Mac's Angels Page 2

  He used his secret name for her mockingly.

  “Would you like some coffee?” She turned toward the kitchen as if she had to escape from the bitterness he made no attempt to disguise.

  Conner followed her without comment, focusing on the house to give himself time to regroup.

  Except for the appliances, the kitchen was straight out of the forties with glass-windowed white cabinets full of neatly stacked dinnerware. Erica went into the pantry and brought out two mugs that she set on a small table nestled in the three-sided bay window overlooking the valley below.

  While she filled the coffeemaker with water, Conner walked over to the window. He instinctively hugged the edge of the wall and looked out. The elements had thrown a cloak of opaque gray over the house, closing them inside. He didn’t need to worry about being visible. He couldn’t see beyond the blank panes of glass.

  Soon the sound of grinding filled the silence, and the rich smell of coffee beans permeated the air.

  Finally, Erica spoke. “First I want to say I’m sorry, Conner—about what happened to you—and Bart. I—”

  “You damned well ought to be. He died because of you.”

  He heard her gasp and saw her face pale in the reflection of the windowpane.

  “I couldn’t have changed anything. By the time I knew, it was too late. All I can say now is that I’m truly sorry.”

  “If you’d told me you weren’t going through with the wedding, neither of us would have been there. Or was it a setup all the way? I’ve often wondered about that.”

  “You think I knew what was going to happen? No, don’t answer that. I can see that you do. You actually believe that I arranged to have the man I loved more than life itself wounded and his brother killed.” She spoke rapidly, then paused and took a deep breath. “Your brother was my partner, my best friend.”

  “You disappeared without any explanation. I call a person who does that a coward.”

  Conner didn’t say murderer, but he could have. And she knew that was what he was thinking.

  “I know you don’t believe this, Conner, but I had no choice. And then—then it was too late. Staying away from you was safer.”

  He had to hand it to her. She almost sounded sincere. If he turned around and looked at her, he was certain he’d see those big black eyes swimming in tears held back through sheer willpower. There was a time she would have cried. She was tougher now.

  “Forget the explanations, Erica. I wouldn’t believe you anyway. Whatever the reason, you left me standing at the altar. Bart got caught in the crossfire. And you were responsible.”

  “Then why did you come? Obviously Mac told you I’d be here. I can’t understand why he didn’t extend the same courtesy to me.”

  “Believe me, I wouldn’t be here—except for Mac. Suppose you tell me why he thinks you need help.” Conner turned slowly to face her, daring her to refuse.

  She blanched, catching the counter as if she might have fallen otherwise.

  “He asked me to protect you, Erica. I agreed. That means I have a job to do and I intend to see it through, even if I would rather cut and run.”

  “Do you have to be so cold, Conner? Can’t you give me even the smallest benefit of the doubt?”

  “Not in this lifetime, lady. The last thing I want to do is rehash what might have been. There was a time when I wanted to know why. Not tonight.”

  But Erica wasn’t going to let him get away with using mental force. “All right, Conner. I admit I should have explained.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I tried, but I couldn’t find you. Then later I understood that it was better if I let you go. What about you? You knew where I was. I sent word that I’d wait for you in Paris. You never came. In one afternoon I lost everything too.”

  Conner felt his gut clench. She almost had him believing her, until he remembered Bart. And if she’d sent a message, Mac would have told him. It was time to end the discussion. He didn’t intend to let this turn into a scene of bitter recriminations. The quicker he got to the bottom of her problem, the quicker he could get back to the life he’d built for himself.

  “You’ll excuse me if I can’t rouse a lot of sympathy for your pain, if you felt any. In fact, I’d like to deal with the present.”

  Conner’s words said one thing, but his pulse was pounding and his mouth was dry. He couldn’t look away without giving her a hint of his faltering control. So he watched her with a narrowed gaze. She was dressed in coveralls made of shimmering spandex that fit like skin.

  A voice inside him whispered, “Get the hell out of here, Conner. She’s trouble and you’re about to get caught up in it again.”

  “I’m waiting,” he said. “What kind of danger are you in?”

  “Not yet, Conner, we have to talk about what happened in Berlin. I think it’s connected to this new trouble.”

  “Tell me about this new trouble and I’ll decide.”

  “You’ll decide? I think you’d better know, Conner Preston, that you don’t make the decisions.” She took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but you’re here to help me, not give orders.”

  God, she was beautiful. He could see her agitation and he felt a startling response in his own body. Help her? That was the last thing he had on his mind.

  Now he understood that old reference to the thin line between love and hate. In spite of what she’d done, all he wanted was to find the nearest bed and plunge into her, ravish her like some old-world invader taking claim to a land he’d fought for. Hell, he didn’t even need a bed.

  Then she raised thick-lashed eyelids and gave him a look that said she knew exactly what he was feeling.

  Conner forced his reply. “That’s yet to be decided—whether or not I will help you.” He might as well make her squirm. “Just so we understand each other, what’s in it for me?”

  There was no point in trying to protect him any longer. “You misunderstand, Conner. I never expected Mac to send you. I wish he hadn’t. You see there’s another person in danger. Shadow. I assume that’s you, unless someone else has adopted that persona.”

