Blamed (18 page)

Sudden sensual need turned
his
insides to honey. No point in playing dumb, but he couldn’t risk speaking with his normal voice, for various reasons, so the accent with its broken English would remain. “You do not see me so often.”

“But I know you’re there.”

True enough. Though their paths didn’t necessarily cross, he was often there. Which took the situation straight from tawdry into stalker territory. Desire cooling, he made as if to back away. “I should—”

She grabbed onto the lapels of his coat with both hands. “Don’t tell me you should go, because you shouldn’t. Go, I mean. Don’t go.” The wind lifted strands of dark brown against her blushing cheeks, across her parted lips. “Are you here for me?”

Throat tight, he shook his head, all thoughts of leaving her having fled.

Shrewdly intelligent eyes narrowed on him. “Eduard Cesarec, then.” Before he could confirm or deny, she began to slowly, wonderingly stroke her palms over his chest, her gaze dropping to the ratty scarf at his throat. “I...I’ve never touched you before. Not on purpose.”

No, she hadn’t, and that she was now was destroying him. He wanted to gather her close and take his first taste of her. And then, possibly, never stop tasting her ever again. Gently removing her hands, he linked their fingers, his body reaching a decision his mind hadn’t quite accepted. “Come with me,
milijenik.
” He was bunking in an abandoned cottage for the duration of this mission, but the crumbling structure was private, tucked into the tree line away from the main road. It would get them out of the snowflakes that had begun to fall, provide him with the opportunity to convince her to let him and his people handle Cesarec...and, most importantly, protect them against eavesdroppers when he told her who he really was.

The decision seared him with rightness. He knew so much about her under the guise of serving his country, but though his service was the reason he even knew Beth, it was also the impediment to
her
knowing
him.
He couldn’t permit himself any part of her, physically, if she didn’t know who was holding her, the exchange too uneven. Trusting her with this secret, without gaining permission from Management to read her in, was necessary.

Beth was necessary.

She didn’t question his command or fight his hold as he tugged her out of the alley and into the street in front of the grocer’s. “What did you call me? Melleh—”

“
Milijenik.
My darling.”

“Oh.” Her hand squeezed his. “Do you mean it?”

Vick rather thought he might. “I—”

Twenty meters away, the corner petrol station exploded in a deafening blast of fire and stone.

He shoved her to the cold, hard-packed earth, throwing his body atop hers and caging her head with his arms. Debris bit into his back and shoulders, sliced through the worn fabric of his trousers. Ears ringing, lungs filling with smoke and dust, he closed his eyes and braced himself against the biting blows from the falling hazards to his vulnerable back.

The village, asleep minutes earlier, had burst into abrupt chaos. “
Zaklon!
Bežite!
” Shouts amidst the screaming for bystanders to run and take cover reached Vick’s ringing ears. He knew they were right to do so when mere moments later a second explosion boomed, black smoke and rubble raining down on them from the other side of the road, the targeted structure the village’s tavern and inn.

Pain bloomed on the side of his face, an inch from his mouth, and he crowded her even more, shifting to make certain she was shielded from the worst of it. There was a gash bisecting one eyebrow, a cut on her lip, and a scrape on her chin, but other than that she appeared to be unharmed.

Blood dripped onto her upturned cheek. She frowned, wriggling to free one gloved hand until she was able to cover his wound. “Oh, crap. This looks...not good.”

It was such a nonsense thing to say, and it made him forget his decision to keep away. With one arm curved over her head, he leaned down, down, until his lips brushed over hers for the very first time.

Yes.
Soft and giving and smeared with bitter ash, she tasted of bubble gum and copper, but whose blood it was didn’t matter. Her mouth was hesitant under his as he licked and coaxed, until he caught that bottom lip of hers between his teeth and nipped, as he’d wanted to in the alley by the grocer’s. Then she melted beneath him, lips parting to permit him a more intimate taste.

She’d lost her gum in the explosion, probably when they had hit the ground, but the sugar lingered to tempt the tip of his tongue into delving deeper. He waited for her response with the same patience he’d possessed in the café in Belgium, giving her the opportunity to read his cues and learn from him; kissing now was the same, and he was nearly struck dumb by the realization that she had apparently never been kissed.

