Eye of the Storm (16 page)

He watched her face in the firelight, remembered the beauty of her barely clothed body and how it had driven him crazy to be so close to her without repeating last night's shared passion. "Yes, I'm thinking about it, but you're hardly out of danger. You need time to recover."

Zan slipped an arm around his neck and pulled his head down. "What better time, or better way, to recover.
To celebrate life?"
She caressed his lips with her own,
then
let her mouth trail temptingly along the line of his jaw and down his neck.

Stormwalker understood what she was feeling, the exhilaration that came with the illusion of having cheated death. Men on the line often experienced the same emotion when they found themselves lucky enough to have survived a battle.

The adrenaline that her body had manufactured hadn't totally dissipated with the danger's passing. Its tell-tale signs remained in her uneven pulse and erratic heartbeat, in the unnatural glitter in her eyes that had nothing to do with the firelight reflected in them. It was evident in the nervous energy that threatened to tear her out of his arms and send her running down the beach. For want of another way to use that energy, she sought release in the oldest way known to mankind.

She watched him, waiting for his answer, but he could find no words to describe his reluctance. Instead, he silently left her and went to the saddle bags, removing food and utensils. He made coffee and set out tin plates and battered stainless steel knives and forks that had been part of his father's camping gear. They reminded him of the best times of his youth, when life had been easy and uncomplicated, when father and son had been able to sit for hours, working out the problems of the world and planning for the future.

Zan knelt beside him to lay out the food, dividing the cold chicken and the salad, adding chunks of cheese, crusty bread and slices of melon. When they finally got down to the business of eating, she had little appetite, but at his urging, ate some of the cheese and fruit and sipped the coffee, which seemed to warm her, but did nothing to combat the sudden weariness that overcame her.

Her eyelids drooped and she smiled her thanks as he took the cup. She found the blanket again, wrapped it around
herself
and lay down by the fire. One deep breath later she was asleep.

Satisfied, Stormwalker cleaned away the remnants of their meal. He built up the fire and lay beside her, keeping an arm around her waist so he would know when she stirred. He slept so soundly, however, that when he finally woke, he found her seated on the end of the log with her back to the fire. He sat beside her as she stared into the darkness.

"Couldn't sleep?"

She shook her head but remained silent. When he touched her cheek, it was damp with tears. He knew her well enough by now to suspect the source of those tears.

"Why are you angry?"

She left him and walked along the stream bank. He followed, detaining her with a hand on her arm, but she jerked away and kept walking until he blocked her path. She stared at him with shimmering eyes, but held her ground.

"What's bothering you?"

"Why did you turn away from me?" She stared at him for what seemed an eternity. "Were we ever meant to have more than one night together?"

"Why would you ask that?"

Suddenly she seemed shy and insecure, almost like the inexperienced teenager he sometimes felt himself to be with her. "I'm beginning to wonder about the men I've . . . cared about." She breathed deeply and then exhaled a long breath. "Whether or not they shared,
share,
my feelings." Her voice faltered, then came back strong.
"Whether you and I were ever meant to be more than a one-night stand."

Silently, he railed against the implications of her question. Did she think him so selfish as to believe he was using her? Or imagine that one night could possibly satisfy his need for her? Or that he would settle for a casual romp when his deepest hopes for the future were bound up in a life with her?

No, he thought, she has reason to doubt and I have nothing to offer that can change that. I'd eat my .45 before I'd go back to prison and she's already lost one man she loved. I won't cause her that kind of pain again.

Feeling like a liar because of what he couldn't tell her, what she had every right to hear, he crushed her lips beneath his in the only testimony to his love he could give. Hungrily, he devoured the taste of her, drove his tongue deep into her mouth and raked the moist insides, drew her life-affirming breath into him as he pressed her hard against the need no single night with her could assuage.

A protest sounded deep inside her throat. He released her mouth to let her take in air. One hand tangled in her hair, holding her lips only a breath away as the other cupped her bottom to keep her tightly pinned against him.

"Does this tell you what you need to know?"

Zan tried to answer but found herself without enough breath to speak. He was all fire and heat and power and she felt as if she would melt. Her skin gave her no protection. Her legs had turned liquid. Her gaze fell before the twin flames that had consumed the green of his eyes, leaving only a hot, golden light that blinded like the sun at noon.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground. She had no choice but to clutch his shoulders and cling to him while he walked back to the campfire. With her body suspended along the length of his and his eyes locked on hers, she felt impaled and unable to break loose. She could feel the bones and muscles of his body move as he walked, and feel his heartbeat pound between them and his breath on her face.

Her own ragged breath filled the air as she struggled for control and failed. With a moan, she lowered her mouth to his and tasted him as he had tasted her moments before, exploring the firm, warm lips, the slick surface of his teeth, lightly touching the tip of his waiting tongue, losing herself in him and her body's reactions.

