
What people are saying about Jean Brashear
"Jean Brashear will knock your socks off!" ~New York Times bestselling author Stella Cameron
"A stunning debut! Filled with passion and intrigue, it SSSizzles with sensuality and suspense from beginning to end!" ~New York Times bestselling author Sharon Sala
"He's dangerous and sexy, with the soul of a lover and the heart of a hunter...Ms. Brashear's fresh writing style offers the reader a stylish love story imbued with high drama, substantial conflict, a strong heroine and delectable hero." ~Romantic Times 4 ½ stars (Exceptional), Top Choice, WISH Hero, Reviewers' Choice Award winner, Best First Book
"Author Jean Brashear evokes an atmosphere of unrelenting danger that is further enhanced by the explosive chemistry between the hero and heroine. This fast-paced, sexy page-turner draws the reader into a world of shadows and intrigue. It is top-notch romantic suspense." ~ Gothic Journal
The Choice
By
Jean Brashear
E-Book Copyright © 2011 by Jean Brashear
An updated and revised version of The Bodyguard's Bride, first published by Harlequin S.A., Silhouette Special Edition, October 1998
These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Jean Brashear.
Cover art by Angie Bare Graphic Design
E-book formatted by Jessica Lewis
For Ercel, who always believed in me, even when I didn't.
For that and so many other reasons, you're my hero.
Table of Contents
She'd nailed her audition.
One more door, and Klaus Hafner would die even sooner than Jillian MacGregor had planned. She hadn't really expected to get this far when she set out to break into the fortress that was the arms dealer's home, but she wasn't complaining. Holding her breath as she reached for the door handle, she squeezed the knob gently while she turned it.
Air stirred behind her.
Too late, she pivoted.
A muscled arm seized her throat.
Then...darkness.
\*
"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what happened. I never once took my eyes off the monitors, I swear it."
"You're telling me she's invisible?"
Jillian kept her eyes shut to buy time. Her shoulders ached from lying on hands tied behind her back.
"Yes, sir---uh, I mean, no, sir." Exasperation threaded through the subordinate's tone. "I don't know what the hell happened, sir."
"Figure it out," snapped the deep voice.
"Yes, sir."
Footsteps hurried away. Cool air brushed over her body as the door closed.
An edgy silence pulsed around her. Jillian was careful to keep her breathing steady and her muscles relaxed, though she wanted badly to get a look at her surroundings.
"You might as well open your eyes."
Clearly not a suggestion. This man was accustomed to obedience.
She debated over whether to ignore him or to give into the temptation to look.
"Your acting skills need work. You're wasting my time and yours."
Angrily Jillian opened her eyes.
Black hair, almost to his shoulders, slashed by silver at the left temple. Smoky eyes, hardening to steel as she watched. Tall...very tall. Powerful shoulders and arms, a face that could have been carved from stone. High, slanted cheekbones. Dark, thick brows shadowed eyes creased by time in the sun, a strong Roman nose. The one touch of humanity was the cleft in his chin.
Who was he? Definitely not her quarry, Klaus Hafner.
Jillian stilled. This must be the man she'd heard about only in whispers. The elusive Cullinane.
"What's your name?"
"You first," she said.
"I don't think so." An icy smile. "I hold the cards. Who are you? What are you doing here?" He strode around the oversize cherry desk to stand over her, arms crossed against his beautifully muscled chest. A jagged scar slanted from breastbone to navel.
"I want a job."
One eyebrow arched.
Good. She'd surprised him.
In an instant, the mask returned. He merely cocked his head to indicate that he was listening. "Name?"
"Jane Doe. Was it you who stopped me?"
His negligent shrug ticked her off. "Your system's not so hot," she jibed. "I got through."
The momentary flash of annoyance pleased her.
"Solly." He barely raised his voice, and the door opened.
"Yeah, boss?"
"Our...guest likes to play games. Find her bag of tricks. Get me a name."
"Already on it, boss."
A very long moment passed, thick with challenge.
She stared at the ceiling in silence, ignoring the pain in her shoulder. Pale golden light from the desk lamp threw odd shadows on the creamy plaster. Rich, dark paneling absorbed what little light escaped.
"What kind of job?" he asked at last.
"Bodyguard."
"Not happening."
"I wouldn't have let anyone get through to him," she taunted. "Just like I wasn't stupid enough to leave ID."
"Why you?" An insulting scan of her body. "You're built like a thief, not hired muscle."
She had definitely done her share of breaking in. A kid on the streets couldn't be particular when it came to survival. "So I appear less threatening. People assume I'm his latest conquest."
"But you can't go everywhere he does."
"The bathroom, big deal. You always use teams anyway." She refused to let her anxiety through. This had to work.
He was already shaking his head to refuse when a new voice spoke from the doorway.
"I like it, Cullinane."
\*
The woman craned her neck to see Hafner, and Cullinane had a moment's regret over laying her out on his office sofa. Hafner's voracious appetites would definitely be aroused by this woman in her tight black garb.
Black covered her from neck to toe, but when he'd removed her cap, cinnamon hair had spilled out, a superb foil to the black garment and the dark leather, a fire breaking winter's chill.
The figure-hugging garment revealed more than it concealed. Despite what he'd said, she was trim and toned, and though she wasn't tall, her legs seemed to go on forever. Her breasts would fill a man's hands, and her hips rounded nicely from a slender waist.
Oh, yes, Hafner would like it. No doubt at all.
Who wouldn't?
The man himself crossed the room, navy silk dressing gown tied at the waist over pajama bottoms. The gold chains he favored glimmered within graying chest hair. His short, iron-gray hair stood up in spikes from a restless night.
Cullinane watched as Hafner's gaze roamed over her body. She was a cool one, all right. Her whiskey-brown eyes hardened, and she kept her body absolutely still as Hafner subjected her to a perusal little short of lascivious and degrading.
Then he smiled, slow and sleazy. "Oh yes, I want her."
Cullinane rolled his eyes. "You don't even know if she's competent. You know nothing about her."
"I know she came within twenty feet of me, and your system didn't catch her." Watery blue eyes snapped with displeasure.
Cullinane gritted his teeth. "I caught her." He'd be chewing some butts out over this screw-up, but in the final analysis, the responsibility for Hafner's safety rested with him.
Hafner's eyebrows lifted. "Ah, yes, my trusty fail-safe. But what if you'd slept too soundly or been...otherwise occupied? What then?"
"It's being handled."
Hafner's smile turned expansive though his eyes never thawed. "Oh, I have no doubt that it is, my dear friend. And I pity the man who failed in his duties." He turned back to her, drawing Cullinane's gaze toward her once more. When Hafner reached out to touch her, Cullinane's jaw tensed even as he wondered why the hell he cared. She'd been the one who'd barged in here. All she was to him was a distraction much too late in the deadly game he was playing.
But she was one tough cookie, this one. She wrapped an air of such icy disdain around her that Hafner's hand hovered just an inch or two from her breast---
And then withdrew.
Hafner stood there for too long, his fingers flexing. The woman stared at the ceiling as though he didn't exist. She had no idea the danger she'd put herself in---Hafner was thoroughly amoral and increasingly unpredictable.
Quietly---too quietly---Hafner spoke. "Check her out, Cullinane. I want her."
Then, finally, he left.
The woman took a deep, shuddering breath.
Maybe she did know.
\*
At long last Jillian was alone. She rubbed her wrists to restore circulation, her arms prickling as the blood rushed back into them. She scanned the sparse, impersonal room to which she'd been moved and wondered where the cameras were. It would be foolish to assume there were none.
Had Belinda ever been locked in here?
Where did Hafner keep his pretty playthings until he tired of them? Had his right hand man Cullinane been the one to murder her or had she rated only a peon as her executioner?
Oh, Belinda, if I hadn't turned my back when you ran away, could I have saved you?
Frowning, Jillian rose from the padded bench hugging the wall. Her sister, the only person who'd ever loved her, was dead. Too late for the old business of regrets. Time for new business.
An eye for an eye.
The sooner the better.
She'd made an impression; that would have to content her for now. Cullinane might be ice down to the bone, but her proposal made sense, and he would surely see that. Drawing a deep breath, she moved into the tai chi twenty-four to calm herself and loosen her muscles. In the belly of the beast, keeping herself focused could mean the difference between success and failure.
Between life and death.
Between obtaining a justice the system had denied and living the rest of her days knowing a monster was free. Those charged with dispensing justice to vermin like Klaus Hafner had decided to turn a blind eye.
She would not.
As well as she knew her own name, Jillian knew that Klaus Hafner had disposed of her sister like so much garbage. The charade as his bodyguard would not be easy to manage with hate burning a hole in her gut, but it would get her what she needed.
She would be within killing range of her sister's murderer.
Often.
Cullinane might have stopped her tonight, but she'd never intended to do more than provoke interest by slipping inside their defenses. She hadn't truly believed that she could get as far as she had, but thanks to someone's inattention, she'd come almost within killing range.
If not for Cullinane....
But the guard dog couldn't always be watching. She'd gain trust, prove her worth. Months of training would bear fruit at some golden moment. When the time was right...
She'd be ready.
Then Klaus Hafner would go straight to the hell he deserved. Arms merchant...purveyor of death...murderer.
Jillian would be the instrument of his destruction.
Now concentrate, Jillian. Clear your mind. Refresh your body. Prepare for the days to come. Get ready to show Cullinane he's wrong.
A tiny smile playing about her lips, she pivoted into the kick.
\*
Cullinane watched her on the monitor in the main control room, noting the faint smile, the second flicker of emotion he'd seen from her tonight.
She wasn't ice all the way down to the bottom.
Damned cool, though. She'd spoken honestly about one thing---no ID in the pack they'd found at the base of the garage she'd scaled. Maybe a job was truly all she wanted.
But he didn't think so. Something wasn't right, even if he couldn't put his finger on it.
Yet.
A man who'd been in deep cover as long as he had couldn't afford to ignore the slightest twinge. Tiny flickers of intuition had saved his life more than once. When you operated in a shadow world, never who you seemed to be, unable to trust anyone, you learned never to ignore your sixth sense.
Rubbing his forehead, Cullinane fought off the fatigue that dragged at him more and more often. He'd been doing this too long. Even the most seasoned agent needed vestiges of a normal life. Friends, family, history...luxuries he couldn't afford. He had to be who he seemed, had to believe it to his core---yet somehow he had to remember that it was a charade.
Strong minds could fragment under the strain. There were days now...
"What do you want?" he muttered to the figure on the screen. "Who are you and why are you here?"
"Talking to yourself, Cullinane?" Hafner walked up beside him to study the same image. "Not a good sign in the middle of the night." He chuckled.
Cullinane spared him a quick glance and a rueful smile, then turned back to the screen.
Hafner's gaze followed his to the toned woman in black. Cullinane noted every graceful move, awareness heightened by the contrast of black against the pale beige background. The shock of red hair falling down her back was a flame beckoning a cold, weary traveler.
He was so cold. So tired.
"Fascinating blend of power and grace, with enough sex appeal to make your blood boil," Hafner mused.
She had the same effect upon him, but he couldn't allow that. Viewing her on a small screen helped him maintain distance. He could admire the economy of her moves without experiencing the voltage of her presence. He could study her and figure her out. "Being beautiful doesn't mean she can protect your life."
Hafner chuckled, low in his throat. "Ah, but that's what I have you for, dear boy. You'll keep me safe while I enjoy having her close."
Cullinane ground his teeth. Hafner had become a slave to his appetites. "I haven't agreed to hire her yet."
Hafner's amusement fled. "I told you I want her, Cullinane. I'll have her, by God."
"Even at the cost of your life?"
"Christ, you're paranoid!"
"That's what you pay me to be."
Hafner's jaw flexed as he fumed.
"Don't let what's below your belt overrule your good sense, Klaus. There are plenty of beautiful women around. You don't need her."
Hafner turned back to study the figure on the screen. "But she's different," he muttered.
"Because she broke into your room and could have killed you?" Fool. "What's to say she won't do it at the first opportunity?"
"But she didn't," Hafner shouted.
"Only because I was there in time."
Anger fled as quickly as it rose, and Hafner was all smiles again. The pendulum swung faster and faster these days, with a major operation underway. "Ah, but you see, that's my point. You're always there in time. I've never been safer than in your tender care." He leveled a look that spoke of pity. "Give it up, Cullinane. You know you're the best there is. Figure out some way to satisfy yourself that she can handle the job. Restrict her access to information, if that makes you feel better. Watch her closely, if that's what you need, but I want her."
"For the record, you're making a damn fool mistake."
Hafner clapped his shoulder in sympathy as he passed behind Cullinane on his way to the door. "But I'm the fool who has the money, now aren't I?"
Cullinane stared at the woman on the screen after he left. At some other time, he'd enjoy the irony of having to convince a man whom he intended to put behind bars not to take chances with his life. For now, he needed to focus on this unexpected and unwelcome development.
A test. He could test her skills, all right. But how could you test someone's intentions except by giving her a chance to demonstrate them?
And then it could be too late.
Oh, he'd like to see Hafner dead, himself. Like nothing better, in fact. But for now, he had to keep his eye on the prize. Dead children cried out for justice.
Cullinane wanted the whole network, Hafner and his terrorist buddies as well. He'd put years into the effort. He'd failed once, and innocent people had died.
He wouldn't fail again. He wasn't sure he could handle another deep cover operation. Too many in a row...this would probably be his last.
He had to do it right.
Go to bed, Drake. Not much of the night left. She's probably exactly what she says---just chose a splashy way to apply for the job.
Shaking his head as he moved toward the door, Cullinane had to grin.
She'd damn sure figured out how to get their attention.
\*
Jillian ignored how much she wanted a shower and something to eat. This wouldn't be the only test she had to pass, she was sure of that.
Cullinane wouldn't simply accept her word that she had the training to be a bodyguard---and in truth, she didn't. What she had was guts and motivation...and a lifetime of fending for herself.
But even if he were less stony in his determination, he wouldn't have risen to be the right hand of such a dangerous man if he had been prone to giving trust easily. No, it was his job to be paranoid. She only hoped she could disarm his distrust soon. Though she'd trained long and hard once she'd conceived this idea, proving herself here would be much different than excelling during a very untraditional training regimen.
Only her sensei Hiroshi knew where she was, but he could do nothing to help her. She was, as she had been most of her twenty-seven years, on her own, but life on the streets had prepared her for this long ago.
Time to sleep. Her body needed rest for her mind to be clear. Fear was the mind-killer, and she wasn't helpless. As Hiroshi said. If one acts without fear and with total commitment, a weaker person can defeat a stronger one.
She'd imagined that Hafner's defenses would be formidable, but she could never have imagined Cullinane.
Jillian settled on the floor to begin her relaxation routine.
\*
He wanted to hit something. Hurt someone.
Deep, rolling waves of grief rose and threatened to drown him. Tears he could not shed burned like acid under his eyelids.
Seeing a tiny, lifeless hand holding fast to the scrap of flannel nearly undid him. Bitterest bile rose in his throat. He wanted to drop to his knees and howl to the heavens.
Dragging one foot in front of the other, Drake forced himself to look at it all...to see everything.
Never forget this. Hunt them down like the animals they are.
His foot tripped over a mound in the half shadows.
Then he saw her.
An angel. Apricot curls covering her head, blue eyes staring sightlessly straight into his soul. Smooth, white cheeks unmarred by the violence, pink ruffle circling her throat. White dress with tiny pink rosebuds smoothing over her chest. His gaze moved toward the hem and saw the torn flesh beneath...the utter obscenity of the child being torn literally in half.
He dropped to his knees, one hand smoothing her curls. He removed his shirt and wrapped the little girl in it...as he wrapped himself in a cold, implacable vow that the animals who did this would pay.
He pressed the angel into his embrace and let her blood seal his promise.
Cullinane stirred from the despair that the dream always brought. His chest felt warm and sticky from the blood he'd never been able to fully banish. Had the woman brought the dream, stirring up thoughts of how much he hated Hafner?
Sitting up, he bowed his head, ran one hand through his hair as he tried to dispel the black, bitter thoughts. I don't care what she wants. I'm too close to let anything stop me.
Rising with effort, Cullinane moved to dress swiftly. Drawn toward the woman in spite of himself, he moved toward the command post in his wing. As chief of security, he allowed no one else near his quarters, not even Hafner, without his permission. A second set of monitors banked the walls, showing video from inside the compound. The threat most heavily covered was just outside the walls, but Hafner was a paranoid man, so much of the inside was photographed regularly, as well. Only his quarters and Hafner's had no cameras planted within them.
"Who are you?" Reaching for a switch, he considered raising the light level in the room where he'd placed her in order to see her more clearly to divine her intentions.
Instead he grabbed his cell and issued a series of orders.
As he crossed the room, he shot back one brief glance at the woman sleeping on the floor, rather than the padded bench.
Tough cookie, he acknowledged with a nod. "Sweet dreams, whoever you are."
The door to her prison exploded inward. Jillian bolted awake. Two figures burst into the room. Rockets of adrenaline fired through her veins. Just before the first man grabbed for her, she caught a fleeting impression. An ominous shape in the doorway, a glimpse of silver streaked across black...
Then the need to protect herself annihilated all other thoughts.
The first burly form rushed at her, and Jillian's training kicked into gear. She yielded instead of blocking, and as the man's charge carried him past her, she grasped his arm and turned, dropping below his center of gravity. Letting his momentum assist her, she pulled him over her hip and dropped him flat on his back.
A second man grabbed her from behind, wrapping an arm tightly around her body. She came down hard with her heel, aiming her foot at the many delicate bones of his foot. With a hoarse shout of pain, he dropped away, grasping for his foot as he fell.
The first man rose, brandishing a knife. Jillian dropped and rolled toward him. He stumbled, righted himself and whirled to come at her again.
"Stop!"
Both men froze in mid-step. Jillian stepped away from them, then looked toward the sound.
Lounging negligently against the doorway, the unmistakable figure looked as though he'd been watching an exhibition.
Anger battled with the adrenaline. Jillian charged toward Cullinane, ready to strike.
The man with the knife jerked her back.
"Let her go, Ron," Cullinane ordered. "She won't try anything." He lifted one eyebrow. "Will you." Not really a question.
Jillian longed to wipe that smug look off his face, but that would be playing his game. He wanted a reason to dismiss her without serious consideration. She didn't understand why, but it didn't matter. She couldn't let personalities stop her from achieving what she'd worked so hard to make possible.
She shook off Ron's hand and issued her own challenge with a stare. "Games, Cullinane?" She clucked her tongue, chiding. "I'm sure it bothers you greatly that I passed your little test." She gave him her back, strolling away nonchalantly. "Surprised?"
The second man rose heavily from the floor, unable to put weight on his foot. Ron wrapped one of the man's arms around his own shoulders. The two started out the door.
"Is that all, boss?"
Cullinane spared them barely a glance, stepping aside to let them pass. "Yeah. Head for the infirmary. That's all for tonight."
He held the door open. "Remember your name yet?"
She debated with herself. She needed him to hire her, so she could afford to push him only so far. Her cover would hold; she'd made sure of that.
But it stuck in her craw to play nice with the bastard who was just as guilty as Hafner.
Her sister had waited too long for justice, though. "MacGregor," she said. "Jillian."
"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Cullinane followed his men, pulling the door behind him. "Sweet dreams, MacGregor. Don't assume that this door is all that's keeping you in place." Without ever looking her way again, he left.
Jillian gave in to the urge to waggle her head from side to side, her voice sing-song and taunting. "Sweet dreams, Cullinane." She didn't have to like him, he didn't have to like her. Hafner wanted her; all she had to do was to prove herself competent.
There'd be nothing Cullinane could do.
\*
She was good.
It stuck in his craw to admit it. Things would be simpler if he could just declare her incompetent and leave it at that.
Incompetent---who was he kidding? She'd breached his system, and one man's inattention was no excuse. Now she'd injured one of his best men.
Staring out the window of his bedroom, Cullinane fought the urge to watch her again on the monitors. It wasn't that she was a woman---he had no problem working with women. His urge to get her out of here had nothing to do with her sex, and he hadn't let anyone get under his skin in a very long time, not even Hafner---and God knew, Hafner could drive anyone nuts. Ruthlessly thrusting aside emotion, Cullinane had to admit that she'd impressed him. No small matter to put Fred in the infirmary. She obviously understood how to get around the limitations of her size. Fred and Ron each outweighed her by more than a hundred pounds, most likely, and both were taller.
No, his gut told him she could do the job. Smart, well-trained... what other cards did Ms. MacGregor have in her hand?
Cullinane stripped off his clothes and climbed into his bed. Settling on his back underneath the steel-gray spread, he rested his head on clasped hands. He needed Hafner complacent; time was running out. He'd have to give her a shot. He was a fair man; everyone knew that.
But he'd be watching her every move.
\*
"You're taking me shopping?" Whiskey-brown eyes registered total astonishment. "Why?"
"You don't ask your employer why, MacGregor. If you want the job, you just do it." Taking time to baby-sit her aggravated the hell out of him, but he wanted to observe her personally, not rely on secondhand impressions.
"What are we shopping for?"
"Hafner has a business dinner tonight at Chez Nous."
"I have my own clothes."
He shrugged. "I'm sure you do."
"Let me go get them. I'll be back in an hour."
"Where do you live?" Who will you call while you're gone?
"Not far."
"Good. I'll take you there later."
She glanced away. "No need. I can take care of it myself."
"I determine what's needed."
Her eyebrows rose. "Am I a prisoner, then?" To her credit, her voice didn't waver.
"No."
"Then I'll be back later. What time?"
"You can't go." I won't let you.
"Cullinane, this is just a job. It's a free country. I can leave and come back."
"Actually, you can't. Hafner prefers that the staff all live here."
"Hafner prefers, or Cullinane prefers to have everyone where he can watch them?"
Touché, MacGregor. "Hafner prefers. Cullinane agrees."
He could almost see the gears whirring in her head. Good. Maybe she'd decide that she didn't want the job so badly, after all.
"All right." She glared at him. "But we don't need to go shopping."
"I'll know that after I check out your wardrobe." Why did she look just the slightest bit rattled? "Where are you staying?"
"Not far."
"You're not from around here."
"Are you?"
He'd grant her one thing; the woman hadn't bored him yet. "I am now." Her eyes sparked, and he expected to see tiny swirls of steam rising from her ears, but she never batted an eyelash, except for one look of reluctant appreciation. He turned to leave. "Be ready in ten minutes."
"I haven't even had a shower."
Warring with himself over the temptation to allow her to take one here where he could observe, Cullinane decided that he'd better not tempt fate. Jillian MacGregor had more than one weapon in her arsenal; she wasn't using that one on him.
"You can take one at your place."
\*
As the motel shower ran, Cullinane tuned out thoughts of her naked and wet. He was long past being ruled by his libido, however hot the woman might be. Ruthlessly he focused on the garments as he slid each hanger across the rod. Muted and simple, these were nothing like Hafner would want. Even though Cullinane knew zip about women's fashion, he could see the innate taste.
"You won't find any labels."
He turned slowly to face her. "Cut them off?" He dredged up a sneer to keep his tongue from hanging out.
"No. I made them."
Mesmerized by the way the short bronze-tone kimono clung to the damp curves of her body, it took a moment for her answer to register.
Then she took the towel off her hair and bent over to rub it dry, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. The vee of the robe gaped precariously. Only a saint wouldn't want to lean closer.
Get a grip, Drake.
"Made them? As in sewing?"
She raised her head and smiled slightly. "Want to make something of it?"
"Uh, no." He had to look away. He'd discovered just how potent her arsenal could be. "Only surprised."
"An archaic skill for a bodyguard, right?"
He shrugged, studying the cheesy painting in front of him. The appeal of this motel was obviously price. His eyes strayed toward her, discovering in midstream that he only had to look at the mirror beside her to see what he wanted.
When she bent forward again, the robe slid up her thigh to reveal the smooth ivory curve of her ass. In his concentration on that tempting mound, he almost missed her next question.
"Will I do?"
He jerked his attention back to her face.
Damn it. She was doing it on purpose. "I'll wait outside." He turned to leave.
"You didn't answer my question."
What question? Composing his face into its usual mask, he turned back. "The clothes aren't suitable, but you can bring them. You might as well check out when we leave." He didn't say that they were far too classy for Hafner's boorish tastes. He wasn't handing her a single advantage he could prevent. "We still have to shop for something."
Ignoring the hurt that crossed her face, he left the room.
\*
"You really expect me to wear this?"
Cullinane looked up at Jillian and managed not to swallow his tongue. The shop's proprietor had supplied clothing for Hafner's mistresses before. She knew his taste.
Dark green silk draped her body closely, falling to her ankles in one smooth line. The deep neckline and shoulders of the dress were encrusted with gold and green sequins, swirling over the bodice and forming a deep vee between her breasts. The skirt was slit over one leg almost to the groin.
She seemed ill at ease.
She looked damned good, though.
Long legs generated inevitable fantasies of them wrapped around his waist. He yanked his gaze away. "It's what Hafner likes, and he's paying the bills."
Rebellion rose in her eyes, smothered so quickly he could almost believe he'd imagined it. "Well, then, no reason to look further."
"Try on the others," he ordered. "You'll need more than one."
The mutinous set of her lips hardened into a straight line of resignation. She nodded curtly and left for the fitting room.
"Sir?" A couple of minutes later, the saleswoman approached. "The lady asked me to tell you that she will be finished in a few moments."
He narrowed his gaze. "Tell the lady that she'd better get out here and show me each one, or I'll come in there with her."
"But, sir, we can't allow..." The woman stepped away, nodding her head cautiously. "I'll tell her, sir, but I'm not sure..."
"Tell her she has three minutes to be out here in the next one."
When three minutes had passed with no sign of Jillian, he reluctantly admired her bravado, but he couldn't allow it. This woman could be more than a handful if he let her. She was trouble, he felt it in his bones. He'd invested years in this operation; the wheels were in motion. He'd be damned if some willful redhead was going to destroy his work.
As he readied himself to rise, she flounced into the room, her eyes spitting fire. The icy mask of disdain took a little longer this time, but eventually she achieved it. Cullinane didn't try to hide his smirk.
But for a moment, he indulged himself in thoughts of unleashing the full range of this woman's passions. Anyone who had to clamp down that hard on emotion was bound to have very hot blood simmering beneath.
Someday, Jillian MacGregor, it might be interesting to seek you out and discover you---later. Right now I'm going to make life uncomfortable enough that you'll get the hell away from my operation.
The very red, very short dress she wore this time glistened with its solid layer of sequins; fringe shimmied with every motion of her hips. The long, long legs made his mouth water. The deep red contrasted beautifully with her cinnamon hair, stunning and voluptuous, yes...oh, yes.
Jillian's style...no.
"Next one," he snapped, looking away. In the mirrors, he could see anger flash across her face.
She was quicker to appear in the next one, her own mask firmly in place, pointedly ignoring him. A slender gown of ivory silk draped her body in a column, wrapping over each breast and forming a vee between curves that invited a man to look...to touch.
"Turn around," he ordered before he could give himself away.
A tiny mutiny sprang to her lips, quickly smothered. From the halter neck all the way down to the hollow at the top of her very fine ass was skin...creamy, silky-smooth skin. The gown clung to her hips like a lover before following the line of her shapely legs to the floor.
He raised his gaze to see her look of triumph in the mirror and knew his poker face wasn't as good as usual.
Tit for tat, her look seemed to say.
"Next one," he snapped.
He endured a parade, wondering which of them he was punishing. On the last one, so skimpy it could barely be called a dress, Jillian completed an ill-tempered whirl to give him her back, staring at him in the mirror as his gaze roamed over the covering that was little better than being naked. Her smirk said she knew he was not immune.
Rising from his chair, he nodded curtly to the saleswoman to ready the bill. Damned if he'd let Jillian gloat at her effect on him.
"Get dressed, MacGregor." He walked away, his thoughts firmly focused on what it would take to get rid of her.
"Cullinane." He answered the phone, his mind focused on inspection reports from the security system Jillian had breached.
"A new order for the twenty-first, Cullinane. A big one. Usual arrangements for funds transfer."
His mind snapped to immediate attention. He glanced at the calendar. Less than three weeks away. Adrenaline surged. They could adjust the date for the raid to accommodate this. It was all coming together.
He answered the man he'd never seen, one of their many cut-outs designed to keep anyone from knowing the whole operation. "References checked?"
"Clean as a whistle."
"We'll get you word of the rendezvous point."
"I'll be waiting."
A big one. Hafner had been unusually close-mouthed about this transaction. The elaborate system they'd devised meant that only Hafner and he knew the whole set-up. They always utilized a series of cut-outs, so that the links in the chain only knew the links above and below them, thereby eliminating the chances for any one individual to bring the whole operation down.
It had taken a long time for Cullinane to become the other man who knew everything. The habits of a lifetime were hard for Hafner to break. The swift, eager kick in Cullinane's pulse came from the knowledge that Hafner wasn't telling him everything about this one.
If this was the usual order of arms and munitions, Hafner wouldn't hedge. Apparently the task force would get a bonus. Hafner and his old terrorist buddies must have an unusual one planned. The wheels were already in motion to take them all down, and now the ante would be higher. He'd make sure everyone was ready.
Bile rose again in his throat as he thought of his first exposure to Hafner, years before. Humble beginnings as a go-fer for various fringe elements had escalated into Hafner's being allowed to plant bombs, once he'd proven his worth.
It was one of those bombs that had killed the children who still haunted Cullinane's nights. Young and inexperienced, he'd missed a vital clue that had allowed it to happen.
Hafner had moved up swiftly in the ranks. Shortly after that episode, he'd gotten his first line of credit. He'd bought his first consignment of arms, unloading them with panache upon some of his former terrorist colleagues at a tidy profit.
"Just a simple man of business," Hafner always said.
The business of cold-blooded murder.
Fortunately for Cullinane, colleagues in this business liked to murder one another, as well. Job advancement. Competition in the marketplace.
Whatever you called it, the higher Hafner rose, the more he needed protection from his friends. Cullinane filled the bill nicely, with his cover of defrocked national security agent. Hafner loved having an ex-fed on his payroll, relished knowing that someone who'd been on the other side had fallen from grace.
He compared it to having an ex-priest on your side. "Know how to say all the right words, don't you, Cullinane?" he'd smirk. "Just can't get God to listen." He always broke into uproarious laughter at his own cleverness with that remark.
Ah, but Klaus, God will listen...when I decide the time is right.
And then you will pay for your sins.
Cullinane rubbed his temples slowly, trying to tamp down his hope that this was that time. Then he didn't allow himself to think anymore about how much he wanted out.
\*
Jillian tried not to goggle at the ambiance of Chez Nous. The stunning sight of crystal chandeliers showering the diners with teardrops of light and dressed-to-the-nines clientele took her breath away.
The orphaned street kid had never experienced anything like this. She tucked her dignity around her like a cloak, held her head high and tried to concentrate on surveillance of the surroundings.
Right now, Hafner's hand was tucked around her arm, his fingers uncurling to brush the curve of her breast at every opportunity.
She had to learn to ignore it. The point of the whole exercise was to make him comfortable with her, to make him careless. She had to quit tensing at every touch, every look.
And the small talk... Hafner and his business associates had spoken of nothing but inconsequential matters since they'd sat down to dinner. Coffee was being served now, and so far they'd covered the Saints' season, plans for Mardi Gras, and fishing.
Stifling her impatience, Jillian looked toward Cullinane, who'd fallen silent during the last course. She resisted a frown, seeing that his thoughts were elsewhere. Where are you, Cullinane? So sure that nothing can happen in Chez Nous?
Feeling Hafner's gaze upon her, she plastered on a Barbie smile as she faced him.
"Ah, gentlemen, I think we've bored my lady here."
"Why, no, Klaus, I'm utterly riveted." She batted her eyelashes for effect.
Hafner grinned. "Just as I thought. Sorry, dear heart," he stroked her neck in apology. "I think it's time we adjourned and went dancing." He didn't wait for assent before rising and pulling her up with him.
When he wrapped one arm around her waist, Jillian choked down the urge to recoil.
"Come along, beautiful. The night is young."
Jillian clicked her mind into neutral, refusing to feel how he tugged her body against his before releasing her to place her wrap around her shoulders. She glanced up to see Cullinane's eyes smoldering.
Why was he mad? She was the one getting mauled.
She managed to lag just behind Hafner as he strolled to the door, one arm around the shoulders of an associate. She stayed close to Hafner as she should, but relished the break from being manhandled.
This was going to be more difficult than she'd imagined. Somehow, she hadn't envisioned being a sexual object for him. She'd expected to be thought of as one of the guys, simply a bodyguard. Not smart, Jillian. But it's too late. You just have to deal with it until the time is right.
When they reached the club, the sound of blues throbbed in the air, erotic and lonely. Magically, tables cleared for them, and drinks were ordered. Just as at Chez Nous, it was clear that Hafner was a valued customer.
Sipping her ginger ale slowly, Jillian looked around and wished to God Hafner would stop running his fingers across the bare skin at her back. This bronze dress was the least revealing of the ones Cullinane had forced upon her---not that that was saying much---but nothing forestalled Hafner's advances.
"Why don't you and Cullinane dance, dear girl?" Hafner suggested.
