Hard to Hold (8 page)

The two suspended figures held her transfixed. Her hand rose to still the agonizingly
slow twirl of the smaller figure. Realizing what she was about to do, she pulled back
as if bitten and sat on her hands.

“Because, sweetheart, right now you look like you need a stiff drink.”

“I’m pregnant, remember?” Her voice again sounded eight hundred miles away. She wasn’t
even sure it was her own.

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking… Do you need to see a doctor?”

She shuddered, the brutal image of her gynecologist and what had been done to him
flickering across her mind. “No, I’ll be fine; the baby’s fine. But open a window,
would you? The scent of those flowers…” She stifled a gag. He squeezed her shoulder,
then crossed the loft space to do as she asked.

Nick arrived a little over thirty minutes later, a troop of forensic technicians in
his wake who complained at having to hoist their equipment up her ladder. She might
hate him right now, but she still winced when he snarled at them to keep it down and
get the job done. He had never learned to use charm and diplomacy to his advantage.
He’d claimed both were a waste of his time and that getting the right result was what
mattered.

Apart from allowing his eyes to skim over her, he ignored her. Not a word of greeting
or comforting platitude passed his lips. Instead he directed Will to join him in the
kitchen with a wordless, less-than-discreet gesture of his head.

She could hear their quiet murmurings but couldn’t make out what was being said. Not
that she cared. For once her insatiable curiosity had ducked out. Antila had violated
her private space. Touched her things. Invaded her home. Revulsion fueled the anger
coiling in her stomach. Just as soon as the strangers in bizarre white jumpsuits vacated
her home, she’d start scrubbing and she wouldn’t stop until she’d obliterated every
trace of the vile intrusion.

She looked up in surprise when Nick dropped to his haunches in from of her and smoothed
back an errant strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear. She narrowed her eyes in
suspicion. Her ex-husband didn’t do sympathy any more than he did charm.

“I need you to grab a few of your things. Will’s looking for you to stay somewhere
safe.”

Safe? Where would that be? And if he cared,
he’d
be finding her somewhere safe—once would have done so. Instead he was leaving it
to Will. Bloody Will. Who’d tried to reason away Nick’s cruelty that had ended their
marriage with the excuse that he’d been scared. Well, she’d been scared, too.

A white-hot anger forked through her veins. Directed at Nick for striking out at her
rather than confessing to her—his wife, his lover, for Christ’s sakes—that he’d been
scared not to find her at home after receiving an alarm call. For that alone, he hadn’t
deserved any explanation of where she’d been, what she’d gone through. And directed
at Will, her friend and confidant, for daring to defend him. She was better off without
either of them. Men who worked for the Service were damaged. Emotionally nuked. She’d
rather fight on her own.

“No. I’m not leaving. This is my home.” She pushed to her feet and crossed to the
wall dividing the open-plan sitting area from the kitchen. She smoothed her fingers
across the exposed red brick in a loving caress. “I sandblasted and repointed this
wall myself. And those beams,” she said nodding to the thick wooden struts transecting
the high ceiling, “I hand-stripped every one of them. I personally salvaged these
floorboards, sanded back and polished every length. That alone took me weeks. I slaved
for this. Sweated and bled for it. I wanted a home of my own, and now I’ve got one.
I won’t be driven out.”

She wasn’t about to share with him the fact there was nowhere she could go, nowhere
she could hide. Not from Antila.

His lips tightened into a stubborn line, two telltale lines creased the area between
his brows. “What I’m suggesting is temporary. All this will still be here when you
get back.”

“It won’t be the same. I’ll have run out on it. Deserted it.”

“It just bricks and mortar, Anna.”

“No, it’s so much more.” She swiped furiously as a lone tear trickled her cheek, shock
finally catching up with her and shaking her stoicism. “You don’t understand. This
warehouse
is
me. The day I moved in, I swore I would never again face rejection. If I run, I’ll
be running out on myself.”

“Your life could be at risk. For God’s sake, it’s a building.”

“Yes,
my
building. And my life, too. There are three guest rooms back there. I’ll move people
in if I have to, but I’m not leaving.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” She threw her hands high. “Friends, maybe. You met them the other
day. Big. Protective. Sam, Rudge, and Pete.”

“For how long? We could be talking weeks, maybe even months here.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m staying put. And I’ll be safe with those three around.”

“You sure about that? I’m guessing you’ve only told those close to you about the baby.
Right now you can’t trust anyone.”

“I can trust them; they’re excited about the baby. They waited in the waiting room
while the procedure was done and have been acting like expectant fathers ever since.
They’d
never
refer to my baby as a
thing
.”

