Silent Warrior: A Loveswept Classic Romance (14 page)

John didn’t respond. He kept his gaze on his still-smiling teammate for another silent moment, then finally looked away. Ah, hell. T. J. knew. John had been compromised.

It wasn’t anything simple, or easily understood, like caving in to torture. His fall from grace resulted from something far more destructive and dangerous.

He’d been made vulnerable. His team knew it. But far worse, the enemy knew it. He’d been rendered useless. A liability was all he’d be now.

The very idea should have devastated him. His whole life had just been gutted like nothing more than the sputtering flame of a spent candle. Commitment to the team was all he’d had. Others had taken the time to cultivate at least a minimal private life between assignments, solo though their ventures were by necessity. Not John McShane. He thrived on his
job. In fact, he’d taken on and successfully accomplished more missions than anyone else in the history of the Dirty Dozen. No one questioned his dedication. Nor did they understand his motives. No one had ever asked. Other than the original team leader, Seve Delgado, no one ever would. They’d each been handpicked by Del and that was enough.

They all had their reasons, and personal revelation was not necessary for them to work well as a cohesive unit. In fact, it was their unique ability to be completely insular that enabled them to work well together. They weren’t even vulnerable to each other. The perfect agent. The perfect team. And John McShane had been the best of the lot.

Until now. Now he was flawed. Fatally so.

Sore and raw in more places than he wasn’t, facing a life that held nothing, he could think of only one thing: Cali.

She’d survived. She’d saved his life. T. J. hadn’t said how she’d tracked him down, leaving that for her to explain if she chose to. She instilled loyalty very easily, it seemed. But he had a pretty good idea of what she’d done. This mission had Ambassador Stanfield’s fingerprints all over it. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, or the sacrifice Cali had made by making that move. But by placing the call, she’d very likely saved herself as well. He’d do what he could to extricate her from Stanfield’s very long reach as soon as he could. Right after he made damn sure she gave up the idiotic idea of using herself as bait.

It was the least he could do for her. It was also all he could do for her. The team would handle matters now. From here on out, his role in this mission had ended, just as his role on the team had ended. It hit him that for the first time in his entire life he had no idea what his role was.

As T. J. pulled the truck onto a private airstrip where a small Cessna waited, John realized that what made him feel truly lost was that, for the second time in his life, he was going to have to walk out on Cali.

Cali heard the commotion in the living room and paused in her work. She took an absent sip of cold coffee, her staff of life for the past three days, and stared at the computer screen, largely ignoring the intrusion as she mentally ran through several complex calculations. It was T. J.’s rumbling bass that brought her to full alert. Scottie Giardi’s throaty but fully female voice followed.

Cali was out of the chair and to the door of her office—located on the second-floor bedroom of a small town house tucked away in a nondescript suburb in northern Virginia—in a heartbeat. No one would tell her anything about John, other than that T. J.’s mission had been successful. She’d all but begged her dad, Ms. Giardi, and both of the other men who had temporarily protected her, for information.

A rough, halting voice stopped her dead halfway down the staircase. McShane. And from the sounds of
the discussion, he wasn’t too happy. She didn’t know whether to race down the stairs or to run back and hide in her office. She was compelled to do both. Her need to see for herself how he’d fared won out.

The conversation ceased when she hit the midpoint landing. Her head and heart had been racing too fast for her to make out the actual discussion, but she grasped the gist. McShane wanted her off the case after she’d cracked the rest of the virus program.

She paused to gather her control. From her position on the steep staircase, she could see three sets of feet. All of a sudden she wasn’t sure she wanted to see John. No one had said anything. But she sensed, knew, that he hadn’t fared well. He’d been held hostage for two days.

All toes shifted toward her.

“Cali? Come on down. Someone here wants to talk to you.” Scottie didn’t bother to disguise her sarcasm.

Time was up.
This is what you wanted, right? A chance to see him one more time? To make sure he was okay. To tell him you were sorry for dragging him into your life again. Thank him
.

Tell him good-bye
.

