Skye raised her face to the showerhead, let the water sear her skin. But the piping heat didn’t penetrate deep enough, couldn’t cleanse her past. Couldn’t wash away her present predicament.
She stepped out of the shower, reached for the motel towel, scrubbed it angrily against her body. She’d said too much to Scott McIntyre. She’d crashed. That had never happened to her before. And Scott was no fool. He’d soon start putting the pieces together.
She stopped suddenly, snared by her blurry image in the steamy bathroom mirror. She gave a quiet, derisive laugh. That was her, a blur of person. Out of focus. Not quite real. She reached forward, rubbed a hole in the mist with the back of her fist, stared at her own face. More than anything she wanted clarity, openness, honesty in her life. She wanted to be a real person again. Not an alias. She didn’t want to run anymore. The little clearing she’d made in the mirror closed in on itself, blurring her reflection as she watched. Skye frantically rubbed it back.
She wouldn’t let Malik do this to her anymore. She had to make it stop. She couldn’t get old and die in obscurity, running for the rest of her life. Wouldn’t. It was time she fought back. Because right now, she had nothing to lose—apart from her life. And what was that worth? Not much living the way she was. She was hollow. And Scott had shown her just how hollow. He had made her feel human, real. And as much as it hurt, she wasn’t ready to give that up again.
But how could she fight back? Could Scott really help her? Could she trust him with her darkest secret? She wanted to. Skye slipped into her yellow terry bathrobe and cinched the belt at her waist. She had to. She didn’t have a choice. Because she was not going to let Malik win. Not this time. She would not go back to the way she was. She was prepared to gamble with her life on this. She’d even go to prison.
She stepped out of the bathroom determined, an edgy adrenaline coursing through her veins, a thousand tiny butterflies fluttering in her stomach. But ready.
Scott looked up as she stepped into the room. A smile creased the rough, tanned planes of his face. She could almost read relief in the sparkle of his green eyes as he watched her. She smiled warmly back.
“You look like you feel better.”
She rubbed a towel through her hair. “I do. How about that dinner now?”
“Excellent idea.” He stood, slipped a pair of bookish spectacles onto his nose, looked at her quizzically. “What do you think?”
She threw back her head, laughed from her heart. “Is that your disguise? I didn’t know you needed one.”
He shrugged. “Thought it might be fun.”
“Fun?” The word felt alien in her mouth.
He stepped closer. “Sweetheart, we’re running from reality, we might as well enjoy the ride.”
She swallowed, raw lust once again unfurling slowly through her veins. “How true.” He didn’t know just how true. She studied his eyes through the lenses.
“Well, what do you think? How do I look?”
“I—I think you look like a writer.”
He wiggled his brows. “But I am.”
“Yes. I do believe you are, McIntyre.” She laughed again. And it felt good.
* * *
Skye gaped at the silvery-gray, four-wheel drive. “What’s that?”
“That, my dear, is our new getaway vehicle.”
She spun ’round, pinned him with her eyes. Her fake hair was platinum, surreal in the moonlight. “What happened to your black truck?”
“Traded it in. Besides, this one goes better with your new hair.”
She turned slowly, stared at the vehicle.
“It’ll get us into the Zeballos backcountry,” he offered.
“You think it’ll fool them?”
“Worth a try.”
“You did this…for me?”
“You getting in or what? I’ve made dinner reservations.”
She resisted. “Why? Why are you doing this, Scott?”
He shrugged.
She placed her hand firmly on his forearm. “I need to know why you’re doing this for me?”
Guilt raised an ugly sharp head in his chest. He pushed it away. “Is a man being nice to a beautiful woman really such a foreign concept to you, Doctor?”
“In my world, nothing comes free.”
He slipped his arm over her shoulder, whispered into her ear, “You must learn to trust, Doctor. With trust comes freedom.” That thing in his chest twisted sharply. The words he’d just uttered stuck thick in his craw, the irony catching like thorns. He swallowed.
She angled her chin, looked up into his eyes. “I know.” Her voice was soft. Warm. “I know.” She stood on tiptoe, bussed his cheek. “Thank you. For everything.”
