Читать книгу The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection - Ким Лоренс, Kelly Hunter - Страница 54

THE WEST FAMILY beach house sat on the edge of a long stretch of unpatrolled beach in northern New South Wales. Jared’s brother had bought the sprawling house several years ago, with the intention of making it his home, but that hadn’t happened yet and all four West siblings tended to treat it as their own personal place of sanctuary and of rest. Although preferably not all at once.

Lena and Trig’s big old farmhouse was a twenty-minute drive away, although given how much time they’d spent at the beach house with Jared this week he could be forgiven for thinking them homeless. They were supposed to be on their honeymoon, for heaven’s sake. A honeymoon that Lena had said they’d cut short because there was no place like home.

Jared hoped, for the umpteenth time, that they hadn’t cut it short because they’d wanted to keep an eye on him. They kept making excuses to drop by. Lena in particular wouldn’t stop hovering—which was rich, given how much she hated it whenever someone did that to her.

She had already been by this morning. She’d skipped out to the shops, because apparently Jared needed more food in the fridge, but she’d left Trig behind with Jared. Trig was currently out on the deck, examining his parachute, because apparently they were doing a jump just as soon as Jared’s ribs had healed.

Without physical challenge in his life, Jared got cranky, Trig had informed him blithely. And they needed to fix that.

Apparently a lot of things about Jared needed fixing.

Jared glared afresh at the psych report in his hand. His psych report, fresh off the back of his debrief. A normal person probably wouldn’t have asked his brother to swipe a psych report from the secure ASIS databanks, but to Jared’s way of thinking that was what genius younger brothers were for.

It had been three days since Rowan Farringdon had called him in to her office and asked him what he needed in order to finish the job. Three days and now he was on leave for two weeks—thinking about his future, trying to settle into the ‘now’ and going quietly out of his mind.

‘Who writes these delusional masterpieces anyway?’ he asked Trig.

‘Psychiatrists.’ Trig looked up from the parachute spread out before him, eyes narrowed as he took in Jared’s scowl. ‘Stop obsessing.’

‘I’m not obsessing. I’m disagreeing with the evaluation.’

‘You shouldn’t have the evaluation. No disagreeing with that.’

‘Apparently I have an Oedipal complex.’

‘Your mother’s dead, dude. How can you be in love with her?’

‘Could be I’m in love with a ghost. A perfect memory.’

‘Was she perfect?’

Jared thought back to what little he could remember. His mother’s wild curly black hair and the deep blue eyes that both he and his sister Lena had inherited. Her patience with her wayward children and her fierce defence of them when anyone else tried to discipline them.

‘Yes.’

‘You know that if you do have an Oedipal complex you’re going to have to bond with your father in order to get over it?’

‘Bite me.’

‘Okay—not ready.’

‘She said that the last emotional attachment I made was you.’

‘Who said?’

‘Rowan Farringdon.’

‘Ah.’

‘What do you mean, “ah”?’

‘Are you ready for that beer? I’m really ready for a beer.’

‘What do you think of her?’

‘Who?’

Jared just looked at him.

Trig abandoned his parachute inspection and headed across the huge open entertaining area towards the kitchen.

He pulled out two beers, twisted the tops off and padded back out to the deck area that Jared had made his own.

‘She’s the first female section head in thirty years,’ Trig said as he passed Jared a beer. ‘I think she has connections, ambition, and a mind made for taking people apart and reshaping them to her purpose. That’s not a criticism, by the way, it’s respect. She’s older than you, Jare.’

‘So?’

‘Oedipus?’

‘I am not looking for a mother figure. Don’t make me shoot you. Lena would not be pleased.’

‘Neither would I.’

‘I asked her to have dinner with me.’

‘Bet that went down a treat.’

‘I almost kissed her.’ He was rubbing his hand over his lips just thinking about it. ‘Wanted to.’

‘You want my thoughts on that?’ Trig offered warily.

‘Only if you’re not going to call me psychologically maladjusted, three kinds of stupid, and pathologically unable to take direction.’

‘Or you could just be in need of sex.’

‘You think I should have sex with her?’

‘No, I think you should have sex with someone else.’

‘Who?’

‘Has that ever been a problem for you before? What about Bridie?’

