by Incy Black
Maybe it was the urgency behind Nick’s tone, or maybe, the fact he’d leaned in close enough for the heat of his breath to sear the sensitive skin just below her ear, but it took more effort than she could ever have imagined to peel her eyelids open.
The sonographer wore a strained frown and eased back the wand pressing against her abdomen. “You need to relax if you want an accurate reading as to the gender.”
“Sorry, I…” It seemed easier to attempt a weak laugh, and she cringed at the strangled sound.
When a tear escaped, she tried to brush it away, then frowned. Nick had her hand, his fingers tightly entangled with hers, his thumb drawing comforting little circles against her skin. She was too shocked to raise a smile. He knew how to protect and defend, but offering solace wasn’t exactly his forte.
Soundless tears flowed more freely as she tried to compute what the sonographer was telling her. The roaring in her ears was too loud, so she concentrated on the woman’s mouth, trying to lip-read.
“Do you two want a moment on your own?” the woman asked, wiping the gel from Anna’s belly with smooth, efficient strokes. “It’s not unusual for women to find this experience overwhelming, and you, too, look a little stunned, sir, if I may say so. I’ll give you both a little space. I’ll be back shortly. Can I say how delighted I am for you both?”
“God, I hope those are tears of joy, Anna. You’re the one who wanted this.”
She laughed, great painful gulps. “Of course I’m thrilled. Just a little overawed. Suddenly it’s all so real. This is what I wanted. What I’ve always wanted. A family and now I’m finally going to have one.”
She tightened her fingers round his. “What if I mess up, Nick? I haven’t exactly got the best track record when it comes to being sensible. I’m every one of those things you accused me of—reckless, flippant, impetuous—what if—”
“Listen up closely, sweetheart, because you might find this hard to believe. But if you’d accidentally burned down half of London, I wouldn’t have given a damn. Knowing you loved me was enough to cancel out all the trouble you found. And your daughter will feel the same. Love her, Anna, as only you know how, and she’ll reward you with forgiveness every time. I promise.”
It didn’t matter that his words made little sense. Daughter? Why the hell hadn’t she reacted sooner? Sick at herself, she wrestled free of the high bed and lunged for him.
“Nick, I need you to help hide the fact my baby’s a girl. It’s imperative everyone believe I’m having a boy.” At his puzzled look, she grabbed his shoulders and tried to steer him toward the door. “I’ll explain later, but you have to stop the stenographer recording the truth.” She shoved again. “Please. I’ll do anything you ask, tell you everything you want to know, just stop her. Right now.”
“Jesus, Anna, even I can’t just—”
“Please, Nick,” she whispered, because that’s all her vocal cords could manage. “I don’t want my baby to die. I don’t want to die.”
Without a word, he spun on his heel and bolted from the darkened room.
With her heart threatening to escape her chest, she tugged at her clothes to straighten them, then waited, her spine rigid.
She refused to check her watch, better that time hung suspended—like her breathing. She’d handed control over to Nick. Now, she had to live with it. Not easy when he’d given no clue as to what he intended to do.
When, finally, he returned, his face was an implacable mask.
Oh, God. If she held her breath any tighter, her chest would flatten completely.
“We’re leaving. Get your things.”
Oh, double God, even his voice was lifeless. “But what about—?”
He sliced the air in front of him with a long forefinger as if determined to rip the very membrane of life itself. Apparently, he didn’t want to talk.
She swallowed her protest. She’d relinquished control. She had to trust him to do what was best.
And she’d never felt more vulnerable in her life.
He accompanied her back out to the waiting car, calling shotgun over one of the guards. He, clearly, couldn’t bring himself to sit anywhere near her. By the time the vehicle pulled into the courtyard separating her home from her office, her nerves were replicating violent lightning storms, and she tripped scrambling free of the oppressive atmosphere of the car.
