Her Baby, His Secret

by Gayle Wilson

  The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. There was something else going on here as well. Something that would explain how the supposed kidnappers could have learned that it had never been part of Griff’s plan to kill Ramon Diaz. Something that would explain how Diaz’s body had shown up miles from where it was supposed to be. And would explain why Hawk and Jordan had disappeared.

  “Hawk?” Griff questioned, his voice puzzled.

  “Hawk’s behind this,” Claire said, all at once absolutely certain of the validity of her reasoning.

  She understood, even as she said the words, how difficult that would be for Griff to accept. It was, however, the only thing that could explain why everything from the beginning of this operation had gone wrong. Griff had said it himself—insider information.

  “Whatever is going on,” Griff said, “I can promise you Hawk has nothing to do with it.”

  Claire’s eyes remained on his, but she didn’t answer the denial she had been expecting. Not for several long heartbeats. Instead she reviewed everything she knew, her mind searching for flaws in her logic. And she could find none. Because it all made sense.

  “The CIA destroyed Hawk,” she said. “They did it deliberately. Mockingly. I was there, Griff. I saw how Steiner treated him. And then, after Hawk had done everything they demanded of him, Steiner almost let Tyler Stewart get killed.”

  “So Hawk betrays the rest of us?” Griff said, his voice almost amused—or pretending to be.

  “He doesn’t see this as a betrayal,” she said. “None of you have been hurt. Not that we can verify, anyway,” she amended, wondering about Jordan. What would Hawk have done with Jordan?

  Or... The thought was as sudden as the first had been, but it, too, made sense. Was it possible Jordan could be in on all this as well?

  If he believed, as Griff and Jake now seemed to, that what had happened to him had been set up by the agency, if Hawk had convinced him of that, then maybe Jordan would be more than willing to go along with whatever Hawk had planned.

  “Hawk would never—” Griff began.

  She interrupted, her tone uncompromising. She didn’t understand it all, but some of this just made too much sense not to be true.

  ‘The CIA cut him off, destroyed him, without even the pension he was entitled to. Hawk’s smart enough to know there are a lot of ways to make money. Especially with the skills he’s acquired. Maybe he saw the contract some rival put out on Diaz as a way of bankrolling the retirement they’d forced on him. Or maybe he just figured somebody owes him something.”

  “You think Hawk is bitter enough about what Steiner did to pull something like this? Something that would put friends in danger? Something that would endanger a baby? And do all it for money?”

  Hearing the anger underlying the mockery in the deep voice she knew so well, Claire said nothing, but again she held Griff’s eyes, letting his questions hang unanswered between them. Giving him time to work out the answers for himself.

  “I asked you a question, Claire,” Griff demanded. “Are you suggesting Hawk set this up? That Hawk took Gardner?”

  Was she? she wondered. Could the man they called Hawk be angry enough to design this kind of elaborate hoax? It would almost be comforting to believe that. To believe that someone she knew had taken her baby.

  “I...I don’t know,” she admitted.

  “Look,” Griff said, moderating the fury that had been in his voice, maybe because of that faltering admission. “If Hawk had arranged all this, what would be the purpose? Even if he wanted money, even if someone was offering money for killing Diaz, Hawk could have done that by himself. That’s exactly the kind of job he did for the team. So what purpose could it serve to take Gardner?”

  “Because it involved you,” Claire said.

  Again Griff held her eyes a long time before he answered her. “Hawk’s the one who went to Baghdad,” he said.

  For Griff. To avenge his death. That was probably the strongest argument Griff could make against what she had just suggested. Out of all the members of his team, Hawk had been the one who had sought vengeance for his death.

  But maybe he didn’t realize that particular act didn’t argue against what she had suggested. If anything, it seemed to prove her case. Hawk was the kind of man who would never let something go. He would always be the one who would seek revenge.

  “You’re right,” she said. “He is the one. He put his life on the line for yours. And doing that cost him his career.”

