Past Sins (Silhouette Bombshell)

by Debra Webb

  She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Keep your voice down.”

  “Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “He could kill both of us. We can’t be sure of his intentions. I can sense that you don’t entirely trust him. Why take the risk?”

  “Because there’s no other choice. We can’t sit idly by while he does whatever he has planned. I have to make a move. This isn’t going to be over until I figure out what the hell is going on. I can’t do that here.”

  He pursed his lips and thought about what she’d said for long enough to make her nervous. Any attempt she made at escape would be doomed if she couldn’t count on Jeffrey.

  “I’m not sure I understand any of this. You said one of your patients had threatened me to get back at you, for some perceived injustice, I presume. You said the man you visited last night was a relative of this patient. I’m clear up to that point. How does this Landry fellow play into things if he’s not your patient?”

  More lies. “I’m not even sure about that myself.” How much should she tell him at this point? Not much. “We were friends once.” She hated that the old pain and disillusionment slipped into her tone so easily. “But he betrayed me and for some reason he’s back now. I don’t know his reasons, but I need to find out. Somehow it’s all connected.” That was about as clear as mud.

  “You were more than friends.”

  At Jeffrey’s suggestion, her gaze met his. The guardedness she saw there sent another stab of regret deep into her chest. There was no reason to lie about that. He was too smart not to pick up on the signs. If she looked at the situation from Jeffrey’s perspective, this thing between her and Landry was the only tangible part.

  “Yes,” she confessed, “we were more than friends.”

  He nodded sagely. “That explains the way he looks at you.”

  She felt his arms tighten possessively around her. “We were over a long time ago, Jeffrey.” It wasn’t that her relationship with Jeffrey, or what was left of it, was such that she needed to explain that aspect of her past. But she wanted to…for some reason. It simply felt like the right thing to do under the circumstances.

  Jeffrey didn’t respond to her assertion. Attempting to convince him would be a waste of time. He either believed her or he didn’t. They had plans to make and the water was cooling already.

  She grabbed the bar of soap and began to lather her body as she explained more of her plan. “I’ll take whatever opportunity arises to regain control. And when I do, I need you to be ready to move.”

  He took the bar she offered and lathered his skin. “I’ll follow your lead,” he assured. “Anything to get us out of this situation.”

  That was all she needed. “Just stay alert and be ready.”

  “I will. I won’t breathe easy again until we’re back in L.A.”

  She didn’t tell him that going back to L.A. right now would be too dangerous. He wouldn’t take it well. She let him believe that they were on the same sheet of music. That was the best for the moment.

  Thankfully, a bottle of store-brand shampoo prevented the need to use bar soap on her hair. When they’d finished their shower and dried sufficiently, getting dressed was accomplished much more quickly. Olivia’s hair would just have to dry on its own since she didn’t find a dryer.

  Besides, if Jeffrey was half as starved as she was, the scent of bacon frying was driving him mad. It definitely put some additional enthusiasm into her desire to rejoin Landry.

  Olivia was glad she’d packed for comfort. Jeans, T-shirt and the hiking boots. The knife was sheathed and tucked in the right one.

  The scent of bacon and toast had permeated the air in the hall and the living room beyond it. Olivia’s stomach rumbled as she entered the kitchen and got a visual on the source of the pleasant smells. Toast, bacon, eggs, O.J. and coffee. She couldn’t believe Landry had gone to all this trouble.

  Jeffrey pulled a chair from the table for her and took the one right next to it for himself. Landry plunked a plate in front of each of them before placing a third on the opposite side of the table. He poured the juice and coffee before claiming his chair. She gritted her teeth and tried her best not to focus on those capable hands or those broad shoulders. Domestic duty only made him appear sexier. How was that possible?

  Olivia directed her thoughts back to business and reached for the coffee first. “I see you haven’t lost your touch in the kitchen.”

