Dark of Night (38 page)

Dave leaned back out into the hotel suite and said, “I'm sorry, sir. I know this is an imposition, but could I ask you and Karmody to sit out in the hall?”

There was a murmur of voices, after which Dave said, “Thank you, sir,” and then she heard the sound of the heavy hotel room door closing.

He turned back to her, closing the bathroom door behind him even though he'd emptied out their hotel suite. “I'm sorry I upset you,” he said as he sat near her, on the edge of the bathtub. He lowered himself down carefully, gingerly, and she knew he wasn't taking the painkillers the doctor had prescribed for him.

“But you're not sorry that you went,” she inferred.

“No,” he said quietly. “I'm not. Tom's job is to be overly cautious, and rightly so, but he wasn't in Kazabek with me, so he doesn't know—”

“I'm aware of that, yes,” she said. “That you went in there alone—”

“I'm good at what I do,” he tried to reassure her. “I know when I've been compromised, and I wasn't. There are now four people on this planet who know where I was last week, and they're all right here, in this hotel. I went in using a different name, a completely different identity.”

“And the people you talked to, while you were there … ? Didn't they know you?”

“No.”

She sat there for a moment, ingesting that information before she asked, “Who, exactly, did you talk to?”

“Does it really matter?” he countered.

Did it? Probably not. Still … “Was it anyone I know?”

“Maybe, but probably not. I didn't get any names, but they were all servants—women—who worked in Bashir's palace,” he said quietly, “during the time you were held prisoner there. They did laundry and … cleaning. They washed the floors and … other things.”

Sophia had to look away from him. Her stomach was churning again, even though it was empty. It had to be empty—she'd thrown up so much already, both on the side of the road and here in this bathroom, too.

“What did they tell you?” she asked.

He was silent for so long, she finally looked up. And she found him still watching her, his elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped together.

God, how many times had he sat exactly like that as they'd talked— sometimes well into the night. This man was her best friend, and had been for years. Good old reliable Dave, always there when she'd needed a shoulder to cry on. Or someone to have sex with after years of zero intimate contact due to terrible prior emotional and physical trauma.

Sophia had always loved Dave's smile, but he wasn't smiling now. His mouth was tight and the muscle was jumping on the side of his jaw. The hardness in his eyes and on his face—the edge that she'd seen repeatedly since he'd been knifed—was back. And she realized it wasn't so much an air of danger as it was determination and self-confidence—or perhaps more correctly, a
lack
of his previous uncertainty and self-doubt.

For years, she hadn't thought of him as being particularly attractive, but he was. It was true, he wasn't the most handsome man on the planet— his face was a little too long, the bags under his eyes too pronounced, making him look, always, just a little bit sad. But the bright intelligence and gleam of humor that shone in his eyes was tremendously appealing— although there wasn't much humor there now, as he finally answered her.

“Everything,” he whispered. “They told me everything, Soph. So now you don't have to. Because now I know.”

She laughed. It was that or start to cry. “And that's why you risked your life,” she said again. “To find out something that I could have told you— that I
would
have told you, if you'd asked?
What happened, Sophia, after that bastard killed your husband and claimed possession of you and everything you owned? What exactly did he do to make the experience even more of a nightmare?
I would have told you
everything.
But no. You had to go to
Kazabek
and maybe get yourself killed.”

“I've been back there,” he said. “Dozens of times since—”

“Oh!” she cut him off. “God! Is that supposed to make it okay?”

“It is what it is,” Dave pointed out. “It's not like you didn't know.” He faltered. “You
did
know, didn't you? That I've gone there on assignment?”

And there they sat, staring at each other, as Sophia realized the problem.
Her
problem—because it was entirely hers. Her eyes ached with a renewed rush of unshed tears, and she fought to keep them from falling.

“No,” she said. “Actually, I didn't.”

“Jesus.” Dave was aghast. “Really? I mean, I know I didn't talk about it. Not with you, because, you know, Kazabek. Not your favorite place in the world, but… I thought…” He shook his head. “I'm so sorry. I didn't—”

“You're not supposed to go to Kazabek,” she interrupted him. “You're also not supposed to get stabbed in a parking lot.”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “That's kind of a given, across the board.”

