Who Do You Trust? (8 page)

She leaned on his chest, breathing in high, tattered gasps. Apparently, she believed that much—at least for now. “I wish we could,” she whispered so low he could barely hear her. Then she whirled away, walking with an unsteady gait to the house.

“Lissa?”

She looked over her shoulder; her eyes smoldered with need so raw, heat so intense it made him ache all over again, burning alive in the fire erupting beneath the calm surface of her. “Prove it—and not just with pretty words or a few kisses.” She drew a deep, shaking breath. “I want us to be lovers—constant lovers—for six months, maybe a year, before I’ll tell you whether or not I’ll marry you. I can’t—I
won’t
give you any more than that. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

He dropped the towel at the same time his jaw hit the ground. “What the
hell
is this—”

But she’d already run into the house.

Slowly, he picked up his towel, rubbing his body by reflex, though it had already been dried by the sun and Lissa’s eager hands. Hands he wanted to bear his rings. A life he wanted to share, a body he did not just want to have fun with.

What was going on here? Why on earth did his traditional Lissa want to shack up with him? Was she trying to tell him she wanted him but didn’t need him in her life beyond sex?

Anguish tore and clawed at his gut, hurt his very soul…all he’d ever known or thought, every certainty he had, blown away with the blasting force of a few words. An offer that probably figured as most men’s fantasies come to life left only a bitter taste in his mouth.

There was no way he could leave it like this, or accept it.

What Lissa demanded went against everything he’d ever wanted or dreamed of—and ran counter to her own intrinsic nature. Something had hurt her so badly—damn, he wanted to
kill
Tim for whatever it was he’d done to her—that she was fighting
herself,
all she’d once believed in, to have him prove his need for her.

But he had a card to play—one fabulous ace. He could turn the sweet unexpectedness of Lissa’s hot sexuality back on her….

If she wants me she’s gonna have to come get me—on my terms.

He only hoped like crazy he could hold off his own desperate need to make love to her until he knew the secrets hiding behind the barriers in her pretty, suffering eyes.

“Reliable,” huh?

She’d done it! Even now, she could hardly believe she’d said it. She’d given her demands without negotiation. She’d thrown down her gauntlet, shown Mitch in unmistakable terms that she was
not
the old Lissa Miller—the innocent, vulnerable, gullible,
available
girl he’d known. She was a woman now, with a woman’s emotions and needs, and she wasn’t ashamed to tell him.

Okay, maybe
embarrassed,
but not ashamed. She had no need to be. She’d put up with far less than second best once, and she’d never do that again—
especially
not with Mitch. Second best with Mitch would only pave the highway to hell. She wanted to be so much more to him than a convenient wife and mother.

After Tim left, a few men had showed interest in her, but none of them had remotely appealed to her or begun to patch the deep, dark abyss in her self-confidence from Tim’s desertion…from the life she’d shared with Tim, long before he left. Starting with their honeymoon…she shuddered with the force of memory of those two horrible weeks.

No! She didn’t
want
to remember. All she wanted was to forget—as Tim obviously had. Apart from the money he scrupulously paid every month for Jenny’s welfare, he’d put away all thoughts of their disastrous marriage and reverted without any trouble to being her best mate and helper. As if nothing had ever happened to interrupt their twenty-year friendship.

It wasn’t going to happen with Mitch. She’d be damned if it would! If he ever walked, it would be because
she
wanted out. And
he
wouldn’t forget her—she’d make sure of it. He’d wake up nights with sweat pouring down his face and body, dreaming of what it had been like for them, craving more—

She felt a slow smile curve her mouth…hmmm. Made for sin. Oh, if only she could do it, make him want her so badly she could—

The doorbell rang. She moved to answer it, knowing the kids wouldn’t bother and Mitch was probably still reeling in shock from her ultimatum. She grinned wider. She liked that idea.

She opened the door to a man with plain brown hair, a quiet manner, a common gray suit and strangely anonymous dark glasses. “Melissa Carroll? We need to talk. Privately.”

