Dangerous Illusion

by Melissa James

  Within hours, Harry had become the only family she had, the loving grandfather she’d known with old Dan. Harry had been the security she’d lost too soon, the one flimsy barrier between her and the blasting tide of Danny’s father. She’d had Harry for two wonderful years, someone she could talk to, hold on to, leave Danny with while she set up her studio. Then, sudden and shocking as Dan’s death, he’d had one gasp of chest pain and was gone, the last man she could completely trust.

  If Donna thought her arrangements were to escape Danny’s father, it was truth, but only Grandpa Harry had known the whole truth. Old Dan Cassell in England had sent him full details, in case she ever needed to flee.

  Answering Dan’s “boarders wanted” ad in rural England ten years ago—it seemed a lifetime—had been a gift from God. She’d never have escaped Falcone last time but for Dan’s elaborate arrangements for her safety.

  Lying to Donna was for her protection. If Falcone or his men came here, Donna knew nothing about Beth, past or present, beyond the number of the user account with the phone company.

  McCall was watching her through the window. She felt him touching her with his gaze, even from this distance.

  She looked for a moment, and turned aside, trembling. All he’d done was push a stray lock of windblown hair from his eyes, yet she felt seared. It didn’t matter how long she kept up the pretense that she didn’t see him, didn’t care, she felt it still…his deep-forest river gaze roaming her face and body.

  She shivered again…but not in fear or loathing. God help her for the pure feminine reaction to him, for even wanting to drown in his summer-hot, twilit temptation.

  Risking it all to be with McCall made no sense—none—but the woman deep inside her cried out. Stupid. You never forgot him, and he’s using it against you now.

  Fool. For the second time she was drawn to him, wanting his touch, his kiss—his body. And heaven help her, she wanted to trust him, even though she knew he would only betray her as he’d betrayed his country ten years ago.

  Pretending to wash her hands at the small washstand, she took the minute she had before McCall checked on her again, to make one more preparation for her flight from New Zealand.

  Chapter 7

  I t was done; finally, after years of doing the silent drill, she was ready to disappear again. With one phone call and one security code, all that Dan had set up for her years ago, that Harry had added to and refined, had swung into action.

  The gear would be waiting for her at the prearranged places. The taped conversation proving Falcone’s involvement in ordering the murder of U.S. Senator Bernard Colsten, an avid campaigner for a worldwide system allowing the tracing of arms sales, was where Falcone would never get it. Even if she died, copies of the tapes would go to the directors of the CIA and FBI, with the original landing straight on the president’s office by way of MI5.

  Everything was done except packing the few things she’d need. And outrunning McCall, her rebellious mind whispered.

  “Mummy! Come and see me!”

  The one plea she could never resist. She moved to the door, looking out to where Danny held the football in both hands like a trophy, his dark, intense little face alight with joy. “I catched it, Mummy! Brendan showed me how to catch it!”

  McCall stood beside Danny, arms folded, those steaming-hot eyes on her as always. She dragged in a breath and walked out to where Danny and McCall waited for her.

  “Watch me, Mummy! Watch me!”

  She felt the loving smile melting the habitual reserve on her face. Her beautiful, precious boy. “I’m watching, sweetie.”

  McCall turned his gaze on her for a long, nerve-racking moment; then he moved back with an easy grin for shy, insecure, easily terrorized Danny. “Here, pal!”

  Danny tossed the ball to him, and he tossed it back overarm, gridiron style. Danny and Ethan both jumped high to catch it. Danny managed to grab the ball, then it slipped from his fingers as he toppled back to the lush, verdant grass, soft and spongy with the constant rain. Ethan ran after the ball and grabbed it.

  Beth clapped and whistled, knowing the intense pride was glowing on her face. She knew it was foolish, exposing herself like Achilles’ heel, to give so much away; but her love for Danny was as overwhelming as it was unconditional, and she couldn’t hide it. “Go, Danny! That’s wonderful, sweetie!”

  An extremely wet, muddy Danny rolled over on the grass, laughing. “I’m not s’posed to fall, Mummy. I did it wrong. And Ethan got the ball.”

