Dangerous Illusion

by Melissa James

  He didn’t waste words. “Let’s go.” He smiled and nodded at Donna, and, while shaking her hand, placed a listening device under the kitchen-bench top.

  He placed another tiny device by the front door near the Richards’ bedroom. They couldn’t leave without the Nighthawks knowing. Before they left, he checked that the tracking device was in place. He revved up the Ducati and pressed the button that lit up the small screen beside the speedometer. A tiny red dot, not yet a blip, showed that the guys had done their job.

  Whatever plan Beth had had with Donna Richards was over for tonight. Wherever they went, the Nighthawks would be there.

  And McCall would be beside Beth—or right behind her.

  Beth half expected to come home and find the house ransacked, since she’d jumped through the window right after McCall, leaving the whole thing open, but the house was still, silent, peaceful in the slumbering darkness. Every piece of damage repaired, apart from the broken roof tile. Two people stood in the shadows of the living room—people who nodded at McCall and melted into the darkness outside when he waved his hand.

  Beth wandered through the house, dazed. Why hadn’t there been another attack? Were the kidnappers the only people Falcone had sent? Surely not. And surely they hadn’t just allowed McCall’s friends to come in and take over, securing the house and—

  She went hot and cold all over. What if they were watching? Waiting—seeing if she took a man into her bed? Reporting on her life as they’d done in England right before they shot Dan?

  She’d been attacked tonight, straight after she’d almost made unbridled love with McCall on the kitchen bench. What if the attack had been a warning from Falcone? If she gave Falcone’s perfect prize away, McCall would pay the price.

  Her mind working furiously, she turned to McCall, who was checking out the repair job his people had done on the mangled screen. “It’s safe enough for tonight. I’ll order another screen to come tomorrow. In the meantime, just keep the window locked.”

  “I will. Once you’ve gone.” She put her hands on her hips, glaring at him. “I want you to leave. Now.”

  He folded his arms over his chest, his eyes cool and amused. “So you can run? I’m not going anywhere.”

  “This is my house.” She spoke through gritted teeth. “So get out or I’m calling the police.”

  An eyebrow lifted in that untamed face; he leaned against the wall with a cool, dare-you-to-do-it smile. “And that’s supposed to scare me? Baby, I’ve dealt with the dogs since I was eight…and one word from me and they’d be out the door. You saw it tonight. You couldn’t even get to Danny until I told them to let you in.”

  The breath dragged into her lungs as though it carried a noxious smell. Eyes closed, jaw clenched, she decided to pick up his gauntlet and throw it back, in spades. “Those people were from your organization, weren’t they? This whole kidnapping was set up to make me trust you when you brought me safely to Danny!”

  Apart from the other eyebrow lifting, he made no move. “Nice excuse, baby, but it’s not cutting the ice.”

  She had to restrain the urge to scream, yell, throw things at him. Please God, if you care for this man like I do, make him go! “You aren’t staying the night here. Don’t you get it?” she cried, wringing her hands in real anguish—the terror she couldn’t show him. “In Danny’s father’s eyes, I belong to him. If he’s here and sees you stay with me, he—he’ll punish me for the rest of my life,” she finished, knowing the words he’ll kill you wouldn’t cut the ice either, not with a man like McCall. “He’d take it out on Danny, and make me watch, just to prove he owns us both.”

  Though he didn’t touch her, the cool arrogance fell from him like a cloak he’d shed. “He won’t get to Danny—he’ll never get that close. We’ve dealt with Falcone before, Beth, and we can do it again. I meant what I said earlier. You might be way out of my league, but for what I’m worth, I’m with you, come hell or flood or Falcone’s hit men. I might only have my strength and my dreams, but if it’s enough to save you and your son, you’ve got it…for as long as you need me.”

  Fight it, fight it… She clenched her fists even as her body swayed toward him. Oh, how she ached to take what he so freely offered; but she was fighting, not for her choices or Danny’s freedom alone—she was fighting for McCall’s very life. The life he’d all but laid at her feet just now. And though she’d give herself up to take that offer, she wouldn’t risk his life. She had to trample right over that selfless, beautiful offer if she was going to keep him alive. She’d rather he hated her for the rest of his life than be forced to cry over his grave.

