Then You Hide (18 page)

He opened his mouth, then closed it, fighting a smile. “Yes. I’ve been looking for her since I saw her on the tender in Anguilla, but I haven’t caught a glimpse since…”

“St. Kitts. That’s when she left.” She grinned, so proud of her instinct. “She’s a very sweet girl, under all that New York brashness. Smart as hell, too.”

He smiled. “You’re killin’ me again, Stella. I really want to meet her.”

“Find me tomorrow when we dock in St. Barts, in case she shows.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Well, the wine went to my head for sure.” She held out her glass. “Or I’ve just had enough fun for one night. This old bubbe has to turn in.”

He took her drink and set it on a cocktail table. “Let me walk you to your room.”

One floor up, on the Clipper Deck, she pulled out her card key—well, Vanessa’s card key, and who could blame her for upgrading?—and reached up to give him a peck on the cheek. “Good night, Jason. Meet me on the dock tomorrow if I don’t see you at breakfast.”

“Count on it.” He gave her a quick hug, and she slipped the key into the door, opened it to the dark cabin, and wiggled her fingers good night before she closed and locked the door.

Sweet boy. Good dancer. Not manly enough for Vanessa, though—especially after she’d met the “eleven” who was looking for the girl a few days ago. She reached for the light on the dresser, just as a massive hand clamped over her mouth.

“Go into the hall, and get him back here.” The voice was so low, so close to her ear, she almost didn’t know what he said.

“Mwhah?”

He jerked her toward the door, a brutally powerful man with an arm like rock and a stench like the bottom of a subway. “Go into that hall, and make him come back in here. Now. Make him.” He knocked her head against the wooden door, the clunk scaring her more than the pain.

“Mwah do you meee?”

“I mean stick your ass into the hall, call your friend, and tell him you need help in this room.” Something hard poked into her side. “Or you’re dead.”

Terror snapped through her, and she nodded furiously, seizing the door with shaking hands.

If she called Jason back in here, was she just getting him killed? And would she die anyway, too? What if she just—

“Scream and I shoot.” The gun moved up to the middle of her back.

Her hands shaking so hard she could hardly turn the dead bolt, she fumbled with the latch, opened the door, and leaned out. He gripped her by the hips so she couldn’t run. At the end of the hall to the right, she saw a man at the stairway.

“Jason?” She croaked.

The figure paused but didn’t turn.

“Louder,” the man growled.

She cleared her throat and raised her voice. “Jason?”

He half turned and looked down the hall.

“Can you come back? I…need to…” She tried to frown, willed some form of silent warning and plea. “Talk…to you.”

“It’s urgent.” The words hissed in her ear. “Tell him it’s urgent.”

She nodded furiously. “It’s urgent.”

She saw Jason tense, pull back, and then run up the stairs. Before she took her next breath, he was gone.

“He…he ran away!”

“The fucking bastard.”

The gun jammed harder, and Stella closed her eyes, muttered her mother’s name and a Yiddish prayer, and waited for the shot that would end her life.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“YOU’RE AWAKE.”

“Am I ever.” Wade tightened his arm around Vanessa’s stomach and pressed against her, his breath sending goose bumps down her back. He curled his leg over hers and tucked what was about to be yet another hard-on in the perfect curve of her backside.

Had anything ever felt this good? Yeah, that romp in the ocean was mighty sweet.

He turned her so he could see her face. He kissed her forehead, her eyes, worked his way toward her mouth, and spent a few minutes exploring her lips with his tongue and her nipple with his thumb.

“You want to know what stupid is?” he asked as he broke the kiss but still fingered the tip of her breast, making it harden the way his cock did.

She laughed. “If that’s not a trick question, I don’t know what is.”

“Stupid is when I saw you and thought you weren’t my type.”

“I dropped an F-bomb, no doubt.”

He kissed her. “Several.”

“Types can change.” She tightened her thighs and rode his growing erection once, pulling a moan of pleasure from his chest.

“No shit, as you would say.” He kissed her, their bodies moving naturally against each other.

“People can change, too,” she added. “So maybe I can clean up my language.”

Her skin was like warm satin. “Doubtful.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She nuzzled into him. “Maybe you could lose that piece you pack, and I could wash my mouth out with soap, and we could see each other again when we’re back on solid ground.”

“Maybe.”

She inched back. “You’d never live without that gun, would you?”

“I can’t. It’s part of who I am.”

She pulled completely away, leaving him aching for what he’d just held. But he stayed still and watched her expression change.

“A gun is part of who you
are
? Why? They are instruments of death, Wade.”

He’d known this was coming. He’d known that once the lust wore off, she’d realize she’d just slept with the enemy.

And she didn’t even know how totally vile he was.

“Guns are designed to do nothing but kill people and commit the worst crimes in the world,” she said.

It’s not murder when the world is a better, safer place and thousands of people are alive because of your skills
.

Somehow, he didn’t think Vanessa and Lucy Sharpe would be of one mind on that point.