  “Danny, old pal, what did I tell you? It’s the catch that’s vital here—that’s what you need to learn. Falling is okay. You’ve got possession for your team, even if you’re tackled, and someone could score the touchdown. That’s what counts. Yeah, running with the ball is best, but you’ll get that later.”

  “Don’t the other people take the ball off you?” Danny got to his feet, his dark eyes round and awed.

  His father’s eyes.

  McCall laughed down at Danny. “Nah, pal—that’s in Australian Rules football or Rugby Union. I know your country’s world champions at Union when the Aussies aren’t, but I’ve only ever watched that on TV, so gridiron—American football—is what you’re getting. And it’s learning to catch that you need, right? That’s the same in any code of football except soccer.”

  Danny bit his lip and frowned. “But none of the kids at school know how to play ’merican football, just our football.”

  McCall ruffled the boy’s hair. “Then you and Ethan have something special you can teach all the kids at school, haven’t you? You’ve got a talent they don’t have.”

  Danny’s eyes lit, her sweet, shy baby who never felt as if he had the advantage with any of the boys. He and Ethan breathed a “Wow!” at the same time, and high-fived each other with big, cheeky grins on their faces.

  But he won’t have the chance to do that before I have to take him away from here, thanks to you.

  No matter how nice he was to Danny, how damn-fool safe she felt while McCall watched her house, she couldn’t trust it.

  If she gave in to it, she could be dead tomorrow. And Danny’s upbringing would be with a man who’d teach him to hold an assault rifle instead of catch a football. Her sweet boy would learn to order a hit on anyone who upset or bested him in business. He’d treat women as possessions rather than respecting them as equals.

  So many reasons to keep up the lie of being Beth Silver, and all of them boiled down to two chilling words. Danny’s father.

  If only she knew who McCall represented and why he’d come, then she’d know what to do….

  As things were, she had no choice but to put her plan into action. She dragged in a quick breath, and plastered a bright smile on her face. “Hey, sweetie, Mr. and Mrs. Richards have invited you to go camping with them this weekend, and I think you’re a big enough boy to go. What do you think?”

  Ethan and Danny yelled, “Oh, yeah!” together, ran and crashed into each other, performing wild war whoops of joy.

  Seeing Danny’s starry-eyed face, the I’m-in-Disneyland smile that showed his missing front teeth, gave her a bittersweet sadness. Danny wouldn’t know until it was too late that this would be his first and last camping trip with Ethan. He might hate her for it later…damn McCall for being right…but he’d be alive and free. She couldn’t make herself care about anything else.

  She made herself speak briskly. “You’re staying over tonight as well, because they’re leaving very early in the morning.”

  “Can I go now?” he asked eagerly, his eyes shining.

  “After dinner, sweetie. I have to pack your things, and I’d like to have one last dinner with you before you go.”

  Still laughing from watching Danny’s intense happiness, McCall looked up at that moment, straight into her eyes. Seeing more than she wanted him to. She silently cursed her choice of words. His warmth cooled and gelled to something dark and intense in a heartbeat. Oh, he had the picture. He knew her agenda.

 
; She just wished she knew his in return. The unknown quantity with the power of life or death over them both—with his arm around Danny’s shoulders.

  Keep him happy.

  The decision made in that moment. “Would you like to stay for dinner, Mr. McCall?”

  Wipeout. His face blanked. So she’d shocked him?

  She smiled. “To thank you.” Her gaze fell on Danny, flushed with happiness and achievement, then back up to McCall.

  Slowly, he nodded. “I’d like that. What time—Beth?”

  “Now.” She paused, weighing her options, but she’d never been one to let a challenge lie. “Ex-Lieutenant McCall.”

  Rapier thrust met solar-plexus hit.

  With a little, knowing grin, Ken Richards murmured, “We’ll be back after dinner, Beth. And thanks for letting Danny come with us—Ethan’s obviously thrilled,” he added, laughing down at his still-capering son.

  Beth smiled. “Thank you for inviting him. Go have a shower, Danny,” she said when the Richards family had gone. “Maybe we can play a game of Scrabble with Mr. McCall before you go.”

