AWOL with the Operative (20 page)

His expression was so thunderous that for a moment Eve thought he was going to grip her by the shoulders and shake her until she pleaded for his forgiveness. But that wasn’t Sam’s way.

Regaining a measure of self-control, he confronted her with a resigned, weary “All right. You want to hear it, then hear it. Her name was Lily.”

Was.
The past tense. Meaning that, whoever Lily was or had been, she was gone. Eve could guess from the finality in his tone what that meant. Lily was dead. How and why that mattered so deeply to Sam, she had yet to learn.

“Just like the flower,” he went on. “All fragrant and fragile. On the outside, that is. On the inside Lily was strong. Fresh out of Quantico and determined to succeed.”

“An FBI agent.”

“One they paired with me when she arrived from the academy. It’s typical for new agents to be assigned to senior, experienced agents. The best method for learning in the field.”

“And she became more than just a partner to you, didn’t she, Sam?”

Why else would he be feeling Lily’s loss with such awful pain?

“It was the worst kind of mistake two agents can make, but, yeah, we ended up having an affair.”

“Did you fall in love with her, Sam?”

His broad shoulders elevated in a little shrug. “I don’t know. I suppose that’s what it was.”

Eve had no right to feel the stab of jealousy she experienced, not when the poor woman was dead. Loving Sam as she did herself was no excuse. She still disliked herself for that jealousy, tried to get past it with a quick “What happened?”

“I made a serious mistake. We’d gotten information about an art heist going down in a Chicago gallery. This gang had been operating for months throughout the Midwest, hitting other galleries, as well as collections in private homes.”

Which, if the thefts had been that widespread, crossing state lines, would be a matter for the FBI, Eve presumed.

“I was in charge of the team that went in there that night,” Sam continued. “Understand, we’re careful about what assignments we permit the rookies to be any part of. Nothing dangerous until they’re more seasoned. But art theft…well, it almost never includes violence, not like drug busts.”

He paused for a few seconds while Eve waited silently, wondering if he would refuse to go on. When he did make the effort to relate the rest, his voice quickened, biting out the words.

“Lily was eager to be included in the action. Begged me not to leave her out. I didn’t see the risk in it. Didn’t let myself consider the possibility that these weren’t like the usual art thieves. Guys who played it safe. Surrendered without endangering themselves. Seldom armed, and if they are, unwilling to use their weapons.”

Sam shoved his face down into hers, his eyes blazing.

“Do you see, Eve? Lily was green. She wasn’t to blame for being careless and letting herself get caught in the cross fire. I was responsible. I should have known better. Should have protected her. Whatever Internal Affairs decided afterwards, I was to blame for all of it.”

“Sam, you can’t punish your—”

“Don’t say it! I screwed up! That’s why Lily died! And that was only half the hell! You wanna know the whole of it, Eve?”

As stricken as his face was now with grief and guilt, she wasn’t sure that she did. In any case, he didn’t wait for her choice.

“She was pregnant with my kid when she died. I didn’t know. She didn’t tell anyone in the division. Afraid, I suppose, that if anyone knew before she showed, she wouldn’t be allowed in the field. Would be tied to a desk.”

“When did you—”

“At her funeral. Her mother told me. That I’d not only killed her daughter, I’d killed my own baby.”

“Oh, Sam, you didn’t deserve that!”

“Yeah, I did. She knew what all the others wouldn’t see. That it was my fault. And what did I do about it? Nothing but go out that night and get myself stinking drunk, as if that would help.” He glanced down with a twisted smile at his arm, around which the tattoo of the dragon was wrapped. “That’s how I ended up with this, although I don’t have any memory of it. A fitting souvenir, huh, something to remind me for the rest of my days what a bastard I was.”

The smile was gone when he looked up at her again, his voice wooden, without expression.

“That’s all of it, Eve. You’ve heard everything. Are you satisfied now?”

The anguish on his face tore her up inside. She longed to put her arms around him, to hold him close, but she knew he wouldn’t welcome her comfort.

“There are no answers, Eve,” he said flatly. “Haven’t been in all the months I was on leave from the division. But thanks for trying.”

He sank down again at her side, silent, staring up vacantly at the ceiling. The room that had been filled with such magic earlier now felt nothing but dreary to her.

She had been prepared to fight for him, to save him from himself. But she had lost the battle. His pain remained. So deeply, tightly rooted that it crippled him emotionally.

Eve didn’t know what else she could try to help him. Nor would he appreciate any further effort from her. Didn’t he already resent her for forcing him to surrender his story to her?

She had no better example of that than when she woke up in the middle of the night to find Sam no longer beside her. When she lifted her head from the pillow in search of him, the dim glow of the night-light from the bathroom showed her that he had moved over to the shabby sofa.

If this was what it meant to be devastated, then that was exactly what she was.

This was the first hot shower he’d had since leaving Chicago, and Sam should have been silently expressing his gratitude for it. Which he would have been doing, had there been room for anything other than the emotions chewing him up inside.

Much as he hated to acknowledge it, he’d gone and fallen in love with Eve Warren. What a damn fool thing for him to do.

He had to resist it, of course. Whatever happened after this morning, he had to resist it. Fight to cure himself of that love. He couldn’t deal with it. Not after Lily.

And he refused to let Eve know about this struggle. Bad enough that he had told her all about Lily, leaving himself not just vulnerable, but exposed and raw. Not the kind of man he wanted to be for any woman, least of all Eve.

He turned under the hot spray, rinsing the shampoo off his hair while telling himself that, after committing the error last night of making love to Eve, it should be a cold shower.

