Operation Willow Quest (29 page)

“That’s all?” Willow murmured with a
touch of irony.

“Yep. That’s all,”
Summer said with a twinkle in her eye.

* * * *

Three days later and
Trèago’s
exposé had Willow
working late into the night. She had the rough version written and really only
needed a few final touches, but for some reason she wasn’t finding the elation
she thought she’d have with closure now the whole sordid mess was completed.

The copies of Terry’s
files stared back at her from the computer screen and she let out a long
frustrated sigh. They were hers by default. Terry had sent them to her. He
wanted her to write this story.

But releasing them
would compromise Del,
and quite possibly she would be breaking the law by including it in her exposé.

The story would hold up
without the inclusion of the files—but with them, she’d have a political scoop.

Lives could be put in
danger if she included the files.

Lives could be saved if
she exposed the possible coup attempt and the government corruption.

With a frustrated
growl, she got up from the table and walked to the window to look out over the
beach outside. It was due to be emailed to her editor by nine the next
morning…if she could just figure out what she was going to do.

Chapter 18

Del
stood in the doorway
and watched Willow’s
profile as she stood staring through the window.
God, she’s beautiful.
He felt like a sap, but he couldn’t help himself—he
was past caring what anyone else thought—he was in love with the infuriating
woman and there was no point fighting it any longer.

He’d had more than
enough time in the hospital over the last few days to think about his future,
and for the first time in his entire military career, he was contemplating
getting out. It scared the
bejesus
out of him, but it
wasn’t anywhere near as terrifying as the thought of not having this woman
before him in his life.

His gaze drifted around
the small room Willow
stayed in when she came to visit and saw, with a long sigh of relief, there
were no suitcases packed and ready to go. He’d been half-expecting her to have
already fled.

He moved into the room,
his arms already itching to hold her after spending only a few days away from
her. He paused as he passed by the desk, her computer opened on top, and his
gaze locked onto the document opened on the screen.

From the corner of his
eye he saw her turn and jump slightly in surprise when she saw him, but his
eyes were still focused on the screen before him.

“What are you doing
with this?”

“Del, it’s not—”

“What are you doing
with this?” he repeated. His insides felt cold and brittle. What was she doing
with a document he thought he’d handed over to the government and that he’d
given her explicit instructions she was not to use?

“I emailed it to myself
before we got back to the states.”

“You
what
? Are you insane? This is
confidential information. You can be thrown in prison just for having it on
your computer.”

He watched her move
away from the window, her expression melting into the familiar Willow battle-warrior face he was hoping he’d
seen the last of.

“Terry gave me that
file. It’s mine to use as I see fit.”

“Well, I hate to point
it out to you, honey, but the US
government has now seized it and you’ve lost ownership.”

He saw her gaze flash
angrily, but he was too furious at her deceiving him like this to care that he
was deliberately provoking her with his attack. “Have you used this in a
story?”

“That’s none of your
business”

“It’s my business when
my name’s attached to it. We could both be prosecuted for this; did that slip
your mind in all your journalistic freedom of speech bullshit you hide behind?”

“You didn’t leak it.”

“I was the one who
handed it over. The Government isn’t going to take too kindly to the fact that
while it was in my care, I allowed it to be copied and leaked to the God-damn
press.”

“I’ll put a disclaimer
out,” she snapped.

“That’s not the point!
They won’t care about any damn disclaimer; I failed in my duty. End of story.”

“Oh for goodness
sake—can you stop being a Marine for one bloody minute and be human? This story
can save lives.”

“This story can get
people killed,” he countered.

“I have a
responsibility to Terry to get this out there before the Government covers it
up and makes it go away.”

“The Government is my
employer, in case you’d forgotten that one small fact. And you’ve no idea what
they have planned. It’s got nothing to do with you. They’ll deal with it how
they see fit—you won’t hear about it, but they’ll take care of it. Not
everything
 
gets plastered across the front page of the
newspaper, and for good reason,” he snapped. “Leave this story alone, Willow. I’m not asking
you, I’m telling you.”

“And I’m not willing to
risk this getting left to some black ops team to sweep away and hide. The
people need to know all this—it’s their country—their lives these murdering
drug lords and businessmen like
Trèago
have been
terrorising
and using. They need to know what’s been
happening.”

Del
wasn’t having any of
it. “It’s not about them at all, admit it—this is all about you and making sure
you get the inside scoop. You just want to get your name on a big story.” He
saw he’d scored a direct hit by the flash of pain that crossed her face, but
the knowledge he’d hurt her didn’t feel like a win at all. He gave a low growl
and swore softly. “Get rid of it, Willow…or
I will.”

“I would have thought
with everything we’d been through over the last few weeks, you’d have at least
been able to give me the benefit of the doubt, before jumping to unfair
conclusions, but I guess that was too much to hope for, wasn’t it.”

“Were you, or were you
not, going to use this file in a story?” He saw her considering her answer and
read the truth in the length of her hesitation. “I guess I figured something
might have changed, but you’ll always be Willow Sheldon—journalist.”

“That’s who I am.”

“That’s not who you
are,” he yelled. “You’re a hell of a lot more. If you could just stop
needing
 
to be in control of
everything
in your life.”

