“We don’t know.” Adam’s eyes went from solemn to somber. “Sarin’s typically lethal.”
“Oh, God.”
“It doesn’t dissipate, Tracy. It contaminates everything it touches, including the land. Four years after exposure, properties are still evident.”
“This is serious.” Grim possibilities plagued her mind.
“More so than you think.” Adam too shoved away his food, as if he also had lost his appetite. “In quiet circles, it’s being said that this derivative, retrosarin, is far less expensive than sarin and ten times as lethal.”
Cheap and effective. “A terrifying combination,” she said. “And exactly the mix the military looks for when procuring.”
“Tracy.” Adam’s eyes grew serious, solemn. “It could wipe out entire cities.”
As if that disclosure weren’t enough to turn her hair gray, she sensed an “and” coming and braced for it, praying she’d be disappointed.
“And,” Adam continued, “retrosarin is Project Duplicity.”
chapter 19.
A shadow fell across Adam’s chin and he didn’t meet her eyes.
Tracy absorbed the shock. Perhaps learning retrosarin was related to Project Duplicity shouldn’t have surprised her-Adam had been connecting the two for some time but it did. Because of Paul. Her stepping on Ted’s toes hadn’t upset him with her so much as for her. Ted knew Paul already had cost her the work she loved with R & D. Now he worried that Paul was interfering with her career again on Project Duplicity. But Paul?
Involved in a conspiracy?
That was more than she could absorb. Her insides quivered and her hand shook. She stared down at the 10 mein, at the sesame chicken’s sauce congealing against the inner sides of the carton. “Adam?” Her voice unsteady, she forced strength into it and lifted her gaze to meet his. “IS this connection between Paul and Project Duplicity suspicion or fact?”
Regret shone in his eyes. “It’s fact.” As if physically struck, she stiffened, trying to absorb that, too. She squeezed bits of her T-shirt in her fists beneath the table ledge, not wanting Adam to see how much this upset her. “Have you, um, taken this up the chain of command?”
“Taken what up the chain? My word that retrosarin killed my team?
Where’s my proof, counselor?” Frustration filled Adam’s voice, tightened his jaw, and he pushed back from the table. “Duplicity is Nestler’s pet project. His baby. Have you forgotten that?”
“No.” She evidently hadn’t made herself clear. “I meant, have you taken your suspicion that there’s a connection between what happened to you and your men and Project Duplicity up the chain of command? Have you reported it to the OSI?”
He walked over to the window. The-air-conditioner blew a stream of air up over him, plastering his shirt to his chest and ruffling the plastic drapes at the window’ “I’ve been cautious.” He rubbed at his neck with a weary hand. “Informal, anonymous reports only.” He looked back at her. “I’m not sure what good it’s done. The problem is hard evidence. I don’t have anything irrefutably tying the two together. Why they would kill my men just doesn’t make sense, and until it does, I won’t find the evidence.”
The lamplight shadowed his back, catching on the yellow stripe painted on his hair, but Tracy still saw the truth. She was growing more convinced by the moment that Adam had told her nothing but the truth. “What kind of evidence could there be?”
“I don’t know.” He glanced back at her, as if afraid to hope she believed him. “I’ve driven myself nearly insane thinking about it, but I haven’t come up with anything solid.”
Tracy thought back to her days of working with this type of program, back to program managers, contractors, and bids on potential contracts. Proof. What would a chemical company need as a basis for obtaining a contract on a new dual-technology chemical A conversation with Ted came to mind, interrupting her thoughts. A mention of Project Duplicity and its being ready for funding. “Adam, what about Duplicity’s clinical studies?”
“What?” He walked back toward the table and sat down on the bed nearest her, that ridiculous yellow stripe in his hair mocking her.
“The clinical studies,” she repeated, her stomach flutters growing more intense. The puzzle pieces-were starting to fall in place. “Before Paul or anyone else could get a contract, they’d have to show the potential of their product. Even to get approval to develop a prototype he’d need some kind of clinical study. Being the sole source doesn’t exempt the company from that requirement, and I know the study was holding up Project Duplicity from going to Congress for funding.”
“How do you know that?”
“Counsel told me there had been a glitch, but it had been rectified.”
“Counsel?”