Nick stared at the floor, nodded slowly, then made direct eye contact. “Okay. I offended
you with that remark, and I’m sorry. I was angry, and the words came out wrong.”

“You didn’t offend me, you saddened me. It proved you haven’t changed and never will.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, there’s no saving you, Nick. You never wanted kids; you were adamant about
that from the start. Mention children in your presence, and you turn to ice. What
the hell is it that scares you so much?”

She didn’t expect him to answer. She doubted he had the words to describe what he
was running from. But she saw the flash of anguish in his eyes before he brought the
shutters down.

And her heart fractured. Nick Marshall was his own worst enemy. Yes, he was tough.
Dedicated. Driven. But she wondered if he even realized he was also the loneliest
man on the planet. Some misguided penance for God alone knew what. Totally self-imposed.

He straightened when Will approached.

“Safe house is arranged. I can take her anytime she’s ready.”

“Bloody waste of time. She’s refusing to go.”

“Great, so now what?”

Nick shrugged his shoulders, dropped his head back, and heaved free a huge sigh. “So
now I move in.”

She gasped breaking the shocked silence. “Over my dead body!”

He turned his head toward her, almost in slow motion, “Not on my shift and not while
you’re under my protection.”

Dear God, it was like a replay of the conversation she’d had with Antila. Two men
both determined to protect her, uncaring of how she’d survive their attentions. One
wanted her baby, the other…well, she didn’t know what Nick wanted or what the hell
he thought he was playing at.

Will stepped forward, halting only when he was shoulder to shoulder with Nick. “You
know, it makes sense, Anna. With Nick here, you’ll be safe and hopefully, so will
he, given it would appear he was tonight’s target. We can lock this place down tighter
than Fort Knox without spreading resources too thinly. You’ll still be able to work,
and Nick’s off the clock until we figure out what’s going on. Commander’s orders.”

It was the first time he had shown her his steely, uncompromising edge, and she finally
appreciated why it was Nick had appointed happy-go-lucky Will as his second-in-command.

“Great. So the bloody Service is muscling in now.”

“Absolutely. We don’t appreciate someone taking potshots at one of our own. And no
way is the Commander about to let anything happen to Nick. He thinks of him as his
own son, though Nick would rather die than admit it.”

“So you move in, Will. Make Nick stay in the safe house. Please.” She didn’t care
how urgent she sounded or how Nick might misinterpret her desperation. If it kept
him safe, she’d insult and trample his pride, even cut his heart out with her words
if necessary.

“Not going to happen, Anna. Take a look at Nick’s stony expression. It’s already taken
a double decade off my life. I could promise him you and I are just friends. He wouldn’t
believe it. Nope, no man is getting cozy in your home, except him. He won’t tolerate
it, and as much as I’m fond of you in a brotherly kind of way, he’s still my best
friend, and I don’t want him thumping me.”

She damn near turned and thumped Nick herself when she heard him snort.

The nagging throb in her head kicked up to a pound. Hiding Antila’s identity. Protecting
Nick. Stewing over the thought that someone else connected to Antila wanted her dead
and not understanding why. Feeling sick with fear at the thought she might be carrying
a girl. She was holding too many secrets. There’d been a time when she wouldn’t have
hesitated to unburden the lot on Nick. Long ago when they’d been allies. Him and her,
spine to spine, fighting the world. God, she hoped she was strong enough to fight
the regret at what they’d lost—she’d lost—flooding her chest. With their lives at
stake, she daren’t weaken.

She nibbled at her nails, something she hadn’t done in years. She looked up, caught
Nick watching at her, and her heart tripped. Damn the man, he knew. Knew she was hiding
something.

She smiled weakly and forced a mask of innocence.

He wasn’t fooled for a second. If anything, judging by the tightening of his lips,
she’d just made things worse.

Now he’d be all the more determined to find out what she was hiding and why.

She held his stare but kept her lashes low. The large clock she’d salvaged from an
about-to-be demolished railway station was supposed to be soundless. She’d never heard
it before. But its tick, as ominous as a tap-dancing deathwatch beetle, now scratched
at her eardrums.

“I’ve reconsidered,” Anna said. “
I’ll
move into any safe house you designate, but alone.”

“Uh-uh,” Nick interrupted with a shake of his head. “Will’s right. We need to conserve
resources. Fortress is off the case. The Service has taken over. And you can stop
looking so desperate, Anna, it’s insulting. I’m moving in, so get used to it.”

“We tried living together once before, Nick, and look what a disaster that turned
out to be. The only thing that held us together was…” In the one and only time her
head had ever skipped ahead of her tongue, she swallowed what she’d been about to
say.

