Hard to Hold (10 page)

She palmed the glass orb, ready to throw it to punctuate her point, but when she looked
back at him, he’d taken to studying his shoes as if they were some lost artifact.
Possibly to tune her out, but maybe, just maybe, because she’d struck a chord in him.

She lowered her arm and set the ornament aside. “I wasn’t looking to be important.
I’d have settled for remotely significant, but you wouldn’t even give me that.” She
hated the catch in her voice, the moisture burning her eyes.

“Excellent, we can agree on something. We were incompatible.”

Arms folded tight across her chest, she spun on her heel to face him. “Except in bed.”

He shot her an exasperated look. “Shock tactics don’t work on me. You made me immune.
Why do you always have to bring it back to sex?”

She could practically smell cordite in the air. She laughed without mirth. “Because
that’s all you ever gave me, Nick. Just like this morning.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“You have a great body, and you know how to use it, but was that ever enough? Hell,
no. What I wanted was an emotional connection. The physical I could have got on any
street corner.”

“As you demonstrated.” His laughter was every bit as bitter as her own.

“You can say it out loud as often as you like, Nick, but it still won’t make it true.”

“Okay, then tell me. Tell me where you were. Explain to me what happened that night.”

How bloody dare he jab his finger at her. “I was pregnant, you idiot. Or rather I
wasn’t, not by the time I got home.” Her voice had risen in decibels and broke on
the top notes. Ignoring the blood rush that made her office swim before her eyes,
she snatched a deep breath, struggled for calm. And lost. “Yes, I broke your cardinal
bloody rule—no babies, ever—and got pregnant. Not intentionally, but I wasn’t sorry.
You want the truth? I was elated, excited, and absolutely terrified at how you’d react.
I didn’t tell you, Nick, because you would have ruined it for me. Sucked all the joy
out of me, because you’re a killjoy.”

Her chest was rising and falling too rapidly, she backed farther into the corner in
case he reached for her. “The night you threw me out? I hadn’t been partying, but
damn right I’d been up all hours. Where were
you,
Nick? Do you know what it’s like to miscarry on your own? Small wonder I looked a
mess, punch-drunk and trashed. I’d just spent twelve hours in the hospital, you bastard.”

Watching Nick pale, probably for the first time in his life, gave her no satisfaction.
She’d wanted to hurt him but not slice away his knees from beneath him. Even he didn’t
deserve that.

“Jesus, Anna, you should have told me. Damn it, you owed it to me, to us, to a least
try. How, by any sane person’s reasoning, could it have been preferable to let me
believe you’d be having an affair?”

She reached for the wall needing support and swiped furiously at the tears spilling
down her cheeks. “I was traumatized, and I was ashamed. For God’s sake, I was in shock.
Still trying to get my head round the fact my body had rejected my baby.” Shouting
wasn’t helping worth a damn, so she reined in the volume. “When you got angry, when
you heaped accusation upon accusation on me, something inside me died. I needed you
Nick, like I’d never needed you before, and you let me down. I didn’t explain because
I was too busy hating you. Besides, you never gave me a chance.”

“And you didn’t give me one,” Nick roared, flinging his arms wide.

“Everything okay, boss?”

They both turned to stare at the concerned agent hovering at the door. Rob Bates.
The agent prone to shooting her sympathetic smiles behind Nick’s back.

“Stay with her. Don’t let her out of your sight. I can’t be around her right now,”
Nick ordered flatly. He didn’t slam the door on his way out.

Anna forced a smile though it split her lips to do so. “I’m going to need a bit of
privacy. Do you mind waiting back out in the corridor? As you can see I’m crying,
which is humiliating for me and must be excruciating for you.”

Panic swept the stricken man’s face. He retreated a few steps, hesitated, and then
with a visible shudder, regained his ground. It was obvious he’d rather face a woman
in full flood than risk Nick’s wrath.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him you left me on my own. I told him I hated him, so I
very much doubt he’ll be speaking to me again anytime soon.”

It was all the reassurance the man needed. He retreated, only to pause in the doorway
and look back at her. “Don’t push him, Anna. He’s a soulless bastard. The most unforgiving
man I’ve ever met. Something for which one day he’ll pay, but until then…well, just
be careful. Okay?”