He just nodded and opened the passenger door for her. What did Scott McIntyre know about trust, about fun? Obviously a hell of a lot more than Scott Armstrong did. He walked around the Land Rover to the driver’s side and opened the back door for Honey. She hopped in, then he settled into the driver’s seat, started the ignition.
Agent Scott Armstrong would do well to heed some of futurist Scott McIntyre’s advice, he thought ruefully as he shifted the vehicle into gear. Because right now his alias had a better handle on life than he did.
* * *
Scott handed the wine list back to the sommelier. “We’ll have the Janus Creek Zinfandel.”
The stunning blonde sitting opposite him scanned the room. Scott felt bizarre, as though he and Skye were part of a movie set. Two people playing roles in a fake life. But no one was going to yell “Cut” once dinner was over. They would be playing these roles for days to come. He wondered just what was going to give first.
“This is beautiful, Scott. I thought you were kidding when you said we had reservations.”
“It’s small. Quiet.”
And intimate. But that was for security, he told himself.
The sommelier brought the wine, displayed the label. Scott nodded. The man splashed rich red liquid into the bulb of his glass. Scott raised it to his nose sniffed, smiled.
“Perfect,” he told the sommelier who proceeded to fill their glasses. Scott raised his to salute Skye.
She smiled. “Cheers. To new beginnings.”
“New beginnings?”
She pointed to the label. “It’s a Sonoma vintage, from the Janus Creek vineyards.”
“What’s that got to do with new beginnings?”
“I know the place. Jozsef and I were there about a year ago. We were traveling up from Texas,” she said openly.
“The farm is named after the Janus Creek, which runs through it. The source of the Janus is a spring that bubbles up precisely at the summit of two watersheds. It splits into two,” she explained. “Gravity forces one part of it to flow south to join rivers that feed into the Pacific ocean. The other part flows north before joining the Pacific.”
“Two different directions to the same end?”
Skye nodded. “That’s why the spring was named after the Roman god Janus. The god that looks both ways, covers both angles at the same time, guards every door.”
“But why beginnings?”
“Ancient Romans sought Janus’s help at the start of wars. They believed invoking him ensured their beginnings would have good endings. That’s why the first of January is dedicated to him. He keeps an eye on the happenings of the old year while looking forward to the new.” She studied him over her glass, took the rich red liquid into her lips.
Scott’s eyes dropped to the label. He’d never given the appellation much thought. “I thought Janus was a two-faced liar. God of deception.”
She shifted slightly in her chair, bit her bottom lip. It had drawn a faint burgundy stain from the wine. He could imagine the taste of her mouth. “Ever heard of Janus-faced, Skye?”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s more of a modern English thing…that two heads equal a divided self. Janus is thus deemed an appropriate symbol for a self-deceived person. It’s not the way I see it.”
He took a sip of wine, let it settle around his tongue, feeling the tart bite, the wild fruitiness, before swallowing. “So does this Roman Janus have a Greek counterpart?”
She almost choked. She set her glass studiously down onto the linen tablecloth. “No.”
He’d touched something. But what? Something to do with Greece? He leaned back in his chair, assessing. “You know an awful lot about this stuff.”
“I—I had an interest. Years ago.”
Out of the corner of his eye Scott could see the waitress approaching with their food. He sat forward. “You ever been to that part of the world?”
“What part?” She looked edgy.
“The land of the Gods of Olympus. Greece.”
She shook her head. “No. Never.” The waitress set their plates in front of them. Skye moved quickly to change the topic.
Scott filed the information away in his brain, turned to the waitress. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Can I get you anything else?
“Some water, please,” Skye asked. She looked suddenly pale.
“Sure thing.” The waitress halted, staring at Skye’s neck. “Oh, what a beautiful necklace.”
Skye’s hand shot once again to her throat. “Thank you.”
She looked away, her tone brooking no further discussion. But the waitress persisted. “My sister collects jewelry bugs. Her boyfriend just gave her a little gold bumblebee. What I wouldn’t give to find her a beetle like that for her birthday. May I ask where you got it?”
Scott watched, vaguely amused. Skye continued to clutch the gold pendant. But she looked up at the waitress. “Why does she collect bugs?”
“I know, she’s totally nuts. But ever since she was a kid she’s had a fascination for crawly things. She wants to study entomology at university next year.”
