Morgan's Son (28 page)

"Everyone has a personal wall," Sabra said, holding his tortured gaze. "We all hit it if we've been pushed beyond our emotional boundaries. They shouldn't have forced you back into the cockpit so soon. They should have given you more time."

"Time? After that little incident, they sent me to a shrink. He said I was unfit to fly, which was true. I resigned my commission and got out, Sabra. I wasn't going to embarrass myself like than anymore. Then I went home to
New Mexico
to heal. I stayed home for six months, got some kind of grip on myself and looked into Perseus. Morgan knew I was an ex-marine pilot, but he never questioned me about why I'd left. I think he knew."

"Morgan is very astute about people," Sabra agreed gently. "He was in a war, too, so he knows."

"Yeah, I think he did know a lot about me, but he never said anything. It takes one to know one, I guess." Craig held up his hands. "Of course, the scars were pretty obvious. I think he put two and two together." With a shake of his head, Craig added, "For some reason, I didn't care if Morgan knew. I trusted him, and I knew he trusted me. When I told him I didn't want any assignments that involved flying, he just said, ‘Fine.' That was the end of it. After that, I began to relax more. I got the jobs done for him, and I began to feel like I could do something right. In a way, I think Morgan was assessing my stability. He gave me missions that would build what was left of my confidence. Over the past six months, I really began to mend."

"Morgan is wonderful with people," she quavered, hurting for both Craig and her boss. "I'm beginning to understand your initial reaction to this mission now."

He shot her a wry look. "Yeah, well, it sort of took the wind out of my sails, believe me. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if Jenny hadn't just been killed."

"You've been reeling from one trauma to another," she said, even more aware of the level of stress on him.

Craig met her luminous gaze. "Well, now you know everything, Sabra." Holding up his hands, he said, "I'm no hero. I've screwed up in ways I never thought possible. I've lost lives. I'm a coward behind the stick of a helicopter. I'm a loser, big-time."

Shocked, Sabra stared at him. It was on the tip of her tongue to refute his allegations. But she realized Craig saw himself that way because he was still blaming himself for everything that had happened. What war did to men was unconscionable in her opinion, making them feel like cowards when in reality they were terribly brave under inhuman circumstances.

Gently, she slid her hand up his arm until it came to rest on his slumped shoulder. She saw the fear in Craig's eyes and understood it now. "The man I see in front of me," she said quietly, "is a hero to me. You did the best you could, Craig, and that's all anyone can ask of you—ever. I don't care if Linda or her parents ever forgive you. I don't care if you can never sit in the cockpit of a helicopter again." She tightened her hold on his shoulder. "What about the man who saved my life last night? You didn't lose it when they tried to kill us. No, you kept your wits about you. If anything, Craig, I was the one who was shaken up. You were thinking all the time. You thought of digging the trenches for us to hide in."

"Maybe I just got lucky."

"I don't think so." Sabra leaned upward and placed her lips against the tight line of his mouth—a mouth that held back so much force of emotions. Gently, she slid her lips against his and felt the hard line dissolve beneath her exploration. Time was not on their side. As much as she wanted to love Craig again, she knew it was impossible. She felt him groan, his mouth opening and taking her deeply. Smiling to herself, she sank against him, allowing him to absorb her presence. She was the less wounded of the two of them. Let her kisses help heal him, if only a little bit. As she slid her arms around his shoulders, Sabra didn't fool herself. She knew PTSD wasn't something that was easily chased away. The healing took place on an individual's time clock. Some men never got over it. She did realize how far Craig had come in such a small amount of time. That spoke of his courage—a courage he no longer admitted he had.

Easing her mouth from his, she smiled into his stormy eyes. "I wish we had all the time in the world right now, Craig."

He ran his hand along the smooth line of her spine. "So do I, but we don't." Frowning, he eased away from her and reluctantly pushed the covers aside. "We need to shower, get dressed and start thinking about a new plan of attack."

Sabra watched him stand, then slid off the bed and moved into his welcoming arms. "Do you think Jason is there?"

"I don't know, but we're going to find out. First things first. We need another rental car. Then we're going to hide out the rest of the day at another motel. We'll start work tonight. There's less chance of being detected then."

"So, you think Garcia spotted us on the hill?"

"It's hard to say. This could be an inside job. Someone in the police department could have tipped Garcia off."

With a quirk of her lips, Sabra said, "I hope not."

"We can't trust anyone right now," he said, leaning down and placing a kiss against her temple. How Sabra could want him to hold her after what he'd told her was beyond him. He was still reeling from the release of his dammed emotions. Sharing had been less painful than he'd thought, but then, Sabra wasn't an ordinary woman. Craig couldn't trust his good fortune at finding someone who wasn't accusing him of being a coward.

As he stood there with her in his arms, Craig could no longer convince himself that the unnamed feeling that swelled so powerfully through his chest was anything but love—and he was stunned by the force of it. Looking down into her warm gray eyes, he realized just how much he cared for her. His emotions ragged and confused from the events of the past hours, he said nothing. The situation right now was too dangerous for him to contemplate his feelings with the kind of attention they deserved.

Still, his burgeoning emotions made him hesitate. But how could he let Sabra know? Why would she return his love? He had no right to think he deserved someone as beautiful from the heart outward as she was. Besides, he rationalized, the mission would be jeopardized by further emotional involvement with her. If there was ever a time he needed to force away any romantic notions and count on his realist nature it was now.

