, "I need time to think about it, Mr. Quinn. I'm exhausted. I need sleep. Please, can we discuss this another time?"
Maddox stood. 'That's it. Quinn, get out of here."
Quinn rose unhurriedly from his seat. He moved to Iris's side and touched her shoulder. A jolt of pure, hot terror coursed into her from the point of contact. She gazed up at him, trying to make sense of what she was feeling.
Then she realized it wasn't a real emotion. It was manufactured, built from thoughts and memories and suppositions pouring from the CIA agent's darkened soul. He wanted her to know what terror felt like. He wanted her to know what was at stake.
"Think hard about it, Iris." He released her shoulder.
She slumped against the sofa, shaking.
"That's enough" Maddox grabbed Quinn and shoved him across the room to the front door. He jerked open the door and pushed the agent through. "Get the hell out of my house."
He locked the door behind the CIA agent and turned, breathing hard. His too long hair fell into his face, covering his blackened eye. The other gazed at Iris from beneath the shadow of his furrowed brow.
"You don't have to do what he wants." he told her.
She laid her head back, her remaining energy bleeding out of herbody. Malignant memories of what she'd just felt from Quinn ate at her soul.
Maddox crossed to her side, settling on the coffee table in front of her. He closed his hand around her knee, his thumb moving gently against the soft flesh on the inside of her leg. A sensation of warmth seeped into her body from his touch.
When he started to remove his hand, she grabbed it, holding his fingers in place. "Don't."
Maddox lifted his other hand and placed it on her other knee. He slowly circled his palms over her knees, the touch light and soothing, "I don't want to hurt you."
"You're not." she said. And it was true. Somehow, whatever pain he was feeling was little more than a buzz of awareness, tingling her limbs and belly. But the warmth of his hands on her flesh drove those sensations out of her mind.
"I don't know if I'm the man you need watching over you right now. Iris. This thing-" He shook his head, obviously searching for words, "This thing goes deeper than I thought or Quinn wouldn't have come here."
She caught both of his hands, stilled their movements. "Who is Tahir Mahmoud?"
His eyes narrowed, "I don't know."
She looked down at their entangled hands. "You asked Quinn when terrorists had started using psychics. He admitted he didn't know if they had. That means he already had a terror suspect before he got here, right? A suspect who's somehow led him to the Cassandra Society"
"You're racial profiling, sugar Don't you know that's a no-no?" Maddox smiled, but she felt no humor from him.
"You looked at Tahir this morning as if you knew him."
Maddox released her hands, but not before she tasted the bitterness of an old, dark rage. "I didn't recognize him."
"But you think you know him."
He pushed to his feet, groaning a little. "You look tired. Rest here and I'll clean up the mess in the bedroom for you"
"Maddox, don't do this."
He gave her a look of feigned confusion. "Do what?"
"Keep secrets from me."
He licked his lips. "Everybody gets to have secrets. Iris. You have secrets, don't you? You kept a real big one from me until just this afternoon."
She looked away, knowing he was right. If his injuries hadn't forced the issue, she probably would still be keeping her ability a secret from him. But that wasn't the only secret she was keeping.
She still hadn't told him about the list of names Sharon Phelps had given her that morning at the seminar. It might be her best clue to San
drine's where-abouts, and she didn't want Maddox or Quinn or anyone else to start making decisions about what she should do with the information.
Maddox took a long, deep breath. "Iris, I don't know for sure who Tahir Mahmoud is. And until I do, I don't want to slander him. Okay?"
She met his gaze and nodded. "Okay." She patted the sofa. "Sit here with me a minute."
Her request seemed to surprise him, but he did as she asked. He felt good against her. Solid, blessedly painless, to her surprise. Even the rage she'd felt from him was gone.
Relief from the constant agony she'd experienced over the last couple of days washed away what was left of her defenses. Tears followed in its wake, spilling down her cheeks in salty tracks, unstoppable.
"Oh, baby." Macldox brushed at her tears with his thumb, tucking her under his arm. "It's gonna be okay."