Jillian wondered who was more startled, herself or the man in black. Why would Hafner want that, when he couldn't keep his hands off her? Questioning it, though, chanced revealing that she was a bodyguard to these people. The two of them dancing didn't really matter, from a safety standpoint; Cullinane had other guards scattered around them. Still she hoped Cullinane would quash the idea, only to see him rounding the table toward her. No light reflected from his black garb; he looked more than a little daunting.
"Very well," she demurred. "I suppose I can do that."
Hafner chuckled. "My watchdog doesn't bite, I promise."
She arched one eyebrow. "But has he been tested for rabies?"
The few near them who could hear over the music tittered. Cullinane's face never changed expression. Not your average sensitive guy.
When she hesitated, he grasped her hand in his, drawing her onto the dance floor. When they reached the center, he took her into his arms.
Jillian stepped back, protesting. "Shouldn't we be where we can see him?"
"My men can handle it." He drew her back.
"Cullinane, I don't want to do this. Can't we just go back and say I hurt my foot?"
His jaw clenched. "It's not my choice, either, but Klaus obviously wants to talk without either of us listening. He knows the other guards can't get that close."
She wrinkled her forehead. "But why would he not want you to hear?"
"Klaus doesn't really trust anyone. Everyone will betray him at some point, to his way of thinking."
"But you're his closest---" She stopped, confused.
"Closest what? Surely you weren't going to say friend. The man has no friends, MacGregor. That's how he's stayed alive this long. He merely mistrusts me less than the others. And he loves to play mind games."
"But..."
"But nothing, MacGregor. Be quiet and dance." He held her loosely, but she was deeply aware of his powerful body so close to hers. The slow, hypnotic music seeped into her bones, heated her blood.
"I don't want to dance with you."
"Tough." On the crowded dance floor, he swayed slowly, one warm hand against her exposed skin. "You wanted the job."
"Cullinane..." The slight nubby feel of his silk blazer stroked her cheek as he moved. She held herself stiffly, but fighting his draw was a challenge. The air was choked with a moody magic that had too much to do with this dark, brooding man who practically oozed pheromones, and resisting from this proximity was all but impossible. She tried again to pull back before she succumbed, but his hold made that impossible. His warm breath ruffled the hair at her temple, and the slow, sexy music worked its magic, relaxing her by inches. She breathed in the scent of him, an intriguing combination of sandalwood, citrus...and man.
For just a moment, she imagined that he wasn't her enemy, that they were free to respond to the chemistry that had been there from the first meeting, the crackle in the air every time they were near. No question he was ungodly sexy, a powerful male in his prime. Male called to female as they swayed together, just on the fringes of reality. He twirled her in a tight turn, and she let her body relax. His muscled thigh slid between hers as the sultry beat washed over them.
She shivered, and desire pooled deep within. He pulled her closer still, and she couldn't miss his body's response.
The song ended. For one breathless second, their gazes met, the smoke from his gray eyes curling deep inside her. Then gray hardened to steel as he tensed. She jerked back, remembering who he was, what he represented. Loathing filled her that for even one moment she could have forgotten why she was here.
Giving him her back, she headed off the dance floor. He didn't follow. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw him standing very still, his mask firmly in place.
It never happened, she told herself. Catching Hafner's curious look, she squared her shoulders. There lay her goal. Nothing and no one would stop her, not even though Cullinane made her mouth go dry.
He reacted to her, too---she'd felt it. The thought cheered her. Hope you hurt, Cullinane. Hope you suffer. Maybe you'll slip up and give me the chance to hurt Hafner.
Now there was a thought. Could she play Cullinane well enough to compromise him?
Jillian shook her head. Not in this lifetime. Hafner was enough of a handful. Cullinane ate girls like her for breakfast. Better not play that game.
She turned her thoughts to surviving the evening. Hafner's pawing.
And Cullinane's stony stare.
\*
At five-thirty, as always, Cullinane began his workout, pushing himself harder than usual to punish himself for last night's lapse.
Christ, was he out of his mind? It had been years since he'd been led around by his cock. With a muttered curse, he focused on the weights he was bench-pressing. The last thing he needed was an injury, if his opportunity was really at hand.
His gut told him it was.
Even though he hadn't been able to listen to Hafner's conversation once they reached the club, he still knew. Something about Hafner's suppressed excitement conveyed the message. His eyes had gleamed from more than the hots he had for Jillian.
MacGregor, damn it. Don't think about her as a woman. He wouldn't think about her silky skin, her curves which fit so perfectly against him...the cradle between her thighs that he---
Damn. If he was going to be an idiot and lift this much weight without a spotter, the least he could do was not get distracted. He'd gone too long between women, that was all. He had little taste anymore for meaningless encounters, and a relationship was out of the question for a shadow man. He had women he could call, women for whom casual was perfect. He'd better take the edge off before he did something stupid.
Gritting his teeth, he concentrated on his technique. Sweat broke out on his forehead when he added one more lift to his second set as a reminder. Two hundred twenty-five pounds had never felt heavier.
You're not twenty anymore, Drake. You'd better be more careful with your body. He put everything he had into one more lift, muscles screaming for release.
Do it. Go for it.
Satisfaction surged as he rested the bar safely on the rack above him, and he relished the burn that told him he'd pushed his limits.
Suddenly, though he hadn't heard the door open, he sensed that he wasn't alone in the gym. It sat at the far end of the house from the bedroom wings, and he usually had it to himself at this early hour. He wondered who dared disturb him in his present mood.
He should have known.
In the mirrored wall beside him, he saw the indecision on Jillian's face firm into resolve. Turning her back on him, she began to stretch.
He stifled a groan. Couldn't a man even work out in peace?
Cullinane rose from the bench and moved over to the stair stepper. Climbing two hundred flights of stairs at level eight would cure him of watching her behind when she bent over to stretch or those long, smooth legs---
Hell.
Cullinane closed his eyes and started climbing.
\*
Jillian wished there weren't so many mirrors in this place. His reflection was everywhere, each cut muscle, every drop of sweat that plastered his sleeveless top against that broad chest, the way his knit gym shorts molded and cupped---
Stop it, Jillian. Get to work. This might be the only free time she could claim in a day, so she hoped that this was a unique event, that Cullinane didn't usually work out at this hour. Could she afford to let her conditioning slide just to avoid being near him?
He was just a guy, for Pete's sake. She'd worked out with guys before.
None of them had made her throat close up like him, though. No matter how good he'd looked in his clothes, seeing him sweaty and near-naked...
She sighed and resolved to add twenty crunches for punishment. No more wayward thoughts. The man could barely stand to have her around.
He'd been different last night, though.
This was the same man who'd sicced two big toughs on her when she was sound asleep, however. Last night had to be an anomaly.
Had to be. He protected her enemy---that was all she needed to know. Last night had been simple hormones. Hormones could be ignored.
Jillian squeezed her eyes closed and added ten more crunches.
\*
"Spot me?"
The husky voice startled Cullinane, so intent was he upon climbing the last two flights of stairs.
"What?"
Her eyebrows rose. "Pretty impressive. Not just a lazy supervisor, are you? You've been climbing for thirty minutes. How many flights is that?"
"Two hundred." He climbed off and reached for his towel.
She whistled in appreciation. For a moment, they shared a grin.
"I was asking for a spot." She walked toward the bench press. "Not all of us are so foolhardy as to lift that kind of weight with no backup."
Cullinane frowned. "I know what I'm doing."
Her glance swept his body. "Oh, I don't doubt that for a minute." She began adjusting weights on the bar, handing the excess plates to him. "But it's still a bad idea."
Of course she was right. But this morning he'd had some frustrations to burn off.
Most of them caused by the woman standing next to him.
"So how much you want to lift?" He indicated the bar with a nod of his head.
"A hundred."
He issued his own whistle. "Pretty impressive..."
Jillian shot a glance his way. "For a girl, you mean?"
"For anyone who weighs at least a hundred pounds less than I do."
She seemed appeased. "Size isn't everything." Mischief glimmered in her gaze.
He moved toward the racks holding the plates. "Sometimes size matters a lot."
They exchanged grins.
Then inwardly he cursed. He didn't want to know she had a sense of humor, too.
When she settled on the bench, he moved to stand behind her head. His gaze drifted across her supple body, taking in the breasts beneath her black sports bra...the bare creamy skin at her taut midriff...the skin-tight black shorts hugging well-defined thighs...
Shit. He cleared his throat, "Ready?"
Her eyes caught his for one suspended moment. Finally she nodded. "Yeah." She reached up for the bar.
He lifted it off the rack, handing it to her, oddly reluctant to burden her with it. He was careful to pull his support away smoothly.
An odd feeling, this, watching someone whose graceful body he'd held in his arms last night use that same body with such power and strength now. No question that she knew what she was doing. No neophyte would be pressing this much weight for her size.
Impressive, he had to admit. Her body was a finely-honed machine, exhibiting great strength and the legacy of obvious discipline.
Yet she was all woman, no question. Jillian's muscle definition was imposing when she exerted herself, like right now, yet when she simply moved about in the normal course of things, she looked undeniably feminine, no bulging biceps or mannish features.
But last night she'd been soft. And too damned appealing.
"What?" she asked.
Not going there. "Don't talk. You could get hurt."
She glared at him, then focused on the middle distance, concentrating as if he was invisible.
Peeved, maybe. Definitely not mannish. Cullinane smiled.
"Twelve." She pushed the bar toward the rack.
He took it out of her hands and settled it carefully, and knew he had to get out of here. "Anything else?" he made himself ask curtly.
"No." She walked away.
Cullinane gladly left for his run.
One step ahead of the urge to turn back.
\*
Jillian peered down the road as she ran, seeking a good place to turn around. She'd finished her indoor workout and decided a run would do her good. Cullinane had left the gym abruptly; she had no idea where he'd gone.
Stop thinking about Cullinane. Think about Hafner. About what you learned last night.
Hafner was a creep. No news there. He was much worse than a creep; he'd murdered her sister. A hot ache seized her chest at the thought of the last, angry words she and Belinda had exchanged.
"Stop telling me what to do with my life, Jillian," Belinda had all but screamed. "I'm not your little sister anymore, and I'm sick of you looking down your nose at my choices." Belinda's blue eyes had snapped with the emotion spilling over her lashes. "He loves me, and you're just jealous!"
Just jealous...just jealous...sick of you looking down your nose... Could there have been any truth to Belinda's accusation? Belinda had had so much, and Jillian had always been on the outside looking in.
A horn blasted Jillian out of her daydream. Tires squealed. She jumped off to the shoulder, her breath coming in quick gasps.
"What the hell are you doing?"
She whipped around to see Cullinane charging toward her from a side path.
"Lady, are you crazy or what?" The driver of the car that had nearly hit her leaped out, his expression thunderous. "Do you know how close I came to hitting you?"
Her head swerved from side to side as she backed away, her pulse sky high.
"I'll take care of it. Are you all right?" Cullinane asked the driver, his voice sounding faint in her ears.
"Yeah, I'm all right, but your girlfriend here better watch where she's going. She could be dead right now."
She heard Cullinane's deep voice murmuring to the man as he escorted him back to his car. The man soon pulled away.
Oh, man. Here it came.
But he stopped in front of her and said nothing. Her attention caught on one drop of sweat rolling from his throat down tanned skin, disappearing into the dark hair above the neck of his tank.
When he remained silent, she raised her eyes to his.
The usual steely gaze studied her. His jaw flexed. "Are you all right?" An odd huskiness tinged his voice.
She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I was...preoccupied. Sorry."
He started to speak, then stopped abruptly. Nodding his head, he glanced down the road, back in the direction she'd come. "Let's head back."
Jillian watched him as he turned away, still surprised that she'd escaped a lecture. Cullinane glanced back, one imperious eyebrow lifted, and she snapped to attention, determined not to show him weakness.
He slowed his steps enough for her to catch up, then stride for stride, they matched their styles to one another, an odd sort of kinship she'd never expected to feel with him. For a mile or so, they covered ground simply as fellow athletes, and she slipped into the zone that so often sustained her, Cullinane a welcome companion.
The sight of the compound abruptly reminded her that this man was her enemy. His success would mean her failure. The thought that she could respond at all to a man who'd protect a vicious beast like Hafner shook her deeply. Drawing upon her last reserves of energy, she sprinted ahead of him, covering the final yards to the gate, reminding herself that she could afford no distractions.
She had responsibilities. She had a mission.
She could not fail.
Drake drove toward Metairie on auto-pilot, restless and uneasy. Good thing that his regular contact with his handler from the Bureau was today. He had too much on his mind and arranging to be away for special meets was a challenge. He needed the contact with a world that sometimes felt too unreal.
Hafner thought Drake was meeting a hooker on these outings. Drake grinned; Frank Campbell might resent being thought of in those terms. It was a good cover, though---Hafner took delight in chiding him for not bringing women to the compound, offering to provide him with all the free company he could ever want. He sneered at what he called monkish restraint, considering it a weakness that Drake would keep that part of his life so private, since, as he said, "It's only women." But Hafner's smug complacency served his own purposes, so Drake didn't object.
The high regard of a slimeball like Klaus was a dubious honor, anyway.
Drake rubbed the bridge of his nose. Soon. It would all be over soon. Then he could start washing away the years of filth staining his soul from close contact with vermin like Hafner.
Pulling around the seed motel, he parked the car and headed for the ground-floor room which the clerk would have checked in a half-hour ago to a stunning blonde who would soon be watching television in one room while he met with Campbell in the connecting room.
The door swung open before he could knock. Slender arms wrapped around his neck for the benefit of anyone tailing him, one long, black-stockinged leg rubbing against his as ruby-red lips met his own.
When he realized that he was comparing the feel of her to Jillian, he cursed silently and took the blonde's kiss deeper. When he set her back from him, her breathing was unsteady, her eyes wide with shock.
"Well, glad to see you, too, big guy."
"Okay, Agent Carlson, that's enough." Frank Campbell stood up from the table in the connecting room's shadowed corner. "I think your television show's on." The medium-height, fiftyish agent shook Drake's hand, then walked over and shut the connecting door. John Alonzo, the case officer, nodded to Drake.
The rookie agent would be watching the parking lot, using the television volume to muffle any missing sounds of passion from prying ears. The noise served a purpose, but Drake didn't get people who made love with the television blaring. They were missing out on the nuances of pleasure. Call him a romantic, but he believed his partners, however casual, deserved his full and complete attention.
"You okay, Drake?"
Damn. He'd never thought about passion at one of these meets before. Blast Jillian MacGregor.
"Yeah. Fine." He sat down, leaned forward. "I think we might get a bonus."
Alonzo's head jerked up from his notes, his dark eyes narrowing. "What's happening?"
"A big shipment coming in on the twenty-first. Hafner's playing it very close to the vest with me, lots of phone calls on his unmonitored line. Usually he likes to puff about the size of his haul. He seems nervous, but excited. My gut tells me it's big. A nice add to the haul on this raid."
"I'll alert the team to make adjustments. We'll be in touch. Still think he'll run it through the bayous?"
Drake nodded. "Something this important to him, it only makes sense. It's harder to track shipments being threaded up through bayou country." Going through major ports meant involving too many people. Hafner had always used shrimp boats to send and receive his shipments in bits and pieces. More time-consuming, to be sure, but much safer from detection. Less loss if the contraband is divided and something goes wrong.
He was also economical; the same craft that moved arms one way generally shipped cocaine in the other. No sense wasting transportation. Just business sense, Hafner would say.
"So tell me about the progress on your end," Drake prompted.
Alonzo leaned forward. "We go to the grand jury tomorrow to get the indictments in place. We'll adjust the arrest date to the twenty-first and coordinate with the Germans and Italians." He smiled. "We're in good shape, Cullinane. It's going to work."
"We'll move to Delta phone contact system, effective immediately." Frank rummaged through his notebook. "Here are the numbers we'll have staffed twenty-four/seven. This one's your primary get-out number if anything goes wrong before then."
Drake scanned the printout, entering the numbers into files on his phone contact list under various women's names. Should anyone break his password, it would look like the names of his 'hookers'. If someone persisted enough to call, each of these would be answered with varying escort service names.
He didn't kid himself that Hafner couldn't have someone watching him as closely as he watched everyone else for Hafner. He'd made his quarters safe, but that was his only refuge. Even there, he still took precautions.
Finished, he settled back and waited for Frank to stop writing notes to himself.
Without raising his head, Frank spoke up. "So what's got you so edgy?"
"This operation isn't enough?"
Frank stared. "You don't rattle easy."
Drake sighed. He wasn't ready to discuss Jillian---with anyone. He had no choice, though. "There's someone new around. A woman."
Frank's gaze held steady. "Hafner's new squeeze?"
"No."
"Why's she there?"
"Says she wants to be a bodyguard." He chuckled, remembering. "She picked a hell of a job application." As he told them where he'd finally stopped her that first night, he could appreciate his handler's lifted brows.
"We could use her on our side." Frank paused, head cocked to one side. "So what are you going to do about her?"
I wish I knew. Drake studied the print of sailboats on the wall. "Something's not right, but I don't know what." He straightened in his chair. "All I know is that I don't like the distraction. Or the timing. She's good, but I'm going to make her life difficult. I don't want her around, not now, but Hafner's determined."
"Think Hafner's got her there to watch you?"
He'd considered that. "I don't think so. Hafner wants her, but not so she'll spend time with me."
"That good-looking, huh?"
Ruefully, he nodded. "Oh, yeah."
"Going to compromise you?"
"No way." Drake met Frank's gaze evenly. "I've waited too long for this."
"Want me to run a check on her?"
"Yeah. I'll get you the information." He rose, not wanting to discuss Jillian further.
"You hang in there, Drake. Maybe it's almost over."
He wondered if he'd ever be free of Hafner. Ever get to live like other people. "You ever take your kids to Disney World, Frank?"
The hazel eyes widened, then softened in sympathy. "Yeah, twice." He rose, too, crossing the room and clapping Drake on the shoulder. "You wanna go next time?"
Drake chuckled. "No thanks. I might go fishing, though, when this is over."
"I'll buy the worms."
Drake shook Frank's hand, nodding toward the other agent. "I'll go tell Lisa goodbye."
"I don't know if her heart's strong enough," Frank grinned. Alonzo laughed.
Smiling, Drake crossed to the door. "I'll be in touch."
"I hope this is it." With a short nod, Frank turned back to the table.
Not half as much as I do. Outside, Drake sat in the car for a minute, more conscious than usual of the split in his mind and the effort required to bridge it as he readied himself to return to the world of the man known only as Cullinane.
\*
Jillian looked out her window at the lush grounds below, her eyes focused on nothing but the despair that dogged her. Frigid air from ducts above her fought the sultry heat of the day; hair still wet from her shower trickled moisture between her shoulder blades.
The trickle could just as easily be the cold sweat of fear.
She couldn't do this. Couldn't pull it off. Despite all her planning, the months of training and preparation, she was going to fail. Her plan was good---that wasn't what disturbed her so. It was that she'd never factored in how hard it would be to be this alone, to hold all the strangeness at bay with no respite.
She'd thought that because she'd been alone so much of her life, she'd find it easy to hold herself apart, but she hadn't counted on Cullinane. Hafner gave her the creeps, but Cullinane scared her to death. He was real, and he was serious. And how he got beneath her skin could ruin it all.
Pushing away from the window with both hands, fingers diving into her hair, she paced the floor. She was afraid to go out there, but she couldn't stay inside forever. She'd never find the weaknesses of this place if she didn't probe. If only Cullinane would give her regular duties like the others...
He didn't trust her yet. She'd never envisioned this going so slowly. She'd hoped to be in and out of here, quick and clean.
But it wasn't to be that easy. Luck had played a part in how far she'd made it that first night, but nothing since had worked as she'd hoped. Cullinane wasn't a man who made mistakes, too controlled and precise, too quietly dangerous.
She almost thought he was more dangerous than Hafner.
He wasn't vicious, though, she would swear. Somehow she didn't think he was evil either, but if not, why was he here? Was he so morally bankrupt that Hafner didn't bother him?
She had to get out of this room, out of her thoughts. Swift fingers braided her still-damp hair, then she slipped on her sandals, sparing no glance at the mirror. Headed for the door, she stopped suddenly.
Hafner. She could be the spider, make him be the fly, lure him in. If so, she'd better go put on some lipstick. And some earrings.
Jillian squared her shoulders and headed for her private bath. When she'd fastened slender gold dangles to her earlobes and dabbed mocha cream on her lips, she checked to see that the deep green of her tank top worked with the khaki of her shorts. Grabbing a book from her nightstand, she headed out to scout the grounds, a good reading place her ostensible destination. As she turned the doorknob, she drew in a deep breath.
Patience. And watch your back.
Strolling over the side lawn a few minutes later, she glanced back up to check the location of her room. On one balcony stood Klaus Hafner, his gaze hot on her. She turned away and kept walking.
Showtime. Come on, you bastard.
A small glade she'd passed on her way into this compound was nearby. Jillian headed for that, carefully scanning everything around her with the benefit of daylight. She might need to leave the way she came in, though she hoped not.
Entering the clearing, she saw a small gazebo nestled beneath the trees, lacy ferns hanging at intervals under the eaves. Off to her right, the clear turquoise of pool water, cool and inviting. She walked up the two steps to the gazebo and settled on flowered cushions, the lazy whir of the ceiling fan overhead. Most of the year, air conditioning was essential and being outside wasn't much fun. In the cooler October temperatures, however, the fan was perfect.
Klaus Hafner might be an animal, but he was an animal with great amenities. Opening her book, she settled in to wait, soon deep in the story.
"A beautiful bodyguard who reads romance novels. You are, indeed, an unusual woman."
Marking her place slowly, she raised her gaze to Hafner's. Coolly, she responded. "Not so unusual---millions of women read them. Even some men."
Bushy dark eyebrows lifted. "And what would I learn if I read one?"
Jillian shrugged. "Maybe a lot, maybe nothing. Perhaps you're a romantic already."
Hafner laughed as he stepped up into the gazebo, pale blue eyes piercing. "Perhaps I am...or perhaps you could teach me."
She refused to drop her gaze, though her heart pounded as he approached. "I have other books. I'll share."
He crossed toward her, eyes challenging. Just when he got so close her heart all but seized in her chest, he veered away, coming to stand near her head, just past her vision.
He reminded her too much of bad times, sordid nights on frightening streets. Having her back to him made her twitch.
His voice came from above her. "What do you think of my little kingdom?"
Jillian stared out at a very old magnolia, refusing to let herself cower, however much her skin crawled. "It has a certain grace."
"I like my space. And control of everyone in it."
"Must be nice. Your own kingdom. With obedient subjects."
"Most of them," he acknowledged. "Some don't...work out."
Like Belinda? Her heart skipped, but she managed to keep her face impassive, her voice cool. "And then what happens?"
His gaze arrowed into hers, chilling and direct, and she understood that she was seeing into the mind of a madman. The moment spun out until her nerves sang with tension.
"Some things I have others do...but some things I prefer to do myself." Something sly and evil peered out from his eyes.
He couldn't know. She was here under another name. She and Belinda looked nothing alike. Still something inside her froze.
Calm down, Jillian. You're spooking yourself. You feel exposed because you have no back-up. But he doesn't know who you are.
When his finger skimmed her nape, she shivered, rising to her feet and moving away.
"Running away, Jillian MacGregor?"
She forced herself to turn around, only to discover him right in front of her. She stood her ground. "I'm simply tired of sitting."
His gaze was amused. She'd never felt more like prey being toyed with by a predator.
You could kill him right now, Jillian. You could disable him and then kill him. You know how.
A metallic flash behind him caught her attention. One of Cullinane's men, patrolling the grounds.
No. She wasn't on a suicide mission. She'd bide her time. Carefully shielding her thoughts from him, she kept her gaze lowered, the gold chains in his salt-and-pepper chest hair snagging her eye. The contrast with Cullinane's muscled, golden chest couldn't have been more pronounced.
Hafner placed a finger under her chin, drawing it upward. Knowing what was coming, she forced herself not to retreat, not to hide behind closed eyes. She steeled herself for the touch of his lips.
"I don't think that's part of the job description, MacGregor."
Cullinane. Waves of relief swept through her. She stepped back.
Hafner swore darkly. "It's Sunday, Cullinane. It's her day off."
"She doesn't get a day off, Klaus. She hasn't passed muster yet. We've got more testing to do before I sign on to keeping her around. Today's as good a day as any." The steel in his expression dared either of them to argue.
"I'll send her along in a few minutes."
"Not if you want me to stay on the job."
Jillian blinked, astonished that Cullinane would up the ante so high. Torn between anger and relief, she crossed her arms over her chest. "What kind of testing?"
He ignored her, eyes locked on Hafner's.
When Hafner was the first to look away, she was torn between relief and chagrin. Making herself into bait might very well be the only way to get Hafner away from the others.
Surprisingly, Hafner chuckled and stepped down from the gazebo. "Your regular day with the ladies, isn't it, Cullinane? So why isn't your disposition better?"
"My disposition will improve once she proves herself. Or she's gone." He didn't seem to care which one.
"I've already spent good money on gowns for her. I expect you to find her sufficient---or finish her training yourself." Then, good humor restored by reasserting his power, Hafner turned to her. "We must resume our discussion of romance later, I'm afraid. My watchdog wants to beat his chest."
Jillian noted the brief flex of Cullinane's jaw as Hafner walked away, hands in the pockets of his shorts, whistling.
Cullinane's eyes were hard as granite as his attention shifted to her. "Come on," he snapped. "Unless you'd rather give up now."
"Not on your life, watchdog." She brushed past him, hands clenched in fists.
"MacGregor." His quiet tone stopped her.
She didn't turn.
"Don't be alone with him, if you don't want to play."
She swallowed hard. "I think that's my business, don't you?"
He stepped up beside her. "Everything here is my business." She was all too aware of his nearness.
After much too long a moment, he stepped around her. "This way, MacGregor. I hope you've had your Wheaties."
She followed him without a word.
\*
"This place is amazing," Jillian commented as they entered a wing of the compound he hadn't yet shown her. Cullinane saw her glance across the hallway to a room filled with mats, two of his men matched against one another in practice combat.
Fred looked up from where he stood observing, his gaze on her angry but wary. The cast on his foot would be there for weeks. Until it came off, he was stuck with paperwork and video surveillance. He wouldn't forgive Jillian easily for the ribbing he'd taken from the other men.
Fred saw that he was looking and flushed, turning back to watch the combatants.
Cullinane held the door open for her, noting her surprise at the courtesy. Good. Keep her off balance.
Jillian entered the darkened alcove outside the firing range, heading toward the opening.
"MacGregor." When she pivoted, he held out a set of hearing protectors, complete with earplugs.
She approached him warily, still not meeting his gaze as she opened the small pouch and began inserting them with quick competence, settling the headset around her neck. Walking around him, she plucked a set of goggles from the board behind him, then planted her hands on her hips. "Do you still have my weapon?" she demanded.
He remembered how she'd balked at going out the other night without one. Walking over to a locked cabinet, he pulled a key ring from his pocket and opened the doors. Plucking her Walther from its slot, he turned and handed it to her, retaining his own grasp on it.
Irritation flared, quickly masked. Whiskey eyes rose to meet his, her look cool and indifferent.
Holding on for another moment, he slowly released her weapon. She stepped back, checking it over, her movements quick and clean. No question she'd done this many times.
Cullinane didn't reach for his own Sig at the small of his back. He might practice later, but he was here to test her. Gesturing to the doorway, he urged her to precede him.
Watching the long braid swish across her back, her skin creamy and smooth above the deep green top, he understood completely why Klaus would want her.
But how much did she want Klaus? He hadn't missed the quick flare of relief in her eyes when he'd interrupted them. Little fool. She was playing with fire. Klaus was vicious. He'd use her and discard her like used tissues.
Did she want his money? To get in on his deals? What had brought her here? Surely it was more than just job advancement, though no question that she could name her price after working here, if she did her job right.
He didn't know the answers, but he'd break her down and find out. She was a cool customer, but there was fire beneath that ice. He'd keep probing for weakness until he figured her out.
And hope, in the meantime, that she didn't screw everything else up. She was dangerous and unpredictable.
Cullinane didn't like either one. Joining her on her platform, he decided to start rattling her cage right now.
"You're crowding me." She spoke over her shoulder.
"Just watching." He saw her frame tense as she sighted.
"How do you know I won't hit you when it recoils?"
"Good try, MacGregor."
She turned halfway toward him, her shoulder landing against his chest. He hadn't given her room to step away.
Her eyes narrowed. "Trying to rattle me, huh?"
He glanced down, thinking he'd be smart to step back himself as his body stirred at the feel of her. "Is it working?"
"No." With a dismissive toss of her head, she turned back to the target. Delicate gold earrings dangled with her movement.
It didn't matter. He'd seen her gaze waver.
As if to taunt him, she leaned back slightly and rubbed the cheeks of her delectable ass across the front of his jeans in one slow stroke.
Hot, dark need seared down his spine. It took all his control not to groan.
To get even, he slowly brought his hands up her sides, barely brushing fingers along the outside curves of her breasts before sliding them down her arms and closing his hands over hers. Her slender back burned his chest where they touched.
"Try it this way."
She hissed. "Very funny." She broke away, jerking the headgear down around her neck. "It's not going to work on me, Cullinane."
"What isn't?"
"Your image. The dark warrior Cullinane knows all, sees all, hears all---and don't ever cross him."
"It's not an image. We're not here to have fun, MacGregor. If this is some adventure for you, then you'd better pack now." He gripped her shoulders and only too quickly realized that touching her was a mistake.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Eyes sparking, she was the picture of defiance. "Go to hell. I've met guys like you before. I've had to prove myself every time." She sniffed, turning away. "I'll show you, too." Resettling the headgear, she picked up her weapon again and took aim. "Now back the hell off."
She fired, her shot clean and true. Glancing over her shoulder at him, she smirked, then faced front and squeezed off several rounds. Calling for a new target, she loaded a new magazine, studiously ignoring him.
After firing off the other rounds, she stepped away, lowering the headgear to her neck. "Okay, hotshot. What's next?"
Damn her. Eyes bright with temper, chest heaving with repressed emotion, she stirred him more than ever. He wanted to take her here and now, spark that temper into passion, surround himself with the life that brimmed from her and warm his cold, dark soul.
Instead, he'd have to keep trying to break her, to take that wild spirit and crush it, to make this strong, gutsy woman doubt herself so she'd leave, tail tucked between her legs.
Of all the hard things he'd ever done in his work, this might be the most obscene.
"Across the hall," Cullinane ordered. For a second, Jillian would swear she'd seen the flicker of something that might almost be...regret? He turned away too quickly for her to check again, but she had to be wrong. He was enjoying every minute of this. And she'd helped him by losing her temper.
Her temper had always been a problem. She shouldn't have given him the satisfaction of seeing her angry. Cold and rational just like him, that's what she had to be.
However much she could still feel him at her back, his powerful body pouring off a heat some perverse part of her itched to get closer to.
Then she recalled his physical response as she'd brushed his body. And smiled.
He wasn't immune to her, either.
Two can play this game, Cullinane.
Pulling off her hearing protectors and goggles, removing the plugs from her ears, she picked up her weapon and followed him to the other room. She handed the protective gear to him but retained her weapon.
He stood at the gun case, waiting, doors open, watching her.
For a long moment, she pondered the price of insisting on keeping it. Finally, she turned it butt out and placed it in his palm. Something like understanding flared in his gaze.
"No weapons allowed in the practice room," he explained. "Tempers get hot sometimes." He placed his own weapon inside, closing the door and locking it. "I'll give it back to you once we're done."
He did understand how naked she felt without it. Maybe he was human, after all.
The next few moments gave her doubts. Entering the practice room, every eye in the place was on her, and none of them friendly. The blond man she'd bested the night she'd arrived stood against one wall, walking cast on his foot and deep, burning anger in his gaze. If he could have been the one to take her on, she was certain he would have jumped at the chance.
"Take your pick, MacGregor," Cullinane offered.
Jillian scanned the men in the room. Every one of them looked more than willing to be chosen, as though avenging their comrade was top choice on the menu. The second man who'd been in the room that night stood across from her, hands on his hips, all but daring her to pick him.
She stifled a sigh, understanding how the game was played. You wanted respect, you took on the big dog. "I choose you, Cullinane."
He looked startled, then frowned.
"What's the matter, hotshot? Afraid I'll embarrass you in front of your men?"
A look of reluctant amusement. Still, he had to know that once the challenge was thrown out, he had no choice. "In case you hadn't noticed, MacGregor, I have a sizable height and reach advantage over you."
She saw the smirks on the faces around the room, no doubt hoping she'd blink. "So?" She waved a hand. "Everyone in here's bigger than me." She upped the ante. "I've done it before." Tilting her chin out at the man with the cast, she taunted, "They didn't like it when I won, either."
Cullinane almost smiled at that, but she didn't like the gleam in his eye. He began removing his shoes. "You're on, hotshot," he threw her jeer back in her face, "but don't expect me to take it easy on you." He nodded toward a closed door, then tied his hair back. "Pads are in there, if you want them."
Hoping she didn't regret this decision, she declined. "I won't have them on when the bad guys come." And she had to prove she could take it.
Cullinane shrugged. "Suit yourself."