“No,” she said.
“You're
not. You. Dave.”

It was clear that he didn't understand.

“It's my fault,” Sophia told him. “Entirely. So don't you dare apologize again. I don't know what I was thinking, but I
was
thinking it—”

“Thinking?” he repeated. “Soph, you lost me.”

She tried to explain. “Like, I wanted the biggest excitement in our lives to come from … from … deciding what color tile to use when we re-do the bathroom. From, I don't know, having the toilet clog. From outsmarting the coyotes to keep them out of the trash. I didn't want to be here—worrying if you're going to get an infection from
be
in
g stabbed—
let alone worrying about who's going to stab you next. Or shoot you. Or … God only knows what they're going to do next! I didn't realize I was signing on for that.”

He misunderstood. “I know. And I should have told you more extensively about the situation with Anise—”

“This isn't about Anise freakin’ Turiano!” She cut him off. “It's about who you really are.
What
you really are. Please,
please
don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that you deceived me, because you didn't.
I'm
the one who lied. To myself. About you. Because you're not the man I thought you were.” Dear Lord, she was completely messing this up, and that last bit in particular had come out totally wrong. “The man I thought I knew.”

That wasn't right, either. And Dave couldn't have looked more devastated and wounded if she'd taken out a gun and shot him point-blank.

“How can you say something like that?” he whispered, before she could even attempt to try again, “and then claim it's not about Anise?”

“It's not,” she said, desperate now to explain that which she hadn't
even completely figured out for herself. Her head was filled with so much noise, so much chaos, and her stomach churned and boiled. “What I
meant
was …” She stopped for a moment, trying to organize her thoughts, to find the right words. “When we first got together—” She defined it more specifically: “When we became lovers, it was because I wanted to be with the man I had lunch with for all those years. The … the
Dave
who has to watch his weight and forgets to get his hair cut. The Dave who would rather talk to me on the phone for hours in his Las Vegas hotel room than hit the tables in the casino. I didn't want trips to Kazabek, and death threats and knife wounds. I didn't want James Bond. I wanted … to feel safe. I wanted a relationship with someone who's… I don't know …”

“Boring?” He supplied the word.

“No,” Sophia said. “Well,
yes,
but in a
good
way. Normal, Dave. I wanted
normal.”

And great. Her explanation had made him feel even worse.

“And in a company filled with exceptional men,” he said quietly, “I guess I fit that bill. Wow. Okay. That answers a lot of questions, like what exactly is someone like you doing with a guy like me.”

“No,” she said. “Don't you see? I thought you
were
the exception.”

He didn't say it, but she knew what he was thinking. He was the exception—by being, in her eyes, unexceptional.

“For the record, I'm hardly James Bond.”

“I'm sorry,” she said sharply. “Did I misunderstand you just a few minutes ago when you reassured me that your going to Kazabek was no big thing and—”

“So what does this mean?” It was typical of Dave, to bulldoze right to the bottom line. His eyes were dark with his hurt, and with something else, too. Anger. “You don't want James Bond, and apparently you feel I'm enough like James Bond to warrant this discussion, so … What are saying, Soph?”

“I don't know,” she said.

“Are you breaking up with me?” he asked. “Because…” He struggled to compose himself, as he nodded his head. “That's probably a good idea.”

“No,” she said, closing her eyes. “That's not—”

“If these people are after me, then—”

“I'm just trying to be honest with you, while I wrap my head around the reality, which is different from what I'd imagined—”

“It's better if we're not together,” Dave said.

“I
don't
want to break
up!”
she said. “I love you!”

“Do you?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.” God, she was going to be sick again. She had to close her eyes and grit her teeth.

“Because it sounds like you're not sure you really know me. It sounds like you think I'm a little too much like Decker, and if you're going to be with a Decker, you might as well go for the real one—”

“Oh, my God!” she said. “How could someone so smart be so
stupid?
This has nothing to do with Decker and even if it did? He's made it very clear that he doesn't want me!”