A wave of stark possession swept over him, numbing him to all but the sensation of her mouth meeting his. A stroke of her tongue stole his breath, the sting of her teeth made him dizzy. Her lips addicted him. He’d never been weaker than he was in this kiss, nor more powerful, and he craved the dueling dichotomy within his core. No detox would ever cure him of this all-consuming need.

Kissing Beth Faraday had officially ruined him.

His other arm kept much of his weight off of her, his knees on either side of hers, but in another time and place he would have drowned in her lithe form, absorbed the sweetness of her into his very pores. He would have carefully removed every stitch of clothing, loved her with his hands and mouth, and loved her again with the stiff erection behind his fly.

She turned her head to the side, gasping for breath. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, and she stared beyond his shoulder, blinking rapidly as her body stiffened. “Up. Let me up.”

Everything in him protested at her breathy demand. Up was the absolute last direction he wanted to go. Down and in and out, yes, but definitely not up. Then the fog lifted from his brain, and he remembered where, precisely, they were.
Bloody hell.

They had barely gained their feet before she shoved hard at his shoulders, sending him back a pace. Her glare ferocious, all hints of softness disappeared, she pointed to the destruction surrounding them. “You know who did this?” When he didn’t answer, she pushed him again. “Three people were asleep in that inn,” she shouted over the din, voice hoarse from the smoke. “Three innocent people are dead, and you
know
who did this!”

“Beth—”

“How long have you been here,
Dmitri?
One week? Two? Long enough to have a name, do your spy shit. Lurking in the shadows, making your reports. Not fucking acting on the threat, that’s for damn sure.” She sneered, reaching into the coat pocket where she’d stashed her gun. “I don’t get you spies. It’s all intrigue and one-upmanship and mind-fuckery, and look where it gets you.” Checking the pistol’s chamber with easy grace, she gripped it comfortably in one hand. “Here. It gets you here, where you have to stare at that goddamn mess of a building and know three innocent lives were snuffed out because you couldn’t do your job.” Her angry gaze locked on his, she began walking backward. Toward the flames. “This is
my
job, pal. They only call me in when none of you cocky bastards have the balls to get it done. So now I’m going to go and fucking do what you didn’t, and keep Cesarec from setting this entire country on fire.”

“How do you know?” Anger boiled in his veins, both at her accusations and at the injustice of what he’d just witnessed.

She halted. “How do I know
what?
”

“How do you know there were three people in the inn?”

Her response turned his veins to ice. “Because I slept there last night. I met them. Alen and Agneza were visiting their widowed son-in-law and grandchildren, who didn’t have a spare room in their small home for them to stay. Jelena was a doctoral student writing her thesis on the persecution of Jews in this region during World War Two.” A tear tracked through the blood and grime coating her face. “Alen. Agneza. Jelena. God, I’m so fucking furious with you right now.” She swiped at her face, then strode toward him, stopping when they were once again toe-to-toe. Yanking the cap from her head, she turned it inside out and pressed the warm knit to his lacerated cheek, glaring at him all the while.

He lifted a hand to cover hers. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

Plans changed, he thought, memorizing her as she stood before him, dirty and bleeding and slowly but surely taking ownership of his heart. He couldn’t share the secret of who he was or what he did with the angry girl who wanted immediate vengeance for Alen, Agneza and Jelena, not while she was in motion, grieving and raging, yet tending to him with a care that belied her fierce words. The trust wasn’t there for either of them, not now, and so his plans changed. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t give her a little bit of truth. “Thank you for not sleeping late this morning.”

With a snarl, she lifted her gun hand to the back of his neck and tugged him down for a harsh kiss, never letting up on the pressure to his wounded cheek.

Yes, plans changed. Beth Faraday, however, would always be his constant—Vick planned to make sure of that.

Chapter Fifteen

“I have a fourth option.”