She removed her sandals and set them out of the way. Expectation charged the mood of the room. She could all but hear their lips smacking at the prospect of her defeat.
It couldn't happen. She couldn't let it. Too much needed to be proven to these men, but more importantly, to Cullinane---and herself. She'd won against bigger men before. Bigger wasn't always better, especially very muscular men who often didn't have her agility.
She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, hearing Hiroshi's maxim in her head: If one acts without fear and with total commitment, a weaker person can defeat a stronger one. The key was using his cockiness against him. Watching for the advantage, and letting him defeat himself. Drawing another deep breath and searching for the mind's center as she'd been taught, she prepared herself to win.
When Jillian moved toward him, Cullinane noted the light of battle in her eyes. Resolve spoke from every line of her frame.
Damn, she was a hellcat---a warrior queen if ever he'd seen one. He'd never encountered a woman like her in his life. A moment's regret flared that they'd met in these circumstances.
Then she softened her body into limber waiting, arms out to defend, and he readied himself for her first move. Reluctant admiration struck when he realized she was going to make him move first. Clever---she knew it was a mistake to be the first to commit, but he'd bet anything that she sensed how impatient their audience was and was betting that he'd move first to satisfy the bloodlust of the others.
But she was wrong. He'd proven himself long ago. His men could wait there until hell froze over, for all he cared.
Suddenly, she was inside his guard, moving to strike. He reacted quickly, turning her and flipping her onto her back.
Quick as a cat, she was back on her feet, eyes sparking, cheeks bright with anger. A snort of laughter from Fred didn't help. To her credit, though, she didn't lose her composure. She circled him slowly, looking for weakness, head held high and proud.
He moved in on her, only to have her foot meet his chest hard enough he knew he'd bruise. Before he could unbalance her, however, she'd danced away, eyes alight with challenge.
Arms in motion, he closed in sideways. Quickly she turned, sliding under his arm, delivering a quick liver kite. Stung, he whirled, grasping her arm and pulling her to him with one quick jerk, arm sliding across her chest to trap her.
In a motion almost too quick to follow, Jillian's foot lifted. He barely had time to avoid Fred's fate, and in jerking away from her, he gave her the room to wiggle free.
The mood in the room had altered. From jubilant anticipation of her speedy defeat, now he could feel from his men his own reaction. She was good. Unorthodox and wily...and skillful.
He knew in that moment that he'd better drop all hesitation or she'd embarrass him, too. She was sweating and breathing fast, but her reflexes were still good, her movements limber. He had to take her seriously.
A flare of triumph in her eyes told him that she knew she'd convinced him. He could stop the match now before he risked hurting her, but he'd better not, for her sake. His men resented her for embarrassing them in front of him. He'd better either defeat her soundly or suffer their same fate. To walk away with this unfinished would help no one.
And no freaking way was Cullinane suffering their fate.
Closing his mind to her gender, her size, to desire and everything he wondered about her, he settled deep within, to the part of him that moved on instinct, the animal that knew how to survive any situation. He wasn't going to injure her seriously if he could help it, but for all of their sakes, he couldn't let her win.
She'd issued the challenge; now she had to live with the results.
Circling one another slowly, her gaze as intense as he felt, they jabbed and kicked, neither getting a decisive hit. Then he reached out to grasp her and bring this to an end---
And found himself flat on his back on the mat.
Cullinane reacted quicker than she did, though. Her pause for the flash of a triumphant smile was one second too long. Before she could step out of range, he'd hooked one leg around her, dropping her to the mat. He loomed over her, the killing blow at her throat.
Around them the men recovered from the shock of her dropping him. Explosions of satisfaction echoed.
Cullinane only noticed the sudden stillness between them, intensely aware of her body beneath his. In a span of seconds, he'd gone from chagrin to anger to triumph, and his legendary control wavered. Age-old instincts awakened, her slim throat beneath his hand, her pelvis all but joined to his, her fierce will to fight him summoning his own aggression. Watching her eyes darken, a surge of lust rocketed through him.
He knew, in that moment, that she could spell his destruction.
Jillian MacGregor was more than dangerous. And he was doomed, if he didn't stay away.
Rocking back on his heels, eyes still locked on hers, he slid his hand from her throat, trailing it slowly over one breast. She held his gaze, her chest rising with unsteady breath, taut nipples outlined against her shirt. His hand burned like fire; his mind screamed for release---
He stood quickly. Walked away before he made the biggest mistake of his life.
The room was utterly silent.
\*
Jillian stretched under the hot water in her shower, remembering the moments after Cullinane had left the practice room. Head held high, she'd risen slowly from the mat, refusing to let them gloat. As she'd scanned the room, she'd been surprised to see reluctant admiration from the men lining the walls. Even Fred, with his cast, had nodded.
She'd lost, maybe more than she could bear to think about, but she'd gained their respect. Now if only she didn't have to think about those last moments with Cullinane.
Wincing at muscles she knew would be very sore tomorrow, she ducked her head under the water, hoping the impression of him would wash away, too. For those endless, naked moments, she'd felt what she knew he'd felt...a hunger too deep to forget.
She could still feel him over her, large hand at her throat, his fingertips burning a path across one breast. She'd wanted to part her legs and draw him into her, to drive her fingers into the long dark hair and bring his mouth to hers, to fight him and claw until he satisfied the need that built with every new encounter until she wondered how long before she couldn't hold out anymore.
Jillian slapped both hands against the tile, shuddering at the image, the havoc it wreaked within her. It was wrong---he was wrong. She could not, would not, feel this way any longer. She turned her face full up under the pounding water, praying for it to wash away his imprint, to clear her fevered mind. Damn him, damn him, damn him. She'd never had a reaction like this to any man.
But Cullinane wasn't just any man. A chill settled into her bones, a visceral fear that he could make her vulnerable, make her fail.
Flipping the control to cold, Jillian shuddered but didn't step away. If it took shocking her into her senses, by God, that's what she'd do. She'd worked too hard, struggled too long, to let foolish fancies hold sway.
It was only hormones. A simple, instinctive reaction to battle encoded DNA-deep, to celebrate life after risking death by joining bodies and celebrating life. She might not be immune to biological imperatives, but it didn't mean she had to succumb. She'd known she risked much to challenge him---she'd simply mistaken the full extent of the cost.
Cold, rational thought, Jillian. No temper, no passion, no fancies. Admit that he makes your blood sizzle and move on.
Drawing the frayed ends of her control together, Jillian emerged from the shower and heard a knock at the door. "Who is it?"
"It's Alice, the housekeeper. Shall I come back?"
Thank God. A distraction. A human voice. "No, it's fine, just give me a minute." Hurriedly, she slipped on a thick terry robe, then walked to the door, toweling her hair. Reaching for the knob, she opened it to a small woman with black, curly hair and a smile.
"I'm sorry if this is a bad time. I came to tidy your rooms."
"Sure, come in. Will I be in your way?"
"Oh, no. I work around people all the time." With a cheery smile, the woman set down her carryall and pulled out a rag to start dusting the furniture.
Jillian wasn't sure what to do with a housekeeper. Stay out of the way? Go back to her business? "Uh...I'll be in there," she said, pointing to the bathroom. "Let me know when you need me to move." Then she paused and held out a hand. "I'm Jillian. You're...Alice, did you say?"
Nodding, Alice seemed startled, then smiled and shook Jillian's hand. "Pleased to meet you, Jillian."
Her smile warmed Jillian. Such a little thing, but it made her realize how much she'd missed the little things, small talk, simple, genuine smiles. How did these people stand being cooped up in this place? They might as well be prisoners.
Eager to enjoy more, Jillian didn't leave but rather, trailed behind Alice.
The woman glanced up. "Can I help you with something?"
"No, I was just---have you worked here long?" Oh, brother. Cullinane's probably made them all sign some secret pledge not to reveal anything to anyone.
Alice's smile was strained, and Jillian wondered why. "Three years. It's a very good job for me. I have four children and no husband to help me."
"Do you live far away?"
"No, I live on the grounds, in an apartment above the garage."
"Doesn't it---don't you get tired of it?"
Alice looked amused. "Of living in the countryside instead of the dump I could afford in the worst neighborhood in the city?" She shook her head. "No. My children are safe here, and they can attend good schools." A slight frown crossed her face, then her eyes filled.
"Are you all right?"
Alice shook her head, reaching into her pocket for a tissue and blowing her nose daintily. "I'm sorry. It's just that..."
"Please," Jillian gestured to the chair nearby, "please sit down."
"I shouldn't--- You can't..."
"Can't what? Can't listen?" It was wonderful to think about someone else's problems instead of her own. "Of course I can, if you'd like to talk." She tried another tack. "It must be very difficult, being a single parent."
Alice settled on the edge of the chair, tears spilling over. "Oh, yes. Yes, it is." She looked stricken. "They're wonderful children, don't get me wrong."
"How many boys and girls?"
Alice brightened. "Two boys, my older one, J.T., is twelve." A shadow darkened her eyes for a moment. "Adam, my other son, is nine. He looks up to J.T. so much." Again the sadness. "I have two daughters, Lily, who is seven, and Mary Beth, my little one, just turned five."
And J.T. is giving you trouble. "A boy of twelve...it must be difficult, having no father to help with him."
"He's a good boy, but lately..." Alice shook her head, voice lowering to a whisper. "I thought this place would protect him, but I'm seeing bad things now. He's hanging around with some boys I don't know, boys with smart mouths and no respect. They always wear the same two colors."
"Gang colors."
The woman's eyes snapped to hers. "I was hoping I was wrong. Are you sure?"
Jillian could have given her chapter and verse on gang behavior. Much of her life had been spent in a universe where gangs reigned, but she could not risk any connections to her old life, so she merely nodded. "I, uh, I saw a television show recently, describing gang behavior. That's what's worrying you, isn't it?"
Alice's knuckles whitened, the grip of her hands was so tight. "I don't---he won't talk to me about it, and Adam... Adam will do anything he sees J.T. do. I don't want to lose either one of them, and I'm so worried. I thought we'd be safe here, so far from the old neighborhood."
"It can't be hopeless yet." She'd check out J.T., see what she could do.
Alice's head rose, her eyes shining. "Oh, I know it's not." She wiped at her eyes. "After all, there's Mr. Cullinane..."
"Cullinane?" What part did he play?
The woman nodded. "J.T. worships the ground that man walks on. I know Mr. Cullinane will help me." Rising to her feet, she began to dust again. "I don't know why I've talked so much. I'd better get this room done. Smiling shyly, she spoke over her shoulder, moving away. "I guess I've missed having other women to talk to."
Jillian let her pass without protest. She was still reeling over the concept of Cullinane as a substitute father. Mr. Granite? She hadn't exactly noticed the milk of human kindness gushing from his veins. Shaking her head, she wanted to tell Alice to get herself and her kids away from this place, away from a monster like Hafner.
Did she know who he was? What he did?
"Alice, perhaps you shouldn't stay here if you think your children need to get away from bad influences around them. I know this place is nice, but room and board aren't reason enough."
Alice laughed, her laughter a clear, silvery tone that brought Jillian a smile. "Oh, I get much more than room and board. Klaus pays me very well for being his housekeeper, and he's started a college fund for each of my children. I have so few expenses that I'm able to put away quite a bit of my salary for that purpose, and he matches, two for one, every dollar I put away. In three years, I've made a good nest egg for them." Her smile faded. "And my brother depends upon me. I couldn't leave."
Her brother? Jillian's head reeled from the thought that this kind, gentle woman was Hafner's sister, that Hafner would do such a generous thing. Then her words sank in. Three years. Alice had been here when Belinda was here.
He'd murdered Belinda. How could Alice not see what kind of man he was? What did she think had happened to Belinda? Could she not know Belinda was dead? Jillian reeled. How could this be the same man? College funds for Alice's children?
He'd done it, though. Killed Belinda. Her letters, her calls...all evidence demonstrated that he'd intimidated her, kept her a virtual prisoner. She'd been terrified of him toward the end, and they'd been alone in that bayou cabin he'd used for a getaway. Before the case had been closed, the parish officials had shown Jillian the file that was now conveniently 'missing.' There was no doubt of it. He might support a whole orphanage, give money to the homeless, be the patron saint of a whole city, but he'd still murdered her sister---and others---by virtue of his livelihood. He was a merchant of death.
And Cullinane was the man he trusted most. Cullinane knew the answers.
Answers Jillian didn't dare ask for. Not from him, not even this sweet, harmless woman.
"Jillian? Ms. MacGregor? Are you all right?"
Jillian's head snapped up, searching Alice's kind eyes. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask her if she'd met a woman named Belinda, but... Her shoulders sagged.
She was alone in this. She'd chosen this route. No secret ally would sweep in to help her, there were no shortcuts. She had to keep quiet, dig for information, look for her opportunity---and keep her wits about her.
Raising her head high and straightening her shoulders, she smiled calmly. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I'll leave you to your work."
And turned away, feeling more alone than when she'd opened the door.
Late afternoon shadows drifted across her bed. A knock sounded on her door, and Jillian stirred.
The knock came again, harder.
She sat up, muzzy from her nap. "Who is it?"
"It's Fred. Get up. Boss wants you."
Jillian shoved her hair back out of her face. Rising slowly, muscles protesting, she scrubbed at her face with her hands, grabbing her robe from the end of the pale peach bedspread. "Just a minute...I'm coming."
Opening the door, she could see the signs of his disapproval, the smirk. Jillian straightened. "Yes?"
"Boss wants to go for a Sunday drive. Be ready in ten minutes." He held out her weapon. "Cullinane says you don't have to feel naked anymore." Fred's brown eyes glinted, and she fought the urge to hold her robe closer.
But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She took her weapon, meeting his gaze with chin lifted. "Fine." She started to close the door.
He shot out an arm to block it. For one instant, she felt a frisson of fear.
The beefy blond man looked uneasy. Finally, he blurted out, "You're...different."
She cocked her head, waiting. "And...?"
He studied her, shook his head. "I don't know. You made me look bad," he said, glancing at his foot. "You shouldn't have been able to do that."
Jillian didn't know how to handle him, what to say. These men could make her life even harder if they wouldn't accept her. She didn't need any more obstacles.
"Nobody's taken Cullinane down in a long time." He shifted uneasily on his feet, then glanced up, a slight grin curving his lips. "You might be all right."
Jillian grinned back, sighing inwardly with relief. "Thanks...Fred, right?" She glanced down at his foot. "I---I'm sorry about your foot. I'd been asleep, and I..."
He waved off her words. "Forget it. It was the other guys laughing at me that hurt worse than anything. But after today, well...Cullinane beat you good, but that fall took the heat off me." With another grin, he stepped away, drawing the door closed. "Uh, the boss is waiting."
Her spirits a little lighter, she flew into action. No way was she giving Cullinane a chance to chew her out for being late. When she got downstairs, though, Cullinane was nowhere in sight, and neither was the limo she'd ridden in the night they went to Chez Nous. In its place was an SUV, Hafner waiting at the passenger door.
"Would you do the honors and drive?"
Startled, Jillian hesitated. "I don't know the area." And I don't want to be alone with you. No, that was wrong. That's exactly what she needed. Yes. She could get this over with and leave.
Though she might spend the rest of her life running.
He waved a hand toward the driver's seat. "No matter. I do."
She shrugged. "You're the boss." But no time to plan, no strategy. Resolving to be vigilant for her opening, Jillian climbed into the seat, adjusting it to fit her.
Hafner settled into the seat beside her, then she heard the left rear door open and glanced in the mirror.
Cullinane. Of course.
Jillian ground her teeth in frustration. She should have known he'd never let her do this alone. Glaring into the mirror, she challenged him. "Perhaps Cullinane would rather drive? You do prefer to be in control, isn't that right, watchdog?"
Mr. Granite was back, full-force. Black mane forbidding, the silver streak a warning. The man whose eyes had darkened with desire could have been a figment of her imagination. This man didn't evince even a grimace at the nickname.
Hafner laughed. "He does, indeed." He turned toward his security chief. "What do you say, Cullinane?"
Voice stony, Cullinane responded, "Just drive, MacGregor."
Shadows dappled the driveway as she pulled away, Hafner giving directions. They headed farther out into the countryside. Jillian concentrated on her driving, trying desperately not to be unnerved by the presence of a man she loathed beside her...and the penetrating gaze that met her every time she glanced in the rearview mirror.
When Hafner's arm stretched out to rest lightly on the top of her seat back, she steeled herself not to shift away.
Hafner rolled down the window, drawing in a deep breath of air filled with scents of decaying vegetation, exhaust fumes, and the slowly-settling heat of the day. "Ah, this countryside suits me. I like the faint air of corruption that infuses everything."
She didn't respond, focused on steering carefully. In the mirror, Cullinane's hard visage greeted her, but she couldn't read any expression there.
"Turn here, my dear," Hafner gestured. As their bodies swayed with the abrupt turn, his hand dropped to her thigh.
Jillian flinched. Her glance shot up to the mirror to see if Cullinane had noticed, but Hafner's voice jerked her attention back quickly.
A squirrel darted across the road. Jillian barely missed it, Hafner's hand tightening on her thigh as the vehicle swayed.
She wanted to slap his hand away, to punch his lights out. She wanted to bathe away his touch, even though her jeans barred him from coming into contact with her skin.
But she had a goal, a job to do. Hafner had to trust her so she could get close, again and again, until the opportunity presented itself. Tamping down her disgust, she gritted her teeth, glancing back in the mirror.
Cullinane's eyes burned her, his generous mouth set in a hard line, the flex of his jaw condemning.
Jillian raised her chin and glared back.
"Pay attention, MacGregor. There's a car following us."
Glancing in the mirror again, she saw he was right. She'd seen that car before, on the highway. Focus, Jillian. Do this right.
In front of them, a car drifted across the white line. She hadn't trained for evasive driving.
A quick glance behind showed the car speeding up. The car in front hadn't corrected its angle---it was headed straight for them.
"Get down, Klaus," Cullinane snapped. "Hit it, MacGregor! See if you can get past them."
Jillian's fingers tightened around the wheel. She punched the accelerator, the vehicle reacting quickly. The car in front sped up, angling more. "I can't make it," she said through clenched teeth. "I'm headed through those trees." Jerking the wheel hard, she prayed the vehicle wouldn't tip over as she ran it across the uneven ground.
A shot pinged the roof. She wanted to reach for her weapon, but steering took all her attention.
"Stay focused," Cullinane ordered. "Turn our side toward them when you have to stop."
She saw him edging toward the other door, gun ready. Aiming the SUV at rougher ground where the cars behind them would have more trouble, she hoped she wouldn't have to slow down to shift into four-wheel drive. They were gaining slightly.
Suddenly, a drop loomed. Too much to traverse, and solid cypresses at the base, the edge of the swamp too near. She wheeled the car around, leaving it running, and grabbed her weapon. Cullinane slipped out of the back, gun drawn and ready.
A shot hit the rear window, but it didn't break.
"Bulletproof, thanks to my protector," Hafner said.
Jillian climbed past him. "Stay down. I'll see if I can help Cullinane."
When she got out, though, he was nowhere in sight. The black car that had been chasing them closed the gap. Jillian crouched behind the wheel well, sighting in to shoot, when she was grabbed from behind, a hard blow to her arm knocking her weapon to the ground.
"Not bad, MacGregor. Your evasive driving skills could stand some work, but at least you didn't panic."
Heart pounding, rage shot through her body like a sniper's bullet. She jerked away and whirled, chest heaving. Angry words rocketed to her lips. With great effort, she swallowed them, adrenaline still pumping.
The cars behind them slowed and stopped. Ron and two other men emerged. Hafner climbed out of the Explorer, grinning.
Only Cullinane looked displeased.
Hands on her hips, Jillian glared at him, fury still fighting to escape from her lips. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Turning insolently away from his regard, she leaned down and picked up her weapon.
"What did I tell you, Cullinane? Cool as a cucumber under pressure." Hafner's smug voice sounded. "She's ready, even you can't say she isn't." A taunting tone entered his next words. "I mean, any woman who can drop the unbeatable Cullinane..."
A grin crossed Ron's face. Jillian wished she were looking at Cullinane right now. Slowly, she turned.
If looks could kill, she'd be toast. She didn't care. This was sneaky, underhanded...
Effective. It had worked. Her final exam, and she'd passed it. She could see it in his gaze. He couldn't turn her away now. She smiled sweetly. "Do I get an 'A', teacher?"
His grim visage revealed nothing. Nodding at the men behind her, he snapped out an order. "Ron, you drive back. Check the vehicle to make sure there's no damage other than the window. Solly, you in front and the other car follows. Let's get back to the compound, people. Fun's over."
He started past her. Jillian shot out a hand to stop him. "Cullinane, admit it."
He towered over her, his closeness unsettling. The imperious eyebrow lifted. "Admit what?"
That I'm good, that I surprised you, that--- Stop it, Jillian. You don't need this man's approval, you only need him to not interfere. She dropped her hand. "Never mind." She stalked toward the car, but his voice stopped her.
"You're good, MacGregor. That what you wanted to hear?"
She turned back. "But you don't like it."
His face hardened. "No. I don't. But I'm not paying the bills." He rounded the car.
She didn't care what he thought. Wouldn't let herself.
The drive back seemed to take hours.
\*
Shirtless and barefoot, Cullinane watched her sleeping. Unable to sleep himself, he cursed her ability to drop off so easily---but then, she'd had a very strenuous day.
He couldn't send her away now. She'd proven herself, even he had to admit it. Hafner was jubilant, the other men accepting. Only Cullinane balked, with no other reason than his instincts to guide him.
But those instincts had kept him alive for a long time. He turned away from the monitor in disgust, wishing he could get a handle on what it was that bothered him so much about her.
Get real, Drake, he chided, one hand swiping his hair. She bothers you on every level. He wheeled around to glare at the screen.
Jillian stirred, and the sheet slipped down, drawing his gaze down with it to the nipple about to be revealed. He swore darkly, jabbing at the switch for that monitor, dissolving the image into darkness.
You can watch for the sake of security, Drake, but not because she sleeps naked.
But how did he wipe the image from his mind, prevent himself from dreaming it? With a muffled curse, he moved to his room, popped the buttons on his jeans and stripped, then climbed into his own bed.
And tried not to wish he were climbing into Jillian's. The feel of the sheets against his skin maddened him, too reminiscent of how little separated them...only a little distance down the hall, only the bare covering of two sheets on their bodies...
Only a lifetime worth of hunting a killer.
Growling, Cullinane punched his pillow and flipped on his side, closing his eyes....
And prayed for merciful oblivion.
\*
The sun bright in the sky the next morning, Cullinane rapped impatiently at Hafner's door.
"Who is it, at this godforsaken hour?"
"It's ten o'clock, Klaus. Open up. We've got problems."
Too many moments passed. Cullinane was reaching for the knob when the door swung open onto Hafner's private lair. Cullinane barely registered the dark room, the sinister black and gold scheme. He thrust a sheaf of papers into Hafner's face.
Hafner blinked sleepily and frowned, running fingers through his short gray hair. "What's got you so riled up at this hour?"
"She's a liar. Jillian MacGregor doesn't exist." Pacing, he tried to still the thoughts swirling around in his head. He'd known something wasn't right. Now he'd proven it.
"So?"
Cullinane whirled in amazement. "So? You can ask me that, with this evidence? Have you lost your goddamn mind, Klaus? She's not who she says she is---she could be anyone, ATF, FBI, an assassin sent by some of your less well-meaning admirers...she's got to go."
"No."
Cullinane swore. It wasn't likely she was any sort of government agent, but she could be working for someone who hated Hafner---God knows plenty of people did. If it weren't so serious, he'd laugh. If he didn't believe in the soundness of his cover, he'd almost think Hafner wanted to keep her just to confound him.
Frank's question returned to his mind, but did he dare question in that direction? Had Hafner brought her in to watch him?
Nonsense. She wasn't that good an actress. And he could almost swear he'd seen her respond to Hafner with revulsion. Wouldn't it make more sense for her to seduce him if the goal was for her to watch Hafner closely, to exert some control over him?
Cullinane felt every minute of his sleepless night. Running one hand over his face, he grappled for patience. "You've never been like this since I've known you, Klaus. Tell me why you'd jeopardize everything for this woman."
"She intrigues me."
"She has the skills to kill you."
"Ah, but I have something she doesn't. You."
"I can't be with you every second. And that's where you're headed, anyway, to being alone with her. I can't protect you then."
Hafner's smug expression vanished. "All right, Cullinane. I'll grant you that we don't know much about her..."
Cullinane snorted. "We know nothing about her, Klaus."
Hafner held his hands up, palms out. "That's not quite right. We know she's gutsy and has nerves of ice, she's strong and beautiful and smart. She's an uncommon woman, unlike anyone I've ever met, and I want to keep her around for a while." His tone was final. "I'll agree to avoid being alone with her until we can find out more about her, but I'm not sending her away. I trust your system, and face it, Cullinane---we can watch her better here than outside. If she's really out to get me, she could do it anywhere. Let's keep her where we know what she's doing. There could be other reasons for her to be using an alias besides wanting to do me in. If she'd wanted that, why didn't she let me take a bullet yesterday? She didn't know it was a setup."
"I don't know---and I still don't like it."
"Objection noted." Hafner's expression was almost fond. "I know you're only trying to do the job I hired you to do. You've done it damn well. Just give it some time, all right? So far, she's doing a great job."
Cullinane stabbed a finger at him. "Don't go back on your promise not to be alone with her, Klaus. Don't kid yourself---she's dangerous."
Hafner nodded soberly. "I know. It's part of the fascination."
Cullinane retrieved the sheaf of papers. "I'm going to figure out who she really is." He made for the door.
Hafner spoke. "I'll agree the timing isn't great. I've got a big shipment coming in on the twenty-first, and there will be special arrangements."
Cullinane's hand stilled on the knob. "When do you want to go over them?"
"I don't have it all worked out yet, but soon. I'll need to work through part of it with you tomorrow, the rest later. There will be other players involved in this one."
Cullinane choked down his jubilation and nodded curtly. "You know where to find me."
Then he left, more determined than ever to find the leverage to get Jillian MacGregor or whoever the hell she was out of his life.
Quickly.
\*
When Jillian finished her solitary lunch on the patio, Cullinane slipped up beside Alice as she carried the dishes into the kitchen. Removing the glass Jillian had used with a napkin, holding it gingerly at the base, he placed one finger against his lips and winked. Alice looked confused, but nodded.
Upstairs, Cullinane lifted the fingerprints carefully. He'd have to make a special contact to get the Bureau to run these, but he just couldn't shake the feeling that her true identity was important. Despite Hafner's willingness to gamble, Cullinane would not. Knockout redheads in body-hugging black didn't just drop into your life for no reason. If nothing else, her timing was lousy. He didn't need any surprises right now.
He left the compound. Whoever she was, he'd know soon.
On the way to his car, he heard the voices of children chanting. Searching for the source, he spotted Alice's two girls playing jump rope.
With Jillian. Or whoever she was.
Unbelievable.
Lily and Mary Beth were turning the rope while Jillian jumped, her cinnamon mane flowing in ribbons with each leap, her laughter musical and inviting.
Then she saw him and missed a step. She stopped and tilted her head. Realizing his own smile had triggered her curiosity, he sobered. When her face fell, he had a sense of something intimate lost.
She's a liar, Drake. He got into his car and drove away, more disturbed than ever.
He was a liar, too. Maybe her reasons were as good as his own.
\*
Jillian watched him drive away, frowning.
"What's wrong, Jillian? You can have another turn," Mary Beth offered. "We don't have to count it."
"What?" Jillian pulled her gaze away from the car driving off. "Oh---no, that's all right, sweetie. I'm a little winded, anyway. It's Lily's turn now, right?"
Lily, though older, was more shy than her sister. She flushed, then handed her end to Jillian. She waited patiently for Jillian and Mary Beth to get their rhythm going before jumping in, but Jillian was finding concentration hard to command.
He'd smiled at her, actually smiled. She'd have to admit that she'd admired those lips before, but they were always set in resistance to her, so hard and often angry. She thought she was almost glad now. That smile was deadly.
"Jillian, can you go faster?"
"Oh---sorry." Jillian frowned. For one heady moment, he'd looked years younger, like someone approachable instead of a hardened warrior. Shaking her head, Jillian resolved to forget about Cullinane for a while. He took up too much of her thoughts, anyway. It was a beautiful day, not even too humid, and Alice's girls were lovely children. Forget Mr. Granite.
She wouldn't be forgetting that smile anytime soon, though.
Lily stumbled, and Jillian snapped to attention, dropping the rope so the girl wouldn't get tangled up and fall.
"Mama?" The girl glanced back at her mother, fear washing her face.
"I see him, honey." Alice opened the kitchen door and stepped out, face hard as she looked toward the compound gate.
Jillian turned to see what it was. Two boys, one short and wiry, his whole demeanor shouting 'attitude.' A larger boy strutted beside him. Mary Beth slipped her hand into Jillian's.
The larger boy scanned Jillian with eyes much too old for a face that was years from needing a razor.
"J.T., you come in now. You've got homework to do," Alice ordered.
The two boys exchanged looks. Mary Beth's hand squeezed Jillian's.
"In a little while." J.T.'s surly tone grated on Jillian's nerves. If his mother hadn't been there, she'd have liked to peel a strip off his hide, taken him down a notch. But these weren't her children.
Alice's voice shook slightly. "Rabbit needs to go home now. You can play later."
The larger boy snorted. "Yeah, sure, mama's boy." His tone slid into sing-song. "You can find someone to play with when your homework is done. Maybe after the milk and cookies are gone. I'm outta here." With an arrogant wave, he strolled back to the gate, whistling.
J.T. flushed, shooting his mother a look of naked hatred. Jillian could see the woman recoiling. To spare Alice discomfort, she busied herself with the girls. "Okay, girls, why don't you go inside and wash your hands before your snack? Here, Lily, take Mary Beth." The older girl stepped away from her mother and did as Jillian asked.
Alice dropped her head, shoulders sagging. "I should take them somewhere, get away from this place. But Klaus..."
"Why doesn't he help you with them?"
The woman's voice went quiet. "I don't like to bother him with my problems. He's a busy man, and I know the children's noise sometimes upsets him. I don't want to make too much trouble. I'm already beholden to him as it is." She turned to walk away.
"Alice? Do you want me to talk to J.T. for you?"
The woman turned back, pale blue eyes brimming with unshed tears. "No. It's not your problem." Shuttering her gaze, Alice steadied her voice. "I have to learn how to take care of it myself. They're my children."
"Something wrong, Alice?" Jillian turned at the voice. Hafner's demeanor was icy, his face hard.
Alice grasped the door handle, her face losing all animation. "No, Klaus. Everything's fine." Quickly she scooted inside, face pale.
Jillian frowned at the odd exchange. When Alice shut the door behind her, Jillian turned away, but Hafner grabbed her arm. "I've been looking for you." His voice lowered to an intimate tone.
"I need you tonight."
Jillian froze, every nerve screaming for her to run.
Hafner gazed down at her. "I have clients to entertain."
Relief was chased by chagrin. She had to get past revulsion with him, if she were to succeed. Clearly she wasn't there yet.
"Walk with me," he urged, heading toward the gazebo.
Jillian noted Ron standing nearby, watching. His gaze told her nothing.
"You like children?" Hafner asked, nodding back toward the house.
"I guess so."
"Alice's lot hasn't been easy."
Jillian looked at him. "She told me about your college fund for them. That's very generous of you." Why would you do it?
He shrugged. "It's not a big deal."
Jillian studied him, confounded. This was her sister's murderer. Like a many-headed hydra, he had too many faces. He sold arms to murderers, to terrorist scum. But he helped a woman like those his weapons killed daily, helped her send her children to college. Gave them a roof over their heads.
Where was the sense in this? The justice?
Hafner smiled, reaching out to smooth the skin between her eyebrows. "What troubles you so?" His eerie pale eyes held a look that was almost tender.
Jillian recoiled. "Nothing. I'd better go get ready. What's the dress code tonight?"
He smoothed his palm along her arm, and it was all she could do not to shudder.
Gazing deeply into her eyes, he squeezed her elbow in his large, warm hand. "Dress to the nines, Jillian. Let me see one of my new pretties on your lovely body."
She fought to remain impassive. "What time?"
"Seven. You might want to rest a little first; it will be a long night. I want to dance with you, Jillian. I want to hold your body against mine."
"Seven." She nodded. "I'll be ready." She turned to go.
But she'd never be ready for him to touch her.
"Jillian," he called out. She didn't look back. "I can be very good to you, if you'll let me."
With all the dignity she could muster, she walked away slowly, when what she really wanted was to run.
\*
"MacGregor," Cullinane spoke out across the dinner table. "Where does that name come from? Your people Scots?"
She evaded his gaze. "The name is. My coloring suits it, don't you think?"
"Where is your family?"
"My father's dead." Sadness pervaded her voice.
He wanted her to squirm, but not this way. "I'm sorry. Your mother's alone?"
"She left when I was very young." To her credit, she held his gaze steadily.
"Where was she from?"
"Is this a dinner party, Cullinane, or an interrogation?" Hafner drawled.
The other diners at their table tittered. Jillian glanced away.
