The Defiant Hero (28 page)
“So, what’s up?” he asked. “Something’s going on with you. What is it?”
She turned to look at him, and for a fraction of second, he thought she might just tell him. But then—as if she suddenly realized who she was talking to, a shuttered expression came into her eyes. She shook her head.
It was just as good. He wasn’t sure he was feeling up to hearing about Wayne or Alfonse or Joey or whoever the hell was messing with Alyssa Locke. In more ways than one.
“Want to share a cab back to the hotel?” he asked.
She got defensive. “I can walk.”
Screw that. “I’m taking a cab—or at least I would if I hadn’t spent all my money buying water to pour on your head. I know saying thank you is outside your abilities, but the least you could do is pay for the freaking taxi.”
“I’ll pay you back for the water, of course.”
Oh, Jesus. “I don’t want you to pay me back for the water. I want you to pay for the cab. And then I want you to sit with me. In it. Okay?”
Somehow she nodded. Somehow they made it to the street where they flagged down a taxi.
They rode to the hotel in silence, and Locke paid the fare.
“Thank you,” he said to her in the lobby. “Look, I’m going to be over at the K-stani embassy until probably around thirteen hundred. That’s when my watch ends. We’re doing only four hours on—Paoletti’s trying to make this kind of like a vacation for us, so . . . Anyway, you can relax for those four hours. Maybe even get some sleep?”
She checked her phone again.
Or . . . maybe not.
“I wasn’t going to faint,” she said. “Out there. You know. I was fine. I didn’t need your help.”
Jeez, she was worse than some of the men he knew. “Okay,” he said easily, exactly the way he spoke to the guys when they hit some kind of physical limit and wanted to pretend that the entire world didn’t already know about it. “Glad to hear it. My mistake. See you later.”
Sam turned to go.
“Thanks, Starrett,” he thought he heard her say.
But then again, maybe it was just wishful thinking.
Nils drove in silence.
Meg was sitting as far from him as she possibly could, while still being in the front seat of the car.
Why didn’t you call me when Daniel died? Nils kept his teeth tightly clenched over the words. Now was probably not the best time to ask her that, although, god damn it, he really wanted to know.
She wouldn’t look at him.
Taking off his clothes had worked to get him into the car, but now that he was here, she wouldn’t even look at him.
And it was drafty.
He had to get something to wear.
He knew he should be talking. He should be sending out a continuous stream of words, trying to talk her into seeing the logic of letting the FBI do their job, of turning herself and Razeen in.
But he was exhausted. Just sitting here in a car with Meg beside him was harder than hell. He’d made so many mistakes in the past, he needed to do this right.
And he didn’t know how or where to begin.
In the past, he’d made the mistake of thinking that being with her would be enough—that things would work out if only they could share the same air in the same room for long enough to have a conversation.
He’d thought if he could simply convince her to let him escort her to that embassy party, he’d have a chance. A chance for what, he wasn’t sure. To set their friendship back on track? To sleep with her? To frigging marry her? No. Yes. Maybe. Christ, he didn’t know. And maybe that had been a part of the problem.
And thinking that simply getting together with her would fix everything had been about as wrong a thought as he’d ever had.
Instead of clarity, things had gotten even more muddy and confused.
The party at the embassy had started at 2000 hours.
It was a postdinner birthday celebration for the K-stani ambassador. It was more than politically correct for Meg to put in an appearance since most of her freelance translating work came out of the birthday boy’s office. It was a necessity for her to show.
Nils had planned to go with her. It was the closest thing to a real date that they’d made—even though it wasn’t real and it wasn’t a date. It was work. She was working and he was simply her escort. His job was to wear his dress uniform and look good. And to make sure that the K-stanis wouldn’t be affronted or offended by the concept of a woman showing up at an official function all alone.
She’d left an apology on his voice mail at the hotel, canceling their plans, and he’d called her back. Going to this thing scandalously alone would be nearly as potentially damaging to her career as the implied insult of not going at all.
Surely she could trust him to behave himself at a formal function, in a crowd of hundreds of people?
She’d finally relented—after he’d told her that the inquiry was set for the morning. And that tomorrow, after that inquiry—whether it was postponed for the five millionth time or not—he was going wheels up. He was going to meet the rest of SEAL Team Sixteen on the other side of the world. He couldn’t tell her specifics, couldn’t say for how long he’d be gone.
But he was leaving. And Meg had agreed to see him that one last time.
He’d picked her up at 19:45, and they’d taken a taxi to the embassy.
She looked beautiful, dressed in a formal black gown and a modest jacket that kept her shoulders and arms covered. She wore her hair up and more makeup than he’d ever seen her wear before. She looked elegant and sophisticated. Remote and untouchable.
She looked like Mrs. Daniel Moore.
She hadn’t looked at Nils once, not once that entire endless taxi ride.
But he offered her his arm as she got out of the cab, and she finally met his gaze. There were tears in her eyes but she blinked them back. And she smiled, although tremulously.
“Did you have to look so good tonight?” she whispered.
“Did you?”
“This can’t happen,” she told him.
They were out on the sidewalk in front of the Kazbekistani embassy. He hadn’t yet shut the cab’s door. They could still get back in, blow off this party, go back to Meg’s apartment and . . .
“It can’t, John,” she said as if she’d been able to read his mind.
Nils nodded. Closed the taxi’s door. “I know.”
“I’m sorry for what I did yesterday.”
“Don’t be.” They started up the stairs. Meg still held his arm, and he put his fingers over hers. They were both wearing gloves, but that didn’t matter. He was touching her.
“I’m sorry for a lot of things,” she said as they went past the checkpoint, as Meg handed the K-stani guard her invitation and Nils took off his hat and gloves. They went through the metal detectors and into the embassy lobby.