Vick reveled in the languid warmth of waking to find her tucked securely against him, his arm banded around her waist, his erection nestled against her bottom. “Good morning to you too.”

She patted the hand cupping one breast consolingly, obviously wide awake. “Fourth option. Wanna hear it?”

“Only if you promise not to move.” Having her within easy reach soothed the unquiet corners of his psyche, the rumbling in the back of his mind reminding him that this was not, in fact, his happy-ever-after. It was barely his happy-for-now.

Everything he’d told Beth had been the truth—the exit strategy, what he wanted for her, from her. His feelings had never been in doubt, which was what had made him the perfect operative for this assignment. T-16 trusted him to toe the party line but never cross it, because for fifteen years, he’d been the perfect textbook spy. His body of work was unimpeachable, the only crack in his façade an American girl who made his body pulse and his soul sing. Falling in love was a privilege not permitted to spies, because the time always came when that love turned into a spy’s downfall.

He wasn’t proud of his actions, but they were necessary actions nonetheless. More importantly, he’d been granted the opportunity to finally know Beth, as himself, and the temptation was too great to ignore. Colleen Yang had made sure of that when she set him upon this tangled mess of a mission.

A mission made even more complicated by the involvement of the Russians and their two-week, literally ironic deadline. Vick frowned. The
Polnoch’ Pulya
had never been part of the plan. He was not okay with any part of this assignment changing without his say-so, not when Beth’s safety was on the line.

Vick had been tempted to prod McCallister for more details but had restrained himself. Instead, the encrypted text he’d sent shortly after ordering room service yesterday confirmed Tobias Faraday was en route to London. T-16 would get what it wanted, and Vick’s job was complete. Except they expected him to return to the United Kingdom, picking up where he’d left off before Afghanistan had turned his world topsy-turvy.
We’ve got work to do.
McCallister’s words echoed in his mind, but the weight of Beth in his arms dispersed them like so much mist.

The only work that mattered was protecting Beth as best he could. The simplest means of doing so was to stand at her side, walking with her through life. Paul and Grace Morgan beckoned with their promised fresh start for him and Beth, together.

After all this time, together was the only wish on his list, and it was nothing he could ask for, knowing what he did about what awaited Tobias in his meeting with Yang tonight. Needing to immerse himself in the present, in the woman lying trustingly in his arms like a gift he didn’t deserve, he gently nipped Beth’s shoulder. “You know it is obscenely early, right?”

“Three-thirty in the morning is a perfectly reasonable time to wake up.”

“Not after our evening activities,” he groaned. He buried his face in her tangled hair, scenting the floral courtesy shampoo they’d found in the tub after round two had taken place on the bathroom countertop. A bout of intense sleeping had followed their shared bath before round three—the final round, because, let’s face it, Vick was nearing forty, recently shot in the gut, and had spent the day running around the city chasing after the love of his life, meeting clandestinely with his colleagues, and having his heart ripped out of his chest every moment he spent in Beth’s company—had been slow, steady lovemaking, on his side with her facing him, her knee tucked over his hip and his lips never leaving hers.

There was something stunning about kissing her through her orgasm, through his, and then kissing her until they had fallen asleep, only to awaken now with Beth’s very-much-not-asleep form glued to his fatigued one. “All right, darling, option four. I’m ready.”

“We fly to London and attend the meeting with Tobias.”

And now Vick was officially awake. “I think I preferred it when we only had three options.” Panic zinged through him, and he was glad she couldn’t see his face. He exhaled slowly, strengthening his hold across her torso. “Tell me why.”

“I’ve been thinking.” She traced an idle fingertip over the back of his wrist. Chill bumps broke out at the feather-light touch. “A few years ago, we were all home for Hanukkah and sitting around the supper table, and Tobias was giving one of his boring lectures on politics and public relations. One of the things he was telling us was how to reject someone and, conversely, how to avoid rejection.”

“Dating tips?”

A soft laugh. “Tobias doesn’t date, so, more like business opportunities. Anyway, he says that every chance he gets, if he’s trying to close a deal, he does it in person. Because it’s much harder to say no to a person after you shake hands.”

