Hard to Hold (7 page)

This was going to be fun. Not.

He plunked two bottles on the table—a soda for Anna, a beer for him—and took a seat
opposite her. “Not exactly the easiest place in the world to talk.”

“That’s the point. You’re not here to talk, Nick, you’re here to listen.”

He couldn’t help wondering how, given the din. Rather than respond, he reached for
his bottle, saluted her with it, and took a long, cold draw, looking at her the entire
time.

Undeterred, she shifted her bottle to the side and leaned in close. “First off, you’re
going to withdraw every last member of the security detail you got on me, and then
you, and the bloody Service if you’ve involved them, are going to back right off…”

He slow-blinked her, then leaned back against the spine of his chair and tightened
his lips. He’d let her continue, uninterrupted for now.

“And then, when you’ve done all that, you can apologize for interfering in my goddamn
life without my say so.”

“Have you finished?”

“Depends on whether you’ve listened or not.”

God, and to think he’d almost forgotten that sulky pout of hers. Wiped it from his
memory with more bottles of whisky than he cared to count. “I heard you.”

“Good, now if you’ll excuse me.” She was on her feet for a fast escape before he could
draw breath.

He snaked out his hand and wrapped it around her wrist like a handcuff. He tugged
just hard enough to return her to her seat. “At least have the courtesy of allowing
me to respond. No. No. And as for an apology, hell no.”

“I wasn’t giving you a choice, Nick. I don’t want you in my life.”

Too bad. As long as she was in danger, he wasn’t going anywhere. “Can’t say I blame
you, but it’s you who is without a choice. I’m going to be all over you like a rash
until this little mess of yours is sorted out. Then, trust me, I’ll be only too pleased
to get the hell out of your life and to stay out of it this time. Is Hong Kong far
enough away for you?” He’d had an offer. Triads had infiltrated the Ministry of State
Security out there, and his cleanup skills were in demand.

“I doubt anywhere is far enough away…”

He frowned. He got that she didn’t want him around, but that was rude, even for Anna.
And why had she suddenly sounded so bleak?

“Look, Nick, either you back off, or I
will
go to the Commander with a complaint. You used up most of your warnings when we were
married, and Will’s already told me you are on your last one. Don’t let them kick
you out because of me. You won’t survive without the Service.”

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence—” And as if sarcasm wasn’t enough, he again
toasted her briefly before taking another swig of his beer. “—but if I survived you,
baby, I can survive anything. Fortress stays in place, though admittedly, I’ve stood
the men down tonight as you’re with me.”

She’d taken to examining her wrist. He hadn’t hurt her when he’d grabbed her. He’d
made sure of it. Still, she had to punish him, which again wasn’t like her. Damn it,
she was deflecting, hiding something. “’Fess up, Anna. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I just don’t like being controlled, and I certainly don’t appreciate you
trying to do so behind my back.” She reached for her drink, sipped, and grimaced,
before continuing. “You remind me of the past, Nick, when it’s something I prefer
to forget.”

“There you go with the nastiness again. Must be the pregnancy.”

She actually flinched. He wasn’t sure whether from his accusation of nastiness or
his reminder she was pregnant. Either way the color drained from her cheeks. He hadn’t
meant to hurt her. Damn it, he’d been teasing. “Come on, it’s late. I’d better get
you home.”

Home? Jesus. He didn’t need the memory that little word conjured. He hadn’t cared
that the apartment they shared had been the size of a shoebox made even smaller by
Anna’s untidy clutter. Wanting her safe when he was away, he’d gladly sacrificed space
for the smartest neighborhood.
She’d
been his home. Having her and all her craziness to return to after a dirty assignment
had kept him sane—until he’d started fucking up.

“Come on, we’re leaving. I have to get back to work,” he repeated, unable to keep
the sharp bite from his tone.” And because he was an asshole and regret was swilling
in his gut, he had to go and add, “And just to confirm what I said earlier, get used
to having me around, because I am now in charge.”

“Of the case, maybe, Nick, but not of me. Try it, and I’ll fight you every inch of
the way.”

