Authors: Debbie Macomber
Linette tried not to worry about Cain. Tried not to think of him in some foreign jungle, hurting, perhaps dying. Tried not to think of standing over the grave of another man she’d loved and buried.
The first week after he’d left had been the worst. She rarely slept, and when she did, her dreams were filled with horror scenes involving Cain. She lost five pounds in eight days, weight she couldn’t afford to shed.
Bonnie was the one who sat her down and talked some sense into her. It seemed crystal clear when her friend said it. Cain was a mercenary. Fighting and killing was his profession. Either accept him as he was or break off the relationship. It was one or the other.
Afterward Linette knew what she had to do. As painful as it was, she realized Cain wasn’t going to change. She also realized she couldn’t accept living with the risks he took. She wanted to tell him, only there hadn’t been any word from him.
He wouldn’t catch her off guard this time, she vowed. If he showed up unexpectedly the way he had before,
she’d be prepared. What she intended to tell him was all planned out.
She wouldn’t allow her heart to take control next time. No matter how glad she was to see him. No matter how light-headed and dizzy the sight of him made her.
“How are the boys?” she asked Charles, determined to keep her mind off Cain.
“Great,” the attorney answered. They were standing outside her yarn shop, and he took the key out of her hand and locked up for her. “They loved it that we went roller-skating with them. They like you, Linette.”
“I like them, too.”
Charles smiled as he handed her back her key chain. “I thought we might get together next weekend. The boys have been hounding me to take them kite flying. No better month than March for that. I thought we’d go down to Golden Gate Park and give it a shot. Are you game?”
“Sure, that sounds like fun.”
“Later, I’ll arrange for a sitter for the boys and take you out for a night on the town. I thought we’d start with dinner and then take in a play. I understand
The Phantom of the Opera
’s in town. Getting tickets shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”
“It might be. Why don’t I cook something up at your place, and we can rent a couple of videos? The boys can help with dinner. They did a great job cooking the spaghetti last week, remember?” Linette enjoyed her time with Charles’s young sons immensely. The two youngsters had helped ease the sting of missing Cain far more than her dates with their father.
Charles hesitated. “You still think about Cain, don’t you?”
Linette lowered her eyes and nodded. “I’m sorry, Charles, really I am.”
“I take it you haven’t heard from him?”
“Not a word.” Nor did she have an address where she could write him.
“Once he does contact you, then you can put the relationship to rest. It’s over. You know it, but he doesn’t.”
Linette bit into her lower lip and nodded.
“You’re sure this is what you want?” Charles asked, studying her. He was far more understanding about her relationship with Cain than she’d expected him to be. He’d talked to her about it on several occasions, and he’d helped her realize how futile linking her life with Cain’s would be.
“This is what I want,” she said quickly—perhaps too quickly, because Charles frowned and reached for her hand, clasping it firmly in his own.
“You can’t tie your life up in a dead-end relationship. There’s no future in loving a mercenary.”
“I know all that.” She didn’t need Charles to tell her what she’d struggled so painfully to acknowledge herself. Loving Cain was like living in an earthquake zone. He was going to be killed. Sometime. Somewhere. Some day soon. Without notice. Kill or be killed.
“We’ll have dinner out, then?” Charles coaxed. “And the play?”
“All right,” she agreed, wishing she could dredge up more enthusiasm for the outing.
Charles had a good heart. The problem was that Linette found him dull. She sincerely hoped Cain hadn’t ruined her for other men.
He walked her to her car and kissed her cheek. “I’ll pick you up around ten Saturday morning.”
“I’ll be ready.”
When she arrived back at her apartment, Linette forced herself to cook dinner. After dining on a frozen entree she’d cooked in her microwave, she took a long hot bath and climbed into bed. She read for a while, then turned off the light. To her surprise, she felt herself drifting off to sleep almost immediately.
The sound of the phone caught her in the middle of a dream. She lifted her head from the pillow and glanced at the clock. Realizing it was the phone and not her alarm, she lifted the receiver and pressed it to her ear. She hadn’t a clue who would phone her at two in the morning.
“Hello,” she said, still half asleep. Her eyes were closed and her voice sounded drugged.
“Linette.”
The connection wasn’t good. Static buzzed and hissed over the wires.
“Linette, it’s Cain.”
