Fatal Exposure (25 page)

With an assassination plot brewing and killers after Rina, will McCall gain her trust before it’s too late? Or will their dangerous desires ultimately destroy them all?

Chapter One

Rina Devargas ran full out, arms pumping, lungs burning, every muscle in her body on fire. Her thick auburn curls had come loose from the gold clip at the nape of her neck and tossed wildly about her face. The fabric of her slacks flapped against her leg where she’d ripped them running through a low hedge. She had no idea which direction to take, which building was safe to hide behind. Too many open spaces. Too many street lights.

Behind her, she heard the slapping of leather on pavement as the man pursued her. He’d been waiting for her, watching for her to leave John’s townhouse. As she’d slipped out the back door, sure she was safely away, he’d grabbed her, slamming her head into the brick wall. She wasn’t certain, but she thought her nose might be broken. Blood had run down her face and onto her blouse. Only instant reaction and a well-placed knee to the groin had freed her from his grasp.

His shoes pounded on the pavement behind her, closing the gap with every second. Could she cut through a walkway between buildings? But what if it led to a dead end? Where was everyone, anyway, in this residential neighborhood of upscale town homes? Shouldn’t someone be walking a dog?

Slap! Slap! Slap!

The echo of his footsteps sounded like rifle shots. Damn it, she had to find a place to hide, quickly. Her car was back near John’s place, so no hope of cutting back there. She tried to pick up the pace, but every step sent a jolt of pain through her head. Turning a corner, she sprinted down the sidewalk, searching for a place with lights on. Maybe she could bang on someone’s door, ask for help, if her appearance didn’t scare them to death.

She stopped for one precious second to drag air into her lungs and froze when a muscular arm pulled her against a hard male body and a hand clamped over her mouth. Her heart actually stopped in mid-beat, and for a moment, she was sure she’d pass out.

“Don’t scream,” a voice whispered at her ear. Rina’s nose twitched as a familiar scent drifted in the air and the body pressing against her from behind had a remembered feel. She tried to turn her head to see her captor, struggling in his grasp.
God, surely not him. Not here. Not now.
The man pulled her into a nearly invisible tiny alcove where two buildings met, waiting until the running figure passed. Then he half carried her to a car that pulled up to the curb.

“You can let go of me,” she mumbled against the fingers over her mouth.

“Not yet. And quit struggling. I’d hate to coldcock you,” he growled. “But I will if I have to.”

Opening the passenger door of the car, he shoved her inside. “Not a word,” he cautioned as he changed places with the driver. He hit the accelerator, and they roared down the street. By the time they reached the bridge from Harbor Island to downtown Tampa, Rina had managed to slow her heart rate to somewhere between almost dead and hopefully alive.

She eyed the man next to her. Her nose hadn’t let her down.

“Hello, McCall.”

Of course it had to be him. The very last person in the world she wanted to see.

But he was paying no attention to her, speaking into a cell phone too softly for her to understand what he was saying. Blood dripped from her nose again, and she pulled up the tail of her blouse to blot it, the only thing she had since she’d lost her purse when the man attacked her.

McCall snapped the phone shut and dropped it on the seat beside him. “I should lock you up just on the grounds of stupidity.” His voice was taut with tension. “What in the fucking hell were you doing at John’s place tonight?”

Her hand went automatically to the locket around her neck “What were
you
doing there?”

“Uh uh. I get to ask the questions.” He huffed a breath. “Have you lost your everlovin’ mind?”

No matter what she said, it would turn out to be the wrong thing, so Rina kept silent, blotting her nose and wishing she had a huge bottle of aspirin.

“Listen, you idiot,” he went on. “You know the lengths we’ve gone to in order to keep your relationship with your brother a secret. In our line of work, families are prime hostage targets.”

Rina knew that. When John had been accepted as a member of the ultra-secret anti-terrorist task force, every trace of their relationship had been buried. His boss had even gone so far as to acquire a phony birth certificate for her brother and a fake background. Any evidence that John Wilson, black ops operative, was her brother, John Devargas, ceased to exist. Except to Sully and the team.

“No comment?” he asked.

“Who-who was the man who attacked me?”

“Someone whose identity we’ll never know now that you blundered into the middle of our stakeout.”

She had never heard McCall quite so angry, but it couldn’t be helped. The call from John had shocked her, coming out of the blue as it had. There was no way she could have refused his request, no matter what the rules were. Or what she made a mess of. “I left my rental car back there.”

“Forget about it. I’ll have someone pick it up.”

“I, um, don’t have my keys. I...that is...I lost my purse.”

“Jesus Christ.” McCall pounded the steering wheel. “Are you serious? You left your purse with all your identification where these people could get it?”

“What people?”
The ones John was afraid of?

The ones who were after him? Had even maybe killedhim?

No. She pushed that thought out of her mind.

“What people?” she asked again, but McCall drove on in silence, his mouth set in a grim line. Rina took a good look at him. His lean, muscular frame was dressed in the familiar all black, his thick black hair blending in with it. She remembered all too well the last time she had seen Connor McCall.

****

One year earlier

“I can’t believe you were just in the neighborhood.”

Rina stared at the lean, hard-faced man standing in her doorway. He was the last person she’d expected to see in San Antonio late on a Saturday afternoon. Or any other morning.

“Are you going to let me in, or should I stand here and give the neighbors something to gossip about?”

She stepped back and gestured him inside. He closed the door behind him, standing so close to her she could feel his body heat.

She shoved her hands in the pockets of her cutoffs. “So, what are you doing here anyway?”

