McCabe Page 5

  He smiled again, this time with definite intent. Moving toward her, he murmured, “Some boundaries need to be maintained. Others, not so much.”

  She slapped a hand on his chest to halt him. “I went through hell last night trying to sleep, knowing you were in that bed next to me. Some people say history repeats, but I’m definitely not in that zone.”

  “Yet,” he finished for her and, damn it, brought a tickle of amusement to her throat. She fought it with a frosty glare.

  “Not going to work on me, Ro.” Trapping her wrist, he yanked the glass from her fingers and drew her forward. “We’re elemental beings, you and me. Right on the edge of primal.”

  Heat snapped up, beating back humor. “Why don’t you just compare me to a cat in heat and be done with it.”

  “Works for me.” Yanking her against him, he crushed his mouth onto hers.

  Rowena struggled, for form mostly, for pride a little, and only for about two seconds before she snatched her wrist free and grabbed hold of his shirt. Sensation flooded in and swept away thought. Pretty much blew it out of the water. Her mouth was a fever on his. She absorbed the taste of him, wanted to touch him everywhere without the barrier of clothes between them.

  Anger and desire collided, with one fueling the other. This was wrong and she knew it. But if there were consequences she’d face them later.

  His hands on her hips drew her forward until she could feel every hard muscle in his lower body. Her blood fired; her mind spun. There was no more thought, only sensation. In a distant part of her brain, she heard the whirring of the slots next door, followed by a series of raucous clangs as another winner was born.

  As another boundary was destroyed.

  …

  They couldn’t hang out at the motel much longer. But McCabe could have sunk into the kiss far deeper than he did for a lot longer than she allowed. Anything to keep the guilt at bay. There were so many more things he could have told her, things he should have told her. But he’d stopped short as he always did, as he probably always would. For his own sake as well as hers.

  A screaming child in the hall outside captured her attention long before it registered on his brain. Not that he wasn’t committed to helping her retrieve her son, but touching her again, hell just seeing her again, woke up feelings inside him he’d forgotten even existed.

  Self-preservation had become one of his strongest suits a long time ago. That and the ability to shut down any and all emotions that got in the way of him doing his job.

  Or so he’d convinced himself since losing her.

  Leaving her, a voice inside corrected. Taking an assignment half a world away and immersing himself in it body and soul. God, he’d been a heartless bastard. Might still be, he reflected, at the core.

  She didn’t slap or berate. She simply pushed back, made a sound of frustration, and spun away. “I can’t do this, McCabe. I don’t want to feel what I’m feeling for you. I don’t want to remember how it was between us. I need to focus on getting Parker back, and wanting you screws up my head, to say nothing of my emotions. I can’t let myself care about you again. I came after you to get my phone back, nothing more. I understand now that James is the man you’ve been after since…well, forever, but we want him for different reasons, and I’m not convinced our ideas about how to go ahead are going to jibe.”

  “They’ll jibe,” McCabe told her. He poured another whiskey, handed it to her. “Child before obsession, Ro, I swear it. I value life over the win, always have, always will. If I didn’t, I’d board the yacht, guns blazing, and draw him to Florida in a raging fury.”

  “You can’t— Wait. What? We’re going to Florida. On a hunch?” She set her glass down without drinking. “I’d like a little proof of something before I ditch west for east and venture into the Neutral Zone.”

  “Okay. How’s this? One of my spies sent me a photo of a woman who was spotted on the upper deck of the Irish Lady yesterday afternoon. I blew it up, got a fairly decent image. When I sent that off to my home computer for an ID, it turned out the woman in question is Carol Chambers’s sister.”

  Rowena’s brows went up. “The night manager at the Lily Koi?”

  “Got it in one. It turns out the second Ms. Chambers spent several years working for the family of a California state senator.” Smiling broadly, McCabe moved in, trapped her chin, and gave her a quick kiss. “She was a nanny to the senator’s three children.”

