A Kiss to Kill (17 page)

Whatever normal was
.

“Gina?”

She started badly.

He was watching her closely. “Something wrong?”

She banished the chill from her heart. “No. I’m okay. I just . . .” She shook her head again. “No, it’s nothing. So. What do we do now?”

He glanced at his watch. “It’s one-thirty. I need to set up a few things, then I want to pay a call on our Pentagon guy.”>

“What about me?”

He came over and enfolded her in his arms. After a brief hesitation he said, “Damn, girl. You’re tense as an itchy trigger finger. Why don’t you order up some room service, light some candles, and take a nice relaxing bath?”

Right. Like she could ever relax again. “Why can’t I come with you?”

“We already talked about this, sweet thing. I need to know you’re safe. That means here. In this room. Talking to no one.”

She nibbled on her lip, and made herself ask the simple question that would tell her if she really should fear him, or if her unease was only the PTSD talking. “Gregg?”

“Yeah, babe.”

“What happens afterward?” Her heart thudded painfully against her chest.
Did she really want to know?
Did she really want to admit to herself that she had fallen in love with him completely? Let alone admit it to him . . . “What happens after it’s all over?”

His body stiffened almost imperceptibly. “How do you mean?”

“With us. You and me. After we catch the traitor.” Her pulse sped when he didn’t answer right away. She told herself it didn’t matter.

“Gina . . .” He slowly let out a taut breath. “You know what I am. What I do. There’s no way you want to be with a man like me. If that’s what you’re getting at.”

Her heart pounded erratically. “You don’t love me? Not at all?”

His fingers dug into her arms, then eased up. “Sweetheart, if I ever knew what love is, I’ve forgotten a long time ago. And I’ve got no interest in remembering. I’m sorry.”

Her chest squeezed. “So you don’t want me.”

“God, I didn’t say that.” He wrapped his hand around her jaw and lifted her face to his, drilling her with a look so intense it made her insides quiver. “Woman, I want you like crazy. And I hope like hell you want me, too, and that whenever I’m INCONUS you’ll let me come to you.”

It was the right answer . . . in the sense that she believed what he was saying. Her jittery recurring paranoia about him was just that. She was safe with him, just as he kept saying. Just as her heart knew.

So why was that same heart crying out that he’d given her exactly the
wrong
answer?

Why did she suddenly feel devastated inside?

Yes, she loved him. At least she thought she did. But surely,
surely
, she didn’t want him to love her back? This man, this macho, controlling, emotionally unavailable mess of a man who was everything any sane woman would avoid? Okay, she needed him right now, needed his warm, safe body next to her at night. Craved the blissful moments of forgetfulness she found in his arms. Even appreciated the fleeting seconds of terror when he became rough, only to remember and force himself to be gentle with her, so she was slowly learning once more to trust a man’s sexual aggression.

But what would happen when the bad guys were caught and she no longer needed his physical presence in the same way? Could she be with a man like Gregg for the long term, one who could take a life without blinking? How could she reconcile her deep-seated beliefs as a doctor with what he did for a living? And how could she ever look at him without being deluged with memories of the worst days of her life?

Would she still love him then? Or was he right, and once the danger had passed she would see him for what he truly was, and being with each other would just be a painful reminder . . . ?

There was only one way to know for sure.

“Okay,” she said, taking a cleansing breath. “INCONUS. That works for me.”

For now
.

Gregg searched her eyes and his fingers tightened on her jaw for a millisecond.

“Good,” he said, then dropped his hand and stepped away. “I better go. Lock the door after me and don’t answer it for anyone.”

Gina swallowed. Tried not to let the panic take her. She’d be fine. It wasn’t like this was the first time she’d been left alone. And Gregg would be back soon. He would. He’d promised.

“What about that room service?” she asked him.

After a brief hesitation, he bent and pulled a small Beretta from his ankle holster. “Take this. Put your robe on and keep it hidden in the pocket. Aim it at the waiter the entire time he’s here and do not hesitate to shoot if he acts the least bit wonky.”

