Silent Warrior: A Loveswept Classic Romance (7 page)

He was intimidating enough. A charming John McShane was the last thing she wanted. Correction, her mind intruded. A charming John McShane was the last thing she needed.
But be honest, Cali. You want it. You want him
.

John McShane? She shoved the whole absurd idea out of her mind. “That would be a no.”

He sighed in obvious exasperation. The McShane she knew—irascible, impatient, and never satisfied—returned. She relaxed a notch. This was familiar territory.

“How did you expect to analyze whatever it is you found down here?” he demanded.

“With ancient hieroglyphics,” she shot back. “Come on, I had no idea what, if anything, I would find. I more or less fled the country. I didn’t have a master plan here, McShane.”

“That’s obvious.”

His criticism stung more than it should have.
“Come on, it’s not as if I went to super-spy school like some of us in this room. You have to admit I’ve done pretty well, all things considered.” She broke off. The last thing she would ever do was seek his approval. She’d lost that battle with him before, during the lowest time of her life. A time when one kind word from him would have meant everything.

She lifted the binder. “Let’s start with this. Maybe it will tell us what is on the diskettes. Then we’ll worry about tracking down a PC.” She pulled out a chair and sat down.

She flipped open the cover, but John was still standing on the other side of the table. She could feel his attention focused on her. It wasn’t unpleasant.

She looked up, and her heart jumped. Maybe it was the heat. It most definitely could have been the stress. But for a split second, she could have sworn she’d seen— No. No, she was mistaken. There was no way John McShane would ever look at her with what might—in a man who had feelings—be mistaken for tenderness.

The very idea that he could feel such an emotion at all shook her up more than she cared to admit. Because if she cared to admit it, which until an hour ago she’d have sworn she didn’t, the idea of an emotional John McShane, whether it be charm or tenderness, was fast becoming an all-too-appealing proposition.

“John?” His name came out much too huskily. She cleared her throat.

His expression was fathomless once again. Yet as
the silence grew and he continued to look at her, Cali felt a very specific heat begin to curl inside of her. It had been quite some time since she’d felt that particular warmth, but she knew exactly what it was—
want
.

Want, which was not to be confused with need. There was no doubt she needed John McShane. Her very life probably depended on him.

But want … That was another thing entirely.

She’d lost too much. In the last ten years she’d allowed herself to want very few things, even less when it came to men. The risk of combining need with want was one she couldn’t take. Not yet. Maybe never again. Certainly not with John McShane.

The scraping of chair legs broke her thoughts. Feeling her cheeks heat, somehow knowing he wouldn’t miss the telltale sign, she turned her attention back to the binder.

She stilled for a split second when, instead of sitting in the chair, he dragged it around the table to a spot right next to her elbow. She’d never felt the heat of close proximity quite this way. She gathered the loose blank pages and fitted them back on the rings, then flipped quickly past the next few blank pages.

He turned the chair and straddled it, then reached for the diskettes. There were four of them. She watched as he slid each one from its protective sleeve and examined both sides.

“No labels?” she said.

He shook his head and dropped the stack on the empty envelope. He turned to her. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

His eyes were so clear. She didn’t remember that quality, but she did remember the coldness.

They weren’t cold now.

She cleared her suddenly tight throat and looked back at the binder. “Nothing but blank pages so far.” She flipped past another half dozen. “Why would he have gone to the trouble to set up a safety-deposit box just to keep an empty notebook in it?” She glanced at John. “Makes me wonder if the disks are blank too.” She shook her head and thumbed slowly through another couple of pages, careful not to tear them from the metal rings.

Suddenly John slid the notebook from her. “Wait a minute.”

Cali’s mouth dropped open in protest. He wasn’t paying any attention to her. “I was trying not to tear anything. They’re blank, but the edges are worn, as if he’s been through this binder a hundred times.”

“Exactly,” John said, positioning the book in front of him. He slid his fingers about halfway into the book and carefully flipped the pages over. “Still blank.”