  …

  He knew they had to leave, but he needed to make a call. Waiting until Rowena was freshening up in the bathroom, he slipped out into the hall and punched a number. The call was answered on the third ring.

  “Are you awake?” he asked.

  “As much as I ever am these days,” the person on the other end replied. “Can I say it’s wonderful to hear your voice?”

  “That much you can say, yes. But I need you to help me. I’ll be flying out in a little while, and I want you to do something for me.”

  “You know I will. Does this involve James?”

  “Does anything ever not involve him?”

  “These days? No.”

  “I’m going ask you to go along with any conversation I start. I’m bringing someone with me, and I need to control what happens while she’s there.”

  “For heaven’s sake why? What’s wrong with the truth, Ryan?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with it. I’m just not ready to go there.”

  “Not ready or not willing?”

  “Take your pick. Just please do this for me. If I have a chance I’ll explain why later.”

  A soft sigh reached him. “You know I’ll do anything you ask. And so will everyone around me. Take care, Ryan.”

  It wasn’t until the line went dead that McCabe realized what had been said. He’d thought he’d be dealing with one or two people. Who the hell was everyone?

  …

  Was it enough to go on? Maybe. But if James was in fact hiding Parker aboard the Irish Lady—purchased and named for her shortly after they’d gotten together—how in God’s name were she and McCabe going to board the ship and snatch her son away without being shot?

  “Water all around is a good deterrent to a rescue,” she pointed out as they drove to the airfield where McCabe had landed his plane less than thirty-six hours ago. “Do you know anything about the Florida Keys? About the currents and such? They have riptides there. I know. I incorporated the potential presence of one into my fake death. I wanted a believable reason why my body was never found.” She pointed upward through the windshield. “And then there’s that.”

  He didn’t bother glancing at the heat lightning she’d indicated.

  “Storm’s north of the city. We’re flying southeast.”

  “Said the spider to the fly?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Sometimes I’m not good on planes. Depends on how rough the flight is, and lightning suggests turbulence in my mind. Tell me more about yours and James’s shared childhood.”

  “When we’re in the air.” He grinned. “It’ll keep your mind off your stomach.”

  She had bottled ginger ale and Dramamine in her shoulder bag. After takeoff, she kept an eye on the lightning bolts until they disappeared in the dark distance. Eventually, the clouds parted, stars winked on, and a crescent moon appeared in the side window.

  The Dramamine did its job. It also made her sleepy, but Rowena was determined to know more about the weird friendship between the man she’d once loved with all her heart and the man who’d fooled her into believing she loved him enough to have his son.

  Knowing she’d have to begin the conversation, she asked, “Was James a normal little boy in any way?”

  McCabe shrugged. “Normal enough when we were young. Up to first grade, I’d say. He had a thing about mosquitoes.”

  “That’s hardly abnormal for a kid.”

  “Yeah, I know. Kids, bugs. Problem was he liked to kill them.”

  “That’s not unusual, either.”
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br />   “After they’d fed and were full of blood.”

  “Okay. Now we’re heading toward yuck.”

  “He’d let them do their thing on his arms and legs, collect them in jars, and crush them between his fingers once they’d fed. It made him laugh.”

  Rowena’s stomach turned a little, and not from the flight. “How old was he?”

  “Six, seven. He loved blood. It fascinated him. The smell of it excited him.”

  She shot McCabe a warning look. “If you say he got off on the taste of it, I might just throw up.”

  McCabe merely chuckled. “I wasn’t planning to get that graphic. Let’s leave it at he liked blood in a sick way. By the time he was nine, he’d moved on to small animals. Mice, rats, the occasional chipmunk. We’d stopped being close at that point. Unfortunately, proximity forced us together enough that I was able to watch other traits develop. Pain in people lit him up. At first, he’d just watch for it whenever he could. He’d hang out in emergency wards and clinics. But over time, he graduated to causing it.”

  Opening a bottle of ginger ale, Rowena drank. “We’re not talking broken bones, are we?”