Her lips parted on a small quiver of fright. “I suddenly don’t think I’m hungry anymore.”

“You need to eat, Gina. It’s okay. No one knows we’re here in D.C. Just stay alert and keep that gun in your hand.”

Like an unruly weed, the quiver flared fast and out of control. She reached for him, scared. “Please don’t go.”

He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “I have to. But swear to me you won’t leave the room.”

“I won’t,” she said, breathing deeply to reign in the irrational panic. “I promise.”

He kissed her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Then he let her go and strode out the door. “Lock it,” he called sternly from the other side.

She jerked herself out of her immobility and slid the dead bolt home, putting the flats of her palms to the cold wooden panels as she listened for his receding footsteps. She heard nothing. But when she put her eye to the peephole, he was gone.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, turned, and leaned her back against the door for support. “Please help me be strong.”

She stood like that for a full minute before mustering herself and fetching the fluffy robe from the closet. She put it on and slipped the Beretta into the pocket as Gregg had instructed. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since early this morning.

She ordered lunch and when it came she held the gun tightly in her pocket while a bellman with a name tag that read “Raj” set the meal out on a small table and chatted away in a Bollywood accent, oblivious to her tension. He ended by holding up a bottle of champagne with a flourish.

“Compliments of the management,” Raj said with a bow.

If she hadn’t stayed there before, she would instantly have been suspicious, but she knew the gift was de rigueur. The hotel was generous with its top-floor guests. “Thank you,” she said, and managed to tip him without shooting either of them in the knee.

As soon as he was gone, she put the gun aside on the sideboard with a shiver. She’d carried a knife but that was different. Less . . . random. A knife was all about the person, where a gun was all about the killing. And despite recent evidence to the contrary, she knew her bloodthirsty craving for revenge was not who she really was. Before she was kidnapped, she’d never in a million years have thought about taking a life. She was a doctor. She
saved
lives. Wanting to kill her attacker the other day weighed heavily on her mind. That she’d very nearly done it . . . well, it was a side of herself that horrified her. The fact that she’d thought it was Gregg, that she’d deliberately set out to see him dead, horrified her even more. What if she’d actually succeeded? She’d have killed the very man trying to protect her. The thought was so horrendous she didn’t even want to contemplate it.

He was right about one thing: what she needed was a warm, relaxing bath surrounded by scented candles. She went in and turned on the waterfall tap, which poured into the deep, luxurious spa tub, and started to take off her clothes. At the last minute she remembered the champagne, and went back out to fetch it.

But the ice in the bucket had melted.
Damn
. In the steamy sauna of the bathroom, the wine would soon be warm. Nothing worse than warm champagne. She needed more ice. She stared in indecision at the bucket.

Gregg’s warning rang in her ears as clearly as if he were there:
Don’t leave the room
.

But the ice machine was just a quick jog down the hall. She’d be there and back in thirty seconds. What could possibly happen?

She turned off the water in the tub, grabbed her room key and the ice bucket. Cautiously, she opened the entry door, and peeked out. The coast was clear. Not a sound could be heard. Not a soul in sight.

She slipped out of the room. And ran for the ice machine.

SIXTEEN

THE
STORM jet landed in Washington, D.C., and Rebel exited the plane in a mental fog. Hurt still cascaded through her every few seconds, despite her best attempts to stop it. To stop herself from thinking about why Alex would want to avoid her so badly he’d marry a woman he could never be with. But she couldn’t.

They climbed into the waiting limo while the chauffeur loaded their bags into the trunk. Giving her her space, Alex kept up a staccato conversation with the man for the short drive to the hotel where Tara Reeves had set up the STORM operation headquarters.

But as they were about to get out of the limo, Rebel could no longer hold the question inside. “Why?” she asked him. Her voice came out small, like when she was a little girl and a mean uncle had told her the Easter Bunny didn’t really leave the chocolate eggs in the bright pink basket by her door each year. “Didn’t you want me? You had to know how I felt—” She turned away from him again. “Oh, no. I’ve made a huge mistake . . .”