Her eyes burning, she swallowed past the constriction in her throat and jerked her
head in a quick run on of little nods.

The agent stepped into the corridor.

…

Once alone, she crossed to the door, clicked it shut, and took a moment to rest her
shoulder against its support. Whatever she’d claimed, she didn’t have time for tears.
She’d cry later; hell, she’d cry herself dry. But only when this was all over. Once
the chaos surrounding her sorry little life abated, and some semblance of order returned.

She should never have let Nick get under her skin. She’d vowed never to reveal the
truth about the night he’d thrown her out. Not to him. It had been a matter of pride.
Proof she didn’t need him. Didn’t need anyone. A lie, but she’d lived it with the
talent and expertise of an Olympic champion. And she could damn well live with falsehoods
again, given the choice of Nick’s life or his death.

She sucked in a deep breath and then forced it from her lungs. At least she’d accomplished
something. Nick was gone. She was alone.

She crossed to her desk. It was time to call Antila. She’d
beg
him to leave Nick alone, if necessary. And God help him if he dared defy her and
made a move against the man she couldn’t stop loving. Even if he didn’t want her in
return.

Nick was right—they were wrong for each other on so many different levels Jacob’s
ladder couldn’t span the gap. Maybe one day her heart would catch up with her head
and figure that out.

In the meantime, she’d fight for Nick. But only for his life. Not his love. She knew
when she was beaten. She wouldn’t be venturing back for another defeat.

She picked up the phone, remembered it might be tapped, and reached for her cell phone
instead. It took two attempts to stab in the number Antila had made her memorize,
and she wasn’t surprised when her call was answered first ring.

“I’ll call you back,” Antila barked and instantly disconnected, leaving her staring
blankly at the dead screen.

His return call wasn’t immediate. He left her hanging for a good ten minutes, the
nerves in her body straining so tight, she half-expected them to sever and ping.

She jumped when Bowie’s “
Rebel, Rebel”
pierced the silence and grabbed wildly for her cell.

“Nick Marshall has moved in,” she blurted. “I couldn’t stop him, not after you trespassed
in my home. I told you to leave it to me, that I’d get rid of him.”

“Oh, you did, did you?”

Her vision burned white, and she tightened her grip around the hard plastic of her
phone, easing up only when she heard the casing crack in warning protest. “Nick, what
the hell are you doing calling me on my cell?”

“Checking you’re okay, believe it or not.”

“I’m always okay. You should know that by now.” She hung up and twisted her shoulder,
ready to launch her phone at the wall.

The stupid ring tone halted her midthrow. This time she checked caller ID before answering.
“You go near Nick Marshall again, you sick bastard, and I swear to God I’ll make sure
you
never
get to see your child.”

“Calm down. Hysteria is not good for my son. And I dislike futile threats.”

Anna sucked in a steadying breath and massaged her temple with her thumb. “You need
to know I don’t do empty threats, and Nick Marshall’s moved in. You shouldn’t have
tried to kill him, and you sure as hell shouldn’t have hung those hideous things in
my home.”

“I know. Mistakes were made. Those responsible have been dealt with.”

Her stomach twisted. She didn’t want to know how. No doubt tonight, when it was dark
and she was alone, her imagination would provide a few images. “So you’ll leave him
alone?”

There was a long pause before Antila answered. “I can see some advantage to keeping
him close. Two guards are better than one. I have yet to deal with the other threat
against you and therefore my son. But if he fails to keep you safe—”

“He won’t fail.” Even as the words left her mouth, she knew they were true. An unwelcome
lump constricted her throat. Nick might have discarded her, all but erased her from
his life, but he would die before he let anything happen to her.

“He’d better not. And you, Anna? Do not delude yourself into believing I will allow
you to make a fool of me. I will not tolerate the return of an emotional connection
between you and that man.”

“I won’t,” she whispered to the drone of the disconnect tone.

She pressed the heel of her hand hard against her solar plexus. Victories, even small
ones, were supposed to be sweet, so why did her tongue taste sour, and why was it
too thick for her mouth?