Thank God, Will had retreated to the other end of the loft and was now pretending
an interest in her bookcase.

“Were you about to say ‘great sex’ again? You didn’t hold back last time. But just
so we’re clear, I’m moving in, but not to share your bed. At least, not without an
invitation, and you’re blushing, Anna.”

Jesus, she’d never been able to handle Nick in predatory mode, and the damn man was
actually enjoying her discomfort. “Really? I wonder why? God, of all the presumptuous,
insensitive, arrogant—I was going to say ancient history.”

He grinned and shook his head. “Liar. I was bang on target the first time, no pun
intended.”

Will coughed and flapped the lapels of his jacket. “Feeling decidedly uncomfortable
here, people. Way too hot for me. Forensics left five minutes ago, and I believe I’ll
join them. You two obviously have a few ground rules to discuss, and I really don’t
need to be a party to them.”

“You embarrassed Will,” she accused hotly as her front door closed with a
snick
.

“No, I embarrassed you. Will could barely contain his laughter. By the morning he’ll
be running a bet at the Cube as to which one of us survives this arrangement.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, he would, even if just to recoup his losses.”

Either she was going crazy or she’d shifted to a parallel plane. Nothing made sense.
“He’s done it before? What was the wager?”

“On how long our marriage would last. He’s a romantic; he said forever, and he lost
his shirt.”

Before he ducked his head and pretended a fascination in the antique Persian rug beneath
his boots, she could have sworn she caught a flicker of regret, maybe even pain, flit
across his face.

Chapter Seven

Slouching, a large notebook resting on his up-bended knees, Nick adjusted his long
frame to ease the nagging protest of his coccyx. Anna’s sofa was too just damned soft
and deep for his liking. Especially when he deserved to be lying on a bed of glass.
The shards pointing upward, lacerating his back.

He’d hurt her repeatedly tonight. With his words, with his aggression, with a cruelty
he despised. Why, when what he’d really wanted to do was wrap her in his arms and
promise to keep her from hurt and harm forever?

But she made him feel things—alive for a start—he didn’t want to feel. She made him
long for things he had no place coveting. Like a special intimacy with a soul mate
that far transcended base physical need. But love never walked alone. The threat of
loss always followed close behind. And, damn it, he wasn’t strong enough to go through
that again. So he’d pushed her away, and he’d keep pushing. Not that she made it easy.

Dangerous, too-hot thoughts of Anna all warm, soft, and tousled in a bed so close
to his own—even though two walls separated them—had driven him to abandon all hope
of sleep. Eventually he given up, stumbled his way to her sitting room, and proceeded
to mentally grouch his way through too many mugs of coffees in a bid for distraction.

The blank page facing him and untidy fall of screwed-up balls of paper littering the
corner of the sofa like fallen boulders proved his luck hadn’t paid out. Christ, if
he couldn’t get his mind off his dick and focus, they’d both end up dead—her by some
sicko’s hand, him by his own frustration.

He scratched the word “BABY” onto the page and circled it repeatedly until the paper
threatened to tear under the stab of his pen nib. Anna’s baby was the link, he was
damned sure of it. Just as he was convinced she knew more than she was telling.

There had been a time she’d trusted him with every facet of her delinquent mind, never
doubting he’d have her back as she’d have his. That open, mutual blind faith and trust
had been the glue to their relationship. And damn it, he missed it.

He should have recognized her unerring belief in him as a gift. Now, it was too sodding
late. She’d retreated behind barriers he doubted a spider could scale, which could
make protecting her damn near impossible.

Irritated but unsure whether with her or with himself, he ignored the knot in his
chest and added “FATHER” to the sheet of paper, the word a punishment on so many personal
levels, he was tempted to score it through. But he’d never ducked reality; no point
starting now.

His forefinger joints protested as he tightened his grip on the pen. He forewent the
circling and bracketed the ominous word with two large question marks instead. He
needed that man’s identity.

Sucking in as deep a breath as his chest would allow, he set the notebook aside, rolled
free of the sofa, stood, and stretched out his spine. It was half past ten; she’d
never needed more than a few hours’ sleep. It was time he and Anna had another little
talk. He might even find the opportunity to apologize for his behavior. If nothing
else, that would at least give her something to laugh about when he insisted she follow
his rules.

He neither knocked nor hesitated before thrusting into her bedroom. He wanted her
befuddled. Confused and vulnerable so she’d give up the information he needed without
a fight.

He pulled up short in the center of her room at the sight of her empty bed, his frown
deepening into a scowl at the tossed-aside sheets and slight indent on the left-hand
side of the mattress, her preferred side.