  Landry grunted something that couldn’t quite be called an affirmative response, but she took it as one all the same. He had always been very handy in the kitchen. Whenever they were together, if they dined in, he did the cooking. He’d claimed that, being raised by his mother without the influence of a father, he’d had no choice but to learn to prepare an appetizing meal or expire from sheer boredom. There’d been no one to teach him outdoor activities.

  Olivia was pretty sure the cooking was more a hobby that provided an extreme counterpoint to what he did for a living. Being an Interpol agent was very much like working for the CIA. Depending upon your division, the work could be murder—literally. All agents needed ways to relieve stress. The other way they’d relieved their stress bobbed to the surface of her musings. She shifted in her chair, ordering herself to stop thinking about him in that way.

  Like Olivia’s had been until three years ago, Landry’s position was assassin. Quickly, surgically, without any fuss or fanfare. Do the job, get out, end of story.

  So when he was at home he created meals like a master chef and lived the quiet life of a well-heeled man of means. She’d been to his Notting Hill home in London. Landry had money. She had always felt that his quiet, reserved life in England had prompted him into the business of master spy and assassin out of sheer boredom. He was very good at what he did. Which explained nothing about why he was here, serving her eggs and bacon, a typical American breakfast.

  But he’d said they would talk after they’d eaten.

  Fair enough.

  Landry glanced across the table at Jeffrey. “I hope you like scrambled. It seemed the safest route.”

  “Scrambled is fine.” Jeffrey placed his paper napkin on his lap and dug into his meal with the same precision and care with which he did everything else. Including his lovemaking.

  Olivia told herself to eat. She would need the energy and she was famished, but her attention kept drifting across the damn table to their insistent host. No matter how she tried to keep her thoughts on other things.

  He hadn’t changed that much in the past three years. Not that she wanted to notice. Last night, between the surprise of seeing him, the insanity of the circumstances and the darkness, she hadn’t really looked at him all that much. Or maybe she’d realized how dangerous it would be to do so.

  Somehow, in the light of day or perhaps in her sleep-deprived state, she couldn’t suppress the urge, nor could she slow her own body’s foolish reaction.

  His hair was raven black. He still wore it short. The blue eyes even now managed to prompt that same old effect on her, sending her pulse into overdrive. She yearned to look too long, which would only lead to getting lost in the memories of how good it had been between them. That lean, chiseled face didn’t help, either. Nor did the fact that his well-formed jaw was dressed in a day’s beard growth. Top that off with lips fuller than the typical male’s and you had big trouble. The fluttering in her chest punctuated the thought.

  And that was only the beginning. Then there were those broad shoulders and a tall, muscular frame that got a second look wherever he went. A cocky stride and just enough of a British accent, when he chose to use it, to have the women fawning over every word. Olivia was pretty sure he did that part on purpose. He could speak with a Southern brogue when he wished. He’d admitted to her once that he’d lived in so many places and taken on so many identities that he wasn’t sure if he even had an accent anymore without consciously adding one.

  There you have it. Good-looking, charming, intelligent—and deadly.

  That was Holt La
ndry.

  Furious at herself for getting caught up in those incredible outer trappings, she forced her full attention to her plate. Think about something safe. In sharp contrast to her past choices, she’d chosen Jeffrey in her new life. He was attractive in a bookish sort of way. His hair was a sandy brown, his eyes a deep, rich cocoa. His face was handsome in a classic, nonspectacular way. He had an athletic body but it was too lean to be called muscular. He had no accent really, just a very polite, professional way of speaking. He was charming, extremely intelligent and completely safe and reliable.

  Here they all three sat. Thrown together by circumstances she had yet to comprehend.

  She needed feedback from Hamilton but wasn’t sure contacting him again would be in her best interest.

  She needed Landry to come clean with her.

  She couldn’t fully trust either of them. No matter how much she wanted to depend on Hamilton, she couldn’t be absolutely sure. She knew this game too well.

  Bottom line, she was on her own.