She frowned. “Well, other than invisible ink, I don’t—”

“You wouldn’t happen to have an ultraviolet light around, would you?”

“I was kidding about invisible ink.” She paused, but when he didn’t respond, she added, “But you’re not, are you?”

“Is there a greenhouse around here somewhere?”

“The whole island is one giant greenhouse. Even I
could grow things here. But no,” she added when he sighed with impatience, “I don’t think there is a commercial one close by.” She looked at the supposed empty pages again, tilting her head and squinting. “Is there any other way to determine if there really is something on this page?”

“Not without ruining the paper in the process.”

“Why would he do this? Even ten years ago, the bad guys could figure out how to use ultraviolet light.”

“But would anyone have given a blank book a second glance?”

“One put in a safety-deposit box? It’s likely we aren’t the only ones who would figure it out.”

“More than likely he did it as a safety measure while he was actively working on the journal. I doubt he intended to stash it away at the time. And once he did, there was certainly no reason to alter its form.”

Cali snapped her fingers. “You know anything about processing film?”

“What’s your angle?”

“I was thinking about the red light they use in a darkroom.”

“That’s just a safelight to keep the film from overprocessing while it’s developed.”

“I know, but what about the chemicals used to develop the film? I took photography eons ago in high school. I don’t remember all the technical stuff, but I do know the basic principle. Prints are made on light-sensitive paper.”

“You think the chemicals used in the process might bring up the print?”

“Would that work?”

Something that might have been respect lurked in his expression. She didn’t look too closely. It was easier to pretend she was right than chance being proven wrong.

“That might do it. It’s a place to start.” He glanced around. “If we’re right, then whatever is on this paper is ten years old. It could ruin the notes altogether.”

“We have to try. We’ll only have to lose one page to find out. There is a photo shop in the village.” She smiled dryly. “Their one concession to tourism, and a reluctant one at that.”

“Charming place.”

“Paradise can be hell.”

His mouth softened into a brief smile. “I don’t suppose they’d let us borrow the darkroom for a couple of hours.”

“I would imagine that will depend on how much money you’re willing to spend. They’re bigger on renting than lending around here.”

“Ah yes, the heart of a generous host, but the soul of a slumlord.”

“Why should paradise be any different than the rest of the world?”

“You’ve grown cynical, Cali.”

She eyed him. “Yeah, well, some of us are just slower on the uptake.”

He didn’t say anything, and she thought she saw
the respect in his expression change to disappointment. Her already-strung-too-tight nerves twanged a little. “I’m sorry, did you think you’d cornered that market? Or is cynicism permitted only to jaded, world-weary super-spies?”

“Will you cut it out with the super-spy thing?” He shoved a hand through his hair, looking peeved.

Another emotion surfaces. McShane, sensitive? She’d thought him impervious to the opinion of others. But like it or not, his sensitivity to the subject caught at her. As did everything about him.

She scowled. “Only if you cut it out with the ‘let’s rescue the poor blonde from herself’ attitude.”

“I never said anything like that.”

“With you, words generally aren’t necessary.” His frown deepened. She lifted a hand before he could respond. “Truce. I’m sorry. Really. It’s tension and stress on my part. No excuse, I know, since I asked you to join this little party.”

He folded his arms on the back of the chair and regarded her silently. She wasn’t aware she was grinding her teeth until her jaw began to ache. “It’s just that, as you know, I have a little trouble with authority types.” His sudden smile did next to nothing to slow the rollercoaster of her emotions. How could she be angry and incredibly turned on at the same time?

“You sit there and stare at me with that damned inscrutable ‘I know more about life than you could ever hope to, girly-girl’ look, and it drives me insane.”

He lifted one eyebrow. “Girly-girl? I don’t believe I would ever say that, nor would I ever mean to insinuate
it.” He straightened his back and his arms at the same time.

It was not a great time to notice the wire-hard veins under his tan skin or how sculpted his forearms were.

“As to you having blond moments …” He shrugged.

She smacked him hard on the shoulder. He didn’t so much as flinch, but she could tell she’d surprised him.