“Not the worst crimes,” he corrected. “You don’t need a gun for those.” He threaded his fingers into her hair and tried to guide her toward his body. “C’mon, sweetheart. You don’t want to have this conversation now.”

“
You
don’t want to have it.”

“You got that right.”

She propped herself up on her elbow, and he just knew she was about to launch into a speech that was going to kill his hard-on, wreck this middle-of-the-night sex, and make him rethink what stupid was. Stupid was getting into an ethical discussion with a boner and a beautiful woman in the same bed.

He put his hand over her mouth before the diatribe began. “Listen to me, Vanessa. When I was about three years old, my daddy put a rifle in my hand. That’s just the way it is where I grew up.”

“Yeah? Well, you have two hands.”

“True. And Mama put a Bible in the other one, just to confuse me.”

“So you shoot better than you pray.”

“Oh, I pray. Right before I shoot. And…” Why not tell her? The mood was ruined anyway. “Whether or not you like this, I shoot very well. Real straight. Real far. Real…well.”

“Good for you.” She dropped her head onto the pillow with a puff of disgust, then looked hard at him. “If I ask you a really personal question, will you answer with the absolute truth?”

Oh, man, he hated this. But she had the right. They’d made love, they’d trusted each other. Shouldn’t she expect honesty? He might lose her forever, but he didn’t want to lie. The lies were the hardest part of what he’d done. One of the hardest, anyway.

“Go right ahead and ask me,” he said, expecting the worst.

“How many people have you murdered, Wade?”

He met her gaze straight. “In war, killing someone is your job, so it’s not considered murder.”

“How many?”

“Are you sure you want to know the truth?”

“Yes.” She lifted herself higher. “One? Ten? Fifty?”

Any number he told her would make her regret having given herself to him. “You really don’t—”

“How fucking many, Wade?”

“Four.”

She stared at him. “You’ve killed four people.”

He’d killed more than that during the war, but only four would be considered murder by her.

“One in Pakistan, a perfect hit to the apricot of an Al Qaeda operative. An apricot’s right here.” He touched the back of her skull, above the spine. “Guarantees instant death.”

She twitched with revulsion, as he knew she would.

“Then I shot a warlord in Quezon City in the Philippines, from sixteen hundred yards away, freeing sixty people he’d been starving in a prison.” He paused to let that sink in. “Next, I took down a dirty diamond miner in Sierra Leone who was single-handedly responsible for the deaths of dozens of children.”

She still hadn’t blinked. “That’s three.”

“Well, the last one,” he said, closing his eyes on a sigh of self-loathing, “was just a big, bad mess in Budapest. That’s when I decided to quit consulting for the U.S. government and do some private-sector work.”

“So…you’re…like…a paid assassin?” She sounded horrified.

“Your tax dollars at work.”

Seconds crawled by, marked by his steady heartbeat tracking the endless time that she looked hard at him and
judged
. She surely found him guilty and despicable.

But her expression softened. And she sighed. And, God in heaven, reached out and touched his cheek.

“You sound pretty miserable about it, Billy Wade.”

His stomach dropped. “I’m not proud, if that’s what you mean. I did my job. I did it right.”

“But I would expect a macho military guy like you to wear those…kills…like badges of honor. All those people saved, children avenged, baddies blasted.”

“I have a lot of mixed feelings,” he admitted, wanting to kiss her fingers for the comfort they offered. Did she have any idea what this meant to him?

“Maybe you’re not cut out for that work.”

“My aim is.”

“But your heart isn’t.” She took her hand away, her cheek resting on her arm, her expression the exact opposite of what he expected and dreaded. “There was that other hand.”

“I didn’t open the Bible much.”

She nodded, then grew quiet.

“You want to get out of bed, take a hot shower, and wash me off you now?” His voice sounded strained.

She shook her head. “We took a shower about two hours ago. Or did you forget?”

Forget that she got on her knees, water pouring over her head, and took him into her mouth in the most intimate way imaginable?

“I remember,” he said softly, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “But I understand if you regret it now.”

She shifted on the bed, and he half expected to feel her weight disappear as she got up, but instead, he felt her warmth as she pressed against him.

“You know what I think, Billy Wade? I think you hate yourself enough for both of us,” she whispered.

He turned his head. “How do you know that?”

“It’s coming off you in waves. Just like when I talk about the woman in jail who gave birth to me. Hatred—whether it’s directed at yourself or someone else—is as real and tangible as love.”

He ached to reach for her. “Sometimes I think…” The words stuck in his throat, very difficult to form. “About their families.”

She closed her eyes as if it hurt, listening.

“Sure, they were evil. Drug lords, terrorists. A torturer. But someone, somewhere, must have loved them. Right?”

She put her hand on his cheek and stroked it with pure tenderness. “Last night, you told me it was time for me to forgive my birth mother. Maybe it’s time for you to forgive yourself.”

Maybe it was. He briefly closed his eyes, taking her into his arms and pulling her close.

