Can You Forget?

by Melissa James

By instinct he turned to her and saw the look on her face. As bad as he looked now after the rescue, hot and dripping wet, applying the stupid face goop, her gaze drank him in, her eyes the shade of dew on grass in the morning, gentle, misty. Tender.

  It always was you, Tal, and it always will be!

  Joy and dismay burst inside him with a hard, hot shock, robbing him of breath, as if he’d used crash cart paddles on himself. She loved him. Oh, man, she loved him—and they were both free. It was all he’d ever dreamed of—and he’d discovered it at the worst possible moment.

  He should never have made love to Mary-Anne in the first place. They were both too emotionally involved to keep a clear perspective. If she were in danger now, he’d eat a bullet to save her—and if she got in any deeper with him she’d blow the mission for his sake, he knew it.

  Too much was at stake, and too many lives on the line for him to let that happen. He had to do what he could to change that—even if it meant losing her again.

  It was time for damage control.

  Mary-Anne smiled and replied, “No hay de qué,” in halting Spanish under Flipper’s tutelage to the boy’s ecstatic parents for the return of their son.

  The boy they now knew as Juan came to for a short period before lapsing back into sleep—enough for Flipper to ask him a few questions in Spanish. His intelligent if mumbled answers that yes, he was supposed to be fishing but wanted to check out the big boats, and please don’t tell his parents, reassured Tal that the boy had no permanent brain damage.

  “We’ve been invited to stay for supper, to thank us,” Flipper informed them all. “We can’t insult their hospitality.”

  “Then we’ll stay,” Anson said quietly, “and thank them for the invitation, please.”

  As Flipper did so, Mary-Anne sighed and scrubbed at her eyes. Their last evening alone together was gone.

  Tal glanced at her. “This has been pretty intense. Let’s walk. The boy’s asleep, and will be for a while. Can you tell them we’re on our honeymoon and we’ll be back soon?”

  Flipper relayed the message to the villagers, who nodded and smiled, making “aaa-ahh,” sounds of complete understanding. They pointed out a path leading to a cliff that was, Flipper told them with a grin, very secluded and private; a Lover’s Leap.

  Anson said quietly, “It would look odd if we didn’t stay here. Take a radio and stay in contact. Are you armed?”

  Tal nodded, and took Flipper’s two-way from him. “Back soon.”

  He led her up the path to the ragged cliff at one end of the cove, overlooking mile upon mile of ocean back to the Spanish mainland. “Nice place, this island, isn’t it?”

  Mary-Anne smiled. His clumsy attempt to tame down her upset was so sweet. He was only eloquent in anger…or in bed. “Gorgeous,” she agreed, surveying the half-tamed, part-ragged beauty of the island and ocean. “It’s a lovely place.”

  “But it’s not home,” he said quietly. “I love Cowinda.”

  She sighed. “It’s our last day before we go in. I just wanted one more night, without people crowding us.”

  “Yeah.” He turned to her, resting his chin on her hair.

  “It feels like ten years ago.” She couldn’t touch him; for the second time in her life she knew how it felt to die inside. “If you brought me here to tell me we’re not going to make it, I know,” she said softly. “No need to soften the blow.”

  He swore and lifted her chin, his eyes bleak and raw. “I wish to God I could see a way for us.” He swore again, its stark hopelessness fitting the searing hollowness inside her. “We’re too close to tomorrow. I’m calling the target tonight to announce our arrival. We have to be complete professionals from now on. If we make it past tomorrow, we’ll talk.”

  Once more, there was only one thing to say, because he was right—but they both already knew it was over. “All right.”

  Like a question without answers, a shot rang out in the lost quiet.

  “The cliff,” Tal uttered tersely and bolted for the crumbling edge, pulling out a gun.

  “Watch your leg,” she cried.

  He turned for a moment, put a finger to his lips then crept to the cliff face. He curled his finger to her, but she was already beside him, looking to the ledge two hundred feet below.

  A body lay sprawled on the rocks, arms and legs at an awkward angle. It seemed impossible he should be alive, and if by some strange quirk of fate he still breathed, the incoming tide would soon take care of it.