  Danny gave a little whoop when McCall smiled and nodded, and ran for the house; but McCall’s smile faded as he looked back at her. “Thank you, Beth.”

  Tired of games, she just turned to the house, but he swung her back with the tiniest touch on her arm, an overreaction she couldn’t stop. “What?” Despite her resolve to hide everything from him, she almost snapped the word. Three days of this stiletto-edged dance was three too many.

  It appeared McCall was tired, too. His gaze was flat, harsh in a strange, despairing way. “Who are you, Elizabeth Silver? Are you who you say you are?”

  She didn’t even hesitate. “Are you, ex-Lieutenant McCall?” The name itself, the title, was almost an accusation.

  “Please.” The word was quiet, but the emotion no less real, the need no weaker. “Please trust me. I have to know.”

  “Why?” She kept her gaze limpid, her secrets hiding beneath. “If you’ve led these people to us, what will happen to you? Could your whole world—the only one you have—fall apart if I don’t tell you my life story? Could you die—could your son lose his life or freedom?”

  “Do you realize what you just gave away?” he asked softly.

  She lifted an eyebrow to distract him, in case he noted her thudding pulse. “So this Falcone person you’re after is the only dangerous, obsessed man in the world? The only one who’d kill to get his family back?”

  His hand fell from her arm. “I want to trust you with my secrets, Beth, but they’re not mine alone, and lives other than mine are involved. People could die if the information gets to the wrong people. Just one wrong word and I could be responsible for the deaths of innocent people. Good people who are just trying to make a difference in the world.”

  Oh, how she could relate to that. His words rasped against her heart. She struggled to keep her conscience intact. “Remind me—your trust is important to me, because…?” She watched him, challenging him as he’d done to her. “What you’re saying is, essentially, that your nonexplanation should be enough. So you want to trust me? How nice of you. What a hero—your hidden reason for me to tell a total stranger all about my life is to save others, people I don’t know, or even if they exist.” She folded her arms, in the same stance as the one facing her. “You give me no proof, no evidence, just trust me. Yes, that makes sense. I’ll hand our lives into your keeping, based on those few words.”

  His eyes darkened with wariness. He didn’t speak.

  She gave a slow, challenging smile. “Feel like swapping confidences, ex-Lieutenant McCall?”

  McCall shoved balled fists into his pockets, his gaze dark, brooding. On edge as much as she, hiding the wildness, pushing it back inside him. “If you go first.”

  She made a considering face. “Tempting, but…no.” She turned for the house. “Dinner will be ready in half an hour. I hope you like fresh fish.”

  “I love fish.” His voice turned deep and soft, with rumpled sensuality. “You know, they say confession is cleansing for the soul, Elizabeth Silver.”

  She turned back one last time, looked right into his eyes. “I have no soul. All I have is Danny.”

  I have no soul.

  He shuddered even now, two hours later. Playing Scrabble with Danny and Beth in the beautiful old-fashioned dining room, with a gentle fire in the grate behind him, her words hit him with freeze-blasting force. The look in her eyes as she said them. The memory froze him to the marrow. Incomparable in their loveliness, yet empty. Dead. No life, no heart, no fire.

  Soulless.

  Was that why he couldn’t break through to her? What had she sold inside herself to get away from Falcone that night?

  Falcone’s men were in New Zealand now. Beth’s confession had to be soon, if it was going to come in time to save her.

  Early this morning Anson sent him back stats on the photos he’d taken of Danny for the CIA and MI6 to compare with the few younger photos they’d found of Robert Falcone. If Danny wasn’t Falcone’s son, he could almost be his twin. DNA results on the hairs he’d taken from the studio floor would take longer. The lab would need to sort out whose hairs they were, but if Beth or Danny’s were there, they’d soon know if they were related to Eduardo de Souza. Because of the manner of de Souza’s death in a suspicious car crash, the CIA, and therefore the Nighthawks, had all the DNA samples they needed for comparison tests.

  Damn it, none of this would work anyway. Anson was getting twitchy, wanting to take Beth into protective custody, but McCall knew she’d have the information they wanted in hiding somewhere, and no matter how long they held her she wouldn’t give it up as long as they kept her against her will. She had to give it of her own accord, because she trusted someone.

