Bulletproof (Unknown Identities #1) (22 page)

“I’ll drop the issue if you tell me about one of the marks on your body.” He winced, but she barreled on. “The mark I choose.”

His eyes were wary and she knew he sensed the trap. “If I agree, you’ll drop the questions about Mexico?”

She held up a hand as if taking an oath. “I won’t dig into Mexico or anything else unless you ask.”

His brows arched in surprise. “Deal.”

Nodding, she picked up his hand and rubbed her thumb against his palm while she contemplated the myriad choices.

He flinched when her eyes lit on the scars closest to the center of his chest and following a romantic whim, she leaned forward and kissed the jagged scar above his heart.

Sitting back, she waited another moment, making her decision. “Why the chains around your wrists?”

“It’s symbolic.”

“That’s not an answer or explanation.” She smoothed her hand up his arm to his elbow and back down to his fingertips. He was all hard muscle and sinew, one hundred percent temptation layered over a deep gaping canyon of secrets.

His life had been stolen from him, changed irrevocably and something inside her insisted that she ease that burden he denied so stridently.

“It is an answer,” he insisted. “And it’s a true answer.”

“You’re teasing me.”

His eyes went wide. “I am. Huh. Amazing, but also true.”

She flopped back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling, her hands clasped on her midriff. “How about this? I won’t look at you, won’t touch you.”

“So?”

“Well, now you can bullshit me all you want and I won’t know if you’re lying.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” She turned her head to look at him. “Why do you think I meet my sources in person? Why do you think I’m so good at my job? I’m practically a human lie detector,” she said with a grin. “And I’m practically foolproof when I can see the body language.” She made a show of scrunching her eyes closed as she turned away. “Go on. Tell me a story about those scars, John.”

She heard him sigh. Felt the mattress give as he changed position, but she kept her eyes closed.

Most people didn’t believe it, but she’d cultivated a vast well of patience and learned to balance the adrenaline rush of running down a story with the necessity of timing the release of information.

If Larimore hadn’t been breathing down her neck trying to silence her permanently, she would have prolonged his miserable downfall, revealing his crimes piece by piece until the world turned against him and there was nowhere to hide.

John wasn’t the only expert here. She knew how to make people
want
to talk.

“Once upon a time –”

She giggled. A fairy tale beginning sounded so ominous in his deep, serious voice. “Sorry.”

He cleared his throat and that deep voice rumbled across her senses.

“Once upon a time, a soldier took a life. A sanctioned kill, ordered by his superiors, but it weighed on his heart. He knew remembering would be difficult, but he sensed forgetting would blacken his soul.

“So the soldier made a mark, let loose a bit of blood and flesh in memorial to the life ended.”

In her mind, she saw each link in that odd, twisted chain growing until it circled both of his wrists. She pictured John staring at the scars, some forgotten part of him aching for the lives he’d taken. Her heart broke a little and she firmly reminded herself this could very well be a fairy tale, gruesome as it was.

“The dead are lessons best remembered,” he whispered. “Those who live can make their own legacy.”

The mattress shifted as he rolled closer. His lips were warm against her forehead.

She knew better, but her curiosity won.

“And what about the soldier’s soul?”

* * *

John stared down at her, too shocked to speak. She’d kept her word, kept her eyes closed and her hands to herself. He rubbed at the scars on his wrist, debating how to answer her. He’d told her the truth, leaving out that he carved them fresh when they started to fade.

Maybe it was time to let them heal.

“It turned dark despite his best efforts.” More truth. Why did he so willingly offer it to her? He reached over and turned out the light. Flopping to his back, he hoped that would be the end of it. They both needed some sleep.

But the mattress shifted and her voice washed over him in the dark. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done today. I didn’t want a bodyguard, but I know I wouldn’t have survived without you.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look and see if the admiration he heard in her voice was sparkling in her eyes. He wasn’t a hero – despite saving her from a couple of assassins today.

“Do you think people can change?” It was the safest of the questions twisting and tangling in his mind.

