True Colors (44 page)
Breath fast and shallow, his hands roaming up and down her back, under her shirt, over her skin, hips nudging insistently against hers, he murmured against her lips, “Is this a yes?”
“Yes.” Her heart soared as she said it, and the weight bearing down on her shoulders lifted. It wouldn’t be easy, but with Logan at her side, she felt she could handle anything.
He grinned against her mouth. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Now where’s the bedroom?”
Keep reading for a special preview of
TRUE CALLING
TRUE CALLING
The third romantic suspense in
Joyce Lamb’s True trilogy
Coming soon from Berkley Sensation!
CHAPTER ONEZ
oe was dead.
oe was dead.
Dead.
Sam closed her eyes and gritted her teeth against the throb of pain in her shoulder.
Focus, damn it. It’s what you’re good at. What you’re trained to do.
Soldier on. Accomplish the mission. Get to the cabin. Hunker down. Hide. Get warm. God, she couldn’t wait to get warm.
Blinking cold rain from her eyes, she squinted into the growing dusk, trying to get oriented. The cabin was around here somewhere. She was sure of it.
Unless she’d gotten herself lost.
No. She wasn’t lost. She knew where she was going.
Just like you knew where you were going when you ran away from home fourteen years ago?
Don’t think. Focus.
She peered through the rain running in rivulets over her forehead and into her eyes. She couldn’t see a damn thing. Just towering trees decorated in gold and orange and red. The same coppery red that spattered her Nikes and the leaves squished underfoot. Her feet were cold and wet, just like the rest of her. At least she still shivered, the body’s way of creating its own warmth. But, crap, she’d been shivering for so long and so hard that she should have generated enough heat to warm a small house. If she didn’t find the cabin soon, she was toast. And not the warm, golden brown kind.
She was probably toast anyway. No way was he going to let her go. He’d hunt her down like an animal. Have her shot down like they’d shot down Zoe—
She battled back the wave of grief that tried to steal her breath and forced herself forward, one foot after the other. Don’t think, don’t think.
But she couldn’t help but think.
Zoe was dead. Her closest friend.
Don’t go there.
Don’t
go there.
Don’t
go there.
Then she saw it. The Trudeau family cabin. Materializing out of a copse of amber gold and dark orange trees. An honest-to-God log cabin.
A rush of much-needed warmth spread through her blood. Almost home. As close to home as she’d gotten in a decade. Wouldn’t it be cool if her sisters and parents waited for her there? Alex and Charlie and Mom and Dad.
She pictured the cozy living room with its stone fireplace and polished wooden floor, the big, overstuffed couch with the red-and-black-plaid blanket draped over the back. She imagined that blanket draped around her shoulders, imagined sinking into the poofy cushions and drifting off, wrapped in the familiarity of home away from home.
She found the key in its place, tucked into a cleverly carved notch three feet up from the planks of the porch. Her half-frozen fingers fumbled with it, missed getting it into the lock on the first three tries. Hot tears streamed through the cold rain on her face.
Stupid, so stupid. Crying
now
, after everything that had happened, after so many years of not crying. N3 operatives didn’t cry. N3 operatives carried on.
now
, after everything that had happened, after so many years of not crying. N3 operatives didn’t cry. N3 operatives carried on.
But Zoe, poor Zoe.
Her hands trembled as she finally nailed the lock and heard the tumblers squeak open. The door swung inward, and she all but tripped over the raised threshold and into dust-choked air and a musty odor that didn’t smell at all like the cabin she remembered. Where was the scent of fresh-chopped wood? The hint of fabric softener that spoke of clean sheets on big, soft beds?
She dropped her dripping bag on the floor and pushed the door closed, her arms and legs leaden now, weighed down by her sodden denim shirt and jeans. All she had to do was make it to the couch and get the blanket, and she’d be warm in no time.
But her knees buckled, and as they hit the floor, a fist of pain slammed through her shoulder. A burst of light flashed the world bright, and she flinched. A deep, quaking rumble vibrated the worn wooden floor under her knees. Thunder.
On the next burst of lightning, she noticed the pink water pooling near her left knee.