“Ted,” she said. “He’s counsel on the project, Adam.” What she was about to suggest horrified her. “Could your team have been their clinical study?”
Adam’s eyes gleamed. “This might be it, counselor.”
She reached over and clasped his arm. It’s worth checking out.” He pressed a hand atop hers, his fingers warm, his palm rough and gentle at once. “Definitely, though the idea of them using my team as guinea pigs makes me sick.”
“It makes you angry”, she amended. The, too. But they had to have the studies, Adam, and as twisted as it may seem, they might well believe the end justified the means.”
Adam stared at her. “God, I hope not.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” He stood too close. “People get so caught up in things they feel are necessary that when something threatens them-in this case, the project-they sacrifice from a sense of duty and honor. They consider it noble.”
“Like the suicide missions.”
“Right. Those involved don’t see them as suicide missions, they see them as accomplishing the mission. Getting the job done. Preserving the ideal.”
His eyes warmed.
She should let go of him, pull her hand back, but it felt good to be touched and to touch again. She had buried the ability to touch her emotions along with Matthew, or so she’d thought until Adam dropped into her life. Now they were rioting.
“We’ll get started on this tomorrow. It’s late,” Adam said, his voice thick. “We’d better grab some sleep.”
She pulled back her hand, mildly disappointed and swearing to herself she wasn’t. She tossed the remnants of their dinner into the trash can. “Which bed do you want?”
“You call it.” At the dresser, he picked up the hair dye he’d bought at City Drugs.
“I’ll take this one.” Her face warmed at choosing the one he had just vacated.
Walking to the bathroom, he didn’t look back. “Fine.”
Tracy crawled into bed and plumped her pillow. She didn’t fear him. But maybe she ought to be scared witless considering what she had read in his Intel file. Adam had performed so many missions with survival odds of less than two percent, it startled her. He also had been given just about every award, honor, and medal the service offered soldiers. But men who put their lives on the line as he had over and again just didn’t kidnap and kill their attorneys-even if they had nothing left to lose. They just … didn’t. He was proving a point. Trusting her because everyone else in the world had abandoned him, including his sorry family.
He had taken a leap of faith, trusting her to want the truth badly enough to give him the benefit of doubt. And by not turning him in at City Drugs, in a small way, she had taken a leap of faith. But was that token gesture really one worthy of his trust?
“Damn.” His muffled curse sounded from the bathroom.
She looked toward the bath. Light inched out from a crack under the door, slanting a wedge on the dull carpet.
“Damn it.” Adam cursed again; this time, not so quietly.
Tracy cocked an ear, switched on the bedside lamp. “What’s wrong, Adam?”
“Nothing.”
That was the biggest something of a nothing she had ever heard. She turned from her side onto her back. Ah, the hair dye. A smile teased at her lips. She tossed back the covers, eased to the bathroom, and then lightly tapped on the door. “Need some help?”
“I can handle it.”
There was a “Please, help me!” buried in that remark. She twisted the cold metal doorknob. “Are you decent?”
“More or less.” He swung the door open.
A laugh threatened her. Knowing he would be offended, Tracy swallowed it down and bit her lips to keep even the hint of a smile from her face. Adam had slung dark brown hair dye all over the bath. Nothing had been spared. Not the walls of the shower, the tile floor, the sink, or even the skylight overhead. “Good grief, Adam.”
He glared at her, his hair spiked with brown foam that stained his ears, his forehead, and a streak on his bare chest. “The directions said to rub it in.”
“Into your hair, not the next county.” She grabbed his arm and tugged, urging him to sit on the closed toilet seat, but he didn’t move. “I can’t reach. Sit down and I’ll help. In case you haven’t noticed you’re a little taller than me.”
He folded his knees, bumping into her thigh. “I’ve noticed.
Oddly pleased by that remark, Tracy lifted a towel from the chrome rack near the tub, then inched between his spread knees and draped it around his shoulders. “Where are the directions?”
“Hell, you mean you don’t know any more about this than I do?”
is that a backhanded way of asking if I dye my hair?”
She cocked a brow. “There are gloves attached to the directions, Burke. They keep you from getting dye stains on your hands.”
“Oh.” He nodded toward the sink. “Over there.”