“That’ll make a nice change.”

Her mouth tightened, her eyes spat lethal splinters. Oh, shit. He’d promised himself
he wouldn’t provoke her—massive fail.

She edged in close enough for him to smell the waning trace of the perfume she favored—Jean
Patou’s 1000, heavy with dark, rich notes that tempted him to grab her, throw her
down on the table, and love her into submission. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it
before.

“Huge mistake, Nick. Huge.” She’d thrust from her seat and was halfway across the
dance floor before he caught up with her, his own anger simmering.

“What the hell do you think you are doing now?”

She scowled, then one hand to a cocked hip, she had the nerve to smile. “It’s early
yet. A new band’s up in a moment. I thought I’d stay and enjoy myself.”

Jesus, trying to keep up with her mercurial mood swings was going to kill him. “You’re
pregnant,” his reminded her disapprovingly.

“Guess what? I know. And dancing is supposed to be an excellent relaxant. Want to
join me?”

He caught the wicked laughter—more a mocking taunt—in her eyes and swallowed the reflexive
“hell no.” Two could play at this game.

He moved in close, close enough for the cotton stretched across his chest to kiss
the silk skimming her breasts, and tasted victory when she gasped and retreated a
step. He followed, closing the gap. Then, with his mouth real close to her ear, he
whispered, “Tell you what. Sooner or later there will be a slow number. I’ll join
you then.”

Her hand shot out to grasp his arm as he turned away. “Wait up. You hate dancing.
You’re supposed to leave.”

“Can’t. I stood your security detail down, remember? And besides, I never could resist
a slow dance with the slightly dangerous Anna Key Marshall.”

“No way,” she objected furiously. “I didn’t say anything about a slow dance.”

“You called shotgun on the venue and the activity, Anna. It’s only fair that I get
to set the terms. See you as soon as the tempo changes. I’ll be over by the bar.”

Thanks to Anna, he had to rapid-order two iced beers, back-to-back. Watching her move
without inhibition and a surfeit of exuberance to the banging sound of the Purple
Hearts drew more than a few admiring glances, his own included. He should have added
“seriously sexy” when he described her as slightly dangerous. But she would have cut
him off at the knees, attack always her preferred strategy in the face of a compliment.
Especially from him.

The happy rock beat faded to a sad, lilting ballad way too soon for Nick’s liking.
He’d already passed the point where he could stand straight given the hard-on pressing
at his zipper, and he wasn’t sure walking was an option. He might have conveniently
forgotten his threat to dance with Anna and ordered another beer, had she not tried
to outstare him.

Well, if she thought he was about to run scared, she was wrong. Truth was he was terrified
of being that close to her again, but she didn’t have to know that.

Pushing slowly to his feet, he tasted not a little satisfaction when Anna’s eyes widened,
her arms stilled at her sides, and she nipped at her bottom lip as if suddenly uncertain
about the wisdom of taunting him.

Hell, but part of him was going to enjoy this.

Crossing to where she stood poised to run, her head ducking lower with each step he
took, he pulled up close enough for their bodies to brush but didn’t reach for her.
The next move had to be all hers.

And damn, if she didn’t make him wait.

His skin itched with heat. His stomach muscles flexed and tightened in a workout of
their own. Time stood still. Staring down at her crown, he’d practically memorized
the lie of every black strand of her tangled hair before she deigned to lift her head
and make eye contact. And what he saw ripped his chest open.

Surrender. Anna, utterly defeated.

“I can’t do this, Nick.”

He reached for her then, cursing himself for what that plaintive little confession
must have cost her. “Sure you can, babe,” he encouraged softly, tugging her close
and fitting his body to hers. “It’s easy. Won’t even hurt.” He wrapped his arms across
her lower back and began to sway.

He was wrong about the hurt though. The agony of having her curves flush up against
him, tempting him to all hell, while she held herself all stiff and distant, stung
like a bitch.

Ignoring the mournful notes filling the club, he dipped her backward in an extravagant
move, making sure that that when he pulled her upright, his thigh was hard and tight
between hers. Yeah, so she’d screwed her gorgeous eyes shut, but he could feel her
heart begin to race, hear the little gasps that escaped as she tried to breathe.

