by Stacy Gail
And damn it, it was all Gideon’s fault.
She scowled, stepping into an elevator and punching the third-floor button. Before yesterday, when he’d had the gall to pull the rug out from under her by flipping her, then telling her she was nowhere near good enough to look after his dad, she’d been full of swagger. A veritable world-beater ready to take on anyone who crossed her path.
Now she couldn’t even tie her shoes.
Sara jetted out of the elevator before the doors were fully open, the need to move an edgy, prowling hunger that crackled over her nerve endings like fire. If she tried to be objective about it, she supposed she could understand some of Gideon’s misgivings. What did he know about her, really? Nothing, except that she was the daughter of some guy who ran a private security agency. He probably thought she was there purely on the strength of nepotism. He didn’t know her true capabilities. Hell, he didn’t even know who she really was. All he knew was that she was light on her feet when she danced, was ticklish around the ears when he tasted her with his tongue, and had no problem with dropping her panties when the mood hit.
Not exactly the kind of knowledge to inspire confidence when it came to protecting the lives of loved ones.
“If you’ve got a problem, KJ, it’s going to have to wait.” Sara launched the preemptive strike when her assistant made a laser-locked beeline for her, tablet in hand and glasses perched on her head. Kelly Jean “KJ” Sims had been her best friend throughout high school and college, and Sara could read her more effectively than if they’d done a Vulcan mind-meld. “My morning is packed, which you should know. You’re the evil being who did it to me.”
“Suck it up, buttercup, this is life at its finest.” Unsympathetic and working her fingers over the tablet’s touch screen, KJ was the type of woman who gave off the air of possessing the organizational skills needed to single-handedly orchestrate the beach landing at Normandy while brewing a pot of tea. “I know you’re on your way to the Mandeville team meeting—”
“Did everyone confirm they received the overview and security parameters for this mission?”
“Yes, though Macbeth says he might have a bit of a scheduling conflict and probably won’t be able to get the information you’ve requested on the organ donor company that handled the particulars of Noah Mandeville’s heart transplant.”
“A scheduling conflict? How in the world can a hacker have a scheduling conflict?”
“You know Macbeth doesn’t like that term. He prefers IT security troubleshooter.”
“I don’t care if he calls himself King of Teh Interwebz. How can he have a scheduling conflict? And for that matter, why didn’t he tell me that right away?”
“Because he’s terrified of you in a sexually submissive, hurt-me, don’t-hurt-me kind of way, so he had me tell you.” KJ had to skip every other step to keep up with Sara as she turned and headed for the executive wing. “As for the conflict, he mentioned something about doing luxury cruise line research for your father and he wasn’t sure how much time it was going to take.”
“Bribe Macbeth with the promise of a family-sized bag of super-crunchy CheeZee Puffs and a triple-shot venti caramel macchiato. He’ll jump through any flaming hoops for orange fingers and a caffeine buzz.”
“Sounds like you when it comes to chocolate.”
“Don’t say that word in front of a woman who hasn’t had breakfast yet. I’d kill for a gooey chocolate-glazed donut right about now.”
“I restocked your secret stash of candy bars, so feel free to go to town on that.”
Sara almost wept. “I love you more than sugar, KJ. Anything else?”
“You have a visitor waiting in your office that could potentially screw up your carefully balanced schedule.”
“Who is it?” Maybe she could dodge them by heading straight to the Mandeville team meeting.
“Gideon Mandeville.”
Sara’s fast pace halted so violently it was as though she’d face-planted into an invisible brick wall. KJ, motoring along at her side, almost fell over before she caught herself and shot Sara a look of alarm.
“Sara? Are you okay?”
“Um.” The sudden and thoroughly inexplicable acrobatics of her heart stunned her. Apparently just the sound of his name was enough to make her pulse do its best impression of a gymnast on crack. “Gideon. Mandeville?” Like she knew several dozen Gideons.
“Yes.”
“And he’s in my office?”
“Right.”