  A speedboat was disappearing at a death-dealing rate of knots. As they watched, the dark cap flew off the driver’s head, and long, bright blond hair streamed in the wind.

  Tal grabbed his two-way and said urgently, “Situation on the western cliff face, two miles from the village. A man’s been shot down on the rocks. Tide’s coming in fast. Assailant appears to be a woman, Caucasian, blond, tall. We need rope and medical supplies for the victim, ASAP. Get a chopper here fast.”

  “Got it,” was Ghost’s terse reply. “I’ll call in the chopper. ETA five minutes.”

  Mary-Anne grabbed his arm. “A chopper will give us away if anyone’s watching us, Tal!”

  “Someone is watching. Don’t you get it? Unless this is an unlikely crime of passion, there’s no other reason to shoot this guy here, right where we’d hear it and find him.” He pulled a hypodermic and syringe from a waterproof case in his pocket. “I need to inject my leg before I can head down the cliff.”

  “But you could fall asleep with the muscle relaxant,” she babbled, hearing the panic in her voice. “You’ll kill yourself!”

  He didn’t even look up. “This is a local anesthetic, it’s all I can afford to use right now. I won’t go to sleep.”

  “But losing feeling is too dangerous when you’re relying on your legs!”

  “I’ll be fully anchored. This is what the Nighthawk Search And Rescue units do, Mary-Anne.” He pulled his jeans down and injected his thigh. “I’ve kept up my fitness levels as much as possible. I can do it this once.”

  Mary-Anne squatted on the cliff edge, feeling stupid and helpless and panicked. “This is crazy. Let Braveheart do it!”

  The deep, rumbling bear’s voice came beside her. “He knows I can’t. Irish is our resident rock-climbing expert, and I carry two stone heavier. I might snap the line or send showers of rocks onto the victim.” Braveheart tied the coil of smooth rope to his body. After a quick glance over the cliff, Ghost took one end of the line and tied it to the only available anchor, a tree trunk. “I’m always ballast for him, and Ghost is backup.”

  Ghost came back from tying the rope and spoke to Tal. “I’m almost certain that’s one of our suspects, Jack, down there. Be careful. It might be a setup.”

  Tal nodded. He completed hooking himself to the rope via the safety jacket, shouldered the medical kit, and handed the pulley attached to the line to Anson. He stood at the cliff face, gave her a swift, serious glance and disappeared over it.

  She choked down a burning ball of pain in her throat and steeled herself against leaning over the edge to watch. If the face crumbled at all, Tal could lose his life.

  But the seconds crept by, punctuated by sounds: the sad, wailing sound of an unknown bird, the sea far below, the swishing sound of the line as it moved rhythmically in and out from the cliff. The scrabbling sounds of Tal’s feet finding foothold. The occasional shower of falling pebbles.

  She couldn’t stand it. As if coming out of a dark dream, she stood at the cliff face already. Shaking, she peered over.

  He was almost two-thirds of the way down, pushing away from the cliff, coming in too far down for his own safety. His gaze was on the ground below, to the man injured on the rocks.

  Irish is awesome in action. He doesn’t even remember himself, or his life: he just focuses on the job at hand, saving people.

  Flipper’s words came back to her with new emphasis, and she saw reborn in him what she’d known since childhood. Tal was born to be a doctor—and not in some cushy S
ydney practice. He lived for this, being able to save people in a world out of control.

  “Tide’s racing in,” Ghost muttered, echoing her dread. There was nowhere for Tal to run to safety, and he’d never leave a patient to die. Please, please work fast and get out of there…

  Tal reached the base of the cliff, still forty feet below, by simply swinging out hard and dropping. Braveheart fed him more line and he landed on the rocks with a bone-shattering jolt that she knew he’d pay for later in agonizing pain. He dropped to his knees, searching the patient for injury.

  Seconds later Ghost’s phone bleeped. “Go on.” He pressed a button so the others could hear.

  “Bullet behind left occipital. Death instantaneous.”

  “How long since death?”

  Tal’s voice was grim. “Over half an hour, rigor mortis has begun in the extremities. Too long for the shot we heard to be the cause.”

  “Any ID on him?”

  “An Australian passport taped to his chest. He’s Peter James Russell from Melbourne. Face matches the photo exactly.”