"Just interested in your new companion, Klaus." He toyed idly with his wine glass, running a lazy finger around the edge. "Simply making conversation."
Jillian looked up at his tone. There was an unnatural brightness to her eyes tonight, almost a desperation.
The band began its first set. Klaus stood, holding out a hand to Jillian. "I believe you promised me a dance, my dear."
Jillian glanced over at him. Cullinane shrugged his shoulders negligently. What did she expect of him, when she'd already promised Klaus a dance? He didn't care what she did, as long as she didn't foul up his operation.
But he watched them and, damn it, he burned for her. The long meal had taken its toll, Jillian so close but out of reach, wearing that damned short red sequined dress she'd modeled for him. He'd seen her first, hadn't he? And she looked back at him often. In the gym, she'd taunted him, on the mats, her reaction had been as combustible as his own...
Hell. He shifted in his seat to look anywhere else, but that was no help. His gaze was inexorably drawn back to her, and he was dogged by a feeling of inevitability. How long would he be able to keep his hands off her?
He scanned the others in the dinner party for someone, anyone he wanted to dance with. Some of the other men had brought beautiful companions, women who were more polished than Jillian, women who knew the score, who would provide hours of physical pleasure...
But she outshone them all.
His gaze returned to Jillian, her body held close against the length of Hafner's. Too close. But she was a cool customer, her face a mask of icy unconcern.
Cullinane stood up, turning to the woman next to him. "Care to dance?"
Startled, she nodded. He held out a hand, knowing from What's-Her-Name's expression that she thought she would be dancing with the devil. He forced himself to smile and make small talk, maintaining an easy rhythm to help her get over her nerves. She barely reached halfway up his chest, so he had a clear shot to watch what he really wanted to see.
Jillian.
The short red dress followed the lines of her body, the fringe softly swaying with each move, tiny sparkles glinting red fire. Her long burnished hair swept against pale skin, hair that had brushed his cheek as they'd danced only a few nights before.
He remembered the feel of her body against his, the clean apple scent of her hair, the warm sigh of her breath against his throat...the silken texture of her skin.
Hafner's fingers slipped beneath the low back of her dress, and Cullinane's jaw clenched. When they turned, Cullinane noted the unease in her eyes.
Damn it, Jillian. MacGregor. Whoever you are.
"Is something wrong?" his partner asked timidly.
"What?" He glanced down. "Oh. No, nothing." He smiled to put her at ease.
The woman couldn't hold his gaze long. As soon as she looked away, he glanced back. Hafner's arm had wrapped all the way around Jillian's back, pulling her into him, the fingers of one hand stroking near her breast.
Cullinane went rigid. "I'm sorry," he interrupted his partner. "I forgot something I have to take care of. Will you please excuse me?"
Cullinane walked her back to the table, bowing over her hand and assuring her that he'd like another dance later, if that were possible. Excusing himself, he returned to the dance floor, headed straight for Hafner and Jillian, pressure building inside him.
She spotted him, her expression a mixture of anger and relief. Hafner turned, frowning. "What's up?"
"I'm not sure. I need MacGregor to check the exterior with me." He watched Hafner's hands rest on Jillian's hips, his fingers splayed possessively.
"What about Ron and Tony?"
His fingers made a fist. "Ron's down the block. Tony's the one who asked for help."
Hafner looked exasperated. "Can't you handle it by yourself?"
He leveled a gaze at Hafner in lieu of the blow he'd like to level at his head. "You asked me to be in charge of security, Klaus. Now let me do my job."
Hafner's eyes were belligerent, but at last he nodded. "I'll make your excuses. Perhaps Jillian took ill suddenly, and of course, I can't leave my guests."
A brisk nod was the best he could manage as he struggled not to touch her---or punch Klaus. "That should work. With me, MacGregor."
There was gratitude in her gaze, mixed with equal parts of wariness. Looking down on the pale skin at the part of her hair, she seemed somehow vulnerable. Cullinane placed one hand at her back as they walked out.
Touching her was definitely a mistake. He yanked his hand back as if burned.
"What is it?" she asked.
What the hell was he doing? She'd lied to him, pushed him, rattled him as no one had in years...
"Not here." He grabbed her hand, half-dragged her outside and around the building until he spotted a shadowed corner in the rear.
"Cullinane, what's wrong? What are we looking for?"
He spun her around, backed her against the building, trapped her hands at shoulder level with his own. Stopped himself as long as he could, struggled to hold onto the last remnants of his detachment. Though darkness enshrouded them, he could still see her eyes widen, her lips parted slightly, her breasts rising above the sparkling fabric with every breath. Fringe shimmered, outlining the curves his hands ached to touch.
But he could still picture Hafner's hands on her, and a primal instinct to erase them, to imprint himself, grabbed him by the throat.
But still he tried to resist her. "You're trouble, Jillian. I don't know what you want from me."
"I don't want anything." Yet her eyes were bright with a desire that matched his own. He grasped her taut waist, thought about Hafner's hands cupping her ass. He grappled for the control to walk away. This was crazy. He shouldn't want to mark her as his.
But he did.
"Don't lie to me, Jillian. Not about this. Tell me to leave you alone. Tell me you don't feel this." He bent to her, to those lips he'd hungered to taste. He made himself pause a breath shy of contact.
She had one last chance to move away.
Instead, she moaned, soft and breathy---then she closed the gap. Gripped his hair and dragged his mouth to hers.
God. "I don't want you. I don't want this." Hot, edgy hunger prowled through him, a craving like nothing he'd ever felt.
"Liar." Her tongue slicked over his.
Then it was too late.
He had to have more of her.
He hauled her against him, her lush breasts against his chest, her nipples hard points, furious at the boundaries of clothing and skin. Goddammit, he was drowning in her, heedless of who he was and where they were, blind craving all he knew, all he could feel.
\*
Lost. All Jillian could think was that she was helpless to fight how he made her feel. Hafner's hands on her had disgusted. Cullinane's hands sent her head spinning. She tightened her fingers on his dark mane, clawed her nails against his warm flesh.
He shifted, parting their mouths for a split-second. She whimpered, pulling him back. He took her deeper---hot, clever tongue swirling and luring, tempting her further into madness.
Oh, but such a fine madness it was. He stole her breath, the feel of his hard body against hers driving her higher, higher... His teeth scraped down the cord at her throat, and her knees gave way. Strong arms were all that kept her standing. He sucked gently, nipping lightly on the tender flesh where neck and shoulder met, his hard cock rocking against her softness.
Goosebumps prickled over her flesh.
She sighed, and Cullinane bent her over his arm, licked a long, sinuous stroke over the curve of her breast.
She was a heartbeat from climbing his body, wrapping her legs around his waist and begging---
A crunch on gravel. Voices coming close. In seconds, they would be seen.
He went preternaturally still. She mourned at the loss.
His chest heaved, his eyes glittering with need. He looked as shell-shocked as she felt.
"Christ---" Confusion warred with anger in his gaze.
Movement behind them caught her eyes. She pressed her fingers to his lips. "It's Tony. He doesn't see us yet." She couldn't look at him again, was appalled at what had just happened. She pushed away, and he let her. She struggled to compose herself as she turned her back on the man who'd just rocked the foundations of her world. "I'll head that way," she nodded toward the left, "and do what you told Hafner we were going to do." While I try to recover my mind.
"Jillian..." His voice was rough, a little unsteady.
"Don't---please." Damn it, she ached for him. "I don't--- This was just..." She had no idea how to explain what had happened. Her reaction to him was too deep, too raw for words.
"A mistake," his grim voice intoned.
He was right. Somehow that didn't stop it from hurting.
He nodded curtly. "I'll go this way, then rejoin Hafner. Get Tony to drive you home."
Home. Jillian wanted to laugh. Instead, she walked away on unsteady legs.
\*
Cullinane made his way around the building and spoke to Tony. "MacGregor's checking a disturbance out back. Take her to the compound when she makes it to the front. We'll be along soon."
The man nodded. "Sure thing."
Cullinane did his damnedest to force his insides to match the mask he'd pasted on, but he had to pause inside and buy a second to get a grip on what had just happened.
What the hell was that all about? But he knew.
He wanted her. So badly he was ready to take on Hafner over her.
Jesus.
All that was important, all that he would allow to matter, was the operation. So close---too close to screw up now.
But no woman had ever gotten to him like that. She'd stolen inside and walked away with a piece of him he had to get back. He might want her bad enough to howl, but she was a liar. And he was a fool to let her get close.
Crossing the crowded floor in long strides, he spotted Hafner's table. Hafner looked up and frowned. He murmured to his guests, then approached.
"What are you doing here? Where is Jillian?"
"I sent her back."
"Why?"
"Her job tonight was finished. I can handle it from here."
"I say when she's finished, Cullinane." Hafner's voice rose, attracting attention.
"Keep your voice down."
Hafner's eyes sparked. "Don't tell me what to do. I pay your salary, damn it. You bring her back now."
"No."
A feral gleam lit his gaze. "It's her, isn't it? You want her. You can't stand the thought that she's mine for the taking. You're jealous."
"She's no one's for the taking." But it was true---he was jealous as hell. And insane for feeling it.
Hafner's eyes narrowed. "If I say she's mine, she's mine."
"She's not a hooker, she's a bodyguard."
"Goddammit, Cullinane," Hafner roared, "I want her here now."
Cullinane grabbed his arm, propelling him toward the alcove leading to the restrooms. Once out of sight, he yanked Hafner up by the lapels. "Shut the fuck up. She's not a bitch in heat, and you're not her master. Now leave her alone to do her job. If you can't keep your zipper closed around her, I'll have her off the property so fast your head will spin, got it?"
"Don't threaten me, Cullinane," the low voice warned. "Not even you can threaten me."
Watch it, Drake. He was walking a thin line, disaster yawning ahead. Slowly he loosened his fingers from the fabric, setting Hafner away from him but never breaking the stare. "You're losing sight of your business, Klaus. You're letting those long legs keep you from thinking straight. Maybe that's what someone wants to have happen, ever think of that?"
He could see the moment when temper turned into comprehension. Hafner's stance eased, and he chuckled, shaking his head.
Hafner smiled the smile of a predator. "Damn fine legs, though, don't you agree?" Cocking his head, he probed Cullinane's gaze warily. "I still think you want her as much as I do." Clapping one hand to Cullinane's shoulder, he smirked. "Nice to know my stone-faced protector is human." He turned to go back, then stopped suddenly and whirled, pointing a finger, eyes hard and determined. "She's mine, though, if I want her---remember that. Nobody touches her but me."
Cullinane stood there for a moment, watching him walk away, his own body still vibrating with adrenaline and the gut-punch of desire.
Get out, Jillian, while you still can. You need protection.
From both of us.
\*
Jillian stood in the moonlight, staring off in the distance, seeing nothing. She'd circled the parking lot by rote, her body still thrumming like a plucked string, unmet need clawing at her.
Fool. Idiot. Weakling. From the first, he'd exerted a magnetism that had drawn her steadily closer to the flame. Like some sorcerer practicing his black arts, Cullinane conjured something from deep within her she had no idea how to kill. She'd thought she'd done well at suppressing any attraction, but tonight, in mere seconds, it had roared to life, a forest fire consuming acres of ground in a flash.
She didn't know what to do except stay away from him as much as possible. Anger hadn't helped, icy disdain made no impression, whatever it was within her that sought its match in him was beyond anything she'd ever tried to control before.
But she had to. Before she had no other choice but to leave.
And live the rest of her life with the guilt.
"Jillian?" Tony stepped forward. "I called you twice."
"Sorry. I--- Never mind."
He looked at her oddly. "Something wrong? Anything I need to check out?"
"No."
"Cullinane told me to drive you back. You ready?"
No, I'm not ready for any of this. I thought I was, but I'm scared. Scared it's all spiraling out of my control. Scared I'm about to fail.
She lifted her chin, wrapping the remnants of icy control around her. "Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go."
She'd whistle past the graveyard until she could figure out how to disarm Cullinane's most potent weapon.
Himself.
Hafner lounged against the black leather sofa, tie off, shirt half-unbuttoned. Waving negligently with the glass in his hand, he indicated the bar on the near wall. "Have a drink, Cullinane." Nudging the ornate wooden box on the smoked-glass tabletop with the foot propped next to it, he smiled expansively. "How about a cigar?"
"No, thanks, Klaus. I'm ready to turn in."
"You ever a Boy Scout, Cullinane?" Hafner studied him through spirals of smoke. For a man ready to go several rounds in the restaurant earlier, Hafner showed no signs now that he'd ever been ruffled.
"My neighborhood was a little short on the amenities."
"Mine, too." Hafner looked into his drink, swirling the dark liquid. "I'll never go back." He gestured around the room. "My parents' whole house could have fit in this space."
Cullinane nodded. His, too. "So you weren't a Boy Scout, either?"
Hafner chuckled. "Lifting wallets was a little more my speed, at that age." His gaze rose to Cullinane's. "Or feeling up girls."
The atmosphere thickened, as two dominant males remembered the earlier clash, a topic better left unexplored. Cullinane refused to drop his eyes, knowing a lot was on the line at this moment. Hafner's respect for him had come because the man couldn't bully him. Cullinane yielded only when he wanted to yield, and Hafner had thus far side-stepped any full confrontation. He suspected Hafner didn't want to find out that he might not win.
Hafner broke off first and leaned his head back on the overstuffed cushion, sliding lower in his seat and closing his eyes. "Let's talk about the next shipment."
So typical of him. He slept little and expected those around him to keep his erratic hours. The middle of the night was high noon for him, a man who'd gotten soft letting others guard him, who'd lost the sharp physical edge he'd once used as a weapon. Cullinane and his men had to keep their bodies honed, and that meant rest and proper care. Hafner forgot that when the night specters beckoned.
Cullinane sat down. "What's up?"
"It's going to be trickier than usual. Some of the boats will be coming in with specialty items I don't usually carry, along with the coke. We'll need to set up carefully to off-load the coke but not disturb the other stuff, then finish filling those boats with part of the outgoing shipment."
"What kind of specialty items?"
Hafner's sly smile made his scalp crawl. "Biological weapons."
Cullinane barely blinked. "You're planning, of course, to help load those particular boats."
A wide grin creased Hafner's face, then he laughed out loud. "I can't shock you, can I, watchdog?" He shook his head. "Never let 'em see you sweat, do you, Cullinane?"
He couldn't believe Hafner was serious, but he had to be sure. "You really think our people are prepared to handle them?"
"They'd better be, but that's your job. You make sure we have what we need."
"I'll need figures on quantity and space required."
Hafner nodded. "I'll get them to you tomorrow or the next day."
He's really going to do it. The bastard was insane. He'd damn sure upped the ante on the operation. Not only was the stuff lethal, but Hafner would get the book thrown at him if he were caught.
And he would be caught this time. Cullinane would make sure of it. He'd lock Hafner up and throw away the key himself.
Cullinane met the gaze of a madman, wily as a fox but dangerous as they came, a true sociopath. The lives of most other human beings meant nothing to him and his ilk.
Jesus, he was tired. Slapping his palms down on his thighs, Cullinane rose. "Well, I'm calling it a day. Unless you have something else?"
Hafner studied him for a moment, smiling oddly. "Jillian is lovely, isn't she?"
He refused to rise to the bait. "I suppose."
Hafner's smile was at odds with the gleam in his gaze. "Sweet dreams, watchdog."
Words unspoken passed between them.
"I'm sure they will be. Good night." He turned and left.
\*
Jillian heard the fight break out in the game room the next day. Headed down the hall to see why J.T. and Rabbit were going after each other, she'd almost turned the corner when she heard the deep voice cut through the fracas like a hot knife through butter.
She couldn't hear the words, but Rabbit's protest came through, loud and clear, followed by J.T.'s own. Cullinane's tone of command stopped them before they could get rolling again.
Rabbit's sullen shout echoed, "Fine, just fine. I'm outta here."
Stepping back into the library next door, Jillian saw the boy rush past, face screwed up in anger. Before she could make her way back into the hall, she heard Cullinane and J.T. headed her way.
She hadn't seen him at all that day. He'd even changed his workout time to avoid her. He wasn't likely to want to see her now.
J.T.'s voice quavered, "I'll show him who's bad."
"Are you so sure you can't talk it out?" Cullinane asked.
Jillian's jaw dropped. Mr. My-Way-or-the-Highway was talking compromise?
"He'd never listen. He only understands fighting."
"Fighting rarely solves anything, J.T. There's usually a better way."
J.T.'s skepticism came through in his tone. "I never thought I'd hear you say something soft like that."
Cullinane chuckled. "There's nothing wrong with being soft sometimes."
Jillian sat down before she could fall down.
"You're never soft," J.T. said.
"I'm not saying I'm any example to follow, J.T." Sadness crept into Cullinane's voice. "The best man I ever knew was strong enough to be soft sometimes."
"Was that your dad?"
"No. It was my grandfather. I never knew my dad."
"I did, but mine don't care what happens to me. He left us a long time ago, after Mary Beth came." His voice lowered. "I was too much trouble."
"I doubt it was you. Maybe he cares. Sometimes people just make mistakes. He'd care if he could see you now."
"I wouldn't give that asshole the time of day."
"Then that's your loss, and his, too, if you ever get the chance and let it pass. You can't live your life looking back over your shoulder, though. You have to go on from where you are now. And where you are, J.T., is that your mother needs you. She's taken care of all of you by herself for a long time now. You're older. You need to be helping her, not hanging out with losers like Rabbit."
"Rabbit's no loser---he can beat anybody around."
"That's not the measure of a real man."
"Then what is?"
"A real man takes care of his responsibilities, doesn't let down those who care about him, those he cares for."
Jillian held her breath, hearing in those words something deep within the man himself.
But who did Cullinane care for? Who cared for him? She'd never met a more solitary man. Knowing that, and hearing his words, gave her a deeper understanding of the somber shadows she'd sensed.
"I can't make much money to help my mom. I'm only twelve."
"Money isn't the key. What your mom needs is for you to be an example for the younger ones. Adam watches every move you make, and the girls need your guidance, too. Haven't you noticed that they're afraid of Rabbit and of how you act when you're with him?"
"No, I---I never thought about it."
"Let me tell you something, J.T. When I was your age, I was the biggest badass around. All puffed up with my swagger and how nobody could tell me nothin' about nothin'."
Jillian smiled as his cadence brought a young, dark-haired wild boy to life in her mind.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You think that sounds great, right? Well, let me tell you something. I almost got my best friend killed with my swaggering because I was like Rabbit, too mixed up in my head to see the dead-end I was walking down. And like you, I was mad at the whole world because I'd been given a rough turn. I had no dad, I lived in a shack, and nobody cared if I lived or died except one old man."
His tone quieted. "They hauled my best friend to the hospital, bleeding from a stab wound that hit real close to his heart in a fight with some guys I wouldn't back down from. The cop who brought me home told my grandfather that he'd be smart to let them take me into foster care. He said I'd never be anything but misery for him."
Jillian found herself leaning forward.
"So what did your grandfather do?"
"First, he blistered my butt so hard I couldn't sit down until the next afternoon."
"And then?"
"And then he hugged me. Hugged me so hard I could barely breathe. And he told me something I've never forgotten."
"What?"
"Sometimes the strongest person is the one who walks away."
It was difficult to believe that she was listening to the same hardass who was so determined to get rid of her.
But the compassion she heard in his voice as he reached out to a troubled boy was another face of a complex man. A man of deep feelings, hidden by a very tough shell.
A shell that had cracked open last night long enough to singe her to her toes.
A complex man, indeed. Jillian shook her head, fingers pressed to her lips, wishing she hadn't heard this conversation. It only made it harder to resist him.
"You, uh, you think I should stay away from Rabbit, huh?"
"No. I don't, not necessarily."
"You don't?"
"You have to make your own decisions, J.T. That's part of becoming a man. But remember that who you surround yourself with is a measure of who you are and who you want to be. Make your choices count." She heard him start to walk. "But for now, how about shooting some hoops with me in the gym?"
"Yeah!" No more world-weary tones from J.T.
And then they were gone, leaving Jillian to wonder who this man really was. Who you surround yourself with is a measure of who you are and who you want to be.
He was here, with the man who killed her sister.
She rose slowly from the chair and left the room, her forehead wrinkled, her mind racing.
\*
Jillian arrived at the gym early the next morning, raw with fatigue from an uneasy night. The man who stood most squarely in the way of a goal she'd banked everything on had interfered with her sleep, as well.
Tossing and turning, she'd foolishly wished that she and Cullinane had met some other place, some other time. He fascinated her. She'd seen the smooth exterior, but it was the jumble underneath that captivated her.
Before yesterday, she'd never have dreamed that he would handle J.T. with such care. That he'd handle J.T. at all, for that matter, regardless of what Alice had said. The man who'd spoken of his grandfather with such longing in his voice was a man she wanted to know. The man who'd guided J.T. to walk away from a fight was at odds with the man who'd sicced two toughs on her as she lay sleeping.
Jillian struggled to relax as she stretched. She didn't understand him---and couldn't afford to try. So why couldn't she just forget him and get on with the task at hand?
Because the task you set yourself is not going according to plan.
She'd never counted on this taking so long. She'd never planned to meet Alice and wonder what would happen to her and her four children if Hafner died. She'd never envisioned wondering if Fred's days drove him crazy because he had to be so inactive.
But most of all, she'd never counted on Cullinane.
And that might be the most deadly omission of all.
Hafner was still Hafner, college funds or no. He was a merchant of death and needed to vanish from the earth. Cullinane protected that amoral killer, yet he kissed her with an intensity that set her every nerve on fire. He taunted and tested her at every turn, doing everything in his power to break her, yet he helped a confused young boy off the path to destruction with a firm, gentle hand.
Jillian balled up her t-shirt and threw it at her reflection in the mirror. It floated to the floor, ineffectual as she herself had been so far.
"What are you doing here, Jillian?" she asked her reflection.
"I'd be interested in the answer."
She jolted.
Cullinane stood in the doorway. "What are you doing here, MacGregor?"
"It seems obvious, since I'm in the gym." She scanned his sweat-soaked t-shirt. "You're ahead of me this morning."
"I decided to run first." So I'd miss meeting you here.
He thought Jillian looked tired, not her usual spunky self. Cullinane wondered if her nights were as sleepless as his. He hoped so. He didn't want to be the only one off-balance.
Swiftly she pivoted and climbed on the stair stepper. He considered going back outside or skipping his workout altogether---but he couldn't avoid her forever. He'd faced down cold-blooded killers with less trepidation than he felt seeing her again after losing control with her like that.
And now, watching her from the rear, seeing those long legs, that taut, delicious behind in motion...hell. Work, Drake. Sweat her out if you have to. But get this obsession with her out of your mind.
The mirrors made it too easy to see her from anywhere in the room, so he hit the floor to do push-ups. He was safe from her reflection while he was staring downward.
Jillian focused on the mirrors in front of her, trying to look anywhere but at the powerful ropes of muscles in his arms, across his back. His already-wet shirt clung like a second skin, revealing the ripple of strength as though he were naked.
She closed her eyes and climbed, digging for the anger that had protected her in the beginning. She wished she'd never heard his conversation with J.T. She didn't want to know that he could be gentle. She wanted to remember the ruthless bastard and keep herself on target.
Anger simmered, and she nursed it like the only flame in a world of winter, begging it to keep her alive, in tune with her mission.
When she found herself watching him again, she jammed a finger on the panel, setting the pace higher. You're not pushing hard enough, if you have energy to think. That was the answer, to work until she dropped, and push to find a way to get Hafner alone, very soon.
And get out of this place before Cullinane makes you forget why you're here at all.
Time passed in silence. Cullinane studiously avoided looking at her, working his way through each set of reps with the concentration of a drone, the precision of a machine, trying to forget she was in the same room...
Until he heard her quiet gasp.
He crossed to her quickly. "Give it to me," he ordered, standing behind her to lift the bar out of her hands, then settling it carefully in the rack above her head.
She faced him, hands on hips, eyes bright with anger. "I didn't ask you to do that."
"If you'd had any sense at all, you'd have asked me to spot you."
"I don't want your help."
"That's obvious. What the hell are you doing, upping the weight that much?"
"How do you know I've upped it?"
"I notice a lot of things about you, Jillian." His voice went husky against his will.
"Don't." She whipped around, giving him her back.
"Don't what?"
Her eyes met his in the mirror, anguished and confused. "Just...don't." She reached for the bar again.
"What are you doing?"
"It's obvious," she snapped. "I'm finishing my set."
"Take off some plates."
"Go to hell." She grasped the bar firmly, preparing to lift it off the rack.
"Don't do it, Jillian." He couldn't interrupt her motion once she started. She'd definitely hurt herself.
"Get out of my way."
He stood right behind her, ready to catch it. "You're not doing this alone." He softened his tone. "If you insist on adding the extra weight, let me help you."
She didn't answer, but he saw the concession in her eyes. Keeping the smallest distance between them that would still allow her to lower herself into the squat, he fitted his body to hers like spoons in a drawer, mirroring her every action, arms out and ready to catch the bar if she faltered.
With slow, steady motion downward, she bent, her behind brushing the air so close to his groin he hardened in an instant. Their bodies fit together too well.
Carefully he watched her every movement, letting his body follow hers in the rhythm she set, molding himself to her as if half of one whole.
Jillian could barely concentrate on isolating her muscles, so aware was she of the feel of him at her back. They fell into sync, Cullinane matching her motions so perfectly that she felt strengthened by his presence, safe and protected.
When her muscles screamed at the burn, she lifted the bar toward the rack, but her arms trembled. Immediately he took the weight from her and replaced the bar.
Then he pulled her back against his hard chest.
For an endless moment, they stood there, facing the mirror together, Cullinane's powerful arm wrapped around her waist, holding her to him like a woman cherished.
She didn't want to feel cherished. Couldn't afford to feel at all.
But his once-steely eyes were alive with pain and promise, fixed on her face as though he had questions as tormented as her own. His fingers spread across her ribs, his thumb grazed the lower curve of her breast. She could see her nipples peak, could feel him harden against her. Heat shimmered around them, wrapping them in a web of longing, casting them under his sorcerer's spell.
She'd never seen a sight more erotic. Or more frightening. She stirred, tensed to escape.
He held her fast. "Don't. Just give us this moment."
For what? What good would it do? They were forever at odds, always would be. There was no meeting ground between them.
"Let's not lie to ourselves," he said. "You want me as much as I want you."
"But I don't want to."
Wrapping his other arm around her so that each hand cradled one soft globe, he trapped her gaze in the mirror while he squeezed her breasts gently, his cock pulsing against her ass.
"Neither do I, Jillian. But that doesn't seem to matter." His hands caressed her with slow, soft, swirling strokes.
She couldn't look away, even as his hands glided over her waist, caressed her hips. Slid to her belly, one hand spreading fingers wide in possession, the other cupping her mound.
Jillian's nostrils flared. She rocked into his hand, sought more. Cullinane smiled, and the effect was dazzling.
She reached up and tugged his hair loose from the leather band restraining it. Dark locks fell to his shoulders, outlining his dangerous, compelling beauty, the silver streak at the temple a mark of his power. Silver eyes glowed, and she fell deeper into his spell. He lowered his head, fastened his lips to her throat, suckled gently. Jillian let her head fall back with a moan, her body arching under his hand.
"Let me make you come," he murmured.
She fought to remain in control. "No...no, I can't."
"You can, Jillian. You want this, I want this. Just for this moment, forget all the rest. Let's burn this out of our systems."
If only that would work. She shook her head dully, struggling to extract herself from the web their desire had woven. "Can't...can't forget."
"Forget what?"
"My..." My sister, she'd almost said. She tore herself from his arms and backed away. Oh, God. He'd gotten too close, too near her secrets. She shivered, realizing how much she'd wanted to open up to him, to let down her guard.
Terrified, she stared at him for a heart-pounding moment, chilled to realize how close she'd come to baring her soul to the man who protected her enemy, the man who blocked her goal.
Seeing him standing there, holding her in a gaze so dark and intense, his body ready for her, her own crying out for his even now, Jillian lifted shaking fingers to her lips---
---then whirled and ran out the door.
That night Cullinane hung up the phone after activating the signal for a meet with his handler, and his gaze caught by the image on the monitor. The pool glowed azure in the light beneath the surface. A shadowy figure moved through the trees nearby.
Jillian. As she approached the water, he leaned closer to the screen. A simple black one-piece swimsuit shouldn't be as erotic as a bikini, but somehow, just like the woman, what she hid was even more alluring than what she revealed.
He zoomed in the camera, frowning at the lines of strain on her face. The secrets she wouldn't share were taking their toll.
Now her identity wasn't enough. He wanted to know more. Who did she love? Who loved her? Who would send her out and leave her so alone?
Kindred spirits they were, both so solitary, both caught up in lies. Crazy that she might be his closest counterpart, even as she represented his greatest threat.
Somewhere deep in them both, like called to like, and Cullinane wanted to answer.
She dove gracefully into the pool, then began slicing strong, clean strokes through the water.
He watched her and burned. "Someday, Jillian whoever...someday, it's going to be just you and me," he promised himself as much as her. "Without all that separates us now."
He settled in a chair before the screen, letting his eyes drink their fill of what his body and soul could only crave.
\*
Each stroke through the cool water cleared away some of the deadly debris of the morning's shattering encounter in the gym. She'd spent far too much time since then asking herself questions she was afraid to answer. Was she fooling herself that she could do this? What was it about Cullinane that made her stray from her duty?
She longed for the sweet taste of freedom, of a life no longer bowed under the burden of righting wrongs that had ended Belinda's life. Hafner's wrongs...her own wrongs...would she ever again know life out from under the cloud?
She kicked harder, trying to out-swim her thoughts.
"My, so intent. The Gulf might be a better challenge, my dear."
Jillian flipped to her back at Hafner's voice, frowning at his slurred cadence.
"Yes, I'm drinking. I thought you might wish to join me. They say you're not in trouble if you don't like to drink alone." He smiled, waving the bottle of tequila. "Besides, I've got a salt shaker in my pocket and limes right here." He held up the other hand to demonstrate. "Of course," he chuckled, "that left me no hand for glasses, so we'll have to share the bottle."
"No, thank you."
"No? Just one. Come sit and talk to me."
It was what she needed to happen, wasn't it? To be alone with him and watch for her chance, so she could get out of this place before it was too late? And one shot of tequila wouldn't kill her. She couldn't take him down out here in the open, anyway. Cullinane would have guards patrolling the grounds, even now.
"All right," she said. "I'm coming out."
Open delight brightened his face. "Good. It's about time." He edged across the deck with the cautious gait of the inebriated, headed toward the table and chairs at the end.
Jillian swam to the steps, then rose from the water, surprised to feel chilled, given how steamy the night was. Hafner had set down his burdens and returned with her towel, holding it open. He wrapped it around her and leaned close. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of his liquor, stepping away quickly.
"Sorry---I forgot. Not in your job description, the watchdog says." With that, he threw back his head and laughed. "Come on, come on," he gestured. "Have a seat."
"The limes aren't sliced," she offered. "Shall I get a knife from the kitchen?"
"No, no," he waved away her objection. "I'm prepared." Hafner chuckled. "Cullinane's no Boy Scout, but I am, at least right now. Be prepared, that's the motto, right?" Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a knife unlike any she'd ever seen. The ornately-carved handle bore a design that obscured the necessary button. With a whisper of a click, it opened, a curving blade revealed.
He noted her scrutiny. "Like it? It was a gift from...a woman I knew." His tone was off, a faraway look in his eyes.
Jillian's blood chilled. It couldn't be Belinda he meant, could it? She watched him cut the limes with slow precision. Should she ask? Did she want to know?
"Here," he held up a section. "Open your hand."
Jillian complied, and he placed the lime segment in it.
"Have you done this before?"
"I don't drink much." Hardly ever, really. She'd experienced firsthand what a mean drunk could do to a defenseless kid.
"Pity. All right, then, curl your hand like this and lick the web between your thumb and forefinger." He demonstrated, then poured salt in the wet spot.
Jillian followed.
"Now suck the lime, lick the salt, then take a shot." He held the bottle, waiting.
She complied, hissing at the tartness, licked the salt, then took one swig and shuddered.
"There you go." Hafner beamed proudly. "When we hit the bottom of the bottle, I'll let you have the worm."
"No more for me, thanks." She shivered again. "I'd better go."
"Naw, there's a robe in the cabana. Go put it on, then you can use your towel to dry your hair." He nodded toward the enclosure. "Pretty red hair, like the glow of the sunset," he nodded morosely. "Pretty red-haired girl." He sank onto the cushions. "Go on, Jillian. Or do you want me to get it for you?"
She shook her head, then moved away.
Inside the dark cabana she found a small closet, pulled off the towel and wrapped her hair. Then she opened the door and reached inside, unable to see the contents. Her fingers settled on lightweight terrycloth that she drew out, shaking it to be sure no spiders or night creatures had nested within.
When she reached the door, preparing to don it, a shaft of pool light slanted through the door and her eyes took in the dark purple fabric, the metallic gold stripe that sparkled in the light.
She went still. Belinda had owned a robe like this, one that Jillian had made for her as a joke because it was royal purple and she had called Belinda Queen B. She'd even embroidered that on the inside collar, Queen B. Jillian's fingers shook, and she dropped the robe.