Oh, yeah. She’d been shot in the shoulder. Funny how she couldn’t feel it anymore.
In fact, she couldn’t feel much of anything. Maybe that should alarm her, but somehow it didn’t.
It figures, she thought. Make it almost home, and it wasn’t going to matter.
She was still going to die alone.
CHAPTER TWOM
ac Hunter squinted against the rain slashing the windshield and hoped he was going the right way. He had no way of knowing at this point. No street signs for miles, just this crappy, pothole-ridden road that kept going. Thank God for four-wheel drive, or his back end would have sunk into three feet of mud by now.
ac Hunter squinted against the rain slashing the windshield and hoped he was going the right way. He had no way of knowing at this point. No street signs for miles, just this crappy, pothole-ridden road that kept going. Thank God for four-wheel drive, or his back end would have sunk into three feet of mud by now.
A flash of lightning made the towering trees pressing in on all sides look menacing against the night sky. Christ, why had he let Alex and Charlie talk him into a week by himself in the middle of the Shenandoahs with nothing to do but brood? He didn’t need to get away to get his act together. He was fine.
Okay, yeah, he was a little burned out, and, yes, he’d started drinking more than he should. But it wasn’t like he was downing shots at the local bar every night and then stumbling home at two in the morning with no memory the next day of how he got there. He wasn’t sneaking drinks at work from a bottle stashed in a bottom desk drawer. He wasn’t slipping out at midday for a three-martini lunch. The Trudeau sisters acted as though a few drinks after a stressful day had him veering onto the off-ramp to alcoholism.
If he were perfectly honest with himself, he could see their point. His father had drunk himself to death, after all. Because of that, Mac had always been careful about his alcohol intake in the past. So, yeah, maybe he did need someone to slap him upside the head. Maybe he was lucky that Alex and Charlie had staged their version of an intervention before more serious measures became necessary. They wanted to stop the self-medicating drunk before he became an alcoholic. And he had to appreciate the depth of their friendship, whether he agreed with them or not.
Finally, he saw it.
The dark clouds of the storm lightened, and there sat the Trudeau family cabin, nestled among tall trees dressed up in the golden colors of fall. For a brief moment, he wished he knew what kind of trees those were, but he had no idea. Some people knew plants. Mac Hunter knew inverted pyramids and how many picas were in an inch. He knew how to write a story hook that’d pique your interest, even if it was about nothing more exciting than a city council meeting. He knew nut graphs and hammer heads and how to get a shooter to the scene of a fire in less than ten minutes. But trees? The closest he came to knowing anything about trees was that the newsprint he spent his days filling with stories and photos started out as trees.
With a relieved sigh—because now he wouldn’t have to drive the hour back down the mountain to find a crappy motel for the night—he parked the Jeep Commander and stepped out onto the soft, squishy ground. As rain pelted his leather jacket, muddy water oozed up around his loafers. He should have put on his new Gore-Tex hiking boots when he’d stopped for supplies, but he’d been eager to get here. The flight had been long, picking up the rental SUV a hassle, and it had thunderstormed the entire way. So far, not a fun trip.
On the porch, he found the notch where Charlie said the key resided. Three feet up, a handy little nook. But there was no key.
His heart thumped. Shit. Maybe he was destined to spend the night in a ratty motel after all. But with his luck, the road he’d just traversed would have washed out by now, trapping him.
He stuffed his hand into his front pocket and retrieved the new Swiss Army knife Alex had given him for the trip. Maybe he could pick the lock.
After a few seconds of fumbling with the knife, trying to figure out which tool to use, he gave up. Before beginning the slog back to the truck, he tried the door, just in case it wasn’t locked, and the knob turned.
He pushed the door open and blinked several times as his eyes tried to adjust to the gloom inside. Alex told him a lantern sat on a table right by the door. Pop in some batteries, and you’re good to go until you can get the generator going. Batteries, of course, that he didn’t have on him.
He sprinted back to the Jeep, figuring his shoes were ruined anyway, and it was kind of liberating, really, splashing through mud puddles like a kid.