But mothers fought didn’t they, even expectant ones? She’d planned out a future for
her baby and herself, and no one was taking that from her. Not Nick. Not Antila. And
not the sick bastard who was trying to kill her.

If they wanted a war, she’d bloody well give them one… Somehow.

Chapter Nine

Her bones ached, and so did the muscles and ligaments knitting them together. Anna
glanced at her watch—man-sized, bulky, an anomaly against the narrowness of her wrist—already
past eight. She done miserable, done self-disgust. Guilt had refused to leave her
alone. She wanted to stop the world, climb off, and find somewhere dark to hide.

But that wasn’t going to happen; she couldn’t avoid Nick forever.

Besides, she had something to ask him. A request so far over the boundaries he’d accused
her of crossing, under different circumstances she’d have looked forward to his shock.
Sometimes that man needed a good shake, just to remind him he was human, but this
time she might be going too far.

She crossed the courtyard, dread thick in her throat. She’d let him sling his sarcastic
barbs, let him savage her about not telling him about the miscarriage, and she’d keep
her temper throughout. Because in her heart, deep down where she truly connected with
the only man she’d ever love, she knew he believed lashing out was his only defense.
When he was hurting. Ashamed. And scared that he couldn’t put her world right when
it had spun out of control. God, and after hitting him over the head with her little
revelation, he had to be majorly pissed. At her. At himself. Might be best to give
him a little space.

Then she’d ask…maybe…or wait until tomorrow when he might be calmer.

Two men stood on guard outside her front door.

Nodding a weak smile, she pretended not to notice the uncomfortable, wary expressions
both found impossible to hide. Clearly news of the row between her and Nick had been
passed down the grapevine.

Oh, joy!

She already knew the answer, but she asked anyway. “Is he in there?”

One of the men nodded. The other gave her a sympathetic look.

“And so into the mouth of hell…” she muttered.

Both men grimaced.

She shut the door behind her and hesitated. Why did she suddenly feel like a trespasser?
Damn it, this was
her
home.
Her
sanctuary.
Her
dominion.
Hers.

She glanced up. Nick stood in the doorway of the kitchen watching her, calm and in
control. Somehow that was more shocking than if he pulled a gun on her.

Disconcerted, she attempted a smile but her lips wouldn’t cooperate, so she shrugged
her shoulders, fresh out of bravado, false or otherwise.

He may have shrugged back. If he did, the movement was economic. “Supper will be ready
in about twenty minutes, if you want to shower first.”

“I’ve mastered the art of cooking, Nick. I’m not your responsibility,” she said sharply.
That was something else her home represented. Independence. Success. Proof she wasn’t
a complete waste of space. Proof she’d survived without him. For some reason it mattered
that he realized that.

This time his shrug was more definite. “I know. Will mentioned it. Consider dinner
a peace offering. We need to talk, and besides, you look exhausted.”

The lump in her throat swelled to new proportions. She’d anticipate fury, not concern.
“This talk, can we postpone it? I don’t want to have to think about anything right
now, and I sure as hell don’t want another row.” She gulped thickly. She was definitely
leaving her request until tomorrow. Any minute now her eyes would start leaking and
this Nick she didn’t recognize might try to comfort her. Then what?

“I meant it when I said it was a peace offering, Anna. I’ll let you set the pace.”

“Magnanimous of you, considering this is
my
home.”

“If you don’t want a fight, don’t pick one. Go take a shower. We can talk in the morning
if you prefer, but you’ve still got to eat.”

Rather than snap she didn’t need coddling, she nodded and made her escape. The whole
business of Nick busy in her kitchen, his hair still damp from his own shower, was
all too intimate and cozy for her liking. She didn’t want him being nice. She didn’t
need him looking out for her. That was her job, and she’d learned to do it very well,
thank you.

She crushed a niggling doubt that she might not make it through the next few months
without him. The minefield through which she was trying to plot a safe path was dangerous
enough without that complication. Seizing the temporary escape route he’d offered
her, she turned and headed for her bedroom.

