The Phoenix Encounter (6 page)

“What about Jack?” he asked, playing his ace. “What's going to happen to him if you end up getting yourself shot?”

“I don't plan on getting myself shot any time soon, so you can cut out the scare tactic crap.”

She stuck out her chin, but not before he saw the minute ripple that went through her when he'd mentioned Jack. And Robert knew he'd struck the nerve he'd been aiming for. He hadn't enjoyed seeing her go pale. But he damn sure wasn't sorry for making her think twice about what she was doing. And he'd be damned if he was going to keep his mouth shut and play nice while she walked into the sunset with a madman.

“You may be a good journalist, but you don't have the training for something like this, Lily.”

He saw the walls go up in her eyes. He'd seen that look a hundred times in the months he'd known her, and he knew she was shutting him out. Damn her for being so stubborn.

“I'm not going to change my mind,” she said.

“I'm not going to condone a suicide mission.”

The low rumble of thunder punctuated the words with an ominous finality that raised gooseflesh on his arms.

Shaking her head in impatience, she rose. “It's late. I need to get some sleep.”

Robert knew it wasn't a good idea to touch her. Not when he was angry and frustrated and still reeling from the shock of seeing her alive. But he crossed the short distance between them anyway. Her eyes widened when he stepped into her personal space, but her surprise wasn't enough to stop him. “We're not finished talking about this,” he said.

“You know I won't change my mind.”

“And you know I won't give up.”

“Touché.”

“We're going to talk about the other thing, too, Lily.”

She paled a little, then stepped back as if suddenly realizing she needed to put space between herself and something dangerous. “I can't talk about that,” she said.

“I can't ignore it.”

“You don't know everything, Robert. Don't push.”

He tried to bank the swift rise of anger, but it was much too powerful and slammed into him like a rogue wave. He glared at her, feeling more than he wanted, remembering more than he should, wanting something he knew he could never have. “You're brave enough to face off with DeBruzkya, but when it comes to us you turn tail and run.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” she returned evenly.

“I deserve an explanation.”

She hesitated for an interminable moment, her eyes large and startled. He waited for an answer, but he knew it wouldn't come. She wasn't going to talk to him. Not now. Maybe not ever. Still, he waited. For what, he hadn't the slightest idea. She stared, and he knew she was waiting for the same elusive thing.

“I have to go check on Jack.” She turned away, but stopped halfway to the hall, her head tilted slightly toward him, her back ramrod straight.

Even in profile she was lovely. It unnerved him a little to realize that after all the months of pain he was still attracted to her.

Robert couldn't take his eyes off her and cursed himself for letting what should have been a quick and painless briefing turn into something a hell of a lot more personal. He'd only been in the cottage an hour and already she was messing with his head, making him remember things he was better off forgetting, making him want things he was a fool for considering.

But he was only a man. A man who'd been alone for a long time. And so he drank in the sight of her silky red
hair and slender shoulders and felt the heady pull of lust. He studied the fragile lines of her profile, the mouth that had lied to him so easily, the same mouth that could drive him insane with need.

Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, revealing the delicate line of her jaw. There was worry in her eyes, but those amazing hazel eyes could still suck the breath right out of a man's lungs, even if there was an ocean of anger standing between them.

Abruptly, she turned to face him. Their eyes met, her hazel clashing against the blue of his. Robert felt the impact like a fighter jet flying low and plowing into him at Mach 1. The back of his neck heated when she licked her lips, and he felt another stir of lust low in his groin. He tried hard not to remember how many times he'd kissed that mouth, how many times she'd kissed him back, how good every single one of those kisses had been. But he did and his body responded with a vengeance that stunned him.

Cursing himself for letting the moment stretch, he stepped back. “I'm going to turn in,” he said woodenly and started for the little room off the kitchen.

He heard her moving behind him, but he didn't stop. The last thing he wanted was close proximity. Damn it, the last thing he wanted to do was spend the next few days lusting after a woman who'd made her feelings for him crystal clear. A woman who'd shattered his heart and then moved on to another man before the wounds she'd left behind had even had a chance to scab over.

The tiny room was in dismal condition, but clean. Robert was still searching for the light switch when Lily came in with a candle.