Her eyes flew open then, and her heart kicked into double time. “Cain?” she cried, and sitting upright, she grabbed hold of the telephone receiver with both hands. “Where are you?”
“Some hellhole of a town in Central America. You’d think a country this size would know what a pay phone was. Never mind that. How are you?”
His voice faded in and out. “Fine,” she said, louder this time. “What about you?”
“I’m fine. Don’t sound so worried.”
“Did you find…” She wanted to ask him about the
American he’d told her about, the one who’d been kidnapped, but static erupted on the line.
“We found him. He was dead.”
“Oh, no.”
“Listen, I don’t know how much longer this line will last.”
“Cain, please, I need to talk to you.” She was shouting, frantic for him to listen to her.
More static, this time so loud and discordant, Linette was forced to hold the phone away from her ear.
“Cain,” she cried, afraid the line had been disconnected.
“Can you hear me?” His voice faded again.
“Only a little.”
“I’m flying directly from here to San Francisco. I should land—”
“No,” she cried. This wasn’t how she intended to tell him, but she couldn’t have him rush to her, believing she’d be waiting for him with open arms. For the thousandth time she cursed herself for not having the strength to tell him face-to-face before he’d left.
Static again.
“Linette?”
“I didn’t know if you were alive or dead,” she said, angry now.
“I know, baby, I’m sorry. Dear Lord, I’ve missed you. I promise to make it up to you.”
“Don’t come,” she shouted. “Stay away from me. Please, just stay away. I don’t want to see you again.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do. I’m dating Charles now. It’s over between us, understand?”
“Linette—”
The phone went dead. Linette stared at the phone, not knowing if Cain had hung up on her or if the connection had been cut. It didn’t matter. She’d said all she wanted.
Slowly she replaced the receiver. Her hands trembled as she brushed the hair out of her face. Lying back down, she gathered the blankets around her and hugged the spare pillow, burying her face in its softness.
It was over.
“Another beer?” Mallory asked Cain.
“Sure. You buying?”
“Yeah.” Mallory raised his hand to attract the bartender’s attention. It was a seedy place in a bad part of town, where the music was slow and the women fast. Frankly, Mallory didn’t care about either. As long as the beer was cold he didn’t give a damn.
“You haven’t had much to say,” Mallory commented. He noticed Cain had been withdrawn ever since he’d returned from the last mission.
“You don’t seem to be much of a conversationalist yourself.”
“I’ve got an excuse.”
“Excuse?”
“I’m walking, aren’t I? It takes a lot of concentration to put one foot in front of the other.”
Cain smiled, but the amusement didn’t reach his eyes.
The bartender set two bottles of beer on the counter. Mallory paid him, and the old guy drifted down to the other end of the long bar to talk to the cocktail waitress. Mallory glanced at the buxom blonde, and his stomach clenched. With a few minor changes—all right, major
changes—in her appearance the woman could have been Francine.
Mallory didn’t want to think about the therapist. Instead he turned to his friend. “Tell me about Paul Curnyn.”
“There isn’t much to say. My guess is that he was killed the first couple of days after he was kidnapped.”
“Did they torture him?”
“It looked that way.”
“The bastards.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Cain muttered. He raised the beer bottle to his lips and hesitated when the cocktail waitress came into view.
Mallory watched as the blonde’s gaze connected with Cain’s. He’d seen the look before.
“You’ve got an admirer,” Mallory whispered. “You interested?”
“Maybe.” Cain tipped the beer bottle and took a deep swallow. “If I don’t want her, maybe I could talk her into trying her luck with you.”
Mallory laughed. “I’ll do my own talking.”
“You interested?”
Mallory had to think about that. It had been a good long while since he’d had a woman. He should be frothing at the mouth, but he wasn’t. It was all he could do to pretend.
“You can have her.”
Cain turned and studied him. “Does this have anything to do with Francine Holden?”
“No,” Mallory snapped. “It doesn’t have a damn thing to do with anything.”
Cain’s eyebrows arched. “What happened between the two of you, anyway?”
Mallory sighed and rubbed his jaw. “If you must know, not a damn thing.”
“But I thought—”
“It didn’t happen.”
“Why not?”
Mallory slapped his beer bottle onto the surface of the bar with enough force for it to make a loud clanking sound. Both the bartender and the cocktail waitress stared at him.
