by Ana Leigh
“That’s Tony Sardino. He was killed in Beirut. Justin is his replacement.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
His grim look warned her not to pursue it any further. She put the picture down and they left and returned to her apartment.
Considering the afternoon they had spent together, alone now in the apartment neither one seemed to know what to say.
“Would you like something to drink?” Trish asked.
“Not right now.”
“I had a good time today, Dave,” Trish said awkwardly. “I did, too. It was good seeing Deb and Tom again. They’re a great couple.”
“Yes, they are.”
“The other guys should show up any minute, then whenever you’re hungry I’ll take you out to dinner.”
“Can’t we just order in something?”
“The purpose is to draw out McDermott, remember. We have to make ourselves visible.”
“Well then, I’ll change my clothes while we’re waiting.” She went into the bedroom and closed the door.
For a long moment he stared at the closed door. This was the damnedest situation he’d ever been in. How much longer could he tell himself he wanted nothing more to do with her, when he ached to hold her in his arms? Something had to give soon. He continued to pace the floor until the others arrived.
“Anyone follow us when we left the bar?” he asked.
“Two guys in a blue Crown Victoria,” Justin said. “They looked like fuzz.”
“They are. They’re the detectives investigating Manning’s murder.”
“Some guy left the bar right after you and Mrs. Manning did,” Don said. “But he took a cab in the opposite direction.”
“Anyone among the gawkers at the chapel?”
Kurt shook his head. “Negative. No one stood out. None of us saw anyone who resembled McDermott among them.”
“You have to keep in mind it could be someone in his organization. There are plenty of IRA sympathizers in this country.”
“Dave, we aren’t experts in this field,” Don said. “We depend on our instincts more than expertise.”
“I know that, but I can almost smell that SOB. He’s watching.”
“If he is, then he’s probably made us, too,” Don said.
“Maybe not. I think Trish and I—I mean, Mrs. Manning and I—put on a pretty good performance today.”
“I’ll say,” Justin said. “You sure could have fooled me.”
“Well, we’ll give it another shot tonight. I’ll take her out to eat supper.”
“What’s the game plan for later, Dave?” Don asked. “Draw straws for who spends the night?”
“I’ll spend the night again. It will keep up the impression that she and I have a thing going.”
However, the thought of another night on the couch sure as hell didn’t appeal to him.
“Okay, you guys cover us while I take her out to eat. Once we get back, you can call it a night, but be back here at 0700.”
Trish came out of the bedroom wearing a pair of jeans and a halter top. She had looked classy in the plain black dress she’d worn earlier, but seeing her now, dressed casually, with her long legs and that trim tush of hers encased in tight jeans, she looked flat-out sexy.
And it showed on the faces of every guy in the room—including his own.
“Hi, ma’am,” Justin said, when he stopped gaping.
“Gentlemen, since it appears we’re stuck with one another for a while, please drop the formality. My name is Trish.”
“Whenever you’re ready to eat, Trish, we’ll go out to dinner, and then come back here. I’m bunking here again tonight.”
Her expression never changed, and he couldn’t help but wonder what she thought about him spending the night again.
He didn’t care whether she liked it or not. After all, none of this whole stupid affair was his idea.
They ate pizza and drank sodas at a fast food restaurant and then went back to her apartment.
Once they were safely settled inside, Kurt Bolen called and signed off for the night.
Neither of them were interested in watching television, but were at a loss of what to talk about—when there was so much to be said.
Trish had changed into her nightgown and the cuddly white robe she had worn that morning. She’d brushed her hair out and it clung to her shoulders like black satin. Try as he might, Dave found it hard to keep his eyes off her as she paged through a magazine.
“How about playing cards or a board game?” he asked finally.
“I don’t have either here right now. I haven’t moved most of my things over yet.”
“What about that word association game we used to play. We always enjoyed that. Pick a word from that magazine you’re reading.”
Trish flipped open the magazine. “Bittersweet,” she said, keying in on the color of a silk blouse.
It was up to him now to come up with another oxymoron relating to the topic of something both bitter and sweet.
“Sweet pickles,” he said.
“Sweet and sour salad dressing,” she countered.
“Ahh, white chocolate.”
“That doesn’t fly.”
“Why not? That’s an oxymoron. It’s two opposite colors. Either chocolate or white. “
“That may be so, but both are sweet, so where does the bitter come in? Sorry, Cassidy, you lose.”
He thought for a moment, then said, “Okay, how about past memories?”
“What? That’s not an oxymoron. Both words refer to something that’s taken place in a period before the present.”
“Yes, but past memories can be both bitter and sweet.”
“You’re splitting hairs, Cassidy.” She looked at him woefully. “But I guess you’re right. At least our past memories are.”
“Let’s not go there, Trish.”
“I don’t intend to, but maybe you’ll answer a question that’s been on my mind since North Africa?”
“What’s that?”
“Why are you doing it?”
“Doing what?”
“Risking your life working for the CIA.”
“How about truth, justice and the American way?”