Even as he questioned his own motives, Craig decided to set aside his feelings until he and Sabra could have the safety and leisure to explore them properly—if it was meant to be. With his past, Sabra probably wouldn't be interested in him beyond these moments of passion born of the fires of danger.

"Come on," he said gruffly, "let's get going."

"We need to get a change of clothes, so we'll blend in like tourists," Sabra said as she slipped on her shoes. Craig had showered, though he hadn't been able to shave, and his darkly shadowed jaw made her pulse race. He stood in the bathroom, the door open, pushing his hair into place the best he could with his fingers. His wrinkled, white cotton shirt outlined his magnificent chest—the chest she'd slept on last night, where she'd heard the thud of his brave heart.

Frustration trickled through Sabra. Craig still thought he was a coward. What would it take for him to see himself as she did? Telling him obviously wasn't enough. As she walked toward him, she smiled softly. But when he turned his head and met her gaze, shock bolted through her. The look in his blue eyes was once again coldly efficient. Sabra's world spun out of control, and her smile dissolved. Craig was suddenly unreachable, and she felt stripped. Hurt flowed through her as he moved briskly past her.

Craig scowled. He saw Sabra's vulnerable features register shock, then confusion. Her lips were still pouty from his kisses, and he longed to pick her up and carry her back to bed. He shook his head, forcing his heated thoughts away. "First, we need to get a rental car. We'll leave the equipment here, for now. Then we'll change motels and get some clothes and toiletry items."

"Good idea." Sabra struggled to get a grip on her rioting feelings. Craig had always been up-front with her. He'd warned her he was bad news to any woman—especially her. Why had she let her heart get involved?

"We'll wear our weapons."

She hesitated. "I can't. I don't have a jacket to hide the holster."

Craig grimaced. "Okay." He slipped into his shoulder-holster assembly, picked up his weapon from the carpet and took the bullet out of the chamber. "We're going to have to be careful. I didn't get a look at who was after us."

"We should take back alleys or side streets."

"Right." He pushed the clip back inside the pistol and holstered it. Sabra handed him his jacket, and he shrugged it on. "If we get attacked, we need to split up."

She sat on the bed, frowning. "I wish we had backup."

"We don't. At least not until Killian gets here with the Learjet. We need to call in and find out his arrival time."

Sabra felt his hand brush the top of her head in a brief caress, the gesture surprising her. She quickly looked up at him, but Craig's face was expressionless. Still, she gloried in his small, meaningful touch. Why had he done it? There was so much she wanted to talk about, but none of it was relevant right now.

"Ready?" he demanded.

"Yes." Sabra rose and gathered what was left of her courage. As they approached the door, she whispered unsteadily, "Craig, I'm not sorry about what happened between us. No matter what goes on out there. Okay?"

He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Do you think I'm sorry?"

Sabra shook her head and drowned in his hooded blue eyes. "I—no, but I just wanted to let you know in case…" She couldn't say it.
In case she was killed. Or he was.

She chewed on her lower lip, unable to hold his burning gaze. "There's something I need to tell you, Craig, before we leave this room." Even if he didn't love her, she knew he respected her. And that was enough.

Craig's heart pounded with dread, but he nodded. "Okay, what is it?" It was impossible to steel himself emotionally for whatever Sabra might say, but he suspected it wasn't going to be anything good. As desperate as he was, he had no guard against her. He smoothed the fabric of her blouse across her shoulders, where he felt the accumulated tension.

"Once," Sabra whispered, looking away, "I loved a man. His name was Captain Joshua David. He was a pilot in the Israeli Air Force. I—I met him when I was with the Mossad. I met him at a party one night for officials. He came over and told me he'd fallen in love with me with one look. I didn't believe him, of course, and to tell you the truth, Josh was a jokester who played tricks on everyone. I didn't know it at the time. I just thought he was one of the crazy, drunk pilots at the party.

"Over the next year, Josh made a point of seeing me. He was very extroverted—always smiling. I wondered how he could be that way with the job he had to do. His life was on the line every time he rode that plane into the sky. We'd lost many pilots to the enemy, and I couldn't figure out how he could laugh and smile so much.

"Josh kept telling me he loved me, but I wouldn't believe him." She compressed her lips and shut her eyes. "Then I was at the office one day, and I heard that one of our pilots had been shot down. We didn't know who it was, if he was dead or captured. My father came to my office and told me it was Josh."

She forced herself to look up at Craig. "I cried like a baby when he told me. Then we had to wait two weeks before we found out that Josh had died."

He saw the tears in her eyes. "What did you learn out of that?" he asked her gently, framing her face with his hands, holding her agonized gaze.

"I never believed him," she said in a strained voice. "I always thought he was joking. I guess—I guess, somewhere along the way, I did fall in love with him, Craig. He was a nice guy. He was loved by everyone. There wasn't a mean bone in his body, and he was so patriotic. Oh, he'd steal kisses from me every once in a while, but he'd joke about that, too. Sometimes he'd send me flowers, but then he'd turn around and say he'd meant to send them to his mother or aunt instead. I—I just couldn't trust myself to trust him, I guess."

Craig took his thumbs and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Maybe he was afraid to be serious with you. Maybe he was afraid you'd turn him down."