Straight Through the Heart

by Lyn Stone

  She watched as he opened the cabinet and retrieved a box of doughnuts. Uh-oh, the way to her heart. Dawn squelched a smile. Trust him to intuit her weakness.

  They took seats at the table where he proceeded to open the sweets. He didn’t hurry. It was as if he taunted her a little. He lifted a doughnut from the box and held it out as if anticipating that first bite. “Jack called earlier,” he said. “They ran the plates and the car was rented with a bogus ID. He will have ditched it. Soon as it’s found, we’ll have a lead to follow.” Then he took a bite out of a chocolate-covered confection and pointed at her with what was left. “We’ll get him.”

  Unable to resist a minute longer, Dawn reached over and snagged what looked like a lemon-filled doughnut. “Right. I’m sure he left a forwarding address in the glove compartment. Or maybe we can call in the psychics.”

  Vinland’s brow furrowed as he swallowed and thunked down the remains of his doughnut. “Look, we need to get something straight before we get started.”

  “Oh, spare me the drill. I get it. I know you’re in charge and I’m not in the habit of trampling male egos. You lead, boy wonder, and I won’t even protest. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  He looked a little taken aback, probably because she wasn’t bowing at his feet for this opportunity.

  “All right, then,” he said finally. “Do you want to know what I’m going to do to you?”

  That opened her eyes. “Do to me?”

  His boyish grin didn’t sit well with her. “Work with you so you don’t sound and look so American. But first I need to talk to you a little more. Get better acquainted.”

  That might have sounded appealing, except for the way he’d said it. “I thought we did that on the way here.” She waved a hand. “So talk.”

  “Look at me,” he instructed, taking the seat across the small table from her. “Take my hand.”

  “Ha, right. Spare me the lame come-ons, will you?” Dawn scoffed. She didn’t want to touch him and feel that tingle again. Or maybe she wanted it too much. Like a third doughnut she knew she’d better say no to. “Just get on with it and ask what you want to ask.”

  He took her hand anyway. Dawn started to retract it, but decided that so far the gesture seemed harmless enough. Maybe he was only trying to put her at ease. If that was what he had in mind, it sure wasn’t working. She tingled in spite of herself. Her skin grew warm, and she was afraid she was blushing all over.

  His hand was smooth, the nails clipped straight across and very clean. Calluses ridged the outer edges of his palm and his knuckles were slightly enlarged. All in all, nice hands. Large and warm. Hers felt hot and were probably a little damp.

  He gripped her fingers tighter. What was with the handholding? If he meant to get any chummier than that, he had another think coming. But when she attempted to pull away, he held her fast, threading his fingers through hers. She glanced up from their joined hands.

  His intense look surprised her. The bluest eyes in the world bored into hers as if seeking the secret of the universe. She couldn’t look away. Hypnosis? No, she didn’t feel the least bit woozy. As a matter of fact, the sugared coffee and doughnut were kicking in and the energy from them had perked her up. Or maybe he did that. The old hormones were alive and kicking, no doubt about that.

  Yep, Vinland was a great-looking guy. Exactly the kind she wouldn’t trust. She had learned that lesson all too well and twice over. She made herself remember what she’d love to forget.

  Her first affair had been with a research assistant in her second year of college. Thomas had had a similar wicked grin, same golden-boy looks as Vinland, same know-it-all attitude, too. She’d found out too late it was a know-them-all attitude and ol’ Tom was keeping score, a dumping offense if she’d ever encountered one.

  Her second lapse of sanity involved a fellow student at the academy. Nice guy, Scott. She had begun to have wonderful visions of something permanent when she found out he had sugared up to her for tutorial reasons. So much for being loved for one’s mind. As soon as he passed, she was history.

  Given how Bergen had so recently dashed her ability to judge the character of a man, Dawn could no longer trust her professional assessment, much less her personal instincts, when it came to men.

  She wasn’t falling again, no way.