“Rebel. Ah, angel. Come here.”

He reached for her, but she backed away. She couldn’t let him touch her. If he did, she might break down completely. Without waiting for an answer, she shoved open the limo door and almost threw herself out of the vehicle. Straightening her spine, she strode quickly to the hotel reception desk, where they checked in.

As soon as they were alone and the elevator doors closed on them, he dropped their bags and grasped her arms. “Baby, you have to know from the moment I met you, I wanted you crazy bad. Day and night I thought about you, and what it would be like to hold you.
That’s
why I agreed to Helena’s proposal.”

Her jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

The elevator dinged at the top floor and the doors whooshed open. She swooped out ahead of him. She could not deal with this.

She heard him hurry after her, saying her name.

Nearby, the sound of an ice machine drowned out the unhappy chaos of her thoughts.

She halted, and whirled to face him. “Alex. That makes no sense!”

“It does,” he insisted. “Because I knew damn well you wanted children and a normal husband who comes home to you every night. One who shares your life in all ways. I could never give you that. I still can’t. Not any part of it.”

At that passionate declaration, her heart shattered in her chest. Because she knew it was true. She spun back around and blindly walked down the hallway. She glanced at the key card in her shaking hand to check her room number, but it swam out of focus.

Which is why she didn’t see the woman come out of the alcove with her filled ice bucket. Lost in her own roiling emotions, Rebel ran right into her. She gasped, taken by complete surprise.

Ice flew everywhere, ricocheting off the walls and the metal of the ice machine like gunshots. The sound shattered through her thoughts, hurtling her back to reality with a crash.

Instantly, Alex whipped out his weapon and pointed it at the woman. “Stay where you are! Don’t move!”

Falling backward into the alcove, the frightened woman scrabbled frantically at her robe, groping for the pockets. Long black hair tumbled over her shoulders, hiding her face.

“Wait!” Rebel exclaimed, grasping Alex’s arm. The woman wasn’t a threat—she was obviously terrified that they meant to harm
her
.

Seeing the gun, the other woman gave a desperate cry and started to lunge at Alex’s chest with her bare fists. “No! I won’t let you—”

“Stop!” he commanded, raising his weapon to fire.

“Alex,
no
!” Rebel cried, and shoved his arm to one side.

“Hey!”

The woman slammed into Alex, knocking them both down to the plush carpet. Black hair flew in a flurry as she struggled to get away from him.

“It’s okay! We’re not going to hurt you!” Rebel assured her loudly, trying to figure out how to stop them without being drawn into the brawl herself. “I promise!”

The woman came to an abrupt halt and looked up, her gaze going from Rebel to Alex and back again. Her eyes widened and she let out a stuttering gasp. “Oh, G-God. A-Alex? R-
Rebel
?”

Sweet goodnight
. Disbelief and recognition slammed into her in equal measures. It wasn’t possible . . . But oh, lord! It
was
!

“
Gina?
Is that you?”

DR.
Stroud’s welcoming smile almost made up for the fact that Sarah was standing in her least favorite spot on earth: the autopsy room.

“Come on in. What a nice surprise!”

Twice in two days. Yikes. A record. One she hoped never to repeat.

“Hello, Dr. Stroud.” At his admonishing mock frown, she amended, “Johnny.”

“What’s up? Lieutenant on the warpath again?”

Sarah laughed nervously, trying to block out the nauseating smell of death and disinfectant. “Not this time. Just came by for the autopsy report on Asha Mahmood.” Stroud had left a phone message, but she wanted the whole file. You never knew what it would inadvertently reveal. Thus forcing her to brave her personal nightmare yet again. “Sorry, I got busy yesterday and couldn’t return your call.” She glanced at the sheet-covered body on the table and swallowed down a lump of queasiness. “That yesterday’s vic?”

“Yep.” Stroud grinned sympathetically. “But I’m afraid you’ve missed all the exciting stuff.”