‘Too nice. I want her to be married by now, with a kid on the ground and one on the way.’ He caught Trig staring at him strangely and shrugged. ‘It’s what she wanted.’

‘Simone?’

‘Too soft. What if I break her?’

‘Simone’s brother?’

Jared felt his lips twitch. ‘The psych report says I’m heterosexual.’

‘Yeah, ‘cause we’re believing that now.’ Trig took a long swig of his beer. ‘You said you wanted someone who wouldn’t break. Just putting it out there …’

‘I want a woman who won’t break, and I’ve found one. Gorgeous, whip-smart and powerful. And—if I’m reading her right—interested.’

‘Yeah … nothing at all to do with you having information she wants.’

‘There is that. Still … Makes for interesting conversation.’

And then his phone beeped. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the message.

‘Trouble?’

‘Hopefully. Director Farringdon’s coming here bright and early Monday morning. For what reason, she doesn’t say.’

‘Hnh …’ offered Trig after a very long pause.

‘Probably something to do with Antonov’s last mole that I haven’t uncovered yet. Probably nothing to do with sex at all. Still …’

Jared was nothing if not adaptable, and he’d take his opportunities as they came.

‘Don’t do it, my friend,’ Trig told him.

‘You keep saying that.’

‘Think of the complications.’

‘She gets what she wants. I get what I want. There are none.’

‘What about in the long run? How would it affect your career if you had a relationship with her? How would it affect hers?’

‘Not sure I have a career left, to be honest. Not sure I want one.’

‘And hers?’

‘Guess we’d find out.’

Trig’s troubled gaze rested on him. ‘Jare, do you ever think about what your short-term decisions might cost people in the long run?’

‘All the time. I know I’ve screwed up. Lena getting wounded under my command and now never being able to have kids of her own. That’s on me.’

‘No. I don’t think that. Lena doesn’t think that way either. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It happens. And we’re all still alive.’

‘Then you’re talking about the lengths I went to to get Antonov? And the fact that he and two others are now dead? That wasn’t my intention.’

Trig grew uncharacteristically silent. ‘What happened?’ he asked finally.

‘I had enough information to bring his entire operation down and I needed one more name for my own satisfaction. In reality I probably had enough dirt on him to bring him down six months ago, but I wanted that one last name so much. And then your wedding invitation landed and I decided that enough was enough. I was leaving—first chance I got. Two days later an old business associate of Antonov’s turned up with a new grudge and enough C-4 to blow up a battleship—and I let him do just that while I went and got the kid and the nurse and took off.’

‘And your problem with that is …?’

‘I wanted revenge and I got it. Not sure I wanted it that way. Antonov wasn’t all bad. He was different things to different people. He had a son he loved. A sister he’d sacrificed all contact with to protect. Those other dead men—they had families back in Belarus. They sent money back all the time.’

‘They’re not dead by your hand, Jare.’

‘Then why do my hands feel so bloody?’

‘I don’t know. God complex? You are not responsible for all the bad things that happen in this world.’

‘But I am responsible for my actions, and I should be able to foresee some of the consequences. Isn’t that what you’re trying to tell me when it comes to my interest in

Rowan Farringdon?’

‘All I’m saying is talk to the woman first—before embarking on the seduction campaign. Women are easy for you—God knows why.’

‘Money, looks, renegade status and genius.’

‘Like I said, God knows why. And you do not need the downfall of the first female section director in thirty years on your already overburdened conscience.’

‘She’s smarter than that.’

‘How do you know? Will you be reading her psych report next?’

‘Do you think she has one?’

Jared felt the edges of his lips lift. A small smile, but a smile nonetheless. It was good to finally talk to someone freely. Someone who knew him inside out and didn’t hold back.

‘Doesn’t matter. Even if she does, I’m going to ban Damon from getting it for you.’

‘You wouldn’t.’

‘Oh, but I would.’

‘Would what?’ asked Lena, stepping from the house onto the deck. ‘‘Cause it sounds vaguely threatening.’

‘Your brother wants to read Rowan Farringdon’s psych report. Among other things.’

‘Seems only fair,’ Jared murmured. ‘She’s read mine.’

‘Are you still smarting about that idiotic psych report?’ she asked, and Jared grinned outright this time.