  Vinland equaled danger if she didn’t gear down and treat him like artwork. And he was a piece of work for sure. Finely textured skin, slightly tanned. Those shoulders definitely saw the inside of a gym on a regular basis. His hair gleamed a sort of pale brown with blond highlights. Bottled lights? She wondered. His eyes mesmerized, an almost iridescent blue with long, sexy lashes any woman would covet.

  The mouth looked a little too firm at the moment, but she remembered how sensuous it had appeared before when he was more relaxed. Didn’t hurt to admire, though doing so did jack up her tension to an uncomfortable level.

  Her feeling that way, she understood, but why was he so uptight right now?

  “Can’t you think of anything to say?” she asked. “You’re the one who wanted to talk.”

  He shook his head a little sharply and glanced away from her. “Something’s not… Excuse me,” he said, releasing her hand and getting up. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She shrugged when he left. Maybe he didn’t quite know what to make of her. Despite her better judgment, she grabbed another doughnut, a yummy glazed one, swearing to herself that she would work it off later.

  He returned in a few minutes clutching her black shirt. Though she was covered better than she would have been in a bathing suit, she was sitting there in her undies. Modesty wasn’t a big thing with her. Maybe it was with him.

  Dawn licked her sticky fingers and reached for the shirt to put it on, but he didn’t let it go. Those blue eyes followed her every move.

  “Sorry about that,” she said with an embarrassed chuckle. Again, she tugged at the shirt. “I’ll get dressed now.”

  “No.”

  “Yes!” she insisted, snatching the garment from his grasp. “What is it with you?”

  Whatever it was, it didn’t seem limited to lust. Vinland seemed worried, distracted.

  “Would you mind sitting down again?” he asked politely.

  “I really need to get some clothes on.” She held up the shirt he had brought her. “I shouldn’t have come down here in my skivvies. Guess I’ve lived alone too long.”

  He nodded relutantly and turned away. “Later, then.”

  “Is something wrong?” she asked over her shoulder.

  He shook his head, but it didn’t seem like it was in answer to her question. Instead, he was frowning and looked seriously puzzled about something, and she knew it had to do with her.

  Dawn went back to the bedroom where she’d slept and put on the rest of her clothes. Vinland was one strange dude. If he couldn’t even get it together to brief her on what they were planning to do, how could she depend on him to run this investigation?

  Maybe she should have a word with Jack Mercier about it. Trouble was, she had no idea how to get in touch with his boss without asking Vinland for the number and telling him why she wanted it.

  Oh hell, maybe Vinland also just needed a lot of coffee before he could function. She could understand that.

  Eric had hoped that Dawn’s blocking his attempts at establishing a telepathic connection was a temporary thing, caused by Bergen’s blow to her trust. Shields definitely went up at times like that.

  That’s all it was, he decided. Once she got past that shock and her defenses went down, he’d read her like a novel in oversized print. This morning’s repeated efforts didn’t signal failure, only delay.

  Touching her hadn’t helped at all. In fact, it only confused things more. He hadn’t gotten anything from handling her clothing, either.

  All Eric had to do today was get their ducks in a row. The first order of business was to get Dawn disguised, brief her about the details of the mission and get her adjusted to hi
m and their new looks. Also, to get himself comfortable with her, Eric admitted.

  The truth was, he felt a little out of control around Dawn Moon, on both a professional and a personal level. He felt different, less and yet more. Deprived of something, but somehow more complete. It made no sense to feel that way.

  He rummaged around in the side pocket of his carry-on bag for the case containing his glasses. Maybe that was the key. He hadn’t had his glasses on, either last night or this morning. On the flight into D.C. from Seattle, he had slipped them off to take a short nap and put them away. In his hurry to deplane and report for duty, he had forgotten about them since he didn’t need them to see.

  Over the years, they had become almost like a light switch that regulated his ability. Though they were nothing but very lightly tinted glass, they had always seemed to block, or at least filter, the thoughts of others that used to bombard him unexpectedly.