  Trusted him.

  If he told Beth who he was, and who he represented—that he was a Nighthawk sent here to save her—maybe she’d hand over the evidence she had on Falcone, and he could get her and Danny the hell out of New Zealand before Falcone’s hit men got here. Falcone wanted his son—and even thinking about the punishment the man would exact on his runaway wife made McCall shudder. Falcone’s inside connection to the Nighthawks, whose identity they still hadn’t cracked—damn it, was it Angel, Solomon or someone they didn’t yet suspect?—would get Beth and Danny’s whereabouts and pass the information on so that Falcone would get to them before McCall could get them safely out.

  Yet Anson’s orders were set in stone. Don’t tell her anything until she confides in you. Get a positive ID first.

  Never risk the Nighthawks’ security. Never compromise. Never give in. Anson’s damn watchwords had for years been McCall’s own private obsession. To break the rules risked instant, dishonorable dismissal. He’d get away with risking it to gain Delia Falcone’s signed affidavit.

  But this wasn’t just the job to him, or even international security. He wasn’t fooling himself here. This was personal…personal right to his bones. He wanted this woman to be Delia. His Delia. No matter what the consequences were. But though his heart and body screamed that this was the woman he’d craved for years, he had to face facts. Delia and her cousin Ana were so alike they could pass for each other, and the signs of nerves the first day he’d come into her studio could have come from his own imagination. Yeah, maybe he’d wanted her to be Delia so much he’d made up the signs in his mind.

  There was no way to know who she was, except through Beth’s confirmation. Delia and Ana de Souza were “double” cousins, daughters of identical twin sisters who’d married twin brothers. According to experts, the girls’ DNA might match almost perfectly, like identical twins—assuming they had anything to compare them to. All they could prove was a connection to the de Souza family at best, to Eduardo de Souza, but it wouldn’t be able to state whether Beth was daughter or niece or distant cousin, or Danny a grandson or great-nephew. Fingerprints were unavailable. If either girl had ever been printed, they’d disappeared. The dead body
in the ravine was charred beyond accurate dental graphics.

  Not that they had any to compare. The only dentist who’d taken X rays of Delia’s or Ana’s teeth had disappeared with the files the day of the accident. He’d left Brazil and vanished into the mist, to another life.

  “Brendan, what’s a ravine?”

  Without thinking, he answered Danny. “A deep, sharp cliff where people get rid of evidence, or hide secrets.”

  A stifled gasp made him look up, but by the time his gaze cleared, Beth had herself under control. It was only Danny’s curious, “What’s the matter, Mummy?” that told him the sound hadn’t been in his imagination.

  With obvious difficulty, Beth looked up from the Scrabble board on the lovely, dark wood dining table, and smiled at her son. “N-nothing. Do you want a hot chocolate before Mr. Richards comes for you, sweetie? Um, Mr. McCall? W-would you like one?”

  Without a word, he nodded.

  Her fingers shook as she moved to push back her chair.

  On the unwilling alert, McCall gazed at the board…and it was only then he realized what Beth had seen. What he’d done to her, by the grace of fate or his overburdened conscience.

  Hiding = eleven points.

  Evidence = fifteen points with a double-letter score.

  Death = nine points.

  Tree = eight points with a double-word score.

  Ravine = eighteen points with two double-letter scores.

  For years he’d lied, played parts, fought and killed in darkness and silence, vanishing without a word. It hadn’t bothered him once in fifteen years, either with the SEALs or the Nighthawks. His objective had always been higher than what he’d had to do, the target worthy of death or taking down. Those he’d lied to needed his anonymity as much as his protection.

  Not this time. The steel inside him had been branded with a smelting furnace, his conscience burned with a searing iron. He couldn’t lie to Beth; the secrets his long-buried conscience strained to tell her had finally come out in the last five words he’d put down.

  McCall looked up at her, his dread acute. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t want to terrify you. I don’t want to hide the truth from you. Tell me what happened that night. Tell me your story, and I’ll tell you mine. Let me help you. I can save you.