“Vanessa, honey, you are one surprising package to unwrap. I expected a major rant on gun control, the horrors of government, and a boot to the sofa, at least. You do have a soft spot, and this is the last thing in the world I would have expected to bring it out.”

She smiled. “Don’t tell my clients.”

He kissed her. “You don’t hate me.”

“It’s random evilness that I hate, and the possibility of accidental deaths when people carry guns.” She looked up at him, her eyes blazing with sincerity. “But I know what kind of world we live in. Sounds like you did some ugly things because you were trying to make it better.”

He kissed her, pulling her silky, sexy, womanly body to his to inhale her sweet smell and warmth. Despite his erection, the kiss was simple, sweet comfort.

He stroked her hair, rocking her and being rocked, feeling the most contentment he’d known in a long time. For one crazy second, he fell a little in love with the woman in his arms.

“Now, how is it,” he asked, “that you can be so reasonable about my messy past but can’t let go of all that hatred you have for a woman who, in all fairness, could have just as easily had an abortion back in 1977?”

She stopped rocking. “You have no idea how hard it is for me to be affectionate. Yet you’ll risk ruining this moment by bringing that up?”

“You’re affectionate. You’re amazing. You practically shimmer with sex appeal.”

She curled a silky leg around him, then climbed on top of him.

“Sex is not affection.” As if to prove that, she opened her legs and drew him to her, reaching between them to stroke him.

He instantly grew hard and achy. “It’s certainly
affecting
me.”

“Ha ha. It’s affecting me, too,” she said huskily, widening her legs. “Because you’re going inside me now, and you’re going to come so hard you won’t remember your name—and then I’m going to do the same thing.”

She arched and pushed him inside her, making his dick swell and pulling a surprised hiss from between his teeth.

“And that will be amazing and shimmering with sex appeal, or whatever you said, but it won’t be affection.” She pushed herself fully down on his erection. “It will be fu—”

He flipped her over so hard a shocked breath came out. He smashed his mouth onto hers, clashing teeth at the contact. “No,” he said roughly, thrusting back inside her. “It isn’t that. Don’t say that.”

She met him with so much force their hip bones smacked. He fought everything in his body that said to pump hard and prove her right. Instead, he pulled out of her, rising to separate them.

She groaned in disappointment. “What are you doing?”

Kneeling above her, he lowered his head to her breast. He licked and circled and sucked, kissing his way down her flat stomach. “Showing you affection.”

She laughed a little, the movement tightening her abs and holding him there to run his tongue over each muscle. She cooed, tunneling her fingers into his hair, guiding his head as he nibbled left and right, tasting her skin, licking her navel, murmuring meaningless words of
affection
as he adored her body.

She arched her hips and pushed him lower, toward the scent and moisture that attracted him like a magnet.

“Call it whatever you like, Wade,” she moaned. “Just don’t stop.”

He bypassed the tantalizing tuft of blond hair to work his way down the inside of her thigh. He drifted lower, filling his mouth and face and hands with her smoothness, lifting her leg to kiss the back of her knee and trail his tongue all the way down her calf.

She bunched the sheets in her fists, whimpering, shivering with each kiss, rising and rocking on the bed. When he kissed her feet, she trembled and giggled, and when he started up the other leg, she spread for him.

He wanted to show her affection. Wanted to show her how much he appreciated her response to his miserable past. Wanted to taste her come in his mouth and give her more pleasure than anything she’d ever known. He wanted to tell her all that, but her eyes were closed, her body was undulating, and she wasn’t interested in conversation right now.

He’d tell her later, when he’d finished showing her what affection was. So he did this at his pace, taking his time to return to the top of her thigh, then braced her hips under his hands.

He reached up to stroke her breast and lowered his head and licked the soft, wet center of her. She rose to meet his mouth, writhing, pleading, and pushing his shoulders to encourage him to swallow her whole.

He blew on her hair and then closed his whole mouth over her, tonguing her completely, flicking the nub and sucking juice and inhaling the tangy smell of arousal. She was glistening, hot, and thrumming under his lips.

“Wade.” She dug her fingers into his hair, rocking as her orgasm threatened. “I’ve had enough affection. Please…please…I want you inside me.” She practically yanked him up, wrapping her legs around his hips. “Oh, God,
please.
”

He finally climbed on top of her, blind with sweat and fueled with the rush of blood, and entered her. His whole body burned furious with need, and he grunted with the raw pleasure of being inside her.

She came instantly, biting his skin and digging her nails into his arms. He exploded with her, one long, endless, blistering orgasm, stealing every drop he had in him.

When their breathing quieted and their hearts slowed and their skin cooled, he lifted his head to look at her. Now he’d tell her all those things he wanted to say. Now he’d tell her about affection and forgiveness and the way he felt about her right now.

But the words froze as he saw the moisture on her face and in her eyes. “Why are you crying? Because of all that affection?”

“No.”

“Because it was too intense?”

“No.”

“Because now you know how
good
the good thing really is?”

She let out a strangled laugh, shaking her head. “I knew that down on the beach.”

“Then why?”