A quarter of an hour later she shut the door on her unexpected visitor, blinked and checked her watch. Five o’clock. She’d opened the door at nineteen minutes to five, thinking she had some measure of control over her world….

Now she knew it for the lie it was. Everything she once thought she knew was upside-down; everything had changed. Sick, shivering, scared to her marrow, she had no choice but to go on with this miserable charade with Mitch. Even if the man in gray who’d come to the door hadn’t demanded her total cooperation, and that she keep Mitch in the dark, she would have gone through with it for Matt and Luke’s sake. They’d been through enough tragedy in their short lives without knowing that their beloved father, far from being an honorable squadron leader in the Air Force, a hero from East Timor and Bosnia, was nothing more than a—dear God, she couldn’t even
think
the words. Oh, that poor little girl….

Damn you, Mitch! Damn you!

Fool!
Why did she ever think she could trust him? Why did she ever kid herself into believing he’d ever really want her?

“Da-ad! C’mon, Dad, we’ll be late!”

Despite feeling as if he’d been hit by a truck by Lissa’s ultimatum, Mitch grinned. Matt had bounced back from his momentary bout of insecurity, already taking him for granted again—just as a kid should. “Coming!” He emerged from the room to find his sons bouncing with eagerness outside his door.

Luke immediately grabbed his hand, his eyes still dancing with shadows. Mitch swung him onto his hip. “Still here, kiddo. I promised, didn’t I?”

Luke’s whole body relaxed; he smiled and nodded. Matt, with an empathetic look on his face, also hugged his brother, in the total understanding that comes with being an identical twin. They might be as different as a kangaroo and a koala, but their bond was unbreakable, their empathy beyond what even the most loving father could relate to; he was just glad they had it. And it was proven again. Luke flushed, knowing he’d acted like a little kid—and Matt immediately said, “Cut out the girl stuff, Dad. I’m
hungry!
”

“Me, too!” Luke wriggled off his hip and bolted toward Mitch’s car, parked out the front. “C’mon, Jen, stop puttin’ girly ribbons in your hair. We wanna eat!”

“Yeah!” With one of the despised ribbons floating from her hair, Jenny tore out the door without so much as a glance at him. He chuckled as the kids fought over who had to sit in the middle. Oh, Matt and Luke were part of a secure family all right.

At that moment Lissa emerged from her room next to his. He felt her presence, though she didn’t speak. He slowly turned to her, wondering what she’d say next to stun him—

He almost reeled back in shock at the sigh

She was trembling, wraithlike in sudden ethereal paleness. Her eyes, dark and blank with horror, looked at him as if she’d thought he’d sprouted horns in the last half hour. He didn’t need Matt and Luke’s silent form of communication to tell him something was wrong—very wrong. Something connected to him.

“Lissa?” He started toward her. “What is it?”

She cringed. Oh, dear God, Lissa literally cringed from him. “We’ll be late for the dinner reservation. We’d better go,” she whispered, as if she couldn’t speak any louder.

If he weren’t so damn scared he’d laugh in her face at the pitiful excuse. They’d be almost the only people at Bob’s on a Wednesday night, and she knew it.

“The kids are hungry.” She spoke as if the fact was something profound. Her eyes couldn’t meet his. Her hands twisted around each other, and she bit the inside of her cheek—classic signs with Lissa that she wanted to bolt.

From him?
Simple fear upgraded to sheer terror. “Lissa, you look like a ghost. Are you sick? Let me help you.” In a lightning move, he grabbed her hands before she backed off again.

She worried her cheek even more but left her hands passively in his. “I’m fine. It…it’s the heat, and the garden’s worrying me. If I don’t harvest enough to sell at the country market at Bathurst, I’ll fall behind in my mortgage on the farm—”

“I’ll help you. I can harvest fruit and vegetables as easily as you, Lissa. And if we’re late, we can use my courier plane to fly them to Bathurst to make the market.”

“All right. Thank you.” She looked down and away.

If anything, the acceptance of his offer made her tense even more. Her sweet spunk of this afternoon was gone, vanished like the Phantom down his tunnels. Her hands were so cold he wanted to shiver…and he wondered when she’d tell him the truth. Or if she would at all.