“Not generally, no.”

His breath caught. One thing he’d come to count on was her brutal honesty. “Why,” he had to clear the lump from his throat, “or why not?”

“Based on my experience, it seems that most people don’t want to change.”

“And if they do?”

The bed creaked and the mattress dipped as she shifted closer to him. He longed to reach out, to take her in his arms. In no small part because he knew it would make him feel like a normal, whole man again for however long she let him hold her.

But when she learned the truth about him, learned what he’d done, learned all the things he couldn’t correct...

Who she thought he was and who he really was were two different men. He wanted to live up to her unspoken expectations, but too many bad decisions and final consequences made that impossible.

The stark reality splashed over him like a bucket of ice water. She would hate the man he’d been and any affection or admiration would quickly turn bitter. He didn’t want that for her.

Of everything he’d survived to reach this point, a small, previously unknown piece inside him realized that would be his breaking point. So many things he’d dealt with in his cold, unfeeling way, but this one woman had slipped through his defenses.

“Most people do what’s comfortable,” she said, “no matter how bad it is for them or the people who love them. Change is a noble concept –”

“Yeah,” he interrupted, turning to his side and putting his back to her. “I get it.” Protecting her didn’t erase the missions accomplished at Gabriel’s requests. Planning his long-overdue escape didn’t change the man he’d been or the things he’d done while under
their
control. Even if they erased the false charges from his official record, he’d been forever altered by the things he had to do for that small measure of redemption.

Amelia didn’t believe people could change.

He felt her hand on his shoulder. Instead of pain, he felt a gentle connection, a positive awareness. Why did such a simple touch make him want to beg, to prove he could be different. Sane. Stable. For her.

“John?”

“What?”

“What is it you think I need to change?”

If this was one of her interview tactics, it was a good one. She wasn’t perfect, but tenacity, persistence, ethics, and discretion were all traits he valued – even when they made protecting her a challenge. “I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Senator Larimore?”

Was she kidding? “I couldn’t care less about the senator.”

“Good. His kind doesn’t change. That leaves you.”

“Go to sleep,” he muttered. It’s not a big deal.”

“It must be if you brought it up.”

“Call it a moment of weakness.”

“
Hmm
, that would be a first.”

He grunted, refusing to be amused or flattered. His weakness for doing the right thing had landed him in this whole warped situation. And it was becoming more and more obvious that he was developing a soft spot for Amelia. Not smart. For either of them.

Her gentle scent teased him now. Her body was mere inches away and he could still feel the velvet touch of her kiss behind the couch, the delicious weight of her breasts in his palms.

He remembered enough of the signals to know she wouldn’t refuse him if he did make a move. An intelligent man with an ounce of self-preservation would have slept on the floor by the door. No, not him. He’d let her insist on sharing the bed. Convinced himself it was for her own good, in case she tried to sneak out and run down another lead.

Well, maybe he hadn’t entirely convinced himself. John couldn’t decide it that was a good or bad thing.

Gabriel would gladly use her against him, despite the promise that John would get his name back, his record cleared if he kept her alive. Not to mention the two million dollars.

For her sake, he had to reestablish the distance, remember his place in her life was temporary. Had to keep his end game the top priority in his mind.

She sighed softly and shifted back to the other side of the bed. Smart woman.

“For the record,” her quiet voice enveloped him, “I don’t think you need to change a thing.”

Her words shocked him. He would have called her a liar if he didn’t know better. Amelia was too honest for her own safety – his present assignment to protect her proved that much.

He rolled over, right into her. “You mean that.”

“Yes.” Her palm rested lightly on his cheek. “Your soul isn’t black, John.”

Right here in her arms, he almost believed it. He was about to argue, or apologize, or something, but she pushed him gently to his back and showered him with kisses.

First his lips, then the scars along his neck. Her mouth traveled lower and, despite the dark, she laid a tender kiss on every place they’d shot, stabbed, and burned him to test his enhancements.

None of it caused pain, only tremendous pleasure.