Cali took two steps down. Beat-up hiking boots took two steps forward. John McShane came slowly into view. She took her time looking up. His legs looked fine. He hadn’t limped. At least not that she could tell. He wore a loose navy-and-white-striped polo shirt, untucked. She wondered what type of gun
was hidden underneath. His arms were tanned, but before she could scan them for bruises or cuts, she made the mistake of looking up. She gasped despite her promise to herself not to react.

John’s steely gaze betrayed none of his pain. His beautiful face was multihued, swollen, cut, and stitched. His arms, when she forced her gaze away, were also lined with bruises and more than a few cuts and scrapes. The rest of his body didn’t bear thinking about. The details assaulted her mind anyway.

She looked back at his face, into his eyes. Her own were glassy. If T. J. and Scottie were still in the room, she was totally unaware of them. “I am so sorry.” Her voice was shaky and any second her eyes would brim over. Both things angered her; control was a prime asset these days and one she hoarded like a bandit.

But if she was angry at her body’s not-so-subtle signs, she was furious at what had been done to John. “I should have never sent you that note.”

“I’m a big boy, Cali. I knew what I was getting into.”

His voice was tight, restrained. Because of the pain? Or was it anger?

She stepped down again, one step from the landing, bringing them eye to eye. Less than a foot of space separated them. “I still feel responsible.” Her fingers twitched with the need to reach up and touch him, to caress his bumps and bruises, to check for herself that his pulse still ran strong, that his skin was still warm. Her gaze drifted helplessly to his half-swollen
mouth. She longed to find out if he still tasted the same.

Wrong path, Cali. You’re supposed to be saying good-bye
.

“Well, don’t be. I’m not usually so sloppy.” A snicker snapped at their attention. Cali caught John wincing as he turned his head toward T. J. “The peanut gallery is excused.”

“Now, isn’t that gratitude for you? Save a guy’s bacon, and all you get is—”

“A raise,” Scottie cut in. She grabbed T. J.’s arm and pulled. “Which will turn into a penalty if you don’t follow me into the kitchen.” She pulled hard, but it was like trying to move a mountain. He didn’t budge.

“Aw, come on, boss, it was just getting interest—”

“Now, Special Agent Delahaye.” She dropped his arm and lifted one beautifully shaped eyebrow instead.

“Yes, ma’am.”

If Cali hadn’t been more preoccupied with John, she’d have laughed at the picture made by the hulking T. J. all but pouting as he dutifully followed his boss from the room. A smile curved her mouth anyway, when he turned at the door and shot her a wink, a thumbs-up, and mouthed, Give em hell, Cali.

She winked back, but sobered instantly when she turned to John and found him studying her intently.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she said, her voice soft but not with apology. “I’d do it again,
McShane.” She kept her eyes on his and away from his swollen mouth and bruised jaw. Visions of what his body must look like assaulted her no matter how she tried to squelch them.

“You did the right thing. You saved both our lives—and the program.”

“Did they find out—”

“Not from me.”

“I never doubted that. That’s why I called my father. It wasn’t right, what was happening to you.” She looked away, paced past him to the coffee table then back again. She stopped in front of him, hands clenched at her sides to keep from touching him, caressing his bruises. As if that would make it all better. The only thing that would make McShane better would be her staying out of his life. Permanently.

“I couldn’t stand it.” Her admission was barely a rough whisper. She hadn’t meant to say it, not with such raw emotion. But she’d looked back at his beautiful battered face and there was no hope for it. She reached up but curled her fingers inward just shy of touching his cheek. His hand snagged hers before she could drop it to her side. She felt more than saw him flinch and tried to pull away, not wanting to cause him any more pain than he was already feeling. He held tight. Not knowing which was worse, she stopped fighting with him, just as she admitted that his warm, rough hand felt good wrapped around hers.

She had a house full of highly trained professionals, not to mention the oppressive shadow of her father,
focused exclusively on keeping her—and Nathan’s program—safe. Yet it was the touch of a battered, beaten man that made her feel safe.

He pulled her palm to his face. She felt his ragged breath in the uneven vibration of his skin under her fingertips. She tried to cup her hand so as not to hurt him, but he pressed her hand more firmly to his cheek. His steely gaze locked on hers. “I wouldn’t betray you, Cali.”