He chaffed her hands, trying to inject his warmth into them. “Lissa, can’t you trust me enough to tell me what’s upset you?” he asked softly, wishing, hoping to reach her shielded heart. Her eyes lifted to his for a brief moment, flashing with hot resentment, a fury he’d never seen in her, even after he’d proposed today. Then, as swift as flight, it was gone and so was she, retreating inside herself. The vivid, passionate woman who entranced him half an hour ago was encased again in delicate ice, frozen in time—lovely and pure, cold and lifeless as the ship’s figurehead he’d likened her to before. Lost in the mists of time, with no one to sail or steer her back to port. A dead woman still breathing. “Maybe I’m hungry, too. We should go.”

He couldn’t leave it like this, even though he knew he was digging a deeper hole for himself. He loved her too much to leave her suffering. “If it’s money you’re worried about, baby, don’t. If you marry me you’ll never have to worry about anything again.” He clicked his tongue savagely. “Oh, damn. I know I put that badly, but I want to take care of you for the rest of our lives.” He lifted one hand after the other to his mouth, warming her with his inner heat. Loving her like crazy. Wanting her to belong to him, with him, forever. Yes, damn it, wanting the family he’d never had…but only with her. “Marry me, Lissa.”

There was a long, dreadful silence before she spoke. “Is that what you want, Mitch?” Her voice was trembling so badly he had to strain to hear her. “You really want that?”

“Yes,” he answered without a second’s hesitation. “I’d marry you today if I could.”

Lissa shuddered. Oh, God, she shuddered—and it wasn’t in passion or joy. “All right,” she murmured. “Whenever you want.”

He had his answer—she’d marry him—but her dull, lifeless tone ripped him apart from the inside. She didn’t want it; she didn’t want
him.
It half killed him to put the words together, but he managed it, for her sake. “Lissa, if you don’t want this—if you don’t want to marry me—”

Absolute, unbelievable terror flashed in her eyes for a second, long enough to drain her face to pasty white. Her eyes skittered around the room, as if seeking something out. “No, no—of course I want it. I said so, didn’t I?” Her eyes returned to his face, filled with pleading anguish. “Please, Mitch…”

Oh, help. If he were any sort of honorable man, he’d retract his proposal now, give her more time—or give her freedom. But he suddenly discovered he wasn’t honorable enough for that.

Or was it that? Some gut instinct he had to work with told him that she needed him—now more than ever. He didn’t know what happened in the past half hour, but he knew Lissa was in trouble. Trouble bad. Trouble deep.

Whatever she was hiding from him was bad news. Someone or something had put her under compulsion to agree to his proposal, and he realized that, like Lissa, he had little choice but to go on with it until he got the truth from her…one way or another.

Was this a Nighthawk-related thing? Did someone know?

By marrying her, he could find out.

Stupid jerk—you’re lying to yourself! After seventeen years aching for her, I’d take Lissa any way I can have her.

Not much of an officer and a gentleman after all.

So he quietly said, “Thank you,” and released her hands, walking beside her out to the car.

Opening the door for her, he saw a tear fall onto the step as she passed him. She was shaking so badly, she held on to the post to walk down the stairs and again to walk through the gate. It amazed him that she even made it to the car.

More than anything he wanted to take her in his arms, hold her and reassure her, melt her fear into trust, kiss her ice into fire. But his gut screamed at him to back off, give Lissa space and time until he knew what was going on. Because he had a bad feeling about this whole situation. A feeling that a hell of a lot more was going on than just Mitch McCluskey and Lissa Miller alone. He had a premonition, a gut-gnawing feeling that the Nighthawks were mixed up in this somehow…and the lid of four decades of highest-level secrecy was about to come off….

In an explosion of nuclear proportions.

H
e was beginning to wonder if they’d get past the wedding vows before he found out who was holding what threat over Lissa.