“Did he say what he wanted?”
KJ looked at her as though she feared Sara might spontaneously combust. Which, all things considered, could still be a distinct possibility. “I assumed he was here to have a consult on your latest assignment. Shall I tell him you’re unavailable?”
Oh, how she’d love to do that. “It wouldn’t matter. He’d wait around all day, if that’s what it took. Or kick in doors until he found what he wanted.”
“Which would be you.”
Her heart did another Olympic-level tumbling run. Obviously that kind of reaction was ridiculous, and it infuriated her no end. Gideon couldn’t have made it any plainer yesterday that their time a year ago wasn’t worth mentioning, whereas she was clearly a jackass to have built up a whole violins-and-flowers fantasy around it by clutching the memory to her heart like it was some precious treasure.
God, she hated making a fool of herself.
“Do me a favor, KJ. Let the Mandeville team know an unexpected meeting with the client has popped up, and I’ll get there when I can. Oh, and please don’t forget Macbeth’s CheeZee Puffs. We need him on board for this.”
“CheeZee Puffs. Got it.”
She could do this, Sara thought, grim-faced even as her feet carried her much too quickly to her office for her liking. It was just a brief sit-down with a client, something she’d done a thousand times before. Though of course, none of those clients had ever gotten her to wrap her legs around their waist or pumped into her so hard the gardening tools hanging on the wall had fallen off. But none of that mattered. Or at least, it didn’t matter to Gideon. The best thing she could do now was follow his lead and pretend like it didn’t matter to her. That was probably how one-night stands—or whatever it was they’d shared—worked. She was just so socially inept she hadn’t known their intimacy hadn’t been a life-altering occurrence. It had only felt that way.
That’s why it’s best to feel nothing. Don’t forget that.
With a fortifying breath, Sara put on her best poker face and pushed through KJ’s outer office and barreled into her own with a full head of steam. Ordinarily she enjoyed the earth tones of her personal space; the walls were a muted burnt sienna that played well with the golden-flecked granite tile flooring, coupled with the post-modern touches of brown leather and chrome sling-back chairs, chrome floor lamps and a glass-topped desk that held every electronic device known to man and a cheery pot of lucky bamboo to soften things up. But enjoyment was the last thing that greeted her when she zeroed in on Gideon, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Dallas with an expression that made her wish he was there to see anyone but her.
“Let’s make this quick,” she announced without preamble, heading over to the desk and gesturing an invitation toward the chairs on the opposite side of it. “I have a meeting waiting for me, along with about a fifty other things that need to get done before noon. And in future, I’d appreciate it if you would call and make an appointment the next time you want a face-to-face.”
“An appointment? For me?” Refusing to even look at the chairs she’d indicated, Gideon kept his distance and stayed by the windows, his expression so remote he looked as unapproachable as the moon. “Do you insist all your lovers do that, or is it just me?”
She hoped her swift intake of breath was something only she heard. “You’ve made it apparent we don’t have that kind of relationship and after yesterday, I’m forced to agree with you. You’re not my lover, or boyfriend, or even acqua
intance. We’re strangers, and I have no problem keeping it that way.”
“Except for the small fact that strangers don’t usually have mind-blowing sex up against the garage wall, do they?”
Her fingers curled into her palms, and she wondered if her face looked as neon-red as it felt. “And here I was, thinking you’d forgotten about that.”
“Something that hot is hard to forget.”
She angled her chin as she fought the irrational relief he’d found it just as blistering as she had. “Does that encounter have anything to do with why you’re so against my being your father’s bodyguard?”
“Why would it?”
“There could be a number of reasons.” Meticulous as ever, Sara ticked the points off on her fingers. “There’s the theory that some men lose all respect for the women they bed—they’re easy, so they must be weak. Then there’s the knuckle-dragger theory, where an unenlightened part of you gets charged up with testosterone and feels that the woman shouldn’t play the role of protector. And of course there’s the final theory—that you care about my wellbeing and are worried I might get hurt.”
