Again, all he could do was nod.
She nodded, biting that poor lip again, abusing it so badly that he ached to kiss it better. She was so pale he had to shove his fists in his pockets to stop himself reaching for her. “Did—did you set up the whole plan?”
All he wanted to do now was close his eyes, but he made himself face her, looking into her eyes without flinching. “Yes.”
“I see,” she whispered, and fell silent for a minute—a quiet he dared not break. “Just give me one thing,” she said eventually, her voice clogged with pain-filled hope. “Tell me that you’d still have wanted to marry me if I’d been Beth Silver. Tell me you’d really have let me go if I wanted to run. Tell me you didn’t arrange this marriage solely because I am Delia, and all the stuff about caring about Danny and me wasn’t a way to convince me to give you the evidence. Tell me you made love to me today because I was Beth…that part of you married Beth.”
He knew the silence was too long; he saw the pain begin in those haunting eyes before he spoke, and he knew it would haunt his rare moments of sleep until the day he died. “I wish to God I could,” he finally said, in a slow, hurting voice. “But I can’t.”
Chapter 20
S he hadn’t spoken. Not in the hour since he’d said those fateful words.
He’d only spoken the truth. He’d love nothing more than to give her the reassurance she craved, that he truly cared about her, but her questions had been too specific, and to only tell her that he loved her would mean lying to her again. His sad story about taking the fall for her if she wanted to run had been a fairy tale designed to break down her barriers, and the spectacular success of his plan left him feeling lower than he’d ever felt in his life.
I’m crazy about you, Beth. I swear to God, you took my heart the moment I saw you ten years ago, and it’s tearing strips off me to leave you behind like this…
But the words couldn’t be spoken, much as he ached for them to come out. She had to believe his lies. He knew her courage, her defiant, loving heart. If she believed for a moment the truth—that she was the only woman he’d ever love, and that she held his heart in her hand, and always would—she’d go to the ends of the earth, fight the world to stay with him.
And she’d live to regret it. In days, weeks, months—maybe a year or two if he got lucky—she’d grow tired of the life he led, the person that he was, and she’d want to leave him. And the cycle of life would repeat: the flaming rows, the accusations, the cold silence his parents had endured before his mother finally left. He might’ve only been eight, but the years of screaming hatred before she left with Meg were burned into his brain.
Danny deserved a better family life than the one he’d suffered for so long and, like his mother with his father, Beth deserved far better. She was too high above him, too pure, strong and beautiful and—and classy for a guy like him. Palaces had gutters, but only to get rid of the trash it didn’t want. Servants had their uses, but their own entrances and exits. They had a job: to serve. And that was the way it should be. He’d serve her now—keep her safe from Falcone—and he’d already had more reward than he’d ever expected. Her words of love as she’d worshipped his body would live inside his heart until the day he died. Which could be any day—and she deserves better than that, too.
In the velvety purple of evening, she stood in the shadows of the veranda, a frozen wraith who held up her hand when he tried to talk to her, or make some half-assed explanation even he knew was lame. She shrugged on the jacket he put on her when he couldn’t stand watching her shiver anymore, but she didn’t give him a word of thanks, or even acknowledge that he was there.
And he just kept standing in the fuzzy light behind the door, leaning against the doorjamb, watching her. Hating himself for not having the strength to walk away.
Anson and the team arrived right on time. As they spilled out of the choppers, the lethal force, she didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge anyone—not even Heidi, who shot a half-apologetic glance her way as the two women stood parallel.
But when Anson passed her, not bothering to speak to her, she spoke seven quiet, bitter words. “Congratulate McCall. You’ve got what you want.” She stepped off the veranda and walked into the night, letting it enfold her like a cold lover’s touch.
Yeah. Nice irony, McCall.
Anson’s face was as close to jubilant as it would ever be. “She gave you what we need?”
McCall nodded, pushing past him. “Tape recorder’s in the bedroom.” He ran down the stairs.