A hint of smile toyed with Skye’s mouth. “I think I’d like your sister. Tell her good luck. But I don’t think you’ll find a bug like this locally. This one was made for me in Europe.”
“Too bad.” The waitress smiled. She left to fetch the water.
Scott picked up his knife and fork. “Well, someone likes your beetle, even if you don’t.”
Skye fixed him suddenly with her silver stare. She reached with both hands slowly up behind her neck and unfastened the clasp. She set the little gold bug with the emerald eyes on the table in front of them.
Scott raised his brow in question.
“I want her to have it. For her sister.”
Scott set his utensils down. “The waitress? You serious?”
Skye blew out a breath. “Yes. Dead serious.”
He reached out, picked up the little beetle, weighed it in his palm. “Feels like solid gold.”
She tucked into her food. “Probably is. I never liked gold.”
“And the eyes, are they emeralds?”
“Probably. I like emeralds.” She looked up into his eyes. “I like green eyes.”
He swallowed. “You can’t just give it away.”
“I need to do this. To move on.” She tried to change the subject. “Food’s excellent. Yours is getting cold.”
“What if he comes back?”
She stopped chewing. “Jozsef?”
“You made him a promise, that you would wear it always.”
“No. I didn’t. He wanted me to promise. I didn’t say the word.”
“What if he does come back? What if there really was a valid reason for him leaving you at the altar?” Scott knew he was acting like a wretched dog with a bone. But all of a sudden, he couldn’t let it go.
“You want to know if I’d take him back.”
“Would you?” He could hear the sharp edge in his voice. But for the life of him, he couldn’t keep it out.
She shook her head, and a secret weight lifted from his chest. He breathed deep. “Why not?”
“I need to understand what happened to Jozsef. But like I told you, I never loved him. I think I need to acknowledge that to myself.” She glanced at the pendant resting on the white linen. “Taking that off is like removing a weight. It makes it final. I can’t explain it.”
“Why were you going to marry him?”
She set her fork down next to her plate. “I guess you have a right to ask that question.”
He shrugged. “Do I?”
She took in a breath, slowly released it. “Jozsef walked into my life one day. And he was so right. He knew all the right buttons to push. We liked the same things, shared the same interests. He was fascinated by my work, wanted to know every little detail.” She fiddled with the stem of her glass. “He made me feel wanted. I needed to feel normal, Scott.”
Her candor made his brain stumble. “And you thought marrying him would make you feel normal?”
“He asked me. It seemed a logical step to take.”
“But you didn’t love him,” he insisted.
She looked down at the garnet liquid in her glass, spoke softly. “I didn’t know if I knew how to love…how to feel. I’ve been numb. For a long time. A very long time.”
He lifted his glass and sipped. “And now?”
Her eyes flashed up to his. Color flushed her cheeks. “I think you know the answer to that.”
The wine seeped warm in his chest. He could feel it smolder in his belly. He looked into her eyes. And he wanted to kiss her.
“And you, Scott? What’s your story?”
He blinked at the rapid turnaround. “Me?”
“Have you ever felt numb, Scott? You know, when you’ve been out in the cold too long and you freeze, then when you find warmth again, you thaw, begin to feel, and it hurts like all hell?”
He didn’t know what to say.
“Well, have you?” she pushed.
He swallowed, still speechless.
She leaned forward, lowered her voice to a whisper over the table. “You know what? I think you have. I think you were burned once, badly, and went numb, like me.”
He couldn’t breathe.
“But you’re not going to tell me your story, are you?”
The room was closing in on him.
“You want me to trust you and you won’t tell me anything about yourself,” she said softly. “You said trust brings freedom. But you won’t trust me. You’re not free, either, McIntyre. You’re just as trapped as I am.” She lifted her glass, sipped, eyes watching him over the rim.
He felt like bloody two-faced Janus. He was building a web of deceit, trapping this woman. This woman who’d been hurt so bad by something she’d gone numb.
Like him.
It’s your job, Agent. What in hell is wrong with you? He reached for his glass, took a deep swig, swallowed the bitter pill, choked as the drink went down. This was way wrong. This shouldn’t be happening. He took another swig. Like the Janus creek itself, he had a head pointed in each direction. Armstrong looking one way. McIntyre the other.