  He thought back to his arrival at the interrogation. He had immediately picked up on Jack’s belief that Dawn was not guilty. He had read Holly’s sympathy for Dawn before okaying her visit to the ladies’ room. But the inner thoughts of Dawn Moon had remained a mystery.

  Since seeing her for the first time, he hadn’t read anyone, he realized. There had been a crazy moment of sheer, unadulterated peace. Always, for as long as he could remember, he had endured background noise in his mind, something like constant static. Thoughts of others bombarding him from every direction, held at bay only by doing some blocking of his own. At the moment his eyes had met Dawn’s, that had ceased like magic.

  He had grabbed it like a blessed reprieve he couldn’t bear to give up. It lingered even now. Even when he needed it to go away.

  The specs were merely a psychosomatic screen—he knew that—but whatever worked, he had learned to use. He’d put his glasses on now, then take them off after he got Dawn used to being around him. Surely then he would have no problem knowing her every thought.

  Eric knew the reasoning was somehow faulty. He also was trying too hard. And maybe loving that clarity of mind and near silence in his head a little too much.

  “Hey, Moon, you dressed?” Dawn jumped when Vinland called out to her through the bathroom door. He knocked a couple of times, then opened the door to the guest room.

  She was fully clothed, looking out the window, but turned when he entered. “Where are we going?”

  “Nowhere, yet.”

  “Hey, better lose the granny glasses,” she suggested. “They make you look like Brad Pitt in that movie where he played a wimp.” Actually, he looked too scrumptious for words in those things. The glasses hinted at a hidden vulnerability that made him seem even more approachable, something she did not need at the moment.

  He laughed at her insult and reached up, taking off his eyewear. When he had pocketed them, he looked directly at her, his expression growing almost fierce in its intensity.

  A few seconds passed and he lightened up, shrugging and shaking his head as if what he saw in her disappointed him.

  Damn the man, then. She tossed her hair back with one hand and could have kicked herself for the high-schoolish gesture.

  For the remainder of the morning, Dawn shared the tension as they waited on the call from Mercier.

  Vinland left her alone for a few hours, but he didn’t go out. Instead, he stayed in his home office on the phone and the computer.

  The door remained open. She gave him a cursory wave as she passed on her way to the kitchen, but she didn’t intrude. What was it that agents like Vinland did to prepare for a mission? she wondered.

  He joined her around four in the afternoon in his den, where she was clicking through the TV channels, finding nothing interesting to watch.

  “Want some popcorn?” he asked, strolling over to thumb through his DVD collection. “How about pizza? I could order one.”

  “No way,” she said, looking at him now instead of the television. He wore faded jeans and a T-shirt that simply said Navy with a tiny cartoon of a seal underneath the word.

  “You don’t like pizza? Now that is un-American,” he stated categorically, shaking a finger at her. “You’re obviously some kind of alien. Not a foreigner, but a strange being from another planet.”

  Dawn laughed and abandoned the remote. “I was going to say you’d better order two.”

  He clutched his chest and rolled his eyes. “Thank God.”

  With a flourish, he popped in a DVD without asking her what movie she wanted to watch. It was a chick flick, an old one. Dawn smiled at his consideration, though she really preferred action/adventure.

  She didn’t intend to watch it, anyway. This bit of downtime was a perfect opportunity for her to find out what kind of agent, and what kind of man, she was dealing with.

  So far, nothing about Vinland seemed consistent. One minute he acted stern and uncompromising, the next polite and considerate; then he’d tease her and make her laugh. Who was he, really?

  She listened while he joked around on the phone with the pizza person and tried to con them into adding extra olives for free. He quirked an eyebrow at her, as if asking if she approved the request. Dawn nodded enthusiastically. He wound up paying extra, but apparently enjoyed the verbal exchange.

  He seemed to enjoy practically everything, she noticed. Only once in a while did he go all serious, and then not for long. One thing about him: he didn’t exhibit the wary reluctance to reveal personal things about himself that agents in their business usually did.