“I’m crushed.” She tried not to appear too elated. “But I thought the autopsy wasn’t until later this afternoon.”

“Inexplicably, I find myself ahead of schedule. Must be the anticipation.”

The good doctor appeared almost giddy. “Of?” she dutifully prompted, angling away from the remains.

“This,” he said proudly, “is my last day as an assistant. Landed myself a new job. Full-fledged medical examiner for the island of Kauai.”

“
Hawaii?
Wow.” She was impressed. “Damn. I’m jealous. How did you manage that coup?”

“My razor-sharp intelligence and charming personality, of course.” The boyish grin widened as he snapped the collar of his lab coat artfully. “And my impeccable style.”

She chuckled, but it faded into consternation as she realized—“Hell. That means another new assistant M.E. here.” She gave a genuine sigh. “Just when you were getting nicely broken in. Any idea who your replacement will be?”

“No clue. Don’t worry, I’ll brief them that you’re one of the good guys.”

“You’d better.” She tipped her head at the body on the table. “Speaking of which, if this one’s done, do you have a cause of death?”

“Yep. Report’s right here; Asha Mahmood’s, too.” As Stroud walked over to his desk and picked up the files, he asked, “Find out who he is yet?”

“Yeah.” She accepted the files and flipped open the top one. “Prints came back to a Raul Chavez. Limo driver. And you’ll never guess who his last pickup was.” She scanned the autopsy report. Her heartbeat kicked up. “Okay, maybe you would.”

“Asha Mahmood.”

“Bingo. Mahmood was smothered and Chavez drowned, but it seems they both had an identical dose of Rohypnol in their blood, administered before death.”

“Coincidence?”

“I hardly think so. What are the odds they were killed at the same time by the same person?”

“Pretty good, I’d say. TOD fits.”

Excitement swirled through her. She couldn’t wait to grab a cup of coffee and compare the rest of the two files, then get onto nailing down a solid connection. “Okay, then.” She gratefully headed for the door. “Anything else I should know?”

Stroud perched on the corner of his desk, so impossibly young and handsome, and so full of life and possibilities that it almost hurt to look at him. “Just that I’ll miss you.”

She paused at the door. “I’ll miss you, too, Johnny. You take care.”

“Kauai. Standing invitation.”

“Thanks, Doc. And thanks for the reports.” She saluted him with the files and exchanged a warm smile. Damn. She really would miss him.

Feeling a bit wistful . . . and far too old . . . she made her way to the parking lot.

And there, leaning his tight backside against her plain-clothes sedan, blue eyes glittering with a whole different kind of anticipation, was the perfect antidote to her blues.

One thing about the man, he was flatteringly persistent.

“Hi,” Wade said.

“Hi,” she answered, walking up to him.

“Forgive me yet?” he asked, running an impudent finger down her throat.

A trill of desire sang through her breasts. “Maybe.”

With no further invitation, he slid his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his. For about two nanoseconds she thought about protesting. Then his tongue slid past her lips and she gave up the notion entirely.

He drew her closer. Angled his mouth tighter. A moan eased through her.
Lord
, he tasted good.

“When do you get off?” he murmured between kisses.

Please, God, sometime tonight
.

Oops
. She pulled away. Cleared her throat. “Um.” She retrieved her lost wits. “I may be late. Things are starting to come together on the Mahmood case.”

He was watching her lips as she talked. It made them tingle. “Yeah?” But before she could say more, he leaned in and kissed her again.
Damn
.

“Mmm.” How could she resist? But she must. She finally turned her head aside, but didn’t step back.

He sighed. “Okay. I get the hint. How’s the case coming together?”

“The vic from yesterday . . .” She told him what she’d learned from Dr. Stroud. It felt a little strange talking business to an FBI agent with her head on his shoulder and his arms around her . . . but not in a bad way. She could get used to it.

“What’s your theory?” he asked. “How does this tie in with Gina’s kidnapping, do you suppose?”