Nick steadied her with a firm grip on her elbow, his only comment to thank God the contractors had finally installed her replacement staircase. She shared his relief. She’d never have made it up the ladder. Her knees were shaking so hard, it was a bloody miracle she could place one foot in front of the other in some pretense of a walk.
And instinct warned her, he wasn’t done with her yet. Far from it.
…
Nick continued to pace her sitting room, the sound of his steps alternating between abruptly clipped against the wood of the floorboards, and soft and muffled as he crossed one of her many Persian rugs. He shot a hooded glance at Anna. She’d folded deep in the sofa, her knees hauled high and to her chin, her eyes on him, fiercely alert. He didn’t want to admire her gutsy stoicism, but couldn’t help it. He’d broken men far tougher than her with his trademark silence, yet she refused to fold.
He gave her another three minutes of the silent treatment then started in, razors slashing. “Start at the top, Anna, leave nothing out. I want a complete run-through of the events that—goddammit—led to my threatening an innocent woman so she’d lie on official clinic paperwork about the true gender of your baby.”
He ignored the twist to his gut at the complete lack of defiance in her eyes. Damn, he had wanted her cooperation, not surrender. It scared him half to death
“So what now, Nick?” she asked when she’d finished her third recounting of the mess she’d gotten into.
He stopped pacing, turned and glared at her, beyond livid. How could any one woman get herself into such impossible danger? And then, make things worse by trying to face down the terrifying choices alone? Niva Antila? The father of Anna’s baby? Christ, the very thought of it turned his stomach. And then to try and hide the death threats he made against her should she be carrying a daughter?
His incessant pacing had unsettled her, wound her so tight he feared she might snap. Damn it, he could see her trembling from fifteen feet away. Everything he normally wanted from a witness during interrogation, but not from her. He’d forced himself to stand still, plunged his fists deep in his pockets, and turned his back on her. “Go and rest, Anna. I need time to think. Every fucking escape hatch I open leads to another trap.”
“But…um…but…what about the sonographer?”
“She’s dealt with. I just hope I can deal with the rest of this disaster as effectively. But I’ve got to tell you, Anna, right now, I’m not sure where to bloody start.”
“If you see no alternative but to get the Service involved, I won’t object. I won’t like it because they’ll use my connection with Antila to lever an advantage for themselves but—”
He swung round to face her, violently enough for the heel on his boot to leave a dark skid mark against the high polish of the floorboard beneath his foot. “Anna, you have something a hell of a lot stronger than a simple connection with that bastard. You’re carrying his child, for God’s sake.”
“Yes, his daughter, who he doesn’t want. He needed a son.”
“Why?”
She shrank back at the ferocity of his bark. “I don’t know. Who cares? He said all bets would be off if I had a girl, strongly implying that he’d kill us both. Maybe if I spoke to him…”
“Except you’ve forgotten someone else besides Antila wants you dead. Just count the number of attempts on your life, if you need a reminder. And I have to try to buy us sufficient time to work out who the hell else is involved.”
“Us? You and me?”
His chest tightened at the sudden flare of hope in her voice and the fact that he’d have to crush it. “Fuck, no! Me and Fortres
s. I’ll have to bring them back on board. Until I’ve had time to think things through, I don’t want the Service involved. They’d separate us faster than you can draw breath. You’d be taken into protective custody, and I’d be barred—locked up most likely because that’s what it would take—from having any further connection with the case.”
She’d already been pale, but at the mention of them being separated, what little color remained in her face drained completely. Just like when those bastard social workers had tried to scare her into line by threatening to put them in separate foster homes. “Don’t worry. I won’t let the Service do it. It’s one thing for you and I to choose to walk away from each other, quite another for anyone to try and forcibly keep us apart.” And he meant it. No matter that the Service had become his life, he’d quit and go rogue on their asses if they or anyone else dared try and stop him protecting Anna. “Now go call Antila, Anna. Tell him you’ve had a scan.”
“He probably already knows. He knows everything,” she pointed out flatly.
