Dark Dreamer (25 page)

Vernell placed his empty mug on the table. “They’re fine, Phoebe, but thanks. Do you think you could be ready in fifteen minutes? You’ll need to pack clothing for a few days.”

“I don’t have a choice, right?”

Vernell conceded this with the mild grimace Phoebe recognized from other occasions when there were rules he couldn’t bend for her. She stood up, an action quickly echoed by both agents. Not for the first time, it amazed her that men like these, schooled in such old-fashioned courtesies, were equally at home blowing someone’s head off if the situation called for it.

Before she left, she asked Vernell, “How is June doing?”

“As well as can be expected.” His tone softened to the gentle one he used for her. “You saved her life, Phoebe.”

“It was a team effort.” She touched his arm as she left the room.

In the hall, she stopped for a few seconds and willed herself to calm down. The last thing she wanted to do today was fly off in a helicopter with a bunch of guys carrying guns, then end up eating chocolates in Dr. K’s chair. She slipped into the parlor, closing the door before the dogs could escape.

“What’s happening?” Rowe asked, setting Molly on the floor.

Phoebe took refuge in her arms. “I have to go.”

“Now? Just like that?”

“It sounds important.”

“No kidding.” Rowe looked disappointed but also proud.

“I’m really sorry,” Phoebe mumbled into her chest.

“Don’t apologize. It’s your job.” Rowe dropped a kiss on her cheek. “When will you be back?”

“They said a few days. I have no idea what this is about.”

“It’s okay. I don’t need to know.” Rowe kissed her again and said, “Come on. Let’s go upstairs and get you packed. I keep thinking any minute a SWAT team is going to break down the door. The place is crawling with guys carrying M-4s.”

Phoebe tried not to sound as cranky as she felt. “I guess they had nothing better to do today than play soldiers.”

Shutting the dogs in the parlor, they went up to Phoebe’s bedroom and fell into each other’s arms once more.

“I hate this,” Phoebe said. “I just want to stay here with you. I don’t care about Homeland Security.”

Rowe brushed her lips across Phoebe’s. “How long did you say we have?”

“Not long enough.” Phoebe slid her hand beneath Rowe’s sweater, craving warm skin. A knee nudged her thighs apart. The slight pressure against her sex made Phoebe ache. She could almost feel Rowe’s fingers parting her.

Something altered in Rowe’s face. Eyes glittering wickedly, she said, “We could make them wait. It’s only the U.S. government.”

Phoebe shivered at the naked desire in her lover’s face. “You’re so bad.”

Rowe reached past her and bolted the door. “You love it.”

“I have to pack.” Phoebe’s protest sounded feeble, even to her.

“No. You have to get me off.” Rowe wasn’t kidding. She backed Phoebe toward the bed.

“They’ll know.” Phoebe gasped as she was lifted onto the covers.

“How? Because I’ll send you down there looking well-fucked?”

Phoebe blushed at the thought. Rowe was already undressing her, warm moist lips following the path bared by her hands. Phoebe squirmed as one nipple then the next was sucked and twisted until it became a tense little stone. Moisture welled, making moist little kisses where her thighs connected. She could hear her own breathing, shallow and fast. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried to sit up, but Rowe pushed her firmly down and bent over her.

In her ear, she said, “You know you want this.” She took one of Phoebe’s hands and drew it down. “Show me how much.”

Shivering, Phoebe slid her fingers slowly along the swollen arch of her clit. She could hardly bear her own delicate touch. Knowing she was being watched only intensified her yearning. In a fog of desire, she squeezed her eyes tight shut, blocking out everything but the knowledge of Rowe’s presence and the longing this evoked. She registered the hushed tick of her clock, the familiar creaks and whispers of the house, the sound of Rowe undressing. A drawer opening. The muted metallic tease of leather and buckle she had come to recognize over the past few days.

Rowe’s hand joined hers, the fingers brushing by to dip into her hot, liquid core. With tantalizing slowness, she teased her apart, stretching her, fingertips gliding and circling a mere tongue’s-reach within.