  When Jeffrey’s fork was nestled next to an empty plate, Olivia decided it was time. She’d picked at her food, but she was good to go.

  “Jeffrey, do you mind giving us some privacy? Landry and I need to talk.” She met Jeffrey’s gaze, hoping he’d remember their talk in the shower. “Didn’t I see that book you’ve been reading in your overnight bag?”

  A frown tugged his eyebrows together. “I don’t…” Her meaning hit him. “Yes. Sure, I’ll read.” He pushed back from the table and stood. “Thanks, Landry. I can’t say that I appreciate your high-handed tactics but the meal was decent.”

  Jeffrey took his dishes to the sink and then left the room. She wasn’t afraid to allow him out of her sight. He wouldn’t dare leave her on her own with Landry. Jeffrey was far too reliable to let her down like that.

  When the sound of the bedroom door closing behind him reached her ears, Olivia said to Landry, “I hope you’re ready to come clean now.”

  “Speaking of cleaning.” He stood. “You wash and I’ll dry.”

  She got up, wanted to hit him for yet another attempt at putting her off. “As long as you can talk at the same time.”

  His gaze claimed hers in a knowing look that caused the air in her lungs to evaporate. “I think you know I can.”

  The fire in his eyes so startled her with its intensity that it set off little explosions of heat deep in her loins. “Let’s get to it then.” Her verbal response set off more of those fiery flares in his blue eyes.

  At least they were even. She wasn’t the only one affected by memories of the past.

  Since there was no dishwasher, doing the dishes the old-fashioned way was the only option. She filled the sink, then plunged her hands into the hot, sudsy water and began with the glasses and cups.

  “Al Hadi was a righteous hit.”

  She almost dropped the glass in her hand. That he would say that to her, after disappearing three years ago and leaving her with no one to back up her story, detonated years of pent-up fury.

  “How dare you say that to me after you walked away like it never happened?” Her gaze zeroed in on his and instead of seeing that mesmerizing color, all she saw was the object of the hatred she’d been nurturing for so long.

  “I had no choice, Nessa.”

  Her fingers tightened so around the glass she had to consciously let it drop back into the water to prevent crushing it.

  “You knew everything,” she accused. “You were privy to the orders. You were my backup, damn you.” She braced herself against the counter, frothy water dripping from her wet hands. All the pain and disappointment from that time came flooding back. “You could have stood up for me. Told the truth. But you didn’t. You left me with no proof of my story.”

  The orders had been “eyes only,” clad in the highest level of security utilized. Her mission was simple. Take out the man poised to assume power over a small, little-known Middle Eastern country much like Kuwait. Oil rich and an important fledgling ally to the American government. But the new leader rising to power would change that pivotal fact. The long-term analysis of his rise to power was that he would negatively influence other countries in the region.

  She’d had her orders, she had carried them out. Al Hadi was dead inside of seventy-two hours once she’d arrived in-country. Not once in her entire career had she ever failed on a mission.

  She’d wished a thousand times since that she had failed that once.

  “Interpol wouldn’t let me get involved.” He leaned one hip against the counter next to her, pressing her with his proximity. “I wanted to, but they ordered me to stand down and just to be sure I did, they put me under house arrest. I had no choice in the matter.”

  “How terrible for you.” She snarled the words. Wanted to bang her fists against his chest until she shattered his cold heart the way he’d shattered hers.

  “And then they told me you were dead.”

  She told herself not to believe the pain she read in his face as well as his tone. No way would she let him sway her. He hadn’t cared what happened to her. He’d proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt when he disappeared, leaving her to fight for her life.

  “Hamilton is the only reason I’m still alive,” she reminded him. “It damn sure wasn’t because of anything you did.”

  He nodded. “I can’t deny that. It was months before I figured out the truth—that you were still alive. That I’d been used and lied to.”

