Conard County Spy (24 page)

A short, sharp sound escaped the general, but his attention was clearly focused on Trace now. Julie started to move, but caught the slightest shake of Trace's head, so she remained on the chair.

“You'll go home, and the man who betrayed you will still be here. Just think, he could make the same mistake again. What makes you believe he'll be able to help you this way another time?”

“Enough,” roared the general. “If it is not you, then give me the name. Now!”

Trace answered flatly. “Casell.” The “State Department” employee who was actually an assistant director at the CIA. A man who had regularly been meeting with the Ukrainian delegation.

For a perceptible instant, the general froze. As he did so, the gun barrel dropped a few inches and a bit to the side. “Casell? I don't believe you.”

“When I found out you wanted me, I made it my business to find out who had betrayed
me
. It was Casell.”

“I talk to him all the time.” But the faintest doubt had crept into the general's voice.

“Which is more than you can say about me. You were barely on my radar.”

Then Trace exploded into action. His left arm swung out like a striking snake, pushing the gun aside. It nearly fell from the general's hand. But then, amazingly, Trace delivered a punch straight to the guy's midsection with his damaged right hand.

The general doubled over as breath escaped him. Blow to the solar plexus, Julie thought in the instant before she leaped into action herself.

In one swift movement, she rose from the chair, took the step and grabbed the poker. When she turned, the general, still unable to breathe, was caught in a struggle with Trace, who didn't seem at all hindered by the pain in his right hand.

She tried to remember what she'd learned in her defense classes, but something else took over. Sheer survival instinct, maybe. Stepping toward the two battling men, she kicked the rifle away and then laid into the general's head with the poker.

It wasn't easy, given how close they were and the intensity of their struggle, but she managed to deliver two good blows. The second caused blood to run from Andrepov's scalp.

Then Trace whipped the man around and closed his arm around his neck. Julie stood there, watching as Trace used a choke hold, never letting go of the struggling man.

Enough, she thought, and drove the pointed end of the poker into the man's gut. His eyes widened, then he sagged.

“Rifle,” Trace gasped.

She grabbed it, having only the vaguest idea what to do with it. The general seemed to be unconscious, but Trace stepped back as he let go of him, watching him sprawl on the floor.

“Give me the rifle.”

She passed it to him willingly, and watched as he settled it in his left arm, finger around the trigger, the barrel pointed straight at the man.

“Run out to the car. The sat phone is under the driver's seat. Hit the red button.”

“Will you be okay?”

“If he moves, he'll be dead.”

The chill in his voice told her all she needed to know. She ran for the car.

Chapter 14

J
ulie heard the sound of
helicopter rotors overhead, but now it was a good sound, a welcome sound. In the
weeks since the general had been defeated and arrested, most of life had
returned to normal. She sat now in Marisa's kitchen, holding baby Jonni, who was
just learning to smile.

Marisa had carried the phone into the other room, but returned
now with a smile on her face. “Ryker says they'll be back tomorrow.”

“They?” Julie asked, her heart skipping a beat with unwarranted
hope. She hadn't seen Trace since the general's arrest and a swarm of federal
law enforcement had descended on the town. She'd been questioned about all that
happened, then let go. As for the general, his diplomatic immunity didn't
protect him from charges of kidnapping and attempted murder.

But Trace and Ryker had set out for Langley a day later, and
she'd been on the edge of her seat ever since. They were taking on some pretty
powerful people inside the secretive walls of the CIA. How would that turn
out?

Ryker called each evening to talk to Marisa, but she didn't
hear from Trace. It was as if he had cut her out of his life, and that gouged at
her heart, painful every waking minute. Couldn't the guy at least have said
goodbye?

She sighed and cooed at the baby. Another smile answered her,
and Jonni tried hard to imitate the sound.

“Both of them, I gathered,” Marisa answered. “You want me to
take her?”

“I'm fine. I've heard that babies can whistle. I wonder if I
should try to teach her.”

Anything except think about Trace's return and what it might
mean. Or worse, that Marisa had misunderstood and he wouldn't come back at
all.

Those days she'd spent with him had taught her that he wasn't a
man who opened up easily. What he did share skimmed the surface, and even though
she'd been caught up in all of this with him, he'd guarded his secrets
carefully. He'd talked about his parents without saying a whole lot, she
realized in retrospect. He hadn't even evinced grief when he spoke of them dying
in the Ebola crisis in Africa. Maybe most of his emotions were out of reach to
him now. Maybe he'd locked them away in a safe place so he could do his job, and
simply didn't let anyone past those walls.

Odd to think she'd made love with a man and didn't truly have
any idea if he liked her. He'd said some nice things, but that didn't add up to
liking. People said those things because they felt it necessary, and she
had
kind of pushed him into making love to her.

Well, if he was coming back here, it was probably only to say
goodbye. She couldn't imagine him staying here in the middle of nowhere after
the exciting and widely traveled life he'd lived.

He'd probably die of boredom.

Jonni started fussing, and Marisa took her to feed her.

“It'll all be okay,” Marisa said.

“What will?” She certainly hadn't revealed that she was pining
for a man who clearly wasn't pining for her. Not even a phone call?

When she finally went home that evening, she was grateful it
was a weekend. Because she suddenly had a strong urge for a good cry, an
emotional catch-up with herself after all that had happened. A spy had waltzed
into her life, saved her from a bad guy she never would have met except for him,
and then waltzed away again.

Why should she ever have allowed herself to imagine anything
else?

When the doorbell rang late the next afternoon, she almost
didn't answer it. She was in no mood to see anyone, and right now she most
especially didn't want to see Trace.