  “Jack,” Ghost muttered, and sighed. “It’s Jack. Was the shooter definitely a woman?”

  Mary-Anne answered, “The hat came off at a convenient time to ID them as a woman, but he or she was a big build. Very tall.”

  Flipper nodded. “Angel’s blonde. Very blonde. And she’s very tall and strong-built. With jeans and a bulky jacket she could pass for a man from a distance, but for her hair.”

  “A guy could use a wig and pin the job on her,” Braveheart suggested quietly, looking at Wildman, who gave a short, jerky nod, but said nothing. “We can’t name Angel yet.”

  Ghost gave a quick, jerky nod, almost seeming relieved at Braveheart’s assessment. “Can you get the body up before the tide comes in? His family deserves to bury him. There’s no closure without a body.” The restrained anguish in his voice showed he knew how that felt from experience.

  “I can’t climb back up,” Tal replied tersely. “Water’s coming in too fast. I’ll anchor him to me with the spare cams. Anchor your end to the chopper. It’s risky in this choppy wind and sea, but it’s the only possible way to get us both out.”

  Mary-Anne looked around at the four men, Ghost, Flipper, Braveheart and Wildman, and knew they’d all do as Tal was now, risking his life to honor a fallen comrade.

  The Nighthawks were like that.

  Ten minutes later the chopper lifted the wildly swaying bodies, Tal cradling Jack’s head against his shoulder like a child, to keep further damage from his dead body.

  They laid Jack on the ground, limbs by his side, as though asleep. They saluted him in silence before covering him, to send him home to his family. Mary-Anne burned with fierce pride and sorrow and wistfulness. Goodbye to a comrade she’d never known, an ode to an unknown soldier in this, their private war.

  She and Tal turned away to prepare themselves for the next fight. Tomorrow night they’d go into the Embassy with a minimum of protection, knowing full well someone had watched them today.

  Their cover was completely blown.

  Chapter 16

  It was time.

  Mary-Anne took a deep breath, surveying herself in the full-length mirror. The green dress was the exact shade of her eyes, simple and elegant, falling to her feet in tight, molded glory. The uniform black high heels, slender, sexy, expensive. Her hair pulled up and tumbling over—she’d suffer the usual headache for the folly later—enough makeup for effect, a little perfume, and no jewelry except her wedding rings: Tal’s ring on her left hand, Gil’s adorning her right. Hot and sexual enough to distract men, cold and distant enough to entice: the famous persona of Verity West taking over. Songbird on active duty.

  “Mary-Anne,” Tal said quietly.

  She closed her eyes at the deliberate reminder: there was one man who knew her. “Thank you.” She turned to him.

  He was superb. The tailored tux couldn’t hide his physical strength. With his streaky blond hair tamed, the makeup turning his face back into what it had been, he looked like the Tal she’d loved so wildly as a girl, with the added allure of his natural maturity shining from the ironic look in his dark eyes.

  Her perfect man.

  His mouth twisted into his wry grin. “Here comes Outback Ken and Barbie ready for action, all dolled up and wearing their respective masks, off to play spy games with the spoiled brat black market set of the Mediterranean.”

  She giggled before she could control it.

  He winked at her. “Come on, Barbie-girl. Let’s walk into their Barbie world and laugh at it.”

  They walked off the yacht to the waiting limousine, and for the first time she faced the ordeal of a public appearance as a spy, knowing she truly wouldn’t be alone.

  Within a second of walking through the electronic detector devices either side of the carved double doors of the Embassy, they triggered alarms.

  Security men swarmed on her. She stepped back, her face and eyes pure ice. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Keep your hands off my wife, or I’ll break every bone that touches her,” Tal said, cold and deadly, behind her.

  The men’s hands dropped. “We have to search you both,” one hulking man said, his voice sulky and threatening as he kept his eyes on her body in the thin sheath of a dress.

  “I wouldn’t recommend it.” Tal stepped in front of her, big, rough and dangerous. Braveheart and Flipper, in the roles of bodyguards, stood at either side of them, ready to fight.

  “Is there a problem?”

  The smooth voice was gentle yet full of authority.