  Memory of that first year, the pain and the regret that had been almost unbearable, manacled her in its agonizing grip. No one had been there for her. She’d been completely and devastatingly alone. “And you did nothing to try and find me,” she guessed. “Until you had your own selfish agenda.”

  He moved his head from side to side, the motion barely a move at all. “I found you four months after my superior informed me of your death.”

  Emotion burned at the backs of her eyes, but she’d be damned if she’d let him see it. The hurt and anger pounded against her chest like a tidal wave. “You son of a bitch, you knew?”

  Landry clamped strong hands around her wrists and held her still when she would have walked away, forcing her to look at him. “At first I stayed away because I was afraid my coming near you would put you in danger.” He hesitated before going on. “Then…you seemed happy, so I stayed away to make sure you continued to be happy. But when I got wind something related to your status was going down, I had to step in.”

  “You got wind of what?” she demanded. How could she trust anything he told her? No matter how badly some ridiculously vulnerable part of her wanted to…she couldn’t put herself in that position again. Every instinct told her that he was holding out on her…that he knew more than he was telling.

  “Someone was going to use you again. I couldn’t let that happen. What they did to you three years ago was wrong.”

  She wrenched loose from his hold. What they did to her. Funny how he left himself out of the scenario. “I’ve played those days over and over in my head. I don’t know who set me up back then, I have no clue who it is now. How could you possibly hope to figure it out?” Nothing he said would make a difference, because there was no way she would believe him. This whole conversation was a monumental waste of time and emotion.

  “I was chosen for that assignment three years ago for a reason, Olivia. You know how it works. When your country has a high-level, high-risk international operation like that, mine plays the watchdog and vice versa. It was my job to make sure no one crossed certain lines. I was set up the same as you were.”

  There was some truth to what he said. Whenever the CIA and Interpol worked together on an operation of that sensitive a nature, one side did the dirty work while the other served as a sort of referee, ensuring no unnecessary boundaries were breached.

  “But you walked away unscathed,” she threw back at him. “You didn’t lose everything the way I did.”

  “You’re right,” he relented. “I did walk away
unscathed. But it wasn’t because I wanted to. The question now is, why is someone digging up the ugly past?”

  She moved her head slowly from side to side. “I don’t know. I can only assume they feel threatened somehow by my existence.”

  “There was a rumor,” he began, looking thoughtful, “that the real reason the CIA dropped their support was because Al Hadi refused to bend to their demands. They’d had a deal and he bowed out rather ungracefully, thus turning the tide on how the CIA viewed him.”

  He couldn’t know that for sure any more than she did. “What demands? Al Hadi was the one working against the U.S. If he’d assumed power, the U.S. might have lost all credibility in the region. You know that.” The CIA didn’t go onto foreign soil and wreak havoc unless it served the greater good. “He had to have done something far more detrimental than simply walking away from negotiations.” That was the only information she’d been given; it was all she’d needed. She’d had her orders.

  “The way I heard it, the CIA had made certain promises to Al Hadi,” Landry suggested. “In return for carrying out those promises, he would provide an abundant source of oil as well as unification influence—everything the U.S. needed in that region. Imagine the economic and political benefits.”

  Yeah, she mused, the price of gasoline wouldn’t be sky-high. She grabbed the dish towel and dried her damp hands. They could theorize all they wanted, but they would never know what really happened. “So what? That doesn’t prove what happened then and it sure as hell doesn’t explain what’s happening now. Face it, the truth is beyond our grasp, Landry. We can’t hope to know for sure. You, of all people, should understand that.”

  “I understand that choosing to assassinate a political leader simply because he changed his mind on a topic and wouldn’t play nice is dirty business no matter how you look at it,” he confessed. “Very un-PC. That’s why the CIA covered it up, calling it a bad op before the media could get a whiff of the stink. For future reference, the Agency had to have a fall guy—or woman, as the case turned out to be. It’s called insurance. No one likes the past to come back and bite them in the ass.”