…

Ignoring the bead of sweat trickling his spine, Nick closed his ears to the muffled
sound of cascading water. The image of Anna naked in the steam was killing him. Once
he would have forced the lock she’d no doubt turned against him. Sex had always been
the most effective way to deal with one of her strops, and he’d liked her stroppy.
Hell, he’d been guilty of deliberately winding her up most of the time. His way of
reaching out to her without the need for soft words. Little wonder their marriage
had gone to hell in a handbasket, their friendship incinerating right along with it.
She’d needed gentle; she’d needed kind. Things he didn’t know how to give. He just
didn’t have it in him.

But he wanted to talk now. He had questions, needed answers. How many months had she
been pregnant when she’d lost the baby? His baby. How the hell could he not have noticed?
How would he have reacted if she’d told him she was pregnant?

Kids had never featured on his horizon, not with his bloodline. But the realization
of what might have been ignited a thrill—just for an instant—before regret and his
long-held conviction had extinguished it.

Now he wanted details. He wanted context. Most of all, he wanted to hold her tight
and to somehow find the words to tell her how goddamn sorry he was. For everything.

She’d needed him, he’d let her down, and there was no going back. Some things could
not be undone. Like the ill-fated legacy his bastard of a father had bequeathed him.

He’d beaten the destiny mapped out by his genes. But it had cost him. Anna. His shot
at a family. He’d known all along that she hadn’t had an affair. She just wasn’t capable
of that level of deceit. After all their years together, he’d known that to the core
of his soul. But denial had been easier. Better than the truth.

He’d used her “affair” as an excuse, thrown her out to keep her safe—from him. Dare
he tell her that? Would she understand? Could she ever forgive him in a way he’d never
be able to forgive himself?

When Anna returned to the kitchen, all rosy and fragrant with the scent of wild thyme,
she refused to make eye contact. Not even when he placed a plate of lasagna and salad
in front of her. Damn it, she denied him her gaze throughout the meal, shutting him
out completely.

Appalled at the unexpected role reversal, he resisted the uncharacteristic urge to
poke and prod to get her attention. Is this what she’d had to contend with when living
with him? He would have asked, except he already knew the answer.

His chest squeezed. He wasn’t used to seeing her with her chin tucked low. He tightened
his fingers around his fork. What she needed more than anything was time to get her
head around the events of the past few days, the threats, their fight, where it left
them. She hadn’t yet stopped reeling. Her fluttering hands and jerky little movements
were a dead giveaway. She needed space. The least he could do was give her some.

Hell, he needed a little room himself.

When she stood to clear their plates, he caught her wrist and didn’t say anything,
just shook his head.

She responded with another shrug and a weak smile and left him to it.

The silent emptiness she left behind bloody near tore his heart out. He remembered
life with Anna as noisy. Vibrant. Exasperating, but deliciously life affirming. And
damn it, he wanted that back. He just wasn’t sure how to go about getting it.

…

When Anna awoke, her first thought was coffee. Her second that she couldn’t have one.
Her third, she still had her request to pitch.

She glanced at the alarm clock beside her. Still early. She cocked her head, listened
keenly for any sounds of movement. She wasn’t ready to face Nick yet. She needed slow
time to get her wits together for what she had in mind. Slow time to make sure her
armor was fully in place should he say no.

She wrestled free from the tangled sheets, stood, and waited for the familiar wave
of nausea. She read its absence was a good omen and smiled. Everything was going to
be just fine.

She tiptoed her way to the kitchen, mindful not to awaken her unwelcome guest in the
spare room down the hall.

Half an hour later she had her arguments in place. All she had to do was nudge them
along with a healthy dose of subtle persuasion. Could she do subtle? She bloody well
hoped so. Nick would erupt if he suspected artful manipulation.

A hand slapped down on the counter in front of her.

She jumped and would have toppled from her stool had Nick not shot out his arm to
steady her.

“Scare me to death, why don’t you?” She shook herself free, her heart all aflutter.
And not because of the fright he’d just given her. How dare he creep up on her, chest
naked and hair all tousled, smelling of musk and wickedness? She sucked in a shallow
breath. Her palms could itch all they liked. No way were they trespassing that broad
expanse of muscled flesh.