Some spy he was. He couldn’t even worm information from the woman he was going to marry or listen in on those whispered phone calls that came night and day. All he knew about her was that she was a fabulous cook, was utterly devoted to the kids, had a home security system to rival the best stores—he’d yet to discover why—and that she was rather a good kickboxer. As were the boys. They took lessons together every Monday and Thursday. He’d watched her last week. She’d dropped her opponent in moments without breaking a sweat. The master said she was the best and most determined student he’d ever had. She’d already reached intermediate stage—and she’d make advanced by the next meet. Six plus continuous kickboxing matches would clinch it.

Lissa—
kickboxing?

This latest mystery felt like the tip of the dinosaur’s tail. The final piece of the puzzle to whatever the hell was going on.

He couldn’t involve the Nighthawks in this yet; it was too personal. If he told Anson, he’d have to bug Lissa’s phone, put hidden security cameras everywhere and, worst of all, give daily reports to his boss on Lissa’s behavior.

Mitch couldn’t do it to her, even though he damn well knew she was doing it to him.

She made the most piss-poor Mata Hari he’d ever known, but it made her maddeningly adorable. Asking fumbling questions about East Timor. About where he went on his courier flights. Sneaking glances at his log books to make sure.

He walked in the door from dropping the kids to school, knowing the wearying battle, the guarded questions, would begin again as soon as she heard his news.

About to push open the kitchen door, he heard her strained voice, arguing with a defensive weariness that hurt him. She must be talking to her contact again; and, just as obviously, she’d waited for him to go before calling him.

Hating the necessity, he pushed the door ajar and listened in, hoping to hear something, anything to give him a clue.

Her voice was almost desperate as she spoke.

“No, you can’t—not this weekend. I’m sorry. Yes, I know, but—I know that. Have I denied you? Just listen, all right? I…I have something to tell you.” Mitch heard her drag in a deep breath. “I’m getting married, Tim.” A short silence. “What do you mean, how? The same way anyone else does. A man asked me and I said yes!” Another silence. “Yes,” she said, sounding defiant. “It’s Mitch. Just like you always said it would be.”

Mitch had had enough. He pushed the door wide and strode in. Lissa gasped as he grabbed the phone from her slack hand. “G’day, Tim. Mitch here,” he snapped into the silence. “I’m back and I’m marrying Lissa in ten days. You got a problem with that?”

After a moment Tim’s deep chuckle came over the line. “No, mate, why should I have a problem? I’ve only waited for it since the day I walked out. What took you so bloody long?”

“A small matter of not knowing you’d gone,” he replied dryly.

“Another thing that’s my fault, eh?” The laughter was gone now. “I knew where you were. I could have told you—I
should
have told you. And I should never have married her either. I know that. I was selfish and I stuffed up your life for years—yours and Lissa’s both. I knew I was screwing up big-time, and I did it, anyway. I punished you both for my mistake. I’m sorry, Mitch.”

“Bloody hell. You haven’t changed, have you?” he growled in exasperation. “Do whatever you want and give the grand apology after. And the worst of it is, you always mean it. Well, it’s twelve years too late as far as I’m concerned. I might have to put up with you coming here—you’re Jenny’s father and I wouldn’t stop you seeing her if I could—but you so much as touch Lissa’s hand from now on and you’re dead meat. Got that?”

Another short, pregnant silence. Then Tim chuckled again, his good humor as unbreakable as ever. “I guess I deserved that—all of it. About time you got your own back on me. Have you told Lissa you love her yet, or are you still too shit-scared?”

“Go to hell,” he replied without heat, starting to enjoy the conversation. Tim’s charm, his rueful honesty about his failings and the ability to apologize with sincerity, had always been his saving grace—and the thing that stopped Mitch from belting him to hell and back, more than once. “Just remember what I said.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim laughed. “The obsession lives on. Mitch, my old mate, you know what I reckon? It’s way past time you told her the truth. And I think it’s time Lissa told you some things you obviously don’t know. Put her back on, will you?”

“Yeah, bye.” And he hung up.

Lissa rounded on him. “What did you hang up for? I was talking to him about arrangements for Jenny! And as for that warning, you can just—”

“Mind my own business?” he suggested, the very essence of blandness in his tone. “Um, that’s what I thought I
was
doing, Lissa. Warning him off my woman. My wife-to-be.”