“Oh, right!” Trish scoffed. “I’m as patriotic as anyone, but I’m not buying it. For heaven’s sake, Dave, you could probably write your own ticket at most Fortune 500 companies. So what’s the real reason? Does it have something to do with our breakup?”
He’d never discussed the breakup with anyone, not even Mike Bishop, and they had become close friends since he joined the Agency. He’d carried the truth inside him, eating away like a cancer. Maybe this was as good a time as any to cut it out and start healing.
“When I left, Trish, I made up my mind to get as far away from the life I had as I could. I joined the navy, became a SEAL, and when my enlistment was up, the CIA recruited me. That’s it.”
“No, it’s not, Dave. That’s too simplistic. There’s got to be a deeper reason.
“Dad always said you have one of the sharpest business minds he’s ever encountered. I can understand why you’d want to leave D.C. because of our split, but that doesn’t explain why you’d join the military instead of starting a business of your own.”
“I admit my enlistment was impulsive. But it seemed like the perfect answer at the time. Once I signed the enlistment papers there could be no changing my mind or turning back.”
“I’ve always thought of you as one who could stay focused once you committed yourself. Did you really feel such an extreme measure was your only option?”
“Trish, from the time I entered college the pressure was on to succeed. Well, I’d had it. I was sick to death of being considered the boy wonder. I’d become a programmed robot that moved in a world where my identity was judged by what I knew, instead of what I was.
“Then I met you, and it seemed as if the inner person I was seemed more important to you. When we broke up, I made up my mind to get as far away from corporate ladders
, stock options and fiscal profits as possible. And I didn’t want a commission, so I told the navy nothing about my background or qualifications. Do you understand?”
“I understand what you’re saying, but it sounds more like a cop-out to me.”
“Maybe it was in the beginning. But once in the service I had to take orders instead of give them. The men and women with whom I came in contact accepted the person I was. They didn’t require a résumé to make a judgment. I was accepted for myself, not what I could do for them.
“Then when I became a SEAL, I learned the real meaning of teamwork. I worked with men who’d put their lives on the line to save mine, not men who would trample over me to get my job.
“Sure there’s a physical risk involved, the money sucks and for damn sure there’s no stock options. But when you look around after a mission knowing you all made it through and see the grins on the faces of the guys, it’s a damn sight more rewarding than a big bonus check. I could never go back to corporate America.”
“Sounds like there’s no place for a woman in your life either?”
“Been there. Done that.”
She jumped to her feet. He’d struck a chord. For the first time in the past week he saw the flush of hot anger in her blue eyes.
“You self-serving bastard! You’ve just pushed one button too many. No matter how you feel now, how dare you tarnish the beautiful, tender moments we once shared with that disparaging, cavalier remark.”
She stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Dave charged after her like a raging bull and burst into the room. “Where in hell did that come from?”
“Where? I’ll tell you where, Agent Cassidy. I’ve tolerated your bitter attitude, I even told myself I deserved it, the same way I’ve blamed myself for six years.
“From the moment I opened my eyes on that helicopter, I’ve walked on eggshells around you, have borne your insinuations that I’ve sunk to moral degeneration. I even agreed to make myself a decoy as an excuse to be with you. And all because I was so relieved just to see you again, to be able to sit across a table from you, feel the excitement of your nearness the way I once did.”
She snorted and threw up her hands in contempt.
“Boy, if they handed out trophies for being a blind, lovestruck fool, I’d have a shelfful. Why, you’re nothing more than a self-centered chauvinist, David Cassidy. Everything is about you. Your pain. What you went through.
“Well what about my pain? What I was suffering? At least I didn’t run away.”
“Like hell you didn’t. The first thing you could think of was running back to Daddy.”
“And I came back to you the next day.”
The scalding retort was as much an accusation as it was a rebuttal. It hung on the air like a crushing weight that pressed the fury from her.
“But you were already gone, weren’t you, Dave?” she said in a subdued tone. “Did you have your bags packed before I took off your ring?”
“You know better than that. I waited all night for you, but you didn’t come home. And I finally realized you weren’t going to. So you’re right. I ran as far away as I could.”
“If only you had called, written, given me one sign, I would have waited for you forever,” she said. “I tortured myself with thoughts of you hurt or even dead. I begged Kim to tell me where you were, but she said you swore her to secrecy. I even hired a private detective to try and trace you, but he came up with nothing.”
“So you married Robert Manning? Why, Trish? Why him of all people? And don’t try to tell me in order to punish yourself.”
“No. I knew Robert only married me to secure a safe position with my father. He didn’t love me any more than I did him.”
“That doesn’t explain your motive.”
She raised her head and looked him right in the eyes. “To have a child. I needed a purpose to go on. So I decided to have a child to love and nurture.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“When I found out how sick Robert was, I knew it wouldn’t be fair to any child to have him for a father.”
She raised her head with wounded defiance. “So you see, I lost that hope, too.”
