Red Midnight (22 page)

“Thanks, Jarod,” Gil agreed, stepping into the hallway behind Erin. “When did you get back? Joe said you were going to be tied up in Kiev for a while longer.”

“I got back about an hour ago,” Jarod said, leading the way to the kitchen. “Kiev was a waste of time.”

He had barely acknowledged her presence, but Erin had followed along in his wake. Now his dagger cold gaze was on her. “Erin?”

“What?” She almost jumped.

His smile alerted her to the fact that he knew he had unnerved her—and that he was pleased with her discomfort. Bastard, she thought seethingly. He waltzed in when he pleased, but he was angry with her, very angry, even though she was aware that Gil didn’t realize it.

“What would you like to drink?”

“Oh, ah, nothing at the moment,” she said, keeping the distance of the counter between them.

His infuriatingly cryptic brow raised, the smooth velvet of his tone continued, “Darling, you wouldn’t have us drinking alone, would you? You just might discover you really wish you had a drink.”

Erin raised a defiant brow in return. I’ll never need a drink to deal with you, she thought, and the thought shone in her eyes.

“I really don’t care for anything, thank you, Jarod,” she said firmly.

He shrugged. “As you wish, darling. Gil?”

“Bourbon, please.”

Erin felt as if she had once again been forgotten as she followed the two men into the living room. She was surprised when they began an open discussion about Project Midnight.

“I don’t know why you drive so hard at it, Jarod,” Gil said, seating himself comfortably on the sofa. “You’re not going to stop the espionage—both governments are continually at it.” He caught Erin’s eyes and laughed. “You look as if you’re in shock, Erin. Project Midnight is no top secret—everyone knows it exists.”

“Oh,” she murmured, taking one of the chairs by the sofa.

Jarod had chosen to stand by the mantel. He appeared very rugged in a pullover, Erin found herself reflecting, and then the fact that she was appreciating anything about him at all in her present mood annoyed her.

Except that although he appeared very casual and very comfortable, the host in his own home, he seemed even more tense than usual. It wasn’t a visible tension. It was in the aura of leashed strength that he always wore about him, the surety that he could drop that cloak of negligent ease at a second’s notice. It was in his eyes, in the firm square of his jaw. Not even an easy smile could hide it when she knew it was there.

He glanced at her now, rolling the cubes of ice, then glanced back to Gil.

“We all know the espionage goes on, and yes, a lot of it is sanctioned by the governments. But not this, Gil. These bits and pieces and half truths are going to cause some serious problems. There is too much distrust, to begin with. This character winds up selling to both sides because neither can resist. Then they wonder. They don’t know what is and isn’t truth. And they both keep building more defenses, and one day the defenses are going to go so far something is going to crack.”

“Oh, come on, Jarod,” Gil protested. “You’re an American, or at least—”

“That’s not the point we’re talking here,” Jarod interrupted, leaving Erin to wonder what the “at least” meant. “It isn’t going to matter what nationality any man claims if this sparks off something that goes too far.”

“They both just want to keep a balance of power.”

Jarod shrugged. “That could be true. But I work for the U.N., Gil. And there are a lot of countries within the U.N. who would find themselves being battlegrounds if things came to a head. The U.N. wants peace. It’s my job to see that nothing—especially some penny-ante double-dealer—upsets all the negotiations that keep a lid on that precarious peace.”

Gil shrugged, sipping his bourbon. “I still think you worry too much about this thing.”

“Do I?” Jarod queried softly. “Well, the Russians seem awfully worried too, Gil, which worries me all over again. I think it would all go much better if I were to find this person or persons before Sergei does, don’t you think? Eighty years in Sing Sing would look a lot better than what the Russians will offer. And God only knows what Sergei could draw out of a man … or woman.”

Gil shrugged again, draining his glass. His smile was careless and his eyes were slightly sparkling. “You’re the big-time stuff, Jarod, not me. The bible pushers and souvenir hunters are the hottest thing I handle!”

Jarod knelt down and tossed a log on the fire, using the poker to set it into the heart of the flame. “Samuel Hughes is dead,” he said suddenly.

Erin felt a chill race along her spine, even though she had little idea of what they were talking about—or who they were talking about.