But deep down, they were one and the same, flowed from the same source. And into the same ocean.
“Scott?” Her light silver eyes bored into his. “Oh. I see… It’s double standards.” She held up her glass. “You look like you just lost your appetite.”
He had. For this mission. Deceiving Skye Van Rijn suddenly tasted real bad. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t playing fair. He breathed in deep. “I lost my family. My wife and my baby.” He said simply.
She paled.
“And I’m not inclined to talk about it.”
* * *
Neither of them was able to finish their meal.
Skye felt light-headed, surreal, as Scott led her to the front of the restaurant to get her jacket. His words had shifted her world. She suddenly saw him differently. He shared the pain of a lost child. She felt crass for having pushed him. But in a way she was glad she had. Because with those few words he’d opened a window through which she could suddenly see him. She felt as though she could understand this man. Relate to him.
And she felt something else.
A need to help mend his wound. A need to nurture. It was weird, but it felt as if her breasts were full and swollen again. As if the female part of her that had withered and died with the loss of her child was once again stimulated, full, pulsing with a new kind of life. As though she had something to give.
The waitress was waiting up front to say goodbye. Skye pushed her gold beetle necklace into her hands. “For you.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly take it—”
Skye closed her hand tightly over the woman’s. “Please. I want your sister to have it. It’ll make me happy that it has a true home.”
“I—I can’t thank you enough—”
“Don’t. I hope your sister finds her place in her chosen profession. It’s a fascinating field.”
Skye felt liberated by the simple act. She reached for her jacket hanging on the coatrack just as two burly men entered the restaurant.
They glanced at Skye, stared at Scott.
Skye could swear she sensed his hackles rise in primitive instinct at the sight of the men.
An unspoken aggression simmered in the air around him, like waves of heat from a flame.
It made fear stick like a hard ball in her throat.
Her eyes darted to his, questioning. But he made a slight movement with his lips, his eyes, telling her to be quiet.
He casually edged around her, shielding her from view as he helped her with her coat.
The men brushed past them, heading into the restaurant.
Scott whirled, grabbed her arm. “Quick,” he whispered. He yanked her out the door, ushered her smartly to their SUV.
A dark green Dodge truck was parked right outside the front door. Scott swore.
“What is it?” she whispered.
He stared at the plates on the truck as he steered her to their vehicle. “Get in the car.”
She didn’t resist. She didn’t like the razor edge in his voice.
He started the engine, but he didn’t gun the gas. He moved smoothly, quietly, out of the parking lot, like a hunter through night shadow. But once he was a block away, he stepped on it.
Only after he ducked down yet another narrow side street did she speak. “What the hell was that about?”
His eyes flicked to hers, his features stark and dangerous under the sporadic illumination of streetlights.
“Our tail just showed up at the restaurant.”
“Those men? They were our tail?”
“Yeah.”
“But the brown car wasn’t in the parking lot.”
“Different men. Different vehicle.”
Skye looked at the dark road ahead. The sides of her throat stuck together. Nerves skittered through her belly. Scott McIntyre had not shown this kind of edge when the brown car was after them.
He knew something she didn’t.
* * *
The night sky was clear, the moon high when they crept silently into the parking lot behind the motel.
“Why are we coming back here? Why don’t we just drive through?” Skye tried in vain to keep desperation from creeping into her voice.
“We need to lay low.”
“What are you not telling me, Scott?”
“We picked up a new tail in Duncan. I thought we’d shaken them.”
Fear clawed her throat. “How did we pick them up?” Her voice was hoarse.
“Don’t know.” He parked right up close to their motel room door. Skye bit back her anxiety, waited in the vehicle while Scott let Honey relieve herself under the trees at the side of the building.
She watched as he and the dog made their way through the night shadows. He unlocked the door, then motioned for her to join them.
And a new kind of dread pooled in her stomach.
She was going to have to sleep in the same bed as this man. This man who knew how to reach right into her and take hold of her very soul.
He held the motel door open for her, flicked on the light. She hesitated.
“Come on,” he whispered.
She stepped cautiously into the room, saw it almost immediately. The cot. Under the window. She turned to him, eyes questioning.