"Jillian? Did you find it?"
"Yes. Yes, I'll be right out."
"I'm coming after you," he called in sing-song.
She heard the scrape of his chair and his unsteady step. Cursing the darkness, she stepped outside, hoping to get a quick glimpse of the inside collar band before he noticed.
But he was already there. Snatching it from her fingers, he held it out for her like a lady's cloak.
Jillian slipped it on, her heart gone still and cold. "Whose robe is this?"
Hafner shifted uneasily. "Just someone I knew."
She had to know. "A woman?"
"Yeah." He grew very still, staring off into space. "Someone I..." He stared at his hands as though they were foreign objects, then abruptly balled them up and stuck them in his pockets.
"Who was she to you?"
Lightning-quick, his gaze sharpened, the predator awakening. "Why do you care?" He pulled the towel from her hair and began to dry it. "She was...no one important."
Jillian stood there, allowing the hands of the man who'd murdered her sister to wield a towel gently over her scalp.
The same hands that had held that curved knife, cut the lime into sections.
She remembered the autopsy report she'd scanned quickly on the parish deputy's desk. Unusual lacerations on subject's body. And Belinda's throat had been slashed.
Jillian jerked away, but Hafner was faster. Grabbing her upper arms, the light of madness in his eyes, he yanked her against him. "I'll have you, Jillian," he warned and crushed his mouth against hers, stale liquor breath all but gagging her.
He held her so close she couldn't get room to maneuver. She struggled to bring her arms up between them. He shoved her against the cabana wall, trapping her. She tried to knee him, but he kicked her legs apart---
Suddenly Hafner flew backward into the pool, cursing and flailing, coughing and spitting water.
She gasped for breath, lost her balance.
Cullinane steadied her. "Are you all right? I got here as fast as I could."
Jillian stared at him. "I should have been able..." She wondered if he could hear her heart pounding.
"He caught you by surprise, and his hold was too tight. You would have broken loose with a little more time."
Would she have? Reeling from the shock of the series of revelations, hampered by the tequila, would she have recovered soon enough? And that knife---where had it been while he grabbed her?
"I don't know..." Again, she shivered. Did Hafner suspect? Had she given herself away? Or was he only drunk and making a move?
"Hey...easy now," Cullinane soothed, drawing her close. Behind him, Hafner's sputtering slowed. "Get him out of here and put him to bed," he barked to someone behind her. "He's drunk."
Then they were alone.
He tipped her chin upward, and his eyes crackled with a tempest of rage and violence and hunger.
Jillian backed away, fighting for breath, shaken less now by Hafner than by Cullinane. She was upset enough to cling to him, and she shouldn't---but she was so tired of being strong, of holding him at arm's length...tired of fighting herself. The power of the hunger he called from her unnerved her. She wasn't finished with her mission, and this craving sapped strength she desperately needed.
"Don't look at me like that," she warned, her voice a near growl. He called to her on some level she couldn't fight, and she had to.
"Why not?" his low, dangerous voice challenged. "We've been headed for this since we met."
"We can't."
"He can't touch you like that. I won't let him," Cullinane raged. His control unraveled as days of hunger, of a need he couldn't afford, gnawed at him. Made him half-crazy. He could kill Hafner with his bare hands right now and not even blink. Thank God Solly had been close on his heels; left alone at the scene, Cullinane couldn't be sure what he'd have done. When he'd seen Hafner with her on the monitor, he'd come to attention; when Hafner had glanced at the knife in his hands, he'd leaped to his feet. When Jillian had entered the cabana in the darkness and Hafner had followed, Cullinane had shot from the room.
But nothing to that point compared with the rage that flashed like chain lightning when he'd come through the trees and seen Hafner closing in on her, forcing himself upon a woman he had no right to touch. Cullinane had no idea how fast he'd covered the remaining distance, only that the white-heat of wrath had seared through his body, wiping out all but the need to make Jillian safe.
Seeing this gutsy, strong woman scared had been too much. She'd been valiant and resilient through everything he'd thrown at her. The thought of that fierce, bright spirit being defiled by worthless scum like Hafner...
The walls he'd built for so many years buckled under the onslaught of fierce, primal emotion as the image slammed into his memory over and over: Jillian at Hafner's mercy. No matter that she could take care of herself, a desperate desire to erase that image seized him.
It was the match to dry tinder.
Yet even as he reached out for her, he prayed she'd find the strength to stop him.
He didn't think he could stop himself anymore.
"Jillian..." he groaned.
Her soft gasp whistled across his lips as he lowered his mouth to hers. Her fingers came between their lips, her voice breaking the pulsating silence.
"No," she whispered. "We can't...I can't. Don't you see, Cullinane?" she pleaded. "It's just...the situation. Simple hormones, that's all."
His lips curved sadly. "You know it isn't. We're alike, you and I, in some way I don't understand. Like calls to like, Jillian. It's time we answered."
"Not...here," she said weakly, and thank God she had the sense to remember that they were on camera. He pulled her into concealing shadows behind the cabana, beyond the reach of any lens. He held her as gently as he could manage, even as the bonds he'd strapped on the animal roaring inside him began to break, one by one.
Her body arched against his, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He blew a soft, taunting breath over the moisture glistening on her skin. If only he could beat back his craving to bury himself in her, he would walk away.
She'll get you killed, the remnants of his logic pleaded.
I don't care anymore.
"Cullinane..." Then she abandoned any protest, rising to her tip-toes to pull the leather strip that bound his hair. Her nails grazed lightly against his scalp, little shocks surging through him.
With a growl, he scooped her up in his arms, threading through tree cover to the outside door to his quarters. Once there, he set her down and fumbled for his keys, trying to hold out long enough to get inside.
At the bottom of the stairs, he flipped locks in the darkness and prayed like hell they'd make it to his bed before the fire consumed them.
They didn't. Couldn't.
He'd hungered for her for a lifetime and never known it. How he'd ever let her go now was beyond him, a thought burned away by the heat roaring through his veins, melting all resistance, vaporizing all thoughts of anything but the feel of her, the heavy silk of her hair, the satin of her skin, the endless, aching need to be inside her.
He battled once more to make himself back away, but Jillian's nails dug into his shoulders, her lips hungrily seeking his. Electrified by her touch, by the taste of her, Cullinane yanked her hard against him once more.
Jillian moaned, then sank back to lie across the stairs, drawing him down with her. He held himself above her with arms gone oddly weak. Those long legs wrapped around his waist as he'd dreamed so often, and she pressed her mound against him in the most primal of rhythms.
He thought he'd explode right then and there.
"Stop, Jillian." He jerked his mouth away. "I need you too much. I won't last if you don't"
"No," she gasped. "Inside me. Now."
He wanted that, too, so damn bad. "No. We've only got tonight." He forced himself to release her, to fight for some semblance of control.
But dark longings screamed, tore at him with vicious claws.
Jillian's eyes blazed...and then she laughed, a siren's laugh, a woman's dare. Scrambling to her feet like quicksilver, she turned and ran up the stairs in a flash. "Then come and catch me," she challenged. Standing above him, silhouetted in the moonlight slanting through his windows, she let the robe slither to the floor and began to peel down the black suit, one agonizing inch at a time.
Desire of proportions he'd never experienced pounded him like waves on the shore, merciless in their roaring, draining him of all rational thought.
Jillian's eyes held his. The defiance, the dare in them shot sparks into his belly. If it was a battle she wanted, damn her soul, he would give it to her. With slow, steady steps, he climbed toward her, his eyes never leaving the pale skin as the black suit peeled away.
He'd been careful so long, held so much of himself back...but Jillian had opened the door of the panther's cage and thrown away the key, laughing.
God, she was magnificent.
Jillian watched his approach with a shiver of delicious fear, her whole body alive and tingling. As he climbed almost within reach, she turned, suit half-off, and ran into the room, the far side of the huge bed her target. She never saw any of the rest of the room, only the steel-gray expanse glowing in moonlight.
At the touch of a hand on her shoulder, she whirled and lost her balance, falling backward onto the bed with a gasp. Cullinane towered over her, his smile a white slash against bronzed skin, a warrior ready for battle.
She lay there, mesmerized by the sight of hands reaching with tantalizing slowness to finish the striptease she'd begun. His long, strong fingers singed her skin where they touched her, his eyes daring her to move as the clever fingers tormented and burned.
With maddening control, he slid the garment from her inch by inch, his gaze sweeping her body, his eyes glowing with unholy fire. With one hand, he unbuttoned his shirt slowly, smiling as her gaze followed his fingers, greedy for the sight of more. Stripping off his shirt, he watched her eyes trace the path of his scar, her fingers rising as if she could soothe remembered pain. For one long, poignant moment, his gaze softened.
Then she smiled, slow and wicked. "More."
He sucked in a breath. "Christ, you make me crazy." He stripped in haste, then sank to his knees before her.
The brush of his long dark hair along the tender inside of her thigh shivered through her body, tightened her nipples. Her hands curled into fists, crumpling the spread between her fingers. She couldn't stem a gasp.
His head rose, eyes burning white-hot, low voice slicing through her defenses. "I want you crazy, too." Challenge sparked from him as white teeth gleamed from the grin of her darkest longings. He rose to kiss the curve of her hip with exquisite tenderness.
Jillian moaned.
She slid one foot up the inside of his thigh, her instep caressing the swell of hard muscle, his own indrawn breath her reward.
His smug expression disappeared in a smoldering instant.
Her scarlet toenails slid across the straining fullness at his groin. His hands trapped her wrists at her sides.
The clash of wills vibrated in the air.
He's no one special, she vowed, but Jillian knew she lied to herself. He was beyond special...and very, very dangerous. A shaft of fear pushed her to battle the spell he wielded over her. She locked her legs into bands of taut muscle and tried again to resist him.
His eyes gleamed, strong hands caressing. Lowering his head to her vulnerable center, his warm breath shot ripples of need through flesh already primed for his touch. A small nip on her tender inner thigh, a lick to soothe, he used his mouth to torment her with a thousand touches over every inch of her but where she wanted him most.
Her nipples rose, her back arched, her whole body trembling. "Please..."
That wicked smile again.
Then, with one single, soul-shattering stroke of his tongue, he sent her flying over the edge.
Cullinane drank in the essence of her as she came apart in his arms. He wanted more, wanted to mark her indelibly, to make sure she never forgot him, no matter what happened in the future he refused to think about now.
Damn her for making him crave this. He didn't want to, couldn't afford to, was out of his mind to entertain the idea.
But his body didn't care. Surging toward her, every nerve clamoring for him to take her, Cullinane descended into the darkness of his hunger, reason smothered in the undertow of forbidden longings. He was only aware of her thighs softening, her lips slightly parted, her breasts ripe for his mouth to suckle. Whatever reason remained, he ignored. Possessive instincts as old as mankind throbbed through his body, messages he wouldn't deny any longer.
She should be his. He would make her his own, if only for these few hours.
Rocks could be dissolved slowly, one drop of water at a time, but Jillian was a raging river rushing over his control, dissolving resistance with everything she was, every move she made. The voice that said don't do this was lost in the torrent of his longing.
"Jillian," he whispered. "Let's set the sky on fire." Stretching the length of his body over hers, groaning at the feel of her naked skin along his, he sought her lips once more.
He'd said they were damned, and they would be, but for now, it was heaven he found in her kiss. Spearing through the darkness of his despair, surfacing in the torrent of need rushing through him, her kiss emerged, a cool, clear sweetness that his tainted soul longed for.
Oh, God, she should be mine.
Maddened by the knowledge that it was impossible, Cullinane rose above her. "Look at me," he commanded. Whiskey brown eyes bright with wonder, soft with sorrow, laced with longing, met his gaze.
He opened her to him, spread her knees over his arms. "For now you're mine."
With one powerful thrust, he made them one.
Jillian's back bowed as he filled her, a cry rising in her throat, her eyes glazing over as ecstasy claimed her. The climax hit her like a wave, sucking her under, drowning her in sensations too powerful to resist. A guttural moan clawed its way upward.
Gasping for breath, Jillian scrambled in panic, seeking the surface of sanity, some safety, some solid ground. But just as she thought she might make it, Cullinane withdrew, and her every nerve seemed to follow him.
Naked, vulnerable, stunned by the power of what he could draw from her, her gaze fastened onto his like the only island in a storm-tossed sea.
Passion and power crackled and flashed in the heated silver eyes, the sorcerer calling her to step into another realm.
Shivering with nerves, Jillian opened herself to him, answering the challenge---stepping to the edge of the world, summoning the courage to leap into a place she'd never been.
Diving his fingers into her hair, Cullinane's eyes flared with triumph and promise. With the next powerful thrust, he shot them over the edge of the world she knew.
Jillian's head arched back as his mouth sought her throat, flying farther with each stroke, her body tumbling through space, Cullinane her only anchor. Streams of sparks shot through the air around them, wind rushed through her hair. But she was frightened no more, exhilaration rushing through her veins like molten gold. Clasping her legs around him, she met every thrust with all the power of the body she'd honed.
It was a mating of titans, earth meeting sky, a bonfire of two hungry souls.
Her skin on fire, Jillian burned up in his magic and welcomed the dying.
\*
Cullinane watched her sleeping in the moonlight, fiery locks spread over his pillow as he'd so often dreamed since she'd stormed into his life.
He should have expected her to shake him to his roots, he knew that now. He'd never been out of control like that, never felt such hunger nor such soul-deep satisfaction.
He'd played with fire...and now came the ashes.
He wished he could steal her away to some hidden place and keep her in his bed until he could shake this thirst for her that seemed endless.
Which meant, of course, that she was an even greater threat to him than he'd ever imagined. If it were only him involved, he'd keep gambling. He'd gladly burn up in Jillian's wildfire, understanding now that he'd never truly lived until she'd warmed his cold, dead soul.
But it wasn't just him; it wasn't even simply his ghosts that cried out for rest. It was others, people who had a right to live and love and take a chance at being happy, who would not get that chance if he followed his heart.
His course was set. It had been for a long time.
Even a warrior queen couldn't change that.
She still had secrets, and he had to solve them. He'd sell his soul right now to be able to lock her away safely until this was over, to have a chance to see where this could lead.
But the clock was ticking, and too much was at stake. Drake Cullinane's heart didn't matter.
Stroking one lock of her hair, fighting the urge to make love to her one more time, he carefully put distance between them on the big bed as he'd have to put distance between their hearts when morning came. Everything in him ached to hold her, to taste her kisses just once more.
But the clock was ticking, and too much was at stake.
He had no idea how he'd deal with her when she awoke. Or what he'd find when he dug up her secrets. It was a slim hope that when this was all over, they'd have a chance, that she wouldn't hate him.
A very slim hope. But he'd fought worse odds.
Pressing a kiss to the burnished strands, he tenderly laid the lock of hair over her breast, his fingers curling with the need to touch her.
Then he drew away and turned his back to her, settling uneasily on his pillow. Scouring his mind for a miraculous answer, Drake Cullinane fell into a troubled sleep.
The first, faint light of morning awakened Jillian, her body replete with a sense of well-being. For one moment, she couldn't figure out where she was. She turned her head and saw the broad, muscled back, the long dark hair.
Cullinane's bed. Dear God.
The night rushed back in a torrent. She felt him in every inch of her body, remembered how he'd shattered her.
Like calls to like, Jillian, his voice echoed.
But he worked for Hafner, the merchant of death.
Turning to stare at him again, she wished for a moment that she could see his face, could search his eyes for the truth.
Who are you, Cullinane? Why are you here?
How could a man capable of such tenderness ally himself with a vicious animal like Hafner?
Who you surround yourself with is a measure of who you are and who you want to be, he'd told J.T.
Who are you, Cullinane?
Jittery, Jillian arose quietly. Padding across the thick charcoal carpet, she scanned the room for her swimsuit but couldn't see it. She thought he'd stripped it from her somewhere close to the side of the bed where he lay sleeping. She wasn't remotely ready to talk to him yet, so she left it, instead heading for the landing to recover the robe, chagrined as she remembered the challenge, the glee with which she'd stripped for him. As she bent to grasp the robe, her gaze was caught by an odd glow coming from a room she hadn't noticed last night.
But then, she'd had eyes for nothing but him last night. Mingled shame and regret battled with memories of stunning glory as she started to don the robe, then suddenly she remembered and looked inside the neckline, fingers trembling.
Queen B.
Oh, God. Jillian shivered, queasy about putting it on, yet eager for the contact, however ephemeral, with her sister. With her duty, her responsibility. The reason she was here.
She fastened the sash, reminded of what she should not have forgotten in the blazing glory of last night.
Belinda. Belinda's broken mother Loretta.
Hafner.
Oh, Jesus. She had to get out of this room before he awakened and she was forced to deal with what she'd done. How she'd been rocked to her soul.
Passing the doorway, she took a quick glance in the room---
And froze in her tracks.
A bank of monitors like the security room downstairs, but with one major difference. Except for the one screen trained on the pool, all the screens had something in common.
Pictures of her.
With the halting shuffle of a person in shock, she drew closer. Her in the gym...her in the gazebo...her with Alice's children...
Her lying in bed.
A multitude of images caught on video, most of the hours of her day, all on hidden cameras, Jillian under surveillance.
She knew the compound was heavily monitored; a brief tour of the security room downstairs had revealed that the system relied upon surveillance inside and out, though not every inch of ground was covered.
But only these rooms and Hafner's were fully exempt.
She'd expected to be caught on cameras at odd times as she went about her duties, but this was different. This was her bedroom. This was surveillance of her. These were not isolated instances, this was Jillian under a microscope.
And this was the man she'd given herself to last night.
She scanned the console, shaking with fury. He had no right...what else had he captured? In the shower? While she was dressing? Her fingers scrambled over the controls, trying to decipher how to delete these recordings, how to find out what else was on them.
And then a chill shot through her whole body.
Who else had watched her? With the crash of a fist, she hammered at switches blindly, fear of what she'd done making her clumsy.
"It's not what you think," his voice sounded from the door.
Her head shot up. "No?" She gestured at the bank of screens. "Then just what is this? What else have you watched? Why did you need to strip me last night? You've already seen it all!" Temper raged, and she could barely hear his words.
"I never watched you naked. It wouldn't have been fair."
"Fair? What do you know of fair? Are there cameras in your rooms?" she raged. "I sleep naked," she yelled, pointing at that screen. "You're lying!"
He shook his head, his expression grim. "I only turned on the one in your room after you were asleep. I never..." He glanced away. "It doesn't matter."
"You stripped my body naked last night, Cullinane," she warned, her voice low and angry. "But this---this---" Her hand swept out, helpless, shaking. "This is a rape."
"Jillian..." He started toward her.
"Don't touch me. Don't you ever touch me again," she growled. Stabbing a finger back toward the screens, she kept her voice low and deadly. "Don't ever look in my bedroom again." She shoved past him, then turned back. "And if you ever come near me again, I'll kill you, I swear it."
Shaking with anger, she ran from his room.
\*
Jillian emerged from the shower much later, her skin red from scrubbing, her heart raw and sore. She couldn't shake the memory of the sorrow on his face, couldn't make it square with those pictures on the screen.
Couldn't forget the way he'd taunted, challenged, teased her to heights she'd never dreamed of scaling, shown her glories she'd never imagined.
Held her heart in his hand.
And watched her when she'd thought herself alone. Stolen pieces of her that anyone could see, moments of her life she hadn't chosen to share. Watched her asleep, vulnerable and naked...and laid her bare for anyone to view, just another cable porn show.
I've got to get out of here before there's nothing left of me. He's already stolen my privacy, my control...I can't let him take my vengeance, too.
She had to find Hafner and seduce him, get him away, out from under Cullinane's nose. She'd gather up what she couldn't bear to leave behind and take it with her, so that once Hafner was dead, she could disappear.
She'd already lost more than she could afford. Cullinane would have moments of her that she could never retrieve, but he'd have something much more valuable.
He'd have the last shreds of her faith in herself.
She'd come to this place armed with confidence, with cocksure bluster, with a mission to accomplish and the skills to do it. She'd learned hard lessons here, lessons about life throwing you curve balls, about deception and lying silver eyes, about the folly of casting away honor and following your heart.
And now, with faith in herself at its lowest ebb, all she had left was her duty to a dead sister she'd failed to protect.
Somewhere she had to find it within herself to seduce a man she despised, to close off her humanity long enough to snuff out his life with as little concern as he'd shown Belinda. No one important, that's what Hafner had called her.
Well, she'd been important to Loretta and to Jillian herself. It had taken Jillian too long to realize that loving someone meant loving the whole person; her contempt for Belinda's choices had isolated Belinda with a man with no conscience, a man who'd found her life inconvenient for his continued success.
Jillian had let Belinda down in the most critical hours of her life. She wouldn't let her down now.
She didn't know how much Hafner would remember of last night; she prayed he didn't know she'd been with Cullinane. But no matter what obstacles she had to overcome, it was time to get this over---and get out.
Dressing with care in a skin-tight red spandex mini-dress sure to get Hafner's attention, long red dangles at her ears, Jillian left her room.
Now she'd be the predator, in search of her prey.
\*
Cullinane stepped into his shower, sweat-stained and weary after his run. Exercise hadn't helped, hadn't exorcised the memory of her haunted face.
Hafner had only made her afraid.
Cullinane had violated her soul.
It didn't matter that he couldn't explain why he'd kept those videos, why he'd needed to see her, tried to understand her, to unravel the mystery that was robbing him of sleep. He'd never meant to hurt her, had, in fact, had his own sense of honor about what he would and would not watch.
He'd gotten what he wanted, though. The distraction was gone. When he'd watched her in the night, he'd wondered how to achieve the necessary distance to keep from compromising the operation.
He should be happy.
The operation was safe.
But memories of Jillian would torment him forever: eyes dark with longing, gasping in delight. Standing in triumph at the top of the stairs, taunting him with fire in her eyes. Demanding more and crying out when it came.
Coming apart in his arms, flying away with a piece of him in her grip.
He'd never felt complete before, and now he knew how truly alone he was. For brief, shining hours he'd touched something he'd never expected to feel, known the balm of real communion, found a home for his weary heart.
But now it was all ashes, the taste bitter on his tongue, and there was nothing he could do to bring her back.
Because duty called. And he had to answer.
He flipped the shower to cold and hissed at its sting. No point in mooning after what he couldn't have forever. He'd been a fool to think he could have it at all.
He emerged and dried off roughly, composing his mask once more. He had plenty to accomplish, first on the list finding Hafner. Walking toward the phone, he avoided the room where he could have checked on his question. He couldn't look at those monitors yet.
"Yes, sir?" Fred answered
"Where's Hafner now?"
"Getting ready to leave."
"Where's he headed?"
"Just out driving, he said."
"Who's taking the assignment?"
"Jillian, sir."
"Alone?" After last night?
"He said one guard was all he needed. Want me to ask again?"
"I'll take care of it. Who else is available?"
"Tony, sir, but---"
"But what?"
"Jillian said she doesn't need anyone else. I asked her if she was sure, you know, after last night and all, but she said they'll do fine. They were laughing about it."
Laughing about it? He shook his head, confused.
"Sir? You want me to ask her again?"
"No," he snapped. He had to think. "No. Let it go." About to hang up, he jerked the receiver back. "How soon are they leaving?"
"They're loading up the car now, sir. You need to talk to one of them?"
"No, that's all right. I'll be down later." But it wasn't all right; something was wrong. Instincts that had kept him alive for years were rustling. What could she be thinking? Why would she be alone with Hafner?
To hurt me? To get me back? Surely, however upset she'd been she'd know there could be nothing worse she could do to him.
But what did he really know about her, about how she thought? Despite the night's magic, she still had secrets. She lied every time she answered to a name that wasn't hers. But why would she put herself in close proximity to Hafner when he'd terrified her last night?
It could simply be her need to prove to herself that she wasn't afraid. Doing so would be just like her. Afraid of fire? Stick your finger in the flames. Afraid of water? Dive in headfirst.
But he couldn't stand to think of her alone with Hafner, even knowing he had no right to her himself. Dressing quickly, he strode to the monitors, switching to the camera that panned the garage.
Holy shit. What the hell was she doing going with Hafner, dressed like that? Why didn't she just paste a sign on her chest that said Take Me? Maybe that was what she wanted. Maybe he didn't understand her at all. Maybe moving from his bed to Hafner's was exactly what she intended.
It was a rich revenge, but it would cost her more.
No, he couldn't believe it, not of her. She might lie about who she was, but she was no whore. He couldn't believe the woman who'd yielded to him with such sweetness had it in her to fall into Hafner's arms.
Something was wrong here; something didn't make sense.
He strapped on his weapon, grabbed his keys, and raced down the stairs.
\*
"You want to drive, Klaus, or shall I?" Jillian managed a smile.
He arched one eyebrow. "Think you can make this trip less exciting than the last one?"
"Cullinane won't be along, so we should be fine." Even saying his name hurt, but she'd just have to get over it.
"You drive, then."
She climbed in and started the engine. "Now just where is this fishing camp of yours?"
"Almost to Houma, fifty miles from here."
"I picture a shack, all but falling down." Pulling out of the compound gate, she felt at once freer and more vulnerable. You've trained for this, Jillian. Last night was an exception---you're more than his match. He's not in shape like Cullinane.
Hafner chuckled. "Many of them are, but I prefer the creature comforts."
"You wouldn't prefer to go somewhere in the city to be alone?" Glancing across at him, she held back a shudder at the hunger in his gaze.
"The camp will give us more privacy."
"But your men know where it is."
"I didn't tell them where we're going."
Good. It would buy her time to get away after she killed him and set things up to look like an attack. She glanced in the mirror, intent upon making sure they weren't followed.
"I must say, you look fantastic, Jillian. That dress..."
She smiled with misleading sweetness. "I'm glad you like it."
They drove along in silence for a few moments while Jillian checked the rearview mirror at intervals. So far, so good.
"About last night..." he began.
How much did he remember? "Yes?"
"I believe I owe you an apology, even though you are gracious enough to laugh it off. I'm afraid I drank a little too much. If I offended you, I'm sorry."
"No big deal. Drinking can do that." Though she'd be a long time forgetting the look of madness in his eyes or the callous disregard for her sister.
But soon it would be over, and she'd be gone.
Could she really kill a man in cold blood? Even Hafner?
She had to. It was all she could do for Belinda. No matter how she ached to walk away, to return to some semblance of normal life...she had to get justice for her sister to save Loretta.
Hafner reached in his pocket and drew out that same knife, popping out the blade, wicked and curved and deadly. Whistling under his breath, he used it to clean his nails.
Jillian stared at it out of the corner of her eye, trying to imagine it against Belinda's tender skin, the contrast obscene, that the connection could affect him so little. Slice a woman, clean your nails---same difference to him.
A horn blared, and she straightened, realizing she'd drifted over the line.
"Need me to drive?" he asked, in silken tones.
"No, I'm fine. Sorry. Just thinking." All doubts were forgotten. I hope I get a chance to cut your heart out.
Folding up the knife, he slipped it back in his pocket, turning slightly toward her in his seat. Reaching across the console, he let one finger slide down the hollow of her shoulder, tracing the line of her halter and coming to rest at the outer curve of her breast.
"You know, you're a puzzle to me, Jillian."
"Is that right?" Her fingers clenched on the wheel.
"You're strong and fit, the men speak highly of your skills, yet here you are, all soft, feminine curves. No one would ever look at you and assume you're my bodyguard."
She had no response.
"What about the men in your life? They find you intimidating?"
"Do you?"
He threw back his head and laughed. "Yes. Yes, I believe I do."
His finger slipped between fabric and skin, stroking. She wanted to slap his hand away but didn't.
"But that only makes you more fascinating. Like forbidden fruit. I've never known a woman like you before."
She leaned forward, peering out the windshield, leaning just enough to dislodge his finger. "Is this the turn?"
He glanced around. "Yes, right there. Then half a mile and turn left."
Flicking on her blinker, she slowed and turned.
"What kind of women do you know, Klaus?" She had this insatiable urge to know more, to understand what had happened to Belinda...even though every tidbit was acid scoring holes in her heart.
He shrugged expansively. "I thought I liked them young and helpless."
Like her sister.
"But not now?"
"No," he turned, gaze heated. "Now I believe I prefer them young and...dangerous. How old are you, Jillian?"
"Didn't your mother ever tell you it's not polite to ask a lady's age?"
"Are you a lady?"
Probably not. "Do you think I am?"
He laughed again, slapping his knee. "By God, I like your spirit---you're slippery as a damned eel. I can see why you've got Cullinane grinding his teeth."
She stiffened, still not sure he didn't know where she'd spent the night. He was cagey and mean and it wouldn't be past him to toy with her.
"Cullinane's a stone man. His teeth are probably fine."
Hafner chuckled. "Not so stony as you may think."
"How is that?"
"He's jealous, you know. I think he wants you."
Not anymore. "That's ridiculous. He can't stand me."
He rolled his eyes. "Come now, Jillian. Cullinane may not want to want you, but he does." He chuckled. "He'll be pissed that we're out alone together. But I'm going to love telling him, oh yes I am. There---turn at that shack. Then down this road."
The swamp lay all around them, cypress branches drooping to the water, birds taking flight as they approached. The road was a thin ribbon between marshes.
An alligator waddled across the road ahead. Jillian stopped the car.
"Isn't he a beauty?" Hafner smiled in delight. "Ever seen one up close before?"
Jillian shook her head. "He's fascinating, in a horrible way. So ugly he's almost magnificent."
Hafner nodded as if at a bright pupil. "Exactly. There's great beauty in what others see as ugliness. Prettiness is puerile and colorless---it's the strong, the dangerous that I find beautiful." His eyes glowed with that odd light again, scanning over her body. "Like you, Jillian. Magnificent. Dangerous and deadly and...magnificent."
She swallowed hard under that merciless gaze. Pulling her own away, she noted that the alligator had slipped into the water. He would be an ally. Hafner could disappear so easily in these waters, his body never to be seen again.
Jillian started the car and drove toward the clump of trees up ahead and the cabin she could barely see nestled within them. Once nearer, she saw that the cabin was the same weathered cypress as the others they'd passed and like them also stood on stilts. It sat in the middle of a small clearing; at the edges, cypresses grew, small dogwoods scattered here and there. Moss hung low, enhancing the feel of a land that time had forgotten. The light here was umber, the cabin shrouded in shadows, even in the middle of the day.
When they stepped out, she noted the hush of birds and animals gone quiet in the face of the intruder. The air around them was heavy, laden with moisture. She couldn't imagine being here in July. Her clothing stuck to her body, her hair clung to her neck.
Hafner closed his door, and Jillian started at the noise.
Don't get spooked. But she couldn't help it. This was where Belinda had died. Her body had been recovered from the waters of this very swamp, and the alligators had nearly erased the signs of her throat being slit by the man who stood before Jillian now.
His choice to come here was a perfect symmetry he'd never appreciate.
He stepped in front of her where she leaned against the car door. Searching her gaze, he leaned closer, bringing his mouth over hers.
"I'm thirsty." She fought to remain still.
Leaning closer, brushing her lips with his, he caressed one breast.
She steeled herself as his lips parted, blanking her mind to endure his kiss.
But she couldn't seem to go to that safe place. Hafner was too real, too...present. His tongue slid along the seam of her closed lips, and only barely did she resist a shudder.
I have to endure this. Have to make him let down his guard and keep me close.
So she parted her lips, even though his tongue was a violation. For a second her mind flashed to last night, and she thought she would be sick at the violent contrast, the remembered beauty tainted by Hafner's touch.
Ruthlessly, she forced herself to relax her tense body, to slide her hands up his arms, to allow his hands to slide up her torso, to claim her breasts. The two images battled, the remembered feel of Cullinane's caresses...
Stop. Oh, God, leave me alone.
She trembled with the need to run.
He smiled. "I like that I make you tremble." He traced a finger over her jaw, then down her throat. "Just a taste of what will come later. Come on inside. Let me get you something cool to drink."
Carefully she composed her expression and smiled. "I'm ready." She would be. Somehow.
Grabbing their bags from the back, Hafner closed the door and shifted them to his left hand, taking her hand with the other and leading her inside.
The interior surprised her, much less primitive than she would have assumed. Cane furniture scattered all around on smooth wooden floors, ceiling fans moved lazily overhead.
"Sorry, no air conditioning out here," he apologized. "You're welcome to take a shower, if you'd like."
"Not just yet, thanks. I'll take that drink."
"What would you like?"
Something very strong to deaden what comes next. "Water's fine." She scanned the living room, then followed him to the kitchen, getting her bearings.
He turned. "But I brought champagne."
"Water first." She glanced up at him with promises. "After we shower, then I'd like champagne."
Hafner's smile turned avid, his eyes hot and hungry. "Water it is." He reached for a glass, filling it with ice cubes, then bottled water, already chilled. Handing it to her, he watched her drink it greedily. When a drop of moisture fell to her chest, he traced it with a finger.
She had to stay the course. Relax, Jillian. No matter what he does, he can't touch who you are inside.
Cullinane had. But he wasn't Hafner.
Yet who was he?
When Hafner's hand caressed her, she closed her eyes so he wouldn't see her hate. "Why don't you..." she cleared her throat. "Why don't you shower first?"