Batteries in hand, he stepped into the cabin while ripping into the packaging. Within a minute, he cranked the light on and, eager to see where he’d be spending the week, held up the lantern.
And just about dropped it.
CHAPTER THREEEarlier the same afternoon
Z
oe, you have to calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”
oe, you have to calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”
“They did it to me, they might have done it to you.”
“Done what? You’re not making any sense.” Sam tried to guide her friend out of the entryway and toward the sofa. She’d arrived home in DC less than an hour ago, relieved to drop her bag by the door and start shedding the persona she’d worn for the latest assignment. She’d gotten as far as shrugging out of the denim shirt she’d worn as a jacket when Zoe started pounding on the door.
“Come sit down and talk to me,” Sam said. “I’ll pour us some drinks.”
“No!” It burst out of her, and Zoe covered her tear-streaked face with shaking hands. A wild sob quickly followed. “I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”
Seriously concerned now, Sam pulled her weeping friend into her arms and held her tight, smoothing her hand over Zoe’s quaking back. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
She didn’t even know what was wrong, but it seemed like the right thing to say. At the same time, her alarm grew. This was
Zoe
. Stoic, ramrod-straight-posture, I-didn’t-cry-at-
Bambi
-as-a-kid Zoe Harris. She never cried, rarely even showed much emotion. What the hell had happened while Sam was undercover in San Francisco?
Zoe
. Stoic, ramrod-straight-posture, I-didn’t-cry-at-
Bambi
-as-a-kid Zoe Harris. She never cried, rarely even showed much emotion. What the hell had happened while Sam was undercover in San Francisco?
“No, it’s not all right,” Zoe said and pushed her back with surprising strength. “Everything will
never
be okay. He betrayed us, Sam. We trusted him, and he betrayed us.”
never
be okay. He betrayed us, Sam. We trusted him, and he betrayed us.”
“Who? Who betrayed us?”
“Flinn.”
Sam’s stomach did a flip. “What?”
“I’m pregnant,” Zoe blurted.
More shock had Sam shaking her head, denying herself the leap to conclusions. “You and Flinn?”
Zoe’s blond spiral curls bounced as she violently shook her head and stalked into the living room as though she couldn’t stand still. “No! Never.”
Zoe sank onto the sofa and dropped her face into her hands as stronger sobs tore out of her. “I don’t know when it happened. I . . . he must have . . . must have drugged me or something. I don’t . . . remember . . .”
Drugged
her? Sam’s heart took off at a sprint as she thought of a night a month and a half ago when she’d suspected Flinn had drugged
her
. But she’d decided then that she was wrong. The days of N3 experiments on her to help the team were over. Weren’t they?
her? Sam’s heart took off at a sprint as she thought of a night a month and a half ago when she’d suspected Flinn had drugged
her
. But she’d decided then that she was wrong. The days of N3 experiments on her to help the team were over. Weren’t they?
Zoe raised her face to Sam, her brown eyes red and puffy. “He’s using me as an . . . as an . . .” Her breath started hitching, and fresh tears poured down her reddened cheeks. “As an . . .
incubator
.”
incubator
.”
Sam’s stomach rolled with dread. She knew when she needed backup and never hesitated to request it. As soon as she picked up the phone to call Sloan, though, Zoe clamped iron-strong fingers around her wrist and twisted until Sam yelped at the burning pain.
Before she could think to block it, a memory that wasn’t hers crashed into her.
“Why would you do this? What kind of sick bastard does this to someone he cares about?”
Flinn pats my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Zoe. Just hear me out.”
“Why should I listen to you? You’re the one who did this to me!”
“You’re part of something critically important, Zoe. Something that’s going to change the world. You were chosen—”
“Fuck you!” I shove him back, wanting to do worse. If I had a gun in my hand, I would kill him. “I’m not some breed mare to use to grow super soldiers!”
Sam fell out of the empathic memory as Zoe jerked her up close so that they were nose to nose. For the first time since she’d come weeping through Sam’s front door, Zoe looked coherent and deadly. “Do you get it now?” she hissed. “Did you
see
?”
see
?”
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