He smiled, a gentle look in his features she hadn’t seen before. “I had them put it in while we were out. You take the bed, I’ll take the cot.”
An insane gratitude swelled through her chest.
She reached up, touched the rough stubble of his cheek with her fingertips. “You’re a good man, Scott McIntyre.” And she meant it.
As much as she’d tasted the raw lust in his kisses, as much as she knew he wanted her, he was giving her this space.
He wasn’t trapping her. He wasn’t using her. He wanted her to be free. Truly free. And the tenderness of it hurt so bad she felt wetness threaten her eyes.
His hand covered hers at his face. It was rough. Large. Protective. “Don’t be deceived, Doctor.” A quiet edge snaked through his words. “My intentions belie my actions.”
A dark thrill quivered, slithered, to her belly. He was still letting her know he wanted her.
He was giving her the choice.
Eyes meshed with hers, he took her hand from his cheek, turned her palm face up, put his lips there.
She gasped softly.
His breath was hot, his lips firm against her skin. The sensation was painfully erotic. He tested, briefly, with his tongue. And her knees turned to putty.
He lifted the strands of her wig, whispered darkly in her ear, lips barely brushing her lobe. “I really do not have your best interests at heart, you know.” He slipped his arm around her, gathered her close.
She could feel the hard bulge in his jeans press up against her thigh. His chest was solid under the swollen arousal of her breasts. Her heart staggered, her breathing became ragged. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of what is in my best interests…when the time comes.”
He stepped back, his voice dusky with desire. His eyes, dark and wild, looked down into hers. “When the time comes, then.”
She angled her head slightly. “You make that sound like a threat, McIntyre.”
“Think of it as a promise.”
The shrill ring of the cell phone in her pocket knocked them both back to the present.
“Oh…I—” She rummaged in her jacket pocket, pulled out the phone, turned her back on Scott. “Skye Van Rijn.”
“Skye, this is Martha Sheldon.”
“Martha?” Why was Charly’s mom calling? At this hour. “Is everything all right?” Skye yanked at her wig, tossed it onto the bed, waited for Martha to answer.
“It’s…it’s Charly.” The woman’s voice cracked.
Fresh panic clawed at Skye’s stomach. “What’s happened to Charly?”
“She’s… Oh, God, she’s in a coma, Skye. The doctors don’t know what’s going on. She developed pneumonia symptoms suddenly. They took her into hospital this morning. I just don’t understand. She seemed fine yesterday.”
“Where is she?”
“It’s no use coming to see her. They’re flying her to the mainland tomorrow morning. There are some specialists in Vancouver…” Martha’s voice wobbled, trailed off.
“Oh, Martha, what can I do?”
“Nothing. I saw you left a message for her. I just wanted you to know. She would want you to know.”
Skye clicked her phone off, sank down onto the bed. Her brain spun. She felt nauseous. She was vaguely aware of Scott watching her.
He locked the door and moved to sit beside her on the bed. “Who was that?” He nodded toward the cell phone still clutched tight in her hand.
“Charly…my colleague…my friend, she’s very ill. She’s been hospitalized. Doctors don’t know what’s wrong with her.” Skye turned to look at him. “She was my maid of honor at my…wedding.”
“Tell me what happened. What are her symptoms?” The bite of immediacy hardened his words.
“Her mother said it looked like sudden pneumonia. Now she’s in a coma.” Skye forced herself to her feet. “I must get to her.”
“No.” He grabbed her hand, pulled her firmly back onto the bed. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“Maybe there is. Maybe she just needs me there.”
“She has family, right?”
Skye nodded.
“Let them take care of Charly. The bedside of your ailing friend is one of the first places these guys are going to go looking for you when they can’t find you here.”
“If they can’t find me here.”
“They won’t.” He grabbed her by the shoulders, forced her to look at him. “Trust me, Doctor. Believe in me, and they won’t.”
She didn’t doubt it. Not at this moment. Not by the look in his eyes. Not by the dangerous undercurrent in his voice. And more than anything, she needed to trust someone right now, to turn to someone. Because her world was crumbling around her. And a sinister thread of thought was twisting through her brain: What if everything was connected? What if this was all just too big for her?