An Unlikely Daddy (14 page)

God, she just wished Saturday would get here so she could deal with whatever it was. It might not be half as bad as she imagined, but from the way Ryker was acting, she doubted it. He knew something—damn him. Didn't he at least owe it to her to prepare her?

She'd have felt a whole lot better if he'd acted as if this visit were a meaningless formality. Instead, she couldn't escape the sense that he knew something bad was on the way. Sometimes she could have hated him. He was part of the secrecy that had taken such a toll on her life. She'd accepted that once, but she refused to accept it again.

Truth. God, she needed truth in her life.

Maybe that was what was coming on Saturday. Truth.

But even as she quailed and railed internally, she kept remembering making love with that man. That had been honest. Maybe the only truthful thing about him. Little enough.

* * *

When Saturday arrived, she pulled on the only maternity dress she had bothered to buy, a simple dark blue with white piping at the neck. For the first time in countless months she used makeup. She didn't know what this guy from State was expecting, but he wasn't going to find a washed-out hag...even if she felt like one.

“I should be here,” Ryker said as she emerged from the bedroom. “I can stay out of the way if you want, but in case...”

“In case what? I already got the worst news.”

The bite of her own voice shocked her, and she watched Ryker's face shutter. He might have pulled into himself, but she was driving him away.

She drew a long breath, but she wasn't about to apologize. “Keep your secrets,” she added bitterly, then marched into the living room and sat waiting.

“I'll get the door,” he said, remaining in the foyer.

“Fine.”

Why did she feel as if her life was about to end again? She was probably making too much of this, being unfair. But as she sat with her fists clenched, her baby stirring in her belly, she was through with making excuses for herself or anyone else.

The doorbell rang, and she stiffened. She heard Ryker answer it. It even sounded as if they were exchanging credentials.

Moments later a man in a dark suit entered the living room, carrying a slender portfolio. Behind him she could see Ryker hanging his overcoat on the hall tree.

“Mrs. Hayes?”

“Ms.”

“I'm sorry. Ms. Hayes, I'm Dan Crandall. May I sit?”

She waved him to the couch. He sat facing her. Ryker remained standing in the doorway.

“First, I need to lay some groundwork. You were married to John Kenneth Hayes?”

“Yes.”

Crandall nodded. “All right. I'm going to show you a letter and a couple of photographs. They're classified, so I won't be able to leave them with you. Do you understand?”

“Oh, I understand secrecy,” she said, reaching for pleasant and barely succeeding.

Crandall gave a fleeting smile. “I imagine you do. I also have to tell you that you won't be able to discuss this information with anyone. Your child can eventually know, but no one else. This information could endanger the lives of others.”

For the first time she understood that there was more involved here than her own loss. She nodded, her mouth turning dry.

“All right.” He opened his portfolio and passed her a photograph of a wall with black stars on it. “See the star circled in red? That's your husband's. His name will never appear on it.”

She swallowed hard, staring at it.

“In front of the wall in that case you see is a carefully guarded book with all the names of our fallen agents inscribed. The public can't look. The only time families can is during our annual memorial service. Henceforth, you will be invited to attend. It's up to you whether you come or not.”

She drew a long breath, nodding as he took the photo back.

“This,” he said, handing her another, “is a photo of your husband's inscription in the book. I'm sorry we had to black out the other names, but I'm sure you understand.”

She wasn't sure she understood any of this. Stars without names? A book no one could see? But staring down at Johnny's carefully inscribed name, she felt the pain pierce her all over again. At least others would never forget him or forget his sacrifice.

When he took that photo back, he offered her a sheet of paper. As soon as she saw the letterhead, her world turned black.

* * *

When she came to, she was lying on her back with a worried Ryker over her.

“Marisa?”

“I'm okay.” Although she wasn't sure of that at all. “Help me up.”

He did so carefully, and soon had her seated in her rocker again. Crandall still sat on the couch, his previously expressionless face now displaying concern.

“I'm sorry,” she said automatically.

“You're not the first person I've seen faint. I'm just glad you didn't fall.”

“Lovely job you have.”

“You had the harder one,” he said frankly. “Do you want to see that letter again?”

She nodded, accepting it. The blue CIA logo adorned the top, beneath it the words “Office of the Director.”

Now that the shock had passed, she scanned the words below. Not very different from the first letter she'd received from the State Department. A true hero, died in the line of duty serving his country, a sacrifice that would never be forgotten, deep sympathy for her loss... Meaningless.

She stared at it, the words coming in and out of focus. CIA. That was the shocker. It was also an amazing clarifier. She looked at Ryker. “You, too?”

He hesitated, then finally gave her what she needed. “Yes.”

“Why the lies?” she asked.

Crandall answered. “State is a cover story. It protects lives, Ms. Hayes. More than you can imagine. Right now, your husband's associates abroad are at risk. That's why we have to ask you to keep this secret. That's why we don't name the stars and why we keep the book so well guarded. A single identity could cause deadly ripples, costing the lives of men, women and children who knew him.”

Again she nodded, barely absorbing this. “I need some water.” Ryker hurried out and returned swiftly with a glass. She drank half of it in one draft. “How much can I ask?”

“As much as you want. But I'll tell you right now, I know nothing beyond what I told you.” Gently, he reclaimed the letter and slipped it into his portfolio. “I'm sorry it took so long to get this to you, but I was assured there were unfolding events. Again, that's the extent of my knowledge.” He gave her a half smile. “For obvious reasons, they keep me in the dark.”

Another dead end for her. Truth, at last, but a dead end. Except for one thing: Ryker.

Now she knew who he was and how he had lied to her, too.

Rising, she left the room and headed for bed. She was done.