Tobias Faraday was a clever bastard. Vick would be wise to remember that. “You think if you, personally, get in front of Yang, she’s more likely to retract the hit.”

“I think it’s worth a shot—no pun intended.” Tension stiffened her limbs, and she hesitated. “Are you mad?”

Sighing, he turned her in his arms, putting them face-to-face on the same pillow. Carefully brushing the tousled hair out of her eyes, he somberly met her worried gaze. “Why would I be mad?” Worried, yes; Lord knew he had much to worry over if she was set on going to his home city.

“Because it would mean no more Paul and Grace Morgan.” She laid a gentle hand on his cheek. “It’s not that I don’t want to run away with you. God, it’s so tempting, you know? To say ‘fuck it all’ and start fresh. See what it’s like to be ourselves together.” A sad smile flitted over her sleep-softened features. “Except we’d be Paul and Grace Morgan, not Raleigh Vick and Beth Faraday. Or even Preston Barnes and Beth Bernard. It would just be another lie, and I’m too goddamn exhausted to lie anymore. Aren’t you?”

Yes. Yes, he bloody well was. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her everything, confess the deception he’d perpetrated, but his mobile chose that moment to buzz from atop the nightstand.

She either didn’t hear the faint noise or chose to ignore it. Nuzzling her nose against his, Beth swung her long legs over the side of the bed and stood, naked as the day she was born. “I’m going to hop in the shower and then find us a flight. That is, if you’re down with option four?”

His gaze trekked from the tender backs of her knees up toned, slender thighs, over an ass that simply
would not
quit to the shallow indent of her spine. She was all elegant lines, luscious skin, and so real and present and touchable he was forced to shut his eyes against the yearning that was a mortal wound to his soul. “Option four it is.”

With a brilliant smile, she leaned down to kiss him, confident in herself and happy with him. As she pulled back, however, her smile faded, and she once again stroked a hand over his jaw. “I wish I could be the Grace to your Paul,” she murmured hoarsely, and he caught the glimmer of unshed tears gathering on her lashes before she darted into the suite’s well-christened bathroom.

Beth might be happy with him now, but one minute into tonight’s meeting between T-16 and the Faradays, and she would hate him. Of that Vick had no doubt.

As soon as he heard the shower turn on, he snatched up his phone to read the coded message. Instead of McCallister, though, it was Nash who’d texted.

Odd. Nash never texted.

no girl? am disapointed, jolly

Of course, his abysmal spelling might have something to do with it.

But as Vick made to type a response, telling Nash that, yes, the girl
was
heading to London, he paused. There were only a matter of hours left before Beth discovered what he’d done. And while the same would be true even if she weren’t present at the meeting—once Tobias learned the details, it was all over—any chance Vick had of persuading her to see things his way would go up in smoke.

Beth would look at him.

Vick would look at her.

Yeah.
Over
was too kind a term for what they’d be after the meet.

Perhaps the last gift he could give her was one of surprise. He smirked before deleting Nash’s text. Beth deserved her chance to shake Yang’s hand while retaining the upper one.

* * *

Several long hours later, thanks to her hacker brother’s online changes to the flight manifest, the private plane Beth had appropriated—”Borrowed!”—began its gradual descent into the United Kingdom. Vick studied her where she sat opposite him, ensconced in a swiveling armchair upholstered in creamy leather.

She’d dressed that morning in skin-tight dark jeans and black cowl-neck sweater, long hair trapped in an artfully messy knot at her nape. With no jewelry and minimal cosmetics, she appeared fresh and young, and in the middle of intense thought. “Are you worried?”

“No. Yes.” She’d toed off her boots early on during the flight and sat with her feet tucked under her. “Mostly no. I mean, I suppose they could shoot me on sight...but you’re not going to let that happen, are you?”

“No.” Everything in him recoiled at the possibility of T-16’s section chief blowing a hole through Beth’s chest the second they walked through the door, though his expression never changed. “Why such a serious face, then?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Again? You’re developing rotten habits, darling.”

