Cherry Adair - T-flac 09 (28 page)

He’d just have to keep Heather in bed for the next couple of hours until he recovered, he thought with a small smile. Not a bad way to recuperate. In a few minutes she’d stir, stretch, then roll into him and lift her mouth to his for a kiss. And in the meantime, he’d have a few minutes to regain his equilibrium.

When she woke up she wouldn’t remember what had just transpired. Thank God. He sometimes wished he didn’t have to remember each version of each event, either.

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Gliding his hand between Heather’s breasts he paused, surprised to find her heartbeat manic instead of the steady beat from sleep as he remembered.

“Get your goddamned hands off me, you bastard.”

One moment she’d been snuggled supple and sexy in his arms, the next she was scrabbling across the bed in a tangle of limbs and sheets. Palm to her forehead, she staggered to her feet, obviously light-headed from the teleportation, the backspacing of time, and the pregnancy.

White-faced, and not able to stand, she sank onto the foot of the bed, dazed and disoriented. Pressing her hands to her face, she moaned. Caleb tried to get up to help her, but God damn it, he was too weak to even sit up. Fear grabbed him by the throat. What the fuck was going on?

He couldn’t take care of her like this…A sharp surge of panic washed through him. Jesus. This was bad.
Really
bad.

“What happened, sweetheart?” He managed to keep his fear out of his voice, while his mind raced. It scared the crap out of him that his voice was so weak. “Bad dream?”

He had to contact the team. Farris had to teleport her to Edridge Castle and Gabriel stat. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”

Heather blinked several times to bring Caleb into focus. The son of a bitch had somehow found her father. How and why she had no idea. But as soon as she’d taken care of her father she was going to damn well find out.

The world spun crazily for a moment as a kaleidoscope of memories and sensations flooded her. She frowned. God, she was dizzy. And sick to her stomach. Had she been hurt and not realized it? She didn’t see any obvious injuries. Oh God! The baby! Automatically, she touched her belly, comforted to feel the little bump of Bean.

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Heart racing, she tried to open her eyes so she could find out what hospital was treating her father, but vertigo and nausea kept her pinned where she was. Squeezing her eyes closed, she sat very still, hoping the disorientation would soon pass. She must have fainted after he’d been shot. Although she’d never fainted in her life. But then she’d never been pregnant either.

Bean.Was fine, she knew instinctively as she lifted her hand away from her stomach.

Caleb was anything but. Unluckily for him, he was in the room with her. She had questions for him to answer. The son of a bitch.

It was her father who needed help. After he recovered, she’d shoot him herself. Damn him. She was so freaking furious at both of them.

How convenient for her father to forget that
he
was the one responsible for her mother’s death.

Accidental, or murder. He’d been the one to push her. Perhaps all of this business had driven him to some sort of breakdown? She bit her lip.

How badly had her father been hurt? God, there’d been a lot a blood…Where was he? Had that man taken him before he could get proper medical attention? Oh God…

“Daddy?” She blinked. Frowned. Blinked again, and slowly looked around the room. Their
hotel
room.

A second ago she’d watched as a bullet slammed into her father’s forehead.

Heart pumping as though she’d been running, she remembered the sensation of warm wetness as her father’s blood soaked the front of her dress.

She looked down. She was naked.

That wasn’t right. Her head shot up and she found Caleb watching her with concern. He too was naked. He looked like a
Playgirl
centerfold sprawled out on the bed, all bronzed and sexy on the white sheets; the morning sunshine streaming through the open window made his skin gleam.

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No. That wasn’t right either. He’d been wearing
jeans.
A Hawaiian shirt…

Wait! her brain screamed. She wasn’t in her father’s house. There were no armed men around and no blood. But it seemed so vivid. How could something that real be nothing more than a nightmare?

“That was no freaking nightmare,” she insisted, talking out loud. Oh, God. She desperately wanted it to have been nothing more than her active imagination following her into sleep. But something warned her that somehow, how she had no idea, what she’d experienced had been real.