Was there more than determination in his eyes? Did she dare search for the answer? “That’s what worried me.”

“I’m okay. You called in the good guys. They’ll get the job done.”

“
We’ll
get the job done.”

He dropped her hand. If there had been anything like concern or … other things she didn’t dare consider in his expression, it was gone now. Now there was only cold determination. This was Special Agent McShane she was dealing with.

“You work on decrypting the program, let the team handle the rest.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Don’t be stupid, Cali. You don’t have to put yourself in the line of fire. That’s what we’re paid to do, and we do it very well.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” She regretted the snapped-off words the instant they were out of her mouth. What made it ten times worse was the flash of emotion that briefly lit John’s eyes. “That was inexcusable. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. It’s just—”

“Do you have any idea how worried I was about you?”

The intensity in his quietly spoken words made her stomach clutch. “Worried? About me?”

“Yes. About you.” He stepped closer. Even black-and-blue and with a slight limp she detected now, she could still feel the harnessed energy that seemed to radiate from him. The idea of having that energy and intensity focused on her …

She swallowed against the sudden tight ball lodged in her throat. Her stomach felt queasy. Her temples throbbed. At no time had this ever felt like a game to her. But for some reason the idea of him worrying about her while other men were beating him … It was too real. Too horrific. Too much.

“Then I’m doubly sorry. I should never have called you into this.”

“Why in hell not? You have other friends who do this sort of thing?” His attempt at humor was ruined by the continued hard edge in his tone.

“Friends don’t ask friends to risk their lives. And we were hardly even that. We haven’t so much as swapped Christmas cards in ten years.”

“You did the right thing, Cali. It’s not as if you could have looked in the Yellow Pages. You already told me the local police were of no help, and it was going to the feds that got you into this mess in the first place.”

Her smile was hollow. “You stand there, more blue skin than tan, hurting in more places than you
don’t, because you did a favor for me, and you’re trying to convince me I did the right thing.” She shook her head, her grin more real. “I don’t know which one of us is crazier.”

“It’s no longer you against the world. The team will handle it. Scottie had no problem getting an okay for this.”

“I can’t imagine Scottie having much of a problem getting anything she wants.” Cali had been impressed and just a tiny bit jealous of the woman sitting in the kitchen. John’s current boss was no small, frail thing. She was taller than John, broad-shouldered in the way swimmers were, but with a waist and rounded hips that gave her just enough curve to make her more knockout than Amazon. She had long hair, the rich shade of mahogany, that she wore combed straight off her face, making her average features somehow appear exotic. She was quick to smile and had a razor-sharp wit aimed at herself more often than others. It was totally impossible not to like her. She was the only woman Cali had met who could make jeans and a tweed blazer look like a power suit. The woman had presence in spades. Even if Scottie hadn’t earned her respect and admiration with the efficient yet compassionate way she’d handled all aspects of Cali’s problem, the fact that she’d moved T. J. when the man clearly hadn’t wanted to be moved was enough to put the woman high on Cali’s list for life.

“Yeah, she’s one of the best. Del made a smarter move than even he knew naming her interim team leader.” There was no mistaking John’s sincerity.

The twinge of jealousy returned. Only this time it had nothing to do with Scottie’s job performance. “I’m sure he did,” she said evenly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit here and—”

“You’re not just sitting here!”

Cali jumped at John’s sharp tone. She also didn’t miss the way he tightened up, as if bracing against the pain. “If we’re going to argue, why don’t we sit over here and do it.” She walked to the couch. “It’s hurting me to watch you stand there.”

She sat down. John stayed where he was. “It’s killing me to think of you placing yourself in danger again.”

Cali opened her mouth, then closed it. There was no doubting the sincerity in these words either.

He moved closer. He didn’t let it show—a rule that was probably in the super-secret-agent training book—but she knew his evenly paced steps cost him. Her muscles tightened against the urge to reach out and help him as he lowered himself onto the couch next to her. About the very last thing he needed right now was help from her.