  “So he’s angry at the agency for retiring him. Angry at Steiner for destroying his identity. For putting Tyler in danger. I agree, but I don’t see how any of that would lead you to the conclusion that he took Gardner to involve me in this.”

  “Think about how all of that started,” she said softly.

  It had started with Griff’s death. Which had not, of course, been a death at all. Only another forced retirement. The destruction of a member of a black ops team the CIA had decided no longer had a role in today’s world.

  “You think Hawk’s angry at me for letting the agency put out the story that I had been killed?” Griff asked incredulously. “You think he blames me for setting him off on that hunt?”

  “A hunt that eventually led to everything else that happened,” Claire said. “To his situation. Tyler’s danger. Even Jordan’s. If Hawk hadn’t gone to Baghdad to get revenge for your death, then the agency wouldn’t have made him a target. And none of those other things would ever have happened.”

  “So in revenge he kidnaps a baby?” Griff suggested, his voice sardonic, ridiculing the whole idea.

  “Your baby,” Claire corrected, and saw the impact of that in his eyes.

  She could imagine how difficult this would be for Griff to believe. But it had a twisted kind of logic if he would only think about it. A man like Hawk wouldn’t like being manipulated or lied to. It was obvious he felt the agency had done both. And that they had betrayed him after his years of service. Those feelings had been very clear during the meeting with Steiner—clear to her, at least.

  “How could Hawk know Gardner is mine?” Griff asked.

  “I can accept Hawk knowing Gardner is your child more easily than I can accept that some Mexican drug dealer knew it,” she said. “Besides, Hawk also knows exactly how this team works. They couldn’t. He could do this, Griff. Nobody else could.”

  There was another long silence. Which meant he was thinking about it, she supposed. He was at least considering what she had said. And the longer she’d talked, the more convinced she was that she was on the right track.

  “Why?” Griff asked again.

  “I don’t know. Not...exactly. Maybe to prove to Steiner that he was smarter than they gave him credit for? Or because you let their lie stand? You were his friend. Hawk was more than willing to put his neck in a noose for you in Baghdad. Willing to take the official flak for that hit. But then he found out somehow it was all a lie. One you’d gone along with.”

  She remembered how that felt—to realize Griff had let her believe he was dead. Hawk had denied that finding out the truth of that had affected him, but she hadn’t believed him. She couldn’t, because she knew how she had felt.

  Griff’s eyes, still fastened on her face, were very dark, almost empty. After all, she was asking him to believe the worst of a man he considered a friend. And she could be wrong, of course. At least wrong about Hawk trying to get revenge on Griff. But she knew she wasn’t wrong about the other. It made too much sense.

  “Maybe he did it to get back at the CIA. At Steiner,” she said, trying not to go too far. No further than she could really defend. “And at the same time he sets himself up very nicely financially.”

  “How does this get back at Steiner?” Griff asked. “Or at the agency?”

  “Because Hawk created a situation where he believed you’d be forced to kill someone. He thought you’d have no compunction about targeting Diaz because of what he was. Hawk wouldn’t have. He also knew you’
d call for help from the team. And he knew he’d be included in this mission.”

  That bond between the two of them had been obvious, even in the short time she’d been around them. And as Griff had reminded her, Hawk had been the one who had gone to Baghdad.

  “Then, when it’s done, when Diaz is dead, Hawk goes public. He takes this assassination, along with the history of the External Security Team, to the media. And this time, Griff, they’ll believe him. After all,” she added softly, “this time he has the film to prove what you did.”

  She could see it happening in his eyes. She watched the anger fade as his intellect began to push aside the emotional barriers that had prevented him from accepting how much sense this made. How much it explained. And despite the fact that he hadn’t told her about Diaz, she ached for his betrayal.

