Heart of a Hero
Page 40
“Put on your chador.”
“Must I?” she asked, risking his anger. Rather, Jarad’s anger, she reminded herself. Eric would understand.
“Yes, you must,” he answered curtly. “This is not Andorra and you are no longer a schoolgirl. There are rules and you agreed to them when we married.”
Then he sighed and dropped the curtain back in place, turning to her with outstretched hands. “I know things are changing. Perhaps I cling too fiercely to the old ways.” He pondered for a minute, rubbing his chin. “All right, you may leave it off, but only for today.”
“Thank you, husband,” Dawn murmured, wanting to smack him upside his head. “You are generous to a fault.”
She wasted no time getting dressed. Blue raw-silk slacks and a matching shirt looked smart and felt comfortable as well as cool. Instead of a scarf, she tucked her hair beneath a crushable straw hat of bright white that would shade her face. For good measure, she added dark sunglasses and the Beretta to a white crocheted sack purse and went to stand inspection.
“Very cosmopolitan,” he commented dryly. “At least you are modest.”
Together they went out into the bright afternoon. Dawn wanted to crow with delight. The air didn’t get much fresher than this, she thought.
With a spring in her step, she marched along beside Eric as he took her straight to a jeweler and purchased her a bracelet that would wipe out a year’s salary if she kept it.
“Image,” he whispered, as if he needed to remind her why her wrist was dripping with precious stones. Everything would be returned, of course. She knew that. Even the clothes, no matter what he said or what she wanted. She could not, in good conscience, keep those designer labels bought with government money, no matter how slushy the black op funds might be.
Dawn promptly forgot all of that as Eric drove her around the island in their rented vintage convertible. The two bodyguards rode in back, eyes forever scanning the streets, storefronts and roadsides.
There were people around, ostensibly tourists, who kept turning up at the same sites. They weren’t too numerous, but enough so that it was difficult for her to determine whether any of them were actually following to keep up with Eric’s little sightseeing expedition.
They climbed to the castle built by the fourteenth-century Knights of St. John as a defense against invaders. “It’s so huge! And so old,” she whispered. “Awe-inspiring.”
“At night they light it. Glows like something you would imagine in a fairy tale,” Eric told her. “Can you fathom the difficulty in constructing something like this here on such a small island over five hundred years ago? Think of the manpower and engineering it would have taken.”
They did not enter the church built within the castle. Though she truly wanted to see inside it, she did not ask. They were supposed to be of the Islamic faith, not Christian. To enter there would be forbidden. Later she would come back, Dawn promised herself.
Together they visited several of the inlets on the island with their picturesque villages of white houses trimmed in blue. Hand in hand, she and Eric strolled along the beaches barefoot while their well-armed shadows followed, ever vigilant for a threat of any kind.
When dusk came, they headed back toward the hotel, tired and hungry. Eric stopped at a small restaurant in a village that was inland, well back from the coast. “I’m famished,” he announced. He ushered her out of the car and into the humble structure. Clay and Ressam remained outside.
“We need to talk,” he told her when they were seated. “Here we won’t be overheard.”
“You’re sure?” she asked, looking around them. One old man wearing an apron scurried toward them. The only other customers sat well across the room out of earshot, a couple who were obviously enthralled with each other and had been for a while.
“Certain.” Eric greeted their server and ordered.
This was the first meal she had consumed in public since they had arrived four days ago. Already she had her favorites among the local dishes, thanks to room service.
“Tonight, something new,” Eric told her. “You must try the tzatziki.”
“Not snails, is it?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
“Yogurt and cucumber dip. With pickled octopus, of course.”
She grimaced again. “You said that with a straight face. You really eat that stuff?”
“You can’t live on salad alone. We’re having moussaka, too. You’ll like that.”
She recognized the eggplant-and-meat dish she had grown quite fond of. “Wish I could try the ouzo since I’ve heard so much about it.”
“No booze. Sorry. But I promise no more goat’s milk. I ordered tea.”
When his hand moved over hers, she didn’t pull away. At this point, she needed a human touch more than she needed food. He had not really touched her, except inadvertently, in a couple of days now.
If someone were watching them every minute at the hotel, wouldn’t they find that odd? She couldn’t ask him that, however. If she did, he might think she was suggesting they actually do something married people would do.
His fingers played with hers as their eyes met over the small table. “How are you holding up?”
“Going bonkers with the waiting. Will this show ever get on the road?”
“Soon. We’re leaving for Kos tomorrow.”
She sat up straight and gripped his hand. “You heard from him?”
Eric nodded. “He called this morning and left a message at the desk. The instructions were very precise. We’re to go on the Angeline.”
Dawn considered that. “So you were right. Our sail was a test.”
“I think we’ve passed on all counts. The invitation indicates that. Or else he has us pegged and intends to kill us. You ready to rock and roll?” He grinned and wriggled his eyebrows, letting her see the old Eric behind the usually stern, brown-eyed mask of Jarad Al-Dayal. The sight was disconcerting, to say the least. It also proved to be comforting.