“She went off on the fact I wasn’t offering her a gold ring and a house with a white picket fence.” He paused and frowned. “I’m telling you right now, this is the last time I have anything to do with a virgin.”
“So you won’t be seeing her again?”
Mallory downed half his beer. “Hell will freeze over first.”
Cain was silent for several moments. “Women are nothing but trouble.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Cain wasn’t going to get an argument out of him.
Mallory studied his friend closely. Something was troubling McClellan, and had been ever since he’d returned from Tehuantepec. Whatever it was, Cain had kept it to himself.
“Are you sure you don’t want the waitress?” Tim asked. She wasn’t half bad looking, and with his eyes closed he could pretend she was Francine. One thing was certain, he had to find some way to ease the ache in his loins.
“I’m sure,” Cain answered after what seemed a long time.
“Maybe we’re being hasty here. We’re both healthy, strong American men with time on our hands and a
pocket full of coins going to waste. She looks like the type who wouldn’t mind letting us both sample her wares.”
Cain laughed softly. “Sorry, I’m not interested.”
As a matter of fact, neither was Mallory.
“
I don’t know what your
problem is, Mallory, but whatever it is, fix it. I’m not taking any more of your bullshit.” With that Jack Keller slammed out of the office.
Cain stood up and walked over to the door. Mallory sat at a desk in the room across the hallway from Cain’s. He crumpled up the sheet of paper and tossed it toward the wastepaper basket. His aim was off, and the paper fell to the floor. Apparently Mallory had lost his touch, because several bunched-up papers circled the garbage container.
For two months Cain had stood by silently and watched what was happening to his old friend. He felt useless to help. Mallory was bored and restless, cranky and uncommunicative. Each man in Deliverance Company had wrangled with him over one point or another in the last few weeks.
Cain made it a policy not to become involved in squabbles between his men, unless they interfered with their work. Thus far, all Mallory had accomplished was to make himself the least popular team member. It was almost as if he wanted to give Cain an excuse to fire him.
Until now, Cain had been patient, perhaps more than he should have been. He knew the source of the mercenary’s trouble was a certain physical therapist. Cain had given his friend extra slack, but unfortunately Mallory had used it to fashion a noose around his own throat. Something had to be said, and unfortunately he was the one who’d have to say it.
He’d bide his time, Cain decided, closing his office door and returning to his desk, wait until Mallory’s temper had cooled, and then they’d sit down and clear the air, man to man.
Problem was, he admitted as he took his seat, he could appreciate Mallory’s problem since he suffered a similar fate himself.
It had been three months since he’d last seen Linette. He’d spent countless hours convincing himself to stay out of her life. The problem was he was a selfish bastard. He derived damn little satisfaction from being noble. Damn little consolation for stepping aside so she could date Mr. Perfect Attorney and smother a couple of motherless boys with a heart full of attention.
As it was, he wasted far too much time thinking about Linette. He wasn’t a man who knew much about love. For most of his life he thought himself incapable of the emotion. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Linette didn’t want to see him again. She’d begged
him to leave her alone. Cain had no option but to comply. He couldn’t love her and bring worry and pain into her life. She’d suffered enough.
In reviewing his time with her, however brief, he sought some way to thank her, some way of letting her know that in his own way he cared deeply for her. If the emotion had a name, it was probably love, although he found it difficult to admit that even to himself.
The answer came to him one afternoon as he looked through the papers in his safety deposit box. Soon afterward he contacted his attorney and had his will changed.
When he died, Linette Collins would become a wealthy woman. Cain had invested his money wisely. Other than the Montana cattle ranch, he owned several apartment buildings, plus a house in the Caribbean. With the aid of a financial adviser, he’d accumulated a fortune in stocks and bonds.
Money meant little or nothing to him. As a young man it had been everything. No longer. If he believed Linette would accept it, Cain would give everything to her now. He didn’t need anything. Except her, and she was lost to him.
A knock sounded. Mallory opened the door and stuck in his head. “Have you got a minute?”
“Sure.” Cain gestured toward a vacant chair.
Mallory came into the office, closed the door, and ambled toward him. He limped, but it was barely noticeable.
A team of surgeons had told Cain that Mallory’s chances of walking again were less than fifty-fifty. If the injured man did manage to walk, he’d require the assistance of either a walker or a cane.
Mallory, with Francine Holden’s help, required neither.