“Flipper, don’t do it,” Anson said quietly. “She doesn’t want you, obviously. I’ll send Braveheart to find her. He’s always good with the women in distress.”
“Maybe, but this is my woman,” McCall snapped, “and I caused her distress by putting duty first and getting the evidence. Go listen to it, boss. It’s all you care about. I’ll clean up the mess my brilliant plan left behind.”
“Best to end this now, Flipper, before it goes any further—there’s always collateral damage in a war.”
McCall stalked back up the stairs and shoved his face right in front of his regional commander, the man he’d admired beyond any other—until tonight. And for once he didn’t give a damn if his career went up in smoke. “No man knows about collateral damage better than me—but this ‘damage’ happens to be my wife, and the boy who is now my son. Did you think of that when I set this scam up? I did—I knew I’d be committing myself to them today. I’m responsible for their lives and happiness from this day on. I want to be there for them when they need help, or when their safety and security are in question. They’re my family now.”
Anson sighed. “I guess I don’t know you as well as I thought I did. This is the job, Flipper. Whatever gets the job done is worth the cost. Give them a safe place to live, enough money to be comfortable and a certificate of divorce when she’s ready to move on. You did your duty. No—more, you’ve done a top-class job today, and I’ll be recommending you for a—”
McCall let Anson know what he thought of his recommendations with a few crude words. “You know, I didn’t believe Irish when he said you’d let Beth and Danny drop as soon as you got the evidence. I didn’t believe Skydancer when he said saving the world means more to you than the life of a real, living child in front of you. But they were right—about me as well as you. Too long on the job has made us inhuman. Do you care about anyone, Anson? Do you love anyone, or do you hide behind your desk every day, go home to an empty house and pretend that saving the world is enough to make you a better man than the snot-nosed punk you were on the streets of New Orleans?”
His boss flinched—literally flinched. “Go.” The word was harsh, flintlike. “If it makes you feel better, find your woman, make things right. Get involved, McCall—and then you’ll see how damn far it gets you.” His face was white and strained, his eyes dark with ancient pain, buried deep and rotting from within. “Love her, give her and that kid all you’ve got, and watch as it all explodes in your face like one of Falcone’s dirty bombs.”
McCall didn’t even hesitate. He turned and vanished into the cold night, calling, “Beth! Beth!” Too late, he knew how wrong he’d been in choosing duty over love. He hadn’t realized until he’d looked at how inhuman he’d become in the past ten years, living only for the job. He’d treated individual people as pawns, as unfortunate victims, acts to avenge or criminals to capture—or that dirty term he hated now, collateral damage.
Beth had made him care again. Danny had made him see just who it was that he was fighting for. They’d brought him back to life, made him a better man. Beth had given him back his heart—because she’d always had it, from the day they’d met, and having her heart in return made him complete. Without her, he’d return to the silent, isolated half barbarian he’d been all his life.
Tonight, looking in Anson’s hollow, bitter eyes, he acknowledged a simple truth—he wasn’t meant to be alone, as he’d always thought. He needed that one special, wo
nderful woman wandering in this darkness somewhere, the woman he loved with all his heart and soul and body and mind.
He didn’t want to end up soulless and alone, like Anson. He didn’t want to be a hero, with only the satisfaction of a job well done, memories and a pension when he grew old. He wanted to be an ordinary guy with a home and a dog and people to love, who loved him. He needed Beth, to become that man. He needed Danny in his life, to keep reminding him of what he fought for every day, to remind him that he was neither human refuse, nor the center of a save-the-world universe. He loved them—both of them—with an awe-inspiring, protective ferocity he wouldn’t have believed just two weeks ago. Beth was his woman—Danny was his son—and he really would fight the whole damn world…even kill whoever he had to—to keep them by his side.
Now he just had to convince her of that.
How did she face him?
Beth stood shivering near the boundary fence by the McCluskey farm, fighting the temptation to get Danny and run. To find somewhere quiet—preferably without any spies—and lick her wounds.
How far would we get, anyway? Mitch and Lissa would report it before I got Danny out of bed, and he’d be here, blocking my way.