Dawn ate with relish when the meal arrived, fueling up for the action. Adrenaline would probably keep her from sleeping a wink tonight.
Clay was gone when they exited the restaurant. Dawn didn’t ask where he was and Ressam didn’t say. He never said anything. Eric did not appear to be concerned. The ride back to their hotel was short and uneventful.
When they reached their floor and got off the elevator, Clay was waiting. He spoke with Eric for a minute, his voice so low she couldn’t hear a thing he said. Then he accompanied Ressam down the hallway, leaving her and Eric alone to enter the suite.
“You have what you wanted. Go to bed now,” he ordered, fully into Jarad mode. However, when she obeyed without question, he soon followed her into her bedroom and shut the door.
Dawn looked the question she wanted to ask, but didn’t speak. “We can talk freely in here,” he told her. “Clay swept the rooms. There are no cameras, except outside by the elevator to keep tabs on everyone’s comings and goings. He left two mikes working in the sitting lounge and my room and deactivated the one in here. I thought you might rest better and you will need a good night’s sleep.”
“Won’t whoever is listening in suspect something’s up?”
Eric made himself at home by flopping down on her bed, his head resting on his hands. “If Clay had done this to begin with, they probably would. Now they’ll think it’s an equipment malfunction since it’s only the one mike he tampered with. He’s very good at what he does.”
Dawn sat down on the edge of the bed and kicked off her sandals. “It was a lovely afternoon and evening. Thank you for that.” His smile drew her like a warm caress.
No sooner had she thought that than he reached out and touched her arm, his palm and fingers hot against her skin. “You needed it. You were wound tight as a top string.”
This was only her third mission in the field and on the other two, her life was never at risk. She had barely gotten started in fieldwork. Dawn felt justified in being a little nervous about it.
“For someone inexperienced?”
“For anyone. You’re a good actress. You won’t slip up. I know it. Your record with NSA is excellent.”
“That’s hardly fair. They should have let me read yours.”
He rolled over on his side so that his stomach rested lightly against her lower back and propped his head on one hand. She felt the hand that had caressed her arm come to rest between her shoulder blades, rubbing lightly. “This is not a come-on, by the way,” he said seriously.
She turned a little and faced him, feeling bold as she looked into his eyes. “Why not?”
His smile was wry and a little regretful. “I think you know why not.”
Dawn felt such an affinity for this man. Such a connection. And such an overpowering need to get closer. She figured that this tension between them was as wicked a distraction as anything. Relieving it could only help, she rationalized. Once they put out the fire, maybe she could think straight. On impulse, she leaned down and met his lips with hers, then drew back to look at him again. “That was a come-on, by the way.”
“I know,” he whispered, still stroking her back. “This is a distraction we can’t afford, Dawn,” he warned, but his expression displayed another message entirely.
“I can,” she told him, feeling bold and incredibly turned on. Oddly enough, she felt she could say anything, no matter how outrageous, to him. Caution flew right out the window, just like that.
Chapter 7
Eric stifled a groan of frustration. The point was to do the right thing here. The thing he had intended when he had instructed Clay to find any listening or surveillance devices in the room. If he’d had any sense, he would have begun doing that the moment he closed the door instead of taking a while to get her comfortable and reassure her.
She wanted him. God knows he wanted her more every second he spent with her and that wasn’t going away, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. But Dawn didn’t really know him, couldn’t even guess what he was capable of. But she needed to.
She only saw the chameleon. That had sparked some interest, maybe. Could be that she saw him as a sort of mentor, too. He had been doing undercover work for quite a while now. This was not only Dawn’s first mission outside the scope of her regular security duties, but also her first international assignment. That made her dependent on his expertise.
The real truth about him would probably scare her or at least put her off. He doubted she would believe him at first, but he could convince her. She deserved to know the truth before they went into the final phase of this mission. It could save her life, or his. And she certainly should know what she was up against on a personal front. That was only fair.
Resolved, Eric sat up and took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “There’s something I have to tell you, Dawn.”
She blinked and looked away. “I knew it. You’re already involved. Or married?”
“No way, not even close. I would have told you that in the beginning.” He took a deep breath and went for it. “You have to know what I’m about to tell you because it’s who I am. If you don’t know it, then you don’t know me.”
“So let’s have it. What are you?” she asked, tracing his chin with her finger. “A vampire or something?”
He shook his head. “I’m able to see certain things normal people can’t.”
One corner of her lips rose in a very wry half smile. “Oh, fascinating. You see dead people? Find missing objects? What?”
Eric released her and pushed himself back against the headboard, crossing his arms over his chest. “Both, if conditions are right. I’m a telepath and a clairvoyant.”
She rolled her eyes and laughed. “This is absolutely the worst line I have ever heard for sidestepping an unwanted advance. Stop it.”
“This has nothing to do with sidestepping anything. I’m telling you that I’m a psychic, Dawn.”
Tongue in cheek, she regarded him closely. “All right, Kreskin. Then tell me what I’m thinking right now.”