  “Not unless there was blood involved. Blood and screams, Ro. Torture. Like a vampire. He sucks his victims dry. It’s orgasmic.”

  Something cramped inside her. “How did I not see that?” She looked sideways. “He was kind to me, McCabe. Gentle and thoughtful. Sensitive.”

  A wry smile touched the corners of McCabe’s mouth. “He could be all those things at any given moment. He still sends Amanda cards for every occasion. Birthday, Christmas, Easter, Mother’s Day, you name it. Cards, chocolates, and roses. Red, because that’s her favorite color. I saw that develop in him as well. First the sadistic attitude, then the chameleon-like ability to charm anyone he chose into believing he cared about them. I imagine you got the full treatment. I can see him wanting you. You’re beautiful—and that’s an understatement of tremendous magnitude—you’re brilliant, and any man who isn’t attracted to you would need to be in a coma or dead.”

  “Why don’t I feel flattered?”

  “Because you hate being deceived, and you pride yourself on your ability to read people. James isn’t a readable person. When he wants to, he can be a man of a thousand faces.”

  “Well, two anyway.”

  “I’m thinking you saw through his disguise quite quickly, which is probably why he stopped wearing it in front of you.”

  “Maybe.” Rowena contemplated Orion’s belt. “I knew, or came to know, that he had a nasty side to his personality after nine months into our relationship. He also had a temper that could get very ugly very fast. We weren’t together all that much in that first year so he was able to hide his true nature quite well at first. By the time I was pregnant with Parker…” Sighing, she regarded him. “I told him about you right from the start. Told him your name. Not what you did for a living, because how the hell would I know what that was since you never let me into that part of your life?” Resentment sparked. “I’m thinking now that could be why he wanted to be with me. Steal the arch enemy’s woman.”

  When McCabe said nothing, she was tempted to kick him. “You could placate me a little here, McCabe. Tell me he would have wanted me regardless.”

  “I could,” he agreed. “Do you need me to do that?”

  Now she wanted to hiss at him. On the other hand… She calmed her temper. Lies weren’t her way, either. She’d been selectively blind where James was concerned. With reason? Who knew? Maybe later she’d figure it out. For the moment, the Dramamine was working its magic and urging her to drift off into that lovely state of half sleep where her mind could float free while her thoughts wandered in any direction they chose.

  She’d grown up in Colorado. Her parents, whom she mostly knew through photographs, had died when she was three years old, killed in a snowmobiling accident shortly after her birthday. Fortunately for her, her grandparents had owned a small ski resort near Telluride. They’d taken her in and raised her as their own child. She’d been skiing, rock climbing, and hiking through the back country her entire life.

  Even so, and as enjoyable as her youth had been, she’d always wanted to see the world. And she’d had an aptitude for computers. She’d been home schooled by her grandparents. While that had had the benefit of allowing her to move forward at a faster pace, she hadn’t made a lot of close friends growing up. She’d spent a great deal of time on her computer and had naturally gotten to know it very well.

  Her grandfather had nicknamed her Artoo after the little robot in Star Wars. They’d watched that movie together late at night countless times when she’d been young. God, she loved that man. And her grandmother, too. Who else would have spent months trying to teach her how to bake a simple loaf of bread?

  After her graduation from college she’d taken a job as an IT specialist for an aerospace company in Paris. That’s when she’d met McCabe. He’d been there doing his undercover thing for the French government. People who’d known her had recommended that he go to her for help with some intricate corporate hacking. It was a skill she’d acquired in college when she’d been dating another much better computer whiz.

  The French government had approached her company and requested that she be allowed to help them with a problem. They’d offered her a huge bonus to assist McCabe in any way she could, which had been a considerable amount as it turned out. Big money, detailed work, endless hours spent together searching for evidence of fraudulent activities in the offices of two rather prominent government officials.