Injury and near death hadn’t softened Lena—they’d simply made her blunter … and surprisingly more affectionate, he decided as she engulfed him from his shoulders up in a fierce hug.

‘Where is it?’ she murmured. ‘Hand it over. I’m going to barbecue it. By the way, I stopped by the fishing co-op and bought barramundi and king prawns. And because I love you both I’m going to cook them up for dinner. You two can unpack the car, make the salads, pour me some wine and make encouraging remarks about my cooking.’

It was good to be home, Jared thought.

Maybe it would be enough.

Monday morning couldn’t come around quickly enough for Jared. He’d swum in Damon’s pool and in the surf, and nobly restrained himself from getting the windsurfer out. He’d gone with Lena and Trig to one of their favourite local watering holes on the Saturday night and reacquainted himself with old friends as they’d watched whatever game had been on the big sports screen. Flanked by the two people he trusted most, he’d even managed to relax.

But that had been Saturday. By Sunday afternoon Trig and Lena had retired to their farmhouse, and Jared had been rattling around by himself and trying to stay relaxed. He hadn’t been sleeping well. He missed the rise and fall of the ocean beneath him. Maybe he needed to investigate yacht ownership.

By Monday morning he’d made enquiries on three oceangoing vessels, and the need to do something thrummed through him at a low-level burn.

He hauled himself out of the pool and reached for a towel. His body was still various shades of black and blue, with a few cuts and scrapes besides, but other than that he was in good shape. Antonov had kept his crew fighting fit, and there’d been ocean all around them. Regular diving to examine the hull … Swimming …

Maybe Jared should take up marathon swimming now that he was home.

The doorbell rang and he ditched the towel and headed towards it. He opened it and stepped aside to let Rowan Farringdon in.

‘Pretty shirt,’ he told her, and it was.

The burnt-orange band of colour across the bottom of it suited her. The rest of it was white, and the inch-wide shoulder straps showed off more body tone than he’d expected from someone who sat in a director’s chair. The crisp white trousers she had on rested easy over her rear—not too tight, but not baggy either. Comfortable. He hadn’t expected this woman to look quite so comfortable in casual clothes.

And still maintain her air of authority.

Her gaze swept the open-plan living area and the pool beyond before returning to him.

Jared offered up a lazy grin by way of reward for her attention. ‘Would you like pancakes? I’m having pancakes.’

‘Is this a variation on dinner?’

Her voice came at him dry as dust and laced with amusement.

‘Could be. But it’s also breakfast time, and as a good host I’m offering you some. You’ve come all this way. It’s the least I can do.’

‘I’ve been in Brisbane,’ she said. ‘You’re a detour—not the main destination.’

‘I’m crushed.’ He led her through to the open-plan kitchen that backed on to the living area and the pool. ‘You take your coffee black, right?’

Her coffee at the farmhouse had been black.

She nodded. ‘With one.’

He diligently added sugar to her cup. ‘I hope you like Turkish? Lena found it for me in town on Saturday. It’s good. I had to promise not to mainline it.’

He lit a flame beneath the skillet and waited for it to get hot. He poured her some coffee and set it in front of her. Added butter to the pan and enjoyed the faint sizzle as he pushed it around with a knife. He added the batter next, before turning back to face her.

‘What did you want to see me about?’

‘Do you always do two things at once?’

‘Keeps me from climbing the walls.’

She smiled at that. ‘Say you came across some information that connected a now-deceased illegal arms dealer to a respected worldwide charity organisation …’

‘In what capacity?’

‘They fed Antonov money and within six months he quadrupled it for them.’

‘Did they know who they were dealing with?’

‘Does it matter?’ She eyed him curiously. ‘Do you think it matters?’

‘Yes. Intent matters. Maybe they didn’t know who he was or what he did. Maybe they were naive.’

‘The charity’s intention was to make money. They succeeded well beyond what any regulated money market could ever do for them. Hard to believe that they thought their investment strategy legitimate, but let’s ignore that for a moment. What might Antonov’s intention have been?’

‘What was the charity?’

‘They fund medical research.’

Jared frowned and glanced back to see if the pancake batter in the pan had bubbled up yet. Nope.

‘When it came to arms dealing Antonov was a coldhearted businessman who dealt with the highest bidder and cared nothing for cause,’ he offered. ‘At first glance no one would mistake him for a philanthropist.’

