Morgan's Son (8 page)

Talbot's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Sabra felt the intensity, the heat and the torture instantly as his gaze met and locked with hers. She was shamed by the tears that leaked from her eyes and began to trail down her cheeks, but she no longer cared. "I—I'm begging you, as one human being to another, to come with me on this mission. It's true, I've never led a team, and I'll value your experience and input. Whatever you have to offer to help us get to Jason." She stretched her fingers toward him. "Please…."

Shock snaked through Craig as he stared down at her outstretched hand. His throat went dry. His mouth tasted bitter. The instant he looked into her lustrous, tear-filled eyes, it was as if she'd torn a layer out of his heart. He
felt
her pleading. For two years he had felt little, as if caught in an imprisoning cocoon, cut off from his emotions. But looking at Sabra's begging eyes, as the deep honey of her voice flowed through him like light in the darkness of his agonizing existence, seemed to pull him—if only for a moment—out of his personal hell.

He gripped the mug hard, feeling all eyes on him. Sabra's fingers were long and beautifully shaped, the nails blunt cut and without nail polish. If nothing else, she was herself, and Craig respected that discovery. She was confident enough in herself that she needed little outside adornment, he realized, slowly raising his head. As he met and drowned in her lustrous gaze, he felt such an incredible warmth flow through his heart that it startled him—as if the look in her eyes was capable of melting the glacier of ice he'd been trapped in for so long. The past half hour in this room with her had made him feel like living again, reviving a trickle of hope he'd believed destroyed forever.

Craig had no idea how Sabra had unlocked his heart, but he had to acknowledge that she wielded some kind of power. Did she realize her effect on him? No, not judging from the haunted look in her eyes that tore so effectively at him. Was she using her exotic beauty to persuade him? He didn't think so. There was nothing coy or flirtatious about Sabra. She was bold and straightforward in a way he could admire—and respect.

More than anything, Craig found her diplomacy appealing. She could have acted like a man and told him that whatever she said went, since she was the leader of the team. Instead, she had appealed to him on a personal level, asking for his help and counsel.

Craig delved deeply into her gray gaze, trying to ferret out her reasons for the diplomatic invitation to share her power. But all he found was grief—a plea for a child's welfare. His instincts told him she wasn't the kind of person to put on an act.

"I think," Jake said, rising slowly, "we ought to leave you two alone for a few minutes."

The other men rose and left the room. The door shut behind them. Sabra pulled her hand back to her side of the table and sat, watching Craig in the gathering silence. He was burdened by something so terrible that he couldn't get past it to make a decision. She had no idea where that knowledge came from, but she trusted her senses.

Quietly, she said, "I know high-risk missions can be life threatening, Craig. I don't know if this one will be. There's so much we don't know yet about Garcia, or where Jason is, or how he might be guarded. I can use your help and experience on this. I—I had a wonderful mentor for five years—Terry Hayes. He was in his forties, and he'd kicked around the world for years as a merc before coming to Perseus. He taught me his craft and he taught me well. I'm not sitting here saying I know it all, because I don't. Terry taught me a whole new version of teamwork. We talked over every detail of our plans together. He listened to my ideas, and I listened to his. Sometimes—" she spread her hands as Craig slowly raised his chin and pinned her with his gaze "—I knew something from my past in the Mossad that we could use. Sometimes Terry's past would be of help."

"I don't question your sincerity about enlisting my help or experience in this mission," Craig said roughly, breaking his long silence.

Sabra stared at him, puzzled. "Then what's stopping you from saying yes? I can feel you wrestling with something—something almost insurmountable…." She held his angry, confused stare and watched his generous mouth become a dark slash against his face.

"My past is none of your business," he said in a grating tone. "None of it."

"I wasn't trying to pry…."

Shaken by her insight, Craig felt anger temporarily replace his fear. "Is there flying involved in this mission?"

Sabra reacted to the unexpected question as if he'd physically struck her in the face. Reeling from his sudden fury, she stammered, "Well—yes, the flight to
Hawaii
."

"What about once we're there?"

"I…don't know. I've been on
Maui
. Kaanopolis is at the west end of the island and Kula is to the east. A rental car should be sufficient."

"No helicopter flights?"

"Why—no…not that I know of. At least not right now."

Craig pushed the chair back and stood, glaring down at her. "Good, because I
refuse
to fly a helicopter. I refuse to even climb in one. You got that?"

Stunned, Sabra stared up into his tortured, stormy features. "Y-yes, I've got that."
Why?
Her mind spun. He'd been a helicopter pilot in the Marine Corps. Why would he refuse to even ride in one? And she hadn't asked him to fly a helicopter—it wasn't in the plan.

"Perseus owns a Learjet," she said, rattled. "That's all."

Craig paced the length of the room, his hands behind his back. "I don't like being squeezed into this mission. I can't help it if the kid got nailed by Ramirez and Garcia." He stopped and twisted to look at her over his shoulder. Sabra's face was filled with desolation at his statement. "Don't play on my sympathies about kids, because it won't work. I don't like high-risk missions. There's too much that can go wrong."

"Yes," Sabra said in a strained voice, "there's no question of that. It will no doubt require a lot of creativity and flexibility on both our parts, but I feel you have that. So do I."

"You know what your problem is, Ms. Jacobs?"

Sabra blinked once, feeling the full force of his intensity, which rattled her as nothing ever had. "Excuse me?"

