Dark Cover (The DARK Files #2) (8 page)

When she bumped up against his knees, she blinked and stepped back. “There, all wrapped up like Tutankhamen.”

She busied herself with stowing the first-aid materials in the medicine cabinet.

“If King Tut had had some of this fine liqueur, he might still be alive.” One eyebrow quirked up as he held out his glass for more.

She restrained herself from pointing out that particular extravagance of his brother’s was another he liked.
She poured. “Your wound will need the bandage for a day or two, but after that, opening it up will allow oxygen to promote healing.”

He mumbled a growl as he swigged from the snifter. “Now you even sound like a medic. Medical training or DARK?”

“You’d be surprised at the variety of undercover roles I’ve played. Yes, doctor was one. I’ve also been a barmaid, a banker and a secretary.”

“Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief. Is that the kids’ rhyme?”

Is he a little drunk?
“Lawyer yes. Indian chief no.” She handed him two ibuprofen tablets and a glass of water.

He ignored the water and downed the tablets with liqueur.

He probably wasn’t in the mood to be warned about mixing pills and alcohol. Watching him, she chose her tactic.

“A wound can fester and turn to poison if it’s kept covered for too long. Fresh air can heal all kinds of hurts, even old, buried ones.”

NICK LOOKED UP to see her watching him, a gentle smile on her face. Her quiet, calm and clear honest gaze implied she cared, but probing his mind was probably part of her damn job. She was making sure he didn’t flip out and scuttle the mission.

DARK must have a file on the Somalia strike. Though she didn’t act like it, she probably knew the worst. Knew why DARK wouldn’t want him involved except as the traitor’s brother.
Why the hell did she want him to spell out his shame?

He rose from the stool, nearly kicking it over. “Old wounds never heal if you keep opening them up.” He stalked into the bedroom and to the window beyond the bed.

He didn’t hear her follow. Just as well if she left him alone. The nearer she was the more irresistible he found her. She was strong and savvy, warm and comforting.

With a body he ached to possess.
On the stool, he’d had an eyeful. He’d inhaled her scent and barely resisted nuzzling her breasts. The erect nipples poking the thin jumpsuit had begged to be tasted.

“Something happened to you in Special Forces,” she said, coming up beside him. The direct look in her brilliant green eyes offered encouragement, inspired confidence.

“Something. Yes.” He set his glass on the windowsill. No more mind-fuzzing. His edges were blurred enough that he could face it. “What does my file say about Somalia?”

She tilted her head as if considering her answer. Small furrows appeared between her eyebrows.
“You were a sergeant with the third Special Forces group sent as security for humanitarian relief.”

He worked up an encouraging expression, but his attempt at a smile was probably more of a sneer. “Right so far. Go on. What else?”

“There’s mention of an op to secure a weapons cache in a remote village. Something went wrong and men were lost.”

“Then you know everything. My screw-up killed four men. End of story.”

“But surely—”

“You have enough without me rattling the skeletons.” He’d tortured himself enough for one night.

His gaze snagged on her sweet mouth, a much better alternative to think about. He slid a hand behind her neck and tugged gently until he closed the space between them to barely an inch. Her fresh scent lured him to forget everything else.
The bed was only a foot behind her. He began edging her backward. “Instead, let’s talk about how hot you look in that slinky commando gear.”

Her feathery lashes fluttered in uncertainty and she swayed toward him.

She wanted him. Knowing that stoked the coals inside him to a blaze.
Only inches to the bed now.
He danced one hand down her back, closer to that pert round bottom he ached to hold. They could be on the bed, wrapped around each other. He went from aroused to hard in a nanosecond.

But before his lips could touch hers, she sidestepped, the furrows again between her brows.
She scooted around the bed, out of reach. “Clever job of derailing, but a dangerous detour. For both of us. You want the real Danielle. I’m just a convenient warm body. And I don’t trespass.” Her voice shook.

Good, Somalia had flown from her head.
“And such a sexy, warm body. You’re off base about who I want. I know exactly who I was about to kiss.” He trailed after her on her escape route.