  Mary-Anne looked at the man, taking his measure. Robert Falcone. Tall and elegant, he was handsome in a dark, deliberate smooth-to-perfection way. Two men with pieces in their ears and suspicious bulges under their dinner jackets hulked behind him, giving him an aura of vast wealth, incredible power and hidden insecurity. Typical of a man who’d made his money by living dirty—denying his mortality while keeping on constant guard against it. Killing for the sake of furthering profit and power.

  The goons at the entry snapped to attention. “Mr. Falcone, they set the alarm off. We have to search them.”

  “No, you won’t,” Tal growled, wrapping an arm around her waist. “We’ll leave first.”

  “Dr. O’Rierdan,” Falcone purred, “you are most welcome in my home, and will remain unmolested, certainly. But would you mind telling me why you brought bodyguards with you, and why you’re wearing devices that set off my alarm system?”

  Tal held his gaze. “With all due respect, we don’t know you. Why should we trust you?”

  Mary-Anne added, “If we deactivate the devices, or anyone interferes with the signals or our men, six more bodyguards and the police will swarm the house within two minutes.” Please, someone, do it, she couldn’t help thinking. Starting the assault with only her, Tal, Braveheart and Flipper against a hundred defied any odds. “If you don’t want the inconvenience, we’re happy to leave.”

  She held Falcone’s gaze, waiting for the next move, knowing the enormous risk in her half-truth. The devices wired back to Australia’s top security firm—and relayed straight to Ghost, waiting with a team of choppers half a minute away.

  Falcone’s cool gray eyes gleamed with irony. He knew who they were and why they’d come, but he was all gracious capitulation. “I understand, Miss West. Naturally a star of your caliber must protect yourself from unwanted intrusion at all times. I hope this will be a most memorable evening of your honeymoon.” He nodded at his guards, who backed off. “Please, come in.”

  The alarms went off again as soon as they moved through. Falcone waved, and soon the only sounds they could hear were the low hum of conversation and soft music.

  “I’m Robert Falcone, Miss West, Dr. O’Rierdan.” He held out a hand to her first.

  She took it with reluctance. This man was a snake who’d brought her here to seduce her…or to take her against her will. Another bored, rich, middle-aged man chasing Verity W
est the star, who wanted to be the man to melt the Iceberg.

  Yet it would be dangerous to underestimate him. He knew who they were. A sense of waiting, watching, touched her deepest instincts, a restrained fury she could barely associate with Falcone’s creamy smile and cold-eyed gaze. Someone other than Falcone? Was it Burstall—or the rogue Nighthawk? The undercurrents felt like a riptide, pulling her into an unknown sea.

  She released Falcone’s hand, slipping hers into Tal’s as he shook hands in turn. As their host led the way up the stairs, she whispered, “Something stinks here.”

  “I know,” he whispered back. “Great work. I couldn’t have got him to let us in.” Playing the loving husband, he kissed the hand he held and smiled at her. Though she knew it was an act, her insides went mushy with emotion and need flared in her with the intimate touch. Wanting to touch his body beneath the gorgeous, tailored tux, have him slowly unzip her dress and—

  “Don’t look at me like that, Mary-Anne, even if it is just to put Falcone in his place.” Tal lifted her hands to his lips, one after the other. “I like it just a bit too much, and I’m only human. Got to keep my mind on the job.”

  He’d done that to make her smile, to make her remember she wasn’t alone. They were friends, they were lovers—they were together for this case, at least. He wouldn’t let her down, wouldn’t overestimate her skills or underestimate her strength.

  For the first time since she’d joined the Nighthawks, she knew she could count on someone completely. Tal knew her. He knew what she could take, would cover for her when she faltered.

  Braveheart and Flipper, ignored by Falcone and watched by his men, stationed themselves at the two exits of the grand ballroom, their eyes constantly on Tal and Mary-Anne.

  Falcone began almost as soon as they reached the ballroom. “Dr. O’Rierdan, I’d like you to meet Dr. Susan Hing. Perhaps you’ve heard of her? She’s a pioneer in the latest forms of reconstructive plastic surgery. I’m certain you two will have much to discuss, both with a surgical background. Leave it to me to introduce your lovely wife around.” With a sleek smile he put a hand on Mary-Anne’s back, ready to take her away.