Secret Identity (22 page)

“I meant prepared for power outages, sugar.” He gave her bare backside a light slap, letting his hand linger on her thigh. “Although I also came prepared in other ways, as you well know.”

Amanda snuggled closer, her breasts flattening against his ribs. “We never did get around to bandaging our wounds.”

“And we really should do that,” he murmured, running his hand over the curve of her bottom.

“If you don’t stop that,” she warned, squirming a little against his hand, “we won’t.”

With a sigh, he pulled his hand away and sat up, dragging her with him into a sitting position. “Let me take a look first.” He’d helped her wash the wound while they were in the shower, and to his eyes, it seemed to have improved quite a bit. But just a day ago, she’d been quite ill from the infection, and the exertions of lovemaking, however pleasurable they may have been, might not have been good for her recovering body.

As he went to the kitchen for the first-aid kit, he gave himself a mental kick for not thinking about the effects on her. Time to start thinking with his head and not his—

“Guilt is not a good look on you.” Amanda’s voice was right behind him. He turned and found her standing there just a foot away, her bare skin glowing in the candlelight like burnished gold. She had lost weight since he’d last seen her in Tablis. Toughened, perhaps, her muscles more defined and her bones a little more visible beneath the flesh.

“You’ve been ill,” he said. And he wasn’t just talking about the past couple of days.

“I’m better,” she said simply. She caught his hand in hers and tugged. “Come back to bed.”

He followed her back to the bed and sat, handing over the first-aid kit when she held out her hand. She bandaged his wound first, making a soft murmur of sympathy when he winced at her ministrations.

“Sorry.” She pressed a light kiss on the curve of his shoulder as she taped the bandage down.

Then it was his turn. He took care to give as little pain as possible as he smoothed ointment onto the wound and covered it with gauze. He kissed her shoulder, as well, but didn’t stop there, tracing a path of nips and pecks lightly over the contours of her clavicle.

Dipping lower, he darted his tongue over her left nipple, making her gasp.

He sat back and shoved the supplies back into the first-aid kit, letting it drop over the side of the bed. Amanda laughed, reaching for him as he surged toward her, driving her back into the soft pillows.

He kissed her, a slow, deep, wet kiss, the kind they had rarely had time to share during their stolen moments in Kaziristan. She responded with a low groan, her hips pushing against his, telegraphing her impatience.

“Shh,” he whispered against her lips, threading his fingers through hers and pinning her against the pillows. “We’ve got nowhere to go tonight. No need to hurry.”

“If you go too slow, I’ll explode,” she warned, her eyes blazing blue fire.

He smiled down at her. “That could be fun, too.”

She tugged her hands away from him and reached up to catch his face between her hands, pulling him down for a slow, sweet kiss. When he drew back to catch his breath, she gazed up at him, her blue eyes serious.

“I haven’t been with anyone since we were together,” she said in a hushed voice.

He cupped her face between his palms, touched by the admission. Seeing in her eyes that being with him meant something special to her, then as now.

“Neither have I,” he admitted, kissing her.

They made love slowly, relearning each other with every touch, every kiss, every breathless word, until they rode a wave of pleasure into the heart of sweet madness.

The next coherent thought he had was that his ears were buzzing. It took a few seconds to realize that what he was hearing was actually his cell phone, vibrating quietly on the banquette table a few feet away.

He rolled away from Amanda, who grumbled as cool air filled the space between them. With irritation, he saw his brother Jesse’s name on the display. “Yeah?”

“Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

“I’m at my trailer on the lake. Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong, exactly—” Jesse sounded hesitant.

“What is it?”

“There’s a guy here, looking for Amanda.”

Rick’s chest tightened. “What?”

“He says it’s urgent that he speaks with her.” Jesse’s voice lowered a notch. “He said Alexander Quinn sent him.”

Chapter Thirteen

“I need to leave. Now.” Amanda stuffed her supplies into the duffel bag at the foot of the bed in Isabel’s guest room while Rick paced nearby, looking desperate.

“If Jesse thought you were in danger from this guy, he’d have told me.” Rick caught her hand as she reached for the Smith & Wesson lying on the bed. “Are you just going to leave after what happened tonight?”

She tamped down the rush of emotions his words evoked and angled her chin at him like a weapon. “We had sex. It happens a million times a day all over the world. So what? It was great, really, but it’s not worth dying for.”

Amber fire danced in the depth of his dark eyes. “You are such a liar.”

“You think sex is worth dying for?”

“I think what we could have together just might be worth dying for. If you’d give it a chance.”

The sound of the front door opening stopped her from responding. She grabbed the Smith & Wesson and checked the clip, looking for somewhere in the small guest room to take cover. The bathroom was too small, giving her little room to maneuver and no place to hide. She eyed the window, wondering if she could get it open before whoever was walking down the hallway got to her.