“I'm sorry, but there's no electricity back here.”

“Terrific.” He took the candle from her, careful not to let his fingers brush against hers. Turning, he set the candle on the small counter next to the sink.

“I'm sorry I can't offer you more.”

“This is fine.” He risked a look at her. “I'm not here to enjoy myself.”

Kneeling, she transferred canning jars from one shelf to another, giving him some room.

“I can do that,” he said.

Ignoring him, she continued working until she'd cleared one of the shelves. “There's a shower in the main bathroom off the hall. There's usually hot water in the morning.” She looked away from him, wiped her hands on her jeans. “If you need anything else…”

Before he could stop himself, he reached out and touched her shoulder. “What I need are answers.”

He felt a tremor run the length of her. Then she turned away. He let his hand drop. She brushed by him without answering, without meeting his gaze. Robert watched her move down the hall, feeling petty and pathetic and frustrated as hell.

“What the hell are you doing?” he muttered to himself and dropped his duffel onto the narrow cot. Trying not to think too hard about the answer, he pulled out the battery-powered satellite phone and palm-size computer and set the antenna up on the shelf Lily had cleared. He hit several buttons on the computer, and the liquid crystal display screen glowed ethereally in the candlelight. He waited for the satellite signal to go through, then slipped the tiny padded microphone into his ear and listened to the grid coordinates beep. He typed in his identification number and password, then waited for a mechanical female voice to ask him a pre-designated question for both voice recognition and the correct answer.

“Operation please,” the mechanical voice asked.

“PHOENIX,” he said.

A click sounded, and then Samuel Hatch's voice came on the line. “Good to hear from you, PHOENIX. I trust you arrived at your destination safe and sound.”

“I did.”

“Any trouble getting to your contact?”

Robert closed his eyes and tried not to think about Lily. “No problems.” He set the tiny camera on the shelf so he and Hatch would have video as well as audio. Having both was not only a convenience, but a security measure to prevent agents from communicating while under duress.

“Have you had a chance to question your contact?”

“Not thoroughly. I arrived pretty late. But I do know that there is information to be had on my target.”

“Okay. Good. Anything we can use?”

He sighed, trying not to think about Lily. “Probably.”

“What about Dr. Morrow?”

“I'll delve into that tomorrow.”

“And the gems?”

“I should be able to find out more tomorrow.”

“Good.” Hatch paused as if studying him. “Everything else okay? You look…tired.”

“Long day, Hatch. Everything is fine.” Robert looked at the camera, wondering if he looked as strung out as he felt.

“You now have a sidearm for personal protection?”

“That's correct.”

“Good. Then we're set. Keep in touch, and be careful. If you get into trouble, you know there's a doctor at the hospital who can help.”

“Roman Orloff. I know.”

“Good.”

“My contact has a sick child,” he said abruptly. “At some point I'm going to talk to Orloff to see about running some tests.”

“I don't see a problem with that. It fits nicely with your cover.”

Robert scrubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling the stubble, knowing he wasn't going to do anything about it until morning.

“PHOENIX?”

He glanced at the screen to see a concerned expression on Hatch's face and realized belatedly his body language
might be relaying more about his frame of mind than he was comfortable with.

“Take care of yourself. I mean it. If things get dangerous, put out the call and we'll send someone in. You got that?”

“Loud and clear.”

The display blinked, then disconnected. Robert stared at the blank screen for a moment, then folded the tiny computer and slid it into its case. He washed his face in the sink, then blew out the candle and stepped out of his jeans. Rain pinged against the roof as he lay down on the lumpy mattress and pulled the blanket over his hips. The pillow smelled of grass and laundry detergent. The combination reminded him of Lily.

Lacing his hands behind his head, he stared at the dancing shadows on the ceiling and tried to turn off his brain. But his mind continued to reel with all the things he'd learned in the last hours. And even though exhaustion swept through him in shimmering waves, he knew he wouldn't sleep. The old ache in his thigh had come to life, but tonight the pain was more like an old friend compared to all the other things going through his head.

