There was something particularly thrilling about being kissed awake by the man you loved, Savannah thought. Even though part of her was worrying about morning breath because she hadn’t yet brushed her teeth and another part of her was thinking she was going to have to visit the bathroom before too long. Still, an unshaven chin was an erotic delight when a lover nuzzled her cheek the way Niall did.
And when he whispered in her ear all the wicked treats he had in store for her? Bliss.
But eventually she murmured, “Hold that thought,” and made a mad dash for the bathroom. When she returned she was disappointed to see he was still dressed. She’d hoped he would have stripped down to his birthday suit in anticipation of what he’d promised her.
But apparently he’d had second thoughts.
He’d propped himself on one arm, and his expression was serious. “We need to talk.”
She sighed, but not so he’d notice, thinking, Not again. She really, truly had thought that last night they’d gotten past whatever it was that was bothering him. There’d been a level of tenderness in his lovemaking he’d never shown her before, and she’d let herself get carried away with the fantasy. And this morning...
She sighed again, then opened the dresser and busied herself by pulling out clothes to wear that day—jeans and a favorite dusky rose, long-sleeved sweater. With her back to him, she said, “What do we need to talk about?”
“Spencer Davies. DMFC. And an obsolete missile.”
* * *
Savannah and Niall disembarked from their riverboat after breakfast and walked with the rest of the crowd toward the far docks and the small sightseeing vessels they’d take to visit the Lesser Three Gorges. Even though their riverboat was tiny compared to the large ocean cruisers that carried thousands of passengers, it was still too big for the narrow places they were going this morning.
It had rained earlier, but now the sun shone dimly through the clouds. They picked their way carefully through the puddles and over the uneven slats of the trestle bridge, and Savannah couldn’t help but be touched by the solicitous way Niall held her arm the entire time. She wasn’t fragile and she was perfectly capable of avoiding slick spots and rough patches on her own. But his manner indicated a certain...well...attachment seemed to be the most appropriate word. And she was starting to hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d realize they had something special. That the bond they shared was more than just fantastic sex.
Plan for the worst and hope for the best. She could still hear her mother saying that to her. “I will, Mom,” she whispered under her breath.
Niall handed her down into boat number eighteen and followed her inside. “Did you say something?”
She smiled at him. “Just to myself.” She took a seat on a bench in the front row on the other side of the boat’s operator—she planned to take lots of pictures, and this way she could do so out of the front window as well as the side.
Niall sat beside her and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Thanks for picking the seat with the best leg room.”
“Oh. Sorry. I wasn’t even thinking about that.”
He smiled lazily. “Yeah, I figured.”
“Then why did you thank me?”
“Just in case.”
If she hadn’t already loved him, she’d have fallen for him in that instant for what that sentence said about him. “Your parents really did raise a gentleman,” she murmured, pressing her face against his shoulder for a moment because she loved him so much and couldn’t tell him. But she could show him.
She’d just lifted her head when Herb Thompson ducked through the front door, followed by Mary Beth, whose face brightened when she saw Savannah and Niall. “Well, hey there,” she gushed. “Isn’t this tiny boat quaint? I almost backed out when I saw how small it is, but Herb insisted. He said we paid good money for this cruise, and by golly we’re going to see everything! Did you take a seasick pill? I have extras if you didn’t, but I think you have to take them a half hour before you—”
“Madam, please keep moving,” said the pretty Chinese boat guide, who looked to be about fifteen. “You are preventing the other passengers from boarding.”
Mary Beth tittered and apologized. “So sorry.” She glanced at Savannah again. “We’ll talk afterward, okay?” and moved to join her husband, who’d picked a seat near the middle of the boat.
“Thank God! I think I would have been seasick only if she sat near us,” Savannah whispered in Niall’s ear, and he chuckled.
Tammy Williams stepped onto the boat a couple of passengers later, followed by her husband. She waggled fingers at Savannah but didn’t stop and didn’t say anything, for which Savannah was grateful.
As the rest of the passengers boarded the twenty-person vessel, she couldn’t help thinking about what Niall had told her early this morning regarding Spencer Davies. The surprising thing was that she wasn’t surprised, now that Niall had figured out why. She hadn’t wanted to believe it before, but the explanation dovetailed nicely with the facts, unfortunately.