“Will had this dropped off. Want to tell me what the bloody hell you thought you were
doing meeting up with this man, Anna?”

She stared at the black-and-white photograph, her blood icing, its flow slowing. Antila,
sitting rather too close to her on a garden bench. Someone from Fortress must have
taken the picture. The day she and Antila had met up in the restaurant and, full of
menace and the promise of death, he’d introduced himself as the father of her unborn
child.

A pink heat hit her face, but that was standard when Nick accused her of something.
She bit down on a sudden swell of panic. She could brazen this out; she done it before.
She’d stick as close to the truth as she dared but lie outright if she had to. Lives
depended on her hiding the truth. Nick’s. Her own. Her baby’s.

She rolled her shoulders to try and ease the crushing weight of responsibility. Nick
in Nick-mode was unstoppable. If he found out about the threats Antila had leveled,
he’d go after the bastard solo and get himself killed. And pleading with the Service
for backup wasn’t an option. They’d use her unborn child as a lure to trap Antila.
If he was as bad-assed powerful as he’d claimed, they wouldn’t be able to resist taking
him down. And a little collateral damage—her life, her baby’s—wouldn’t stop them.
The Service only ever saw the bigger picture, and public interest trumped that of
the individual every time.

“That’s Antila, a Finnish financier. I had hoped he’d invest in
Hinterland Heroes,
but it turned out our interests didn’t mesh.”

“I’d be shocked if they had. In fact I’d have to arrest you. He heads up one of the
smaller drug operations in Finland, but don’t let that fool you—his international
operations go far deeper than that. He’s lethal. Connected to the worst elements of
the Russian mafia. For God’s sake, Anna, didn’t it occur to you to check him out?”

“No, why would it? I take people on good faith. It was a simple business lunch, arranged
months ago, and he came highly recommended.”

“By whom?”

Nausea slammed her. By Adam Western. Her dead gynecologist. How the hell had she not
made the connection before? The two men had been scheming against her for months.
Antila had said she’d been specially chosen. Western must have set her up. All those
tests. All his questions. At the time, she’d found the questions reassuring. She’d
even admired the thoroughness of the process. It had given her confidence she was
in safe hands.

The guilt and sympathy she’d nursed for Western ebbed away. He had to have known what
kind of monster he was visiting upon her. Upon her child. If he hadn’t already been
dead, she’d have killed him herself.

“Anna, I asked you a question. By whom?”

“I can’t remember.” If she mentioned Adam Western and Antila in the same sentence,
Nick would guess the connection. His mind was too acute, his nature that suspicious.
And with Western murdered, he’d go after Antila. She didn’t hold a monopoly on impetuosity.
Nick was as bad when he believed something of his was under threat.

“Try.” He jabbed the picture with his forefinger. “Because this man is a killer. I’ve
come across some truly scary bastards in my time with the Service, Anna, but not a
one of them compares to him.”

“So why is he still walking about free? And how the hell did he get into this country?
Why has no one taken him out? I thought that’s what you lot were supposed to do, eliminate
threats that are beyond ordinary law.”

“Because that would be illegal, a contravention of international law and justice.”

“Then the law’s an ass, international or otherwise. Why should I have to suffer?”

His deathly silence alerted her to what she’d just said. She bit her lip to stop from
revealing any more.

“I don’t know, Anna, why don’t you tell me?” His stare was intent; she forgot how
to breathe. She should have hit on him when she had the chance. Distracted him with
a bout of hot sex. She’d have hated herself afterward, but she’d take that any day
rather than face his relentless probing for the truth she daren’t share.

Flustered, she waved him away with her hands. “Look, just forget it. I’m obviously
on edge. Antila and I discussed investment. I wasn’t happy with the terms. He wanted
more than I was willing to give. End of story.” Well, at least that wasn’t a complete
lie, just a grotesque distortion of the truth.

“You had a lucky escape. Antila is untouchable. It’s one of the reasons he’s so scary
and why he’s on the Service’s radar. He has enormous wealth and even greater power
and influence. And we’re not the only ones after him. Think, Interpol, think CIA,
FBI, MSS, BND, GRU; damn it, even the Mossad want a piece of him.”