He slid his fingertips beneath the hem of her silk T-shirt in search of the sweet
spot right at the base of her spine. So soft, so smooth. He caressed little circles
with his thumb. And she melted.

When the track finally drew to a painful close, he eased back, his hands rising to
her upper arms. “Okay?”

Her pupils had widened to the point they drowned the blue of her eyes, and he smiled
when she nodded emphatically. “I dare you to risk another dance.” The teasing words
slipped out before he could clamp his teeth against them.

This time she shook her head wildly, and palms flat to his chest, pushed him away.
She made a bolt for the exit before he could stop her.

“Coward,” he baited, as he used his shoulders to help push against the throng trying
to enter the club at the same time as they were trying to leave.

He grinned and put a hand on her lower spine to keep her moving forward despite his
invitation. He already had a hard-on from hell. Holding her close, having her body
brush and sway intimately against his again wasn’t an option he should have been prepared
to consider anyway. Not if his sanity was to remain intact.

It must have rained while they were in the club, and the night air hung thick with
the scent of damp leaves and scorched blacktop. “Cab or walk, your call.”

She was like a cat on a hot tin roof. Edgy, shifting her weight from one high-heeled
foot to the other, her fingers in constant motion in front of her as if she were practicing
piano scales—badly. “You don’t have to see me home, Nick, I’m a big girl now.”

“Just because I didn’t have a mother to teach me right and those staff in the foster
homes had the finesse of rocks doesn’t mean I don’t have a few manners. Of course
I’m seeing you home. With your luck, the cab driver could turn out to be a psychotic
killer.”

“You deliberately said that to scare me.”

“I don’t usually have to scare a woman into allowing me to escort her home, Anna.
If you’re that easily frightened, it means you’ve got a bigger problem on your mind
than you’re prepared to admit.”

She quickened her step, creating distance between them and then pulled to a halt beneath
the arcing light of a streetlamp, the pale glow against the dark of her hair giving
her a halo. Which was just plain wrong, because she looked far from angelic.

He closed the gap between them. “Life’s a dirty, no-holds-barred cage fight, Anna;
wearing blinders can get you killed,” he said with all the chill he could muster.
She needed a reality check.

For a moment, she looked utterly desolate, and then she started walking again, her
heels click-clacking against the darkening sidewalk as she headed into the shadows.
“I know, and I’m doing my best. But I’m not convinced that’s going to be good enough.
Frankly, I can’t see us surviving the week.”

He was close enough at her side to hear her draw in a deep breath before continuing.
“And, for what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry, Nick. For everything,” she said quietly.

His shock at her apology was such that he didn’t immediately register the sharp sting
grazing the base of his lower rib cage.

A follow-up retort chewed into the thick bark of the lime tree at his shoulder, sending
a spray of splinters onto the paving stones at his toes.

“Anna, down!” He barreled into her, the weight of his body carrying her up and over
a low wall fronting a riverside development of high-rise apartments. He kept his arms
tightly banded around her to lessen the impact of the fall and protect the baby, but
there was little he could do to stop his body slamming down on her as they landed.

“Dear God,” she whispered hoarsely. “And you had the nerve to call
me
dangerous.”

“Not now, Anna, and stay down,” he warned savagely, shifting to ease his weight from
her. He poked his head above the wall, rapidly withdrawing it and throwing himself
back across her as brick shattered around him.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched in a number. “Will,” he barked.
“We’re pinned down outside a residential block, Riverview Park, just along from Cheyne
Walk. Someone’s taking pot shots at us, and he’s using a silencer. Get back-up here
fast. I’m unarmed, and this bastard is frighteningly good.”

Chapter Six

More violent spits splintered the top edge of the wall. Nick swore virulently and
hugged Anna tighter beneath him. He ignored her squeak of protest. His weight wouldn’t
kill her, but a stray bullet might. What the hell was going on?