Gil set his empty glass upon a side table. “I think you suspected for a long time that he was playing both sides, Jarod. I can’t imagine that—that Sam being taken by the Russians could be too much of a surprise to you.”

Jarod was silent for a minute. “We can’t be sure the Russians had anything to do with it. Sergei denies knowing anything about Sam.”

“The Russians always deny everything.”

“I don’t think Sergei would in this instance.”

“I don’t mean to cast doubt,” Gil said uneasily. “I know how close you are—”

“You also know that that has no bearing whatsoever upon our working relationship,” Jarod said. He was calm as ever, staring at the flames that caught upon the new log. “You’re a fool, Gil, if you think you can generalize about the Russian people. Sergei is an honorable man—his sense of justice is outstanding. I’m quite sure he wouldn’t be lying about this—the Kremlin is as concerned as the U.N.”

“Maybe not. But just what are you getting at, Jarod? If Sam wasn’t taken by the Russians—”

“Then he was taken by someone else,” Jarod interrupted softly.

“Our side?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say ‘our side.’ Let’s say that I’m really worried, Gil. And I really hope that I am the one to get to the bottom of this first. I hate to think of the consequences otherwise.”

Erin glanced sharply from one man to the other. It almost sounded as if Jarod were warning Gil. Jarod was being conversational, merely discussing the situation with Gil. Yet the tone in his voice seemed to suggest that a subtle warning had been given, that a trap was closing in, that truth at the moment would be preferable to … to what? Surely Jarod didn’t suspect Gil of anything!

No, at least Gil didn’t take it that way. “I hope so, too, Jarod,” he said with a sigh. Then dismissively he smiled and stood. “I guess I’d better get going.” He smiled over to Erin, who had been sitting silently through their entire discourse. “Your bride is going to wind up resenting me! I sit here like an interloper when you’ve just returned. Erin, take care.”

Erin forgot her dilemma over the strange conversation as she was reminded that she was about to be left alone with Jarod—a Jarod she knew to be in an explosive mood despite his cordial appearance. Nervously she uncurled her feet to stand, but Jarod rose at that moment, stopping her with a quelling glance. “I’ll see Gil out, Erin. Stay where you are.”

Erin bristled at his tone, but decided against an open argument in front of Gil. “Thanks again,” she said softly to their guest.

She stared at the fire herself as she waited uneasily for Jarod to return to the living room. Why was she waiting like a child about to be disciplined? she wondered. She owed Jarod no explanations. She stood and walked into the kitchen, searching the refrigerator for the iced tea she had made just before leaving.

“Where the hell are you?”

Erin was startled by the open fury in his snarl, but determined to hold her ground. “In the kitchen.”

A second later he was at the entryway, his cutting gaze upon her.

Erin returned his stare with irritation. “What is the matter with you?” she demanded.

“I think I asked you explicitly not to go anywhere with anyone except for Tanya.”

“I was asked to the circus,” Erin said evenly. “I had no idea where to contact you and no idea when you were coming back.”

“You knew damned well I’d be here soon.”

Erin arched a delicate brow. “Sorry, I didn’t see it that way. I thought you’d be back for dinner last night. You might have been gone another week. You didn’t bother to call.”

“Erin, I was on business. Which is beside the point. I don’t want you out again unless I know exactly where you are. If you were to stumble into trouble again—which you have an aptitude for doing—I mightn’t get there in time to bail you out.”

His tone was extremely hard and tense; his eyes retained that ice, that autocratic shield that reduced her to a wayward child. She felt a little ill. She had never really known this man, never really had any part of him. The caring he gave her, the intimate nights, were based solely on their physical desires. She had fallen in love with him and it had been foolish because he was hard and she could never really enter into his heart, his mind, or his soul. Her fingers tensed around her glass. “Don’t be absurd, Jarod. I was out with a diplomat from the American embassy. I’m sure Gil could have very competently handled any difficulties for me.”

He was silent for a second, and then he began a slow, soundless walk toward her, pausing not a foot away. She could feel his body heat; her mind and senses reeled beneath the continual impact of his pleasant male scent.

“I’m going to repeat myself once, Erin. I do not want you out with Gil Sayer again.”