But Rowan Farringdon would already know that from the reports other people had done on the man. She wanted more. She wanted to know if Jared had ever seen into Antonov’s head.

‘He was also father to a very sick son. I could see him helping out some research foundation in the hope that their research might some day benefit his kid.’

‘They say you played chess with the man?’

Jared nodded.

‘Did you win?’

‘I grew up with a brother and sisters with genius IQs. They used to play each other and sometimes I’d play the winner. Occasionally I even managed to hold my own. Antonov was bright, but he wasn’t that bright. His main asset was his ruthlessness. I gave him a good game and I usually made sure he won. Are you going to shut down the charity?’

‘That’s not my call. Did you drink with him too? Play catch with his kid?’

‘Yes,’ Jared muttered roughly. ‘I did.’

‘Yet you still brought him down?’

It was time to turn the pancakes. ‘I let him be brought down by someone else, yes.’

‘And the fallout was extreme. Antonov and two others dead. The boy—Celik—fatherless now, and returned to his high-class whore of a mother. New players fighting over Antonov’s turf. Tell me, Jared—do you sleep?’

‘Do you?’ He tried to keep his voice low and his temper in check. ‘What do you want from me? A confession that I have regrets? Yeah, I do. Would I have gone about things differently if I’d known some of the things that I know now? Yes. But what’s done is done and I sleep better for it.’

‘I don’t think you sleep much at all.’

She was too observant.

‘I didn’t kill them. That was never my intent. Intent is important.’ It was all he had left. ‘What’s your background, Rowan? Why do you sit in a director’s chair? What’s your intent?’

‘How about you call me Director?’

‘In a workplace situation that requires it, I solemnly swear that I will never call you anything else.’

‘You really are used to getting your own way, aren’t you?’

‘Firstborn child,’ he murmured. ‘It’s in my file. What about you? Any brothers or sisters?’

‘No. My parents were diplomats—children really didn’t fit their career plans, so they made do with one. I was raised by my grandfather. He was an Army general.’

‘How’d you get your director’s chair?’

‘Drive, forward-planning and connections. I decided I wanted to run my own covert operations team when I was fifteen.’

‘If I told you that I joined the secret intelligence service with all the forethought of an adrenalin junkie in need of his next fix would you smack me?’

‘Yes. Please tell me you planned at least some of this?’

Jared grinned at her censure. She was a strategist—no question. His skills ran more to being pointed in the right direction and doing what was needed. He’d had no problem with his approach whatsoever at first. Right up until he’d realised that he no longer had complete trust in the people doing the pointing. And then life had got increasingly difficult.

‘You could smack me. We’ll see how we go. I might even like it.’

‘The way I read it, you have a certain innate …’

‘Charm?’

‘Cunning,’ she corrected. ‘A wariness that stems from your lack of trust in others. And you have no small amount of luck. You’re tenacious and a natural-born leader. Corbin has a vacant sub-director’s chair. He’s put you up for consideration.’

Jared set his coffee down abruptly. ‘What are my chances of getting it?’

‘Corbin’s pushing hard. A few of the other directors have questioned your maturity and your ability to plan ahead. No one’s blocked you outright yet. That’s down to Corbin’s political clout, by the way—not yours. You’ve done no political manoeuvring whatsoever for over two years.’

‘Been a little busy elsewhere …’

‘We know.’ Rowan watched him steadily. ‘Do you want it?’

The pancakes were ready. He fished two plates from the cupboard, loaded hers up and took it to the counter. He pushed the sugar bowl towards her and swiftly quartered a couple of lemons. He added more butter to the pan. More pancake mix.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Where do you see yourself in five years?’

‘If I’d known this was a job interview I’d have worn a shirt.’

She let her gaze drop to his chest, but it was hard to tell whether she was admiring his physique or cataloguing the bruises on it.

‘You could always put one on now.’

‘How do you sleep?’ he asked abruptly. ‘How do you smile when people go down and don’t get up and it was your call that put them there?’

‘You’re talking about your sister getting shot?’

‘I’m talking about dead men and belief. How do you know that you’re doing the right thing? How do you know when you’ve chosen the lesser of two evils?’