She shook her head. "I want to go home," she confessed, the need overwhelming her. "I just want to go home."
He cupped her face. "We can make that happen. First thing tomorrow, we'll get you to the airport and put you on the first flight back to the States. You don't have to stay here."
She put her hands over his, "Yes, I do."
He gave her a gentle shake, "No. You don't. You don't owe Quinn a damn thing. You didn't ask for any of this. It's not your job. It's his."
"I can't leave Sandrine." she said.
"You don't know she's in trouble. Maybe she really is taking part in that focus group and that's all."
"It's not true," Iris said, blinking back fresh tears, "I know it's not that simple." She felt it. bone deep.
"Then you go home and let the police handle it." Maddox's voice was firm. "It's their job."
"They don't even think she's missing."
"I'll keep on top of them for you."
She smiled, touched by the offer. "Sandrine's a stranger to you. You might push the matter a day or two, but you don't have any incentive to keep the pressure on. It's up to me." Iris drew away from him, "I'm all she has."
Maddox dropped his hands to his lap. "What about you? Is there someone who can come down here and keep you company?"
"My sister Lily is pregnant. I guess her husband would come down if I asked him to-he's a cop. But I can't ask that of him." She brushed the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips. "My other sister. Rose, is in Colorado with her husband, Daniel Hartman. You may have heard of him."
Maddox arched an eyebrow. "The profiler?"
"That's the one. They're working a serial murder case out there. I can't drag them away just because my old college roommate may or may not be missing." She pushed her hair back from her damp face "Okay. Enough with the crybaby act. I'm getting the room straightened up and get to bed."
"So, Lily, Rose and Iris." he said, his lips curving. "Bet that was fun growing up."
She smiled. "Flower power, baby."
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "Are the other flowers as pretty as you, sugar?"
She couldn't find her breath, much less her voice. An ache of longing ran through her, as deep as she'd ever known. When he bent his head toward her. She met him halfway, her lips parting under the gentle pressure of his mouth. He kept the kiss light, his lips moving softly over hers. She curled her fingers in the fabric of his shirt, tightening her grip as the urge to pull him closer and deepen the kiss threatened to overwhelm her good sense.
Maddox dropped his hand. "I'll go clean up the room."
"I can do it." Her voice shook.
He didn't argue, edging away from her.
She stopped halfway across the room and turned back to look at him. He sat half-turned toward her, watching her over the back of the sofa. "Thank you for what you've done for me " she said. "It's way more than most people would."
"Sugar, I was just showing a little island hospitality. That's all." He shrugged it off.
But she felt the ripple of pleasure her gratitude gave him. Strange, she thought, that he'd find such satisfaction in a simple show of regard. She didn't think he liked himself much, deep down.
Maddox woke to rain drumming the panes of the French doors leading to the veranda. He'd always considered himself a sun worshipper, but over the past two years, he'd grown to love the rat-a-tat of raindrops hitting the banana leaves and dripping from the bougainvillea blooms outside his windows. He liked the way the world smelled after a hard rain, fresh and new.
The clock over the piano read 5:54 a.m. The rain would hold off the dawn a little longer, but he didn't have the luxury of sleeping in this morning. Not with Iris Browning sleeping in his bed.
It was crazy, but he could still feel her lips on his. Soft as flower petals and twice as sweet. It had taken every bit of strength inside him not to take her into the bedroom and finish what they'd started earlier that day in her hotel room.
How had he let himself get into this mess? It was bad enough to want her so damn badly, but to play bodyguard to her? He'd decided three years ago that his life playing hero was over. He hadn't been very good at it, had he? People had died because of his decisions.
He rubbed his gritty eyes, listening past the sound of the rain for any sign that Iris might be stirring. Despite her protests the afternoon before, he might be able to persuade her to catch a plane for the States this morning. Mariposa was no place for a woman alone, especially one so obviously fragile.
She was apparently in constant physical pain, beyond what she'd admitted to. He knew what pain looked like, how it etched itself in a person's face. Iris Browning was hurting. Bad.
How much of her pain was coming from him?