He sank onto the chair across from Cain. Although Mallory’s health had vastly improved in the last six months, he was discontented. His color was good and he’d regained his strength, but he was as listless and unhappy as he’d been when confined to a wheelchair.
“You have something on your mind?” Cain asked.
Mallory snickered. “You might say that. It seems I’ve been something of a bastard lately.”
“Seems that way.” Cain wasn’t going to lie. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Mallory leaned back on the chair and rubbed his eyes. “I’m not sure it’ll do any good.”
“Give it a shot,” Cain advised.
Mallory straightened, leaned forward, and pressed his elbows to his knees. “I’ve lost it.”
“Lost what?”
“Whatever it was that made me a good soldier. I thought once I returned to the compound with you and the others it would all come back. At first I assumed it was because I was gunshy, but it’s more than that. A hell of a lot more.
“When it comes right down to it, I don’t want to do this anymore. My heart’s just not in it.”
Cain’s first instinct was to argue. Mallory hadn’t given himself near enough time. He’d been back to the compound for less than two months, not nearly enough time to make this kind of drastic decision.
Cain would have put up a hell of a debate if Mallory hadn’t used the word
heart. My heart’s just not in it
. Mallory’s heart, Cain strongly suspected, was back in San Francisco with a feisty physical therapist.
“What are you going to do with yourself?” Cain asked, and restrained himself from reminding Mallory that he had yet to participate in a mission. One good rescue could change everything. Then again, involving Mallory in a mission, with his current attitude, might jeopardize them all.
“I don’t know what I’ll do. At least I haven’t made a firm decision.”
“But you’ve been thinking about it.”
“Some,” Mallory admitted hesitantly. “Several years back I bought a ten-acre spread on Vashon Island in Washington State. It’s a beautiful piece of property on a hill overlooking Puget Sound. The only way off the island is by boat or plane, so it has a rustic appeal. You might think I’m going a little crazy, but I’ve been toying with the idea of raising llamas.”
“Llamas?” Cain swallowed his surprise. “You mean those South American creatures with long necks? Don’t they look like a sheep on stilts?” Mallory playing nursemaid to a bunch of cantankerous billy goat types! The picture just didn’t fit.
Mallory chuckled. “Those are the ones. I’ve served my time, Cain. I always said I’d soldier until I got tired of it. I never thought it’d happen, but it has. I want out.”
Cain had always been uncomfortable with sentiment. He didn’t want to lose Mallory. They’d been friends, damn good friends. Mallory had covered his backside on more than one occasion. But caring deeply about someone, whether it was Mallory or Linette, meant giving that person the freedom to walk away. It seemed he was going to be asked to do it a second time in as many months.
“You can’t tell me the others will be sorry to see me go,” Mallory said with a soft, mocking laugh.
“I’ll be sorry,” Cain admitted hoarsely. “When do you intend to leave?”
“If you have no objection, I’d like to go as soon as I can arrange a flight.”
Reluctantly Cain nodded. He stood, walked around his desk, and offered Mallory his hand. The other man stood, gripped Cain’s shoulders, and hugged him tight.
Neither spoke for several moments. Cain sat back down at his desk, unwilling to watch another person walk out of his life. Unwilling to say good-bye again.
“One thing more,” Mallory said when he reached the door.
“Anything.”
“I never thanked you for saving my sorry ass. I owe you, McClellan. Someday I might be able to repay the favor.”
It was another one of those days when nothing seemed to go right. Francine’s car had been stopped in heavy traffic because of an accident a mile away. Although she’d given herself plenty of time, there was nothing she could do but sit and wait as the frustrating minutes ticked endlessly by. Just when the road cleared and cars started to move again, she heard the distinctive thump-thump-thump of her wheel.
She had a flat tire.
By the time she’d arrived for the interview, she was thirty minutes late and so flustered she was sure the agency would never hire her. She didn’t blame them.
Her mother had told her that if it was meant to be, Tim would return to her. In two months it hadn’t happened. As for the decision she’d made not to sleep with him, well, she’d vacillated back and forth on that. One day she regretted having cheated herself out of the experience. The next day, like clockwork, she was convinced beyond any doubt that she’d made a prudent choice. If she’d given her body to Tim, she would have set herself up for a lose-lose situation. She’d done the smart thing.
Depending on the day, she was either a frustrated virgin or a wise and discerning woman.
