by Amelia Autin
She’d shivered at the reminder of how nearly she hadn’t awakened. If the kidnapper had managed to enter her stateroom in silence, where would she be now?
And if those memories weren’t enough to keep her from sleeping, there was also the question she’d wanted to ask Niall but hadn’t. How did he know? She kept turning over past conversations in her mind, but couldn’t recall ever having told him she was a PhD.
Could he have assumed she was because of her previous job and the fact that both her parents had been university professors? Maybe. But it was still an aberration. And if there was one thing she could never ignore, it was an outlier data point. Yes, sometimes those outliers were just that—bizarre, one-time occurrences that shouldn’t be factored into the equations. But sometimes they were indicative of a serious issue, one that needed to be taken into consideration in constructing the algorithms that were her life’s blood.
She’d just resolved to ask him about it in the morning when a deep voice from the other bed asked, “Can’t sleep?”
She turned over to face him, even though he was only a shape in the darkness and she couldn’t make out his features. “No.”
“Me, neither. I keep thinking about what almost happened...because of me.”
“Because of you? That’s silly. It’s not your fault someone wants to kidnap me.”
“No, but it is my fault you were alone.”
“Oh, Niall.” She couldn’t help the hint of chiding in her voice. “You’re not responsible for the whole world.”
“I never said I was.”
“You’re sure acting like it.”
He laughed abruptly. “Okay, so maybe I internalize too much. Is that a crime?”
She didn’t know why she did it—was it something in his voice?—but she slipped from beneath the covers of her bed and slid under his.
“What are you—” His question turned into a moan when she found him with her hand and gently squeezed, then began stroking when his body responded like a house on fire. “I can’t, Savannah,” he said finally, after she’d already confirmed he could.
“Really? Because that’s not the impression I’m getting.”
His hand covered hers, stopping her. “This isn’t what you want. I’m not what you want.”
“I think I can make that decision for myself, thank you very much.”
He rolled them over so suddenly it took a second for her equilibrium to adjust, and she had to let him go to hang onto his shoulders until her head stopped spinning.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was so low she wasn’t sure she heard him correctly. Then, as if the words were torn from him, he added, “Don’t fall in love with me, please. I’ll only break your heart.”
A sudden realization jolted through her, and she briefly considered telling him it was too late, she’d already fallen. But she didn’t. Instead she said in her gentlest voice, “You’ve given me wings, Niall. A broken heart’s a small price to pay.” And she kissed him.
* * *
Niall was up with the dawn. Savannah was still asleep, so he carefully disengaged his body from hers and dressed quietly. He dragged his laptop out and sat on the balcony to enjoy the sunrise and the beauty of the Qutang Gorge the boat was traversing on the Yangtze River while his laptop powered up...and while he dissected the latest kidnapping attempt.
His pool of suspects had just been winnowed dramatically. Savannah had theorized last night that the stateroom belonging to the kidnapper or kidnappers had to be on the aft side of Deck Five, where their rooms were located. He agreed with her theory, because how would they have seen him leave otherwise?
And there were no passenger rooms on the bow side—that was all taken up by the Observation Lounge and Bar. So now all he had to do was cross-reference the couples on their tour bus with their respective cabin assignments. Whoever was on their tour bus who also had a Deck Five stateroom had just moved to the top of his suspect list.
He connected to the VPN and dashed off a missive to his boss, requesting he use whatever pull their agency had with the tour company to get the list of cabin assignments on Deck Five. He knew it was very likely he could bribe someone on board to get the list—the maids probably had it, and they were notoriously underpaid. A few hundred yuan to one of them just might work. But he’d only do that as a last resort. If he guessed and guessed wrong, he’d have to answer a lot of awkward questions from senior ship personnel. And after last night’s conversation with the captain and the purser, it might make them suspicious of the motive behind Savannah’s report.
Then he checked his incoming email. To his surprise, there was an encrypted one from his sister. He hadn’t expected results on Spencer Davies and DMFC so soon. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since he’d emailed her, and day here was night there, and vice versa.
He decrypted the email, trying but failing to contain the little buzz of excitement. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Savannah Keira was a whiz at research. What had she found?
He read her careful disclaimer with impatience. Yeah, yeah, yeah, he thought. I get that this is all preliminary and you need to confirm it from other sources. Just get to the point.
And the point was...Davies Missiles and Fire Control was in serious financial trouble. They’d lost several big competitive contracts in the last year, just as Savannah had said. But that wasn’t all. Their bread-and-butter missile, the one they’d been selling to the DoD forever with just minor upgrades every year, had just been made obsolete...by Savannah. By a breakthrough design for which she’d almost assuredly receive a fourth patent.
It’s not common knowledge, Keira wrote, but the DoD is scrambling to find a way to keep DMFC afloat. You know as well as I do that the government tries its best to keep defense contractors in business, to keep competition alive and prices down. But the DoD can’t continue fielding that obsolete missile, especially since it has already been involved in three friendly fire incidents.