“He won’t know about you having a daughter. I got to the sonographer before she recorded that little detail, and before you ask, the woman’s safe. She was due a holiday, already had one booked. Only her destination has changed. And she’ll be traveling under a different name. That much, I’ve got in hand. So, call him. It’s what he’ll be expecting, and the last thing we want to do is disappoint him.”
He couldn’t keep his eyes off her while she spoke with the father of her baby. Her deadpan tone, her complete absence of thrill, a jagged blade exfoliating his skin. This baby meant everything to her. Why else would she have gone to the lengths she had to conceive? She must have been so damned excited when she found out she was pregnant. God, he wished he’d been there. She’d been looking for an anchor all her life, and after a few false starts—marriage to him included—she’d finally found one. Only to face the danger of having it all snatched away.
Over his dead body! Anna wanted a family, probably more than she wanted life itself. And he was ready kill—or die trying—to ensure her dream came true.
“What did he say?” he asked as she set her phone aside, her fingernails tapping nervously across the surface of its screen.
“That he’d never doubted me for a second. Smug bastard. I hope he rots in hell.”
He ducked as she threw the phone hard at the wall behind him, knowing that, for once, he wasn’t the intended target. He ordered his feet to stay planted where they were. If he crossed to her now, took her in his arms, he’d find himself promising he’d make everything all right. And then, despite his best intentions, he’d break her heart again.
He looked up from the shattered electronics lying dead beside his boot. “You told him there’d been no further attempts on your life. Did he say anything about having neutralized the threat?”
She shook her head. “Other than to reassure me I was safe, and say he was in control, no.”
Arms folded across her midriff, she crossed in front of him to stand and stare out the bank of windows overlooking the courtyard below. She raised a hand and placed her palm flat against one of the glass panes. “I loathe feeling so trapped, Nick. It’s impossible to breathe. Like when we were kids and they used to lock me down for time-out, because I’d broken some stupid rule or another.”
Maybe it was the sudden unnatural silence, the inexplicable vacuum that always seemed to precede impending disaster, but the hairs on the back of his neck pricked, his instincts roared. “Anna, get away from the window. Now!”
She turned, her eyes wide with shock. He threw himself across the divide separating them and lunged for her, his arms fastening around her to minimize the impact as she hit the floor.
He rolled her tight against the low wall supporting the knee-to-ceiling windows. The blast hit, splinters of glass scythed above their heads.
Dear Christ, a one-second delay, and Anna would have been cut to ribbons.
He twisted his head as two agents burst through the front door, crouching, weapons drawn. He yelled at them to stand down, that he had Anna safe. His voice sounded distant through the ringing in his ears
The acrid stench of burning rubber drifted in through the shattered panes fouling the air. He looked down. Anna’s eyes were already red from the smoke. A quick glance through the decimated window frame confirmed the car in which they had traveled back from the clinic, was totaled.
“This isn’t Antila, Nick. It can’t be.”
“I know,” he said tightening his grip on her, “and that’s what scares me. He wants you alive, Anna, but not half as much as someone else wants you dead. Come on, I’ve got to get you out of here.”
Her fingers curled into his shirt and held him fast. “What about my staff? I need to know they’re unhurt,” she said desperately.
“There are no windows on that side of the building; they should have been fine.” He ordered one of the guards to go check, though frankly, he didn’t give a damn. Anna alive was enough for him.
The distant wail of sirens grew louder. One look at her colorless face, and he knew she wouldn’t stand up to further questioning, and questions would be fired thick and fast. He had to get her out of here; hell, he had to get out of here. Bombs going off in London would put the Service dead center of the investigation.
Anna had issues about involving the Service. So did he. But, whereas she was concerned they’d use her and the baby for bait—he’d kick ass if they tried—he was more concerned about in-house security. Though it had been his job to plug the leaks that had at one time threatened to sink the Service, he couldn’t be sure he’d got them all. What if Antila discovered she was having a girl? What if her location was revealed? Fuck, what if one of the agents assigned to protect her got close enough to do Antila’s dirty work for him?