  “Sweet offer, really it is—but not enough.” The words grated harsh and flat, like a magpie’s cawing call. “You can leave now. I gave you your reward for taking me to Danny. I hope you didn’t imagine you’d ever get more than a few kisses from me.”

  Hating the harsh implications of her words, her gaze flew to his and saw that she’d obtained her objective. His face might have been carved in granite, it was so cold. His eyes glittered, cold and unfathomable. He’d withdrawn so deeply inside himself she wouldn’t even know how to follow him.

  “Nice one, Beth. You just hit a new low in manners. Your parents would be proud of you—I can hear the applause from heaven. Rule one—don’t waste yourself on the hired help or lowlifes that crawled their way out of the gutter, like me.” As if her words hadn’t affected him at all, he took his time strolling to the window. “Lock it after me. If you feel like slumming again at any time, I’ll be on the roof, fixing the broken tiles. Got to keep the princess safe.”

  Her eyes squeezed shut in agony. She pressed her lips hard to stop her rebellious heart from recanting the words.

  She couldn’t stop him from following her when she made her move, but she’d done what she could to save him from the certain death that knowing her seemed to bring with it. This way, Falcone might think he was just an operative, and race to beat him rather than taking him out. A minuscule chance, but it was all she had.

  Even if she went to her grave aching for what she’d lost tonight, he had a chance of staying safe and alive…and she couldn’t allow herself to want any more than that.

  Chapter 13

  S he left in the dead of night—0345.

  He’d known she would—he’d prepared for it, even knew the Richards family were on the move with Danny, and their direction—yet McCall felt sucker-punched by the betrayal. What was it about him that made the people he connected with on a personal level, the rare ones he cared for, run in the opposite direction?

  Don’t think about it.

  He watched from between the heavy old trees by the quiet bay, away from town with its bustle and noise of the daily tourist traffic. She struggled with a stuffed-to-the-gills backpack, a suitcase and Danny’s puppy. Nice of her to bring the dog as a security blanket against the changes about to rock Danny’s world. She walked from her lovely home without a single glance back, giving up everything she had to save her child.

  Well, she would—she loved him.

  Do the job. No mercy this time. No softness. And no faith. She’s a case like any other. A killer’s woman we need for the evidence she’s got. And the ten million in traceable dollars.

  They’d traced the money back through the Brothers of Retribution, a group dedicated to continuing war in the Balkans who’d used Falcone’s guns to kill off thousands of their greatest political foes, and from there to an English ammunitions factory, and a massive theft seven years back.

  So from now on, that was all she was—a case, and her kid to save. And what was left of the ten million bucks, probably stashed in the backpack.

  Through his night goggles he watched her move like wind in the trees, graceful even in flight, burdened with the backpack, the suitcase and the puppy. Running from him.

  Damn her. For years he’d sold his soul, bargaining with unknown forces just to see her face one more time.

  Well, now he’d seen her. Time to get on wi
th the job.

  He moved like a shadow in the deep night. The rest of the team had backed off, waiting at every available exit point. Panther was currently heading south, following the Richards’ car. Everything was in place: cars in every direction, two planes and a chopper on its way from Auckland. Every charter-plane company provided records to show they hadn’t hired a plane or pilot in the past two days to anyone who wasn’t a bona fide tourist.

  Beth headed straight for the Bay, her thigh-high rubber boots sloshing through the smelly slush of low tide, toward—

  At the sight awaiting him he swore. Hard. Cursing that he’d given her fifty feet leeway, and wouldn’t make it before she—

  She put the puppy on the floor of the high-powered jet boat, tossed the backpack over then climbed in. She shushed the puppy’s excited yipping in gentle, frantic quiet. Then she took off, making the craft almost fly over the small, tipping waves of the Bay, heading for the open sea. She’d either had intensive lessons for years, or had used speedboats from her cradle.