  “Griff,” she said softly, sorry that she had had to be the one to do this, but she wondered, given how he felt about Hawk, if Griff would ever have figured it out on his own. She had always imagined him to be so rational. Almost unemotional. But looking into his eyes now, she knew how wrong she had been.

  She put her hand on his arm. The feel of it must have broken the spell of horror her words—or rather his acceptance of them—had created. He turned his head away, no longer willing to look at her.

  She could see only his profile. She watched the muscle in his jaw slowly tighten, his gaze focused on the dark, empty doorway. After a moment, his lips compressed. Then, as if willing himself to move, he turned back to face her.

  “He wouldn’t hurt her,” he said.

  In the midst of dealing with this treachery, she realized, he was trying to reassure her about Gardner. She nodded, her throat tight. She had once believed Hawk and Jordan would be more than willing to help her find her daughter because she had helped them. And now, it seemed...

  The threat of tears bleared her vision. Fighting them, she focused on her fingers resting against Griff’s forearm. She didn’t really believe Hawk would hurt Gardner. Or allow her to be hurt. For all his hardness, Hawk had never struck her as cruel, and Griff knew him much better than she. But of course, this entire episode had been the ultimate cruelty. To take someone’s baby. No matter what your motives.

  Griff shifted his body, turning toward her. He lifted his hand to her cheek. His thumb moved under her chin, applying an upward pressure, and she obeyed it, raising her eyes to his.

  “I told you I’ll get her back,” he said.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “I will. I promise you, Claire. No matter what else is going on here, I will get Gardner back.”

  She nodded. Seeing the moisture in her eyes, Griff smiled at her. The smile was intended for reassurance, she supposed, but without thinking, she returned it. He ran his thumb across her lips, a small, intimate caress.

  She had invited his kiss on deck that night. Less than forty-eight hours ago, she realized, It seemed longer, because so much had happened in the meantime. She had wondered then if there were someone else in Griff’s life. And if so...

  His head began to lower. His dark eyes held hers a long moment, and then they closed. Even as she watched, his head tilted so that his mouth would fit over hers, a natural and familiar alignment And she wanted his mouth there. No matter what else was going on, she wanted Griff to touch her again. To kiss her. To keep the senseless terrors of the world they inhabited at bay. Only Griff had ever been strong enough to do that. For her. And for Gardner.

  Claire had always known that, but for some reason, she had fought against it, using intellectual arguments rather than acknowledging the truth of what he believed. That the world was evil. A terrifyingly dangerous place. And that there must be someone willing to stand against its depravity. She had just never wanted that someone to have to be Griff. She didn’t now.

  She closed her eyes, lifting her chin until she felt the warmth of his breath on her lips. Her mouth opened, welcoming the heat and movement of his tongue, which immediately pushed inside. Seeking. Demanding a response. And finding it.

  Whatever anger she had felt or whatever foolish arguments she had once made against the possibility of their being together disappeared. Any remaining trace of doubt about the rightness of this melted away in the promise of his kiss.

  She put her hands lightly on either side of his face, the rough, masculine texture of his skin familiar, branded on her senses and never forgotten. Never forgotten.

  With only the force of the kiss, mouth against mouth, he pushed her down onto the bunk. Once she was on her back, he placed his hands flat on the mattress, one on either side of her shoulders. She put her feet up on the bed, and he moved his right knee to the other side of hers.

  Then, bending his elbows, he lowered himself until he was lying on top of her. Her breasts crushed by the weight of his chest. His hips aligned on top of hers, the strength of his hard erection blatant. Exciting.

  She had tried to maintain contact with his lips, but their movements down onto the mattress had resulted instead in a series of touches and releases between their open mouths. When she felt his arousal pressing into her hips, she caught his bottom lip in her teeth, biting it teasingly.

  She heard his gasp of reaction, and then his tongue invaded, once more hard and demanding, almost punishing. Controlling. The same control that had once taught her so much about making love. Enough that when he was gone, she had dreamed of this. Of him. And she had awakened trembling with need and regret.