She stopped at the bedroom door and faced him. “Sexy? Me? Now I know you’re merely trying to change topics. You have to pretend in public, but in private allow me my pride.” Temper infused high color in her cheeks and flared her nostrils.

“No pretense. You’re damn cute when you’re angry.”

“Cute. Exactly. Not sexy. Not seductive. Wholesome. The cute sister. The good buddy, the best friend. That’s me.”

He scratched his nape with his good hand. She had some strange ideas about herself. “I apologize for stepping over the line. Honey, you make me forget I’m supposed to be engaged.”

“Give it up, Nick. Good night.”

He stood in the doorway until he heard her door close. Confusing female, but weren’t they all?
Fascinating. Bright and competent, witty, confident in her profession, but insecure as a woman.
Maybe having a cover model for a sister was to blame. But they were nothing alike. Vanessa had her own beauty. Anyone with testosterone could see that. He sure as hell didn’t think of her as his buddy.

But damn, he’d better try, or he’d blow his cover story of the engagement.

He stretched out on his rumpled sheets and tried to ignore his thumb and another throbbing need caused by that particular confusing woman.

***

As soon as she’d secured the motion sensor on her door, Vanessa stripped off the jumpsuit. She’d considered the garment only protective cover until Nick’s ogling turned it into seduction fashion.

She slipped on her comfortable cotton nightgown. The garment was one of the few items of her own clothing she’d brought. No one but her would see it. Although the housekeeper knew she kept her toiletries and clothing in this guest room, Vanessa made this bed carefully every day to keep up the pretense that she spent her nights in Nick’s bed.

Nick’s bed.
She could’ve spent tonight there if she’d yielded to temptation. And his blatant invitation.
He seemed to have no compunction about betraying his fiancée and expected her to have none. That incongruous lack of principle in a man bound to regain his honor worried her.

His final words as she left came to her: “
You make me forget I’m supposed to be engaged.”

Supposed
to be engaged? What an odd choice of words for a man in love! Or was he?

She heaved a tired sigh. She was being overly picky and suspicious, the default trait of her profession. A man of the world like Nick, with a glamorous fiancée, didn’t really want plain girl-next-door Vanessa. He simply needed distraction from the demons plaguing him.

Demons, oh yes. She climbed into the four-poster bed. Demons of guilt for what he believed he’d done or not done years ago. What happened in that Somali village ate at him like a cancer.
That incomplete confession increased her insight. His anger at his brother’s crimes stemmed from a strong sense of responsibility — and a need to redeem his own honor as well as his family’s.

Her heart squeezed. If she could banish his demons, she’d be tempted to go to him.
But taking him in her arms would be dangerous. It would be wrong. She had to ignore her attraction to him while she acted the fiancée role. And while she spied on him to ensure he didn’t deviate from DARK’s program.

She punched her pillow and turned over. Chasing sleep was a losing race.

***

Vanessa saw Nick only briefly the next day. She found him in the study on a conference call with New York and London.
He punched the speaker button off and growled, “My restaurant supply business is going down the tubes. One disaster after another, and all I can do is delegate.”

She made sympathetic comments. When his expression softened, she said, “I’ll be working next door on security arrangements for the Friday reception.”

Leaning against the closed door, she thought he seemed grateful for the cool-down after the night’s heated encounter. He was probably regretting coming on to her. Better all around. Better that they could avoid each other in the house.

Suspicion. Detachment. No intimacy.

She pushed off and headed next door.

Ah, just once, she wanted a man to mean it when he said she looked hot and tried to seduce her. She wanted him to want her, not her undercover persona. She wanted him not to have an ulterior motive, like an introduction to her hotter sister. Or like a detour from his problems in sweaty sex.

She wanted a man who didn’t already have a fiancée.

***

That night, the DARK cameras and motion sensors recorded no intruders. No burglars, New Dawn or otherwise, attempted to enter through the severed fence.

On Wednesday morning Snow drove Nick and Vanessa to Markos Imports, where Nick fought another round with the employees about selling the business. Clearly his determination to sell arose from his aversion to anything of his brother’s.