He greeted that with a silence that dragged its way from awkward to stifling before a humorless laugh escaped him.
“You don’t really believe that last one, do you?”
Only years of training kept Sara from showing the unexpected shock of pain that sliced through her but damn, his words cut like daggers. So much so it took all her strength not to look down to see if she was bleeding. “I don’t know what to believe, since I don’t know you.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”
“I repeat, Gideon—we’re strangers.” And that was the bottom line, she decided with a dangerous ferocity that heated her from within. The one and only time she’d been stupid enough to lower her guard to let someone close, and it had to be this bastard. Obviously she was being punished for that unforgivably weak lapse now, but by God if he kept pushing her, he would be the one to regret it.
Her temper inched up, and a rush of heat steamed up from her collar.
Oh, no.
Come on, Sara, feel nothing. Feel nothing.
“I suppose our quickie didn’t really mean anything, at that. Just some good old-fashioned, stand-up fucking between strangers before I deployed.” He nodded as if he had no clue his crude description wasn’t an offense worthy of her taking the nearest sharp implement to his man-package. “But as fun as it is reminiscing, that isn’t the reason I’m here.”
She could barely unclench her jaw enough to speak. “Then what is it you do want?”
“I don’t want you as my father’s bodyguard, because you’re right. When it comes to respecting your strengths and abilities, I’ve got a few problems with that. I’m here to give you the opportunity to back out gracefully now.”
Something deadly inside her quivered on a razor’s edge. Heat swarmed over her flesh. “Or?”
Feel nothing...
“There is no or about it. Though I have to wonder...what was it that you did for my father when you were alone all that time during his convalescence to make him so insistent that you should be the only one at his side at a time like this?”
“I won’t be the only one. I’ve already assembled a full team to provide around-the-clock, multi-layered protection for him.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.” Gideon’s face was as cold and lifeless as any mask as he stared at her from across the room, and for the strangest moment she thought she caught a flicker of pain in his otherwise lifeless eyes. “I asked what you...did...for him when you two were alone together.”
Confusion marred her brow another moment before the crude insinuation finally dawned on her. Fury, and a far deeper hurt she couldn’t put a label on twisted like a killing storm in the center of her chest. “I sat with him. I sat with him so you wouldn’t worry about him being alone as he fought to stay alive.”
“And now he thinks he can’t live without you. That must be some kind of bedside manner you’ve got.”
“Get. Out.” The fury was so great, so massive, she couldn’t breathe properly. It was almost alive, this vast and immeasurable rage, a surging rush of heat from a volcanic place so deep inside, she never knew it existed. And with it came the jagged well of pain, a cancerous thing that had no name as it infected every hidden place inside her. The kindness she’d shown Noah during his recovery had been for Gideon’s sake, and this sordid innuendo was the thanks she got? She’d treasured the stolen moments of mind-melting pleasure with Gideon, kept the memory of them so close to her heart that she’d told no one about it. But there was nothing left for her to treasure now, not even the remembered pleasure of being in his arms. How could there be, she thought as her vision blurred into a dangerous heat-waving red, when he’d turned out to be an absolute bastard?
The bastard in question pulled at his collar as if he, too, felt hot. “As long as I’ve made myself understood—”
“Get out, or die where you stand.” Sara kept her eyes lowered. Not out of defeat, but out of genuine fear of what she might do. The fire inside her was dangerously close to the surface, and she had to grip the cool edge of her glass desk to keep herself in place.
Feel nothing. Damn it, don’t feel anything!
Oh God, the desire to fry him where he stood was terrifying.
She heard him move. “I won’t bother you again.”
Thank heaven. When she heard the closing click of the door, she looked to the potted decorative bamboo on the edge of her desk, bright green and thriving. A second later the leaves browned and curled in on themselves while the stalks withered. The next second, it exploded into bright, yellow-white flames. On automatic pilot, she let go of the desk’s edge and knocked the small fireball onto the fireproof stone flooring before it could damage any neighboring electronic hardware. Then with an economy of motion she dragged an ever-present fire extinguisher out from a cabinet, dousing the flames before the overhead sprinkler system could go off and let everyone know she’d had a spectacular loss of emotional control.