Her jaw set. “Fine,” she muttered through gritted teeth, and swung away, cleaning the breakfast dishes with such force she cracked a plate. “Damn!” She threw the plate in the trash and kept thumping crockery in the sink.

He grinned as he grabbed a towel to wipe up. Her evident frustration was so cute…and he hoped its origin was as sexual as his own. “Um, you might want to turn the taps off there, unless you usually like to mop the floor with used dishwater.”

She didn’t even look at him. She snapped the taps off and continued abusing the cups and plates.

Stop jerking her chain and get to the point.
Mitch gritted his teeth and plunged in to give her the news he’d been putting off all morning, since Ans’s 5:00 a.m. call. “I have to go away for a few days. I’ll be back by Sunday, maybe Monday.”

The crashing stopped. “Oh?” There was a wealth of casual inquiry in her voice, but he wasn’t fooled. Her every nerve was on the alert. “Setting up the business?”

“A job I need to do before I can set up. That’s all.”

“Where are you off to?”

Even with her back still turned, he saw her thumbnail move to her mouth, chewing, chewing. “First to Canberra, then a little place up north. You wouldn’t know it.”

“Oh.” Her other hand was making a fist, releasing. Tugging at her simple sundress. A teardrop of perspiration trickled down her neck. “I’ve never been farther away from here than Sydney,” she remarked, as if it were no big deal. “Maybe I could come on the trip with you?”

“Not this time,” he replied, just as casually, his gut seizing. “But I’ll take you wherever you want on our honeymoon. You still haven’t told me where you’d like to go.”

She pulled her hair out of its ponytail, shook it out and turned to smile at him over her shoulder. “It might be a good chance for us to be alone,” she said softly, using her mouth to wickedly stunning effect.

Oh, hell. The bad hats must’ve been piling the pressure on her to mammoth proportions for her to start trying to seduce him; she’d barely touched him since his first day back home. He gulped, fighting temptation with the last threads of his self-control. “Next time. I promise.”

The quick flicker of emotion, gone in an instant, socked him in the jaw like a TKO. Terror. Devastation. Anguish. Then she plastered a smile on her face, sultry and feminine, and fake as the sensual look in her eyes. “Please, Mitch. Please take me with you. I want to be alone with you. I…I could help you. We could do anything. Anything you want.”

Oh, man—if she’d given him that look, that promise, without the knowledge that someone was out to destroy him through her, he’d have been in fool’s heaven. As it was, her words only hurt. “Lissa, can we stop playing these games and talk?”

The flare of panic flashed again and was gone. “About what?”

He could feel terror simmering beneath the projected calm in her voice. “About why you’re looking through my things. About why you’re asking me about my work in the islands. About why you stopped touching me after the first day, and made excuse after excuse for us not to make love for the past three weeks.”

Silence. A quiet as dark and stricken as the guilt and driven need in her eyes.

He drew in a harsh breath and said the hardest words he’d ever had to say in his life—risking his dreams, his hopes, his future in one sentence. “And I want to know why you’re marrying me when it’s obvious you don’t want to.”

A slow, shaking hand covered her mouth. “Mitch…”

He had to physically force himself to stand still, to not reach out and give her comfort—the reassurance of touch he needed as desperately as she did right now. He balled his fists at his sides and breathed between the slamming beats of his heart. “Baby, talk to me. I know something’s going on—that someone’s got you scared. But whatever they think they’ve got over you, I can fix it. Just trust me, Lissa. I’ve never lied to you, and I won’t start now.” He closed his eyes as she gave a silent, gulping sob. “I’ll let you go if I have to. I’ll leave here, if that’s what you want. Just don’t shut me out.”

“Shut you out. Shut
you
out?” With startling suddenness she laughed, loud and strong and totally fake. “Boy, have you got a vivid imagination! Who do you think you are, James Bond? Looking through your things! How would you know, with the mess you keep in that room? And I shut you out? About what? And as to questions about your work, isn’t that what all couples do?”

