by Amelia Autin
“You really think it’s them?”
He shook his head. “No more than anyone else on this deck. But they just moved to the high probability list, along with the Thompsons and the Mortensons.”
“They seem so...nice. So...so ordinary.”
So do I, he could have said, but didn’t. Someday he’d make a clean breast of it to Savannah, but not today. “That’s how the confidence game works,” he told her, a harsh edge to his voice. “Very often it’s the people you’d least suspect. Take you, for instance.”
“Me?”
“You look sweet and innocent, good and kind. All the things you are. But someone who was trained to suspect that when something looks too good to be true it probably is, someone who didn’t know you, could be misled into thinking you were something other than what you are.” The way I was misled...before I met you.
She didn’t answer, and he wondered what she was thinking. He didn’t have long to wait to find out. “You’re talking about you,” she said softly. “You thought I was too good to be true.”
Well, hell. “The thought had crossed my mind. But not for long.”
Her voice softened even more, and an expression he couldn’t read entered her eyes. “So you’ve been trained to be suspicious...of everyone.”
There was no point denying it. “Pretty much.”
“That has to make for a very difficult life. Not being able to trust anyone.”
“I trust a few people. My family for sure. Those I work with, for the most part.” He shrugged. “Other than that...yeah, it’s rough, but that’s the job I chose. The life I lead. I have no regrets.” No regrets about the trust thing, his conscience corrected. But hell yes, you have regrets. About Savannah. About accepting the assignment in the first place. About making her your target.
It only took him a couple of seconds to realize his conscience was wrong. If he’d never taken the assignment to begin with, if he’d never come to China, never made Savannah the target of his investigation, where would she be now? Kidnapped? Held prisoner by Spencer Davies somewhere, until she came up with the solution to his obsolete missile?
And ultimately...murdered. That was the bottom line. Without his intervention, Savannah probably would never have known what Spencer Davies had planned for her until it was too late. So in a way, accepting the original assignment had turned out to be a good thing after all.
Don’t get carried away feeling all noble, Jones, his conscience reminded him. You think Savannah would buy that logic? Yeah, serendipity is wonderful, but it only goes so far.
All of a sudden he realized he’d allowed the internal argument between himself and his conscience to block out what Savannah was saying, and he was forced to ask, “Can you repeat that?”
“I said I’m glad I don’t have your job. Yes, my job entails—entailed,” she corrected swiftly, “a certain level of secrecy. But I only had to worry if someone tried to find out exactly what I did, about the missiles I worked on. Stuff like that. I never had to be suspicious of everyone over everything.” She leaned into him suddenly, placing her hands against his chest so she could reach up and kiss his cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Sorry you have to live this way.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me. I chose this life, remember?”
“Yes, but did you know it would be like this going in?”
The question made him smile. “Not exactly.” He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to deflect any more questions on this subject. Once he had her body exactly where he wanted—plastered against his—he deliberately injected humor into his voice. “We’re a fine pair.”
“What do you mean?”
His lips quirked. “I’m too suspicious, and you’re too trusting.”
That enigmatic expression returned to her face. “Maybe I am,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t exactly call myself a Pollyanna, but I do tend to look for the good in people.” She took a quick breath, then blew him away when she added, “Like you, Niall...but I don’t have to look hard. The goodness in you shines like a beacon.”
“I’m not—” he started to protest, but she cut him off by the simple expedient of placing a finger over his lips.
“Oh, I know you’re not perfect. And you probably wouldn’t be an easy man to live with—a woman would have to make all kinds of concessions. But I also know you’re a good man at heart.”
Which left him with nothing to say. But apparently she considered that conversation closed and wasn’t expecting him to say anything at all, because she began running her hands over his chest and down, tugging his Henley from his jeans as if she had only one thing on her mind...and it wasn’t talking anymore.
He laughed softly when she reached for his belt buckle as if she had every right in the world. Which she does, he acknowledged. He’d given her that right...until the end of this trip. He just hadn’t expected this level of self-confidence from her in this arena so quickly, but he loved it.
She unzipped his jeans and slid her hand inside to free him before asking, “What’s so funny?”
“You. Me. Us. This,” he groaned when her hand stroked over him with assurance. “You would never have done this a week ago. But now...”
Her slow, knowing smile killed him. “You said I’d be good at it,” she murmured. “I’m just proving you right.”
* * *
The sun was shining but the air was decidedly cold when Savannah opened the door onto the balcony the next morning, shortly after the riverboat docked. “Brrr,” she said, shivering, and quickly closed the door.
She turned just in time to watch Niall dress with an economy of motion that always amazed her, tugging on jeans and another Henley, this one in navy. He seemed to have an inexhaustible supply—thank goodness!—a notion that made her smile to herself. There was something so basically masculine about a Henley. Especially the way Niall filled one out.
“You have anything warmer than that light jacket?” he asked, sitting on the bed to put on his socks and shoes.