“I have a letter for you from John. You know we can’t just send it through the mail.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Is he okay? Nothing’s wrong, is there?” She swallowed the fear that always rode just at the surface. She and John were both fully aware of the incredible danger in his job.

“No, he’s fine. Just...off on a mission that will keep him out of touch for quite a while.” He pulled an envelope from an inside pocket of his black windbreaker and handed it to her.

She nearly grabbed it from his hand and ripped it open. Then, realizing she didn’t want to read it with McCall watching her, she rushed to the kitchen.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a beer I could drink while I’m standing in the hallway?” he called after her.

Her cheeks heated. Where were her manners?

“Sure. Come on in.” She pulled a bottle from the fridge and twisted off the top. “Um, why don’t you take it out on the patio? It’s really nice out there this time of day.”

He gave her a lopsided grin, a rare expression on his usually grim face. “I can take a hint. Let me know when you’re through reading.”

The letter was only two pages, but Rina read them over and over. John couldn’t give her any details about his assignment, so he filled the pages with idle chatter and reminiscences. Since the death of their parents five years earlier, they’d made every effort to stay connected. In fact, it was their death in an explosion at the American University at Beirut that led to John’s decision to join the task force. Rina sat for a long time at her kitchen table, just holding the letter, squeezing back the tears at John’s, “Love ya, Dusty,” visualizing his face, and whispering a silent prayer for his safety. As she stood to carry it to her den and lock it away with the others, she realized she’d left McCall sitting outside for more than an hour. His beer was surely long gone, but he’d sat patiently waiting for her to finish. Sliding open the patio door, she stuck her head out. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take so long.”

He unfolded himself from the lounge chair. “No problem. But I’ll take another beer if you’ve got one.”

“I have a couple of steaks in the freezer if you’d like to stay for dinner.”
Now where did that comefrom? Invite McCall—the original granite man—fordinner?

He stared at her, as stunned by the invitation as she was.

And suddenly she wanted him to stay, a connection to John she could hold onto a little longer. “Please.”

He studied her as if wondering what trick she had up her sleeve. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

It was already well past six o’clock, so she took the steaks out and stuck them in the microwave to thaw, then began to gather ingredients for a salad. McCall sat at the kitchen table, drinking his beer and watching her with silver eyes that seemed to see right through her. He wasn’t one for casual conversation so she worked in silence, acutely aware of his gaze on her.

As she went about her prep work, she wondered what on earth had possessed her to invite this man to dinner. He was the most antisocial person she’d ever met. She wasn’t even sure he liked her. But he was a connection to John and somehow she felt she could touch her brother through him.

She’d lit the coals in the barbecue on the patio before starting the salad. As naturally as if they did this all the time, McCall grilled the steaks while she finished the dinner preparations. She didn’t know if McCall was a wine person—she actually knew almost nothing about him except that he was the senior member of the team and the one John worked with the most—but she pulled a bottle of her favorite white from the fridge anyway.

Okay. We’ll eat dinner. I’ll pump him forinformation about John. He’ll avoid all myquestions, leave, and that will be that.
He answered her questions about John in short, terse sentences, but at least he could assure her he was alive and well. And maybe that was all she could hope for.

“Why do you use the name ‘Rina’?” he asked in an abrupt tone. “Why not your full name? Sabrina.”

She shrugged. “When I was a toddler I had trouble saying the whole name. All I could get out was Rina, so it stuck.” She gave him a lopsided grin.

“Shorter to sign in books, too.”

Silence descended on the table again.

“So tell me about your family,” she said finally, searching for a topic of conversation.

He shrugged. “Not much to tell.”

“I don’t even know where you live when you’re not, um, working.”

“D.C. But my folks have a place up north.”

“Do you get to see them often?”
God, this is likepulling teeth.

“Not as much as I’d like. My sister, either.”

He had a sister? “Does she live up north, too?”

“Yes. She’s a physical therapist at a hospital near there. She’s living with my folks right now.”

More silence. And somehow a certain tension that she couldn’t identify had crept into the air. Whenever she looked up from her plate McCall’s silver eyes were fixed on her. If the situation were different—if
he
was different—she would have said his gaze was devouring her. But she had no idea what was going on in his steel-trap mind. For a brief, mad instant she wondered what it would be like going to bed with McCall.
Are you crazy? The man is an emotionlessmachine, and a member of your brother’s team toboot.

She poured herself another glass of wine with a hand that trembled slightly. McCall picked up on it and narrowed his eyes, but she managed to lift her glass and sip the liquid without spilling it.
Get a grip, Rina.

At last, the meal was over and McCall helped her clear the table. She poured the last of the wine into their glasses.

“Thank you for dinner,” he said in a formal tone.

“You’re welcome.”

McCall put his wine glass down on the counter, and without warning, reached for her, brushing his lips against hers. Just a brief contact, but it seared her down to her toes. Her bones felt as if they were melting, and she could have sworn the ground shifted beneath her feet.

Move,
her inner voice commanded, but not one of her muscles would obey.

He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, an artist’s stroke painting the surface. A tiny sound whispered from her mouth. As if it were a signal he was waiting for, he captured her in a kiss so hot it burned her lips. His hands cupped her face, holding her in place while he fed on her, his tongue pressing inside and tasting the texture of her flesh. She gripped his wrists but not to pull them away. She couldn’t have broken the kiss if someone paid her to.

Time stood still while he devoured every corner of her mouth, his fingers lean and hot against her cheeks. When he lifted his head, his silver eyes had darkened to almost black.