“Lissa—”

She shook her head and put a finger to her lips.
Shut-up,
she mouthed, using their one-time favorite method of quiet communication.
It’s about time you finally caught on.
“Where did you get all this rubbish about someone scaring me?” she laughed. “Have you
seen
anyone? I’ve been too busy with the kids and the wedding to see anyone. I’ve barely had time to call Mum and Dad in Europe to give them our news.” Then her mouth moved, silently speaking words echoing the terror flashing in her sweet eyes.

The house is bugged.

Oh, my God. So it was true.

She giggled, sweet and false, keeping up the charade. “And as for sex—honestly, Mitch, can’t you think of anything else? For goodness sake, there are times of the month a woman can’t make love, not to mention when the kids walk in with nightmares! Of course I want to marry you. We have the rest of our lives to make love, after the wedding, when it won’t damage the kids and Jenny’s accepted that I won’t be getting back with Tim.”

It’s there.
She pointed to the picture of the Pears soap baby in the bath. With one step he could see it hiding between the frame and the wall. The cheap kind of bug made and sold at electronics stores.

Okay. They could work with this. Their invisible friend wouldn’t be able to hear them with that crappy piece of work if they whispered softly enough…but no doubt within seconds they’d come to check on the sudden silence.

Welcome to the Twilight Zone…he had the weirdest sense of unreality, the sublime and the ridiculous. Breckerville and Lissa. Home. Love. Peace. Where life was always serene and nothing bad would ever happen.

Where spies listened in and threatened the one person he’d always been sure would have a carefree life.

For God’s sake,
Why?

His scalp crawled. “C’mere, baby. Sorry I’ve been stupid. I was just scared of losing you.” He held out his arms, sweating on the hope that she’d get it. Then they could talk, just like they had from their windows in the old days, when they’d turned lip reading into an art form.

She walked into his arms, moving against his body with the sensuality of an icebher skin cold and clammy with fear. “They won’t hear us at this pitch,” he whispered into her neck.

She nodded. “Kiss me, Mitch,” she said aloud, her voice pulsing with sensuality. She breathed in his ear, “There might be cameras, too, but I don’t think so. I’ve looked.”

He kissed her, long and deep, touching and caressing her for the silent listener’s benefit. “Keep it up,” he mouthed into hers. Relieved beyond words she’d decided to trust him, furious enough to kill whoever the hell it was doing this to her. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Talk,” she whispered back. “We’ve kissed long enough.”

She was right. He rushed on, “Sorry I’ve been so stupid. I just love you so much, and the thought of losing you…”

She shuddered so delicately only he felt it. “I love you, too, Mitch.” The words, warm and soft, came out frigid on her lips, as insincere as the words of love he’d just given.

Damn! After waiting half a lifetime, it shouldn’t be like this. None of it should be like this. But there was more at stake than his relationship with Lissa. He had to find out what was going down here, or the vital work of the Nighthawks would be destroyed. He kissed her jaw, her ear and murmured, “Who is he?”

She tugged at his ear with her teeth. “I don’t know. He said you left the Air Force two years ago.” She moved against him, moaning. “Darling, that’s so good…”

My
God.
That was highly classified information! His cover was blown even before he set up a courier business. Anson would roar like a wounded tiger when he knew. “Let’s go to bed.” He cupped her bottom in his hands, his body taut with fury and unwanted arousal. “Is there anything on you? Any bugs?” he whispered.

“No. Just in every room. I think he did it when we were at Bob’s the first night.”

Damn and double damn.

She let her hands roam under his shirt. “I don’t want our first time to be in the bed I slept in with Tim,” she said in a strangled sexual mutter. “That’s why I’ve held off, darling—not because I didn’t want to. Let’s make love outside, out by the water hole, where we were always together as kids.”

“I’ll buy us a new bed this afternoon.” He chuckled aloud for the bug, but in truth stunned by her quick thinking and clever manipulation. She’d woven truth and lie, using her real life and his to find a way of getting privacy their silent watcher would find hard to doubt. And heaven help him, he was horny as hell, turned on beyond belief by the lightning change in her, by her intelligence in a terrifying situation—by the sexual game they had to play. “I’ll grab a blanket.”