Authors: Rachel Lee
Trace snorted. “Some of the people we were dealing with were well-versed in intelligence operations. In fact, they were some of our most valuable assets. They could pierce those layers the same way we did.”
Then Ryker dropped a bomb, at least from Julie's perspective. He asked, “What happened to John Hayes?”
Julie tensed, afraid of what she might hear, only to be disappointed.
“I don't know,” Trace answered. “I got the same story as everyone else. Messy street shooting in Kiev. It's not like they don't happen.”
“True, but then seven months later you get shot in your hand when you walk out of the embassy in Bulgaria. What exactly was John doing?”
“He was starting to take over handling a high-value asset. He hadn't even fully assumed the responsibility yet.”
“So no link.”
“I wouldn't think so. But if there was, the cover-up started early.”
“Very early,” Ryker said heavily. “Okay, I need to call my ride and get home. When are you planning to look into the files?”
“Tomorrow sometime. I want to do some more thinking first.”
* * *
Anxiety was performing an unpleasant dance along Julie's nerves. After Ryker left, she was the one who started pacing. It had shocked her that Johnny's name had even come up, then relieved her when Trace seemed to think his death was unrelated to his current problem.
Or maybe he was just saying that. Protecting operational security still, even with his own neck in a noose. What she knew for certain is she didn't want any of this to touch Marisa. That woman had been through more than enough, and she certainly didn't need to learn that her late husband had screwed up badly.
“Trace?”
“Hmm?”
“If Johnny's involved in some way, I don't want Marisa to ever know.”
“She won't hear a whisper. No reason, and anyway, I doubt he was. He's just one of nearly a dozen situations I'm thinking about.”
She had closed the curtains against the night, not that anyone could see inside unless they were standing right outside the window, unlikely in this weather. She could hear the wind still blowing, and from time to time the window glass rattled a little.
“Julie? Are you okay?”
She faced him then and read genuine concern on his face. “I'm fine. Just...uneasy.”
“Well, that's understandable. I'm surprised it hasn't hit you harder.”
“You live like this all the time?”
“No.” He sighed and passed his good hand over his face. “It's been a while since I worked at the ground level. Mostly you can imagine me as the spider at the center of a web, waiting for something to ping on one of my strands.”
“You operated out of Bulgaria?”
“Sometimes.” His face shuttered a little and she realized she was getting into sensitive areas. Well, she didn't care.
“So you advanced from actually cultivating the assets to managing the operatives who cultivated them?”
“Usually, yes.”
“But that creates layers of removal, like Ryker said.”
“It also made me more visible. While my operatives had little or no direct contact with an embassy, I actually had an office.”
“Wow. That would identify you, all right.”
“Sometimes I met my guys on the streets, but usually we minimized contact because I could out one of them just by showing up unless I had a really good cover.”
“You ever meet Johnny?” Her heart was accelerating, aware that she was pushing him, aware that at any moment he might snap at her or shove her away. Afraid of learning more about Johnny, too.
“I think I mentioned, I did once. Before he went into the field for us. After that...” He shook his head. “The next time I saw him was to identify his remains, and I needed help with that.”
“But you still think he might have been shot by accident. That you might have been shot accidentally, too.”
He frowned. “Julie, without information to the contrary...”
She waved a hand, silencing him. “I get it. Or maybe I'll never get it. It doesn't matter. You lived in the shadows. All of you. I just can't imagine how hard that must be.”
“In a way you're doing it right now,” he pointed out.
“I guess. But I don't have enough information. Oh, I know you don't, either, but you sure have more than I do. I'm blind here.”
“At the moment, so am I.”
“But you're used to it. I'm not. I hate your secrets.”
To her surprise, he started to smile. “I'm rapidly getting there myself.”
He'd removed the sling again, and for some reason her attention settled on his gloved hand. It seemed to her that an important bridge needed to be crossed. Of course, little ever stopped her from speaking what was on her mind. “Are you ever going to let me see your hand? Or don't you trust me that much?”