She had been on his exposed side when the shooting started. She had a thing about
only walking on the roadside edge of the pavement. Ironically, it had always been
her little way of taunting the Fates into taking their best shot.

She’d been an easy target, and yet he was the one who had been hit. Nothing major,
a fleeting kiss across his lower ribs, as far as he could tell. Which meant the shooter
was either the worst marksman in history, which was doubtful given the way he had
them pinned down, or
he
was the target. Shit. He was supposed to be protecting her; instead he’d endangered
her.

With his heart threatening to rip free from his chest, he untangled his legs from
hers, shifted onto his side, and tucked her close to the foot of the wall. “I need
to draw the fire away from you, which means I’m going to have to leave for a short
while. When I vault this wall and start running, I want you to crawl through those
bushes until you reach the mouth of that underground parking area. Once inside, find
the lift, hit the button to any floor, and start banging on doors until someone lets
you in. Help is on its way.”

“Oh, no, you don’t, Nick Marshall,” she insisted, fisting his shirt to anchor him
in place. Then, as if not trusting the cotton, she looped her thigh across his hip
and snaked an arm tight around the back of his neck. “You’re not dying on my account.
You can stay here where it’s safe.”

“Anna—” He reached up to loosen her grip. She countered his move by clenching her
thigh and curling her leg tighter round his ass. Christ, a barnacle could have taken
lessons from her. Under any other circumstances, he wouldn’t have been able to resist
the sudden and inappropriate blood rush. “I’ve got to create a distraction—”

Stubborn as all hell, she shifted her unique form of judo hold to damn near full-on
strangulation. Using brute strength to unglue her wasn’t an option. The resulting
bruises would confirm the nightmare of his bloodline—that he was his father’s son—and
he didn’t need the reminder. But he was a master when it came to causing invisible
pain that was easy to ignore—words his weapon of choice.

“Try showing the instincts of a
real
mother, Anna. Think of the baby.”

Still she held fast, but he could have sworn the beat of her heart stilled for a moment
as his criticism cut deep.

“No, Nick, just stay down.” Her voice no longer held a note of fierce urgency. Instead
it sounded numb. Emphatic, but soulless.

He couldn’t afford to care. “For God’s sake—”

“I mean it, Nick, listen. Those are sirens, and they’re getting closer. Playing hero
will just get you shot.”

He clenched his jaw with enough pressure to offset the fierce sting frying his ribs.

The squeal of rubber against asphalt, slamming car doors, and shouts of fast-fired
orders broke the night. Backup—and about time, too. “Bit late for that,” he muttered,
stretching his neck so he could see over the lip of the wall.

He felt her body go rigid beneath his. “You’re hit? Oh, God, how bad? How bad?”

The urgency in her voice cut him to the quick. “Shush, a scratch that’s all. Keep
still will you? It hurts.”

“Wuss.”

The sound of footsteps drawing close froze the indignant protest on his lips. He quickly
covered her mouth with his palm. The gunfire had ceased, and the cavalry were in control,
but still…

“Marshall?”

“Over here, Will.” Releasing Anna, Nick rolled free, eased to his feet, and tugged
his jacket closed. No point alerting everyone to the fact he’d been hit. He’d be forced
to take compulsory sick leave, mandatory for any officer no matter how fleeting the
bullet-kiss.

“Well, don’t you look like hell.”

With a grunt, he stepped over the low wall. Fuck, but the shit was going to hit the
fan when the Commander found out Will had mobilized one of the Service’s elite SWAT
teams, who had special jurisdiction abroad when rallied but never on the streets of
London. “Keep it up, Will, and I swear to God, I’ll deck you.” He heard a rustling
behind him, turned, and pointed at Anna who crouched on her hands and knees. “I thought
I told you to stay down, until I gave the all clear,” he snarled, before stalking
off to get a report from the task force leader.

…

“What the hell’s got into him?” asked Will, slipping his arm around Anna as Nick disappeared
into the dark.

She shrugged, too caught up in a tsunami of private fury to pay too much attention.
“He’s hurting, and I called him a wuss when I should have called him something far
worse.”