No, staying here was better.
Yes, standing shivering in the dark makes a lot of sense, her inner voice mocked her. Making a fool of myself one way or the other, but at least this way he doesn’t see me cry.
It was really sad—pitiful, actually. But it was the ugly truth. She’d taken on another identity and crossed the world to escape the life she’d wanted to leave behind, but the voice of yesterday had overtaken her anyway. Delia de Souza, the stunning waif who’d had men around the world at her feet…who’d had Brendan at her feet…had tasted her first sexual rejection, the first rejection of her heart at the ripe old age of twenty-eight…and maybe she wasn’t as mature or humble as she’d thought.
Realizing that she’d bought into the Delia legend as much as people like Falcone wasn’t an epiphany she relished. Maybe she hadn’t enjoyed modeling, but it had sheltered her from some of life’s harsher realities. In her glittering world, she was the one who’d rejected men. She was the one who’d kept her distance. She was probably the one who’d hurt countless people the way Brendan had hurt her today.
Dear God—have I always been this self-centered?
“Beth! Beth!”
He’d been calling her for the past few minutes, and every time she’d moved somewhere else. Childish and stupid, considering all they’d been through today, but she hadn’t been ready to see him. Delia, the proud, immature child, strikes again.
Beth lifted her chin and walked toward where she’d heard his voice last. “Is it time to go?” she asked in as calm a voice as she could manage.
“Beth.” The growl was low, predatory—ragged. He appeared from the darkness, snatching her into his arms so fast she stumbled into him. “I thought you’d gone,” he whispered in her ear, sending a hot shiver down her spine.
“Where would I go?” Her voice amazed her, cool and controlled, the exact opposite to the heated need and gladness she felt at being so close to him again, his passion for her driving the cold away. “This is a Nighthawk training facility, so I presume the whole perimeter’s covered. I can’t take Danny without you knowing. You told me I wouldn’t get a mile if I ran. I believe you. Until you have the tapes, at least.” As the sweet agony of being pressed against his body threatened to overwhelm her—oh, how she wanted to press her lips to his throat, his chest, his mouth and on down—she moved against him. “I told you, I won’t run. You can let me go.”
“No, I can’t,” he muttered, rough and hot. “I need you.” His hand tipped up her chin and his mouth was on hers, conquering, demanding it all. He walked her backward until she was up against a tree, his hands hard on her body, claiming, branding her with a searing iron.
McCall’s woman.
Somewhere in her hazy passion, she made an unconscious decision: this is the last time. But the pounding excitement took over. This was going to be wild—no bed, no gentle play. He was going to take her standing up in the cold night, in a paddock against a tree…
And I’ll take him, too, she thought in fierce gladness, seeing the raw man come to life from beneath the protective knight, hard and demanding and unapologetic. This is me, he seemed to say with every growl, every kiss and touch—even when he almost tore her jeans off, and her panties—and she loved every second of it.
My man. Mine. If he was going to leave her after tonight, she’d make absolutely sure he didn’t forget her.
She claimed him with every hot, dragging touch over his skin, with nipping kisses on his throat and shoulders, pulling at his jeans. “Now, McCall. Now,” she demanded.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he muttered against her ear, breathing harshly.
The excitement was unbearable, the loving fast and raw, slaking violent need. She climaxed within seconds, and to her shock, the taut spiral started again. She whimpered and writhed against him, desperate for more, and he responded with guttural sounds and moving in her even harder, deeper, and her body shook with the pleasure-pain gripping her entire body.
“That’s it, let go,” he whispered in her ear, gravel-edged, lush and dark and hot.
His words drove her over the edge. She gave a wild cry and let go, in beautiful, mind-disintegrating release. He followed her with a low growl and kisses to her mouth he couldn’t seem to stop. He cradled her close against him, his hands protecting her from the roughness of the tree, as he’d done the whole time. He held her as if she was more than just a mission subject or a one-night stand, and though she tried so hard to remember why it was a bad idea, she couldn’t fight her need to lay her head on his shoulder and whisper words of love in her native tongue.
