“I know you do,” she called back. She pretended to put the safety on her weapon and began to walk purposefully toward the plane.
“Sarah, wait!”
Clutch’s voice came screaming from behind her. She turned on him as Rafe began to fire at both her and Clutch, and Clutch returned fire.
She drew her weapon and faced off with Clutch. “I’m going with him,” she called, loud enough for Rafe to hear, even as she walked backward toward the plane. “Let me do this, Clutch. I have to do this.”
Shots continued to fire over her head, the rational part of her brain telling her that they were too close for mere cover fire. But she couldn’t stop.
“Sarah, come back here. Back to me. I’m not letting you go with Rafe.”
Clutch knew exactly what she planned to do, and he wasn’t going to let it happen. Still, she hadn’t expected him to run and tackle her the way he did, both of them landing hard on the ground. Her head hit the pavement but still she drew her weapon, prepared to kill Rafe from where she lay.
Clutch held her down as he continued to return fire on Rafe but the jet had started to move down the runway as the hatch closed.
Her head was heavy. She lay cheek down on the asphalt, the smell of jet fuel filled her nostrils and lungs, the deafening roar of the jet engines drowning her senses.
Clutch held his hands over her ears until there was nothing but silence surrounding them, a silence that bore down on her more heavily than the weight of Clutch’s body ever could.
His eyes were red-rimmed as he stared at her. She’d missed, missed her chance to help a woman she’d betrayed. Missed a chance to help herself.
“We didn’t get him,” she whispered. “Go after him.”
“He’s gone, Sarah. He’ll be out of the country soon. I can’t follow him.”
“I was going to,” she said.
“He would’ve killed you. Our part here is over.” He lifted her off the ground and walked with her across the empty airstrip, back to the truck.
“What about the group that’s after you, Clutch?” she whispered as the sirens started up in the distance. “That’s not over.”
“Don’t worry about me. You have your own ghosts to deal with.”
“We’re strong enough to get rid of the ghosts, aren’t we, Clutch?” she asked. He didn’t answer her, and she supposed they’d find out soon enough.
CHAPTER
18
Jake must have called Uncle Cal while she’d gotten dressed, because when Isabelle burst through the front door, her uncle was waiting for her.
She slammed the door behind her, in case Jake had any ideas about coming inside. Riding in the car next to him had been difficult enough—it had taken so much control not to look at him.
Cal spoke before she had a chance to. “I would have put Jake on this detail regardless of whether he’d saved you the first time or not.”
“Uncle Cal, I’m not—”
“He was following a direct order, Izzy. My order.”
“And when he told me, was that part of following your orders too? Doing your dirty work for you?”
Her uncle’s jaw tightened before he spoke. “He defied my orders in telling you what he did. He was always adamant about you knowing the full truth. I made the decision to keep it from you. I know you might never forgive me for it, but at the time I felt it was best.”
“Not for me, Uncle Cal,” she said.
When he spoke again, it was in a tone she’d never heard him use. Normally, he was so in command, so straight-laced. Now he sounded desperate. “I thought I could get that bastard more quickly.”
“You had no right to decide that for me.”
“You were so scared. In the hospital—every day for the first week you asked if Rafe had been caught. It was only after we told you yes that you calmed down, started to heal. You stopped having to sleep with the lights on,” he said, his words a punch in the gut because they were the truth. Knowing Rafe was out there when she’d first come home from Africa had been terrifying. It was equally so now, even though she was far stronger.
“I don’t understand. Why is Rafe coming after me now? Why didn’t he just kill me when he had the chance?”
She heard her uncle draw in a sharp breath when she said the word kill. “Money, Isabelle. He wants money. Don’t worry, I just need to make one call and the FBI will come and collect you.”
She got the distinct feeling that her uncle was still lying to her. But the need to know something unrelated to Rafe was strong enough to override her concerns about her uncle’s agenda. “I need to know why you’re still not with my mother.”
Cal’s eyes snapped sharply to attention, and she realized he’d suspected for some time that she knew. And then his features softened at the mention of her mother, but he didn’t answer.
“You had your chance before she married—even after she was and you knew … you knew all about me and you did nothing. And then, all these years …” She stopped, brushed the tears away. “Did you ever love her?”
“Of course I did, Izzy. I still do. That’s why I stay away.”
“I don’t get it.”
Cal shook his head, staring beyond her into the kitchen, and she knew he was seeing an entirely different scene than the innocent cabinets and granite and stainless steel. “I’m a bad bet. A good Navy man, but I wouldn’t be a good husband. I’m an all-or-nothing kind of guy. I like my solitude too much.”
“Too much to think about taking on a kid, right?” she asked.
He reached out but she pulled away, shook her head. “All these years, I told myself that you stayed away, that you didn’t admit it out of respect for my father. But it had nothing to do with that—it was all about what you wanted. What was good for you.”
“Izzy, you don’t understand—”
“Then explain it to me.”
“It’s too complicated.” He walked away from her, leaving her alone in the hallway. She turned to the window and saw Jake on the porch, his back to the large window.