She whispered nonsense about beauty, strength, and courage as her hands and mouth stroked gently along his skin. If he’d had the ability to speak, he would have turned those words back to her.

He buried his hand in the silk of her hair when her mouth closed over his rigid cock. This had to be a dream. Closing his eyes, he prayed it would last forever. Wet and hot, her mouth brought him too close to the edge, but this wasn’t how he wanted to finish.

He drew her close until she stretched on top of him. With a hot kiss, she straddled him, taking him into her hot, wet body in one slow, exquisite glide.

She was heaven in his arms, a reward he didn’t deserve, but wouldn’t relinquish.

This time he let her set the pace, followed her lead, and reveled in the glory of her body seizing a startling passion with his.

“John,” she panted his name as the orgasm claimed her and he knew whatever happened, he didn’t ever want to lose this identity. John Noble was the man she knew, the man she believed in. That was the man he wanted to be.

Chapter Eleven

Sunday December 22, 5:27 a.m.

It was the quiet that woke him. The lack of ambient noise inside or outside the house might as well have been an air horn.

Carefully, without disturbing Amelia, he raised his head to check the bedside clock. Blank.

The power was out. Cut or as a result of the rain?

He listened for any sound that didn’t belong, grateful the rain had let up some. With Ben out there, any direct attack would be foiled.

He heard a creak near the top of the stairs. John tensed. Unless Ben had left his post to chase butterflies or play with explosives. Unwilling to take a chance, John slipped out from under Amelia’s pliant body.

Silently he crept to the space behind the door, waiting and listening.

“Just me, man,” Ben said from the hallway.

John stepped out into the hall and moved away from the bedroom door. “Why did you cut the power?”

“Not me. That was Mother Nature.”

John couldn’t decide if that was good news or bad. “Did you get into the office?”

“Yeah. You didn’t mention the cat.”

Unsure how Amelia felt about it, he hoped Ben hadn’t done anything rash. “Tell me you didn’t kill it.”

“That’s low, Noble.”

“Sorry.”

“The boss ran the story. It will hit newsstands any time now. I didn’t even have to say anything.”

“Good.”

“He seems cool, but I can take him out if you want.”

“No, he’s on our side.”

“Right. I’ll remember.”

John hoped so.

With the story going live today, it could mean dodging more threats or none at all. John wanted to be prepared for any eventuality. Most of all, John wanted to be sure Amelia had a long and happy life. “Do you have a lead on a body if I need to fake her death?”

“I can figure it out.”

“Thanks.”

“Did she find out what happened to the shooter in the airport?”

“I forgot to ask her to look.”

“You’re distracted, you lucky bastard.” Ben shook his head. “Last I saw, a couple of Messenger’s dogs were leading him away.”

“Shit.”

“It happens,” Ben agreed. “Not sure if he was part of the program or if he’s now a new recruit.”

“Stay close.”

“Per the usual, man.” Ben gave a mock salute and faded back down the stairs.

John couldn’t recall the last time he’d worked
with
anyone. If Gabriel found out Ben was alive and helping him, any chance of a clean escape for all three of them was gone. How the hell did life keep throwing this shit at him?

In the bedroom, he heard Amelia sigh in her sleep. Whatever he’d been, the last twenty-four hours with her had changed him. Again. He knew he wouldn’t ever work for Gabriel again, but he realized going forward alone wasn’t the right thing either. He wanted to seize the opportunity she offered and reclaim life on his terms.

John returned to the bed, taking her in his arms. Fully awake, he reviewed her situation from all angles again. He didn’t want to believe a contingency plan would be necessary, but Larimore’s assassins were too well informed and had come too close to succeeding yesterday. John simply couldn’t be everywhere at once and having Ben as an extra pair of eyes made things remarkably easier.

Gabriel would expect him to bolt as soon as Amelia was out of danger.

John built his escape route with meticulous care from nothing more than a vague fantasy of slipping away from Gabriel’s program. Now was his chance to go, to start over, and while a woman shouldn’t make a difference, Amelia had changed his mind.