She shook her head. “Not really. I tried not to pack too much, because seasoned travelers recommend packing light. You should know. But I can do layers. A sweater, then the padded vest I bought in Beijing the very first day and my jacket over top.” As she said this, she pulled a sweater out of the drawer and the vest and jacket from the closet.
“Gloves?”
“Of course.” She patted her jacket pockets. “What about you?”
“I’ll do the layer thing, too.”
“Then we’re all set.”
“Well...after we have breakfast,” he reminded her with a smile. “And one other thing.”
“What’s that?”
“This.” This was a kiss that curled her toes. “Good morning,” he whispered when he finally raised his head to gaze down at her. “If I didn’t say thank you last night, let me rectify my omission.” He kissed her again. “Thank you.”
Because her parents had raised her to be polite, there was only one way to answer this. “You’re very welcome.” Then she couldn’t help it. She smiled. “But I enjoyed it, too, so it was a win-win all the way around.” When he raised a quizzical brow, she said, “It’s true, Niall. I’ll be honest, though, I never thought I would. But I did. So you don’t have to thank me any more than I have to thank you for—” She cleared her throat, suddenly self-conscious in a way she hadn’t been self-conscious a minute ago. “Well, you know.”
“Well, you know?” His eyes twinkled at her. “No, I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he teased. “Explain it to me, please.”
She narrowed her eyes at him playfully. “You know exactly what I mean, so don’t pretend.”
He waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated fashion the way she loved, then leaned to whisper a few extremely explicit words in her ear. Words th
at caused anticipatory tingles everywhere and made the color rush to her cheeks...but didn’t offend her at all.
“Yes, please.”
“Tonight,” he promised. “Or this afternoon. We sail at noon, right?” He nodded, answering his own question. “Definitely this afternoon.”
* * *
Savannah climbed aboard the bus with Niall right behind her, only to find Tammy already on board...with Mary Beth in the window seat beside her instead of her husband. “Where’s Martin?” she blurted out, then quickly added, “And Herb? Aren’t they coming?”
Tammy grimaced. “Martin bailed. Said it didn’t sound like a fun way to spend the morning, so he was just going to walk around on shore and see what there was to see. He promised he’d be back on the boat in plenty of time before we sail.”
“Herb said he wasn’t feeling well after breakfast and was going back to bed,” Mary Beth volunteered. “But I think that was just an excuse,” she added, in a way that didn’t bode well for the missing Herb.
“Oh. Well.” Savannah couldn’t think of anything to say, so she took the window seat on the other side of the aisle, hoping Mary Beth wouldn’t chatter the entire way. “Sorry,” she mouthed at Niall, apologizing for making him take the aisle seat and having to accompany her on an outing that probably wouldn’t appeal to him.
He grinned wickedly and replied in an undertone, “I’ll let you make it up to me later.” The same way you did last night, his eyes told her. Which not only made her feel less guilty, but also reminded her of what Niall had promised her was on the agenda for this afternoon, and she shivered in a delightful way.
The bus filled up quickly after that, and Savannah noticed most of the women were accompanied by their spouses, including Martha’s husband, Anders Mortenson. Sotto voce, she said, “Guess it won’t be so boring for you after all.”
The twinkle returned to his eyes, and he winked. “I’ll still let you make it up to me.”
* * *
The man waited until the buses had departed, then casually walked off the boat and mounted the wide stone staircase leading to the road. He strolled in leisurely fashion until he was out of sight of the riverboat, then walked purposefully toward the intersection where he would be met, as arranged.
Chao Li turned around to greet him when he got into the back seat of the small, nondescript rental car. “This is my cousin, Li Feng,” Chao said, using the Chinese custom of stating the surname first as he indicated the man behind the wheel. “He flew in late last night, as you requested. He speaks only a little English—not like my brother and me—but he was in the army until last year. And he can be trusted.”
“Good.” The man got right down to business. “You have everything I asked for? Does your cousin know the plan?”
“Yes and yes.”
“Good,” the man said again. “I trust nothing will go wrong this time around.” He tried but failed to keep the condemnatory tone out of his voice. “I warned you this man Johnson is dangerous. Your brother was lucky only his arm was broken, and not his neck. I’m paying you for results, not for another failure.”
Chao’s face was impassive. “Understood.”
* * *
The outdoor pageant was well underway on a makeshift stage next to the soccer field. A dozen fifth and sixth grade schoolgirls were performing a welcome dance dressed as butterflies—albeit butterflies with warm tights and jackets beneath their costumes—for the two hundred or so tourists who’d come from the boat for this purpose. This school was funded by the cruise company, and though Savannah knew the motive wasn’t entirely altruistic, since the shore excursion to visit the school was a big draw for some of the passengers, she was still glad to see it. Anything that contributed to education for girls was a good thing in her mind.