His gaze turned greedy. "Why don't you join me?"
She managed to smile. "Because," she traced a finger down his shirt front, "I need some time...to get things ready."
"Ready?" His eyes lit up. "Why, Jillian, what do you have for me?"
"It's a surprise." Her gorge rose. She couldn't do this.
She had to. It hadn't hurt him to snuff out Belinda's life when she was only an inconvenience, a woman who'd heard the wrong conversations.
How could it hurt her to rid the world of a murderer? It was the only justice Belinda would ever have, the only hope Loretta would survive. With a coquette's teasing flutter, she turned him around and shoved him ahead. "Go on now. Your surprise will be waiting when you get out."
Over his shoulder, he shot her a grin that was almost a smirk.
That's the last smirk you ever bestow on anyone, you piece of shit. Hardening her heart, she watched him walk away.
Then she headed toward her bag to get her weapon.
\*
Cullinane slipped through the trees at the edge of the clearing, skirting his way carefully toward the house and onto the wraparound porch without making a sound.
Outside the back door, he paused for a moment, listening to the voices inside. Peering in the window in the kitchen door, he saw Hafner's finger slide down Jillian's throat, then he groped her breast.
What the hell was she doing? When he'd seen Hafner kiss her earlier, it had taken everything in him not to attack. Instead, he'd had to just stand there and watch, knowing the feel of that flesh in his own hand, remembering her cries when he'd had her body under his own.
Blind rage had swamped him; he'd had to look away or lose it completely.
And now she was letting Hafner do it again. Dressed in that godforsaken red dress that would bring a dead man to instant hardness, letting Hafner touch her at will...
What was she doing? And why?
When she pushed Hafner out of the kitchen toward the bath, then veered into the living room, he slipped inside the door, grateful it didn't squeak.
It would be one thing if she knew he was watching, if she were doing it to get revenge for his surveillance. But her lack of caution told him she thought she and Hafner were alone; he'd been careful not to let her spot him tailing them.
Besides, why would she seek retribution against him with a man he knew she couldn't stand?
Did he know that?
Yes. He was suddenly sure, remembering too many times when she'd stiffened at Hafner's touch, when her eyes had flickered with revulsion, when she'd been grateful when he'd stepped between them.
So what was she up to? With careful steps, he followed her, peering around the corner as she opened her bag and drew out her Walther. Turning, she stepped toward the sound of the shower running.
Holy shit. She was going to kill Hafner.
Cullinane slipped up behind her quietly. A chop to the wrist made her drop the gun. He clapped a hand over her mouth and dragged her back against him.
Jillian reacted instantly. Her fingers dug into his arms as she kicked back with her right leg, trying to destroy his balance.
"Stop it, Jillian. It's me."
She froze. Her head jerked around, eyes wide in shock. For one long, tense moment, she stared at him, questions tumbling over anger. When she tensed, he pressed his hand more firmly against her mouth.
"Don't make even one tiny move," he warned. "What the hell are you doing?"
Her eyes stared into his, the feel of her body against his too vivid a reminder. For a moment, he thought he'd give anything he possessed to turn back the clock several hours.
They stood there, confronting the enormity of this discovery. The reality of all that could never be between them. The horror of what would happen next, once Hafner knew what she was doing here.
Then he heard the bathroom door open. They'd run out of time.
She heard it, too, and stiffened. Gaze defiant, she pulled away from him, and he let her go.
Hafner appeared in the doorway, towel around his waist. His eyes widened at the sight of Cullinane. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I might ask you the same, Klaus."
The pale blue gaze flicked to the gun on the floor, then to Jillian, suspicion creeping over his features.
Cullinane made a choice he knew he might very well live to regret, bending to pick up her Walther and handing it to her. In a lazy, chiding tone, he spoke. "Here, MacGregor, you dropped this."
Hearing her quick indrawn breath of surprise, he looked at Hafner. "She's got good ears. She heard a noise and almost had me."
Tension sang through her frame. He couldn't look at her, couldn't even take the time to ask himself why he was doing this, why he was protecting her.
But he knew. Her life depended upon his convincing Hafner; that had to be his focus. He'd deal with Jillian himself, later.
Hafner glanced from him to her and back. A panoply of emotions shifted across his features: suspicion, amusement...annoyance at being thwarted in his little tryst.
"Why are you here?" he asked again.
"We had an agreement, Klaus." You fool.
Hafner shifted uneasily, clearly recalling their conversation about not being alone with her until Cullinane agreed. "I changed my mind."
"That wasn't our deal."
"So you've reminded me, and now I'm changing the agreement." He was a child, whining at being denied an anticipated treat. "So you can leave us now and go on back. We're doing fine here."
Jillian's tension reminded him of nothing so much as a finely-tuned guitar string about to snap. She still hadn't looked at him.
"Well, there's a problem with that, even if I were so inclined."
Hafner had been studying Jillian; his gaze abruptly shifted to Cullinane. "What problem?"
He gave a casual shrug. "Something appears to be wrong with my car; I'll need to ride back with you two."
Hafner's eyes narrowed. "Call Ron to come get you."
"Oh, I could do that," he agreed, "but then you'll just have more company. And really, Klaus..." He stepped away to get distance from the feel of her. He nodded toward Jillian. "Dressed like that, I'm not sure MacGregor's prepared to be guarding you all alone out here."
He wasn't sure what he'd expected from her when he'd just saved her neck, but damn sure not anger. Her eyes blazed with fury.
Beneath the fury, though, he spotted nerves. She must wonder why he'd chosen to cover for her. He could tell himself it was just the Bureau's policy of not allowing someone to be hurt to protect his cover that motivated him.
But that would be a lie. Regardless of whether or not there could be any sort of future for them, no way could he turn her over to the mercies of a man with no conscience.
Right now, lust clouded Hafner's normally vicious nature. He'd been on his best behavior since she'd been around because he wanted to bed her.
But it wouldn't last.
Hafner swore ripely before conceding with a growl. "All right, Cullinane. You win." Tones clipped, he turned away. "I'll be dressed in a moment." He left the room.
Relief swamped Cullinane. Then he looked at Jillian's jutting jaw and fury took over. The raid was only days away, and his life had just become much more complicated.
If he hadn't covered well enough to allay Hafner's suspicions, Hafner could easily get spooked about having her around and change his plans. Years of work could go down the drain---and for what? Who was she working for? Why did she want to kill him?
None of which they could discuss right now.
"Get your things together," he snapped. "Help me load the car." He headed toward the door.
"Go to hell."
Swiveling his head back to pin her with a stare, he drawled, "I believe we've already been there."
The night just past shimmered in the air around them. For a long moment, memories trembled in the silence, expectant...tempting...
Forbidden.
"Five minutes, MacGregor. Don't screw around." He held the door open, not about to leave her alone again.
She'd have to be watched every minute between now and zero hour.
\*
Jillian drove again, grateful to have something to occupy her thoughts besides the tempest inside her. Her stomach was a tight fist of anger she couldn't express, confusion she didn't dare ask questions to clear.
Inside the Explorer, silence reigned. Hafner was testy, staring out the window, furious at the change in plans.
And Cullinane simply stared at her in the rearview mirror, eyes cold as steel.
Why had he done it? Surely he'd understood where she was headed with the Walther; why had he covered for her and not clued in Hafner? He was Hafner's most trusted lieutenant, the man in charge of protecting his life. He was much too intelligent to miss her intentions, so why didn't he have her bound and in custody now? Why hadn't he explained to Hafner?
It couldn't be sentiment because right now he looked as though he could gladly choke her himself. Beneath the stone exterior, fury was simmering.
So when would she pay the price? How would it happen? Could she escape before it did?
And how would she ever get another chance at Hafner?
Her own fury ratcheted. Damn Cullinane---why had he followed her? This was a disaster. All of her plans in ashes, her vows turned into dust. She'd failed, utterly and completely.
The weight of it sank her heart like a stone.
And fear was not far behind. What would he do to her? The waiting was the worst.
Pulling into the compound, she circled the drive and parked, out of the car in a flash. She'd hide in her room until nightfall, then she'd figure out some way to leave. Rounding the hood of the car, she almost made it, but Mary Beth was outside and spotted her.
"Jillian! Can you come see what I made?"
She heard steps behind her and darted a glance back. Cullinane, grim and intent. Hafner was headed inside.
She quickly crossed to Mary Beth and Adam. Alice glanced up and frowned. Immediately Jillian blanked her expression. Surely he wouldn't do anything in front of the children. If she stayed here with them for a while, maybe she could get away as soon as he went inside. Silently she damned her choice of the red dress. She'd stand out like a beacon, trying to slip away from here, unless she could change clothes.
"Look, I drew a picture of Adam, Jillian, see?" The little girl's excitement contrasted with the impatient look on her brother's face.
Adam glanced up. "Mom, do I have to sit still any longer?" he grimaced.
"Not much longer, sweetheart." Alice searched Jillian's gaze. "Are you all right?"
Jillian felt it when Cullinane walked up beside her. She'd know it was him, if no other way, from the look on Adam's face changing to awe. He, like J.T., worshipped the man.
She wondered if Alice would help her escape.
"Cullinane, look!" Mary Beth held up her drawing. "It's Adam on his skateboard."
She wouldn't have been surprised to hear him growl. He was that angry with her. But to her surprise, he knelt beside the girl, his voice gentle. "I like it."
Jillian took her chance. "Mary Beth, I have to run now. Alice, would you come inside with---"
His hand shot out and grabbed her arm. In a silky, dangerous tone, he addressed her. "Oh, I'm sure you have time to look at Mary Beth's drawing. After all, you're not going anywhere..." His gaze was impossible to ignore, the cold steel now white-hot, his jaw flexing. "Are you?"
Alice's forehead wrinkled.
Jillian swallowed. "I...guess not." Stop playing with me, Cullinane. Let's get it over---whatever you intend.
Apparently he was in no hurry. For several minutes, they remained with the children, the surface conversation convivial and pleasant, the silent duel beneath making Jillian's skin crawl with nerves. Alice kept glancing over at her but didn't say anything. Finally, he excused them both and led her inside with a firm hand locked on her arm.
In the breezeway, Ron stopped him to ask questions about his car. When Cullinane reached into his pocket for his keys, she broke away, putting distance between them.
"Solly, escort MacGregor to her quarters." His voice rose a fraction, directed, she had no doubts, at her. "I'll be right behind you. Wait there for me."
Clearly an order, not a suggestion. She was trapped for now. Full daylight was hardly a propitious time to sneak out.
Once inside her room, she locked the door, tempted to shove furniture in front of it. He'd probably bring in a battering ram if she did. In his current temper, there was no telling, but she decided not to tempt fate. Straightening, she lifted her chin. She was not a child to be afraid of being disciplined. She'd meet him head-on.
Besides, she remembered, he could be watching her right now. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of cowering. Glancing around the room, she began searching for the camera locations.
\*
Cullinane would have to deal with Hafner soon enough. It was paramount to assess his frame of mind and just how well the gamble had paid off. Climbing the stairs toward Jillian's room, he questioned again what he'd done.
If Hafner hadn't bought his story, not only Jillian but he himself was in danger. As he'd told her before, Hafner truly trusted no one. It had taken Cullinane a long time to work himself into a position where he was as close to trusted as anyone had ever been. But close might not be enough now.
Hafner had risen to his current stature on the backs of others. Having killed off foes and friends alike, he was always ready to suspect others of the same intentions.
Cullinane's gamble had been risky, but he'd had no choice. The minute Hafner suspected Jillian of trying to kill him, she was dead.
And probably not quickly or mercifully. Hafner had killed no one, at least not directly, since Cullinane had been around. That didn't mean he'd never done it; the Bureau knew otherwise. He'd just never been caught. Some of the stories were chilling. No matter if Cullinane had hated Jillian, he couldn't condemn her to such a fate.
And he didn't hate her, unfortunately. Life couldn't be that simple, that clean.
But she'd lied, and she was still lying. He had to get her to tell him the truth, then he'd decide what to do with her. His options, though, were limited.
Please, Jillian, for your sake---for my sake. For the sake of any future we might ever have had...tell me the truth.
He knocked on her door. No answer. He tried the knob. It was locked.
"Jillian," he warned, his voice low. "Don't jack with me, not now. Open this door."
A long pause ensued. He was reaching for the master key in his pocket when the door opened.
Another time, he would have laughed. Though he never truly knew what to expect from her, in some ways, she was utterly predictable. Redheads and temper. Whiskey eyes spit fire at him.
But the fire barely covered the nerves.
She was afraid, and he wanted nothing more at this moment than to take her in his arms and forget all that was on the line.
Instead he went on the attack. "Why were you alone with Hafner? Whose idea was it?"
"None of your business." She gave him her back.
"It is my business, and you know it. What were you doing with your weapon out?" Please, Jillian, talk to me. Tell me it isn't what I think. Help me save you.
A negligent shrug. "You said it yourself. I heard a noise and was going to investigate. It's my job, after all. I'm a bodyguard."
He lost it. "Damn it, Jillian, stop lying to me." He grabbed her arm and whirled her around, grasping her shoulders in his hands, desperate to impress the seriousness of the situation upon her.
Touching her was a mistake. His fingers itched to draw her nearer, his heart worn by the switch from last night's magic to being enemies today.
"Talk to me," he said wearily. "I can't help you if I don't know what's going on."
Her gaze remained downcast.
He shook her again, but gently. "I know you're hiding something." I know you were going after Hafner. He'd give a lot to be able to tell her he, too, wanted Hafner dead, but he didn't dare. She was too much of a wild card.
"Look at me, Jillian." When she refused, he gripped her more tightly, softening his voice. "Please. Talk to me. Make me understand."
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his. His heart pounded with the urgency of his need to know, with the hope that, at last, she was going to explain. For them to have any hope of a future together, he had to hear the truth from her own lips.
Caught between the powerful draw they shared and all that conspired to separate them, the poignancy of the moment suffused the very air around them---shimmering with haunting promise, pierced by stiletto-sharp agony.
And then he knew, could see it in her eyes that she would say nothing, do nothing to save them. All that could have blossomed between them was drowning in a sea of lies.
Cullinane dropped his hands and stepped back, resigned to the knowledge that from here until the end of the operation, he would have to be her jailer and she his prisoner. Instead of trying to survive this together, she was driving them further apart.
Heart-weary and drained, he walked away. When he grasped the door knob, Cullinane halted, fighting not to lean against the door in defeat.
"Don't try to run, Jillian. You won't make it."
Without looking at her again, he left.
\*
Jillian couldn't walk the floors any longer, couldn't continue fighting the demons in her mind. She had to act. Moving swiftly to her closet, she selected a change of clothes.
Then she switched off the light, casting the room into darkness, feeling her way back to the pile of clothing. A little hard to see me in the dark, Cullinane? Yet even as she dressed in comfortable dark pants and shirt, she felt a twinge of unease. She didn't like it that he'd had her under surveillance, but she couldn't kid herself that he hadn't taken a risk for her today, a big one.
Why? Why would he do it? Especially after the way they'd parted this morning. Though he hadn't voiced the words, she was almost certain that he knew exactly what she'd intended---so why hadn't he turned her over to Hafner? What did he have planned for her now?
Was she a prisoner in her room? She'd already decided to test that, to see how far her leash would run. There had to be some way out of the compound. She wouldn't find it, languishing in her room.
Opening the door cautiously, Jillian scanned the hall, feeling the comforting weight of her Walther at her back, hidden by the roomy shirt she left untucked. Cullinane hadn't taken it from her yet, but he'd obviously had a lot on his mind. He'd remember it soon, so she'd have to figure out where to hide it.
But just in case she found a way to leave tonight, she wanted it with her.
No sign of Solly or anyone else. Cursing her unfamiliarity with the monitoring system to which she'd not been given access, she wondered who might be watching her now. Her best avenue was likely to appear to simply be heading to the kitchen for a snack.
The place was very quiet; she wondered where Cullinane was right now. He had the stealth of a panther; she'd better not assume he wasn't somewhere close. He'd certainly done a good job of sneaking up behind her earlier at the fishing camp. She'd never heard a sound.
Traversing the hallway, she passed the library and heard Hafner's voice through the slight crack of the door and stopped to listen.
"---watch on Cullinane. He's behaving oddly. I don't like it. What?" He laughed harshly. "No, it's not just that he's standing in my way with her. There's something else going on." He cursed vividly. "If I knew what it was, I'd have already taken care of it. All I know is my gut tells me to pay attention. It's what's kept me alive this long." Cold and impersonal, his tone belied the words that sent a shiver down her spine.
Hafner fell silent, listening.
Jillian went very still, hoping no one would interrupt and no one saw her on a monitor. But she couldn't leave, even so; she had to hear this.
Hafner sighed. "You may be right. Perhaps he has his eye on taking over. It's the problem with capable men, and Cullinane has certainly been that, but I'm far from ready to retire yet. I don't like to think of losing him to an unfortunate accident on the next operation. He'll be deuced hard to replace, but he knows too much."
Jillian's breath caught in her throat. Oh, my God. Cullinane was in danger. She had to...
Had to what? Warn him? Why? What did she actually know that could help him? And why would he believe her?
Footsteps sounded in the hall, just as Hafner told his listener goodbye.
She took a few long strides to cover ground, then slowed her pace to appear casual as she turned the corner. Alice was coming her way and stopped, looking at her curiously.
Jillian summoned a casual smile. "Just out for a midnight snack."
Alice put one hand on her arm. "What's wrong, Jillian? What happened today?"
"Nothing." She couldn't involve this woman. Alice had enough on her mind. Then she realized Alice had been crying. "What about you? Are you all right?"
Alice sniffed, pulling at the tissue in her hand. "I wish I had it together like you."
Together? Jillian stifled the urge to laugh. She squeezed Alice's shoulder. "I have no idea how you juggle all you do." Alice needed a friend, and Jillian was the only candidate.
But right now, she was desperate to run away from this place.
"I wish I had the nerve to leave here. But I can't."
"Why not?" Come on, come on. Jillian jittered.
"I owe it to Klaus. He's done so much for me. And I could never support the kids on what I could make."
Alice was a kind woman. She had to help somehow---but quickly. "You're miserable here, Alice."
"I can't put what I want ahead of what they need. I have to be strong enough to stay and take control. I wish I were as sure of myself as you are."
Sure of herself? What a laugh. For one instant, Jillian was tempted to confide in the other woman. In an odd way, she and Alice faced the same dilemma. What was the right thing to do for those you love? How much of yourself did you give up to do it?
But how long could she afford to linger and listen? What if Cullinane trapped her in her quarters? Without the ability to move around, she'd never be able to get close to Hafner...or to get out.
Jillian forced herself to stand still and listen a few minutes longer until Alice left, but she listened with only half an ear. Round and round, the questions spun in her brain:
What did she do about Cullinane? Was he in danger?
And was it her fault?
Cullinane returned to his rooms after leaving the grounds to call Alonzo. He hadn't been tailed, but that was the only good news from this very long day. As was his daily habit, he swept the rooms to assure no bugs had been planted while he was out.
Now he knew who she was, but knowing only made his job harder. Her first name really was Jillian. She'd been smart, though---MacGregor was her mother's maiden name. A tough connection to make on the computer, unless you knew what you were looking for. Simple for her to remember, but hard for them to trace with no other identification.
Jillian Blake, that was her real name. Jillian Marianna Blake.
Sister to Belinda Blake, Hafner's murdered mistress.
So now he knew. Now he understood. Now he even sympathized.
But it only made things worse.
As did the fact that she'd spent time in juvie for shoplifting, had a dubious history dancing just on the right side of the law. Best he could tell, she and her sister had been orphaned in middle school, and while Belinda had done well in foster care, Jillian had been in constant trouble, then finally ran away at fourteen, taking ten-year-old Belinda with her.
Belinda, however, had returned a few weeks later, apparently brought back by Jillian after a brush with a pedophile. The foster parents had eventually adopted her, but Jillian had taken off again as soon as Belinda was safe.
No surprise there. He nearly smiled. She was not good at taking orders. But God knows what those years had been like for her or how she'd survived.
Stepping toward the window, his thoughts matched the unsettled weather outside. Remnants of a hurricane boiled up from the coast, turning the night as restless and angry as Cullinane himself. For the first time since entering, he noticed that Alice had straightened the room he'd left so hastily this morning. Folded neatly on the foot of his bed lay Jillian's black swimsuit, and he faltered. Would Alice tell Hafner? He didn't think so---her gratitude for his help with J.T. would prevail, he hoped.
The memories of last night seemed years ago...yet he'd never forget a single second. He'd be haunted by Jillian to the end of his life, but now his chances of anything else with her were more remote than ever.
He understood now why she'd lied to him at every step, marveled at the courage she'd demonstrated in showing up at the compound, in tackling this alone, no backup at all, somehow cobbling together her own damned impressive training.
He understood and might even have done the same himself. His respect for her had only increased, but it didn't matter. He didn't---couldn't---trust her. He now knew she was more dangerous than ever.
Because this was personal. She wasn't simply a hired killer. Jillian was bent on revenge for her sister's murder. She was skilled and dangerous and obsessed. She'd shown a nerve and valor any man he'd ever known would be hard-pressed to match, but that nerve had its roots in a single-minded goal that put his own in peril.
He wished he could talk to her, explain that he understood, but that would lead to inevitable questions from her about why he sympathized when he was Hafner's right-hand man. Maybe if she'd come clean with him of her own free will, he could consider telling her a little, asking her to join him.
It wasn't that he didn't understand why she would hold back, thinking about his involvement what she surely must. But he'd taken a huge risk for her, and she had to be aware of that. He'd gone past reason and begged her to tell him the truth so he could help her. Those actions gave her a signal that she had to answer.
That was as far as he could go for now. Until and unless she took the next step and gave him her truth without being forced, he could never give her his own. And without her truth, he had no choice but to keep her under constant watch, now more than ever. It would simplify his life if he could send her away and keep her from interfering until this operation was over in a few days. But he doubted now, after what he'd learned, after seeing Jillian's determination in action, that she'd ever give up trying to kill Hafner, unless she were dead first.
He couldn't let that happen, nor could he let her take Hafner down. Not this close to the end. His only choice was to keep up his juggling act with Hafner and keep Jillian near.
And hope to God he could keep her safe.
Never had he wanted more to catch a glimpse of her, if only on the monitors---but he could still remember the devastated look on her face when she'd seen the bank of screens. Though his observation had only had to do with longing and not surveillance, he couldn't betray her by looking now, though she'd never know.
He'd watch her again---he'd have to---but only to guard her.
Tonight, however, he'd leave her in peace.
\*
Jillian waited until long after the household was asleep, the hallways silent and dark.
Then she crept down to the library to use what she suspected to be an unmonitored phone line. So far at sea, so much out of her element, she needed to get her bearings. She hadn't brought a cell phone of her own with her into the compound because she had no backup to call.
But there was one person she could contact, not for help but for balance. It would still be far too late in San Diego, but she had to try. Perhaps Hiroshi's calm guidance would steady her as so often before.
"Yes?" his voice, so quiet and still, sounded wonderful.
"Hiroshi," she began, "I'm sorry it's so late. I-I had no choice."
"What is wrong, Jillian? Why do you call? Are you in trouble?"
Yes. Oh, yes, but it's trouble of my own making. "No, I was just worried about Loretta. How is she?"
"Loretta is not well. You should come back. She worries. It has been too long that you are gone."
"But my promise...I have to keep it."
"Promises, kept or not kept, will do her not so much good as to see you, to have you near. Come home, Jillian, and cease this quest for vengeance."
"I...even if I could live with myself for giving up, I can't..." She stopped, thinking she heard a noise in the hall.
"Jillian?"
No more sounds, but she didn't dare take a chance on anyone tracing Loretta or Hiroshi. "I have to go now, sensei. Please---tell Loretta I will be back soon." Please, God, let it be true.
"You are strong enough to meet any challenge, but I ask you this one thing: what will this quest of yours cost your soul?" He'd never approved of her plan or her methods. It was a sign of his concern that he still watched over Loretta for her while she'd been gone. "Come home, Jillian. Bury your vengeance. Let your sister's soul rest."
"Belinda won't rest until I do this, sensei. Nor will Loretta." Nor will I. Heavy of heart, she told him goodbye, then sat in the darkness, wondering what to do. The gathering storm outside howled out her turmoil.
If she warned Cullinane, would he believe her, already knowing she'd lied? And if he did believe her, what would he do? Would he leave to save himself?
She was almost certain the answer to that was no. So what would be gained?
Would she cancel her debt to him for this day's rescue if she told him? Would he back off on the watchdogs, giving her a chance at Hafner again?
Not hardly.
Most likely he'd watch Hafner even closer, and she'd never get another chance at the man.
Sitting back heavily in the chair, Jillian wavered, for the first time, on a goal that had driven her for many, many months. Was Hiroshi right? Should she find some way to convince Cullinane to let her leave and go home?
Belinda was dead. A kind woman needed her.
Would she add to the mounting cost the life of a good man?
But was he a good man? Images she'd fought to forget rose up to haunt her, images of the night passed in Cullinane's arms. Whatever the reason for those pictures of her on the bank of monitors, she hadn't let him explain, too caught up in her fixation on Klaus Hafner, too quick to leap to assumptions.
But over and over, however stony he'd been, she realized now how often Cullinane's actions had been at odds with his image. He talked tough, he was tough, but beneath was a man who cared about a young boy going astray, who'd spare time for a little girl's pictures. A man who'd taken her to heights of glory with a power and tenderness that still made her shiver.
Though she still couldn't square why he was with Hafner, she did know he'd put himself at risk for her more than once.
How could she do any less? Would Belinda rest easier, Loretta find peace, if Cullinane died while Jillian stayed fixed on vengeance?
Her weary heart gave the answer. He might not believe her, might think she only wanted to cause trouble between him and Hafner. This might all blow up in her face and cost her the chance to avenge her sister.
But to live with herself, Jillian had to try.
Rising from the chair, she made her way quietly upstairs. Outside his door, she paused, wondering if she should wait until morning. Before she could lose her nerve, she knocked.
"Who is it?" He didn't sound sleepy, despite the late hour.
"It's me, Jillian. Please...could we talk?"
The door jerked open, a faint golden light coming from the table by the bed. The silver streak at his temple seemed to glow; his eyes were wary and remote. As on the night they'd met, he wore only sweats, his broad chest filling the doorway. Her gaze fell inevitably to the jagged scar bisecting his flat belly, a vivid reminder that he'd been harmed before...and could be again.
Lifting her gaze once more to his, she curled her fingers into fists to keep from touching him. "There's something I need to tell you."
A spark leapt in his eyes, quickly shuttered. His low voice rumbled inside that muscled chest. "Come in," he said, carefully neutral. Stepping aside, he closed the door quietly behind her.
Once inside, her gaze lit upon the bed, rumpled now as it had been when she'd left it. The press of memories choked her with their aching sweetness, her mind awash with longings. She could feel him at her back, tense and waiting, but stared instead at the rain driving against the windows, hearing the angry howl of the wind.
He had to believe her, no matter what he chose to do. Suddenly, she couldn't bear it if anything happened to this man with whom she'd shared so much. Theirs might be a strange intimacy formed of battles and lies, but at the base of them, she thought she agreed with him.
Like called to like.
Jillian turned around, hoping for the right words to convince him. Straightening her shoulders, she met his gaze.
And saw pain, quickly masked. He remembered, too.
Swallowing heavily, she began, barely able to keep from looking at the floor. "I know I haven't, that is, I---I need you to believe me, even though you think I'm a liar." Drawing a deep breath for courage, she hurried on. "You took a big chance for me today. I think you're in danger now, and I want to help you."
Cullinane shook his head to clear it, her words not at all what he'd expected her to say. "What are you saying?"
"Tonight I was on my way to the kitchen when I heard Hafner in the library. Is that phone line monitored?"
He frowned, wondering why she asked. "No."
For a moment, an odd expression flickered over her face, something like relief.
"Go on," he urged.
"He was...I don't know who he was talking to, but I don't think he trusts you anymore. I think he's planning for something to happen to you soon. He mentioned an operation."
Oh, Christ. That was all he needed, for Hafner's antennae to go on full alert. But what did he expect after the gamble he'd taken?
"Tell me every word."
Her eyes cleared. "You believe me? I---I was afraid that after..."
He knew exactly what she meant but couldn't afford to discuss it now. "I need to hear exactly what he said."
"He said something about keeping a watch on you, that you were behaving oddly. Then the other person must have said something about..." She glanced at him, color staining her cheeks. "About me, because Hafner said it wasn't only because you were..." Her color deepened, and she cleared her throat. "You were standing in the way with me." Voice firming, she continued, "He said that he just had an odd feeling and that he trusted his instincts after all these years.
"Then he said that maybe it was only that you wanted to take over his operation, that it was what happened when one hired capable men. He said that..." Jillian grabbed his arm, her eyes going dark and intense. "He said that he'd hate to have an unfortunate accident happen to you on the next operation but that you knew too much."
She stepped closer, her voice soft and low. "It's because of what you did for me today, isn't it? You have to believe me, Cullinane. You have to get away, before it's too late."
"Will you go with me?" He was curious now.
She averted her gaze. "I...can't."
"Why not, Jillian? What's keeping you here?" Please tell me, please give me the truth.
Jillian retreated to his window and stared outside at the lashing rain. He wanted to go to her, to drag the truth from her, but it meant nothing unless she gave it to him of her own volition.
For endless moments, he stood there waiting, watching the tension in her frame, knowing that he needed her help, her cooperation---but only if he could trust her. And the beginnings of that trust would be found in tearing down the wall of lies between them. She had to take the next step.
With the courage he'd always admired in her, Jillian faced him, tossing her fiery locks as if to defy the unsteady nerves he could see in her eyes.
"My name isn't MacGregor; it's Jillian Blake. I came here to kill Hafner because he murdered my sister and walked away scot-free."
Cullinane closed his eyes for a second as relieve and gratitude rolled through him.
She stared at him intently. "Did you know her? Belinda Blake?"
He shook his head. "I've heard her name, but she was...gone...before I came."
Eyes full of sorrow, she continued. "Belinda was younger than me, and we were raised...apart. Her adoptive mother Loretta was wonderful to her, and Loretta was also kind to me, treated me like her own when..." She shrugged, and the pain he could see made him ache with the urge to go to her. "That's why it's so hard to live with knowing that I failed Belinda. Hafner killed her, but I failed her first."
"Why do you think that?" He sensed he was hearing the truth behind her single-mindedness, the pain that pushed her to such an extreme risk.
"She was a very good girl, not like me. I tried to keep her safe, but then she got older and she...changed. I was the only one she stayed in touch with, but when I found out she was the mistress of a criminal and she was using drugs pretty heavily...." Her eyes showed no mercy to herself. "I was furious. She'd had everything---a good home, a warm bed, someone who loved her so much. I couldn't understand why she would go back to the world I had tried to save her from. Why she would cause Loretta so much pain. I mean, I loved her, but time after time I'd bailed her out and tried not to let Loretta know what trouble she'd made. But finally, I decided..."
Jillian's voice broke, and then he didn't resist any longer. He drew her into his arms, but she shrugged away, one hand held up. "No," she said firmly, shaking her head. "I don't deserve---I can't accept comfort. Not after what I did."
But her eyes said she wanted it in the worst way. Remaining nearby, he merely nodded. "Which was what?"
Jillian's eyes flashed with anger and regret. "I decided it was time for tough love. I cut Belinda off, refusing to take her calls or see her after delivering an ultimatum that she leave this man she was living with in New Orleans and enter a rehab program." Glancing up with eyes so raw they hurt his own heart, she continued. "I told her I wasn't bailing her out again, that I didn't want to hear from her until she was calling from a clinic."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I never heard from her again."
"Jillian, you can't..."
She held up a hand. "No, wait. There's more."
Glancing out the window, she continued. "After we received the call from the parish sheriff's office when her body had been found, I flew out here to see what I could do to find who had murdered her.
"I sneaked a look at the file after I kept meeting wall after wall of deceit and delay. They shut me out, told me it would all be taken care of, little lady." Her voice twisted. "They patted me on the head and tried to send me home."
The Jillian he'd first met stared at him now, her body rigid with defiance. "I was making some headway, investigating on my own. It didn't take me too long to find out that they knew who it was who'd done it---and had no intention of making the arrest."
Cullinane winced, knowing that his deep-cover operation had been underway by then. With no evidence to prosecute Hafner, the decision had been made to press forward to nail him in the much bigger arena of arms dealing and terrorism. He'd never heard, though, about a sister...or that sister's investigation.
Jillian looked up at him, her wounded heart in her eyes. "I ran out of time and money. I had to go back to California, and I tried to push them from there. For a long time, I kept Loretta's hope alive that justice would be served, but finally, she couldn't stand any more. In total despair, Loretta tried to commit suicide and almost succeeded."
Good Lord. And Jillian had taken everything on her slender shoulders.
She pushed onward, her eyes dark and penetrating, willing him to understand. "I had to do something, find some way to make it right, to give Loretta a reason to live again, to put Belinda's soul at peace." Her voice dropped to a whisper, "To forgive myself." Lost in thought, she stared at the floor.
Her pain undid him, her wounded soul speaking out to his own. He had to give her hope, make her see she wasn't alone. Moved by the gift of her truth, he decided to share his own. They were on the same side, after all, and his relief over that was boundless.
