All or Nothing

by Catherine Mann

  To think, she’d been a kiss away from tearing her clothes the rest of the way off and jumping back in bed with him, even though he hadn’t changed one bit. Even now the moist pleasure lingered between her legs, reminding her of how easily she’d opened for him all over again. Part of her hoped he would deny what she’d said, come up with some very, very believable explanation.

  Except, damn him, he simply nodded before he turned back to John Salvatore. “Colonel, can we get back to Jayne’s safety?”

  “We have reason to believe the subject of your most recent investigation may have stumbled on your identity, perhaps through a mole in our organization. He’s angry, and he wants revenge.”

  Salvatore’s veiled explanation floated around her brain as she tried to piece together everything and figure out what it had to do with her husband. “Who exactly is after Conrad?”

  They exchanged glances and before they could toss out some “need to know” phrase, she pressed on. “If I’m uninformed that puts us both in more danger. How can I be careful if I don’t even know what to be careful about?”

  Salvatore cleared his throat. “Have you heard of a man named Vladik Zhutov?”

  Her heart stopped for three very stunned seconds. “Of course I’ve heard about him. He was all over the news. He’s responsible for a major counterfeiting ring. He single-handedly tried to manipulate some small country’s currency to affect the outcome of an election. But he’s in jail now. Isn’t he?”

  The colonel dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. “Even in prison, he has influence and connections, and we have reason to fear he might be trying to use those against Conrad.”

  She flattened her hand to the nearest chair to keep her legs from giving way underneath her. Her husband had always been so intent on separating himself from anything to do with his father’s world. Even though his parents were both dead, Conrad wouldn’t even visit their graves.

  Was he on a vendetta of his own? Had he placed his life at risk to see that through?

  Anger at Conrad took a backseat to fear for his safety. Her stomach knotted in horror, terror and a total denial of the possibility of a world without Conrad’s indomitable presence. “Are you saying this individual has taken out some kind of hit on Conrad?”

  She looked back and forth from the two men, both so stoic, giving away little in their stony expressions. How could someone stay this cool when her whole world was crumbling around her? Then she saw the pulse throbbing in Conrad’s temple, a flash of something in his eyes that looked remarkably like…raw rage.

  Salvatore sat on the chair beside her, angling toward her in his first sign of any kind of human softening. “Mrs. Hughes—Jayne—I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that. Intelligence indicates Zhutov has been in contact with assassins, ones who are very good at what they do. They understand the best way to get revenge is to go after what means the most to that person. You, my dear, are Conrad’s Achilles’ heel.”

  * * *

  Conrad was certain his head would explode before the night was through. What more could life catapult at him in one weekend?

  The thought that someone—anyone—would dare use Jayne to get back at him damn near sent him into a blind rage. Only the need to protect her kept him in check.

  Later, he would deal with the inevitable fallout from Salvatore ignoring Conrad’s request to shield Jayne from the messiness of his Interpol work. He could think of a half-dozen different ways this could have been handled, all of which involved not telling Jayne secrets that could only put her in more danger.

  Since Salvatore had dropped his “Achilles’ heel” bombshell, the colonel had taken charge as he did so well. He’d shown Jayne his Interpol identification and offered to fly her to headquarters in Lyon, France. He would do whatever she needed to feel reassured, but it needed to happen quickly for her personal protection.

  One thing was clear. They had to leave Monte Carlo. Tonight.

  Salvatore continued to explain to Jayne in even, reasonable tones designed to calm. “When you make arrangements for work and for your dog, you need to give a plausible story that also will lead Zhutov’s people in the wrong direction.”

  She twitched, but kept an admirable cool given everything she’d been told. “My phone is tapped?”

  “Probably not.” Salvatore shook his head. “And even if it is, the penthouse is equipped with devices that scramble your signal. However, that doesn’t stop listening devices on the other end. We can use that to our advantage, though, by scripting what you say.”

  “This is insane.” She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead.

  “I agree.” Salvatore played the conciliatory role well, one he sure as hell hadn’t shown a bunch of screwed-up teenagers seventeen years ago. “I sincerely hope we’re wrong and all of this will be resolved quickly. But we can’t afford to count on that. You need to tell them that you’re ironing out details of the divorce with Conrad and it’s taking longer than you expected.”

  Nodding, she stood, hitching her evening bag over her shoulder. “I’ll step into the kitchen, if that’s not a problem.”

  “Take your time, catch your breath, but keep in mind we need to leave by sunup.”

  Jayne shot a quick glance at her husband, full of confusion, anger—betrayal—and then disappeared into the kitchen.

  * * *

  Conrad reined in his temper, lining up his thoughts and plans while his wife’s soft voice drifted out.

  Salvatore cleared his throat. “Do you have something to say, Hughes?”

  Oh, he had plenty to say, but he needed to narrow his attention to the task at hand. “With all due respect, Colonel, it’s best that I keep my opinions to myself and focus on how the hell we’re going to keep Jayne off of that megalomaniac’s radar.”

  “I have faith you’ll handle that just fine.”