“Stop it.” Rick edged toward the door, keeping an eye on her, as if he could read her intentions in her expression. “Let me see who it is.” He slipped out into the hallway.

She crossed quickly to the window and unlatched the lock. The window creaked a little as she pulled at it, but it wouldn’t give. Too much old paint—she’d have to get out her knife and see if she could pry the paint loose.

The door to the room opened again. Amanda swung her weapon to bear on the intruder.

It was Rick. He held up his hands, taking a quick step backward into the door.

She dropped the Smith & Wesson to her side, her heart racing, and let loose a quick profanity.

“He says his name is Damon North. And I believe he is who he says he is.” Rick took a slow, wary step toward her, one hand outstretched.

She crossed to him, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly for a long moment.

“Why do you believe him?”

“Because he brought someone to vouch for him.”

She looked up, intrigued.

“Remember the trouble my cousin and his wife had with MacLear SSU agents last year?” At her nod, he continued. “Well, Damon was working undercover as an SSU agent for Alexander Quinn. He helped Luke out, and Luke’s here to vouch for him.”

She arched her eyebrows in surprise. “CIA can’t do covert ops on American soil.”

“Damon wasn’t working for CIA. He was working for a private security company. But Quinn’s the one who gave him the tip about MacLear.”

She sighed. “And you trust your cousin?”

“Completely.”

Finally, she gave a nod. “Okay. I’ll hear what he has to say.” She tucked her pistol in the waistband of her jeans and nodded for Rick to open the door.

They found Jesse and two other men sitting in Isabel’s living room. One of them was gray-eyed with dark hair cut high and tight. Former Marine, she thought instantly. The other man was black, handsome and powerfully built. His dark brown eyes followed her into the room with interest.

Isabel perched on the arm of the sofa next to her elder brother. She gave Amanda an encouraging smile.

Jesse stood. “Amanda, this is my cousin Luke Cooper and this—” he pointed to the black man “—is Damon North.”

An alias, Amanda decided quickly. The kind of name a man would pick if he were creating a new identity.

North rose to his feet, greeting her with a nod. “Nice to finally meet you. Quinn’s told me quite a bit about you.”

Watching him through narrowed eyes, she answered him in a flat, no-nonsense tone. “If you knew a lot about me, you’d know better than to try to play me with a bunch of polite bull. What does Quinn want?”

“Your help,” Damon answered just as flatly.

“Doing what?” Rick asked that question, edging closer to her as if to guard her flank.

“I’m sure you know by now that someone has put out a hit on you. From what we understand about what happened in Tennessee, at least one former MacLear Special Services Unit operative attempted to kill you.”

“How do you know this?” Amanda asked.

“Because Alexander Quinn is who he is,” Damon answered with a half smile. “You of all people should understand that.”

She did. But knowing what kind of man Quinn was didn’t make her feel any more charitable toward the old master spy or his cryptic, elliptical warnings. The man’s entire being was built on secrets and lies. She wasn’t sure anyone at the CIA even knew the man’s real name or where he came from. He seemed to have burst into the world, fully formed, twenty years ago, when he joined the CIA as an analyst. If he ever left the CIA, she suspected he would cease to exist, swallowed by the ether.

“Okay. What does Quinn want with me?”

“He didn’t anticipate that you would run away.”

“Was he the one who put the tracker in my tooth?”

Damon’s surprise seemed genuine. “A tracker?”

Either Quinn didn’t know—unlikely—or he hadn’t told Damon about the GPS device. “Never mind. Either way, he tracked me down. I won’t bother to ask how, because you’d never tell me.”

“I can tell you,” Jesse Cooper said. “I called a friend. Someone with a stake in Cooper Security.”

Both Rick and Isabel turned to look at him, their expressions taut with surprise.

“Who?” Rick asked.

“I’ve been asked to keep his identity hidden,” Jesse answered. “He has money, but he’s not in a position to build a company using his own name and reputation.”

Someone notorious? Amanda wondered. But before she could ask any more questions, Damon spoke again. He had a nice voice, low and cultured, but there was a sort of raw, feral power in his lean, muscular body and a fierce tension in his dark eyes that belied his outer veneer of sophistication. “It doesn’t matter who Mr. Cooper called. The fact remains, Alexander Quinn learned of your location and sent me to help you.”

She narrowed her eyes in disbelief. “Help me?”

“You’re trying to find out why the former MacLear agents are hunting you. I can help you find out.”

“Really? How?”

“Because I’m one of them.”

Amanda’s hand dropped to her waistband, her fingers closing over the grip of her Smith & Wesson.