  He fired up the Jet Ski awaiting him—turbo powered, of course—and all but flew, himself, to keep up with her. Within moments the noise of his engine, and the high-powered light he’d rigged on the front, told her she wasn’t alone. She revved the guts out of the engine, sending it skimming over the waves as they grew stronger outside the Bay. He had no choice but to push it, until the hard whine of the engine told him it had reached its limits, could even blow at any minute.

  Her frequent glances back told him she felt some concern for his safety, but every time she’d assured herself that he was still alive, she opened the throttle further. He jerked his back hard in his effort to keep up. He had to lash himself to the handlebars with rope to stay on—an awkward, one-handed knot that would never hold at this pace, but made him feel a little safer, and as in flying, confidence was everything in the chase.

  But she only sped up more, curving across the waves to avoid rips and reefs, always angling the boat just at pre-keeling-over level. She drove the boat like a damn pro racer.

  Where, when did she get the prowess? Who had taught her?

  Maybe the reason she’s surprising you so often is that she’s not Delia. Nobody knows all that much about Ana de Souza…

  “No,” he growled. “It’s Delia. Delia’s alive.”

  Jerk. Lovesick fool. Just as butt-stupid as all the starstruck fans in her modeling days, certain they were soul mates based on their feelings when they looked at her airbrushed image.

  But that was what he’d always been, the past ten years. A dumb-ass jerk in blind infatuation with a dream.

  She was edging away, and the Jet Ski was on full throttle. He had no choice. “Ghost!” he yelled into the small machine strapped to the handlebars, with a magnifying speaker. “Subject’s on the move, heading southeast on the open sea. Her jet boat’s outgunning me. Estimate she’s heading for the airstrip inland from Waitanamako Bay. Check for hire cars, taxis, anything that will get them there, and tail it.”

  “Roger that,” was Anson’s instant response. “Don’t let her out of sight, Flipper.”

  “No choice in that, sir,” he snapped, losing control for the first time in over five years. “Subject has a Super Sport with 240 horsepower, fuel injection and a V6 engine. I can’t gun to that in a damn Jet Ski!”

  “Why the hell didn’t we know she was a pro with a speedboat?”

  “Maybe because she’s not who we think she is!”

  “With the primary target’s son? Yeah, right. Get out of your gonads and think like an operative. You’re too involved.”

  He swore beneath his breath, knowing Beth wouldn’t forgive him for this. “Ghost—”

  “Did you think I didn’t know about your past with her? I’ve given you leeway considering you had a greater chance of getting her on board than any of the rest of us, but this is beyond your control, Flipper. We’re almost in the area now. There’s a chopper waiting for us on landing. ETA ten to twelve minutes.”

  “No!” he yelled. “You get a bird above her and searchlights and she’ll panic. This is a dangerous stretch of coast with wild seas. She’s no use to us dead!”

  “We’ll be discreet. What’s your position in ten minutes?”

  “I don’t know my position now! I’m just trying to hold on and keep up!” He shot a quick glance around. “Between eight and ten miles south of the Cape Brett lighthouse, hugging the coast. She’s about a quarter mile ahead, and gaining.”

  “Roger that. If anything changes, report stat.”

  “Roger and out, sir.”

  Beth’s boat surged farther ahead. Hugging the coastline—too much. He’d studied the topography—any second now, she’d hit—

  “Beth!” he yelled, but it was useless: she’d hit the enormous part-hidden rock beneath the ocean, and flip—but with a smooth swerve, a swing back in the boat averted danger, with barely any decrease in speed.

  So she’d even rehearsed riding over this tidal eddy before.

  The chase continued, both crafts lifting off the water in frantic speed, their faces slapped by seawater and predawn rain stinging their skin, dousing clothes. Lashed to the handlebars, he felt as if he’d hog-tied a bronco with cotton thread. The Jet Ski leaped from the water. He jerked and flew with it, revving the throttle on constant max with a big crazy grin on his face.

  Maybe he was a jerk to feel so exhilarated by the chase, by the danger…but he couldn’t change his nature. He was a boy of the sea, an adrenaline junkie who’d first cheated death at eight, falling off his dad’s fishing vessel in a storm. He’d pulled on fins and a suit at eleven, became a navy diver at nineteen, dived straight off a chopper into turbulent ocean at twenty-four to save a fellow SEAL. He’d never turned down a challenge, never thought about death, and never felt fear—not for himself.

