Читать книгу Mountain Retreat - Cassie Miles, Cassie Miles - Страница 13

Chapter Five

Nick rushed to the staircase, where Sidney carefully descended, clinging to the banister and taking one step at a time. Less than half an hour ago, he’d been sitting on the edge of her bed watching her sleep soundly. Unable to keep his hands off her, he’d stroked her fevered forehead, brushing aside a gleaming hank of smooth blond hair. He’d longed to kiss her, to make love to her. Hell, he would have been happy just to hold her close.

But she needed her sleep. Her breathing had been steady and regular. The doc had given her enough painkillers to hold her until morning.

He climbed the staircase and slung an arm around her waist for support. “You shouldn’t be up.”

“I was hungry,” she said.

“Let me bring something to the bedroom.”

“I’d rather join the team.”

When she raised her arm to wave to the others, he felt her sag against him. She barely had the strength to stand. Her complexion was pallid. Her beautiful blue eyes were bloodshot. But her determination was intact; she wasn’t going back to bed unless he picked her up and carried her.

He made one more attempt to reason with her. “I’ll come to bed with you.”

She hobbled down another stair. “I’ll be fine.”

“I guess it’s true what they say. You can’t keep a good woman down.”

“Please don’t refer to me as your woman,” she said. “We aren’t Neanderthals.”

Her body was weak, but there was nothing wrong with her razor wit. He returned, “Whatever you say, babycakes.”

“Honey lamb,” she muttered.

“Pookie pie.”

At the foot of the staircase, Hawthorne confronted them with a cold, I-mean-business glare. “How are you feeling, Sidney?”

Nick felt a surge of strength go through her as she straightened her spine. No way would Sidney let Hawthorne know how much she was hurting.

“Don’t worry about me,” Sidney said. “Please continue with your debriefing. I believe you were talking about Elena Hurtado.”

From Nick’s point of view, Sidney’s interruption had come at a good time. He wanted to avoid discussion of Elena until he had more information. He continued down the staircase. “We’re going to the kitchen, Hawthorne. Sidney’s hungry.”

They made their way across the spacious front room and dining room into the attached kitchen, where two armed agents dressed in cowboy gear were drinking mugs of coffee. This safe house outside Austin had once been a working cattle ranch with a barn, bunkhouse and outbuildings in addition to the two-story main house. The kitchen was big enough to cook for twenty or thirty hungry ranch hands.

After he got her seated at a round wood table, he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, placed it on the table beside her and sat. He noticed a tremble in her fingers as she screwed off the lid on the water bottle.

According to the doc, her injury and the resulting loss of blood weren’t particularly serious, but Nick couldn’t help worrying about her. “Are you in pain?”

“My arm hurts a little.” She chugged the water. “Mostly, I’m dizzy. You know how I hate to take pills.”

She didn’t like being intoxicated and losing control. He’d never seen her drunk. “Do you remember getting stitched up?”

“Not very well. I had twelve stitches, right?”

“It’s going to leave a scar.”

She gave him a goofy grin. “Cool.”

Most women would be upset, but not her. “Really? You think it’s cool?”

“I like the drama. If somebody asks about my scar, I can tell them I was injured in a firefight with terrorists. Is that right? Were they terrorists or rebels?”

Nick thought of the man he’d recognized when he pulled off the mask. Rico Suarez was a cool, handsome businessman who worked with Hurtado and had connections with the oil companies. “It’s hard to say who they were or what they were after.”

“Don’t you know?”

“There’s a lot I don’t know.” And more that he couldn’t talk about. He’d spent six months involved in a political dance where the partners seemed to change every day. “What do you want to eat?”

“Something easily digested. I haven’t been nauseated, but I don’t want to push my luck. Maybe crackers or a cookie?”

He asked the other two agents where to find food, and they pointed him in the direction of an earthenware cookie jar. He brought her a couple of homemade sugar cookies on a napkin.

She nodded. “Coffee?”

“That’s a negative,” he said. “You need your sleep.”

She pushed back the sleeves of her plaid flannel shirt. “Do you like my outfit?”

“Very cute.”

“I call it hobo chic.” She picked up a cookie and took a ladylike nibble. A crumb fell onto her chin. He wanted to brush it off but didn’t trust himself to touch her. One simple caress would lead too quickly to another, and before he knew what was happening he’d be kissing her, scooping her into his arms and carrying her up the staircase to the bedroom.

For the past six months, he dreamed about making love to her. Being so close and not being able to taste her mouth or run his hands through her straight blond hair was driving him crazy. He was desperate to feel her sweet, slender body pressed against his.

He had to be careful, had to hold back. Sidney was smart and perceptive. He wasn’t ready for her to know the whole truth, not just yet.