Turning onto his side, he punched the pillow and tried not to think of the woman sleeping at the other end of the cottage. But he did. He thought of her the same way he'd thought of her every night for the last twenty-one months. He lay in the darkness and watched the water slide down the window and berated himself for thinking of her at all, for wanting a woman who'd moved on to another man. A woman who'd hurt him terribly. A woman he hadn't been able to forgive. Damn her.

Damn his own foolish heart.

And damn the son of a bitch she'd fallen in love with.

R
obert awoke abruptly to the sensation of small, sticky fingers touching his face. He was a split second away from pulling out the revolver Jacques had given him when his sleep-dazed mind pinpointed the source.

Jack.

Opening one eye, he found himself staring into a pudgy face with petal-soft skin, thick hair that was sticking up at the crown and blue eyes filled with the kind of deep innocence that belonged only to the very young. Eye to eye, Robert blinked at the child, trying hard not to think of the dream he'd been having about his mother. A dream that had been anything but innocent.

Jack stood before him on wobbly legs, wearing blue duck pajamas, Rebelian slippers and an ornery grin. He had what looked like flour on his chin. Something pink and sticky was smeared around his bow mouth.

“Gah!” Flour-covered fingers reached out, prodding Robert's nose. Tugging on his ear. His lips.

Not quite sure how to escape short of jumping up and
running out the rear door, Robert endured the contact. He'd never had an aversion to children. Hell, he liked kids—as long as he could walk away at the end of the day.

“Gah!”

“Morning to you, too,” he said as he sat up.

The little room didn't look quite so dank this morning. Sunshine streamed in through the window above the sink. A breeze ruffled bright yellow curtains. He could hear music coming from somewhere else in the house. Good old-fashioned American rock and roll, if he wasn't mistaken. The sound of it boosted his spirits almost as much as the smell of something baking, filling the air with cinnamon and spice.

Little Jack stretched his arms upward and reached for Robert's face again, but Robert turned his head. “Where's your mommy, tough guy?” Licking his lips, he tasted strawberry jelly. Terrific.

Lily came through the door a moment later looking like a harried mother. A wooden spoon in one hand, a towel in the other, she spotted Jack and shot Robert an apologetic smile. “Sorry. He's fast,” she said, scooping the baby into her arms.

Robert sat on the cot and stared at her, speechless and a little stunned that anyone could look so damn good so damn early in the morning. She was wearing a pair of faded jeans with an oversize sweatshirt and a turtleneck beneath it. She had flour on her cheek and a powdery little handprint on her backside. A very nicely shaped backside, at that. She'd pulled her wavy red hair into a ponytail, but several strands had fought free to curl around her face. Robert thought about the dream he'd been having about her and wondered how Jacques would feel if he knew the American staying in his house was ogling the mother of his child in very inappropriate ways.

“We didn't mean to wake you so early,” she said. “Jack's an early riser.”

“It's okay. We were just, uh, getting acquainted,” Robert said.

Jack squirmed in her arms, stretching his arms toward Robert. “Gah!”

Glancing at her son, Lily chuckled. “I think he likes you.”

Robert glanced at the squirming baby, relieved that she had a good grip on him. “I have that effect on babies.”

Pressing a quick kiss to a fat cheek, she hefted her son and turned toward the adjoining kitchen. At the door, she stopped and looked at Robert over her shoulder. “Would you like something to eat?”

“Whatever you're having will be fine,” he said, careful to keep the threadbare blanket in his lap or else betray the state in which the dream had left him.

“Oatmeal okay?”

“Fine.”

One side of her mouth curved upward. “You have flour on your chin.”

He rubbed his hand over his chin. “Something smells good.”

“I'm making bread. An old Rebelian recipe with cinnamon and yeast.”

“Sounds good.”

“They are.”

“Mind if I use your shower?”

“Sure. Down the hall. On the right. I left a towel for you on the vanity. We've had electricity all morning, so there should be plenty of hot water.”

Robert watched her leave the room, all too aware that she still had one of the most shapely derrieres he'd ever laid eyes on. As he rose and headed toward the shower, he didn't think he was going to make use of the hot water.