  He obviously loved his house and spent a great deal on it. Expensive antiques looked very much at home here, complemented by exquisitely framed original art. She noted he preferred realistic to abstract, traditional over modern. Though masculine in tone, the style of the place felt welcoming, warm, friendly. Like Vinland himself. Or, maybe he had simply hired a good decorator, she thought with a shrug. There were photos everywhere, a great many of them of women. Beautiful women.

  She pointed to one in particular. “Is that who I think it is?”

  He nodded. “Bev Martin.”

  “The actress?” Dawn was impressed. “You know her?”

  Again he nodded and added a grin. “She’s a good friend.”

  More than that, Dawn would bet. Here was a man who had no trouble attracting females. Of all ages, judging by his collection of pictures. The one of the actress she recognized was no publicity photo, but a candid shot of sexy Bev relaxing in the very recliner that sat across the room. “She’s very beautiful.”

  “Yeah, nice person, too,” he admitted readily, then promptly changed the subject. Or maybe not. “You going with anyone in particular? I’m only asking in case you need to excuse your absence for a week or so.”

  “Not at the moment.” Not in the last few years, but she wasn’t admitting that much to him or anyone else. “What about you?”

  “No excuses needed,” he assured her without really answering the other part of the question. Maybe Miss Martin understood what he did for a living and knew better than to expect explanations for his absences.

  Dawn curled her feet under her on the comfy suede sofa and lay back against the cushions, stretching her arm along the back. “I love your place. Have you lived here long?”

  He glanced around. “Almost two years. Bought it just before I left the Navy.”

  “You’re not from here, though,” she guessed. His accent was pure Boston. Upper class, too. No doubt an Ivy Leaguer, a Princeton or Harvard man. “Massachusetts, right?”

  “Good ear,” he said, approving her skill. “And you…let me see…from New Jersey.”

  “Right,” she admitted. “But you didn’t get that from my accent. I don’t have one.”

  “Right, you don’t,” he admitted with a smile. “Read your file.” He plopped down beside her, his leg almost touching her knees.

  “That is so unfair. I know nothing about you.”

  “Sure you do.” He plucked at the front of his shirt. “I’m ex-Navy. I like old stuff,” he said, g
lancing around at the antiques gracing his den. “Vintage movies and pizza,” he added with a nod at the television. “And I’ve just revealed that I’m unencumbered socially. So what else do you want to know?”

  “How’d you get into this business?” Somehow he just didn’t seem the intelligence-agent type with that openness of his and the laid-back attitude. Or was that merely a front?

  He pursed his lips for a minute, making her stare at their perfection. She hated it when a man made her gawk. He relaxed them and cut his gaze sideways. “Well, I kept getting seasick. The Navy tossed me out and Jack felt sorry for me, cast ashore like that with nowhere to go. Told me if I’d behave like a spy, he’d let me hang out with him and his team for a while.”

  Dawn laughed. “So you try to behave.”

  “Sometimes. I keep waiting for him to throw me back, but I guess he’d have nobody to razz if he did.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re the team screwup.”

  “No, but I do believe a sense of humor helps get you through the dark times. Take yourself too seriously and it’s harder to roll with the punches, don’t you think?”

  Dawn did. Odd how he seemed to want her to understand him. He had divulged a lot about himself. “You take the job seriously, though,” she guessed.

  “Damn straight.”

  Right. She picked at the luxurious fringe on the pillow beneath her hand and caressed the woven tapestry fabric. She loved this room and everything in it. It suited him perfectly, or at least what she thought she knew of him now. “You have either great taste or a good decorator.”

  “Thanks.” But he didn’t indicate which.

  Dawn suspected he had chosen everything in his house himself, and did it with an eye for comfort and quality. The painting above the mantel was of a woman who looked a bit like him. “Who’s that?”

  “My grandmother,” he said with an openly affectionate look at the portrait. “Also my favorite person. She died a few years ago and I still miss her.”