“I’ve got your mother on the line,” Uncle Cal called out to her from his office. He left, shutting the door behind him once she’d picked up the phone.
“Izzy, honey—”
Isabelle cut her off immediately. “I’ve heard Uncle Cal’s version. I’m assuming yours is pretty much the same. Just tell me why, Mom,” she said quietly.
“Cal and I wanted this to go away for you. I didn’t want to risk more of an investigation—didn’t want to risk the press getting hold of this. We were so lucky we were able to keep it quiet.”
Isabelle had no doubt her mother had done everything with the best of intentions—she’d appreciated the lack of media coverage, had appreciated even more when the FBI and the CIA went away and stopped asking her questions.
Of course, she’d thought they’d gone away for different reasons entirely—she’d thought the case was completely closed. Finished.
It wasn’t, not by a long shot. And even now, she didn’t know if she would have ever admitted the truth to anyone. Knowing she’d been with Rafe wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t help them capture him any faster. No, it would just blur the lines.
“We thought we could meet his demands and capture him before you ever found out he was still out there.” Jeannie admitted. “But I know Rafe is coming back—it’s not an idle threat. He called me. I told Cal I want the FBI involved—I will not take a chance again.”
“You spoke with him? Rafe called you?” she asked, slammed a fist on the desk. “I’m not going anywhere with the FBI. Don’t you dare let Uncle Cal call them, don’t you dare.”
“Izzy, please, now that everything’s out in the open, you need to listen to reason. There’s real danger involved …”
When Rafe left her bound and helpless, his last words had been, I’ll see you again soon, Isabelle. Count on that.
Count on that. She hadn’t, not at all, had foolishly believed that Rafe had been put away for good.
No, only Jake had forced her to confront those. And still, she was so very angry with him.
“Jake says he can keep me safe.” Although she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to be back in his company—or if he wanted her in his. Her own words echoed in her ears …
That last time wasn’t consensual. Not at all. Just like you protecting me.
The way she’d spoken the words had been purposeful, hateful—meant to strike at Jake’s soul. Judging by the way he’d looked at her, she’d been successful, and she hated herself for that.
God, she was so confused. “When you talked about being hurt, the other night at dinner, you weren’t talking about Dad, were you?”
There was a long, heavy pause on Jeannie’s end of the line. So long, Isabelle broke back in. “I know, Mom. I’ve known about Dad and Uncle Cal and you for a long time.”
“You can’t pick who you fall in love with. You can try, but your heart’s in charge … I think you understand that.”
“You never loved Dad. The man I thought of as my dad.”
“I did, just not in the way I should have,” her mother admitted.
Isabelle pictured the way her life would’ve been had she acquiesced to marrying Daniel and staying in private practice, had she not kept fighting, and for the first time she got it with a clarity she hadn’t felt since Africa.
“I have to go now, Mom,” she said. Jake was standing in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the space. Cal must have let him in.
“Isabelle, please, I want you to consider protection. Until that man is caught.”
“This is something I’ve got to do my own way,” she said. “I’ll be in touch. I promise.”
She ended the call and held the phone in her palm.
“I’m going in to work,” she told Jake. He didn’t argue, merely nodded. “I’m still not sure I can forgive you for not telling me.”
Again, he nodded.
“So I’m changing the rules of the game,” she continued.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
“I can’t do this—whatever it is that’s happening between us. I just can’t. I’m not ready. I might never be ready.”
“You still have to trust me if you want me to protect you, Isabelle. If you can’t do that, I won’t be able to do my job.”
She wanted to cry at the thought of her being just a job to Jake, but she’d been the one to put herself in that position. She held all the control now, and she wasn’t giving it up again only to be hurt. “I know you and your brothers will keep me safe. But I’m not going to remain a prisoner anywhere. Rafe wants to find me—and as terrified as I am about that, it needs to happen sooner rather than later. You can catch him and it will finally be over.”
“Yes, that part will finally be over,” he agreed.
“You said you wouldn’t start that again—that you’d drop pushing me. I’m not ready … not now.”
“I promised to be honest with you from now on.” He remained in the doorway, shoved his hands in his pockets. “Your mom wants you in protective custody.”
“She told me. I refused.”
Jake nodded. “Did she tell you that Rafe threatened her as well?”
“No, she didn’t tell me that.” She shook her head. “Why is he doing this? He’s trying to hurt everyone I love.”
“Your mother will be protected,” he assured her. “Still, it’s not going to be easy and I’m most worried about you. Rafe’s good at what he does—he’s traveling alone and he’s bent on revenge. You need to start watching your six, learning to shoot …”
“I know how to shoot. Rafe taught me how to lock and load during those three days when I was waiting for some mysterious enemy to come get me. His sick way of bonding, I guess. Maybe it gave him a thrill, knowing that I could fight back, but that I’d never win against him.”
His nostrils flared slightly. “What kind of weapon?”
“A nine millimeter.”