 

For the first time since moving into the cottage six months earlier, Lily wished it were bigger. She'd never felt that way before, when it had just been her and Jack. But
Robert had a way of filling up a room. It seemed as if she couldn't turn around without bumping into him, without touching him, without making eye contact. With the high-wire tension zinging between them like erratic electricity, she figured she'd be lucky to walk away from this encounter without getting burned.

She still couldn't quite believe Robert was back, larger than life and full of questions she had absolutely no desire to answer. Worse, she couldn't believe he was staying in her house. Of all the terrible things she could have faced in Rebelia, this was the one scenario she'd never anticipated.

She might still be attracted to him. She might even have feelings for him buried deep in the recesses of her heart. But there was no way she could ever give in to them. Letting him go all those months ago had been the most difficult thing she'd ever had to do. Hurting him had shattered her into a thousand pieces. Pieces she was still trying to put back together.

Lily told herself she hadn't had a choice. Losing a giant piece of her heart had been a price she'd been willing to pay. A sacrifice she'd been willing to make. No matter how much she wanted to tell him the truth, she knew that was the one thing she could never do. To open her heart to him now would put him in grave danger, would put Jack in danger. She might have learned to live without Robert in the last months, but she would never be able to live with herself knowing his blood was on her hands.

She had Jack to think about now. Her son was all that mattered. They'd gotten along just fine without Robert up until now and would continue to do so long after he left.

After settling Jack into his homemade high chair, Lily started some water boiling on the stove, then turned to her son. “You have a piece of toast to finish, big guy.”

“Toh!” Jack squealed in delight.

“That's right. Toast.” Smiling, she picked up the soggy
bread and put it in a tiny outstretched hand. “Here you go.”

“Toh! Gah!” Little Jack kicked his chubby legs and clutched the flaccid toast with fat fingers.

“Okay, big bite,” she said and he chomped down on the bread with tiny, hit-or-miss teeth.

The kettle began to whistle. When Lily turned to pour water over oatmeal, she saw the toast sail across the small kitchen and smack into a lean, denim-clad leg. She looked up to see Robert standing in the doorway, felt her breath leave her lungs in a single, quick rush.

Oh, my, the man was something to look at.

“Kid has a hell of an arm. You ever consider putting him in little league?”

Horrified, she glanced at the jelly dribbling down his thigh. “Do you want me to get that?”

“You've got your hands full. If you'll just point me in the direction of a towel.”

“There, by the sink.”

“Right.”

He walked to the sink, snagged the towel and began wiping at the jelly. His dark brown hair was still wet from a shower and combed straight back revealing thick, arched brows and a high forehead. The jeans he wore hugged lean hips and muscular thighs and…well, she wouldn't think about the rest. The flannel shirt he'd been buttoning when he walked into the room had fallen open to reveal a dark thatch of hair and a lot more muscle than she remembered. For an instant, she could only stare and try not to remember what it had felt like to run her fingers over that muscled chest and those flat nipples.

When she looked up he was staring at her. The air between them shifted and thickened. Jack's incessant baby talk faded to a pleasant hum. Lily knew she was staring, but she couldn't seem to stop. Good Lord, she'd forgotten just how good Robert Davidson looked. And she'd definitely forgotten the effect he had on her.

Keenly aware of the blood suffusing her cheeks, she turned to the stove and twisted off the single burner to the off position. Behind her, she could hear Robert talking to Jack—something about the Cincinnati Reds—but she didn't dare turn around. Not when her heart was pinging in her chest like beads in a baby's rattle.

She couldn't believe her composure had crumpled at the mere sight of him. She'd had nerves of steel when it came to dealing with Bruno DeBruzkya. But one look at Robert Davidson's chest and those nerves melted like chocolate.

“Okay, slugger, whatcha got there?”

As much as she wanted to turn around and watch Robert with her son, Lily didn't dare. She wasn't sure what the sight of them together would do to her, what it would do to her heart.

For a full minute she stared straight ahead, listening, longing for something elusive, yet as vital as the air she breathed. When the curiosity got to be too much, she tilted her head slightly and stole a peek at man and baby. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack pounding his spoon against his high chair tray. Robert was squatting in front of him, making silly faces. He said something in a voice that sounded amazingly like Bugs Bunny, and Jack giggled.