Needing more, Phoebe lifted her hips and begged, “Please.”

“Shh. You don’t want those men hearing us, do you?” Rowe caught her wrist and compelled an end to her self-service, supplanting the familiar strokes with a very different sensation.

Phoebe tensed a little as the smooth, solid head of a cock slid over her clit and between her slippery folds. This time Rowe did not enter by careful degrees. She took Phoebe’s hips in her hands, hauled her closer to the edge of the bed, and filled her completely. Before her body had a chance to adjust, Rowe withdrew nearly all the way, forcing a cry of protest. Opening her eyes, Phoebe blinked up at her lover, then grabbed Rowe’s arms, using them to lever herself closer, unable to bear the emptiness.

Rowe laughed softly, “Oh, you want all of me?” She hooked her hands beneath Phoebe’s knees, raising her slightly before entering her again, hard and fast.

Phoebe could hardly breathe. The world around her disintegrated into a morass of shapes and colors, and she was aware of nothing but the place where their bodies joined, the bursting, aching pressure within. She could feel Rowe in her belly, so deep inside she could only surrender to the reckless, inescapable ritual of their mating. Blood rushed in her ears. She tightened her legs around Rowe and clenched handfuls of bedcover, unable to control the gasps and whimpers that rose from the back of her throat.

Tension gathered in her limbs and she compressed her thighs harder on either side of Rowe, meeting every thrust with one of her own. She was vaguely aware of Rowe’s harsh breathing, her groans, her fierce concentration. Bearing down, anchoring herself, Phoebe couldn’t speak or think, her own abandoned cries lost in those of her lover. Sweat broke across her body as a hot, quivering pulse radiated from her clit to her womb and the first waves of orgasm carried her away.

A short while later, in a tangle of flesh and bedding, they stole sated kisses between panting gulps of air. Rowe’s breath cooled the damp on Phoebe’s cheeks. Her straight, sensual mouth was slightly parted. Phoebe traced its firm line with her index finger, then trawled a caressing path down the smooth, strong chin and tanned throat to her breasts. These were very different in shape from her own, compact and fleshy, taut against Rowe’s chest. The nipples were small and brown.

Phoebe wished they could spend all day in bed, so she could slowly savor her lover’s responsive body. She loved the way Rowe gave herself over to pleasure, gently guiding her so Phoebe never had any doubts about herself. Rowe had no problem expressing her needs and desires, and indulged Phoebe’s explorations and curiosity without reservation. Phoebe had never experienced that with any other lover. Rowe made her feel confident in herself as a partner in passion, not simply an object of desire.

With a sigh, she sank back into her pillows, overwhelmed with despair that they would have to be apart for the next few days.

“Baby?” Rowe turned to her. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” A few blond spikes fell forward, wetly clinging to her brow.

Phoebe pushed them back. “I’ll let you know once I’ve tried walking.”

 
“Oh, God.”

Laughing, Phoebe took Rowe’s hand and kissed the palm. She felt exquisitely, blissfully happy despite the helicopter waiting in the meadow. “I’m yours,” she said. “And I like the way you show me that.”

Rowe regarded her gravely. “I’m yours, too, Phoebe.”

For a long moment they were silent, then Phoebe said, “We’re madly in love, aren’t we?”

“Yes.” Rowe’s voice was husky with emotion. “Madly.”

*

The walk to the chopper was one of the more bizarre experiences of Phoebe’s life. Weak with post-orgasmic lethargy, she tried to match the strides of her companions only to find her legs wobbled so much, she almost fell as she crossed the yard. With a concerned stare, Vernell took her arm and adjusted the length of his stride to hers.

A squad of heavily armed men closed into tight formation around them, and they set off along a track carved hastily in the snow. Phoebe could see nothing past the solid shapes that hemmed her in. The men all seemed huge. They were tall to begin with, and in their cold-weather clothing, they shuffled along like a herd of linebackers.

As they approached the helicopter, Vernell yelled “Duck!” above the noise of the rotors.