“Not sure. I want to compare the autopsies a bit closer. Do a background on the limo driver. Interview his family and co-workers. See if he’s involved with the terrorists or just an innocent bystander.”

“His name suggests the latter.”

“But the Rohypnol suggests the former. There are faster ways of killing bystanders than drowning.”

“An accident? He drank something intended for Mahmood?”

“It’s possible.” But she doubted it. “Maybe I should call Quinn. Get his take.”

Wade’s muscles stiffened at the mention of the STORM commander. “Don’t want mine?”

“Of course I want your opinion, Wade. This isn’t a competition. I just want to solve the case.”

He relaxed marginally. “I know. There I go again. Sorry.”

“Anyway.” She stepped out of his arms. “Want to help me go over the autopsy reports? I’m dying for a cup of coffee.”

“Sure.” He reached for her hand and tugged her back to him. “So. What about later?”

Her breasts zinged again. The man was
so
damn tempting when he was trying to seduce her. “Dinner?”

His lips crooked. “And after that?”

The rest of her zinged. “A movie?”

“You’re killing me here.” She smiled and stepped away again. He held up his hands. “I know, I know. I deserve a sound rejection.”

“You do.” She headed around to the driver’s side of her sedan. “But I did enjoy the kiss.”

“I want you,” he called after her.

There was something irresistibly sexy in the bold challenge of his declaration. Something that made her want to throw aside all her reservations and accept. After all, she’d been thinking the same thing ever since the first time she’d heard his sexy voice over the phone.

“I know,” she said with a smile as he swung open his vehicle’s door. “Follow me?”

“For now.” He pointed a finger at her over the BMW’s roof. “But I’m giving you fair warning.”

“Of what, SAC Montana?”

He sent her a bone-shivering, half-lidded look. “My bed, Detective McPhee. Naked. Tonight.”

WELL,
that
was a complete waste of time.

Gregg stepped up onto a city bus along with a clutch of Pentagon commuters and took a seat on the aisle. As usual, he’d deliberately chosen a bus going in the wrong direction from where he really wanted to go.

Disguising his frustration, he raised the copy of the
Washington Post
he’d grabbed at a newsstand, slid on the pair of thick, black-framed glasses he’d bought earlier at a thrift store in Arlington along with a briefcase and the nondescript brown suit and loafers he was wearing, and pretended to read without a care in the world.

He’d picked up a tail, of course.

No big shock there. After the meeting he’d just left with Frank Blair’s Pentagon contact, he would have been insulted
not
to have acquired one. It would have meant the bad guys didn’t take Gregg seriously. As it was, the presence of his tail confirmed three things: 1) the Pentagon guy’s involvement in treason on some level, however peripheral or unaware, therefore, 2) that Blair had been telling the truth—about this, anyway, and 3) that either Gregg’s credentials when they were scanned or the Pentagon computer files they’d just pulled up during the meeting were being monitored for activity—by someone other than Tommy Cantor, his inside man. Yeah.
Everyone who thinks it’s the bad guys doing the watching, raise your hand
.

Okay. So maybe not a
total
waste of time.

However, one thing was pretty clear: Pentagon Guy was not the head honcho traitor. He’d been far too forthcoming. After Gregg had shown him his CIA Zero Unit credentials—which Tommy had managed to keep active on the pretext of tracking the movements of a dangerous rogue operator—and explained he was just fact-checking a report on a completed mission, Blair’s contact had willingly logged into the archive database and opened the “person of interest” file on Gina Cappozi and shown Gregg what was in it. Which, shock of shocks, was practically nothing. Other than the fact that the written order to bring her in to ZU-NE last August to identify Rainie Martin’s body had
not
originated in the Pentagon. In fact, a search revealed that the archives did not contain a file on Rainie Martin. Not even a mention. Blair’s contact had insisted defensively he’d just sent the order on to Zero Unit. He didn’t know who they’d come down from. Only that the paperwork had followed regulations and the protocols were correct. Gregg believed the officious twit.