“Holy crap,” he whispered. Usually that occurred when the friendly target was mistakenly identified as an enemy one. But sometimes, as appeared to be the case here, it was due to errors or inaccuracy.
Just imagine the public outcry, Keira’s email continued, if it got out that the DoD knew the missile was obsolete, but used it anyway...and another friendly fire incident occurred. Bottom line? DMFC is teetering.
A four-letter word Niall never used in polite company issued from his lips. He’d thought from what Savannah had told him that DMFC was in hot water, but he hadn’t realized it was this bad. Which meant it made perfect sense that Spencer Davies would want Savannah...any way he could get her. Davies had tried to hire her, wasn’t that what she’d told him? And when Davies couldn’t lure her into coming to work for his company, he’d concocted this scheme to kidnap her.
Hold on a sec, he told himself. Don’t jump to conclusions. How the hell could Davies think he could get away with it long-term? But as soon as the question surfaced, something niggled at the back of his mind. Something Savannah had said about Davies. What was it?
Then it came to him... Because he and his company have a reputation in the defense industry for taking shortcuts, and I don’t like that. Shortcuts are shortsighted in my opinion...
A cold, sinking feeling settled over him, and he cursed again. “Davies doesn’t give a crap about the long-term,” he whispered as the hard truth settled in. “He wants Savannah to salvage his obsolete missile somehow, some way. But he can’t afford to keep her alive after that. Too dangerous.”
He didn’t even realize his right hand had clenched so tightly it was bloodless until he felt the nails on that hand digging into his palm. He relaxed it immediately, but stared at his hand for a moment, thinking about the ultimate fate planned for Savannah. “Not in this lifetime,” he promised himself. “Not if I have anything to say about i
t.”
A rustle from inside the room informed Niall Savannah was finally waking up. He quickly logged off his computer and shut it down. He’d have to tell her about this latest development and the conclusions he’d drawn, and they needed to make some plans. But first things first. First he needed to make love to her. Then he’d tell her Spencer Davies intended to kill her.
Chapter 14
There was something particularly thrilling about being kissed awake by the man you loved, Savannah thought. Even though part of her was worrying about morning breath because she hadn’t yet brushed her teeth and another part of her was thinking she was going to have to visit the bathroom before too long. Still, an unshaven chin was an erotic delight when a lover nuzzled her cheek the way Niall did.
And when he whispered in her ear all the wicked treats he had in store for her? Bliss.
But eventually she murmured, “Hold that thought,” and made a mad dash for the bathroom. When she returned she was disappointed to see he was still dressed. She’d hoped he would have stripped down to his birthday suit in anticipation of what he’d promised her.
But apparently he’d had second thoughts.
He’d propped himself on one arm, and his expression was serious. “We need to talk.”
She sighed, but not so he’d notice, thinking, Not again. She really, truly had thought that last night they’d gotten past whatever it was that was bothering him. There’d been a level of tenderness in his lovemaking he’d never shown her before, and she’d let herself get carried away with the fantasy. And this morning...
She sighed again, then opened the dresser and busied herself by pulling out clothes to wear that day—jeans and a favorite dusky rose, long-sleeved sweater. With her back to him, she said, “What do we need to talk about?”
“Spencer Davies. DMFC. And an obsolete missile.”
* * *
Savannah and Niall disembarked from their riverboat after breakfast and walked with the rest of the crowd toward the far docks and the small sightseeing vessels they’d take to visit the Lesser Three Gorges. Even though their riverboat was tiny compared to the large ocean cruisers that carried thousands of passengers, it was still too big for the narrow places they were going this morning.
It had rained earlier, but now the sun shone dimly through the clouds. They picked their way carefully through the puddles and over the uneven slats of the trestle bridge, and Savannah couldn’t help but be touched by the solicitous way Niall held her arm the entire time. She wasn’t fragile and she was perfectly capable of avoiding slick spots and rough patches on her own. But his manner indicated a certain...well...attachment seemed to be the most appropriate word. And she was starting to hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d realize they had something special. That the bond they shared was more than just fantastic sex.
Plan for the worst and hope for the best. She could still hear her mother saying that to her. “I will, Mom,” she whispered under her breath.
Niall handed her down into boat number eighteen and followed her inside. “Did you say something?”
She smiled at him. “Just to myself.” She took a seat on a bench in the front row on the other side of the boat’s operator—she planned to take lots of pictures, and this way she could do so out of the front window as well as the side.
Niall sat beside her and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Thanks for picking the seat with the best leg room.”
“Oh. Sorry. I wasn’t even thinking about that.”
He smiled lazily. “Yeah, I figured.”
“Then why did you thank me?”
“Just in case.”
If she hadn’t already loved him, she’d have fallen for him in that instant for what that sentence said about him. “Your parents really did raise a gentleman,” she murmured, pressing her face against his shoulder for a moment because she loved him so much and couldn’t tell him. But she could show him.