 
When they reached the fire he set her on the ground. Just as the emotional storm had subsided, so had the campfire, leaving only a few embers to give off a mild wave of heat. She kept her arms around his neck, felt the flame that joined them. He seemed to read her thoughts.

"This is where the fire is, here, where your body and mine meet," he whispered.

"Then let's feed the flame."

They spread out the blankets and helped each other undress with hands that trembled, not from cold, but from eagerness. He wanted to shield her from the hard ground and motioned her to lie on top of him, but she shook her head.

"I need to feel the weight of you."

She pressed him close and demanded against his cheek, "Please, Stormwalker, no more waiting. Please?"

"You can't be ready for me," he insisted.

But she was. Their joining was swift and shattering and left them hungry for more. They fell asleep just as dawn broke, when all their desires had been satisfied, when they'd convinced themselves that here, in each other’s arms, fear and mistrust had been banished.

Neither had mentioned the word love or made any promises that might be broken in the light of day. Each had reverently received what the other had to give and for the moment, it was enough.

They smelled the fire even before they reached the house. They galloped into the village to see ragged columns of smoke rise to the sky from a blackened pile of rubble that had once been a home. Mike turned to them.

"I worried about you and Grandmother," Mike said, "until I saw the horses were gone and realized the house was empty.
Looks like luck was with us last night."

"If you can call this luck," Stormwalker said.

 
Zan dismounted and stood quietly by his side. She shuddered and he held her against him.

"How did this happen?"

Mike shrugged. "No one knows. There was no explosion, just suddenly a fire. By the time the trucks got here from town, the blaze had progressed too far to contain. They could only hose down the barn to keep it from going up, too. Then the propane tanks exploded. The fire chief suspects arson."

"We'll need to see whatever evidence he gathers," Zan said. She looked at Stormwalker. "I'll have Kenny authorize release of the findings."

"Becker's waiting for you in my office," Mike said. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you right off."

Zan nodded. "He said he'd be here at ten. I'd better go."

"He wants both of you."

They walked toward the newspaper building. "I'm grateful your grandmother went home yesterday, but she'll have to be told," Mike said.

"I'll tell her."

"How are you going to break the news to your mother?"

Stormwalker shrugged. "I don't know, Uncle. This place meant so much to her."

"We could do it together, if you want."

He nodded. "Maybe. . . ."

In Mike's office, Stormwalker stood at the window, staring out but seeing nothing. Deep in thought, he barely registered the frustration that boiled inside him. When he'd agreed to play decoy for a second time he never expected a reaction of this magnitude, never figured that others could be hurt. Whoever had set the fire played by a set of rules that refused to protect the "non-combatants", the innocent
bystanders.
No one would be safe until Mac and his shadowy opponent got what they wanted. And only they knew what that was.

 
Stormwalker felt Zan touch his shoulder and placed a hand over hers as her warmth seeped into him.

"We need you to be part of this discussion," she said softly. "Stay with us, please." He turned from the window and forced himself to focus.

"I called Mac earlier," Kenny said. "I told him about the situation here. He thinks maybe this isn't a good idea."

"How come?
He's always been perfectly willing to let me get myself killed."

Kenny raked thin fingers through his hair, increasing instead of taming the disorder. "Things have changed."

"They must have. Or the right hand wouldn't be consulting with the left."

"Compartmentalization is necessary for security. You know that much about Agency S.O.P., at least."

"Why are we violating agency security?"

"We've a somewhat unique situation here," Kenny replied, "which calls for 'adjustments' to normal procedures."

"Which means?"

"Mac wants to exercise tighter control. He wants us to work together from now on."

"But we have been," Zan interrupted.

"It's been a very loose association. Now he wants us to work as a unit, to share knowledge and keep each other, and him, fully informed."

"How?"

"We're about ready to tie you into the agency mainframe through your computer."

Although Mac had enlisted Kenny to act as liaison, he'd told her to exercise judgment about sharing information with the man. She decided to see how much Kenny knew.

"I hope I'll have full clearance and unlimited access, so I can really dig into the files."

"Why?"

"Because I believe Stormwalker was set up and the proof is there."

"According to Mac, there was a thorough search."

"They missed something," she said.

"What do you think you'll find what agency experts couldn't?"

"Kenny's right," Stormwalker said. "You'd be going over old ground."

"It isn't old ground for me."

"Do we have the time to backtrack, Red?"

"We do if I work smarter."

"Be as thorough as you need to, just so you keep me posted," Kenny said. "So I can do the same for Mac."

Had she imagined the nanosecond's worth of hesitation between thoughts? Was he seeking information he had no right to know? Zan took a cue from
Stormwalker's
earlier caution and vowed to be very careful in her dealings with Kenny.

Stormwalker left and Zan followed him out of the building. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"To tell my grandmother about the fire."

Zan placed a hand on his arm. "Let me go with you," she said. "You shouldn't be alone."