Later the car took them to the suitably gloomy Georgian structure housing Falstone and Drumm Funeral Home. The authorities had only just released Alexei’s body for cremation, so Nick had to schedule the service. When Snow stopped the Mercedes beneath the funeral home’s portico, Nick hesitated, his hand on the door.

Snow turned around. “All clear, Mr. M. Unknown vehicle parked down the block, but our guys have them boxed in. If it’s New Dawn, they’re ours.”

Vanessa recognized Nick’s taut jaw as tension about arranging a funeral for his disgraced brother, not concern about safety.
A hand on his forearm offered the only support she dared express.

To her surprise, he covered her hand with his and gave her an answering squeeze. He opened the door. “Thanks, Snow. This won’t take long.”

Mr. Falstone, as plush and dour as his establishment, ushered them through a display of cremation urns and caskets. Without a blink, Nick selected one before the funeral director could begin his spiel. Peering at them over his reading glasses, Falstone then suggested an elaborate memorial ceremony, including a choir, orations and responsive readings.

In spite of Nick’s unusual upbringing — and because of it — family and family honor ranked above almost everything else. He would put his disgraced family member in the ground. He would do it with respect and reserve and hard-won control. To others he’d appear calm and dispassionate. But anger and resentment would churn inside him for a long time.

She cringed inwardly at the pain Falstone’s over-the-top ideas must be causing. With a sideways glance at Nick’s hard mask, she stepped in and shook her head. She said with Danielle-cool disdain, “Your simplest ceremony will do. No choir.”

Falstone’s jowls sagged.

They agreed on a date, Nick signed a contract and they escaped. He’d been right about brevity. The entire process took twenty minutes.

Only when they reentered the car did she register that during the entire meeting in the funeral home he kept possession of her hand.

Snow announced, “Street’s quiet. Those guys were religious types handing out tracts to the neighborhood.”

She could only stare at her hand, now cold and empty.

***

Nick hit the basement gym as soon as they returned to the house. He worked out with weights and the punching bag, then ran five miles on the treadmill. Pent-up frustration sweated out, he showered and dressed for dinner. With Janine here, he and Vanessa would dine together for the first time.

After the other night, she might still be wary of him, but he wanted her even more. He shouldn’t, but he refused to examine the desire any further.

Janine would leave soon. He and Vanessa would be alone.

In the dining room, she and the housekeeper were chattering in French. So perhaps DARK had chosen Vanessa for this skill as well as her red hair and people talents.

Janine’s daughter Lise slouched in the kitchen doorway. The bored look on her face was an expression only a teenager could affect. She probably didn’t speak her mother’s native tongue and didn’t know what they were saying.

Nick’s French was rusty, but he understood enough to know the Haitian woman was telling his
fiancée
about the troubles on her native island. After a hurricane killed her husband, she and her then infant daughter came to the United States, sponsored by a charity organization.

Vanessa made sympathetic comments as Janine described her homeland’s lack of jobs and her dirt-floored hut with no electricity.

“
Et votre fille?”
Vanessa was asking about Janine’s daughter’s plans.

“Ici c’est meilleur. L’éducation lui donne l’espoir.”

Here it was better, she said. Education gave the girl hope. Nick had never seen Janine so animated. Emotion tinged her cocoa-brown face. The linen napkin she clutched rose and fell with the Caribbean lilt of her musical voice.

With him she was always reserved and deferential. He praised her cuisine and her efficiency and tried to converse with her, but she never shared anything of herself.

The real Danielle would’ve addressed her only as a servant and elicited no more than a nod. Maybe a damn curtsey. Vanessa opened up the woman in moments.

He strode into the dining room and wrapped an arm around Vanessa’s shoulders. “Ah,
mes belles
, about time you met.”

Lise rolled her eyes. She jerked her shoulders and cocked her hip.

Expression once again shuttered, the housekeeper folded the napkin and arranged it at one of the two set places on the cherry-wood banquet table. “Good evening, Monsieur Nick. The dinner, it will be ready in a few moments.”

Eyes downcast, she dashed into the kitchen.

“She’s still skittish of me. And the daughter doesn’t trust me. Fallout from Alexei’s high-handedness. At least I eliminated the silly maid’s uniform he’d insisted on.”