Feel nothing. Feel nothing. Feel nothing, damn it.
Exhausted, Sara set the extinguisher aside before falling into her chair, shaking with the stress of getting her emotions under control while the stench of charred plant life poisoned the air. And not for the life of her would she look at her desk and the melted glass where her hands had gripped.
Chapter Four
Sweat trickled down Gideon’s back, kicking off the overpowering need to scratch at it. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t. If he moved, even twitched, they would know he was still alive.
Then he’d be dead for sure.
Would he hear the bullet this time? Would he know death was coming for him and that there was nothing he could do about it, or would it simply be lights out? Lights out would be almost preferable. Anything was preferable to this hell on earth, lying like a statue, like a lifeless carcass, like...
Like the body lying in the blood-soaked dirt on top of him. Gideon was almost sure the Marine’s name had been Adams. Or Adamson. Or something like that.
Not that it mattered. He was dead. His head and everything inside it had been splattered all over Gideon, so the soldier wouldn’t be answering to anything anymore.
God, he wanted to move.
Don’t. Don’t. Fucking. Move.
Beside the body that might have been Adams or Adamson, another soldier moaned and gurgled in a terrible, not-right way. A punctured lung, probably two, from the sound of it. And, also from the sound of it, drowning in his own blood. He could still be saved, but he had stopped calling out to his fellow Marines for help. They couldn’t help. The sniper was waiting.
The kid had obviously come to the conclusion that he was on his own.
Gideon could reach the kid, though. He wasn’t that far away, only five feet or so. Five little feet. He was a doctor. He had to help that wounded soldier. He had to....
A sudden explosion ripped his world apart, its fiery breat
h washing over him like a sigh from the bowels of hell itself. He shouted, as he always shouted, and the fire reached out to engulf his world.
Disoriented, Gideon half fell out of bed as the memory of the blast echoed in his ears along with the screams still tearing through his throat. Tangled in bed sheets and coughing up a memory of the dust he’d breathed long ago, he hit the floor on his hands and knees, a shuddering, sweat-slick mess. For what felt like forever, he held his breath until the rampaging urge to vomit faded to a dull roar.
That dream again. That frigging nightmare he’d never escape. But that only made sense. The condemned weren’t supposed to escape their penance.
“Shit.” He shuddered, feeling wrung out and beaten to a pulp by invisible fists. The bile-like taste in his mouth would have made the bottom of a public trashcan seem pleasant by comparison. There was nothing left for him to do but rest his brow against the coolness of the hardwood floor of his bedroom and wait for the worst of it to pass. “Ah...shit.”
It took nearly a minute for Gideon to push to his feet. In the darkness that existed in the wee hours before dawn, he made his way to the bathroom on legs that were giving serious thought of abandoning him. He hated that dream, on so many levels. He hated the bizarre near-paralysis he suffered after waking from it, hated the enervating sickness that clung to him in its wake, hated the sleeplessness that plagued him once he had fought his way out of it.
But most of all, he hated that it wasn’t really a dream.
With exaggerated diligence he avoided looking at himself in the mirror as he made a mess of splashing cold water on his face. He no longer liked the man he saw there—sunken face, sunken eyes, sunken soul. He no longer recognized the waste of skin that stared back at him. The man in the mirror was a stranger.
Or maybe it would be more accurate to admit he’d never known his true self to begin with.
He did now. God help his useless hide.
In the process of reaching for a towel, he caught a glimpse of himself before he could avoid it, and it made him flinch away. Unblemished, unscarred skin, when so many others came back in tatters. He was lucky and he knew it. He’d come home, whole, so everyone expected him to be fine, whistle a merry tune and pick up his life right where he’d left off.