She sat down on the bed and kicked off her shoes. “But now I see the light. Tonight I’ve finally seen the reality that there will never be a you and me again. For the past six years I’ve let you—wittingly or unwittingly—screw up my life by carrying a romantic belief that one day you’d come back and free me from the wretched hopelessness in which I existed and we’d live happily ever after.
“But in truth, Dave, you’re not my knight in shining armor. You’re my dragon.”
Trish walked over to the dresser, and pulled off her earrings.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to get the hell out of my room so I can go to bed.”
He came over and spun her around to face him. “You had your say, now it’s my turn. Who in hell do you think I’ve been thinking about for the past six years? There hasn’t been a day that I haven’t thought about you.”
“You knew where to find me,” she accused.
“Do you have any idea how often I picked up a telephone to call you just to hear your voice? The sound of your laughter? Wondered who you were with? Who was kissing you? Making love to you?”
“Then why did you stay away?”
“Because there’s no solution to the problem between us, Trish. It’s not all about me. My needs. It’s all about the three of us—you, me and Daddy dearest.”
“Not again! I’m so sick of the immaturity of that argument. You and my father are obsessed with the issue.”
“You’ve got a convenient memory, lady. Have you forgotten I was all for going to Vegas and getting married? But that would have pissed off the old man, wouldn’t it?”
“You accused my father of being dishonest,” she flared back. “What did you expect me to do?”
“I believe there’s a song about standing by your man. And guess what, baby, that doesn’t mean Daddy. It means the man you claim to love. The guy you intended to marry.”
“Good lord, you and my father aren’t competitors. They’re two entirely different kinds of love. You’re supposed to be the bright one, Mr. Phi Beta Kappa, so stop making it sound like some kind of reverse Oedipus complex.”
“I’ll tell you what I do know. When this McDermott mess is finally resolved, your father’s going to be involved and your heart will be broken. The first one you’ll look to blame will be me, because I’ll be mixed up in bringing him down. That’s why there’s no hope for us again. That’s why I ran before. Why I’ll have to do it again.”
Her eyes glistened with tears. “You don’t know for sure he’s guilty just because you think he’s dishonest.”
She was hurting already and it was tearing him apart to witness her heartache.
“Trish, I don’t want to hurt you, but it’s going to happen.”
“You were wrong before. Dad explained the misunderstanding to me. There was no money laundering going on. The Irish company did ship ball bearings. They bought them from a supplier. Dad dropped them as clients after that.”
“Then what did Manning have on your father to keep you from divorcing him?”
“I assumed it was that same issue you thought you had. It would have been very bad publicity for the firm, even if it wasn’t true.”
“So he let you become a sacrificial lamb to a rotten pervert in order to save his own ass. But now that the CIA is involved, your father’s going to get nailed, Trish. You better prepare yourself for it.”
“Did you tell them about Dad?”
“No, I couldn’t. For your sake. But McDermott will when we catch him. And we will catch him, Trish.”
She looked up into his eyes, her anguish as naked as the errant tears trickling down her cheeks.
“Tell me the truth, Dave. I have to know. Do you hate me for what I’ve done to you?”
Her misery was like a vise squeezi
ng his heart. He couldn’t pretend any longer. The attraction between them was too overpowering, emotions too tenuous to control. The truth was no longer deniable.
“I wish I could hate you, Trish. It would make it so much easier.”
He left her staring, stunned.
Chapter 9
Once in the living room, Dave glanced at his watch. It was only midnight. It was going to be a long night. He sat down on the couch and removed his shoes and the gun strapped to his leg, then tucked the weapon under a pillow on the couch.
He had too much on his mind to sleep, so he tried the TV. Surfing the channels, he found nothing to watch except a review of the day’s news, reruns of old sitcoms, and a nineteen-thirties Western. He snapped it off and put aside the remote.
He got up and went over to the window. D.C. was asleep. Not even a car moved on the street. He could use a walk, but that would mean leaving Trish alone.
Restless, he went back to the couch and picked up the magazine she’d been reading. He began to page through it until he realized it was a woman’s fashion magazine. What in hell was he doing!
Disgusted, he flipped off the lights and lay down. After ten minutes he gave up trying to sleep and padded barefoot into the kitchen to get a drink.
Glass in hand, he leaned back against the counter, stretched out his legs and crossed them, then stood in the dark and dwelled on his argument with Trish.
He should have kept his mouth shut. He’d lost his cool and allowed his emotions to do his thinking. On a mission that kind of carelessness could get them all killed. Here it muddied up an already grimy situation.
Then he heard it: the telltale click of the door lock.
Dave straightened up. Someone had either just entered or departed. He’d bet his reputation that it was the first.
He carefully placed the glass on the sink, and cursed himself for removing his gun earlier. He had no idea which drawer the knives were in, and didn’t dare risk taking time to search for one.
Besides, this was his element—darkness his weapon.
A shadow bounced along the living-room wall and Dave moved cautiously to the entrance of the kitchen. His eyes had long adjusted to the darkness and he made out the figure of a man holding something in his right hand.