They both stared at each other. John cracked first. His chuckle modulated into an honest-to-goodness laugh. It was rich and deep-timbred. It totally transformed him.

His eyes held warmth when he laughed. The lines fanning out from the corners, which normally underscored his “been there done it all” adventurer look, now made him appear like a man who embraced life. She almost believed he laughed easily and often.

It hit her then just how little she truly knew about the man. Maybe he laughed all the time. Maybe he was the type who partied his way through assignments, never taking his life—or anyone else’s—too seriously.

No. She hadn’t gotten to know him very well by the time Nathan died, but the brief time they had shared had been intense. He’d been overly serious and overtly dedicated—as well as impatient, demanding, and intimidating. Especially when things—namely people—got in the way of his getting the job done.

She’d been one of those people.

As their laughter faded she watched the life and warmth slowly ebb out of his eyes.

“Why do you do that?” The question was out before she had a chance to think about the wisdom of asking it.

“What? Laugh?”

She knew he’d purposely misunderstood her. What was he hiding? What other emotions lurked under that cool, gray surface?

He shrugged, but for the first time Cali wondered at his apparent nonchalance.
What gets to you, John McShane?

She leaned on one elbow, studying his face openly now. “You don’t usually laugh, do you?”

If it was possible, his expression became even more remote. “I think we have better things to talk about than my sense of humor.”

“I wasn’t questioning that.” She didn’t know why she persisted, except that she’d discovered a nick in his armor. It beguiled her and distracted her. The combination was downright irresistible.

“There’s a difference between comprehending that something is funny and allowing yourself to let go and laugh out loud. But my original question wasn’t about you laughing. I just wondered why you shut down as soon as you realize you might actually be experiencing a positive, non-job-related emotion?” She realized immediately she’d gone too far. “Of course you seem to have no problem cutting loose with the more negative ones,” she added dryly, hoping to ease the sudden tension.

He propped his elbow on the chair, mimicking her pose.

“Gee, I don’t know, Doc,” he said with mock sincerity. “But whatever I do, or don’t do, works just fine for me. And if you want me to work for you, then let’s can this psychoanalysis and concentrate on getting your butt out of a very tight sling, okay?”

She’d hit way too close to home. That only goaded her on. “Will you answer one question for me?” His scowl didn’t intimidate her in the least. All of a sudden John McShane was very human to her. She was very attracted to that, despite common sense telling her she was crazy. “Then I promise we’ll get back to unslinging my butt.”

He actually groaned and slumped over, forehead pressed to his arm. It was so theatrical and uncharacteristic, it made her laugh.

He was silent for several moments, then she heard a gruff muffled, “What?”

“Why did you really come down here?”

There was a long pause, and she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he lifted his head and looked right at her. “You needed me.”

This time she couldn’t detect the hint of a false note to his sincerity. Her insides twisted just a little. She also wondered what it would be like to be needed
by
him. The twinge tightened another little knot. It was disconcerting, but not in the least unpleasurable.

“Do you always go where you’re needed?”

“It’s my job.”

“So, I’m just another assignment?” The idea
shouldn’t have hurt. But it did. “What will this cost me?”

“The cost is no more questions.” He sat up abruptly and shoved back from the table, snagging the binder as he stood. He walked from the room without another word.

Perplexed with his sudden departure, she stood and started after him. Halfway to the door she turned back. Scooping up the diskettes, she slid them in the envelope, then grabbed her backpack from the hook by the back door and slid the whole thing inside. John was waiting at the front door.

“Are we off to see the photo wizard?” Her attempt to ease the tension fell flat. He said nothing. He just stood there holding the door open. She sighed in defeat and walked out into the steamy afternoon heat. “You are a very hard man to get to know, John McShane,” she said. “I don’t know why I even tried.”

He stepped onto the porch behind her.

When she didn’t hear the shells crunch under his feet, she looked back over her shoulder. He was standing beneath a swath of blossom-heavy bougainvillea.