What in the name of God had possessed him to become intimate with her like that again? There had been an excuse for the passion they had shared during his memory loss. But not last night. Not when he should have known how disastrous the consequences could be if he let his desire rule him.

And his desire had ruled him. Eve had just been far too tempting to resist.

But never again, he promised himself, soaping his body vigorously. No more failures on that score. Because Eve didn’t deserve a head case like him. She was worth far more than that.

So, McDonough,
he ordered himself,
you don’t trust yourself to do anything from now on but protect her, as you should have protected Lily.

As far as sex was concerned, Sam knew he had a healthy appetite. Knew he wasn’t capable of any prolonged celibacy. When he wanted sex again, and sooner or later he would, he’d hunt for it where he’d found it in those bleak months after Lily’s death. With women who wanted nothing more complicated than one-night encounters.

No more emotional involvements that could hurt, as he must be hurting Eve. As he, himself, was hurting.

When this assignment was over and done with, when Eve was safe from all harm, he would let her go. Tough though it would be, he would somehow manage to walk away from her. But until then…

Alternating between trains and buses as they did, the journey to Chicago was a long, slow one. And for Eve a difficult one.

Though physically Sam remained close at her side almost every minute, constantly vigilant, emotionally he was detached. He never thawed since that night in the motel. The barrier had not only gone up between them again, it was more solid than ever, leaving Eve distraught and not knowing what she could do about it.

Would this trip never end?

“I don’t see why we have to keep covering our tracks like this,” she complained. “If Victor DeMarco’s people are out there hunting for us, there’s been no sign of them. And with you refusing to contact your division, there’s no way this mole you’re convinced exists can feed them any information. They haven’t a clue where we are.”

“It pays to be careful,” was his stubborn response.

So careful, she knew, that he continued to carry the pistol he’d taken from the thug back at the cabin, loaded and ready for any emergency. Sam was taking no risk.

Spring was not only fully under way when they arrived by train at Union Station in Chicago, it was so warm it felt like summer.

“We certainly don’t need these winter coats,” Eve said as they walked side by side along the platform after descending from the train.

“No,” Sam agreed. “In fact, we could be drawing attention to ourselves even carrying them.”

“We could stow them in a locker here in the station,” she suggested.

“Yeah, except where do I conceal the gun?” He eyed her shoulder bag. “You got room in there for it?”

“I can squeeze it in.”

“All right, but stick close so I can grab it if I need it.”

They waited until they were alone in one of the locker aisles to make the switch. After securing the coats in a locker, they headed for the nearest exit.

Sam’s sharp eyes missed nothing on their way to the street. It was highly unlikely that any of DeMarco’s people would be here watching the station. But Sam, she knew, was not going to let his guard down for a single moment.

Eve, herself, was conscious only of him. Had he been planning on delivering her immediately to his squad supervisor, this might have been her last opportunity to gaze at him. Not that she needed to make any effort to imprint on her memory the image of the tall, rangy figure striding beside her. That chiseled face, with its bold, sensual mouth and brooding eyes would be with her forever.

Still, if this should turn out to be her final few hours with him, she would count them as precious. Something to treasure when she was back in St. Louis. Or maybe to wish she could forget when it became vital for her to try to get over him. As sooner or later she would be wise to do.

The sun was blinding when they emerged on the sidewalk. A line of taxis waited at the curb for fares from incoming trains. Eve expected Sam to usher her immediately into one of those cabs and was surprised when he drew her back into the shade cast by the building, where they talked in low tones, although no one was paying any attention to them.

“Why this delay?” she wondered. “I thought you’d be anxious to get me somewhere safe as soon as possible.”

“Have you forgotten I’m not taking you anywhere near the bureau until that mole has been taken down?”

“I haven’t forgotten. Then where
are
we going?” He was being mysterious again, having failed to share his intention with her in advance. It wouldn’t do her any good to be irritated with him about it. That’s just the way Sam was.

“To Fowler’s lawyer for starters,” he said.

“I know that was your plan for me when there was the possibility you wouldn’t make it across the border, that I’d have to go on alone. But now with—”

“Look, Eve, I need a bargaining chip, something to convince Frank Kowsloski” —who was Sam’s squad supervisor, she knew— “that there is a mole, and he’s got to set the machinery in motion to root him out.”

“I don’t know your squad supervisor, but I can’t imagine he’s going to like your blackmailing him like that.”

“He won’t, but that’s just too bad, because I won’t hand you over to him until he agrees to play ball.”

She knew it would be pointless to argue with him about it. “And you think the lawyer might be able to provide us with this bargaining chip. Like what?”

“Ideally, a copy of DeMarco’s fraudulent tax records.”

“That you’ll withhold until the mole is out of the way. What makes you think Charlie gave that copy to Alan Peterman?”

“It has to be somewhere, and since he didn’t leave it with you, why not the lawyer he not only trusted but who was his close friend? Come on, we’re wasting time. Let’s grab one of these cabs.”

They didn’t talk as the taxi carried them through the Loop, then turned north on Michigan Avenue. Feeling it was safer now not to look at Sam, she concentrated her attention on the view through the window on her side.

She found the big-city traffic and crowded sidewalks, both in downtown Chicago and here on the Magnificent Mile, just a bit overwhelming after the time they’d spent in the Canadian wilderness. What she did enjoy, however, was the sight of the huge tubs located at intervals along the sidewalks, each of them blazing with tulips in every hue.

The lawyer’s residence was located on a quiet, tree-lined street just off the Gold Coast. As Eve had explained to Sam after giving their driver the address, “Charlie told me Alan Peterman is semiretired and practices out of his house now. He only sees his regular clients.”