He gave her a lethal look. "Your problem is that you're one of these gung-ho types that goes around saving the world. You've got confidence. You've got a lot of experience under your belt. There's one problem though—you've never hit bottom. You've never paid the price for what you do."

"What are you talking about?" she demanded throatily. "I've paid plenty of dues working with Perseus! Do you think I see my job as a game? As fun?"

He shrugged and placed his hands on his hips. "I don't know, and frankly, I don't care. You're a fresh-faced kid to me. I see the excitement in your eyes over this mission. I hear it in your voice. What worries me most is that you'll do something foolhardy just because you're personally close to Jason. Being a merc means being disconnected from everything." He jammed his thumb into his chest. "I'm about as disconnected as I can get, but you aren't. And don't sit there and tell me you can put your feelings for this kid on the back burner and behave rationally when the chips are down. You won't be able to, and you'll jeopardize us because of it."

Anger surged through Sabra, and she stood suddenly, nearly tipping over the chair. She caught it, set it firmly back on the carpeted floor and whirled toward him. "Who do you think you are? You think you know me so well, but you don't know me at all! And disconnected? I've never been disconnected from any mission I've undertaken. You're dead wrong about how that plays out in me. It makes me careful, and it makes me care."

"Care—"
he spat the word savagely "—is going to be your undoing, Ms. Jacobs. And I'm sure as hell not going to be there to see it happen."

Sabra felt the heat rush into her face as she stood, shaking in the aftermath of his attack. "How dare you," she whispered hoarsely. "How dare you think you know me and my heart, or the kind of care I put into every mission. I didn't join Perseus because I was running away from something, Talbot. I joined because I knew I had certain talents and skills, and I cared one heck of a lot about people in trouble. I love my job, because it's about my heart and my concern for others. That's why I do it." Her nostrils flared, and she walked to the end of the table, stopping within a foot of him. He was glowering down at her, and she glared back.

"Your reasons for being a merc are obviously very different from mine," she continued warningly. "I work from my feelings, my intuition. Evidently, you're just the opposite. While we're on the topic of why we're here, why don't you tell me why you joined Perseus."

"That's none of your business," he insisted doggedly.

"Oh, yes it is. If we're going on this mission together, I have every right to know."

Breathing hard, Craig turned away from her. "It has nothing to do with this mission."

Choking back her fury, she whispered, "What are you running from, Talbot?"

He spun around, eyes blazing. Sabra stood like an avenging angel in front of him. It was the look in her eyes, lustrous with compassion and the need to understand him, that was nearly his undoing. Something deep inside him moved, cried out. He squelched the sudden desire to tell her exactly what he was running from. But the compassion in her eyes was genuine. She was concerned about him. About his ghosts. A bitter bile coated his throat and mouth. "You don't want to know," he rasped harshly.

Without thinking, Sabra reached out, wrapping her fingers around his lower arm. His skin felt chilled, as cold as the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice. "I don't care what you tell me. It won't change my mind about you." She tightened her warm grip on his arm as he tried to pull away. "No! No matter what you say, I know you care about Jason, about this mission! Come with me, Craig. Please. Maybe somehow I can help you with your past—with your fears, whatever they are. A team is only as strong as the trust two people share. You know you can trust me—I see it in your eyes. You know I won't let you down, and I know you're the same way. I trust you, even if you don't trust yourself."

With a snarl, Craig wrested his arm from her grasp. "That's the trouble," he said in a shaking voice. "You've never been hurt in the line of duty, Sabra. It makes you starry-eyed, idealistic and full of hope." He jabbed his finger at the map of the islands on the wall. "I'm gonna tell you something—this mission could get us both killed. Drug dealers place no value on life. Jason could already be dead, for all we know. You're waltzing into this situation like Joan of Arc on a charger, thinking you're going to save the day." His mouth tightened as he grabbed her arm and gave her a small shake. "The hell with the idealism. Forget wanting to save the world. I won't go in there with you unless you let me call the shots. You're a risk taker, and I'm not. I've been shot at too much, seen too many men die around me. I don't want to end up that way, and I don't want my partner ending up like that, either."

He monitored the amount of strength he used on her arm, Sabra noted through reeling senses. Craig's eyes were wild looking, haunted, the past overlaying the present and their situation. She stood very still, intuitively understanding how deeply shaken he was by whatever nightmare he'd experienced. Sweat stood out on his furrowed brow, his voice trembled with emotion and his hand was damp against her skin.

"I won't," she said in a low, steady tone, "jeopardize you or myself, Craig. I don't see myself as saving the world. I've had one partner for five years on high-risk missions, and neither of us has ever been hurt. I think that says something, don't you? How many partners have you had since joining Perseus?"

He released her, fighting the urge to simply throw his arms around her, drag her against him and hold her, as if doing so could keep at bay a world that was closing in on him. Craig looked down, startled by the calm in her husky voice. Just her firm, steady nature was pulling him back from that uncontrolled emotional edge that haunted him, especially in the dark hours of the early morning. Swallowing hard, he honed in on her voice letting it soothe him, tame his frantic fears, release him from the grip of his sordid past and the debilitating shame that accompanied it.

"I've had four partners." He saw the shock in her eyes. "Look," he said defensively, "how many partners you have says nothing." It did, but he wasn't about to admit it to her. In fact, Craig was surprised and pleased to hear Sabra had had only one partner. It told of a good, reliable, steady relationship. Something he'd never had with any of his partners.