And she wasn’t surprised Spencer Davies planned to kill her eventually, either, which saddened her. It made perfect sense from the standpoint of someone who only cared about the bottom line. Force her to come up with an answer to his obsolete missile? Of course. But even if she could, it was a one-time solution. It couldn’t be sustained long-term, especially since he couldn’t let anyone know she was behind the fix he was hoping she could make. Which meant he had to kill her to keep the secret.
What would he do next time, though, a few years down the road?
“You okay? You look sad all of a sudden.”
She glanced up at him. “I was thinking about what you told me this morning. And you’re right, Spencer Davies has to be stopped. Because I just realized I’m merely the first. If he’s successful with me, he’ll do it again. And again. Like a serial killer who keeps going until he’s caught.” She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So we have to catch him and put him away.”
“We?” He shifted position. “There are federal agencies to handle this.” He looked as if he might say more but thought better of it.
“I’m part of this. How are they going to catch him without me to act as bait?”
Niall’s face hardened. “That’s not happening, Savannah. We don’t need live bait. Especially if that bait is you.”
Something about his words didn’t make sense, and her brow furrowed. “What do you mean, we don’t need live bait? We?” When he didn’t answer, she said slowly, “You told me you’re in security. And though you didn’t say it, you certainly implied you work in the private sector. But I don’t think you do. Do you work for the DoD’s Defense Security Service? The DSS?”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t.” There wasn’t a shred of emotion in his voice, but his dark brown eyes held hers and she believed him. She didn’t know why, but she did. Then an unwelcome thought crept in. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t work for another federal agency, though.
She started to ask him, but at that moment the boat operator fired up the engine with a throaty roar. The vessel backed smoothly away from the dock, then turned in a sweeping curve and headed for the Lesser Three Gorges with a dozen other craft.
Savannah could only stare at Niall, her thoughts in turmoil. “You called me Dr. Whitman,” she whispered. “Twice. Which means you know things about me I never told you.” His gaze never wavered, but he didn’t speak, either. “Who are you?”
“We’ll talk about that later.” He took her chin in his hand and gently turned her head so she was facing the front window. “The Goddess Stream, Savannah,” he reminded her. “You’ve come thousands of miles to see it. Get your camera ready.”
* * *
She was reluctant, at first, Niall saw. But eventually the sheer beauty of their surroundings got to her, and click, click, click went her camera. He caught her attention from time to time and pointed at some particularly scenic sight, and when the boat guide lashed the front doors open so the passengers could walk out on the bow to take photographs, he held her by the hips to keep her steady. But mostly he just watched her craning her head and gazing in wonder. And his heart ached because his time with Savannah was running out, but he had no one to blame but himself.
He’d been the consummate operative before he’d met her. An actor worthy of an Academy Award—when he assumed a role, he became the role. But not anymore. Not since he’d fallen in love with her. Now he was human. Now he was vulnerable.
He’d slipped up three times with Savannah and hadn’t realized it. Once she’d mentioned it, he’d immediately recalled the times he’d called her Dr. Whitman and could have kicked himself for being such a rank amateur. And of course, saying, We don’t need live bait, was a dead giveaway, since it almost certainly implied he belonged to one of the federal agencies he’d told her could handle the investigation. A stupid move that could have gotten him killed if she’d been the traitor he’d first suspected her of being. A stupid move that could get her killed if he said something like that in the presence of his suspects.
So what’s it going to be, Jones? Are you going to risk Savannah’s life because you love her and don’t want to lie to her anymore? Or are you going to love her enough to suck it up and be a damn professional?
He already knew the answer. He just didn’t like it.
* * *
Savannah’s stateroom had been refreshed by the time they returned. She removed her jacket and laid it and her purse on the newly made double bed closest to the door—the one she and Niall had shared—then turned to face him.
“I should go next door for my belongings,” he began, but she stopped him.
“First I need to know who you are. You said we’d talk about it later. Well, now is later.”
His eyes creased at the corners as if she’d called him a liar. “I wasn’t lying. I don’t work for the Defense Security Service.”
She thought for a moment, trying to remember Niall’s exact words the few times they’d discussed his work. “You said you’re a troubleshooter, that you plug security leaks. What did you mean by that?”