"Jillian," he put his hope into the speaking of her name. "Hafner will pay for what he's done. I'm going to make sure of it."
Her head rose swiftly, shocked surprise in her gaze. "Because he's after you now?"
"Because he's an animal, a vicious killer who's been responsible for the deaths of hundreds, maybe thousands, all over the world." He gripped her shoulders, relieved that he could offer her this. They didn't have to battle anymore. He would help make things right for her, and for her sister.
"I'm going to take him down, Jillian. I'm not what you think. We're on the same side. I'm an FBI agent; I've been undercover on this case for two years. You don't have to do this by yourself anymore. Leave Hafner to me. I promise you he's going to pay, and soon."
Jillian stood stock-still, her eyes going wide with horror. "No!" She recoiled from him, burnished hair swinging wildly in denial.
He frowned, confused. "Do you understand what I'm saying? We're not at odds; I want him, too. I've spent years of my life going after him. You're not alone anymore, Jillian. We're going to take him down along with his whole network, then he'll never harm anyone again."
"He'll get away this time, too."
"No, he won't. I'll make sure of that."
Her eyes sought his in pity, as if he were the one who didn't understand. "I can't trust that."
He was surprised how much her lack of confidence hurt. "I promise you that you can."
"I'm sure you mean that, but I've seen what happens. I've been on the wrong side of the system enough to know how often it fails."
He reined in his anger. "You haven't seen me. You don't know how much I want him."
Jillian's eyes softened slightly. "I'm sure you do, but you know yourself what happens when lawyers and juries get involved. The bad guys walk away all the time." Her voice hardened. "And I've already been promised justice for my sister's murder before. It didn't happen." Her gaze pleaded for him to understand. "I can't take the chance again, Cullinane. Loretta won't ever get better if he walks away again. I'll lose her, and I'll have no one."
You could have me. Warring impulses tore at him. He wanted to drag her close and soothe her until she relented, but anger stirred that she could doubt him. It didn't matter what the system had done before. Hafner would pay, damn it. He couldn't live with anything else. Digging deep for patience, he tried again.
"It will be different this time, I promise. Nothing short of dying will stop me from taking him down."
Her gaze sparked. "You're going to kill him?"
"Not if I can help it. I want his whole network, all his terrorist buddies, all his contacts. I want to wipe his influence off the face of the earth."
He could feel her withdrawing, the icy façade forming again. "He has to die. Can you promise me that?"
"I'm an officer of the law, Jillian, not a vigilante. I can't kill him in cold blood, no matter how much I hate him. But he will be punished. Have faith in me, if not the system." He pressed the point. "Have you ever killed anyone before?"
"No."
"What makes you think you can?"
She shook her head. It didn't matter. She had to do this.
"Talk to me."
"Talk won't help. He has to be punished. I can't sleep, all I do is dream about her, about Loretta. He has to die."
"But not at your hands. He will be punished. I promise you that. But if you kill him in cold blood, how are you different from him?"
Jillian watched Cullinane's jaw flex, saw the plea in his gaze as he concentrated on her. Hiroshi's voice echoed in her mind; she thought of his disapproval, his plea for her to forget about vengeance. She was tired, so tired. She just wanted this over.
"This isn't who you are, Jillian."
"You don't know me."
"But I do. Maybe not the details, but I get who you are at your core. The only one who's going to pay, day after day, will be you. Hafner won't feel a thing."
"But he'll be dead. Belinda will leave me alone. Loretta will feel better."
"You think Belinda would want that? You with blood on your hands? Is that the sister she admired? And is Loretta really going to be happy to welcome a murderer back? She needs your strength, not your vengeance. You don't need to earn Belinda's forgiveness. You only need to earn your own."
Jillian tried to picture taking the shot, the gush of blood...
Her stomach roiled at the thought. Was he right? Was that why every time she'd been near Hafner, she'd held back? Because she was weak?
"I'm not a coward."
"No, you're not. It took guts to come into a place like this alone. But I'm asking you, Jillian---for your own sake, for the sake of what's between us, please trust me to take care of this."
She grasped for a foothold in the disordered landscape of her thoughts.
Cullinane sensed it and pushed harder. "There's something strong between us, but love can't thrive in a climate of hate. You're not a hater by nature. Don't do this to yourself. Don't damage your soul."
Watching the battle go on within her, he could only wait and pray she would see reason. For endless moments, she gazed sightlessly at the storm. He had to win this battle; the stakes had never been higher. Not only his operation, but their future, was on the line.
Failing to stop Hafner once had haunted him for years. Dead children cried out for justice. Cullinane understood exactly how she felt, but too much was at stake now. Too many lives were involved. Even if they weren't, he couldn't let her do this to herself. She wasn't a cold-blooded murderer.
When she turned back to face him, his heart sank like a stone. Written quite plainly on her face was her refusal, and the sorrow filling her eyes gave him no comfort.
Determined to change her mind before words sealed their fate, he stepped closer. "Don't do this to us, Jillian. What we had here last night..." He didn't have the words.
Words were the enemy; somehow he had to convince her not to doom them both. Pulling her close, sliding the fingers of one hand through fiery silken strands, he brought his mouth close to hers, hearing her soft sob of anguish.
Bittersweet desperation colored his kiss. When her mouth softened beneath his, his heart surged with hope. She had to understand, had to work with him. She couldn't do this, couldn't condemn them to the loneliness again. Not now, not when he'd just found her. Not when there was a path to the sunlight, if only she'd believe.
He felt her ache, her longing for him. For a sweet moment in time, he was thrown back into the bliss, the night of magic they'd shared. Jillian clung to him, close as a breath.
For a moment, he dared to believe they would win.
But all too quickly, she drew away. With infinite sadness, her lips told their fate. He didn't try to stop her, hard knowledge settling painfully in his chest.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, her voice shaky but resolute. Lifting her gaze to his, her eyes haunted, she spoke the words that would damn them. "I am sorry, honestly. But I can't take the chance."
Jillian watched him struggle, the mask assembling with more difficulty than before. Feature by feature, his face hardened into the forbidding man she'd first met.
The eyes hurt her most, for there the man who haunted her dreams still lived. His voice was low and aching when he spoke. "You know I can't let you try again. Lives depend upon it, Jillian, not just mine. I can't let you compromise the plans underway. I don't want to have to arrest you, but I will if you force me to it. I want your promise that you won't interfere. I need a week."
"You don't have any grounds to arrest me." She backed away.
He stalked her. "Oh, but I do. You're interfering with a federal investigation. I only need to buy time, and I'd get that with you in jail."
"I don't think you'd do that."
"Just try me." Hard and implacable, steel-gray eyes speared her. "I've never been more serious."
Jillian searched frantically for alternatives, knowing she couldn't run. She was fast, but he'd have her before she reached the door. And even if she got past him, she'd never make it out of the compound.
She was a good fighter, but he was better.
Then suddenly she remembered what had brought her to this room. She'd come to save the life of a good, decent man---more decent, even, than she'd understood then. He was one of the good guys. God knows what it must have been like to be undercover with Hafner for two long years.
Whatever her reluctance to trust the system with Hafner's demise, she couldn't stand by and watch him murder Cullinane. She'd never forgive herself. Perhaps if she agreed to cooperate, she could accomplish both: watch Cullinane's back and take care of Hafner. But as things stood now, she could do neither. If she boxed Cullinane in a corner, she had no doubt he'd do what he said. She'd be locked away, no weapon at hand, helpless to do anything. Free, she had a chance.
She tried a different tactic. "Who's going to watch your back with Hafner? All the men are his." Maybe this would work; she had to convince him. "You need me to help you. Hafner's going to try something and you're alone inside here, aren't you? You have no one to trust, either."
He didn't respond, merely observed her with wary eyes.
"Let's make a deal."
Cullinane went very still. "What do you mean?"
"I still don't trust the system, but I'll give you your week. Once it's over, I won't offer any promises. If you don't get him, I have to go after him. But for one week, you need my help."
"Why should I believe you? You've made it very clear that you don't think I can handle him."
"I didn't mean..." She exhaled in a gust. "It's not you I don't trust. I believe you'll try to see that he's punished---I just don't believe you'll succeed. A guy like Hafner has spread money everywhere. Who knows what cops he's bought, what judges he's got in his pocket? If he's operating on an international scale, he could have people in Washington on his side, for all you know."
Seeing him about to protest, she held up a hand. "But it doesn't matter what I believe or you believe, the fact remains that Hafner's suspicious of you and is planning to get rid of you. Whatever the forces you may be able to tap outside, in here, I'm the only person you can count on."
"Why would you do it?"
Why should you believe me, you mean? I'm not sure you should. She didn't know what she'd do, if push came to shove, should she get a chance at Hafner. But she also knew she couldn't let Cullinane die.
"You can remember last night and ask me that?" she demanded. "No matter how much stands between us, Cullinane, I'll remember last night for the rest of my life." Chest tight with emotion, she swallowed hard. "I won't let that murderer have a chance to kill you, too. No matter what else you think, believe that. I'll watch your back."
"And if you get a chance at Hafner?"
He saw her too well. Jillian shook her head. "I can't promise you that I won't take it, but I won't seek it out."
"Jillian, I can't..." Swearing beneath his breath, he ran impatient fingers through his hair.
"You need me, Cullinane. Take what I can give you."
He studied her carefully. Could he trust her? Or the war inside her heart? On some levels, he thought he could---any woman who'd go to the extremes she had for love of someone else had loyalty in abundance. For those she cared about, she'd go to the wall.
But where did he fit into all that? Yes, he remembered the night before in riveting detail. He, too, would never forget it. In the hours when they'd come together, battles set aside, he'd been shaken to his foundation by how deeply he felt about her. There had been magic, and it might just be enough to get them through.
But her loyalty to Loretta, the guilt she wouldn't shed...those, too, pulled at her. Fierce in her hatred, she was also fierce in her love. This dilemma would put her to the test.
She was a strong woman and unlike anyone he'd ever met. In another life, he would have stopped at nothing to make her his.
But he didn't have that luxury now.
Yet could he afford to refuse her help? If he dispatched her from the compound, Hafner's instincts would overload. His own situation was too precarious; everything depended on quieting Hafner's unease. That meant business as usual, for three more days.
He'd told Jillian a week, but the actual date was three days away. If he could keep her close at hand, guarding his back, he could also prevent her having a chance at Hafner. If he kept her in the dark about details of the raid until the last minute, she couldn't plan to subvert them.
Cullinane didn't see what option he had. He'd have to alert Alonzo and the others to help him keep an eye on her once the raid was underway, but in the meantime, he'd have to watch Jillian as closely as he watched Hafner.
He didn't doubt she'd protect his back, but he also didn't take her warning lightly. If she got a chance at Hafner first, Hafner was history. It might not be the end of the world, since elements of the network in Italy and Germany would be rounded up simultaneously with the raid in New Orleans, but he had no way to be sure what signals Hafner might be sending out. Any lack of response before the raid might alert someone and ruin it all.
He had to keep Hafner alive. If it took watching Jillian every second, then that's what he'd do. "All right." He held out his hand to hers. "But I want your word."
Slowly, she accepted the handshake. "How do you know my word's worth anything?"
Clasping her smaller hand tightly, admiring the strength it must have taken to face him down, he smiled. "I don't, not for sure. But isn't that what trust is about, Jillian?"
A flash of pain in her eyes told him he'd scored a direct hit.
\*
Jillian stood on the driveway, shooting baskets, trying to pass the time that seemed endless, the waiting game that stretched her nerves to breaking. If Cullinane wasn't watching her every minute, someone else was. Today it was Tony.
Suddenly, she noticed Tony straightening. Jillian turned, expecting to see Cullinane behind her, but it was Hafner. J.T. fell silent.
"I don't want to interrupt your game." His eyes said differently.
J.T. retrieved the ball. "I've got homework, anyway. Check you later, Jillian."
"Sure," she answered, not liking the way Hafner's gaze swept over the sweat-soaked shirt clinging to her skin. "What's up?"
"I merely wanted to see how you were getting along. We haven't had a chance to speak since our little jaunt."
What did he really want? Why was he bringing it up now, two days later? And how did it play with his plans for Cullinane?
"Let's have a drink, shall we?" Placing one arm across her shoulders, he led her inside.
Jillian fought the urge to shrug off his arm. Tony followed them at a discreet distance. What had Cullinane told Hafner since that day? She'd seen them together several times, conversing intently. How could she cover for Cullinane, when she had no idea what he'd said?
Cullinane himself had kept her at a distance. Often nearby, he'd made sure they were never alone, yet she'd caught him several times, observing her intently. The war of nerves was getting to her. She wanted this week over in the worst way.
Hafner led her up the stairs and into his quarters, rooms she'd never seen. He nodded at Tony to close the door. She couldn't help wondering if these rooms were monitored. Cullinane's weren't; she wondered if he dared watch Hafner, and if so, how he could hide it. Jillian marveled afresh that Cullinane had kept his subterfuge going for two years. The man must have nerves of steel.
She'd only been doing it three weeks, and she was exhausted.
The room was dark, though daylight shone brightly outside. She scanned for clues to understand Hafner, to figure out what Belinda could have seen in him.
Black dominated, trimmed with gold. His bed was draped at the corners with gold-on-black patterned silk, hanging from the ceiling like medieval bed hangings. The walls were a dark charcoal, wooden floors teak, scattered with rugs she supposed were expensive; she'd certainly never seen any like them before.
"Hand-woven---you like them? Gifts to me from...friends."
Nice pocketbooks your friends have. She smiled faintly. "They're quite unusual." What did he want with her?
"Would you care for something to drink?"
"Water would be great."
Hafner moved to the ornately carved bar in the corner of the huge room, glancing up at her in the mirror behind it. "You athletic types, so tiresome in your healthy tastes." He poured her a sparkling water, himself a Scotch.
Jillian studied the size of the room and scoped out how far they were from the door. She wanted out of here in the worst way, but then she wouldn't know what he planned for Cullinane. Forcing herself to settle back on the overstuffed black leather sofa, Jillian didn't let herself flinch when Hafner sat down beside her and handed her the water. "Thank you." She drank thirstily, eyeing him over her glass, remembering another day when he'd watched her drinking water and traced the moisture down her throat.
Don't press your luck, Hafner.
He seemed to be thinking of that time, too, but he didn't touch. His attention greedily followed a drop of sweat she could feel rolling down her chest, sliding into the valley between her breasts.
The eyes of a predator, waiting to pounce.
"Tell me, Jillian," he spoke lazily, setting his glass down on the smoked-glass table in front of them. Reaching into his pants pocket, he drew out his knife, examining it slowly, then glanced up at her. "What do you think of our Cullinane?"
Mesmerized by the knife as if it were a snake ready to strike, she needed a minute to tear her gaze away. "I don't know what you mean."
"How would you describe him to someone new?"
"You mean his appearance?"
"Come now, dear, let's don't play games."
The game player doesn't want to play games. With studied casualness, she began her list. "I'd have to say that he's strong, very intelligent...that I'd never play poker with him..."
Hafner laughed. "Oh, I do like you, my dear. But what about loyalty? Would you include that in the list of Cullinane's virtues?"
Was this a test? She summoned a smile to disarm him. "Yes, along with stubborn, single-minded, arrogant..."
Hafner laughed again, then opened the knife and began cleaning his nails, falling silent and staring at the far wall as though she weren't even in the room. After a long moment in which Jillian sat very still, knowing she must keep her wits about her, he finally turned, his tone casual, but his words were not.
"And to whom are you loyal, Jillian?" The merciless, deceptively lazy gaze pinned her.
"I work for you."
Holding up one finger, knife waving in the air, he addressed the room. "Notice that she didn't say she was loyal to me. But never mind that---" Hafner swung his head around, his gaze burning into her. "If I were to assign you to help me with a little matter, would you feel compelled to report it to Cullinane?"
"I don't work for Cullinane."
"You report to him."
"But you pay the bills."
Hafner smiled, as if she were a bright student. "I do, don't I? Pity Cullinane often forgets that." Musing, he stared across the room once more. "There is an important shipment coming in tomorrow. I may need your services. Has Cullinane given you an assignment?"
Tomorrow? He'd told her a week, and it had only been two days. Mind whirling, she hesitated almost too long.
"Jillian?"
"Uh, no. Nothing specific yet." What game are you playing, Cullinane? What about trust?
"Curious," he mused. "But then, this will be your first. Perhaps he prefers to keep you here to watch the compound. But be that as it may, I want you to do something for me."
A loud knock sounded at the door.
"Not now," Hafner called out, his annoyance clear. Grasping her chin in his hand, he studied her closely with those pale, soulless eyes. "You fascinate me so, Jillian."
Caught in his gaze, she could barely repress a shudder. He didn't just repulse her; something in him chilled her to the bone.
The knocking cracked like gunfire the second time. Hafner sighed and rose. Crossing the room, he turned a lock she hadn't noticed and swung the door open to reveal an unsmiling Cullinane, his gaze quickly spotting her.
He stilled, glaring. Both relieved and annoyed by the interruption, Jillian glared back. For one brief second, she saw a flicker of another emotion behind the mask of stone.
"I'm busy, Cullinane," Hafner snapped.
"So I see. You have a phone call."
"Since when are you the messenger boy?"
"This one's important. In the library." Cullinane switched his stare back to her.
Casting her a glance loaded with meaning, Hafner sighed. "We'll finish later, Jillian." He left the room, but Cullinane remained, filling the doorway with his dark, brooding presence.
Jillian settled back on the cushions, just to nettle him. So they were back to playing games.
Cullinane's gaze dismissed her. "Come on, MacGregor. Hafner doesn't like anyone in his rooms when he's not here."
"I don't think he'll mind."
His gaze snapped back to her. "But I will."
"I don't particularly care what you mind."
His jaw flexed. "I'm asking you to leave."
Furious at his high-handed treatment of her, she leaped from the sofa and marched up to him, hissing, "You lied to me. It's tomorrow."
He glanced toward the hall. "Not now." His voice was low and urgent. "I'll talk to you later."
She saw the strain of the days on him. What must it be like to be this close to the end of two years undercover? She was clawing to get out, after only a flicker of the time.
He was right. She'd have it out with him later. But not here. Not now. Tony was likely still outside. She wouldn't endanger Cullinane, no matter how he upset her.
But they would talk. She wanted answers. She had to plan.
\*
In the darkness of his room, Cullinane paced, details of tomorrow's operation whirling in his head. He'd try to make himself sleep later, but that was not on the agenda yet.
He still had to deal with Jillian, and she wouldn't like his plan. He'd worried about protecting Alice and Mary Beth without drawing Hafner's notice, and he'd decided that Jillian made the most likely candidate to spirit them away. Since she and the family had become such friends, it would not necessarily arouse anyone's suspicions for Jillian to take them shopping, since Alice rarely drove anywhere. Thank goodness the other kids would be in school.
Jillian wouldn't like it, and it would also rob him of her help to watch Hafner, but he'd watched his own back for years. Sending her away with Alice and Mary Beth would accomplish two important needs for him: to safeguard innocents and to keep Jillian away from Hafner. That he also wanted Jillian safe was not an argument she'd appreciate, but nonetheless, he felt it, however Neanderthal that made him.
They'd decided on a morning raid since, with the exception of Alice's family, Jillian, and himself, the compound was slow to awaken each day. Hafner slept very late; he would be sluggish and easier to command. With any luck, he'd fall right into their plan to keep up the pretense of Cullinane's job as security chief. In the case of a raid, Cullinane had made contingency plans as part of his job. The first order of business in them was to get Hafner out of the compound.
Cullinane would follow the plan, separating Hafner from the rest of the men. The men would let him go, expecting Cullinane to act in that manner; they'd practiced it many times. They wouldn't balk at him leaving to take Hafner to a safe house. Once he'd left with Hafner, they'd all be rounded up.
He'd head to Houma, to the fishing camp, a place Hafner felt comfortable. But waiting there would be other agents, ready to arrest Hafner. Cullinane would be caught in the sweep; a cover that had taken more than two years to build wasn't cast away lightly. It could still be needed later.
Meanwhile, a third contingent of the task force would be boarding shrimp boats and seizing the contraband, while the overseas busts went on, as well.
The plan ought to work, but Cullinane had been at this game too long to believe it would be that simple. Even if he didn't have Jillian to worry about, a thousand things could still go wrong.
And he did have Jillian to worry about, the first order of business getting her to go along with a plan she would hate.
A plan that neatly removed her from the action.
Raking his fingers through his hair, Cullinane stared out into the darkness, composing arguments he hoped would sway the most determined woman he'd ever met.
He was so close. He was so tired.
So much was at stake.
Jillian prowled the boundaries of her room. Where was he? He'd said he'd come to her later to talk about tomorrow. Hours had passed with no sign of him. She'd give him a few more minutes, then she was headed toward his rooms to beard the lion in his den.
Torn between anger and unease, she paced, thinking about tomorrow. Cullinane was FBI, but there would be others, he'd said---ATF, the Coast Guard, perhaps the DEA and local authorities. A lot of people involved. A lot to go wrong.
She'd hoped Hafner would approach her and give her another chance to find out his plans regarding Cullinane, but he hadn't. With no idea what he'd meant to ask of her, she'd just have to stay alert and watch him closely while keeping an eye out for danger threatening Cullinane. She had her weapon, she had her skills. She'd be all right, she just had to stay loose, remain observant.
And she had to pry details out of a man who'd survived in deep cover for a very long time.
Jillian stopped pacing and stared out her window at silhouetted treetops against the glow of security lighting. She had a lot to think about, but Cullinane had much more. With the dread and nerves she was feeling, how much more must Cullinane be experiencing now, with two years of his life on the line? Her anger faded in the light of her worry. He must be strung pretty tightly tonight. Even a stone man couldn't keep it all at bay.
You don't know how much I want him...nothing short of dying will stop me from taking him down. His words returned to her, the haunted shadows in his eyes. Yes, Cullinane had to be feeling this night deeply. She didn't know why, but this was personal for him, too. They only differed on their solutions to the problem of Hafner.
Tonight, Cullinane just might need a friend.
She'd go to him, but she'd be calm. She would listen. She'd been so caught up in her own feelings that she hadn't stopped to consider how this all weighed on him. He had a lot to juggle, even without the threat to his life---or the complication of her single-mindedness.
Making her way down the hall, she tapped softly at his door.
"It's not locked." She barely heard his voice, muffled by the door. Slowly, she pushed it open.
He leaned against the window across the room, looking out, his reflection in the glass weary and troubled. He spoke without turning, his voice low and somber. "Hello, Jillian."
"How could you be sure it was me? A little risky, don't you think, leaving it unlocked?"
He smiled faintly. "I'd have bet everything I own on seeing you tonight."
"I'm so predictable?"
He pushed away from the window. "No, you're that stubborn and determined. I knew if I didn't come to you, you'd show up here, demanding answers." Coming to a stop before her, he looked down, eyes shadowed but somehow fond.
Jillian stared at his lips, realizing she longed to feel his kiss once again. Wanted to reach up and cradle his head against her, to soothe the lines of worry from his brow.
She did neither. "Would I have gotten my answers?"
"The ones I'm free to give." His voice was quiet and sad and weary.
Jillian suddenly wanted to forget all that kept them apart, all the reasons they were at odds. For just a little span of time, she wanted to give this noble man the gift of her silence, her support.
Tomorrow might bring anything---there could be sorrow and pain, even death. When her heart seized at the thought of his strong heart ceasing to beat, she placed one hand on his chest, reassured by the quickening thump beneath her fingers.
They might never have any more than this. There were no guarantees; she knew too well how cruel fate could be. Whatever hadn't been resolved between them would still be there tomorrow, but for now, he'd been alone long enough. Two years was a long time in the belly of the beast.
"Jillian, I can't..."
"Sh-h." She placed her fingers over his lips. "I'm not asking for anything you can't give. Just one more taste of the magic, Cullinane. I need it. I think you do, too."
"Drake." His voice low and urgent, his eyes yearning. "For tonight, call me Drake, Jillian. Just this once, I'd like to hear my own name."
Her heart squeezed. So long alone. She rose to her toes and pulled his head down to hers. "I want this night with you. No duty, no obligations, no one else but us. This one night, Drake. It might be all we ever have."
Drake yanked her close, kissing her with all the urgency he felt. It might be utter insanity, but she was right---this could be all they ever had. He'd done everything he could to take care of tomorrow.
He wanted this night, too. Needed it, needed her with an urgency that bordered on madness.
He pulled away, already aching to return. "Tell me, Jillian," he whispered. "Tell me how you want me to touch you. I don't want you to ever forget this."
Tears he'd never thought to see from this strong, self-contained woman shimmered, threatening to spill. He felt them in his gut, he wanted to drink them from her lashes, to bathe away her pain with his tongue. An aching stole over him, a tenderness he'd never known until he'd met this fierce warrior queen, until he'd seen her pride, her refusal to accept defeat, her valor in facing down incredible odds.
"No, Drake, let me be the one. For too long, you've been alone." She took his hand and led him to the bed, rising over him, her eyes soft and warm. "Let me make love to you tonight. Just relax and let me take care of you."
Relax. Whenever Jillian touched him, relaxation was the last thing on his mind. Drake nearly laughed, but her fingers stroked his face, slid into his hair and gently massaged his scalp. Her slow, teasing touch soothed, calmed...aroused. He reached to drag her down to him, but Jillian pinned his wrists at his shoulders, eyes sparkling in challenge.
"Oh, no, you don't. This is my show for now." The smile he'd seen too seldom now gleamed with mischief. "Don't make me have to hurt you."
A slow, taunting rub over his fly elicited a heartfelt groan from him. Being in the unaccustomed position of submission was erotic. Hell, yeah, she could have her way with him. He'd get even later.
Then rational thought deserted him with the first rake of her nails. Eyes sparkling, she grasped his shirt in both hands and ripped it open, buttons flying across the bed. He gritted his teeth not to flip her over and drive within the sweet, warm promise he knew was waiting.
The tests didn't end there. Relax, hell. Jillian was bent on driving him out of his mind.
Not that he was complaining.
Her silky hair brushed his chest, and her hot mouth searched out sensitive spots he'd never known he had. She slicked her tongue over his nipple, bit lightly with her teeth, and he almost came off the bed.
He jerked his hands from her grip and dragged her mouth to his, rolling to bring her under him, but Jillian resisted, her breathing heavy, her lips plump and swollen from his kiss. With eyes that promised dark delights, she shook her head.
"Oh, no, stone man..." On a wicked smile, she rose and clasped the straining length of him. "I'm not finished with you yet."
Drake bucked beneath her. "Jillian..."
One delicate brow arched. "I wouldn't make idle threats, if I were you." Her playful smile warned...and promised. She reached for the fly of his jeans with nimble fingers that tugged at buttons and danced over his cock at every opportunity. With each button, his mind slipped a notch, his control weakening, his will scorched by fingers of flame.
When his buttons were mostly open and his mind mostly gone, her clever fingers slid his briefs down so slowly he was ready to beg her to end the agony.
Jillian smiled, her heated gaze clear that she understood exactly the cost she exacted. Licking her lips slowly, making him groan and strain against her hand, Jillian bent and took him in her mouth, fiery silk brushing his belly.
Drake growled, thrusting into the warm, wet heaven. "Jillian, if you want anything left, you'd---" His nostrils flared as her tongue licked slowly up his length, swirling around the head. He choked back a moan.
Jillian paused, her expression that of a woman who knows her power. Running her tongue over her lips to taste him, she rose to her knees and pressed his shaft against the silk of her panties.
Drake grabbed her and rolled, bringing her beneath him so fast, her eyes widened in surprise. "My turn."
With the same lack of care she'd shown for his shirt, Drake jerked her blouse open, scattering the second shower of buttons.
Jillian laughed, low and throaty, her eyes ripe with challenge.
God, what a woman. He shoved aside a quick stab of sadness that they only had tonight. She was so damn perfect for him, his equal, his tormentor, his completion. He'd never met anyone to match her. They might only have one night, but he'd give her the best of himself in these stolen hours.
Unhooking the scrap of lace over her breasts, Drake paused to admire, imagining the weight of them in his hands. Slowly, reverently, he placed one hand over each, her heated skin shocking his palms.
Jillian arched against him, her hips rocking, pleading. He fought to restrain himself, to make this last as long as he could. Caressing her breasts, he lowered his mouth to bathe her lips with a slow stroke of his tongue.
Jillian's lips parted, but he didn't claim them yet, instead teasing her with light, flicks at the corners, tickling the sensitive skin just at the inside of her mouth. Jillian inhaled sharply but remained very still, her body quivering slightly, her eyes open and watching.
For such a fierce woman, she was oddly almost shy, her delight in his touch hesitant and surprised. He cradled her face in his palms, wanting somehow to let her know what she meant. "You...heal me, Jillian." He'd never felt this for anyone else. She was unique, a treasure he wanted to keep and to cherish for a long time to come.
If only fate would let him.
Her whiskey eyes melted, moisture shimmering. He could see the war within them, the same longing he felt to have done with the battles, with all that divided them.
A remnant of reason tugged at him, reminding him with hateful clarity that his soul was not his to give to her, not this night. Dreaded duty and responsibility reared their ugly heads, but Drake tamped them down, promises weighing heavy on his heart.
Then the time for teasing was gone. They still had battles to fight, and he could not forget tomorrow.
But for now, it was still the night.
He used every means at his disposal to call to the heart of her, to bring her pleasure she would never forget. Stripping them both with abandon, Drake's craving to feel her grew until at last, he could press skin to skin, heart to beating heart.
He heard Jillian's fevered panting, felt a fine trembling take her. He willed her closer, rousing every last nerve to tingling need. He wanted her as desperate for him as he was for her.
Jillian felt his sorrow, felt the change sweep over him. Where playfulness had reigned, now desire claimed its due. "Come to me, Jillian. Let me have all of you," he whispered, his heated breath stirring the tender flesh at her core. His fevered caresses, the strokes of his tongue lashed her higher and higher, her nerves screaming for mercy. He was taking her far beyond their night of magic, luring her farther and farther from solid ground.
White heat flashed through her body, rippling beneath her skin. "Drake, I can't---" His tongue slid inside her, and she came apart, back bowed, legs trembling, gooseflesh prickling over her skin. Breathless and spiraling, Jillian watched him rise over her, his dark beauty an ache in her heart.
The silver eyes of the sorcerer gave way to the haunted gray velvet of a man in need. More naked than she'd ever seen him, Drake's soul shone out from those eyes, asking her to meet him.
Still flying high, Jillian yearned to hold him, to cherish him, to push away every barrier fate had put between them. When he slowly entered her, filling her to aching completion, slow tears fell, and her heart cracked in her chest.
For no matter that she needed him desperately, and he needed her...
They still had to face tomorrow.
And each knew, only too well, that these might be the last, precious moments of goodbye.
\*
Jillian stirred, and Drake tightened his arms around her, turning his face into her hair, breathing in her scent. Wished for a way to cheat fate, to buy time before she awakened.
Once she did, the questions would begin.
And when that happened, he'd have to begin pulling back from this, resume the mask of Cullinane and play games once again. He'd give a lot to be able to just tell her what he needed and know she'd comply, but he understood the power of Jillian's guilt, the strength of her sense of honor and duty.
He understood because he had demons of his own. Tiny voices, crying out for justice.
He could push her, could see if what they'd found together was strong enough to challenge the chains that bound her to her quest, but he was reluctant to put their own fragile bond to such a test so soon.
He'd never thought love would be his lot, had given up the dream long ago, yet with Jillian....
Life certainly had its ironies---with the worst possible timing, after so many years alone, into his life had walked a woman he wanted to keep.
A woman he still wasn't sure he could trust.
It wasn't that Jillian was faithless or weak---on the contrary, her loyalties were so strong, her sense of responsibility such a part of the very air she breathed, that it would be agonizing for her to choose between what she believed she owed those she cared for and what she might want for herself.
How could he not understand the struggle? It was his own.
So he would say nothing of what he felt for her yet, though it might mean he never could. If he were lost in this battle today, he'd never get the chance, but that was his burden, one he would not load upon slender shoulders that already carried too much weight. The future he wanted with her was a precious burden he'd take alone into the fight.
And having admitted it to himself, Drake felt both fear and strength. Jillian filled up the hollow spaces inside him, the empty shell. Her vitality and spark lit up the dark corners of a soul long ago resigned to the cold. The fear came from at last having something to lose.
For a very long time, he'd had a mission. He'd wanted to live to see it completed, but outside of that, Drake's life was worth very little, there to sacrifice in the service of his duty but meaningless to anyone else.
Jillian had changed all that. Now he wanted to live, to see what they could be together. But even more than his own life, a chill invaded his heart at the thought of danger coming to her.
That's why he had to convince her to play this his way. More than his own life, he wanted to preserve hers. There were too many dangers lying in wait on this day, too many possibilities for her to be harmed. Though he knew very well she could take care of herself, still something within him needed to protect.
The best way he could think of to accomplish that was to convince Jillian to leave the compound. He thanked his lucky stars for Alice and her children. Jillian would never leave on her own, but she might be persuaded to do it to protect them.