The sound of her son's laughter tore a hole clean through her heart. The pain was so sharp she had to close her eyes. Taking a deep, calming breath, she finished making the oatmeal and struggled to get herself under control. She couldn't afford to let Robert know her feelings. One wrong word to him, and he would discover her secret. She knew he wasn't the kind of man to let something like that go. He would want to do the honorable thing. Dear God, she couldn't let that happen. Not when doing the honorable thing could end up getting him killed.

“Something smells good.”

“Oatmeal.” Realizing she was stirring the oatmeal into glue, she set the spoon aside and turned to face Robert. Amusement rippled through her when she found him and
her son embroiled in a game of catch with the kitchen towel. Of course, Jack was now a lot more interested in the towel than his breakfast.

“He's a pretty good catcher, too,” Robert said.

“Scouts will be out looking for him soon.” Smiling, she eased the towel from Jack's chubby fingers. “But right now he needs to eat his breakfast.”

Robert turned a sympathetic look at Jack. “Sorry, pal.”

Jack squealed and reached for the towel. “Gah!”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Robert said. “Oatmeal before that no-hitter.”

Lily watched them and swore she wasn't going to let the moment get to her. “We don't have any sugar here in Rebelia, so I added a little cinnamon.”

“That's fine.” Watching her carefully, he took the bowl from her and began to eat.

Shaken more than she wanted to admit, Lily started toward Jack. The mangled piece of toast sat on the counter, so she snagged the baby's bottle of goat's milk and set to work releasing him from the high chair.

“He's already trying to talk,” Robert said.

Lily closed her eyes and told herself her son's first word wasn't something she'd fantasized about sharing with Robert. “He said ‘toast' this morning.”

“Right before he chucked it across the room.”

“You should have seen the hard-boiled egg yesterday morning.”

“Line drive, huh?”

“Home run.”

Smiling in spite of herself, she pressed a kiss to Jack's forehead, wishing her nerves would settle. She pulled him from the chair then held him close for a moment, taking in his sweet baby scent. For an instant she found herself wishing he would stay little forever so she could hold him just like this and keep him safe.

Aware that Robert was watching them, she carried Jack
to the sink, wetted a fresh towel and wiped at the ring of jelly around his mouth.

“Whenever you can work in some time with me, I'd like to talk to you,” he said.

Her pulse spiked. “Robert—”

“About DeBruzkya,” he clarified.

“Oh.” She flushed, realizing she'd misunderstood and overreacted. “Let me put Jack down for a nap.”

Lily carried her son to her bedroom at the rear of the cottage and laid him in the crib. When he fussed, she offered him the bottle of milk. “Oh, you're a fussy one this morning, aren't you?”

She held the bottle while he suckled. For several long minutes he watched her with innocent blue eyes. When his lids grew heavy, she propped the bottle on a pillow and began to gently rock his crib. Humming an old Rebelian lullaby, she lost herself in the beauty of watching her son sleep. Such a small moment in time and yet so profound. The sight of him safe and warm in his crib touched her as nothing else in the world could. And she loved him so much it hurt just to look at him.

“Sleep tight, sweet baby,” she whispered.

Bending, she pulled the blankets up to his pudgy chin, then set the bottle on the dresser. Taking a deep breath, she left the bedroom, leaving the door open so she would hear him if he woke. She found Robert standing at the window in the living area, staring out at the winter-dead forest. The earlier sunshine had given way to clouds, and the cottage had grown chilly. He looked at her when she entered the room, but he didn't smile. Lily felt the rise of tension like a physical touch.

“It was getting colder, so I closed the window in the kitchen,” he said.

“Thank you. It was nice this morning, but it looks like rain for this afternoon.”

“I'd forgotten how late spring comes to Rebelia,” he said.

“It still freezes at night sometimes. Two weeks ago we had snow.” She hadn't meant to mention snow. It had been snowing that last night….

For an instant, he looked like he wanted to say more, but the moment passed and he remained silent. “What do you know about Bruno DeBruzkya?”

She walked to the hearth and put another log on the fire. “Why are you so interested in DeBruzkya?” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.