“It must’ve been pretty damn terrifying. You’re white as a sheet.” He held out his hand, looking as pale as he’d accused her of being. “Come back to bed, sweetheart. Let me hold you.”

She held up a hand. “Give me a minute.” When she thought she could stand without falling over, she got up and crossed to where her suitcase had been placed on a chair under the window.

Opening it, she took out the sundress she’d been wearing. No blood. Other than a few creases, it was spotless. “Did I wake up last night?” she demanded, frowning.

“No. I carried you in from the car. You slept from the airport until a few moments ago…”

“If I was asleep the entire time, how do I know that the bathroom is down those steps?” Stepping into a skimpy peach-colored thong, she put on the matching bra, then pulled the dress over her head. “How do I know the tile in there is green?” She did up a loose button between her breasts. “How do I know the hallway to the bathroom leads out onto a patio overlooking the ravine? How could I
possibly
know all that if I was asleep and this is the first I’ve seen of this room?”

“Obviously you were awake enough to look around. And you did go into the bathroom during the night.”

Okay, that was a possibility. The rational side of her weighed his perfectly reasonable explanation against the sensation churning in her gut. That feeling you get when you know something is wrong but can’t quite pinpoint what.

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She decided to go with her gut. Slipping on her sandals, she made a derisive noise in her throat and glared at the virtual stranger who was her husband. “The first time I wandered around this room was this morning after we made love. Why are you lying to me, Caleb?”

Odder still, why hadn’t he at least got out of bed for this conversation? He wasn’t the kind of man to lounge around—or maybe he
was.
She really didn’t know.

“About what?”

“Everything, I suspect.” Her chest was tight; she could barely catch her breath. She felt more than a flicker of apprehension as she watched him carefully, trying to read his closed expression. My God, she thought sickly, did I really believe that I could trust this man? Was I really that stupid, that desperate to think he loved me? Love at first sight? Lord, what a fool she’d been.

She swiped her tongue across her dry lips. “You brought me to Italy to see my father, didn’t you?”

“What makes you say that?”

That wasn’t a no. Was it her imagination or did his eyes flicker a little? Was that his tell? The subtle action that he couldn’t control when he was lying, or was it genuine surprise? Affronted annoyance?

“Up until half an hour before the wedding,” he said calmly—irritatingly calmly—“I thought both your parents were dead, remember?”

She regarded him for a heartbeat and a half. “That was the first you knew about my father?”

Again with the flicker eyes. “Of course, honey.” He patted the mattress. “Come back to bed.”

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“I don’t believe you.” She held his gaze, as if that was strong enough to hold him back. To keep him away from her. “He lives in that house right there across the ravine.” She half turned to point, then spun around to pin him with a glare, stunned as the answer came to her.

Oh God, now everything made sense. It had all been one big setup. Love was supposed to be blind, not stupid. He’d played her, perfectly. “You were trying to find my father,” her voice flattening out on the last word. “
That’s
why you ‘accidentally’ bumped into me in San Francisco, wasn’t it? What did you do?

Hypnotize me? Drug me?” She took her purse out of her suitcase, then slammed the lid closed and went to stand at the foot of the bed.

“We showered together, we had breakfast in the dining room. There’s a picture of Mary and Jesus over the buffet—”

“Almost every public building in Italy has a picture of Mary and Jesus somewhere, sweetheart.”

“Not one with the top left corner torn. We had fruit, bread, and coffee. We shared a strawberry yogurt.

Then we walked around the
sassi,
went to the little church right there. Then you told me to wait because you had a
surprise
for me. The surprise was my father’s execution.” Her knuckles showed white as she tightened her fingers around her purse. “That was no damn
dream.
Who the hell
are
you?”

“No way.” Cold clammy sweat suffused Caleb’s body as he managed to haul himself up on his elbows.