  He pushed his hips into hers again, rocking them against her pelvis. The movement was small, very deliberate. And so tantalizing, especially with the barrier of their clothing between them. The soft gasp of breath this time was hers.

  His right hand moved, sliding under her top. His palm was rough against her bare skin, more callused than she remembered. Its feel was incredibly masculine. As it slid over her stomach, the abrasiveness was also exciting, provoking a rush of desire, heat and moisture spreading like smoke, thick and rich, through her lower body.

  She wanted the roughness of his palms against her breasts. Imagined the sensation. Envisioned it. The softness of her breast enclosed in the masculine strength of his dark fingers.

  It had been too long since Griff had touched her. An endless loneliness. That had been at first through her own choice. And then because of the cold despair of his death. And finally, again, they had come to this.

  She eased her own hand under her shell, placing it over the back of his and urging it upward. He obeyed, cupping his fingers under the fullness of her breast.

  She had only recently stopped nursing Gardner. Neither of them had been ready for it, but because of the demands of resuming her profession, because of its long, uncertain hours, the process had become increasingly frustrating for them both.

  Her breasts were, therefore, much fuller than they had ever been before. Much more sensitive. A thousand nerve endings were demanding Griff’s attention. Aching with need.

  His lips had drifted away from her mouth to find her throat. They slid, opened, hot and wet, over the small pulse that had begun to race under the thin, delicate skin beneath her ear. Her fingers slipped into his hair, holding his head against her body as his mouth moved downward, trailing moisture against her neck. And then lower.

  The anticipation with which her aching, milk-filled breasts had once welcomed the touch of Gardner’s mouth surged through her belly. Perhaps there was something strange, Claire acknowledged, in the juxtaposition of those two images—Griff’s mouth and her daughter’s fastened over the nipple of her breast. Something she should push from her head. But she didn’t. She wanted to feel Griffs lips there as much as she had wanted Gardner’s. Both were natural. And right. Her right.

  Desire for the fulfillment of that right was so powerful she tried to tell him, but the sound she made was inarticulate. Husky with need, it originated too low in her throat to be verbal communication.

  It must have delivered its message, however, for Griff moved his hand, slipping it out fr
om under her top. It lifted, his thumb hooking around the straps of her shell and her bra to pull both off her shoulder. Then he reached into the scooped neckline of the garment and cupped the globe of her breast, lifting it free.

  She waited for the descent of his lips, her breathing ragged. Griff had gone very still. The hands that had been caressing her body were now unmoving.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes. His face was just above hers. His eyes were dark and hooded, screened by his lashes. She could see enough to know, however, that they were focused on her exposed breast. It was only with the intensity of his gaze that she realized why the seductive movement of his hand had stopped. He had known her body so well, and he was now becoming aware of all the changes that had occurred during the last fifteen months.

  Changes in her breasts. Not just in size, but in shape as well. In the subtly increased darkness of their nipples. And in the tracery of small, silvered lines. All the telltale evidence left by her pregnancy and by nursing his daughter.

  Griff had never seen any of those before. Because the last time they had made love, of course... The last time they had made love... Thought suspended, she waited, almost frightened by his stillness.

  His eyes lifted to hers. They seemed unfocused. Then they traveled over her face as if they had never really looked at her features before. Examined them one by one. And still she waited, wondering what he was thinking. What he was feeling.

  She knew there were other subtle differences in her body. Things he had not yet seen. Or felt. And now, suddenly, she was unsure of what she was doing. Of what they were doing together. Unsure for the first time that the sheer physical passion that had always, instantly, arced between them would be the same.

  His eyes moved down to her breast, and then, so slowly her throat went dry and her bones melted, he lowered his lips to the dark, slightly distended nipple. She watched his tongue touch it. Circle. Lave with such incredible deliberation that she held her breath. Waiting. Waiting. The heat and wetness between her legs building in anticipation.