His smile faded. “It's not about trust. What are you talking about?”
“It
is
about trust. You don't trust me not to be repelled. You said that's why you always wear a glove. Do you trust me even that much?”
He appeared disturbed. “Julie, what's going on here? What is it you're trying to do?”
“Trust,” she said succinctly. “I trusted you enough to invite you into my home and to face this danger with you. Admittedly, my first thought was Marisa, but that's not why you're still here. But you don't trust me. You don't trust me with information, and you don't trust me with your hand. I guess I'm just an asset.”
“Julie!” His tone was at once angry and appalled. “I don't see you that way at all.”
“Really? Then how do you see me, Trace? A convenient roof? A handy computer? A willing aide to whatever you need to do? Because I seriously get the feeling that you have your walls as high as ever and you have no intention of letting me past your guard. Fine. But I don't have to like it. I don't think I've ever spent this many hours with anyone and learned so little about them.”
And that was the core of it, she realized. The sense that she was getting only what he wanted her to see. That she would never know any more than the image he chose to project. The price of dealing with a spy, she supposed.
“I told you I was a chameleon.”
“Yes, you did, but you don't have to be with me. Stop spoon-feeding me what you want me to know. Just...just...be yourself!”
His face had grown flat, emotionless. Then, without a word, he peeled off the black glove. What she saw was enough to make her draw a sharp breath. Scars everywhere, some ragged, some clearly surgical, one finger not quite properly aligned. The fingers curled somewhat, and she wondered if he could straighten them.
“Oh God,” she whispered. All she could think about was how much that must have hurt, how much it still hurt.
“Good reason to keep it covered,” he said after a moment. He lifted the glove with his left hand and started to pull it on again.
She stepped toward him quickly and pulled the glove away. “No. Absolutely not.” Then she took his distorted hand in both of hers and bent her head, pressing a kiss on it.
“Julie...”
“Just shut up, Trace. Stop lying with your mouth and try lying with something else instead.”
“What?” The word emerged, short and sharp with astonishment. “I've made every effort not to lie to you.”
“Really? Then how about the desire I see when you look at me? The way you instantly bury it. Is that being truthful?”
“You don't want to get mixed up with me.”
Dang, this guy had a talent for lighting her fuse. “Don't tell me what I want. I can figure that out for myself. Somehow I got to be over thirty without your advice.”
What the hell was she doing? She listened to herself with amazement, then understood. Without a word, she dropped sideways on his lap, one leg dangling over the chair arm. “This is all about what
I
want,” she said honestly. “Now how about you, spy man?”
She defiantly met his gaze and saw those dark brown eyes harden, then soften even more quickly. Against her hip, she felt him hardening in response to her, and it encouraged her. “Quit protecting me,” she said, raising her hand to cup his stubbly cheek. Three days without shaving had left the stubble feeling soft, and she liked that.
“Maybe I need to protect myself.” She could tell he was trying to joke, but it was just another provocation as far as she was concerned.
“Not doing a very good job of it, are you?”
Something like a stifled laugh escaped him. “I guess not.”
“So do you need protecting from me? Just say so.”
“I can't,” he said, his eyelids growing heavy, his breath speeding up. “Damn it, Julie, I can't.”
“Can't make love to me, or can't say you need protection?”
“Oh, I can make love to you,” he said huskily. “Oh, I can. I'm just worried about you.”
“Last I heard we could all be dead soon, so shut up and deliver.”
A smile spread over his face and a quiet laugh escaped him. God, she liked that smile. She'd have stood on her head just to see it. “You're quite a pistol, Julie.”
“I've heard,” she admitted. “Life is full of do-si-dos we can't escape. The things we have to do and say to keep everything smooth. But sex is one place we ought to just be honest. No pleasant white lies, no pretense, just raw, the way we feel it.”