‘Intel helps.’

There was a hint of sorrow in her words that commanded his attention.

‘Arrogance helps. You have to want to take control and believe that you’re the best-equipped person to do so.’

‘Maybe I did believe that I was the person best equipped to take down Antonov two years ago,’ he offered raggedly. ‘The one with the most determination. The one with the burning desire to do so. Not sure I believe it now.’

He’d opened up to her this much—he might as well let her see the rest of it.

‘I can’t settle. I don’t sleep. I feel like I’m peeling out of my own skin half the time. I came back for the wedding. I forced things into play so that I could be home in time for that. I’ve left loose threads that I need to go back and tie up and now you want to put me in a manager’s chair? I can’t do it. I don’t belong in a chair. I’m no manager and I can’t stand paperwork. All I want to do is clean up my mess.’

‘And how would you do that?’

‘I need to know what’s happening with Celik—Antonov’s kid. I promised him he’d be okay. I need to get to Belarus and put something in play there that might lead us to the last of Antonov’s moles within ASIS. I need to get to the families of the other two dead men and see how they’re situated. I need to finish this so I can sleep.’

‘You came back too soon.’

‘I had to.’

‘You put family first.’

‘I always will. You can’t be too surprised by that. It’s all I’ve ever done.’

He turned the burner off, took hold of the skillet and tipped the pancakes onto his plate. He sat down opposite where she’d been sitting and reached for the sugar.

He ignored her when she slipped in between him and the corner of the kitchen bench, one elbow on the bench as she studied him intently.

Had she squeezed in between him and another person at a bar, in an effort to get served, he wouldn’t have thought anything of her proximity. But there was a lot of room at this breakfast bar and she wasn’t currently using any of it.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked warily.

‘May I try something?’

‘I don’t know whether to say yes or no.’

She reached out and slid the back of her hand up his cheek and towards his temple … a soft caress that made his breath hitch and his body stiffen against the utter pleasure of it. Her hand didn’t stop there and soon her fingers were in his hair, scraping gently across his scalp, making his eyes close and his body tremble.

‘You’re touch-starved.’

Her whisky voice rippled across his senses.

‘We see it sometimes in those who’ve held themselves apart, those who’ve gone too deeply undercover for too long. I thought I saw a hint of it the other day in your sister’s kitchen, and then again in my office. You weren’t looking for it. You thought yourself attracted to me.’

‘I am attracted to you. How much more obvious do you want me to be?’

He caught her wrist, then deliberately brought her hand back to the counter before releasing her. He wasn’t going to act the Neanderthal the way he had the other day. He just wasn’t.

‘Move over,’ she said, and reached across the bench for her plate of pancakes and her utensils.

When she sat down beside him she let her lower leg rest against his, pinching his footrest instead of using hers.

‘Touch doesn’t always have to be sexual. Sometimes it’s about comfort and connection.’

‘Are you mentoring me?’

‘You did say I could. Are you objecting?’

‘Yes,’ he said firmly, and glared when she patted him on the forearm. ‘And don’t mother me either. Don’t need one—don’t want one. Don’t call me Oedipus.’

She smiled like a Madonna. ‘I challenge you to stay in casual body contact with me for five minutes and see if it relaxes you any. If it works we’ll get you a puppy.’

‘Don’t want a puppy, Ro.’ He gave her his full wattage smile. ‘I want a girl.’

‘And I thought you wanted me. How are your ribs?’

‘Better.’

‘The doctor said it would take weeks for them to fully heal.’

‘Almost better.’

‘It’s probably too soon for you to be playing contact sport as a way of encountering touch. There’s massage …?’

Her leg was already sliding against his as he moved his own leg around. ‘The frustration would kill me.’

‘Self-massage beforehand?’

‘Wouldn’t help.’

‘Maybe you could take dance classes? Start with a waltz … finish at the tango?’

‘No partner.’

‘The dance teacher would be your partner.’

‘You’re really serious about this touch thing, aren’t you?’

‘Are you feeling more relaxed than you were a minute ago?’

Surprisingly, he was.

‘Might not be about touch, though. Might be proximity to you. You could stay the night. There could be dinner out on the deck. A swim this afternoon. I could teach you how to kite surf.’