  The colonel’s blasé answer lit the fuse to Conrad’s anger. He closed the gap between them and hissed low between his teeth so Jayne wouldn’t overhear. “If you have such faith in me, why the big show in front of my wife?”

  “Big show?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  What the hell? Conrad was not sixteen and a high school screwup. This was not the time for games. “Scaring the hell out of her. Springing the whole Interpol connection on her.”

  “I still can’t believe you never told her. I thought you were smarter than that, my boy.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you think. That was my call to make. I told you when I married her I didn’t want her involved in that side of my life, for her own safety.”

  “Seems to me you’ve put her in more danger by not clueing her in. Even she picked up on that.”

  There was no way to know for sure now. But the possibility chapped at the worst time possible. “Thanks for the insights. Now, moving on to how we take care of Zhutov? If my cover’s been compromised…”

  The ramifications of that rolled over him, the realization that even once he had Jayne tucked away safe, this line of work and the redemption it brought could be closed to him forever. Later, he would sift through that and the possibility that without Interpol in his life, he could have his wife back.

  Right now, he could only concentrate on making sure nobody touched so much as one hair on her head.

  * * *

  Sagging back against the polished pewter countertop, Jayne hugged her cell phone to her chest. The lies she’d just told left a bad taste in her mouth. Not to mention the fact she’d just been put on an unpaid leave of absence from her job.

  This was supposed to have been such a simple trip to tie up the loose ends in her marriage…

  Hell. Who was she kidding? Nothing with Conrad had ever been simple.

  As if conjured from her thoughts, he filled the archway leading into the kitchen. He’d ditched his tuxedo jacket and tie, the top button of his shirt open. A light scratch marked his neck and she realized she must have put it there sometime during their grope fest in the elevator, along with spiking h
is hair in her desperate hunger to touch him again. Thank God she hadn’t followed through. How much worse this moment would have been had that elevator stayed shut down and she’d made love with him standing up in that cubicle of mirrors.

  She set her phone down. “Can I have my panties back?”

  He quirked an arrogant eyebrow before dipping into his pocket and passing over the torn scrap of satin. It was ridiculous really, asking for the useless piece of underwear back, but it felt like a statement of independence to her, reclaiming ground and putting space between them.

  She snatched the dangling white scrap from his hand. “Thank you.”

  She jammed the underwear into the trash, a minor victory, before turning back to confront him. “You work for Interpol.”

  Hands in his pockets, he lounged one shoulder against the door frame. “Apparently I do.”

  Apparently?

  His dodgy answer echoed too many in their past. The time he’d missed their first anniversary weekend retreat that they’d planned for weeks. Or when he’d bailed on going with her to her half brother’s incredibly awkward wedding. And no explanations. Ever.

  She couldn’t keep quiet. Not now with her emotions still so raw from their explosive discussion in the car and their passionate encounter in the elevator. Even now, a need throbbed between her legs to finish what they’d started, to take him deeply inside her.

  “You still won’t admit it? Even when your boss confirmed it to me? What kind of twisted bastard are you? Do you get some sick pleasure out of yanking me around this way?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “I kept you in the dark for your protection.”

  “I’m not buying it. I know you too well.” Anger, hurt—and yes, more than a little sexual frustration—seethed inside her. “You didn’t tell me because then you would have to commit, one hundred percent, to our marriage. You never wanted it to last, or you would have found a way to put my mind at ease all these years.”

  He could have told her something. Anything. But he hadn’t even tried to come up with a rationale for his disappearances. He’d just left.

  “I thought you would worry more,” he said simply.

  Although she wondered if there was a flash of guilt in his mocha-brown eyes. That would go a long way toward keeping her from pummeling him with fruit from the bowl on the counter.

  “And you think I didn’t worry when I had no clue where you were or what you were doing?” Those sleepless nights came back to haunt her. “In the beginning, I was scared to death something had happened to you those times I couldn’t locate you. It took me a long time to reach the conclusion you must be cheating on me, like my father fooled around on my mom.”

  He straightened, his eyes flinty hard. “I never slept with another woman.”

  “I get that.” She raised a hand. “Hell, I figured that out even then. But you still lied to me. You cheated on me with that damn job.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his scowl. “Do you think operatives have the luxury of printing out an itinerary for their spouses?”

  “Of course not. I’m not that naive.” More like she’d let herself stay oblivious, clinging to the hope she might be wrong about him hiding things from her. “But Colonel Salvatore made it clear tonight you could have told me something and you chose not to.”

  “I chose what I thought was best for you.” His mouth went tight.

  Well, too damn bad. She had every right to be upset.

  “You thought it was best to sacrifice our marriage? Because that’s the decision you made for both of us, without even giving me the option of deciding for myself.”

  “I won’t apologize for keeping you safe.”

  His intractable words made her realize how far apart they were from seeing eye to eye on this.