He boarded ahead of her and extended a hand to help her up through the wide door. Agent Perry followed immediately behind.

Vernell handed her a set of earphones, and after thankfully covering her ears, she followed his example, belting herself tightly into the hard troop seat as they waited for the men with machine guns to cram on board. The rotors made a deafening chopping sound until they took off, then the noise abated and they sailed smoothly through the sky as if drifting on the wind.

“Where are we going?” she asked, lifting one earpiece so she could hear his reply.

“We’re switching to a plane at Hanscom. That’s an air force base.”

“What kind of helicopter is this?” One of the trainees eyed her and Phoebe felt silly for asking.

“It’s a Black Hawk,” Vernell replied.

“Like the one in the film?”

 
“Yes.”

Vernell didn’t seem himself today, Phoebe decided. He was probably freezing, and it appeared that that this Marvin Perry person aggravated him. The cramped interior of the Black Hawk was ice cold. Even with heavy clothing on, she could barely feel her feet and hands. She would be glad when they swapped to a real plane.

“Actually, the one in the movie was an earlier model,” Agent Perry informed her in a patronizing tone. “This is a UH-60M. The refit model. Digital cockpit, increased range and lift capability, et cetera.”

“I see.” Phoebe tried to sound interested. “I always thought they were black. But they’re really a very dark khaki, aren’t they?”

This time a couple of the men smirked. They lowered their heads quickly. Apparently they weren’t supposed to be looking at her.

“Sometimes for night operations we paint them black,” Agent Perry said without expression.

Phoebe gazed out the open door at the winter landscape below and marveled, “You can see so much.”

“The Black Hawks have always had superior nap-of-the-earth flight capability.” Evidently, Marvin Perry was the kind of guy who couldn’t resist flaunting his knowledge. “And they’ve worked on vulnerability reduction with the refit.”

“Does that mean it’s harder for these to get shot down now?” Phoebe asked.

“Simplistically speaking, yes.” He warmed to his theme. “Mission safety is contingent on so many factors, but the digital avionics improve situational awareness. Coupled with survivability and deployability enhancements, a commander finds he has more options in battlespace.”

Phoebe fell short of an intelligent response. “I suppose that’s pretty important, since we’re invading countries these days.”

“For some of us, there have always been wars.” A harsh note entered his voice and he shot a sideways glance at Vernell, as if directing the comment to him. “We have to get an edge any way we can. It’s win or die.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A shapely auburn-haired woman in a cream business shirt and navy slacks sat down in the armchair nearest Phoebe’s. The lights dimmed, and the screen at the front of the room lit up with the images ingrained into memory on September 11. The first plane plowing into the World Trade Center, then the second. People surging through a haze of dust and debris, screaming and sobbing. The faces of emergency workers, heavy with defeat and exhaustion.

The woman pressed a remote control, freezing the image, and the lights came back on. Turning discreetly made-up hazel eyes on Phoebe, she said, “This is what we’re up against.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Eve Kent. I lost my brother that day.”

“Oh.” Phoebe shook hands with her. Already, she felt morally obliged, no doubt the response they were aiming for. “I’m very sorry.”

“Thank you.” Eve pushed her wavy auburn hair behind her ears in a gesture of eloquent weariness. “I dedicate every working day to him. That’s why I’m talking to you.”

“You want me to try and contact your brother?”

For a split second, hope registered in Eve’s face before a cooler emotion prevailed. “No. Nothing like that. But it’s thoughtful of you to offer.” She placed a hand over Phoebe’s and stared earnestly into her eyes. Everything about her manner said,
Trust me
. “You’re here because we believe you may be able to prevent another 9/11.”

“I wish that was true.” Phoebe wondered how she was supposed to convince these people that her gift didn’t come with multiple choice options. Obviously they thought she was holding out and were trying to soften their approach by sending in a woman with a sad story. Phoebe wasn’t stupid. She knew when she was being manipulated. “It’s like I told Agent Perry and those other men, I can’t choose what I dream.”