* * *

Secrets, Ryker thought as he watched Crandall drive away, were secrets. Omissions. Things not spoken of. To say he worked for State was an outright lie. His cover was blown, the lie revealed, and he wouldn't blame Marisa if she never spoke another word to him.

She had trusted him in so many ways, inviting him into her house and into her bed. He couldn't imagine she would ever trust him again.

He wanted to blow it off. He was used to the price his life exacted, but this was somehow different. He ached for a woman and a fatherless child, and thought that maybe some prices were too high.

Too late now. He'd mucked this up big-time and couldn't see a way back from it. When she'd asked him if he was CIA, too, he'd seen the betrayal in her gaze. Lies. More lies. A big lie from him.

He had told her he wasn't Johnny, but now she knew he was. A liar. A covert operative who couldn't tell the truth about anything. A man who went into danger without telling those who loved them, who might leave them with nothing but an anonymous star and a condolence letter they couldn't keep.

He suspected that, except for his pushing, Marisa might never have received a letter at all. It had happened before. God, he hated it, and the hate was growing deeper by the day.

He knew he'd accomplished important tasks, knew he had helped his country in countless ways, but he had done so while living uncounted lies. Sometimes he wondered if there was a real Ryker inside, or just some amalgam of all the people he'd pretended to be.

For all he knew, deception had become so deeply ingrained that there was nothing real left of him. Except for his feelings about Marisa and her baby. Each time he touched them, he knew they were real. He couldn't afford them, but they existed. They weren't invented. They weren't a part of a job or a ploy.

And he should have known better than to stay here. Once those feelings had reached past his guard, he should have realized the danger in remaining. Not the danger to himself, though this was going to be painful enough, but the danger to her.

Once again he faced the fact that secrecy was different from a lie. He had lied to her. From the instant he had said he worked with Johnny at State, he had sacrificed everything. She would never forgive him.

Oh, she claimed to understand secrecy, and she probably did, but for a long time she had suspected she'd been told lies about John's death. And she had, although he had no idea what the truth was. He was just certain she'd been given a cover story, like everything else.

Then he'd waltzed in, gained her trust and had been proven a liar. Secrecy was no excuse for what he had done to her.

God, he had to get out of this business. He needed to salvage some honesty and decency before he was nothing but a house of someone else's cards.

Or maybe he was already there, about as real as some figure in a video game, an avatar that called itself Ryker but didn't even really exist.

Not knowing what else to do, he washed off the chicken they'd thawed that morning and started to cook dinner.

He was sure she was going to throw him out. He could at least leave a decent meal for her behind.

* * *

The rest of the day passed slowly. Roasting chicken filled the house with delicious aromas. He found the asparagus he'd bought a few days ago and prepared to cook it. He'd make some rice to go with it. After so many years spent mostly abroad, he favored rice over potatoes now.

Pointless exercise. The entire dinner might sit here and spoil.

But then he heard a sound behind him. He turned and saw Marisa. She'd changed into royal blue fleece pants and a top, her belly stretching the fabric. Her eyes had that sunken look again, with big circles beneath them. She'd washed off all the makeup, and he was glad to see it gone. She needed no enhancements.

When she just stood there staring at him, he finally took the plunge, sure that he was going to be crushed on the rocks below. “I'll leave.”

“No.” She stepped into the room and sat at the table. “No,” she said again. “You stay here. I need someone to yell at.”

“Fair enough. Milk or something else?”

“Milk. Thank you.” Icy. Removed. That hurt more than an eruption.

He brought her the milk, then sat facing her across the table. He didn't want to loom over her, seem threatening in the least way. Not even unintentionally.

“How's the baby?” he asked presently.

“Better than her mother.”

There was nothing he could say to that.

She sipped some milk, then sat staring at the glass, turning it slowly on the table. “You lied to me when you arrived.”

“Yes.” His chest tightened as if preparing for the blow of a sledgehammer.

“But you didn't lie to me when I asked you earlier.”

Where was this going? He couldn't imagine but knew he was going to find out.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why what?”

“You could have lied to me again. Could have told me you were with the State Department, that you had no idea about Johnny. But you didn't, Ryker. That must have broken some kind of operational secrecy.”

It had. Most definitely.

“How many other lies did you tell me?”

“None.”

“No,” she agreed, staring at him now. “No lies. Just a whole lot of omissions and half-truths. How can I ever believe you again?” Her voice had risen, and now she stood, taking her glass of milk and heading for the living room.

* * *

He set up a TV table for her in the living room, then brought her a plate full of food, a napkin and utensils. He retreated to eat by himself, but he was only halfway through the foyer when she called him back.

“Ryker. Eat with me.”

Well, that amazed him, considering that he figured just looking at him must make her feel sick. Reluctantly, he set up a table for himself, then sat perched on the goosenecked chair with his own meal.

For long minutes she made no move to eat, then with an almost visible shake, she picked up her fork and knife and sliced into the chicken. Only then did he begin to eat himself.

“So, tell me,” she said as she ate.

“If I can.”

“What's the real reason you don't visit your family and you haven't married?”

“I think you know,” he answered.

She surprised him with a glare. “I want to hear it.”

The moment of truth. He put down his knife and fork and wiped his mouth with the napkin before he answered. “The truth?”

“As much as you can tell me,” she answered bitterly.

“The truth is that I didn't want to leave someone in your position. Because what I did was dangerous and secret, and I refused to be responsible for leaving someone behind to wonder forever. I don't visit my parents because the whole time I'm there I have to skirt the truth and make excuses about why I'm never home, why I've never married, why I haven't given them grandkids. Because the goddamn lies follow me every waking minute of my life!”

The last came out of him with a vehemence that surprised him. He hated the way Marisa shrank back a little as his voice rose.