Tracy pulled on the gloves, not sure whether to clean him up first or finish applying the hair dye. Probably the dye, she figured. The clock was running and it was oxidizing. She worked the color into the yellow streak first. The paint would be resistant to the dye; it might not penetrate. Then she worked the color through the rest of his hair. It was thick, soft. Appealing.
Her breathing shallowed, and Adam, she noticed, hadn’t said a word since she’d first touched him. “There.” She stepped back. “How long does it stay on?”
“From when I started, or now?”
“From now,” she said, hoping there wasn’t ten minutes’ difference between the two.
“TWENTY minutes.” He checked his watch.
“Good. Let’s get this mess cleaned up before we end up paying for wall paint and only God knows what else.”
He stood up. The bath was crowded with both of them in it. Tracy tossed him a wet washcloth, amused that he seemed as comfortable standing in.front of her wearing jeans, a towel, and hair dye as he had been when wearing his shirt or his prison grays. His wrists still bore scabs from the shackles. And angry at seeing them, she wondered how long he would carry the internal scars from all of this.
He stretched for a spot on the ceiling and bumped into her. “Sorry.”
Tracy stilled. Facing her, he stood so close that heat radiated from him, and despite the dye, the most pleasant smell lingered on his skin. Distinct. Masculine. Heady. She looked up at him, saw him looking down at her. A burning lit low in her belly, suffused her. He wanted to kiss her, and she wanted to be kissed. She didn’t want to think about belief or disbelief, didn’t care about problems or challenges or careers. She just wanted to touch him.
Lifting her hand, she Pressed her fingers against his broad chest, relished the feel Of his fine hair grazing against the Pads of her fingertips. God, but she loved the feel of him. Hard and Soft at once. “Adam?” Adam didn’t move. He knew only too well what he wanted from her, but what did she want from him? She beckoned him with her eyes and pushed him away with her hand. Which signal did he follow?
He’d be crazy to let this attraction between them develop-He didn’t need a lover, he needed an ally. And yet this was Tracy. The woman who had damned the costs and attended his funeral. The woman who didn’t talk courage , but lived it, seeking the truth. The woman who had convinced herself she no longer had a heart a man could touch, and then cited for him.
Cried … for him His heart in his throat, he caressed her arm, elbow to shoulder, letting his hand glide over the soft cotton sleeve, letting all he felt for her shine in his eyes. He wanted her to see it. To see everything. To know everything-To understand that he wanted her, and he had wanted her since he’d first seen her in the attorney/client conference room when he had been beaten, shackled, and shamed. As emotional now as then, he warned her, and himself. “This probably isn’t smart.”
“Probably not. Certainly not.” She raised onto her toes, leaned into him, breasts to chest, and offered him her lips.
“Tracy.” He whispered in a tone half prayer, half plea, claiming her mouth.
Gentle and tender, their lips mated, searching and exploring. No simple kiss, this. This kiss stripped souls bare, ignited bodies. It made promises, offered solace, asked for forgiveness. And it humbled. Oh, God, how it humbled. He had dared to think that what they were feeling was just a physical attraction, that it couldn’t touch anything deeper in him because there was nothing left to touch deeper in him that his family and his ex-wife hadn’t already destroyed. He thought he’d been protected. Safe.
He’d been wrong.
He was neither. Yet with Tracy’s mouth on his, with her hands cruising over his back, his shoulders and sides and ribs, he didn’t want to be protected or safe. He wanted to be loved.
She broke their kiss and looked up at him, her confusion shining in her eyes.
Panic struck his stomach. “Don’t say you regret it, Tracy. Please.” He hated the pleading he heard in his own voice.
“I won’t,” she whispered. “I don’t.” Then she kissed him again. Harder. Hotter.
And unable to resist, Adam kissed her back, unleashing all of the emotions he had choked off since his arrest, his divorce-since childhood. The anger and fury, the disappointment and bitterness, the shame, and Tracy still gave, soothing him, accepting what he offered, returning his fervor with steadfast gentleness until the bad mellowed and drained away, leaving only the good. Tenderness seeped into his touch, his mouth, and she held him tighter.
And when the kiss ended and she sagged against him, squeezing him as if he were a treasure she didn’t want to lose, he knew he was lost. That simple gesture torched a flame of hope inside him that he feared and craved down to the marrow of his bones. How could he open himself up to the pain of loving again? Especially now? Especially with Tracy?