“Flipper! Return stat!”
The call snapped her out of floating euphoria. She gasped, “They have flashlights. They’ll see us!” He let her go, and she slid to the ground and scrabbled around in the dark, trying to find her clothes.
“Here!” he whispered.
She grabbed her jeans from him and pulled them on fast. She was still fumbling with the top button when a high-powered flashlight beam hit them. A woman’s voice spoke. “Scarecrow cracked after interrogation—it was Scarecrow who attacked you in the hangar. Falcone bought him four months ago.”
“Not long enough to be the rogue—and he’s too new. He doesn’t know enough,” McCall muttered, sounding frustrated. “And how the hell did he get into the facility?”
“We don’t know,” the woman confirmed, “but we don’t have time to investigate. Something’s going down. He told us a shipment of arms is less than twelve hours from landing in Dilsemla, Commander. Suspected Iglas on board. We’ve been told to intercept the shipment. There’re two navy ships ready to take control once we secure the ship, but the government wants us to confirm the reality of the arms on board before they get official.”
“Let’s go,” McCall said briskly, heading for the house while Beth listened in. “What’s the ETA?”
“Skydancer has a 35A Learjet in the hangar. ETA six hours if we push it.”
“Who’s piloting?”
“Skydancer, sir—you know he’s magic with any kind of plane—with Panther copilot. You’re needed to protect your subjects until you take point in the underwater mission.”
Beth blinked, startled. “Am I going to this—Dilsemla?”
“No.” McCall’s voice was sharp as a honed knife. “I refuse to take a civilian—not to mention a child—into a damn war zone!”
“You have no choice, Flipper. Orders are direct from Virginia this time.” McCall’s boss stepped into the circle of light illuminating them as they headed for the house. “We’re the closest team—there are two full teams here, including PJ and SEAL-capable operatives. We can’t leave her here. We need her if we can’t get a direct link from these weapons to Falcone.”
“They can use Malaysian SEAL team,” McCall argu
ed.
“They’re deployed on a critical mission. We’re the only team close enough to handle this without government interference.”
“Then we leave Beth and Danny with Countrygirl,” McCall sounded so fierce, so protective.
“Yeah, that’ll work,” his boss retorted witheringly. “A woman who’s outrun the CIA, MI5 and the Nighthawks in two continents—not to mention Falcone—will still be here in a week if we leave her with a woman with four kids, including a newborn baby.”
McCall snapped, “I’m not taking my wife and son into Dilsemla. It’s not happening!”
My wife. My son. He was claiming her publicly—she and Danny both. What had changed his mind in the last hour? “Where’s Dilsemla, and what’s an Igla?” she asked to diffuse the fight.
They both turned to her, McCall scowling ferociously, his boss hesitating, his face closed. Yeah, he was a control freak, all right. “I think I have the right to know where I’m going, since it seems I am going,” she argued, with a small, ironic smile. “I won’t risk my son’s life on your say-so, um, ‘boss.’ No offense, but I can’t see you putting our welfare before your objective.”
The man’s face softened with a grin, bringing forth dimples—things a man as hard-ass as he was shouldn’t have. “None taken, Ms. Silver, and call me Ghost. Dilsemla is the capital of Tumah-ra, an island in the Arafura Sea, near Timor.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “The oil fight? I gather Falcone sells his illegal arms to the rebel forces and warlords who are after control of the oil shelf? You have to stop a shipment now?”
“Yeah. Guns and bombs and Iglas,” McCall said grimly before his boss could speak, “which are Russian-made portable one-man launch missiles, favored by terrorists worldwide to attack planes or army bases up to four miles away. It’s too dangerous for civilians, Beth. It’s no place for you and Danny.”
She turned on him in a flash, so appalled and offended that he still saw her as the pristine princess, she forgot her own fears and obsessive need to stay safe. “Oh? I can risk my life and safety for the sake of these people, but it’s no place for me? How do you figure that, Team Commander?”
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