Just then she rolled closer, her face nuzzling into his throat, her warm breath tickling his skin. "Drake?" she murmured sleepily.
"Sh-h-h," he whispered, wrapping her in his arms. "Sleep. It's not morning yet."
Sliding one hand across his belly, she snuggled closer. Half-hard already, his response was immediate. Drake battled the temptation to tilt her head back for a kiss, to lose himself inside her once more.
Then he felt her awakening and knew it was too late. She pushed her hair away from her face, drowsy whiskey-brown eyes opening. "Hi," she murmured, smiling.
"Hi, yourself." He stroked her hair.
For one suspended moment, their eyes met in memory, in silent wonder at the power and magic of what they'd shared.
All too soon, awareness returned, shadows stealing back into her eyes as they stole over his heart. "We don't have much time, do we?"
Drake shook his head.
"Drake..."
He placed a finger over her lips. "I know. And I think you'd better forget that name for now. We can't afford a slip." But the moment she nodded, cold invaded his heart. Cullinane was back. Time to face the end.
"It's happening today, isn't it?" she asked.
"Yes. In the morning. Before Hafner's up."
"Where do you need me?"
Here goes nothing. "I have one big worry that I can only trust you to handle."
Her expression was solemn, but her eyes gleamed pleasure. "What is it?"
He sat up against the headboard. "The other children will have left for school, but Mary Beth will still be here---and Alice."
"You need me to watch them."
"I need you to take them away from the compound. Pretend you're driving Alice to the market and take Mary Beth with you."
Jillian's dark eyes narrowed. "You want me away from Hafner."
Yep, knew it would get dicey. "No, that's not what I'm saying."
"But it's what you mean. You don't trust me not to take him out."
"Jillian, the trust has to go both ways. I promise you that Hafner will not go free, but I need your help. It's the one part of the plan I wasn't happy with because I had no way to send Alice and Mary Beth away without arousing suspicions that could foul everything up. I'd tried to resign myself to just making sure they stayed hidden, but it was still a risk. This, though, would work. Everyone here knows how close you've become to those children, and you and Alice have been very friendly. Alice doesn't drive herself much, so it's the perfect answer to be sure they're out of harm's way."
She frowned. "But what about Hafner? What about watching your back?"
"I'll be careful, but there's no one else I can trust to do this. The task force was alerted to watch out for Alice and the kids, but you know anything can happen in a raid."
"Which is why I should be here," she insisted.
"I won't be here that long."
She eyed him carefully. "The contingency plan---you're going to take Hafner out of here, just like we've practiced."
Cullinane hesitated, mind racing. She hadn't exactly agreed, but she wasn't actively fighting him over this. If he hoped to convince her of how important her cooperation was and secure her agreement, he'd have to share this much of the plan with her. He nodded. "I'm going to try. Will you help me?"
He could see the war going on inside her. She'd chafe at being away from the action, but he wasn't kidding---this part of the plan had worried him. Also, given Alice's sense of obligation toward Hafner, she was too much of a wild card. He'd been prepared to lure her and Mary Beth to the security command center and lock them inside the extra-thick walls if it came to that. They would be safe there, but they would be safer completely away. Jillian's invitation to drive Alice to the market would be the perfect plan, arousing no suspicions on Alice's part. Ron did it often; Jillian would simply substitute.
Jillian eyed him skeptically, obviously not happy about his request. "How sure are you that someone else will be watching out for you?"
"Very sure." In truth, he wasn't. Everyone on the task force had plenty else to do without guarding him. Realistically, he would be on his own. They could only observe from outside the walls until the raid actually began. He would be vulnerable to anything Hafner might have cooked up with the men inside the walls, but he'd have to hope that Hafner's paranoia would prevent him from using anyone Cullinane had hired and trained. He'd more likely use an outsider.
She almost smiled. "You knew I would hate this, didn't you?"
"Yeah."
"Damn you, Cullinane. You knew I couldn't risk them. Did you plan all this out ahead of time, in that serpentine mind of yours?"
He had to smile at that. "Nobody could plan for you, Jillian. You're the wild card that throws every ops planner into a cold sweat."
Her fingers picked at the sheets, worrying the fabric. "I'm afraid." Soft brown eyes rose to meet his, and he saw the fear rising. "Not for me but for you. I don't trust fate. I've lost too many people I love."
He'd think later about her use of the word love, but right now, he had to make sure she was safe. "I won't die, Jillian."
Tears brimmed, her face strained and pale. "You can't be sure of that." She crushed the sheets in a fist.
He let down his barriers and answered from the heart. "I'm not leaving you, not when we've barely begun. You can take that to the bank. I'm coming out of this, and I'm coming straight to you."
She tried for a smile, but it died, stillborn.
There was nothing he could do but wait.
Finally, she looked up at him, her gaze assessing, measuring how much she dared to believe. Sorrow washed over her face, chased by resignation. "All right, you win. I'll do it your way."
The satisfaction he would have expected to feel didn't emerge. He didn't want it to be a contest. And only time would tell how much they'd both lose.
But knowing that this had cost her, he laced her fingers with his. Voice husky with emotions he couldn't share, Cullinane brought her fingers to his lips and spoke the only words he trusted himself to say. "Thank you."
Jillian's troubled gaze studied him as he felt her retreat emotionally. Tightening his fingers on hers, he willed her back, though he knew it was futile. They both had to cope however they could.
"I should go to my room," she said quietly.
"I know." He kissed her fingers again. "We both need to sleep."
"Yes." But she didn't move.
He held on tightly. "I don't want this night to end."
Jillian looked at him sadly. "It already has."
"No." He would hold back the dawn a little longer, just to hold her. "Stay with me, Jillian. I'll set the alarm so we'll get you out of here in plenty of time, but I want to sleep with you in my arms."
She wanted it, too, he could tell, but he could also see her awareness of what lay ahead. Finally, he seized the decision in hand, swiveling away to set the alarm for four-thirty. The sheets rustled behind him, and he waited to feel her weight leave the bed.
Instead her arms circled him from behind, hugging his waist. Turning, he took her down to the mattress, holding her close, so close he could feel their heartbeats mingling, keeping time with the sands of the hourglass that were slipping away.
She needed to sleep; he needed his rest. Tomorrow would be grueling and they would need to be in top form.
But somehow he knew that the feel of her would restore him more than sleep ever could. He would watch over her and hope she would rest.
In the heart of the darkness they would draw sustenance from each other, arm their souls against what was to come.
And together, they would struggle in vain to hold back the dawn.
Blood smeared the bathtub rim, Loretta's life trickling away in dark, angry tears down the porcelain. Heart pounding, Jillian raced to her until Belinda stepped between them, hair a tortured tangle, her face a mask of anguish, her lacerated flesh a rebuke.
Why, Jillian? Why didn't you help me when I needed you? Look what you've done...look what you've done...
"Jillian, wake up. It's only a dream."
Heart ramming against her chest, lungs burning as she clawed for air, Jillian gasped, scrambling to escape the restraints lashing her to the bed.
"Jillian, it's all right...." His deep voice rumbled, hands stroking her hair. "You were only dreaming."
Drake. It was his arms holding her down. She sagged in relief.
Struggling to clear her head, Jillian pulled away, her mind still full of the horror of what she'd almost let slip away in the night.
Belinda.
Loretta.
Justice too long denied.
She looked at the clock. Three a.m., the time when humans were at their lowest ebb. Shoving her hair from her face, she rose to her knees, staring at him, trying to reconcile what she'd done. For too many moments last night, she'd let herself forget, let herself believe in something that she wanted desperately, an end to this mission. An end that would free her.
But her dream was a reminder, a wake-up call from her conscience. She'd known going in that they could only have this night, but she'd allowed herself to hope for more. Now she was bone-deep scared of the risk she was taking. She could lose both Drake and her chance at justice today.
Retreating from him while she still could, Jillian rose from the bed, unable to meet his eyes. She searched for her clothes and began slipping them on.
"Jillian, look at me," his low, urgent tone commanded. "You're having second thoughts, aren't you?"
She worked to compose her features, then slowly, she faced him.
It hurt to see him. His dark beauty stung her, raven hair falling around his powerful shoulders, the streak of silver like a badge of command. But it was the eyes that hurt her most, for they were still open to her, still haunted.
Suddenly she had to know.
"Why do you hate him? You do, don't you?"
The flash of pain answered. He nodded. "It was a long time ago. I wasn't quick enough to understand. I misread the signals and the children of an orphanage in Bosnia died in a bomb he planted, him and his terrorist buddies. I don't think Hafner even stayed around to see the damage, probably never gave them a second thought. But I was there. I saw..." He cleared his throat, then continued, "I saw the results of my miscalculation. I'd played with those children, even thought about trying to adopt one. Instead I killed them because I made a mistake and underestimated Klaus Hafner. I swore then that someday I'd get him, that I'd redeem myself."
He lifted tortured eyes to hers. "I've waited a long time for this, Jillian. Believe me when I say he won't escape his punishment."
The sticky feel of Loretta's blood still marked her fingers, the dull ache of betraying Belinda still scraped at her heart. But Drake had his own pain, his own horrors that haunted him.
She understood better now, and she believed more than ever that he'd do his best to make it happen. But could she be sure Hafner wouldn't walk away, ever again? Could she take a chance on a system that had failed more than once?
It came down to trust, just as he'd said. This was their defining moment. What happened next was up to her.
She bent and poured her plea into one last, long, sweet kiss. When his hands cradled her face, it was all she could do not to break down. "I believe in you, but I can't help being afraid. Hafner's suspicious, and he's a murderer. If anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself." She'd seen his face when he'd said he'd have backup, and she knew the truth. For precious minutes, he'd be totally alone and outnumbered. "I have the training. I can help you. I'll leave Hafner alone, but please let me stay with you. I'll watch out for Alice and Mary Beth, but let me watch your back."
"I can't do that. Help me, Jillian, don't fight me. I need you to do what I ask."
She tried for a smile. The one that answered her was as sad as her own, as filled with longing and regret.
"When this is over..." He halted, then cleared his throat. "Don't come back here. Take Alice and Mary Beth to the motel where you were staying when you first came. Register under Loretta's name. I'll come to you as soon as I can."
"How can you ask me to do that, to just leave you behind?"
"Do you want me to beg?"
And what if you're dead? But it wasn't fair to keep badgering him. He had so much on his mind, so much to coordinate. She ran the risk of endangering him just by making him worry about her when he needed to concentrate, but this was agony. She knew how to take responsibility, to take action. To step aside and give up control was terrifying. "All right," she whispered, feeling her heart all but torn from her chest.
At the door, she spoke over her shoulder. "You'd better come back to me, safe and sound, Drake Cullinane." Her voice cracked. "Don't you make me bury you, too." Holding onto her composure with the tiniest of threads, she couldn't look at him again. If she did, she would be the one begging. Arms wrapped tight around her middle, Jillian left his room.
The night was over. The final day had begun.
Heaven help them both.
\*
Drake didn't try to sleep after she left, too keyed up, however much his body needed the rest. He ran through the details of the operation in his head again and again, how the task force would set up a perimeter two miles away, out of reach of the compound's cameras. A cable repair van would arrive at the gates early, ostensibly to install an outlet in the kitchen for a gift from Hafner to Alice. Because it would be unexpected, the man on gate duty would check in with Drake, who would explain and grant permission for the van to enter.
The cable repairman would arrive, one of the Bureau's best agents, and at the moment he saw fit, he would alert the second agent, hidden inside a cleverly hidden compartment in the van, and they would disable whichever of Hafner's men were within reach. The man watching the monitors in the control center would be quick to alert Drake to the breach, and Drake would sprint to Hafner's quarters, extract him in one of their rehearsed scenarios and race out of the house, headed for the garage and an always-fueled Jeep, keys in the ignition at all times. He would escape with Hafner and head for the fishing camp, while the task force moved in, and the compound was secured. Hafner would have to leave his cell phone because it could be tracked, thus he would be unable to alert anyone until the task force had moved in on all locations, domestic and abroad.
Drake, too, would be on his own. Playing out the scenario where he also had no cell, would be an essential part of keeping Hafner unaware of his double role until it was too late. They would, however, be observed from the moment they hit the perimeter controlled by the task force. There would be a two-mile blind spot, but Hafner was soft, and Drake was more than his match, should anything go south.
And Drake was doubly on alert now, thanks to Jillian's warning.
Memories of the night just past flooded him, but ruthlessly he rejected them. He was counting on the powerful feelings between them to keep her focused on protecting the innocents rather than on her vengeance, but he didn't kid himself that the struggle wasn't tearing her in half. Their bond was new, and her guilt and grief were deeply woven into the fiber of her being.
The crackle of the intercom startled him from his thoughts. "Yeah?"
"Boss, you awake?"
"Yeah. Barely." Not true, but...
"There's something I need you to look at in the control center."
He frowned. "What is it?"
"I'm picking up on a cell call on the premises, not one of ours. Since today is the big day..."
"I'll be right there." Could Jillian have a phone he didn't know about? Who would she be calling? Damn it, she'd promised...
Pissed, he jammed his weapon in his belt and a clip in one pocket so he didn't come off as too prepared. Goddammit, Jillian, what are you doing?
He stormed out of his door and charged down the hall.
"Missing your beauty sleep, Cullinane?"
In the darkness Hafner stood, armed and waiting.
\*
Jillian paced her room. The clock seemed to crawl.
Enough. She would go to the gym, work out some of this overload in her system and settle herself before the raid began. She was almost out the door when she heard footsteps passing.
And Hafner's voice, though she couldn't make out his words.
She shrank back, peering through the crack, seeing nothing. What was he doing up this early? He seldom rose before mid-morning. Dread stirred in her gut as she recalled his phone conversation.
Then she heard another voice. One she knew well from the sweet, stolen hours of the night.
This wasn't part of Drake's plan. She kept the lights off, found her way around by the moonlight pouring through her windows. She raced for her weapon and cursed her attire, but there was no time to lose, changing. Swiftly she grabbed her gym bag and towel because eyes would be watching her.
Then she stole out the door to follow them.
She slipped from shadow to shadow through the blind spots in the surveillance Drake had described to her. Drake had designed the system to keep an eye on everyone but himself and Hafner because Hafner was paranoid, but it was primarily trained on the threats outside. She wished she'd been allowed time in the control center so she'd be certain of her footing, but if someone saw her, she'd just have to fight her way out.
No way was she leaving him to Hafner's mercy. He was here all alone, and though she wasn't privy to the whole plan because he still didn't fully trust her, she was pretty sure Hafner awake before dawn was not part of it.
She slipped outside to follow.
And smiled because Hafner might have just played right into her hands.
\*
"Come with me, Cullinane. We're taking a little ride."
Drake lifted an eyebrow. "Wow. I'm impressed. Up early or still going?"
Hafner's smile was thin. "This way." He brandished his pistol.
"I'll follow in a minute. Ron called. He needs me to look at something."
"He did that at my behest. Keep moving."
"Where to?"
"Away. That's all you need to know."
"I don't have time for games, Klaus. I have a lot to accomplish today."
"And I'd thought to leave you to it...until a little bird contacted me to tell me that a suspicious number of black SUVs have been spotted on the road heading in this direction."
His heart faltered, but he kept his expression steady. "You're kidding."
"I assure you I'm not."
"Gotta be the feds. Damn it."
"My reaction exactly. I was most displeased."
"Okay, so let's think this through. I'll head to the control center, figure out how to alter our plan."
"No need. I have it all in hand." He peered at Drake, head cocked as if deliberating.
Jillian's warning had his gut clenching. This could not be good. He would have to be on his toes to negotiate the minefield he sensed was waiting. "How's that?"
Hafner's brows snapped together. "It's my operation. Need I remind you that you work for me?"
"No." Drake kept his voice even. "But you put me in charge."
"And I can take the reins back."
"Why would you?"
Hafner didn't answer, only peered at him closely before settling back. "I must commend you, Drake. You've had me fooled for, what is it, two years now?" He clucked his tongue. "I admit to chagrin that I misread the signals. Something has been a little...off about you for, well, ever since dear Jillian arrived.
"At first I simply thought you wanted to fuck her, but there's more, isn't there? You covered for her when she lured me to the fishing camp, didn't you? I asked myself why that might be, but sex is not reason enough, and your outrage over her identity did not seem feigned."
His smile was thin and chilling. "For some time I've been concerned that you intended to dispense with me and take over, though I understood that, certainly. I make a great deal of money and wield a lot of power---who wouldn't want that? You're an extremely ambitious and capable man."
He sighed dramatically. "But Jillian has revealed a distressing softness in you, a crack in your impenetrable façade, and that disturbed me. Then it dawned on me that she was causing you problems, too, which led me to wonder if perhaps some of your outrage had to do with her timing. Who is she?"
But he didn't give Drake time to answer. "It doesn't matter. The point is that her presence here unmasked you." He chuckled. "Astonishing as it may be to discover that the almighty Cullinane has feelings, I do believe you care about her."
Drake snorted. "You're kidding, right?" It was paramount that he deflect any suspicion from her. He also needed to keep the conversation going to buy time to figure out Hafner's plan.
And for Alonzo's team to arrive. "She's been nothing but a pain in the ass from day one, Klaus. I think I've made that clear."
They reached the exterior door.
"Oh, I assure you that I've paid very close attention to you recently." Hafner held out a hand. "I think I'll just take that weapon now."
He thought fast, looking for some way to warn Alonzo. And protect Jillian.
Before he could, the outer door opened, and two men he'd never seen stepped from the shadows. "Who the hell are they?"
A small, cold smile. "They are...associates, here for a little visit. Your weapon, Cullinane. Now."
"You're making a mistake, Klaus."
"Oh, I don't believe so, but in the unlikely event you're right, I suppose I'll simply have to deal with it. Hand me your weapon, or my associates will do it for you."
He couldn't help anyone if he was incapacitated or out of the action, so reluctantly he complied. He supposed it was a sort of compliment that Hafner thought it would take three men to best him. The men were beefy, but Hafner was older and not in top shape. Not great odds, but Drake had had worse.
"Now then, ready for a little ride?"
"You'd leave on the day of a shipment?"
"Ron will take care of everything."
"He's not ready for command. You'll lose at least part of your cargo."
"Ah, but that's where you come into play."
"And how do you figure that?"
"You have a soft spot for Alice and her children, and their survival is in your hands. I should have seen it before---you are a Boy Scout at heart, Cullinane. You'll talk." A negligent shrug accompanied by a gleam in his eye. "And, of course, there's Jillian."
Ruthlessly, Drake reined in the urge to go for his throat. Instead he smiled. "Checkmate, Klaus?"
Hafner waved airily. "So it would seem."
"So where to now?"
"It appears to be time for a change of venue." Hafner shrugged. "Regrettable, but it isn't my first and won't be my last."
Oh, yes, it will. I'm not done with you yet. "I'm no use as a hostage, if that's what you're thinking. They won't negotiate for me, you know that."
"I think they might. But regardless, you are of use to me until I reach the boat that's waiting to take me away. You will be educating me about the exact nature of the plans you had in store for me."
Like hell he would. This was Jillian's fears come to life, however, that he would die and Hafner would get away.
They neared the garage. If he let them take him out of here, he was dead, while Jillian would be trapped inside, not knowing what happened. God knows what Hafner's associates would do to her.
Assuming she lived.
Not happening, you bastard. He would stay alert. Watch for his moment. These men might be good, were likely deadly...but they didn't have his motivation.
I won't die on you, Jillian. He'd promised, and even if she hadn't believed him, he had to show her she was wrong.
And he could not let Hafner get away, not again.
The lead man hesitated at the garage door, and Klaus, always arrogant, strode past. The man followed. Drake slowed, and the second man, right behind him, grabbed for his arm to shove him inside.
Big mistake.
Drake pretended to stumble, then used his hands for a pivot point to aim a kick at the side of his knee. The man went down screaming. Instantly Drake grabbed his shooting arm and dislocated his shoulder to disable him as a threat, and the man passed out from pain.
The first man lunged from the garage. A muffled shot whizzed over Drake's head.
Silencers. Of course. Hafner wouldn't want everyone to know he was skipping out on them.
Drake feinted to the side, then dove for the first man. They struggled, and the sonofabitch had a fist like a hammer. He was accustomed to using brute strength and not finesse, however.
Drake chose economy and went for his eyes. The man cried out and hunched over. Drake got a chokehold on him and snapped his neck, then turned to go after Hafner.
A bullet slammed into him.
He went down hard.
I'm sorry, Jillian.
\*
Jillian crept closer to the garage, weapon drawn, following the voices.
Then she heard the whine of a silenced shot. Heart pounding, she raced to get a look.
Oh, God.
Three men on the ground, not moving. Hafner standing over the only one who mattered. Drake. She saw a dark, wet patch on his chest, but she checked the urge to race over to him.
Hafner crouched over Drake, setting the gun to the side. He flicked open the knife he was so fond of. "Goodbye, traitor." It was so like him to toy with his victim.
"You...won't get...far." Drake's voice, wheezing. Her knees went weak with relief, but she couldn't tell how badly he was hurt. It didn't sound good.
"Oh, they may pick me up, but do you honestly think a jail cell can hold me? With my connections?" Hafner clucked his tongue. "Surely you've learned better than that in your little sojourn with us, Agent?"
Agent. Oh, no---he knew. And he would kill Drake.
"But now I fear I must leave you. Goodbye, watchdog." The blade gleamed in the moonlight.
Jillian stepped forward. "Not just yet, Klaus."
Hafner whirled and rose, chuckling. "My, my. The tigress returns. Are you ready to join me, or am I right that you and the estimable Cullinane have formed a bond?"
"I'd say that's privileged information." Jillian remarked, advancing on him. "Drop the knife."
"You seem to have an unhealthy obsession with my knife." He twirled it through his fingers. "Why is that?"
"Because you used it to murder my sister." And she knew he could throw it with terrifying accuracy.
His eyebrows rose. "You don't say. And who would your sister be?"
"Belinda. Your mistress."
"Ah. Belinda. She was...useful for a time." He sighed. "But then she became a problem."
"So you killed her. Threw her to the alligators like so much garbage."
He nodded. "Just so."
"That easy." Her vision hazed with fury. "And you walked away untouched."
"The value of a good network cannot be underestimated."
"Well, you smug bastard, that ends now. I'm here to avenge her."
He stared at her, then laughed. Laughed. "That's why you're here? Why you broke in?" He glanced down at Drake. "He told me from the first that there was something off about you." He shook his head. "Too bad. He was very good at what he did."
He lowered to a crouch over Drake again. "There's an astonishing amount of blood." Leisurely, he flicked the blade over Drake's throat.
"Step away from him."
"And why would I do that?"
"Because I'll shoot you like the vermin you are." But her hands were trembling. Drake was right. She'd never killed anyone before. She was a good shot, but this was different from target practice.
Yet she could not let Hafner escape.
But the blade was so close to Drake's carotid artery.
"No need for insults, now." He arched one eyebrow as though completely unworried. "And you'll pardon my skepticism, but your weapon is shaking." Hafner studied her as if he could see the battle inside her. "So what's your next move, Jillian? I won't drop the knife, you see. Indeed, I'll spill yet more of his blood. He'll bleed out before you can get him help."
"You'll be dead in that same instant. Sooner."
"Maybe." He shrugged. "But the end result is the same. He'll be dead, and you'll be alone."
Stop talking to me, she wanted to scream. "Put the knife down."
"No, you put your weapon down. Then I might be persuaded to walk away."
"You won't get far. Help is coming."
"You really think I won't go free in the end? As I said, I have connections, my dear. Many of them."
"I won't let you escape, Klaus. I will shoot."
His eyebrows rose. "A twitch of my finger, and he dies. You're willing to risk that? Risk him?"
Would he do it? Of course he would. But if she let him get away, Belinda would never find justice. Loretta wouldn't recover.
The voices assaulted her.
Look what you've done. Why didn't you help me when I needed you?
Don't do this to us. This isn't who you are.
Bury your vengeance. Let your sister's soul rest.
"It's your choice, Jillian. His survival is up to you. Give me your weapon, and I'll drive off. You can get him help."
I won't die, Jillian.
But he would die. Hafner would kill him without a thought.
Backing off meant she would never get vengeance for her sister. How would she live the rest of her life, knowing she'd failed Belinda not once, but twice?
But Drake would have a chance to live.
It's your choice.
\*
Drake wished to hell he wasn't so lightheaded. He blinked hard to focus.
And wondered what her choice would be.
After a very long moment, Jillian lowered her weapon and took a step toward Hafner. Hafner rose carefully. Drake wondered if she had registered that the direction his body was turned meant he would aim for Jillian, not Drake.
He wanted to shout at her to stay back, to pay attention, but he couldn't afford to distract her. He was relieved when she stopped and threw her weapon at Hafner's feet instead.
"Pick it up, Jillian," Hafner said, moving toward her. "Don't be petulant."
Now that Hafner's back was to him, Drake managed to edge closer to the dead man's only inches away, biting back a groan. His chest hurt like a sonofabitch.
Again. Now. Move it. He gathered himself for another try, watching as Jillian approached Hafner slowly, her head bent as if defeated.
"I don't have all day, Jillian."
She reached him and bent to retrieve the weapon.
Then whirled and aimed a roundhouse kick at Hafner's head.
Yes.
But her balance faltered. Hafner's head snapped back, but he was on her instantly. They struggled, but though Hafner was soft, he was brutal by nature and an experienced killer.
Drake summoned a last effort and grabbed the weapon next to him. As Jillian fought Hafner, Drake rose to his knees, weaving, black spots dancing before his eyes. He blinked to clear them.
"I wouldn't," Hafner said. His knife was at her throat. "You know she'll be dead first. Drop the gun. Then you might want to sit down before you fall down."
Drake fought to remain conscious and struggled to hold the weapon steady.
A trickle of blood rolled down Jillian's throat. She didn't make a sound.
He met her gaze, wishing to hell and back that his chest didn't feel like a torpedo had slammed him, that he could get to his damn feet.
Then he realized she was casting her eyes to the ground repeatedly.
Was he seeing things or...?
Abruptly, she went limp.
As she fell, Drake took the shot.
Hafner dropped like a stone, the back of his head gone.
"Jillian!" Drake tried to gain his feet, to get to her, to be sure she was alive---
But before he could, darkness claimed him.
\*
Jillian moaned and crawled rapidly across the grass between them. "Drake!" Oh God, oh God...please please please...
When she reached him, she frantically checked for a pulse, her fingers slippery with his blood. She squeezed her eyes shut, terrified that he was gone, that he'd saved her only to leave her more alone than she'd ever been.
When at last his pulse registered, she could barely count the rhythm for the chaos in her head.
Not quite steady, it was, but still there. Still there.
Relief of staggering proportions swept over her, and she cradled his head in her arms, rocking him slightly. Thank you, oh thank you.
Then one of the men moved, and she snapped alert, abruptly recalling that they were still in enemy territory. She had to get Drake out of here. Now. Before they were discovered. First step, immobilize the man who was still alive. She grabbed her weapon and scrabbled over to him. She should kill him, she knew.
Just as she knew she couldn't. And her heart sank.
She'd told herself she was tough enough for all of this, but even a hard life on the streets hadn't prepared her. This isn't who you are, Jillian, Drake had said.
Yeah, well, we'll laugh about that later. For now, what the devil do I do?
The man tried for his own weapon, but one arm hung unnaturally at his side, and when he attempted to use his legs, he went pale and fell back on the ground.
He didn't know she couldn't kill him, she reminded herself. She rose, gun pointed straight at him. "Don't move a muscle. Got it?"
"Fuck you." He tried again to rise, but rolled weakly and emptied his stomach on the ground.
"Look, I don't have time for this. I don't think you're going to tolerate it very well if I tie your hands together behind your back, do you? So here's what we'll do. You use your good hand to throw me your cell and any other weapons. Oh, and your wallet." When he only glared, she stepped on his bad side and kicked his leg right above the damaged knee.
He howled in pain.
"I can do worse, you know it and so do I. Now you can cooperate and live, or I can just take the easy way out and shoot you where you lie. Either way, we're leaving. Your call."
He was too miserable to argue. Slowly and painfully, he complied. She got close enough to kick those items out of his reach, then bent to retrieve the gun and a sidepiece, his wallet and his cell. Then she backed away.
And wondered how on earth she'd move Drake with one hand and hold the weapon on this man with the other. Or move Drake with two hands, for that matter.
"Not...bad...ace," she heard behind her. Faintly, oh so faintly.
But alive.
She couldn't break down now. Later, yes, she'd cry buckets, but not now. Slowly she backed toward him until he was in view. She glanced down and wished she could stare for hours.
Bloody and battered, Drake Cullinane had never looked better to her. "I need to get you up. Can you help me at all?"
"Of...course." Painstakingly he rolled over. She heard his breath catch and took leave to doubt. He was nothing if not single-minded, however, didn't she know that about him? Somehow he pushed himself up to all fours, then faltered with a muffled grunt.
She kept one eye on the man while going to a knee beside Drake. The clock in her head ticked loudly. If she'd heard right, at some point, Ron would be checking on them. "Put one arm over my shoulders if you can, and let me use my legs to help lever you up."
He gathered himself, then lifted one arm high enough to get it over her back, where it fell heavily.
"Good, that's good. Now I'm going to straighten my back, and you see if you can get to one knee first."
His face was white with strain, but he nodded. She could tell that every move cost him, but he couldn't afford for her to be soft about this. "Okay, here goes." She pushed up with both legs, holding one arm around his waist, her thumb in his belt loop. She felt every ounce of his two hundred pounds, and she blessed every last leg press she'd ever done.
Going slowly was unbalancing her, but going fast would hurt him, maybe too much.
Getting killed by the men who would show up soon would be worse, though. She steeled herself and as soon as he began to straighten one leg, she shoved herself to standing.
He wavered and nearly took them both down, but she felt the strength of his will as he clenched his jaw and forced himself the rest of the way, though he remained hunched over and what little color he had, he lost. "Good," he managed. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet. We still have to get to the Jeep. Can you walk?"
"Got...to."
"I'm sorry. I know I'm hurting you."
A sharp shake. "Not sorry. I'm...alive." He looked at her then, and his eyes blazed. "I...love you."
She closed her eyes and forced back the tears that threatened. Then she put into her expression everything there wasn't time to say. "I love you, too, you---you...oh, God---I can't cry now, but when we get out of here..." She cleared her throat. "No more talking. Walk."
She thought she saw a faint curve to his lips, then he stared ahead and took a halting breath, visibly steeling himself for a distance of ten feet or so that probably looked as far as Antarctica to him.
And they began to walk, her heart pounding in fear every second. Just as they reached the Jeep, she heard footsteps behind them. "You said the keys would be in it, right?"
Weaving on his feet, he nodded.
She jerked open the back seat door and all but shoved him inside, then slammed the door. She fired several shots toward the sound of voices, then leaped into the driver's seat, turned the key.
And gunned the engine, praying every second.
Then they shot into the night.
Not far down the road, she encountered a fleet of black SUVs.
And for the first time in her misspent life, she was happy to land in the arms of the law. Agents surrounded them, and she found herself assuming the position at the side of the Jeep.
Until, that is, they caught sight of Drake, and he haltingly explained. Things moved quickly after that, medics examining him, agents peppering her with questions---then they tried to take him away and leave her behind.
Not happening.
"You can't go with him. Hey!"
She used elbows and feet and teeth and slithered past the last barrier, then leaped inside the ambulance and grabbed the first sharp object she saw. "Don't even think about separating us."
Still, it was Drake who had to intervene before they'd relent.
At last the agents returned to their initial objective, Hafner's men and his network.
Jillian slumped to the floor by the gurney, making herself as small as possible so as not to impede the care Drake needed.
The paramedic removed Drake's oxygen mask under protest.
"Good work...hot...shot." He stared into her eyes until her own shimmered with tears.
"I love you, Drake."
"Love...you."
Then the toughest man she'd ever met passed out.
"He'll be okay," the paramedic assured her as he placed the mask back over Drake's face.
"Promise?"
"Yeah. He won't be dancing anytime soon, but we've got him stabilized. He's in excellent physical shape, so I think you can relax."
Relax. She wanted to laugh, but she was too blasted tired.
But there was hope, in all sorts of ways. She'd made her choice, and Drake would live.
And somehow she would learn to live with Belinda's death. This time with Hafner had made her see that Belinda had been way out of her league and far too isolated for Jillian to have intervened, regardless.
Jillian laid her head next to Drake's, touched his arm simply for the comfort of feeling him.
And, for the first time in longer than she could remember, let go.
###
About the Author
USAToday and Kindle bestselling author of over 30 novels in romance and women's fiction, a three-time RITA finalist and RT BOOKReviews Career Achievement Award winner, Jean Brashear knows a lot about taking crazy chances. A lifelong avid reader, at the age of forty-five with no experience and no training, she decided to see if she could write a book. It was a wild leap that turned her whole life upside down, but she would tell you that though she's never been more terrified, she's never felt more exhilarated or more alive. She's an ardent proponent of not putting off your dreams until that elusive 'someday'---take that leap now.
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Visit Jean's website at HYPERLINK "http://www.jeanbrashear.com" http://www.jeanbrashear.com
Facebook HYPERLINK "http://www.facebook.com/JeanBrashear" http://www.facebook.com/JeanBrashear
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