His stomach protested big-time. He’d give his right nut for a Brazil nut right now. He swallowed the nausea and concentrated on Heather.

No way. There was no f-ing way she could possibly remember. Except that he’d
heard
her. She
did
know. How? He had no idea. But she had full recall.

“No way?” she repeated incredulously. “
No way
you’re going to tell me who you really are?”

God damn it. When was this fatigue and nearly continual feeling that he was about to hurl going to wear off? He was about to have one of the most important conversations of his life. He sure as shit didn’t want to have it while he was flat on his ass.

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His eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me you
remember
?”

“Make it fast, and don’t insult my intelligence by lying. And would you
please
get up and put some clothes on?”

“Amazing. I mean—Shit, you have no idea how fufreaking amazing it is that you re—” He rubbed a hand across his jaw as his mouth flooded with saliva. “Look.” He swallowed hard, hating to have to ask.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know, if you’d hand me that can of nuts on the table behind you.”

She stuck her hand on her hip. “You’re going for the insanity defense. Is that it?”

“Please?” Christ, if he hurled now, he’d…Caleb caught the can in midair. “Thanks.” He held up a hand.

“Sec—” Pried off the lid and tossed a handful into his mouth, barely chewing, the salt on his tongue enough to calm the storm.
Ahh.

“I’m pissed, waiting for an explanation, and you’re
snacking
?” Her lips clamped in anger. “Keep it up, bud, and that insanity defense might work.”

“Know what this is?” Caleb held up the can.

“A can of Brazil nuts, being eaten by the biggest nut of all?”

At least she was still there. Unfortunately he could almost hear the tick-tick-tick of a metronome counting off the seconds until she walked out that door. He couldn’t let her do that. He needed to buy some time. Even now the nutmeat was soothing the sickening gurgle in his stomach.

“I’m apparently having your cravings.”

Suspicion gleamed from her eyes. “I don’t have any.”

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“
Exactly.
I’m having them
for
you. The nausea? I’m having that for you too. Backaches? Check. If a pregnant woman gets leg cramps—I’m experiencing those as well.”

She snorted, disbelief in the sound. “Are you going to have the baby for me too?”

Caleb closed his eyes, said a quick prayer for patience, then looked at her. “That would be one hell of a trick, don’t you think?”

She tucked her purse under her arm. “I’m done. Had enough. I’ll alert the AMA and Jerry Springer,

’cause I’m sure the world will be fascinated by the first man to ever have such severe sympathy pains.

Where’s your extra five pounds? Never mind, just tell me who the hell you are so I can get it right on
Oprah.
”

“You’re a riot.” Caleb found himself totally drawn to the fire in her glare. “Let me just figure out the best way to—No. There isn’t—You’re right. Get to the point. Yeah. Got it. I’ve never had to do this before.

Never.”

“Yeah, fine. Whatever. This better be good. Let me make it easy for you. Start with name, rank, and serial number. Are you after my father? Is he really dead? How did you get me back here? Who do you work for?”

“T-FLAC. It’s an independent counterterrorist organization. We were onto your father long before the funds were misappropriated last March.”

She frowned. “What does a counterterrorist group want with my father? He’s not a terrorist. He’s a
banker.
”

“His clients are tangos. Terrorists.”

“N—” She started to deny it, then bit her lower lip. “But
he
isn’t a terrorist. He’s a victim. He was shot, remember?”

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“Yeah, I remember, but
you
aren’t supposed to.”

“Hypnosis? I’ve never been susceptible. I could have told you it wouldn’t work.”

“Not hypnosis—”

“No? What drug
did
you give me? Damn it, Caleb! Don’t you know that anything I put in my system goes directly into the baby. You—”

“I didn’t drug you and I would never hurt Bean. We’ll get to that in a minute. It’s easier if I explain things to you one topic at a time. Terrorists first. Specifically, your father.”