Savannah was standing in the front, close to the stage so she could take pictures with her camera. Niall was right behind her, his arms wrapped protectively around her waist as he kept the rest of the people at bay. The crowd wasn’t so dense it had engendered in her the fear that was never far away, but she wasn’t complaining. She exulted in being held this way by the man she loved. Niall’s protectiveness made her feel cherished in a heart-deep, I’m-here-for-you-always kind of way.
Maybe he was right when he said this trip was all they had, although she wasn’t conceding that—not by a long shot! But if so, at least she’d take this memory with her...like all the other wonderful memories she’d stored up.
A dozen boys dressed as ancient warriors with swords and shields took the stage when the girls were done, and Savannah couldn’t help the rueful smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. Gender stereotypes are alive and well, she thought. Boys as warriors. Girls as butterflies. Oh well. At least Niall knows I’m no butterfly. He’s a warrior, no question. But so am I in my own way. I’ve known that about myself since the day I went to work in missile guidance. I never served in the military, the way Niall did, but I serve the military. They need me just as much as I need them to protect our country and me.
She almost turned around and told Niall what she was thinking, but decided this wasn’t the time and place. Soon, though, she promised herself. She wanted him to understand the patriotic side of her, if he didn’t already. Maybe it wouldn’t make a difference, but it might. And she would use every weapon in her arsenal to convince him he was wrong—they could have a future, if they were willing to fight for it.
I’m willing, she confessed to him in her mind. You said it yourself, Niall, I’m a fighter. I’m not giving up. Ever.
She stayed in the shelter of Niall’s arms until the show was over and the principal invited the crowd to pick a classroom in the school to visit for the next half hour. “The children are eager to talk with you,” the principal said in her excellent English. “We hope you are just as eager to talk with them.”
Savannah waited until most of the people around them had turned and started toward the school building—being a fighter notwithstanding, no way was she going to tempt fate by trying to force her way through the crowd—and she loved that Niall didn’t try to encourage her to leave before she was ready. He understood without her saying a word.
Eventually, though, he turned her slightly in his arms so he could look down into her face and asked in a deep rumble, “You ready?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Then lead the way.”
A few stragglers were still around, taking pictures of the children, who’d quietly and obediently lined up next to the stage and were waiting for the adults to leave. Savannah couldn’t resist snapping a few shots herself. The children were so adorable, their cheeks reddened by the cold but excitement on their faces. And it was apparent the principal hadn’t been exaggerating—the children really were excited about their upcoming interaction with the school’s visitors and could scarcely contain themselves.
Savannah and Niall made their way across the soccer field, walking hand in hand beside the two lines of children, their teachers and the last of the visitors. They were almost to the school when all of a sudden Niall said, “Son of a bitch!” in a furious undertone, then, “Down! Everybody down! Sniper!” followed by a jumble of words that made no sense to her, just as shots rang out.
Savannah found herself flat on the ground with Niall covering her as panicked screams from the children resounded all around them. Followed shortly by whimpers of pain.
Despite having the breath knocked out of her, she said frantically, “Niall, the children.”
“I know.” He rolled off her, then dragged her to the shelter of an open door into one of the downstairs classrooms. “Stay here.” Then he was gone.
“Oh, hell no,” she whispered to the man who could no longer hear her, and raced after him toward the first of the downed children, a little girl no more than five or six.
“I told you to stay where it was safe,�
� Niall barked at her as he quickly checked the little girl’s wounds with gentle hands. “Here,” he said roughly, scooping the child up and bundling her into Savannah’s arms. She didn’t bother answering, just ran toward the school. She relinquished her precious burden into the beckoning arms of one of the teachers, then turned and raced back to Niall’s side.
“Flesh wounds, thank God,” he told her, placing another child in her arms. This one was heavier, and she was breathing hard by the time she arrived at the open doorway. She turned once more, only to stop short when she almost bumped into Niall, who was carrying a boy in each arm. “That’s it,” he told her as he handed the boys over to their teachers, and when she looked out into the schoolyard, she saw he was right. Everyone except the four wounded children had managed to scramble to safety.
Now Savannah could hear sirens in the distance and realized she’d been hearing them in a corner of her brain for some time. Then and only then did it hit her—Niall could have died. She didn’t know for sure who the sniper had been aiming at, although she couldn’t imagine anyone except Niall being the intended target, but when bullets were flying no one was safe.
She shuddered and her knees shook, but she managed to stay on her feet. “Are you okay?” There was blood on his jacket, and she ran her hands over him to reassure herself he hadn’t been struck by a bullet, that the blood wasn’t his.
“I’m fine. You?” He was doing the same thing to her, which was when she realized her jacket was stained with blood, too. Contact blood from the two children she’d cradled in her arms.
“I’m okay. It’s not my blood.”
Niall wrapped his arms around her and kissed her fiercely. Again and again. Then he set her away from him and demanded just as fiercely, “Why the hell didn’t you stay where I told you to stay?”
“Excuse me?”
“You had no way of knowing that sniper was finished.” His voice was harsh. Strained. “You could have been killed. Next time—”