He grinned. “You have a mind like a steel trap. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Yes, and don’t try to change the subject. What exactly do you do?”
He removed his own jacket and turned to hang it in the closet. Then he faced her again. “Before the Corps and I parted company eighteen years ago, I looked around to see what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. When I found it, I went to college and got dual degrees in criminology and computer programming to make it happen.”
“And?”
“And I went to work for a security firm after I graduated three years later.”
She was distracted for a moment. “You finished your undergraduate work in three years?” She had, too, just another little thing they had in common, but... “Dual degrees?” She couldn’t help but be impressed. She’d only earned a Bachelor of Science in Mathematics before she’d entered grad school at twenty-one.
“Yeah. Tested out of a bunch of GenEd classes, then took the max credit hours I could take every semester. Money wasn’t the main factor—I was on the GI bill—but I was itching to get out into the real world and start doing.”
She brought her focus back to her original question. “Doing what?”
He smiled faintly. “I was a hot commodity in those days. The explosion of the internet and cyber security—or rather, the woeful lack of cyber security—combined with my Marine Corps experience and my degrees meant I could pretty much write my own ticket. Heady stuff for a twenty-five-year-old. I started out earning almost triple what I’d been making in the Corps, and it was all due to Uncle Sam.”
She digested what he’d said, then nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Thank you for telling me.” She forced a smile onto her face. “I’m sorry for being so suspicious. Blame all the security briefings I had when I was working for my former company—you can easily get paranoid, seeing spies everywhere.”
He returned her smile. “Not a problem. I’d have suspected me, too, under the circumstances.” He took the two steps that brought him right up in front of her and touched her cheek. “Are we good now?”
She put her hand over his. “We’re good.”
“Then let me go get my things, and we can head down to lunch. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Bolt the door behind me.”
“You’ll only be gone a few minutes,” she protested.
He held her gaze. “Please.”
“All right.” She followed Niall to the door and bolted it. Then sagged against it and stood there long after he left, a band of pain tightening around her heart. Because she realized, despite his long and involved explanation, he’d never told her how he knew she was a doctor, nor why he’d used the word we.
And though she still loved him, though she believed much of what he’d told her was the truth, somewhere in all those details he’d lied to her. She was sure of it.
* * *
Niall checked his suitcases and backpack before he picked them up. Not just that they were still securely locked, but that they were precisely where he’d left them, and that his little markers hadn’t been touched. They hadn’t. His bed had been made and the towels in the bathroom changed, but otherwise the room was undisturbed.
He headed for the door, a suitcase in each hand and backpack over his shoulder, wondering if he’d dodged a bullet with Savannah. She seemed to believe him, but he couldn’t be positive. Everything he’d told her was the God’s honest truth, except for one thing. One lie—that he’d gone to work for a “security firm” after college—buried in the middle of his otherwise truthful story.
You’re a very convincing liar, Niall, she’d told him at dinner the other night. You mix bits of the truth with your lies, which makes it easy to believe you.
He’d learned the art of deception so long ago it was second nature to him now. He could still recall sitting in a class he’d been sent to when he’d joined his agency, a class taught by a famous spymaster.
Try to avoid an out-and-out lie if you can. Divert attention whenever possible instead, kind of like the sleight of hand a magician does. Humor helps. When people are laughing, they’re not dissecting your story word for word. And afterward, all they’ll remember is the funny parts.
But if you must tell a lie, remember that listeners tend to focus on the first and last sentences in a story. To make a lie convincing, bury it in the middle of truthful statements.
Which is what he’d done with Savannah. He’d been watching her reaction closely with every word he’d said. And though she’d apologized at the end for her suspicions, though she’d told him they were good now, there’d been that one second when he’d thought he’d seen something in her eyes. It had vanished so quickly he’d almost convinced himself he’d imagined it, but...
He put one suitcase down and rapped on her door. “Savannah?”
“Just a minute.”
He heard the metallic click of the bolt being pulled back and the sound of the handle being turned, which released the automatic lock. Then the door swung inward, with Savannah framed in the opening. And in that instant before she composed her face into a welcoming expression, he knew she knew he’d lied.