“You’d like to strangle me with my own tie?”
“You aren’t wearing a tie,” she reminded him, leaning back on her arms, kicking one foot idly, or maybe nervously, against the bottom edge of the bed. “But that would be a natural reaction to a man explaining to me why he’s unavailable, wouldn’t you say? Especially when the reason he gives is so weird. No special skills needed to figure that out.”
Again he sighed, and nodded. “Yeah, I guess it would be. See, what I would like to do with you is not possible, at least not right now.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Try not ever. This is so lame it’s funny. All you had to say was no. I’m not so dense that I need some fairy tale excuse for a turndown.”
“If I’m freaking you out with this, I’m sorry, but it is true.”
Her lips firmed, then relaxed as she spoke and cast him a sidewise look. “Speaking of mental vibes, you’ve been sending me signals since the minute I first met you, Eric. All those little touches, looks that could scorch, kissing me back the way you did. Tell me I read all that wrong.”
“You didn’t.” He ignored her rising anger and continued explaining. “I want you, Dawn, make no mistake about that. But if you and I get too into each other, it could really interfere with my perceptions of other people, like Quince.”
She got up and walked over to the bathroom, turning, with one hand on the door frame. “Tell you what, just in case your wavelengths are not fully operational at the moment. You go to your room and mind-meld with anybody you damn well please while I take a shower. Then I’m going to sleep and forget you exist, okay?”
“Wait, Dawn. This has to do with our mission, too. You need to let me finish.”
“You are finished. Seems like you would have divined that already since you claim to be so perceptive.”
“It’s why I’m in Sextant,” he added anyway. “All of us have some form of special powers, even if it’s just lucky hunches that always play out. My particular aptitude exceeds that. I—”
“So go bend a spoon!” she snapped, then whisked into the bathroom and slammed the door.
Eric stared at the barrier between them and exhaled the breath he’d caught and held at the exceptional sight of Dawn in full-blown fury.
“That went well,” he muttered to himself and got up off her bed where he had no business being in the first place.
An hour later in his own room, he closed his laptop. The coded message he had sent Mercier and the answer to it had done nothing to further the mission.
Quince remained a mystery. No one knew where he was. No objects were available that he might have touched that could conduct the necessary energy for Eric to locate him. Until they actually met, Eric had no way to get inside the man’s mind and determine the extent of his plans.
He realized he could think of no way to prove to Dawn that he had the capability to do that. Eric had never been able to read her at all unless what she was feeling appeared on that lovely face of hers for anyone to see. Maybe he could fake it that way.
Somehow, he needed to get past Dawn’s defenses and make her believe him. The more he thought about what had happened between them, the worse he felt.
Hell truly had no fury like a woman scorned, and that was what Dawn felt he had done, scorned her. However, if he had made love to her the way they both wanted and she found out what he was like later, she would probably hate him. And as he had told her, there was a distinct possibility that it might skew any readings he got from anyone else if his mind was preoccupied with her.
It bothered him that he’d had no luck reading the concierge or the captain of the Angeline. Clay was usually a snap. Ressam was sometimes a little difficult, but not impossible. Eric hadn’t fully tested his ability on them, not since he had met Dawn. Suppose it didn’t work? What would he do when he needed to read Quince or others who were critic
al to the mission’s success?
What if his only hope of getting his powers back was to break down Dawn’s defenses? Could he make himself do that? Was he even able to? If he did, how could they hope to have anything approaching a normal relationship? He would have too much of an advantage and she’d soon come to resent that, not to mention how she’d hate the invasion of privacy it involved.
However, her safety, maybe even her survival, might depend on their being able to communicate, and he couldn’t ignore that. Tomorrow was D-day and he suspected he had left giving her this information until it was too late. They would not be able to deviate from their new personas once she came out of her bedroom tomorrow morning. If he was to have any success in letting her know how he intended to work this op and what his real mission was, it had to be tonight.
He tugged on his robe and headed back to her bedroom. The door was locked, but he had expected that. He slipped the credit card he’d tucked in his pocket between the door and frame and entered. The lights were off, the curtains drawn, the room black as pitch.
“Dawn?” he said softly.
“Good way to get yourself shot,” she replied out loud as she punched the light switch, nearly blinding him.
Eric blinked and turned. She stood behind him, weapon in hand, wearing the slinky little slip thing he had ordered for her travel wardrobe. It was teal, setting off her fake tan and dark hair to perfection. In his mind, he pictured how much better it would complement her fairer complexion and red hair once she could abandon her disguise. But the pistol she held intruded on that thought. He could be entertaining a bullet if she hadn’t hesitated.
“Get out,” she advised him. Her tone sounded soft, but deadly. “Now, Vinland.”
“Unless you plan to shoot, put that thing away. I have to talk to you, and this is no time for either of us to let personal feelings intrude. That’s an order.”
She lowered the gun and shrugged. “Official and offensive. Try to stay that way.”
“Sit down and listen to me, Dawn,” he demanded.
“Make sense and I will,” she replied, in full command of her emotions, by the look of her.