All of which meant he had little choice but to go absent without leave. AWOL. Something for which the Commander was certain to tear him a new one. Like right now he gave a fuck.
He hoisted Anna to her feet as gently as he could and frowned when his arms refused to release her.
“Where’s Will Berwick?” he demanded of the agent who had remained behind to guard them. “He hasn’t been around for a couple of days. And put your goddamn gun away. She’s scared enough as it is.”
“Will’s on compulsory time-out. He’s gone up to his house in North Wales. I guess you’ll want these.” The man tossed him some keys. On reflex, his hand shot out to grip them. One arm still tight around Anna, he moved her forward fast, thanking God she wasn’t putting up any resistance.
Will Berwick was a Service man through and through. But he was a friend first. And right now, with danger coming at Anna from two fronts, one unknown, and him about to walk into a shit storm on the work front, he needed all the advice he could get. Fast.
Chapter Eleven
Even when they finally hit the straight length of the M40, Anna dared not twist her neck to glance out the rear window. Frankly, she didn’t care if they’d picked up a tail. Not the way nausea was rising and retreating like a swollen sea in her stomach. Motion sickness, how lucky could a girl get? She blamed Nick’s choice of a hideously circuitous route out of London.
A half hour passed, and she shifted the blame to the Land Rover. A solid, utilitarian model apparently not built for speed. Not the way it juddered, threatening to dislocate her bones, under Nick’s too-heavy boot on the accelerator.
Surreptitiously, she cracked the window. Five minutes later, she wound it fully down and sucked gratefully on the fresh air rushing past so fast she didn’t even have to inhale for it to inflate her lungs.
“You okay?”
She had difficulty moving her lips. “For now, but you’re going to have to pull in at the Service rest stop ahead. Motion sickness I can cope with. A burst bladder? Not so much.”
His long fingers wrapped around her wrist, Nick kept her close to his shoulder as they entered the rest-stop complex. He stopped her when she went to enter the narrow, tiled corri
dor signed Women and steered her toward a heavy single door marked Baby Change.
“I can’t accompany you in there without attracting attention,” he explained with a nod back to the mouth of the corridor, “but here I can stay close and stand guard.”
She smiled weakly and pushing into the facility, relieved to find the room large, the walls thick, and the door heavy and solid. She didn’t want Nick eavesdropping on the telephone call she was about to make. He’d freak out.
She slid the door lock home, crossed to the far corner of the room, and dug her cell phone free from her pocket. Then, she hit speed dial.
She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or alarmed when her call dumped to voice mail. She left a message. A warning. “Antila, I don’t rate your security worth a shit. You swore you could protect me from whomever it is who is trying to kill me. Massive fail on your part, given the bomb that damn near killed me a few hours ago. So I’m resetting terms, and, by God, you better listen up, because if you don’t, you can kiss good-bye to your anonymity. And to ever meeting your son.”
She stated her terms succinctly. Clear enough for a cabbage to understand. She disconnected the call, her fingers trembling. Christ, she hoped she hadn’t pushed Antila too far. She availed herself of the facilities before rejoining Nick. Whose edgy scowl suggested he’d been seconds away from kicking down the door.
His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Heat hit her cheeks. Ducking his stare, she stepped forward and patted him on the chest. “Stand down, Agent Pissed, I’ve dealt with the army of ninjas hiding out in the mothers’ restroom, so we can go shop now. I have a craving for grapes…and ketchup.”
Her teasing might have been false, but her craving was all too real.
…
Will was waiting for them when they finally drew to a halt in front of his isolated farmhouse. He didn’t smile. His arms were crossed. He seemed oblivious to the rain plastering his hair to his skull.
“Great,” Nick muttered sourly. “He looks about as pissed off as I feel.” His mood wasn’t improved by the alacrity with which Will moved to help Anna from the vehicle. Wrapping a protective arm round her—and ignoring him—Will shepherded Anna into his home without a backward glance.