Scooping up her
computer, he ignored her protest. “You’ll get this back once I’ve had someone
go through your files and made sure they’ve all been deleted—you’ll excuse me
if I don’t trust you to do it this time, won’t you?”

He didn’t wait for her
to reply; he saw in her furious glare he’d made his point loud and clear. He
left the room without looking back at her, telling himself it wasn’t because he
couldn’t bear to see the look of venom in her eyes where recently there had
been passion, longing and the warm glow of…well, it was too late now to worry
about what had been. He’d just ripped the insides out of any future they may
have had. May as well forget about her being here when he returned the computer
later tonight after Tupper had been through it. He wouldn’t be able to trust
anyone else; he needed to keep the fact she had the files quiet. While he was
worried about his own involvement, he was more concerned Willow could be facing jail time. He’d rather
lose his career than see her imprisoned over a story about a scum bag like
Trèago
.

* * * *

Willow
threw her belongings
into her suitcase and brushed away hot tears as they seeped down her face. She
was angry—nothing else, she told herself over and over as the tears refused to
subside.
Bloody Peter Delaware!

He took her computer.
My computer! Again!

With another frustrated
growl and a few choice words thrown in amongst it, she crammed the last of her
clothing from the wardrobe into the suitcase and closed the lid. The zipper
jammed and refused to budge despite her best efforts to dislodge it and
suddenly it was all too much to handle. She slid off the bed and onto the
floor, dropping her head back against the side of the bed, and squeezed her
eyes tightly against the flood of more tears.
Damn it.

If she was truthful, it
wasn’t the confiscation of her laptop that had her so upset. The more she
thought about it, losing the story hadn’t even registered until that moment. It
was the sudden flood of relief that washed through her and the guilt that
followed quickly on its heels. She was relieved she no longer had to make the decision.
It was taken—quite literally—from her hands and the cowardly relief the thought
induced made her feel ashamed. What kind of champion for the underdog was she
when she couldn’t even make a decision on her own?

What would Michael have
thought? He’d never have let a twinge of doubt chase him off a big story. He
wouldn’t have let personal feelings sway his decision… She wasn’t Michael.

The thought sobered
her.

With
Trèago
finally cut off from the world and the coup soon to
be taken care of, there was nothing holding her to Michael’s vendetta any more.
She was free.

The thought stilled her
angry tears and as she sniffed and wiped her eyes, she pondered what this
meant.

She was free to move
on.

* * * *

Del
pulled the car over to
the side of the road and swore. Thumping the steering wheel, he swore again and
the pain that shot from his arm to his banged-up ribs felt good, distracting
him from his frustrated jumble of emotions.

He glanced over at the
computer and resisted the urge to throw it out the window and watch it shatter
on the road.

Why the hell couldn’t
she stop being a nosey reporter for just once? For a minute the question echoed
around him and he took a moment before he
realised
he’d spoken it out loud.

He wanted her to
change. He was making her choose between what she was and what he wanted her to
be. He was as bad as her husband had been when he’d pressured her into giving
up her career to have kids.

With a final glare at
the sleek black laptop, he shoved his
Camero
into
gear and turned the car around. He needed to prove to her he wasn’t her dead
husband. If that meant standing back and allowing her to use the evidence and
ending his career—then so be it. He had to let her make the call or he’d lose
her forever.

* * * *

Willow
grabbed the keys from
Tate’s hands and kissed his cheek quickly in thanks. “Thanks for the lend of
the bus—I’ll have it back in a little while,” she told him over her shoulder as
she ran from the house.

“Just bring it back in
one piece!” he called out, following her with worried eyes.

“No worries, relax, I’m
a great driver.” She grinned, shoving the van into reverse and accelerating
back down the driveway with a loud rev of the engine.

She had to catch up
with Del. She
needed to
apologise
—tell him she was sorry for
keeping the file from him. It was important he knew she was sorry.

The van felt sluggish
and Willow
frowned down at the
speedo
. “Tate, what have you
done?” she muttered under her breath. The poor guy must be heartbroken every
time he thought about his precious
Charger
he’d traded for this thing. Then a small smile took hold—how much must that man
love her sister to part with something he’d treasured for so long?

She came up on the car
in front of her rapidly and swore softly. “Come on, move,” she murmured as they
took a corner and she was forced to drop her speed sharply. “You can’t be
serious,” she muttered impatiently. Glancing ahead as they wound down around
another hairpin corner at an
agonisingly
slow pace,
she threw the van back a gear and pulled out, quickly passing the old car and
its overly cautious driver.

Too quickly apparently,
as blue and red lights flashed in her rear view mirror moments later.

With a frustrated
growl, she indicated and pulled the van over, waiting for the police officer to
approach her window.

“Ma’am,” he greeted her
politely, his hands on his gun belt, rocking back on his heels in a formidable
manner.

“Officer.”

“Do you know you were
speeding?”

Willow
let out a small
chuckle. “In this thing? You’re kidding?”

“I don’t kid,
Ma’am—ever,” he informed her blandly and Willow
bit the inside of her cheek. No, she could see the middle-aged police officer
would never find
anything
terribly
funny; he had that permanent look of disapproval about him.