His teasing coaxed a smile from her, as intended. “Says the man who, for ten years, turned up like a bad penny everywhere I went. Speaking of habits.” She toyed with the excess fabric at her neckline. “I’m working on a theory.”

“About?”

“You.”

The back of his neck prickled, but he offered her a lazy grin. “Regale me.” He settled deeper into his seat, the ankle of one leg propped over the knee of the other, and linked his fingers casually over his middle.

“You’re not going to like it.” When he said nothing, she continued to fret the cashmere blend. “How much did T-16 know about us?”

Too much. They knew Vick had witnessed Beth’s first kill. They knew he’d opened and maintained a file on her. They knew he had placed requests for satellite imagery and phone taps, spearheading assignments where he’d determined she was most likely to be sent for a given job. It was Colleen Yang who had put two and two together, deducing that Beth was something more than a professional nemesis. Upon returning from Cyprus, the section chief had called Vick into her office.

“
Tell me
,
Raleigh—who was the Faraday mark this time?
”
Yang folded her hands on the desk
,
expression masked in cool confidence.

Vick shifted uncomfortably where he stood.
As it turned out
,
Beth had given him the truth;
Nissi Beach had been a celebratory vacation.
“
There was no mark
,
ma’am.
I
misinterpreted the information.
”
He’d argued long and hard to gain a thorough cover after learning Beth had booked a flight to Cyprus.
Now he wondered if Yang hadn’t acquiesced in order to trap him in this very situation.

“
Misinterpreted.
That is one way of phrasing it.
”
Yang’s dark gaze never faltered.
“
You have a problem
,
Raleigh
,
and her name is Elisabeth Faraday.
We need to discuss how you plan to fix your problem.
”

It had taken nearly two years, but Yang had finally landed on a solution. “They know enough,” Vick told Beth, fighting the guilt dogging his every step. “You’re my weakness, love. Always have been.” Always would be.

Color infused her cheeks, lips parting on a surprised breath. “Right. So.” Her hands fell to her lap, and she glanced away, out the rounded window into the clouds covering their descent. “My theory—and it’s a working theory, so bear with me—hinges on that fact. That I’m your...weakness.” Her gaze swung back to his, a clashing of her gray-gold with his blue. “You told me you were supposed to kill me when the call from T-16 came through. You’d been monitoring me all this time, waiting on that call, right? But there’s no way Management could believe you would pull the trigger when the time came. There’s just...there’s no
way.
”

Smart woman. Still, he said nothing.

“I think...I think it was a test. They set you up to fail. I mean, they had to know you would quit before you’d kill me.” Her fingers twisted together, a show of nerves. “They shot you, Vick. And the sniper at the museum wasn’t for me.”

Fine. He could play devil’s advocate as well as the next bloke. “All right, let’s say MI6 wants me dead.” Except they didn’t. “That still leaves the Russians. Tell me how they fit into all of this.”

“That’s why it’s a working theory—I don’t know.” Frustration shadowed her expression. “I’m just saying there are holes in this story, Vick.” She straightened in her seat as the plane began to circle the airport, fastening her safety belt. “You said from the beginning there were certain things you couldn’t tell us.”

He followed suit and hooked his belt. “I did say that.”

Her chest rose on a shaky sigh, head falling back against the seat as her eyes fluttered closed. “It’s the strangest sensation—trusting you when all logic says I’m an idiot to do so. There’s been this...this niggling in the back of my mind since you told me your real name.” She laughed without humor. “I guess I’ve known you too long and seen you wear too many disguises to believe I’m getting the whole truth from you. But I want to believe you, Vick. I really, really do, so I’m going to ignore the niggling.”

Memories of a night spent tangled in hotel bed sheets—and locked together on the bathroom countertop—raced through his brain. Their interlude was nothing but a testament to her faith in him, her sensual surrender inarguable fact. “You trust me, then.” Dear God, he didn’t deserve her trust, but he clung to it for all he was worth.

“Yes.” She opened her eyes to spear him with a stare that was too direct, demanded too much of him. Yet he couldn’t look away. “I may be your weakness, Vick, but you’re mine. What a fucking mess, right?”