Hawthorne came into the kitchen. Scowling, she announced, “It’s almost three in the morning. We’ll call it a night and start again tomorrow.”

“Agreed,” Nick said. He had considered talking to Lieutenant Butler about Rico. Butler was the closest he had to a confidant. But after tonight’s attack, Nick wasn’t sure he trusted the lieutenant. Butler had arrived at the scene quickly; he’d been in the backyard at the right time to shoot Rico.

Hawthorne pivoted and marched into the other room. The two other agents shouldered their weapons and went out the back door. Nick was alone with Sidney in the kitchen. Not that they were truly alone. This was a CIA safe house; he’d be wise to assume that every conversation was bugged.

Unable to resist her, he moved a little closer. “I missed you. I kept thinking about you and what you were doing every minute of the day. Rubbing lotion on your long legs. Combing your hair. Brushing your teeth while you hummed the Jeopardy theme song.”

“That tune lasts a minute,” she said. “It’s important to spend at least a minute, twice a day, on oral care.”

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, catching a hint of her special scent through all the other odors in the house.

“That routine pretty much covers what I was doing,” she said. “My days were the same as always, except for when I fell into the panic-and-depression thing, which I don’t intend to talk about. Oh, and I went to a psychic.”

He was surprised. “You don’t usually go for nonscientific explanations.”

“When logic fails, I’ll try other methods.” She finished one cookie and started on the other. “This was a Navajo woman who mostly deals with herbal remedies. She told me we’d be together again.”

Her lips pressed together, and he could tell she was holding something back. “What else?”

“She said something would come between us, but she wasn’t specific or logical.”

Turning her head, she stared at him with wide, curious eyes. Quickly, she averted her gaze. He had the sense that she didn’t like what she’d seen.

Nick had secrets he’d kept from everyone. He’d passed through a battery of interviews from several intelligence agencies, talking to people who were trained to spot deception. As far as he knew, none of them suspected him. But Sidney knew him better than anyone else.

Her voice was soft and subtly persuasive. “Tell me what happened to you in Tiquanna.”

“It’s a long story. We should go upstairs to bed.”

* * *

CLIMBING THE STAIRCASE to the second floor took effort, but Sidney managed. In the bedroom, she kicked off the moccasins and slipped out of the sweatpants, her back to Nick. Too tired to remove the flannel shirt, she crawled into bed and lay on her side with her injured arm facing the ceiling. She allowed herself a little smile. Her scar would be a badge of honor, totally impressive to all the tech guys at work.

Under the comforter, warmth wrapped around her like a gentle cocoon. Sleep beckoned. If she relaxed a tiny bit more, she’d be unconscious. But she wasn’t ready to let go.

Her mind hopscotched from one point to another and back again. Nick was her fiancé, the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. She should be able to embrace him without reservation. The less analytical part of her brain told her to open her arms and accept him. Forget the doubts. Take the kisses. It would all work itself out. Or would it?

She’d never been a woman who would settle for less. Before Nick left for Tiquanna, their happiness had been as close to perfection as she could imagine. They’d bought a house. They were getting married. And now...he was different.

She hadn’t gone through six months of hell, not knowing if he was dead or alive, to end up with a troubled relationship. Until she could look into his eyes and see the truth, she’d keep him at arm’s length. No matter how much she wanted to succumb, she’d resist. No kissing. No touching. Definitely, no lovemaking.

Nick turned off the bedside lamp and unbuttoned his shirt. Her strong resolve crumbled when she saw the outline of his bare chest. Her heart beat faster. She had memorized those swirling patterns of hair and the ridges of hard muscle. Her fingers itched to touch him.

“No,” she said aloud.

In the dim moonlight shining around the edge of the window, she saw him pause. “Did you say something?”

Though she wanted him with all the pent-up yearning of six long months, she said, “Don’t you have your own bedroom? I figured Hawthorne would enforce a no-fraternization policy.”

“There’s another room. But the view isn’t anywhere near as pretty.”

“Maybe you should go there, anyway.”

The mattress bounced as he sat on the bed beside her. Gently, he stroked the hair off her forehead. “Are you throwing me out?”

“I don’t feel good.” She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear looking at him. “Just for tonight, it’s better if I sleep alone.”

“I’ll stay with you until you’re asleep.” His hand caressed her cheek. “It’s been a hell of a day.”

“It has.” She couldn’t help turning her head and lightly kissing his palm.

“I’m sorry about what happened at the house.”

“I can’t imagine what our neighbors think.” Her memory pulled up a grim recollection of police vehicles and ambulances, flashing lights and gunfire. After that circus, she was pretty sure that nobody on their block would ask her to babysit. “We’ll have to make it up to them. Maybe have a barbecue.”