He reached into the back of his jeans and pulled out a gun, held on to the barrel as he presented it to her. “Keep this on you at all times. You don’t go anywhere without it.”
The set of his shoulders told her everything she needed to know, but she heard herself asking anyway, “They didn’t catch him at the airport, did they?”
“No, they didn’t catch him.”
“He’s on his way here, then.”
“Yes.”
She forced herself not to cry out. Thankfully, her throat had tightened enough to stop even the smallest sound.
Clutch and Sarah had checked into the nearest hotel to the Bujumbura Airport an hour earlier. Now she stood over him, tending to the worst scrapes on his back and wrists from where the knots had bit into his flesh.
She’d already put what little ice she could scrounge up on the back of his head even though he’d insisted that she’d gotten the worst of it when he’d pushed her down. But she could tell he was in more pain than she was. Not that he would tell her—he would never tell her that.
Before today, she never would have admitted it to him either.
He held out his wrists to her like an offering, watched her as she dabbed the antiseptic and then blew on it to take away the sting, the way her mother used to do when she’d come home with scraped knees.
“Why are you staring at me?” she asked without looking up.
“Because you’re beautiful.”
“I’m a total mess,” she said. She’d rinsed off in the shower first, at Clutch’s insistence, while he’d made the call to the States. She knew Clutch didn’t want her to have to hear him repeat what happened, the way Rafe had escaped from them both. The way she’d failed Isabelle.
Clutch stroked her nearly dry hair as it tumbled to her shoulders. “You did the best you could.”
“No, I didn’t. When Rafe got close with Izzy, I assumed the job was off. I got comfortable,” she said. “And then one day, Izzy told me she’d broken things off with Rafe, and I knew. I just knew.”
She drew a shaky breath. “I almost told her—almost took her from the camp myself and drove her to the airport. She almost had a chance.”
“Sarah—”
“No, don’t say it. There’s nothing you can say that’s going to make it right,” she said flatly.
“You weren’t in your right mind. You were living in a state of constant alert—you were barely functioning yourself. You’ve paid.”
“Will it ever be enough?” she asked. “Isabelle will never forgive me—she shouldn’t ever forgive me.”
“You need to forgive yourself first.”
She shook her head, as if that weren’t possible. “I hope she never knows. Is that selfish? I don’t want her to ever know what I’ve done. I want her to remember the good things about our friendship. I don’t want her to have any more guilt or pain because of me—I’ll be the one to carry that burden.”
“I don’t think that’s selfish,” he said quietly.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept or eaten and none of that really mattered, not with Clutch safe and in one piece in front of her. As much as she wanted to ask him what would happen now, she wanted him much more.
“Stay just like that,” she told him. He remained seated on the edge of the bed, stripped down, wearing just the small hotel towel across his lap. His pupils were slightly dilated—they both knew there was a good chance he had a concussion. Neither of them would do much sleeping that night.
“What are you doing?” he asked as she rummaged through his bag, past the weapons and the computer and God knew what else until she found her camera. She had a full roll of film left—she’d reloaded after she’d taken those last pictures at the checkpoint.
“Just stay.”
“I can’t stay,” he said, and they both knew he wasn’t talking about posing for the camera.
>
She dropped it back down into the bag and walked toward the bed. “You can’t leave me again.”
She reached out and stroked his cheek, the days-old stubble rough against her palm, and studied him as though looking through her lens. He shifted, visibly uncomfortable with her assessment—his face always looked wonderful on film, his features were contoured enough that light and dark bounced off them, making him look hard and soft, fierce and vulnerable, all at the same time.
“What’s your name—your real name?” she asked finally, because she needed to hear him say it.
“Bobby.” It sounded like it had been a long time since he uttered it.
“Bobby,” she repeated. “I like that.”
“Why did you always want to take pictures of me?”
“Because you’re handsome,” she replied. “Your eyes—the way you never smile.” She reached up to touch his mouth but he blocked her.
“No more pictures,” he said hoarsely. “Ever.”
“No pictures,” she agreed with a whisper, because she could capture all of this with her mind and never let it fade.
His mouth covered hers, tasted like brown sugar and tea, and he tore open the borrowed shirt of his she wore. She heard the light scatter of the buttons hitting the floor as he yanked the shirt off her shoulders, without stopping kissing her, hungrily, like he’d been thinking about it the way she had for the past hours.
She grabbed the towel off his lap impatiently and she attempted to climb him, to get him inside of her immediately.
But he wasn’t having it. Instead, he stood, grabbed her around the waist and pushed her up against the wall. He took her with his fingers, circling the hot, wet flesh, his tongue dancing on her nipple as she writhed with her back pressed against the wall.
And then he lowered himself slowly until he was on his knees. He kept one of her feet on his shoulder, held it there as he tongued her sex until she grabbed his hair and shuddered to a hard, fast climax against his mouth. But he didn’t stop, his tongue working her clit over and over until she was crying out his name … Bobby. Oh, God, Bobby …
She was still shuddering as he carried her to the bed. His body covered hers, his heavy weight pinning her against the soft mattress.
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