Antila had to have been behind this latest incident. She’d been an open target, yet
Nick was the one who had been hit. Not badly, but enough to make sure she got the
message—get rid of Nick Marshall, or he’d do it for her.

She shivered despite the sultry night air lying thick against her skin.

“Well, no one can say you don’t like to live dangerously. What, was being shot at
not enough for you?”

Will’s tone was surprisingly gentle despite the tease. She glanced up. He was scanning
the darkness for his friend, his concern marked.

“He expects it of me, Will, and I hate to disappoint him,” she mumbled quietly, squeezing
her eyelids tight against the sudden and inexplicable need to drop to the paving stones,
curl up, and cry the truth of that awful statement from her soul.

“He’ll be feeling a heck of a lot more than just disappointment if you give in to
those tears and I’m forced to put my other arm round you,” he warned, nudging her
with his shoulder.

She forced a laugh, more a strangled gulp. “He always was a jealous bastard. It’s
what killed our marriage.” She swallowed and confronted the past completely for the
first time since Nick had reentered her life. “He accused me of having an affair.
I didn’t deny it.”

“I know, sweetheart, and you were both in the wrong. You were hurting. He didn’t know
why, and it scared him. And you were both too bloody stubborn to admit it. I never
asked you before, but was your pride worth it? Losing him I mean. Because I know losing
you damn near killed him.”

“Look, just go after him, will you? He’s been hit. I’m going to perch on this wall
a minute while my heart calms and I get my equilibrium back.” She couldn’t deal with
Will’s revelation right now. Her sole focus had to be on keeping Nick alive. God,
she hoped his injury
was
worse than he claimed. They’d have to hospitalize him, and Antila would know that
Nick had been neutralized. With Nick out of the equation, hurting but safe, she could
concentrate on keeping herself and the baby alive without the added distraction of
having to somehow keep him safe, too.

She heard Will swallow a curse.

Dread closed her throat. She turned her head to follow his line of sight. Nick was
heading their way, a lethal scowl on his face.

“Nick-alert at nine o’clock, and shit, but he looks pissed off as all hell. He can’t
be that badly hurt, not the speed he’s moving,” Will said out of the side of his mouth.

She stiffened. Damn it, why couldn’t Nick be flat on his back and immobilized?

Will, obviously misunderstanding why her body should suddenly lock rigid, tightened
his grip on her. “Hey, come on, he might look fit to kill, but he’s mad at himself,
not you. He knows he screwed up. He shouldn’t have stood the Fortress men down. He
didn’t want the Service involved in his private business; now he hasn’t got a choice.
If he’s hurting, Anna, it’s because his pride has taken a kicking, but he’ll get over
it.”

Will’s words brought her little comfort. Nick looked fit to explode. He pulled up
close and towered over her. Rather than meet his eye, she stared at his chest, then
surreptitiously lowered her eyes to scan his side. The fact that he wasn’t lying flat
on his back was inconvenient, but she still needed to know he was okay.

“Your friend, Adam Western? What the hell did he ever do to you?”

Anna stepped back, not to escape blistering under Nick’s anger but because a horrific
foreboding compressed her chest. Sure, Nick had a temper, but only twice had he directed
its full lethal force at her. Once, when he’d found out she’d illegally BASE-jumped
from the London Eye, and the second time when he’d decided—mistakenly, though she’d
been too shocked to correct him—she’d been having an affair and kicked her out.

“I don’t have any friends called Adam, so—wait. Do you mean
Dr.
Western, the medical consultant who helped me get pregnant?

“That would be him. And right now, he’s lying in the morgue, minus his tongue, with
his lips hemmed together with red silk thread. A classic punishment for someone who
couldn’t keep their mouth shut. And, I’m pretty damned sure his death is connected
to that thing you’ve got growing in your belly.”

At the word “thing,” she staggered back. One hand pressed tight to her mouth, the
other, taking up a protective position across her stomach.

“Easy, Nick,” Will cautioned, steadying her as her heel snagged a loose paving stone.
“She’s had as big a fright as you, and right now, she’s in no condition to fend off
another one of your verbal assaults.”