He wasn’t allowed to, on account of his ribs, but that wouldn’t stop him teaching someone else.

‘Wouldn’t I have to learn how to surf first?’

‘Oh, Ro … No. You don’t surf? Do you know what this means?’

‘That we may not be soul mates after all?’

‘It means you’re missing out on one of life’s great pleasures. Now I have to teach you how to surf.’

‘You mean right after you teach me how to swim?’

For a moment he thought she was serious, and then she smiled and he knew she was playing him. ‘You can swim. The General would have made sure of it.’

She laughed at that. ‘And then there was canoeing and sailing—diving and the rest. I swear that man should have joined the Navy, not the Army.’

He liked hearing those kinds of things from her, liked having her around.

‘Can you stay? We could swim or surf—the offer’s there. You could stay the night—there’s plenty of bedrooms. We could go out to dinner. There could be fresh seafood and bright stars in the sky. A playful breeze. There could be body contact and relaxation. I’m all for it.’

‘My flight leaves at midday. This is a work-day for me.’

‘There’s always next weekend. You could come back.’

Her leg rocked gently against his. ‘You’re very tempting. You already know this, so it’s not as if I’m telling you anything new. But you’re not in a good place right now, and I’m trying to figure out what I need to do for you in a work capacity and what I might be able to offer you in a private one. The answer to that second question being that if I know what’s good for me I’ll offer you nothing.’

‘We could try friendship?’ he offered. ‘Something simple. I’d like simple.’

‘You’d need to stop hitting on me. And—given that I have at least some self-awareness—I’d need to stop flirting with you too.’

Rowan smiled ruefully and turned her attention to the eating of her pancakes. They ate in companionable silence, and by the time Rowan had finished her pancakes and drunk her coffee Jared was feeling more at ease.

‘Get a massage,’ she told him as she stood to leave. ‘Go hug people. Use the beach and concentrate on the physical sensation of the waves breaking over you and the sun on your skin. Hold your hand over your heart and breathe. Concentrate on sensory details when you want to give your brain a rest.’

‘You’re giving me coping mechanisms for anxiety?’

‘You asked me how I cope with some of the decisions I’ve had to make over the years. I’m telling you what has helped me.’

‘Sex.’

Jared rubbed his hand across the back of his neck and tried to explain his thought processes before Rowan decided that he was hitting on her again.

‘Trig said I needed sex.’

‘It’s not a bad idea—provided that your partner knows what you’re having sex for.’

‘I’m pretty sure that telling someone I’m touch-starved and over-anxious and therefore need to have sex isn’t going to fly.’

‘Oh, I don’t know … With your face and body?’ She leaned across the counter for her black leather satchel. ‘It might.’

‘Are you flirting again?’

‘I hope not.’ She stood up and slung the satchel over her shoulder. ‘Time for me to go.’

‘Yeah.’ He didn’t want her to go. ‘Do you need any more on Antonov?’

‘No. That wasn’t the main reason I came here and you know it. I wanted to check up on you—see how you were tracking. I’m supposed to be gaining your trust, and that’s hard to do when you’re nowhere in my vicinity. I was also very curious as to whether you want that sub-director’s chair.’

‘Director—’ He knew she’d notice the name-change. He hoped she knew that he was replying to the chair now and not just to her. ‘I don’t want a promotion. I can’t think about that right now. If you want me to do what I do best, cancel my leave and get me to Belarus. Let me clean up my mess.’

She looked at him hard.

He waited.

Finally, she nodded. ‘Belarus it is, then.’

‘When?’

‘Any objection to coming with me now?’

‘None at all.’

‘In that case pack what you need and put on a shirt.’

Jared shot her a brilliant smile as he stood to do her bidding. Or his bidding. Either way, he thoroughly approved of the direction this beautiful friendship was going in.

‘Hey, Ro? The touch thing? I think it’s working.’

‘Nothing at all to do with getting your own way?’

‘Oh, you noticed that?’

She spared him a very level glance. ‘I’m setting you loose in Belarus for two reasons. One: I want that final head to roll and I have my own thoughts as to who it is—I just don’t quite have enough to nail him yet, and with your help maybe we’ll get there. Two: you’re not recuperating here in your brother’s beach house … you’re drowning, and I have rope that might save you. I suggest you grab it.’