But then irritation goaded her and she went to throw open the
door. It was definitely Trace, with a fresh haircut, a long wool coat with
buttons rather than a zipper and a half smile.

“Well, hello,” she said a bit sharply. “Not even a phone call?
Like I'm nothing?” She started to close the door, deciding in an instant that
she was going to end this herself and not give him the opportunity.

“They wouldn't let me call.”

That stopped her just as she started to close the door.
Heedless of the still-chilly air, although spring was beginning to make real
inroads, she said, “I'm supposed to believe that?”

“It's true.”

“Ryker called Marisa.”

“Ryker wasn't under the intense investigation and questioning
that I was.”

She regarded him steadily, thinking that he looked a little
tired, and even a bit thinner. Evidently these past weeks hadn't been easy on
him. Sympathy began to rise in her, the last thing she wanted to feel for
him.

She stepped back, letting him enter, and stood several feet
away as he unbuttoned his coat. The glove was gone from his scarred right hand.
“There's coffee,” she said with less than usual grace.

“Thank you.”

But he didn't move immediately, simply closing the door and
standing there, looking at her. Just looking at her. As if...he were hungry for
the sight of her? She didn't dare believe it.

“We need to talk,” he said finally. “Maybe that coffee would be
good after all.”

“Still taking pain meds?”

“Rarely. They're talking about amputation again.”

She froze on her way to the coffeepot and caught her breath as
she resumed getting two mugs and filling them. “No alternative?”

“There's always an alternative. Like living with this.”

“Have you made up your mind?”

“Not yet.”

She carried the mugs to the living room. When he sat on the
sofa, she took the chair, the safest place to be. He'd unbuttoned his coat, but
still wore it, a sure sign he expected to be gone soon.

This was painful, hurtful. Why in the hell had he come back?
She couldn't tell if this was worse than not hearing from him all this time. All
it seemed to be doing was strengthening her sense of loss. No amount of telling
herself she barely knew the guy was enough to ease what had taken root in her
heart. “So,” she said, trying to keep the conversation to safe subjects, “did
you clean house?”

He smiled faintly. “We surely did. Ryker's friend Bill was a
great help with that. Apparently he'd been doing some digging of his own. And
then of course I was exhibit A. It helped, too, that when the general started
talking, he was mad enough to tell his side of the story.”

“So what's going to happen to him?”

“I think he outlived his usefulness. My guess is he's going to
be tried and sent to prison. All because he wanted revenge. Or we might trade
him for another prisoner.”

She nodded, uncomfortably aware that her heart was beating
heavily. She could feel it in her chest. What did she want, anyway? For this guy
to leave or stay? His departure would return her life to its uncomplicated,
normal state. If he hung around...well, why would he hang around anyway?

“And what about the guy who betrayed you?”

“He's getting schooled by some very annoyed FBI agents about
revealing the identity of a foreign informant, among other things. His star is
rapidly crashing. As it should.”

“I'm glad to hear that.” Good news, it seemed, except in one
respect. “So are you going back to the agency?” she asked finally, her heart
thundering.

“Hell, no. And I wanted to talk with you about that.”

“Me?” Now she felt confused. “What do I have to say about
it?”

“Everything.” Then he stood and came toward her, finally
dropping to his knees in front of her. “I know I'm not easy. I know I'm a clam
and it drives you nuts sometimes. I know I'm probably as crippled emotionally as
I am physically. But I also know that I realized I missed you every single
moment of every single day I was away.”

Her heart was skittering now with both hope and fear. She
wanted to reach for him, but for the first time in her life, she didn't dare do
what impulse demanded. “What do you want from me, Trace?”

“A chance. I can't ask for any more than that. A chance to grow
whatever this is between us. A chance to make it into something lasting and
beautiful. Because everything about you is beautiful to me, Julie. Even the way
you give me a hard time. I love the way I never have to wonder what you're
thinking because you just tell me. I love the way you rarely let me run away and
hide inside myself. I think with you I could be a better man.”

She was breathing rapidly now, hopeful and half panicked. “You
hardly know me.”

“I saw you under the best circumstances when we made love, and
I saw you under the worst circumstances with the general. Everything in between
is bound to be just as remarkable. I'm not worried about who you are. I'm
worried about whether you can stand
me
.”

“Stand you?” she repeated. Everything inside her was melting
with the understanding that she wanted this man with her every single day in the
future. He wouldn't be easy, but that wasn't part of bargains like this.

“I know I'm difficult, but you've opened my heart for the first
time in years. I'd like to be part of your world, part of a world where you put
smiley faces on students' papers and take care of your friends with everything
you've got. Just let me try.”

Enough, she thought. The answers were exploding inside her, and
they were joyful. She slid off the chair until they were kneeling face-to-face.
“Just tell me why, Trace. Just tell me
why
.”

“Because,” he said firmly, “I'm in love with you.”

She felt the smile growing on her face. “I could get used to
hearing that.”

“Then I'll say it until you tell me to shut up.”

She lifted a hand to cradle his cheek. “I never want you to
shut up. Trace... I love you, too. Let's make this work.”

His face lit up like the Fourth of July, giving her a glimpse
of the untroubled man he could become. “Really? How do you want to start?”

“You can start by taking me to bed. This time, for a long time.
I want to make love with you.”

He leaned in to kiss her deeply, and she felt the familiar rush
of desire through her entire body. “For hours and hours,” he murmured. “I want
to make love to you forever.”

“Me, too,” she whispered, throwing her arms around him and
hugging him with every ounce of passion and strength in her body.

A spy had come to Conard County. To stay.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
HER COLTON P.I.
by Amelia Autin

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