  “What does Shadow have to do with this?”

  “The person who shot the ambassador said if he didn’t get the book, next time he wouldn’t miss.”

  “What book?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t need you, Conner. Something else very odd happened. I got a call from the ambassador’s office this morning. It seems we’re about to receive a belated wedding gift.”

  Conner grabbed her wrist and pulled her so close that he could feel her breath on his chin. “What do you mean, wedding gift?”

  “A package from Berlin arrived at the ambassador’s old office in Paris. They are forwarding it here. It was addressed to Lieutenant and Mrs. Conner Preston.”

  At that moment there was a shatter of glass and Conner heard a whistle. He slammed Erica to the floor and fell on top of her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, struggling to get out from under his protective cover.

  “Shut up, Erica, and stay down.”

  “Why?”

  “Somebody just took a shot at us.”

  TWO

  Conner listened intently. All he could hear was the coffee dripping into the pot. “How many entrances are there to the house?”

  “The front, the kitchen door that goes into the garage, and the door from the study to the deck.”

  “Are they locked?”

  Erica thought for a moment. “I’m not sure about the study door, but the rest are.”

  “Other than Mac, who knows where you are?”

  “Only the ambassador. I never give this address out.”

  “Who lives here when you’re away?”

  “My aunt, but she goes to Florida every winter. What about you? Could you have been followed?”

  “No,” he snapped, then thought about it. That tickle of awareness shimmied down his spine, the same kind of awareness he’d felt on his trip up the mountain.
He’d been pretty steamed when he left the Chattanooga airport and headed for the Incline Railroad. Maybe somebody had been behind him. He couldn’t be sure.

  Then again, maybe the feeling came from the woman beneath him and not someone outside.

  “So,” Erica said in a tight whisper, “what do we do now?”

  Conner stared down at her. They were almost nose to nose. In fact, noses were about the only parts of their bodies not touching. He felt her breasts press against him as she breathed. She still wore that light floral fragrance that triggered the memory of picnics and wildflowers. His lower body responded to that scent, making it imperative for him to move.

  “Stay put.” Conner gritted his teeth and wondered what moment of lunacy had made him think that he could see Erica and not want her. Even with a shooter outside the window he was more aware of her sensuality than her safety. He couldn’t protect her by lying there. And he was placing himself in another kind of danger—the danger of remembering.

  Abruptly he rolled away, crawled swiftly to the wall where the light switch was located, reached up, and flicked it off.

  “Conner, wait. I’m coming with you.”

  But, like a ghost, he was gone. With her heart hammering in her throat, Erica inched her way past the breakfast bar and into the corridor, where she could see both the front door and the study at the other end. At that moment an errant shaft of moonlight slipped through the fog and beamed like a spotlight to the deck. As far as she could tell, that door hadn’t been opened.

  Agonizing minutes passed. Where was he? God, she hadn’t wanted him there. But she could not ignore the instant awakening of desire within her.

  Suddenly a figure appeared in the moonlight. The glass door opened and a man cautiously slipped inside.

  “I don’t know who you are,” Erica said, “but I have a gun and if you take one step closer, you’re going to regret it.”

  “I regret it already,” Conner said. “I thought I told you to stay put in the kitchen.”

  Erica tried to swallow her sigh of relief. “And I told you that you aren’t giving the orders around here.”

  She sat up, folded her arms around her knees, and tried to control the bout of trembling that swept over her. When the ambassador had been shot, she’d been concerned about him. But this was different, more personal somehow. Or maybe her collapse was tied in to Conner’s presence.

  “I think he’s gone, Erica, but I can’t be sure. We need to get out of here.”

  But she couldn’t move. Her limbs had turned to mush, along with her brains. “My knees and I have decided that we’ll just sit here for a minute,” she said in a voice that was raspy and strained. “Besides, unless you have wings, we can’t go anywhere before morning.”

  Then Conner was reaching for her, lifting her into the warmth of his embrace, and for a moment she just leaned against him, allowing his strength to restore hers.

  “Don’t you have a car?”

  “No, I don’t keep one here. I took a taxi from the airport. I stay off the Scenic Highway during the winter. I’ll call a cab.”

  For a minute Conner continued to hold her, then, realizing what he was doing, released her and stepped away. “All right, but keep your voice down.”

  Erica stumbled, caught the wall, and felt her way back to the kitchen and the wall phone by the door.

  “The phone is dead,” she whispered.

  “Dead phone and no car. I don’t like this. We’re sitting ducks up here and it’s hunting season.”

  “Do you think he’s going to kill us?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’s just playing with us.”

  “Conner, why? I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I—yet. Right now we need to get to a safe room, a room with only one door and windows he can’t get to. Is there a basement?”

  “No, this mountain is almost solid rock. What about the attic?”

  “Too secure. He’d have us cornered there. No, it needs to be a room we can get out of if we have to.”

  “There’s a small office off the study,” she suggested. “It has only one door. The windows overlook the valley and there’s an adjacent bathroom.”

  “Fine. Can you find your way around in the dark?”

  “This was my home, Conner. Of course I can.”