An increasingly familiar tension tightened his abdomen. Part thrill, part dread. Now
what was she up to? Striding forward, he bent down and placed his palm flat against
the sheet. Still warm, so she hadn’t been gone long.

A groan distracted him. After crossing to the semi-ajar door, he nudged it open. Anna,
her back braced against the side of the bathtub, sat with her legs drawn up, her head
on her knees.

The knot in his chest twisted and spiked spurs. He’d wanted her vulnerable, not utterly
defeated. “You okay?”

“Does it look like it? Bloody morning sickness, I’m supposed to be past all this.
Twelve weeks they promised me, and it’s been damn near sixteen.”

Forgetting he was supposed to be keeping his distance, he dropped to his haunches
and smoothed back the hank of hair beneath which her eyes glittered with irritation.
“What helps?”

“Sod all, most of the time. I’m never actually sick, just feel it. Now if you don’t
mind, I’d like a bit of privacy to wallow in my misery alone. This will pass soon
enough.”

He hesitated. Once upon a time, when sick, she’d found it comforting for him to sit
behind her and curl her tight in his arms. Would she now? Somehow he doubted it. The
intimacy they’d once shared was long gone. Didn’t stop him craving it though.

With his forefinger, he traced the outline of her brow, followed her cheekbone down
to her chin, and tilted her face toward her. The wary confusion in her eyes twisted
something inside him. He forced himself to smile past the pain. “Okay…but I’m in the
sitting room if you need me. Just shout.”

“The way I feel, that’s likely to bring the language police around. Go, before I cease
to care.”

With uncustomary tact, he withdrew, idly digging the heel of his hand into his sternum.
Anna, for all her many faults, was no whiner. Another reason he missed her. No matter
what life threw to knock her down, she stood right back up with a smile. He couldn’t
help wondering if this time, she’d even get the chance.

…

Half an hour later, Anna joined him in the kitchen. She noticed his eyes immediately
strayed to her belly. “Don’t do that, Nick, I’m pregnant, not about to reenact that
scene from
Alien
.”

“And tetchy with it, too. Here, I cleaned up and made you some mint tea and toast.
The toast, just the way you like it. Crusts off, dark rather than golden, and lightly
buttered, right to the edges.”

He’d remembered how fussy she was about her toast? She took a step backward and cast
a look over her shoulder. And he had indeed done his best to impose some order on
her untidiness. Shoes she’d abandoned where she’d kicked them off now stood neatly
paired against the skirting by her front door. Her haphazard pile of computer magazines
had been straightened to an exact ninety-degree angle with the edge of her coffee
table, and the brightly colored cashmere throws she favored had been neatly folded
and draped tidily across the back of her sofa.

Eyebrows arching, she turned to face him and immediately swallowed the sassy comment
she’d been about to deal. Never before had she seen Nick Marshall look less than certain
about himself. He did now.

“I spoke to Lowry. She said mint tea would help with the nausea,” he offered with
a level of caution that damn near had her jaw dropping to the floor. He must have
seen her shock at him having called anyone for advice, because he hurried on, “I needed
to call Ballentyne anyway, to explain why the Service had taken over. Lowry said to
say hi and congratulations…ah, you don’t want to know what Ballentyne said.”

“I can imagine,” she said drily, stepping forward and sliding onto a high stool by
the breakfast bar. “You and he are both as bad as each other.”

His laugh was like warm honey smoothing her skin.

“No, he’s much worse. I’m surprised you didn’t hear Lowry yelling at him all the way
down from the Lake District.”

Anna smiled. Nick and Ballentyne were close friends. Aside from Will, he was the only
other person she’d ever heard Nick talk about with respect and affection. “You ever
been tempted to join Fortress?”

Nick shook his head. “The Service practically turned inside out when Ballentyne quit.
Someone had to stay and help the Commander impose order.”

“Bet you were popular.”

For once the smile he returned was unguarded. “Absolutely loathed, but I got the job
done. Truth is, I was beginning to feel a little desk-bound and bored when you smacked
back into my life and things suddenly got a whole lot more exciting. Now why am I
not surprised?”

His tone suggested he was kind of paying her a compliment, which had to be a first.
Then she noticed him grimace as he bent to stack his plate in the dishwasher. “Is
your side troubling you? Do you need some painkillers?”

“Nope. It’s just a scratch. I’ve had worse. Drink. Eat. Then we need to talk. About
putting your darker computer skills to good use.”

Warning bells sounded in her head. She ducked his stare and blew across the surface
of her tea. “Sounds ominous, but just so you know, I don’t hack anymore. Doing so
could lose me my company.”