She’d just lifted her head when Herb Thompson ducked through the front door, followed by Mary Beth, whose face brightened when she saw Savannah and Niall. “Well, hey there,” she gushed. “Isn’t this tiny boat quaint? I almost backed out when I saw how small it is, but Herb insisted. He said we paid good money for this cruise, and by golly we’re going to see everything! Did you take a seasick pill? I have extras if you didn’t, but I think you have to take them a half hour before you—”
“Madam, please keep moving,” said the pretty Chinese boat guide, who looked to be about fifteen. “You are preventing the other passengers from boarding.”
Mary Beth tittered and apologized. “So sorry.” She glanced at Savannah again. “We’ll talk afterward, okay?” and moved to join her husband, who’d picked a seat near the middle of the boat.
“Thank God! I think I would have been seasick only if she sat near us,” Savannah whispered in Niall’s ear, and he chuckled.
Tammy Williams stepped onto the boat a couple of passengers later, followed by her husband. She waggled fingers at Savannah but didn’t stop and didn’t say anything, for which Savannah was grateful.
As the rest of the passengers boarded the twenty-person vessel, she couldn’t help thinking about what Niall had told her early this morning regarding Spencer Davies. The surprising thing was that she wasn’t surprised, now that Niall had figured out why. She hadn’t wanted to believe it before, but the explanation dovetailed nicely with the facts, unfortunately.
And she wasn’t surprised Spencer Davies planned to kill her eventually, either, which saddened her. It made perfect sense from the standpoint of someone who only cared about the bottom line. Force her to come up with an answer to his obsolete missile? Of course. But even if she could, it was a one-time solution. It couldn’t be sustained long-term, especially since he couldn’t let anyone know she was behind the fix he was hoping she could make. Which meant he had to kill her to keep the secret.
What would he do next time, though, a few years down the road?
“You okay? You look sad all of a sudden.”
She glanced up at him. “I was thinking about what you told me this morning. And you’re right, Spencer Davies has to be stopped. Because I just realized I’m merely the first. If he’s successful with me, he’ll do it again. And again. Like a serial killer who keeps going until he’s caught.” She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So we have to catch him and put him away.”
“We?” He shifted position. “There are federal agencies to handle this.” He looked as if he might say more but thought better of it.
“I’m part of this. How are they going to catch him without me to act as bait?”
Niall’s face hardened. “That’s not happening, Savannah. We don’t need live bait. Especially if that bait is you.”
Something about his words didn’t make sense, and her brow furrowed. “What do you mean, we don’t need live bait? We?” When he didn’t answer, she said slowly, “You told me you’re in security. And though you didn’t say it, you certainly implied you work in the private sector. But I don’t think you do. Do you work for the DoD’s Defense Security Service? The DSS?”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t.” There wasn’t a shred of emotion in his voice, but his dark brown eyes held hers and she believed him. She didn’t know why, but she did. Then an unwelcome thought crept in. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t work for another federal agency, though.
She started to ask him, but at that moment the boat operator fired up the engine with a throaty roar. The vessel backed smoothly away from the dock, then turned in a sweeping curve and headed for the Lesser Three Gorges with a dozen other craft.
Savannah could only stare at Niall, her thoughts in turmoil. “You called me Dr. Whitman,” she whispered. “Twice. Which means you know things about me I never told you.” His gaze never wavered, but he didn’t speak, either. “Who are you?�
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“We’ll talk about that later.” He took her chin in his hand and gently turned her head so she was facing the front window. “The Goddess Stream, Savannah,” he reminded her. “You’ve come thousands of miles to see it. Get your camera ready.”
* * *
She was reluctant, at first, Niall saw. But eventually the sheer beauty of their surroundings got to her, and click, click, click went her camera. He caught her attention from time to time and pointed at some particularly scenic sight, and when the boat guide lashed the front doors open so the passengers could walk out on the bow to take photographs, he held her by the hips to keep her steady. But mostly he just watched her craning her head and gazing in wonder. And his heart ached because his time with Savannah was running out, but he had no one to blame but himself.
He’d been the consummate operative before he’d met her. An actor worthy of an Academy Award—when he assumed a role, he became the role. But not anymore. Not since he’d fallen in love with her. Now he was human. Now he was vulnerable.
He’d slipped up three times with Savannah and hadn’t realized it. Once she’d mentioned it, he’d immediately recalled the times he’d called her Dr. Whitman and could have kicked himself for being such a rank amateur. And of course, saying, We don’t need live bait, was a dead giveaway, since it almost certainly implied he belonged to one of the federal agencies he’d told her could handle the investigation. A stupid move that could have gotten him killed if she’d been the traitor he’d first suspected her of being. A stupid move that could get her killed if he said something like that in the presence of his suspects.
So what’s it going to be, Jones? Are you going to risk Savannah’s life because you love her and don’t want to lie to her anymore? Or are you going to love her enough to suck it up and be a damn professional?
He already knew the answer. He just didn’t like it.
* * *
Savannah’s stateroom had been refreshed by the time they returned. She removed her jacket and laid it and her purse on the newly made double bed closest to the door—the one she and Niall had shared—then turned to face him.