It might have been a trick of the too-dim orange glow of the streetlights, but for
the briefest moment she could have sworn Nick looked sick. Not with remorse, with
self-disgust.

His next words, delivered coldly, brutally, changed her mind. “Just get her home,
and make damn sure Fortress understands they’re back on high alert. And that the emphasis
has changed from protection to house arrest—hers—until the Service sends in agents
to relieve them.”

…

Alone on the pavement, Nick unclenched his fists and waited for his chest to re-expand.
It should have been him easing Anna into the black Land Rover, not Will. It should
have been his jacket draped across her shoulders, his arm wrapped around her, and
him whispering a frantic apology for how things had suddenly spiraled out of control.

Trouble was he’d lost all right to touch and comfort her. The night he’d chucked her
out, and then again just now, when he struck out and referred to her baby as a “thing.”
Because it was easier for him to rage at her—to cut deep and cut nasty—than admit
to being scared shitless.

For her.

He’d killed men in the past—so many he’d lost count—and he’d done so coldly and calmly,
never letting emotion get in the way. But with Anna it was different: she ignited
the darker part of him he suppressed but dared not ignore. She sparked his temper
in a way no one else ever had. She hadn’t recognized the danger; he had.

He just turned six when he’d watched his father, “Mad” Mickey, livid and out of control,
kick and punch his mother to death. And he’d been lucky to escape with his own life
for the five years of beatings he’d endured after that.

He hadn’t wanted to recall the punches and kicks—the sound of flesh splitting and
bones crunching—but he’d done it anyway. Every night before he’d fallen asleep. Every
morning when he awoke. And every spare moment in between. Lest he forget. Forget he
shared his father’s genes. His temper. The reason Nick refused to father children
of his own. And damn it, that’s all Anna had ever wanted and deserved. A family. He’d
just been the wrong man to give it to her. Still was.

But placing her under house arrest was a dumb thing to do. Imprison Anna, and she’d
eventually kick the walls through. That’s the reason she hadn’t come back. Hadn’t
even checked in once, in the five years they’d been apart, although he’d long gotten
over his fury at her stumbling in at four in the morning, all haggard, pale, and clearly
exhausted.

And he didn’t blame her one bit. He wouldn’t have wanted to stay married to a bastard
like him either. But knowing that didn’t stop his gut from clenching, nor did it dull
the compulsion to drive his fist through a wall. The only thing he’d done right tonight
was get her out of his sight. He couldn’t afford to be around her. It made him feel
too damn much, and none of it good. Not for her.

…

Will must have sensed her need for space and let her hold her silence undisturbed.
She stood to one side so he could enter the code needed to release her front door.

He stepped aside, allowing her to pass, a concerned frown on his face.

“Ignore me,” Anna smiled weakly. “It’s not you. It’s him, Nick-bloody-Marshall.”

“Thought it might be.”

“He can’t just put me under house arrest on those trumped-up charges,” she protested,
flicking on the lights. Unbidden her hands rose to cover her mouth. “Oh. My. God.”

Two effigies, one of her—that was certainly her favorite red dress—the other of an
infant, hung from the high central cross beam transecting her warehouse home. Mashed
wreaths of black roses, petals strewn, littered the floor. A single, perfect yellow
bloom lay dead center amid the ugly scattering.

Antila! He had a thing about yellow roses. God knew he’d sent her enough of them these
past weeks. This was another message from him. A reminder he could reach out and touch
her whenever he chose, even here, in her own home, the one place she should feel safe.

Will eased her forward and parked her gently in an armchair, apparently uncaring that
in doing so he was contaminating a crime scene. He walked over to her front door,
threw it open, and ordered the two men inside. “Check the entire damn place; don’t
disturb a thing unless you have to. You know the drill. And one of you get ahold of
Marshall. Let him know she’s had a visit. Anna, have you got anything stronger than
coffee or cooking wine around here?”

“In the lacquered chest over there. There might be some brandy left over from when
we celebrated signing our millionth
Hinterland
subscriber. Why?”