Inadvertently Erin took a step backwards. “I really think this has gone far enough, Jarod. I do appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I don’t intend to follow orders from you when they make no sense. I can understand that I must stay here until you can afford the time to take me out of the country, and I can fully comprehend how allowing anyone else to know that our marriage is a joke could make your position uncomfortable, but—”

“Joke!” he spat out furiously. “Madam, if you consider such a thing a joke, you deserve to be beaten.”

Erin paled, but again held her ground. “I apologize, Mr. Steele, for my term. Charade would have been a better choice of word. But my position stands. I’m an adult, with reasonable intelligence. I didn’t go off wandering the streets—I went out with an American official! I’m sorry, Jarod, but I can’t be a prisoner while you go off wherever it is you go. Gil was being kind—”

“Kind!” Jarod’s interruption was an explosion this time. A pulse beat erratically in a blue vein along the corded column of his neck. “Don’t be any more foolish than you are, Erin,” he said harshly. “Gil Sayer is interested in one thing and one thing only. Surely you have the sense to realize that. Or perhaps that’s what you want.”

For a moment she gaped at him in disbelief, then her voice returned with a surge of fury that pounded in her head. “Steele,” she said hotly, “you have incredible nerve. And you’re capable of being the most insulting human being I’ve ever met. It may surprise you, and I’m sure it does, but there are people who think of me in more than a physical light. I do have friends. But if I’d have spent the entire afternoon in a hotel room with Gil Sayer, I really don’t see where you would have the right to criticize. I can’t see where
your
interest lies on any level above his, and at least Gil Sayer isn’t constantly quizzing me and assuming that he has the right to issue orders like a drill sergeant.”

It was his turn to pause, but he didn’t intend to give any ground. His arms crossed slowly over his chest and his icy gaze narrowed dangerously. “I have certain rights, Mrs. Steele, because at this moment you are my wife. And as such, you will not carry on any type of affair with Gil Sayer—platonic or otherwise. You are my responsibility, Erin, and until this thing ends, you will listen to me. Do I make myself clear?”

Erin fought hard not to blink or give away the trembling that assailed her. “What commendable authority, Jarod,” she drawled slowly. “I really do think you missed your calling. You should be a Russian—the head of the KGB. You—”

“You—” he interrupted, stepping toward her once more and gripping her shoulders in a barely controlled white fury, “should definitely learn to hold your tongue. I’m not asking you, Erin, I’m telling you. I don’t want you near Gil Sayer again—and I mean it. Disobey me, and you’ll not only get to see how you think a Russian agent would treat you, but you’ll also get to see a taste of an outraged husband. Now how are we doing? Do I make myself clear?”

“Let go of me, Jarod”

“Certainly, Mrs. Steele, just as soon as I have an answer.”

It was rather futile to stand there and argue, Erin decided. She could feel the strength in his tense hold, the ruthless command in his eyes as they pinioned hers. The trembling within her was rampant; sooner or later he was going to realize that he did have the power and the superior strength—and that he could reduce her strongest stance at will. She tilted her chin in a last effort at dignity while she fought the humiliating urge to cry. All the tenderness between them had departed; she had been ridiculous at the beginning of their marriage, deceiving herself with the belief that there was something between them, that she did have a special part of Jarod Steele.

“I sincerely doubt that any occasion will arise again in which I would find myself escorted by Mr. Sayer,” she said coolly.

His hold on her eased. “See that there isn’t, Erin,” he warned.

He turned sharply on his heels and left her standing in the kitchen torn between outrage and tears—and wondering what the night would bring.

Erin had become accustomed to doing the little things in the house, to preparing their meals and straightening out the apartment.

There was seldom much to straighten: Jarod was as neat in habit as he was in dress, and a middle-aged Russian woman came in twice a week to do the major cleaning.

But today she was determined not to do a thing. It was spiteful, and she knew it, but she was deeply hurt and couldn’t help feeling spiteful. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting when Jarod returned—but she supposed she had fantasized that he would have an apology and a good explanation. She had imagined that he would miss her, that he would greet her with his lips half curled in a smile, that he would have begged her pardon so that she would return to his arms; and she would run to him, of course.