She was leaning back against his right arm, but his left hand settled across her thighs and began to rub gently. The warmth between her legs grew and began to hum with need.
“The thing is,” he said, “it's not without consequences. You know that. People can get attached very quickly by making love. How will you feel if I'm gone in a few days?”
She caught her breath as his hand moved upward and began to brush across her breasts. “Like I seized an experience I didn't want to miss.” The world was rapidly spinning away as anticipation and excitement began to fill her. Aching need had become the center of her universe.
His hand squeezed her, drawing a faint groan from her. “You sure?”
Before she could answer, her doorbell rang. She stiffened, her mind crashing back to the other reality. She felt Trace tense beneath her. Desire vanished like a balloon popping, replaced by shock.
“Expecting someone?” he murmured.
She shook her head, staring at the door as if beyond it a dragon waited. At this hour of the evening with a storm raging outside? Her heart skipped into top speed. Then she felt a gentle push from Trace and slid off his lap to stand. “Everyone would know I'm home. Who the heck would even be out in this? Ryker?” Fear completely swept away the last web of desire.
“He'd have called first.”
“Okay. I guess I have to answer it. Maybe it's the complex management. They could be having some kind of trouble in this storm.” She hoped that's all it was. If her life had become the movie she was beginning to feel it had, then she could open that door and find someone standing out there with a gun. Her mind nearly skittered at the image.
Alice's rabbit hole sounded positively cozy by comparison. Her mouth had turned dry, and her heart raced as if she'd run a couple of miles.
He stood, too, and nodded. “I'll slip into my room, but I'll leave the door open. Be careful.”
She waited until Trace had disappeared around the corner of his door, the only place he could remain out of sight in this small apartment. What would they do if trouble was out there? She hadn't seen a gun anywhere near him.
Heaven help them if they had to depend on the self-defense classes she'd taken over the past few years. She hadn't taken them because she felt she needed them, although perhaps on some of her travels...
Oh, dang it, Julie
, she thought.
You were more interested in physical fitness than fighting off an attacker. You should have paid more attention!
She reached the door and peered out the peephole. Was she shaking? She could hardly tell as a million ants of uneasiness crawled all over her. She could see the blowing snow out there in the glow from her porch light, but not a soul in sight. What the...? Then she caught a flash of strawberry blond hair.
Relief left her knees weak. For a second she thought she wasn't going to be able to move. At last she found some strength and worked the dead bolt, opening the door. “My God, Ashley, what are you doing here?” Dang, she sounded cranky. But she was. All that adrenaline was still pouring through her with no useful purpose.
Ashley regarded her from bright blue eyes and grinned. “Cabin fever. I decided to ski over and meet the mystery man. Can I come in or do you want me to ski away?”
A gust of wind slapped Julie in the face with ice crystals, overcoming her astonishment. She stepped back and let Ashley enter. The cross-country ski shoes Ashley wore sounded stiff, which of course they were.
“You're out of your mind,” Julie said bluntly. “If you had an accident out there, they wouldn't find you under that blowing snow for weeks.” Another horrific image, this one too realistic. She had the worst urge to shake her friend.
“It's okay. I told a few people I was coming to see you. So Connie and Kelly know which way I would have traveled, and they want an update on Mystery Man. If I don't call soon enough, they'll raise the alarm.” Ashley pulled down the zipper on her jacket and shucked it, hanging it on one of the pegs by the door. “Besides, it's not like I had that far to come, and I was going stir-crazy.”
“Crazy with curiosity, more like.”
Ashley grinned again. “Like you, you mean?” She turned to tuck her gloves into the pocket of her jacket along with her ski mask. “Hot chocolate would be nice. It
is
cold out there. Then I want to meet your wilderness guide.”
Julie hesitated, feeling caught betwixt and between. Trace might not want to meet anyone else, but Ashley had been her friend for many years and she couldn't just shove her back out the door. Then she saw the sling on the chair where Trace had left it. Double dang!