  She’d quickly discovered that McCabe was a man who wore many hats. A little phantomesque, a little unorthodox, and a whole lot hot as hell.

  It hadn’t taken them long to combust. On a starry night after an amazing dinner in a castle on the Seine, they’d gone back to her place and made love three times. Then three more times the next morning.

  A person really couldn’t top Paris in July for falling in love. Add in a dark-haired, dark-eyed mystery man, and she’d been lost before they’d begun.

  “Men like me don’t tend to settle down,” he’d reminded her a few weeks later.

  They’d been sitting on her small balcony, which looked out over the Seine, the famous bridges, and the Eiffel Tower. He’d been wearing old jeans, dog tags he wouldn’t talk about, and nothing else. The wine in his hand had been half gone.

  “We can’t let this thing between us turn into anything serious, Rowena. I come and I go. I need to be able to do that.”

  “And what? You think I’m going to tie you up in knots and try to keep you here with me?” She’d stood on the balcony with her back to the city, in black lingerie and bare feet, swirling her own glass of wine. “Sorry to disappoint you, McCabe, but that’s not what I do. I’m just not into knots—no pun intended—any more than you are. I’m all about feelings and free will…”

  Of course, those feelings had bitten her in the end. She’d let herself care too much. She’d fallen in love without realizing it.

  But even knowing it, she hadn’t tried to hold him. Tell him how she felt, yes. Chain him down, definitely not.

  Coward, she thought as the image of Paris began to sparkle and vanish. It hadn’t needed to end like that.

  Or maybe it had. As sleep began to overtake her, she watched every memory that Paris held for her fade to black.

  Chapter Four

  McCabe glanced over several times after Rowena fell asleep. She looked like an angel with her eyes closed and her hair loose around her face. She’d been talking in her sleep. Not in sentences, just the odd word here and there. She’d told him in Paris that it had started after her parents had died. She’d said she’d grown out it for the most part, but when she was under stress it tended to recur. God knew this could definitely be considered a stressful situation.

  He knew she was dreaming about their time in France, and he acknowledge the pang of guilt that arrowed through him.

  It hadn’t needed to end the way it ha
d between them. Did that make him a coward? On one level, he thought it might. It was a difficult admission for him to swallow, but any way he looked at it, he’d run. And stayed away a lot longer than necessary.

  He’d never been a fan of strong emotions. Of any emotions, really. His upbringing had been turbulent to say the least. His parents had loved him. He’d never doubted that for a moment. Still, in the end, he’d been his father’s son far more than his mother’s. There’d been a distance between he and his mother, one neither of them had been able to breach. Maybe that was one of things he loved so much about Rowena. Her devotion to her son was unflagging. Nothing and no one was going to stop her from getting him back.

  His own parents had had problems, and he learned very early on that there was nothing he could do to fix them. People said that apples never fell far from the tree, and there were more than a few rotten apples on his family tree. Solution? Avoid what he couldn’t control. He felt what he felt these days, and he accepted that. Love of the kind Rowena had brought into his life scared the crap out of him. Had then and still did. The difference was, at this point he’d grown used to living with it.

  The thought of her being dead had damn near killed him. He’d forced himself to use his despair, to channel it into something more gratifying. Something very close to revenge. One way or another, Mockerie had to be responsible. Therefore, Mockerie would pay. One way or another.

  “Parker! Shit!” She jolted awake, pushed the hair from her face. “Where are we?”

  “Not there yet.” McCabe made himself check their heading rather than look at her. “You were dreaming.”

  She blew out a breath and uncapped the ginger ale. “Big time. First about you, then about Parker.” She drank deeply. “I regret what happened between me and James. I don’t regret having his child.”

  “Children are born innocent, Ro. You’ll need to work hard to keep Parker that way.”

  A small frown appeared. “Why would I want to keep him innocent?”

  “Say good, then. Untainted by whatever the hell it is that lives in Mockerie’s brain. His blood. Has Parker ever exhibited any dark tendencies?”