  “I’ll check out the house while you get the coffee and some food. Then,” he said in a voice so impersonal that Erica shivered, “I want information.”

  She stared at him blankly, then nodded. For just a moment he’d held her, but it had meant nothing. She felt colder now than she had on the floor. The man she was seeing was Shadow, the Green Beret, not Conner.

  She had to show him that she was calm, even if it wasn’t true. Pulling herself together, she walked past the broken glass on the floor to the refrigerator, where she braved another shot by defiantly opening the door to take out cheese and grapes. When she turned, Conner was gone. Next, she stepped into the tiny pantry, closed the door, and flicked on the light long enough to find a box of crackers.

  Two trips to the office moved the food, coffee, and the makings for more. She concentrated on her task, delaying any thought of the coming confrontation with Conner.

  Without sound or movement, Conner suddenly materialized in the small room. “I brought blankets for us to sleep on.” He dropped the blankets, closed and locked the door.

  “Help me,” he said in a deep whisper.

  “Help you what?”

  “Move this chest in front of the door.”

  “You seriously believe that whoever fired that shot is coming after us?”

  “Would you rather wait and find out?”

  Erica fought the sudden nausea that swept over her and leaned against the heavy antique chest, moving it slowly toward the door. Suddenly they were sealed inside the room. Choosing the office was a mistake. It was too small. Conner seemed even bigger than he had before. He sucked up the air and filled the space.

  “Pour the coffee,” he said sharply. She wondered if he too might be fighting the unexpected pull from the past.

  In the dark, Erica opened the crackers and cheese, arranging them along with the fruit on the small coffee table before a tiny fireplace. She poured coffee into the mugs and set out the cream and sugar.

  “It’s ready.”

  After a moment he turned and walked toward her, no longer hugging the shadows.

  “I’ll light the fire,” she said, and moved away, fighting the sudden tremor that racked her body.

  “No. A smoking chimney will tell him where we are.”

  “There’ll be no smoke. The logs aren’t real.”

  “Then why light it?”

  “Because …” she whispered between teeth that chattered in spite of her effort to keep them still, “I need to feel warm.”

  As she turned on the electric logs, she heard the creak of the floor as Conner sat down and leaned against the couch. He bit into a cracker and chewed slowly, the sound a ticking reminder of what was to come.

  “Now, start at the beginning and tell me what’s happened, Erica.”

  There was a lump the size of a rock in her throat. She couldn’t have spoken if she’d wanted. To delay her answer until she had full control, she dropped to the floor at the end of the table and reached for her mug. She started to add sugar, then stopped. Right now she needed the strong bitter liquid to keep her focused.

  “First …” she began softly, then jutted her chin and spoke more firmly, “I can understand why you don’t want to talk about the past, Conner, but I have to explain what happened.”

  “Your explanation comes about ten years too late, don’t you think?”

  He wasn’t going to make it easy, but she didn’t deserve it to be easy. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I had no choice. I would never have done anything to hurt you—or Bart.”

  Conner laughed. “Seems to me if that was your goal, you’d have bought three tickets to Paris instead of one.”

&nbs
p; She felt as if he’d punched her in the stomach. “Tickets to Paris?”

  “I’m just curious. How’d you manage it, Erica? Getting out of West Berlin? Was it really a last-minute attack of cold feet, or did you and your lover already have your tickets?”

  “Conner, I swear to you, I didn’t go to Paris, at least not then. And the only lover I had was you.”

  His hand shot out and clasped her wrist tightly. “Don’t lie to me, Erica. I went to the church expecting to meet you and Bart. Bart arrived—alone. Why weren’t you with him?”

  She jerked her hand away. She couldn’t talk to him if he was touching her. “Because he came by my room the night before, looking for you. When he found out you were gone, he said something about picking up our wedding gift. He said he’d meet us at the church.”

  “There were two people who did meet us at the church, uninvited guests for our wedding, Erica—assassins. Bart was killed and I might as well have been. Where were you?”

  “I don’t know. They took me away—someplace dark and cold.”

  “They? You want to explain that? Somehow it doesn’t make a lot of sense—none of it. The night before you were so sure. As I recall, you wanted to wake the minister and have him marry us then.” Conner tightened his grip on her arm. “You could have told me you’d changed your mind. Instead, you let us go to that church. Why?”

  The flame from the artificial logs gave off just enough light for her to see his face. There was something about the tormented look in his eyes that said he believed she’d stood him up intentionally, that she hadn’t wanted to marry him. She swallowed, taking in the hard lines of his face and knew again what she’d lost.

  Conner Preston had been the kind of man who walked into a room and captured the imagination of every woman there. He didn’t need the green beret to draw women. He didn’t have to smile at them. In fact, he rarely did, but they recognized his power. Blond and blue-eyed, he filled the custom-fitted dress green uniform to perfection. Conner Preston was the physical prototype of the American soldier. But more than that, he’d been brash and daring, with the kind of magnetism that reached out and touched a woman, branding the innermost part of her. One intimate gesture, one brush of that power, and she’d felt like the most important woman in the world. She would never deliberately have hurt him.