Oh, wrong, wrong,
wrong
thing to say, as true a statement as it was.

“I'm sorry.” She said it right away, but it was too late. The damage was done.

Dave was already standing up. “Hokay,” he said. “That's great.”

“Dave, please, wait. I'm
so
sorry—”

“No,” he said. “I think we better end this conversation before … I'm exhausted. I didn't sleep on the plane and you're ill, and we're clearly not—”

“I don't want Decker,” she told him as the tears she could no longer hold back slid down her face. “I want you.”

“Lunch me,” he reminded her. “Fat me.
Boring
me. I get it, Soph. I do. But I'm not the man you thought I was, and frankly? This current version of me is not sure how to give you what you want. So I'm going to go for what
I
want. Which is you, safe, while I find and neutralize the threat. If that's too James Bond for you? So be it.” He opened the door, but then, instead of walking out, he came back over to her, in a move that was classic Dave. “Come on. Let's get you into bed. You'll be more comfortable. I'll move the trash can close, in case you need to…” He was so gentle, his hands so warm as he helped her to her feet, helped her out of the bathroom and over to the bed. “I'll sleep out on the couch.”

“You don't have to—”

“Yeah, I do,” he said, then used the words she'd said to him earlier. “I, uh, need some space, too.”

He was lying. Sophia knew that what he really needed was the ability to wake up before she did, and leave—on some crazy mission that
wouldn't just neutralize the threat but would probably get himself neutralized as well.

It was now or quite possibly never—and he had to know before he left. So as he took most of the throw pillows off the big bed, as he pulled back the covers so she could climb in, Sophia blurted it out with absolutely no lead-in, no setup, no warning. “I need to tell you that… I'm pretty sure I'm pregnant.”

Even after their hellish day, Tracy Shapiro still smelled incredibly good.

Decker stood there, in the hall of Sam and Alyssa's house, as she got closer. And closer.

She spoke, firmly, decisively, clearly, concisely. “Go into the bathroom, take off your clothes, and get into the shower.”

“This is hardly the time or place—”

“I'm willing to bet that with you, it's
never
the time or place,” she countered, “which makes here and now as good as any. I'll get my computer. And my phone. We'll hear if Jules or Alyssa contacts us. Until then, all we're doing is waiting. And getting cleaned up. So go on. Get cleaned up. Leave the door open.”

“I'm not—”

“I
didn't
say you could talk.”

When he opened his mouth to speak again, she reached between them—they were standing so close she didn't have to reach too far. She grabbed his entire set of equipment, with a grip that wasn't exactly gentle, but wasn't exactly not. Regardless, he nearly went through the ceiling.

Jesus! He just managed to bite back the word as he reached down and caught her wrist.

But Tracy said, just as sharply, “And I
certainly
didn't say you could touch me.”

It was the moment of truth—he knew it as well as she did. Whatever was going to happen—or not happen—depended upon what he said or did next.

But then she stood on her toes and kissed him—just a brief, delicate flutter of her soft lips against his. “Shhh,” she whispered. “It's okay.”

So he let go of her wrist and just stood there, silently, hands at his
sides, breathing hard, as her tear-his-balls-off grip turned into something else, something far more like a caress, yet still absolutely possessive. He closed his eyes as she touched him, cupped him, stroked him.

“Do you like this?” she whispered, and when he opened his eyes to look at her, he saw that she was smiling just a little—the corners of her mouth quirking up. Probably because she'd just asked him a question, yet had told him not to speak.

He nodded—one short jerk of his head—as he held her gaze.

“Me too,” she murmured. “Go figure. So go ahead—into the bathroom. Take off your clothes and get into the shower.”

Decker hesitated, because it meant he'd have to pull away from her. And his response to her question—did he like this?—had been an understatement.
Like
was hardly the right word. It was possible he'd never before been this overwhelmingly hard for anyone—not in his entire life.

“Do it. Now,” Tracy said in that take-no-shit, commanding-officer tone, and he moved, pulling free from her grasp, which left him feeling cold and almost bereft.