“Yeah, nothing says ‘I’m sorry’ like pulled pork.”

His voice went still. A heavy silence invaded the bedroom. The distance between them spread like a fading echo.

Was she doing the right thing? The temptation was great to put aside her concerns and make love to him, but she had to make things right. She wanted their relationship to be the way it was before.

“As long as you’re here,” she said, “I want to know what happened in Tiquanna.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. Then he stood and walked away. She opened her eyes and watched as he went to the window and pulled the curtain aside to look outside. Moonlight traced his profile. “It’s a long story, and you’re tired. Maybe tomorrow.”

He was avoiding the topic. He didn’t want to tell her, but she had to know. “We’ve got time.”

“Okay,” he said. “Remember what the country was like when you visited a couple of years ago? Tropical climate, lush and humid. Rain forests. Villages with thatched roof huts. Tourists in the capital city on the Atlantic coast. Abundant natural resources.”

Her most vivid memories were the heat like a steam bath, the brilliant green of indigenous foliage and odd creatures like lizards and frogs and insects. Less charming was a filthy hospital, beggar children on the streets and a long line of women waiting by a supply truck for freshwater. “I remember.”

“Your company didn’t invest in oil exploration there,” he said.

“Lack of infrastructure.”

He nodded. “Like roads and plumbing.”

Thinking of the children, she said, “More than that. It was a beautiful place but sad.”

“It’s gotten worse,” he said. “Hurtado and his handpicked ministers siphon off all the aid money. Anybody who objects gets tossed in jail. The rebels claim to be representing the people, but they’re nearly as corrupt as the dictator. The level of violence is brutal.”

“Why were you sent there?” she said.

“The ambassador requested a squad of marines to protect the embassy, but we didn’t stay there for long. Hurtado was hosting a bunch of companies that wanted to invest in Tiquanna. These top executives stayed with Hurtado. Pretty soon, that’s where we were stationed. Our job was to add a layer of protection for American VIPs.”

“What happened when you were taken?”

“An explosive device tore a hole in the wall surrounding the presidential compound.”

“Presidential,” she said. “Hurtado became president?”

“A couple of years ago. Sham elections.”

Though she knew better than to get worked up about political fakery, she was disgusted. “Let me guess. He’s president for life.”

“The rebels are making noises about calling for a new election. Each time an opposing candidate steps forward, he’s charged with a crime and ends up in prison.”

She suppressed a shudder. “Let’s get back to you. After they blew a hole in the wall, what happened?”

“A couple of my guys were injured. I went to help them. It was night. Smoke from the explosion streaked the air and stung my eyes. I put on my infrared goggles. In the street beyond the wall, I saw flashes of gunfire. I wanted to shoot back, but the rebels weren’t alone.”

“Who was there?”

“Civilians. I saw women and kids running from house to house, trying to get away. There was no way I could open fire.”

Her heart ached for him. She’d always known his profession, had always been aware of the risks in the military and the hard decisions he had to make. And she had to believe that his sacrifices fulfilled an important purpose.

“After that,” he said, “I don’t know what happened. My mind went blank. When I woke up, I was in a thatched hut.”

“Were you injured?”

“I’ve got a couple of scars I can show you.” He stepped away from the window and went to the overstuffed chair, where he sat, leaning back with his long legs stretched out in front of him. “I was moved from place to place, sometimes in a house and other times in the forests.”

“Was it the rebels?”

“I don’t know.” He hesitated for a long moment. “Who else would bomb Hurtado’s palace?”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“Like I said, I don’t remember. I was a hostage for six or seven weeks before I started making sense of things. There was an old man with a grizzled beard who gave me food and played chess with me. His name was Estaban. He told me that I got beat up pretty badly and almost died.”

Her heart clenched. “Oh, Nick...”

“Stop,” he said. “It’s over. It’s done, and I survived. Probably the worst thing that happened was a stomach infection, probably from drinking the water.”

Peering across the unlit room, she tried to see his eyes. She wanted to hold him and comfort him, but she knew he’d reject anything that smacked of pity. “I noticed you have a small limp.”

“I tried to escape, took off running through the forest. Do you remember those forests?”

“Incredible.” Her mind traveled back to a hike through Tiquanna where she saw intensely green foliage at the edge of the rain forest. The reds and blues were so brilliant that they seemed to vibrate. The birds and animals were remarkable. “Did you see any of the poison dart frogs?”

“Some.”

Those tiny jewel-toned creatures actually were toxic enough to kill. She had heard their venom was used in torture. “What happened in your escape attempt?”

“Long story short, I tripped over a tree root and got a sprained ankle. It’s still not completely healed.”

She heard detachment in his voice, as though he was reciting a story about some other hostage. It was going to take time for him to open up. “Nick, I want you to know—”