“Not if you don’t get caught, and you
never
got caught.”

“Because I knew it was time to stop pushing my luck.”

“Oh, yeah, and when was that, exactly?”

She hated when he used sarcasm to disconnect. She would have challenged him had sharp
pain not stabbed at her gut. Her palms moistened. She rubbed them up and down her
upper thighs and then forced them behind her back when she saw him frown.

“The night you gave up on me and chucked me out.” Christ, why did her voice have to
crack like that? She’d been aiming for nonchalant.

She watched all color drain from his face. Then, he stepped into her personal space,
close enough for her to count each individual bristle on his unshaven chin, and with
the pad of his thumb brushed the curve beneath her eye. “Do you know your irises bruise
to the color of blueberry juice when you’re scared and confused, which is probably
why I can’t stand the stuff? And, I never gave up on you, Anna. On us maybe, but not
you.”

“So why divorce me? I don’t understand.”

“Because it kept you safe, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. To keep you safe. Which
is why I need you to help me, sweetheart. Hack the clinic’s records for me, baby.
Get me the name of the father. I need to rule him out as a possible threat.”

Her pulse skidding against a heart that seemed to have forgotten how to beat. She
jerked her chin to the side to dislodge his caress. Dear God, mesmerized by a side
of Nick she’d never seen before—tender, honey-toned, gently coaxing, pretending he
cared about her as if she was more precious to him than happiness itself—she’d almost
forgotten what he was really like and fallen for his tricksy ruse.

Abruptly, she slid from the stool, thrust him aside, and began to pace. “No. That’s
not how it works, Nick. Each party is entitled to their anonymity. It’s less messy
that way.”

Antila had threatened to kill Nick should he even breathe in a way that displeased
him. A threat he wouldn’t hesitate to carry out as last night’s little gun display
had proven. The shooting, those hideous effigies, both had been first warnings, and
she doubted Antila would issue a second. She understood the messages, Nick didn’t.
And it was up to her to protect him. Even if that meant lying, albeit by omission—well,
it wouldn’t be the first time.

“My God, you already know who it is, don’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. How could I?” She hoped he’d attribute her reddening cheeks
to anger, not guilt.

“Beats me, but the fact that you’ve just spent the last three minutes wearing the
surface off the floor tiles and, judging by that look of surprise on your face, you
didn’t even know you were doing so, makes you a big fat liar. And you know how I feel
about liars.”

She did, and that made him dangerous, but not as dangerous as Antila. If she told
him the truth, Nick would go after the man. He’d hunt him down and most likely get
himself killed as a result.

She hadn’t seen him move, but suddenly he was standing too close again, close enough
for her to feel the heat from his body, a smoldering mass of muscle, taut with frustration.

And that’s when it hit her. She did have the power to ensure he stayed out of things.
She just had to get him to hate her enough and hate himself even more. She’d remind
him he was vulnerable to one thing alone. Her. A womanly suspicion she’d confirmed
the night she’d pushed past his guard-dog determination to keep their relationship
platonic and ambushed him into taking her virginity.

He’d been a fiercely self-controlled young man battling a lust she could smell, and
she’d been brazen. Sneaking into his bed in the dead of night. Brushing her breasts
against his hard, naked chest, the heat of her breath, hot and jagged against the
tautness of his neck as she begged and he’d hissed and cursed in his resistance. A
resistance her fingers had melted away as she traced and explored the ridges of his
tight abdomen, the rigid outline of his erection straining against the cotton of his
shorts. His slow surrender had been evident in every reluctant groan she’d drawn from
him, every desperate muscle flex and fleeting shiver he hadn’t been able to hide,
before going completely caveman on her.

And, for a man who lived to be in control, he’d never been able to forgive himself—or
her—for revealing, and exploiting, his Achilles tendon—her. All she had to do was
remind him of his weakness and, damn right, he’d disappear. Faster than the ink had
dried on her signature that had nullified their marriage and cost her the only safe
haven she’d ever known or wanted.

Christ, this was going to rip her heart out. But knowing she was protecting Nick made
her brave.

Leaning into him, rising on tiptoes, she reached high, one hand curling into his hair,
the other curving round the nape of his neck to pull his head into reach. Not once
did she relinquish eye contact, her gaze as much a mocking dare as an invitation.

His hesitation was obvious, but he didn’t step back. But nor did his hands rise to
her hips to steady her as they would once have done.

She brushed her lips against his, firming her hold as he tried to pull back.

She’d live with his rejection if she had to, but not without a fight. She tightened
her fingers for a firmer grip and nipped his lip in warning.