  “Fine. But consider how you’d feel if the tables were turned and it was me disappearing for days on end without a word of explanation. Or what you would have thought if I’d left you to celebrate your anniversary by yourself.” He’d flown her to a couples retreat in the Seychelles. The island country off the coast of Africa had been so romantic and exotic. Except he’d left her sitting in a dining room full of hormones all alone.

  He’d said nothing, as per usual.

  Knowing she’d let herself be turned into some kind of doll adorning his arm and decorating his world perhaps stung most of all. “And to think I was that close to falling in your arms again. Well, no worries about that now. I am so over you, Conrad Hughes.”

  She angled sideways past him, through the door.

  He gripped her arm. “You can’t leave now. No matter how angry you are with me, it’s not safe for you out there.”

  “I got that from your boss, thanks. I’m just going to pack. In my room. Alone.”

  His hand slid down her arm, sending a traitorous jolt of awareness straight to her belly until she pressed her legs together against the moist ache still simmering.

  “You were able to arrange things with work and for Mimi?”

  Standing this close to Conrad with her emotions on overload was not a smart idea. She needed to wrap this up and retreat to her room to regroup. “She’s settled, but Anthony can’t watch her indefinitely. He travels with his job. But I’ll figure that out later.”

  She brushed past.

  “Anthony.”

  Conrad’s flat, emotionless voice sent prickles up her spine. She turned slowly, her evening gown brushing the tops of her bare feet. “He’s the nephew of a former patient.”

  Not that she owed him any explanation after the way he’d walled her out for years.

  “And he watches our dog while you’re out of town.” Conrad still leaned in the doorway, completely motionless other than the slow blink of his too-sharp eyes.

  “It’s not like he and I are dating…”

  “Yet. But that’s why you came to Monte Carlo, isn’t it? So you would be free to move on with Anthony or some other guy.” Conrad scratched his eyebrow. “I think I pretty much have the picture in place.”

  And clearly he wasn’t one bit happy with that image. Well, too damn bad after all the tears she’d shed seeing his casino pictured in tabloids, him with a different woman on his arm each time. “You don’t get to be mad at me. I’m the one who’s been lied to.”

  “Then I guess that makes it easier for us to spend time alone together.” He shoved away from the door frame, his shoulder brushing hers as he passed. “Pack your bag, sweetheart. We’re taking a family vacation.”

  Six

  The bulletproof, tinted windows on his balcony offered Conrad the protection he needed while escaping the claustrophobic air of the penthouse.

  Jayne had already picked out his replacement. He realized now that she’d come to Monte Carlo to end their marriage so she could move on with another man. If she hadn’t already.

  Scratch that.

  He didn’t think she was sleeping with the guy, not yet. Jayne was an innately honorable woman. And while he didn’t assume she would stay celibate for three years, she wouldn’t have almost had sex with him if she’d already committed to another man.

  Her integrity was one of the things about her that had drawn him right from the start. She had a goodness inside her that was rare and should be protected. For the first time, it hit him how much she must have missed her career when she lived with him, and even though Monte Carlo was his primary residence, he’d traveled from holding to holding too often for her to secure a new job. He’d never thought about how long and lonely her days must have been.

  Looking back, he probably should have left her the hell alone. He deserved Jayne’s anger and more. He’d been wrong to marry her in the first place knowing he would never choose to tell her about his contract work with Interpol. He’d deluded himself that he held back out of a need to protect her, but deep down he knew he’d always feared he needed the job more than he needed her. That he needed that outlet to rebel, a way to channel the part of his father that lived inside him, the part that had almost l
anded him in jail as a teenager.

  He’d been so damn crazy for Jayne he’d convinced himself he could make it work.

  He’d only delayed the inevitable.

  Now she was paying the price for his mistake. He resisted the urge to put his fist through a wall. Her life could be at risk because of him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened to her.

  He scoured the cove below, every yacht and cruise ship lighting up the shoreline suddenly became suspect.

  A sound from the doorway sent him pivoting fast, his hand on the 9mm he’d strapped into a shoulder harness.

  Troy Donavan lounged in the entrance, his fedora in hand. “Whoa, hold up. Don’t shoot your body double.”

  “My what?”

  Donavan stepped out onto the balcony. “Your double. I’ll travel as you and you travel as me. If anyone manages to track either of our movements, they’ll still be led in the wrong direction.” He dropped his hat on the lounger. “Salvatore said we’re not heading out for another couple of hours. I can keep watch over Jayne while you catch a nap.”

  “I’m cool. But thanks. Insomnia has its perks.” He glanced sideways at his best friend of over seventeen years. “Did Salvatore send you here to check on me after the showdown with Jayne?”

  “He alerted me to the crap with Zhutov and the concerns for your wife. I know how I would feel in your shoes, and it’s not pretty.”

  Damn straight. He didn’t know how Donavan handled having Hillary keyed into the Interpol world. She’d even started training to actively participate in future freelance missions.

  “I have to get Jayne as far away and under the radar as possible.” How long would this nightmare last? Would she end up spending the rest of her life on the run? He wouldn’t leave her side until he knew she was safe. He’d wanted to grow old with her, but sure as hell not that way.