“Maybe after this party ends we can go someplace and talk. I think we should talk, Meg.”
“About what? About the fact that Daniel will be back in town tomorrow?”
A waiter went past with a tray of champagne flutes, and Meg grabbed two. She handed one to Nils. “Here’s to doing the right thing. Or maybe doing the stupid thing. It’s a little less clear tonight, isn’t it?”
Nils clinked his glass with hers, catching and holding her gaze. “Here’s to two of the very best weeks of my life.”
“Well, there’s a toast designed to chill a husband’s blood.”
Meg nearly dropped her glass and Nils knew without even turning around that Daniel Moore was standing behind him.
He stepped around Nils, taking Meg’s hand and bringing it to his lips. “Darling. Obviously you weren’t expecting me until tomorrow. I’m sorry I didn’t give you appropriate warning, but I was able to catch an earlier flight.”
“Daniel, this is my friend, Ens. John Nilsson. He’s with the U.S. Navy—”
“SEALs,” he finished, smiling tightly at Nils. “I know who your friend is. I’ve spent the past six months trying to get him court-martialed.”
“What?” Meg looked from Daniel to Nils, her eyes wide.
“Congratulations, Ensign—brilliant move to get back at me by seducing my wife. Bravo.”
“You said it was just an inquiry,” Meg said, still gazing at Nils.
“It is,” he told her. Christ, this was awkward. He looked at Daniel Moore, trying to judge how upset the older man was. Had he been drinking? Nils didn’t think so. Still . . . “Maybe we should take this conversation outside.”
“First an inquiry and then a hearing,” Daniel said. “And then, if I’m lucky, a court-martial. Maybe, Ensign, we should do nothing. Maybe you should go home and let me talk to my wife.”
Nils didn’t move. “What Meg is going to tell you, sir, is that despite what you thought you overheard, our friendship has not overstepped any bounds—”
Meg stopped him with a hand on his arm. “John, will you excuse me for a minute?”
He looked into her eyes. “Do you want me to leave?”
“Yes,” Daniel said.
She ignored her husband, shook her head. “No. I want to leave.” Her voice shook. “I want to go home. Would you mind flagging down a cab? I’ll be out in a minute.”
He nodded, holding her gaze for a moment longer. I’m sorry, he told her silently.
Somehow she managed to smile. “It’s okay.”
“You’ve got him well trained,” he heard Daniel say as he walked away. “I suppose that’s one of the benefits of having an affair with a teenager.”
Nils waved down a cab, then waited for Meg to appear. He was determined not to make things more miserable for her—this was definitely bad enough. He’d put her in the cab, pay the driver, and send her home.
And then he’d go back to his hotel, get packed. As badly as he wanted to, he wouldn’t go back inside the embassy and have a man-to-man talk with Daniel Moore, set the fucker straight. No, instead he’d go to the inquiry in the morning, and then he’d leave town.
He’d call Meg one more time—when he returned to the States in a month or so. And maybe, just maybe, she’d tell him that she was leaving that bastard for good.
Teenager. Jesus. Yeah, maybe Nils looked like a teenager to a senior citizen like Moore. What was he? Fifty years old? Christ. Why had she married him?
Because he was handsome, wealthy, and powerful. Because he was high class, an aristocrat. He was the real thing, while Nils was just a cheap knockoff.
What had he been thinking? That Meg would trade in Moore for someone like him? And even if she were willing, was he? He wasn’t looking for a lifetime commitment here, was he?
Finally, finally, Meg came out of the embassy.
“I’m so sorry about that,” she said.
She was trying not to cry and the sight of her standing there, chin held high despite the fact that she’d been completely trashed by whatever that asshole had said to her, broke his heart.
He opened his mouth and uttered some of the most difficult words he’d ever said. “Are you sure you want to leave? If you really want to get back together with him, Meg, maybe you should bring him home with you. You know, to talk.”
“He has an important meeting in an hour—something that can’t wait until tomorrow.” She laughed as she climbed into the cab, but it sounded brittle and thin. “He wants me to go home with you tonight. He actually thinks I should sleep with you.”
Nils stared at her through the open door, certain he’d misheard.
“Get in the cab, John,” she said. “It’s your lucky night.” And then she burst into tears.
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Thirteen
EVE STROKED AMY’S hair. “Ralph didn’t leave for the army early,” she told the little girl. “He stayed and helped me nurse Nick. He was there around the clock for a full week, no complaints, always willing to do the nastiest jobs. He was always there, covering me with a blanket if I drifted off to sleep, forcing Nick to keep drinking, helping him fight that terrible fever.
“He was there when the fever broke, too.” Eve shook her head, remembering. “That was a day, I’ll tell you.” She smiled at the Bear, wishing he would stop scowling so. “I cried more that day than I did the entire week that Nick was so sick. And Ralph was there. Somehow he knew just to hold me, to let it all come out. And then he tucked me into my bed and made me sleep.
“He was still there, sitting beside my bed this time, when I woke up.”
It was extremely improper, Ralph alone with her in her bedroom. But the Johnsons and Doc Samuels all thought she and Ralph were lovers. They thought she and Ralph had . . .
She sat up. “Where’s Nick?”
“He’s fine. Mrs. J. is with him. He’s sleeping now, but . . . He had two whole bowls of her chicken soup, Eve. I give him two days before he’s out of bed and running around again, good as new.”
She sank back against her pillows, suddenly shy, hearing the echo of her own voice, shrill and ugly, telling him to go to hell. “Thank you so much for everything you’ve done,” she said. “I don’t think I could’ve made it through this without you.”
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