He closed his eyes, wondering how such a thing as empathic sensitivity could even be possible. Surely such a thing would have been documented somewhere already if it actually existed-unless people who really do such things took care to hide their abilities from others, he thought.
Iris certainly hadn't wanted to tell him that she could feel his aches and pains. He wasn't sure if she'd have said a word if he hadn't called her on it. She was so different from most of the people he'd run into at the cocktail party and the conference. They liked to talk about their so-called abilities, wore them as a badge of honor.
Wannabes, he thought. Maybe that's why they were still at the conference instead of holed up somewhere playing guinea pig for a former Soviet scientist and his terrorist cohorts. He shuddered at the thought of Iris putting herself in the hands of Tahir Mahmoud, even with Quinn backing her up.
His cell phone rang. He tried to push himself into a sitting position on the sofa, but the screaming agony in his ribs barely let him stretch his arm out to the coffee table to grab the phone. "Yeah?"' he growled.
"It's Darcy." The RSO's clipped tones hinted at a sleepless night. "I thought I'd check on Ms. Browning."
"Mighty thoughtful of you."
"Did you have an uneventful night?"
Maddox couldn't suppress a bark of wry laughter. "Hardly."
"What happened?"
"Now you're interested?" Maddox countered, annoyed at the RSO agent's accusatory tone. "Yesterday you couldn't wait to pass her off to the first beach bum that came along."
"Damn it. Heller-"
"She's fine. Hell, she may have even gotten a little sleep, no thanks to your buddy Quinn."
"What did he do?" Darcy sounded apprehensive.
"Can't tell you that." Maddox said with no small bit of satisfaction. "Classified, you know."
"Is Ms. Browning available to speak to me?"
"She's asleep."
"No, I'm not." Iris's voice made him turn. She stood in the open doorway of his bedroom, dressed in a black silk robe that made her fair skin look like porcelain. His heart dipped.
"Who is it?" She nodded toward the phone.
"Prince Charles."
She shot him a look and took the phone. "This is Iris. Oh, hello, Mr Darcy."
Maddox tried to make room for her on the sofa, but the slightest movement made him grit his teeth. Iris settled on the edge of the coff
ee table, giving him a look of concern.
She'd showered sometime since she'd retired to the bedroom. The tang of soap lingered on her skin, the masculine scent rendered exotic and female.
"I really can't say," she said. "You understand."
Maddox grinned, realizing she'd just given Darcy the same line around on the Alexander Quinn question that he had. Her lips quirked in response, the half smile transforming her face.
His breath caught, trapped in his chest by a crashing wave of desire that caught him flat-footed. He forced himself off the sofa, biting back a howl of pain, and hobbled to the piano bench, putting needed distance between them.
"I appreciate the offer I'll let you know. Goodbye, now." She disconnected and laid the phone on the coffee table.
"What offer?"
"He suggested I might be more comfortable staying at another hotel and offered to book the room for me under the name of the consulate to preserve my anonymity."
His stomach fluttered. "Maybe you should take him up on it, sugar. Better yet, maybe you should see if he'll help you book a flight back home this morning"
She frowned. "I told you last night-"
"I know what you told me. I also know that Quinn is not going to back off as long as you're here."
Iris jutted her chin, her gaze leveling with his. "Maybe 1 don't want him to back off." she said.
Chapter Eleven
Maddox stared at Iris, not believing what he was hearing. "You're not thinking of going undercover for him."
"What if I can help uncover a terrorist plot?"
He shook his head, "Who do you think you are, Mata Hari?"
Her lips tightened. "Quinn thinks I can help."
"Quinn's willing to use you. He's not looking at you as a partner in crime fighting, darling."
She slumped forward, her elbows resting on her knees. "I just want to find Sandrine. Then we can go home."
"I don't think that's on Quinn's agenda."
"That's his problem."
"It's your problem, too, if you work for him." He leaned forward, the movement making his ribs scream with agony. "Ever seen the handiwork of a terrorist attack up close and personal? It's not pretty. You don't want to be on the receiving end."