Today she was a little of both. She was thirty-one years old and sick to death of waiting for her life to start. Sick to death of well-meaning friends and family smothering her with advice. So she was looking to make a change. A new job, a new city, a new circle of friends.
Her mother claimed she sought a geographical cure, and Francine suspected her parent was right. But a cure was a cure, and she was desperate.
The doorbell rang, and Francine cast an irritated glance in the direction of her living room. Word had circulated among her brothers about her imminent move. Twice now one of her younger siblings had made an effort to persuade her to stay in California.
After the rotten day she’d had, Francine didn’t have the patience to sit through yet another “don’t do anything rash” lecture.
She was all prepared to make some flimsy excuse—washing her hair or something equally stupid—when she opened the door.
She didn’t get the chance. Her mouth froze in a half-
open position. Her heart stopped cold, then jolted back, beating hard and quick.
Tim Mallory stood on the other side of the screen door, bigger than life. He was taller than she remembered and as handsome as the devil himself.
His eyes met hers, as daring and reckless as his smile.
“Tim.” His name was little more than a wisp of breath. For one desperate moment she was convinced he was a figment of her imagination. Until he spoke.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
“No one calls me that,” she reminded him emotionally.
“I do,” he told her. “I intend to for the rest of our lives.” With that he opened the screen door and with a rough groan hauled her into his arms.
Francine buried her face in his neck and wrapped her arms tightly around him. His breath fell unevenly against the side of her face, as if he’d traveled a long way to reach her. As if a knot of emotion had blocked his lungs from breathing properly.
If there were words to be spoken, it wouldn’t happen then. The pure, unadulterated pleasure of holding each other took precedence.
Francine didn’t know how long they clung to one another. When her head cleared enough for her to think, she asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I’ll explain later,” he said tenderly. She felt his gaze like a warm caress and knew he intended to kiss her.
She intended to let him. Smiling up at him, she noticed how dark his eyes were and how full of promise.
“I’m serious. What are you—”
His mouth brushed hers.
It was a struggle not to surrender then and there.
Surely he wouldn’t be so cruel as to walk back into her life only to leave again.
“We’ve already been through this once before. Don’t play with me, Tim Mallory.”
His mouth was poised over hers, and just before he claimed her lips, he whispered, “Ah, sweetheart, that’s exactly what I intend to do, for a very long time.”
Her resolve melted away.
Tim led her to the sofa and sat her down, then joined her.
“Can we talk now?” she asked.
“In a minute,” he promised. He wrapped his arms around her and directed her mouth back to his. While his lips worked over hers, he pulled her blouse free and expertly unfastened the small buttons. He freed her breasts and moaned when they spilled into his waiting hands.
“Tim.” Her protest was weak.
“Let me look at you,” he said. “You have such beautiful breasts. I’ve dreamed of this, Francine, of watching your eyes when I touch them.” His thumb made its way across her nipples, and he smiled as they pebbled into tight knots.
“This is all fine and dandy, but—”
“You want to know my intentions.”
It was an old-fashioned way of putting it, but basically he had it right. “Yes.” She swallowed tightly. “Are you here on some mission? Here today, gone tomorrow?”
“Something like that.”
Her heart sank like a concrete brick. “I see. And you thought you’d drop by with your case of condoms and put them to good use while you’re in town. No use
letting them go to waste, is there, when you can seduce me into giving you what you want?”
His grin was as broad as the Grand Canyon. “We’re going to use that case, dahlin’. Every last one of them.”
This was the classic example of how dangerous love could be. He knew how empty she’d felt, how she’d suffered the last weeks without him. He was all too aware of her loneliness.
She covered her face with her hands. “Just go, Tim Mallory.”
“Go?” He sounded shocked.
“Yes. Before I throw you out.” She’d be roasted over a barbecue before she’d allow this man to toy with her heart one more time.
He looked confused and uncertain, then laughed and said, “You and what army?”
She didn’t have an answer for him.
“It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than a threat to keep me away from you. I made a mistake leaving you the first time. I’m not going to repeat it.”
“A mistake?”
“I’ve come to finish what we started,” he told her.
“So you think you can sweet-talk me into your bed.”
“I’m sure as hell gonna try,” he said, grinning broadly once more.
“Tell me one good reason why I should let you make love to me,” she said, crossing her arms, steeling herself.
His eyes glinted as if he looked forward to the challenge. “I’m crazy about you.”