  And despite being scared to all crap for Beth now, his most dominant emotion was a well, what do you know admiration for her ballsy attitude to life, even when she was probably more scared than he was. When it came to Beth, still waters ran deeper than any of them knew.

  Then, in the most treacherous stretch of the current-run shore, she swerved right, toward land. “What the…? There’re rocks like knives in that bay! Beth, stop!”

  But she evaded every rock with smooth, practiced ease and pulled the boat up to the sandy shore without a problem. Maybe the sun, just rising above the clear horizon, helped her.

  He wasn’t so lucky. By emulating her moves he got around the biggest rocks, but came to grief on a tiny protrusion. The Jet Ski flipped over the rock’s knife edge into the deep, cold ocean.

  He came up sputtering, half-numb from the cold, with a gash on his upper right arm where the rocks tore through his skin and muscle and a blow to the back of his head that left him reeling.

  He’d never make it to land before she took off. Being the best combat swimmer on his SEAL team wouldn’t help without a wet suit and fins in a near-freezing ocean against the tide, with half his strength gone from the deep, jagged cut tearing his muscle almost in two.

  He tore off his heavy boots, pulled off his socks to make a fast double-compression bandage, using one hand and his teeth to tie it; then he struck out toward land in an awkward butterfly motion, using only his left arm. He struck out for land, swimming hard and fast, ignoring the pain and lightheadedness, as training dictated.

  Where was the chopper? And why hadn’t he used surveillance equipment on her so he’d be a step ahead in the game?

  Because you’re just as big a dumb-ass jerk over her now as you were ten years ago.

  And now, just like then, he was paying the price for his naive half hope that this beautiful enigma would turn to him. Trust him in the most primal, elemental way a woman can, with her heart, and her secrets. Giving up that deep, untouched ocean of secrets beneath the tidal cobalt of her eyes.

  The whirring of props, the spinning of water flying out from behind moving floats, told him how stupid he’d been to hope for anything fro
m her. Trust and Delia de Souza were a dichotomy.

  Alpha 849Y8 Delta…red, white, blue seaplane…

  But as he floundered, lightheaded with blood loss from the weak, left-handed compression bandage, he heard the whirring sound come closer, right up to him, leaving him thrashing in the sudden waves the seaplane created. The passenger door flung open and she leaned over, her eyes blazing. “Get in.”

  With the last of his strength he swam to the seaplane and used the float to push himself up. “Thanks.”

  She pushed a huge beach towel at him. “I wouldn’t leave a bleeding dog in that freezing water to die. Shut the door. I don’t have much time before your reinforcements arrive, do I?”

  He pushed dripping hair out of his face with the towel before he looked at her. “No.”

  She nodded, and with a ruthless efficiency he was coming to expect from her, she swerved the seaplane around the final rocks, headed for the open sea and reached the required level of knots before she took off. “Thermal blanket beneath your seat. Warm up. I have enough on my conscience without adding your death to the list. Did you notify your boss about the seaplane?”

  “I flipped before I could.”

  Her mouth twisted. “Uh-huh. So when do I expect the cavalry to arrive, courtesy of a chopper?”

  Man, she was quick. “Any minute. I expected it by now.”

  “Right.” She pulled on the throttle. “There’s a medical kit in the armrest compartment between us. You need a better compression bandage than that or you’ll bleed all over the plane, and this one isn’t mine.”

  He kept rubbing himself down. “The dog’s awfully quiet.” In fact, he was asleep, belted awkwardly into a passenger seat.

  “I gave him a light sedative,” she replied curtly. “It probably started taking effect about fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Nice of you to take him. Danny will need the comfort when he finds out he’s not only not going camping, but leaving home for good.” He flicked a glance at her. Her mouth tightened; her face, already pale by the early morning light, grew even whiter, but she didn’t answer. She probably didn’t know what to say. He moved on, knowing he’d have to pry answers from her. “So, where did you get the plane? When did you learn to fly and drive that boat?”