The Spy Who Loves Me (27 page)

He needed to rest, he knew that, but sleep didn't come easy. Instead, Finn tossed in the bed, as if his body was searching for some perfect position from which he could slide into slumber, and yet never managing to find it.

Amber's words filtered through his mind, tormenting him. Not only because he wanted her with such a palpable, physical need, but because she was absolutely right. There was no way. Not unless she gave up her dream or deceived the Unit entirely. And considering they were talking about an intelligence agency, that type of deception didn't seem too likely.

How could he ask her to give up the very dream he coveted? Especially when he couldn't answer the question posed to him:
Would he turn them down and walk away?

He didn't know. He honestly didn't. He'd decided against applying to the FBI because of his mother, and he'd regretted the decision for most of his life. Could he walk away from the Unit for Amber? He liked to think that he could; liked to think that he was the type of man who would value relationships over career. But it was easy to make those decisions in bed in the dark.

The real test would come only when he was asked to join. And that wasn't a test with which he was ever likely to be faced.

Frustrated, he forced himself to lay perfectly still on his back, his eyes closed. The sounds of Amber's house settled around him. The gentle scrape of the pine boughs against the wooden frame of the house. The whoosh of plumbing. The soft thud of footsteps on the stairs. The creak of hinges on his door.

He sat up, squinting into the darkness. “Amber?”

No answer, but the soft pad of footsteps sounded on the wooden floor. Finn's heart picked up tempo, and he slid his hand under his pillow, frustrated when he didn't discover a gun. Didn't Amber know she should keep all her beds stocked with weapons?

“It's me,” she said, barely a shadow framed in the window.

Finn relaxed back into the pillows. “This probably isn't the best of circumstances to sneak up on somebody.”

“Sorry.” Her weight settled on the bed, then the covers shifted as she got in, curling her body next to his. “Can I make it up to you?”

His body caught fire, burning with the heat of desire. A heat he had no intention of cooling. “What are you doing here?” he asked, unable to keep the harsh tone out of his voice.

She shifted away, moving to sit up and turn on the small reading light next to the bed. The light filtered from behind, illuminating her hair like an angel. Finn had to smile. Amber was a lot of things, but an angel, she wasn't.

“You're angry,” she said simply. “I'm sorry.”

He closed his eyes, feeling like an ass. “Yes. But not at you. I had no right to make demands on you. I just want—”

He broke off. The truth was, he wanted everything. The life he'd tasted, and this woman who'd come to mean more to him in such a short time than he could have possibly imagined.
He loved her.
Oh, God, he really loved her, and the realization hit him with stunning clarity. He loved her, and he couldn't have her. No matter how much he wanted her.

“I know,” she said, stroking his cheek. “I want, too.”

He breathed in deep, wondering if that could really be true, afraid to hope. “What? What do you want?”

“You,” she said simply. “And the whole picture. A life I can't really have.” She propped herself up on one elbow. “What do you think? Can you ever be truly happy if you don't have everything you want?”

He laughed. “I sure hope so,” he said, then frowned at her. “Have you gotten everything you wanted before now?”

“I don't know,” she said. “I never really thought about it.”

“And now? What do you want now?”

She kissed her fingertips, then pressed her fingers against his lips. “I told you,” she said. “I want everything. But barring that, I want you. Inside me. Now.”

His body heated and hardened. He wanted her, too. Lord, how he wanted to sink inside this woman and lose himself. But that would be like tasting forbidden fruit, enticing a craving he'd never, ever be able to completely satisfy.

He kissed the top of her head, pulling her down beside him. “Oh, babe. I want that, too.”

“But…”

“But I can't.”

“You're not that kind of guy?” The words were spoken with a tease, but he answered them seriously.

“I used to be,” he said. “Consider me reformed.”

“Yeah,” she said, the word barely a sigh. “Me, too. At least a little.” She rolled over, facing him, her eyes gentle but serious. “You were right. About the first time. About us.”

He nodded, not wanting to interrupt.

“I mean, I wanted you. Believe me. But it was also my job. Do you know I've never had sex—ever—without it being either a lark or part of a bigger picture?”

He turned to face her but didn't say a word.

“I was thirteen when James recruited me,” she said. “And before then, I'd been a bad girl in all sorts of ways, but I was still a virgin. Sex for me became a tool of my trade. Enjoyable, sure. But always for some purpose. Power. Information. Stress relief. Something. It was never…personal.”

He squeezed her hand, afraid that if he spoke, she'd clam up, quit confiding in him.

“With you…now…” She trailed off, then shrugged. “I don't do fear,” she said. “And I'm not scared of going back to the island tomorrow. But you, Finn. You scare the hell out of me. Because with you, it is. It is personal.”

Finn closed his eyes and pulled her closer. What could he say? Because the truth was, she scared the hell out of him, too.

A
ny luck?” Amber padded into the study in bare feet, her jeans frayed around her ankles and Finn's T-shirt thrown on for warmth.

Mrs. Digby looked up, noted the shirt, and turned back to the computer monitor. “Nothing.” A pause, then, “I recommend a V-neck for a woman of your figure. Much more flattering than a crew.”

Amber stifled a grin. She and Finn hadn't done any more than sleep in each other's arms. But still, Mrs. Digby's words were a solid opening, and she took it. “Did you ever regret your decision?”

Mrs. Digby didn't even pretend to misunderstand. “Never,” she said. She maneuvered the mouse, the computer screen reflecting back on her face in the dim light of the room. She clicked the mouse, typed something, then turned to face Amber. “But we're different people, you and I.”

Amber nodded in understanding. No easy answers. This one, she had to figure out all on her own. Somehow, the prospect seemed daunting. An odd reaction, she supposed, for a woman who'd spent her entire life essentially alone.

Mrs. Digby tapped out a few more strokes on the keyboard, then turned again to Amber, a bemused expression on her face. “You're lucky I'm retired,” she said. “They'd fire me for this.”

Amber grimaced, then crossed the room, coming up behind the other woman, who was deep into Unit 7's e-mail system. Amber had discovered James's administrative password years ago, but she'd never before used it. Now, however, she had Mrs. Digby searching for e-mails on the network that mentioned Drake or Prometheus.

“Anything?”

“I'm afraid not.” Her expression turned concerned. “Did Brandon contact you yet?”

Amber shook her head, a crush of fear pressing against her chest. Brandon had never in his life failed to check in. But he had now. And Amber had been around the block enough to know what that meant. She closed her eyes, fighting a wave of grief.

Mrs. Digby pushed her glasses in place, all business. “I think it's safe to assume that Brandon isn't coming back.” She spoke the words matter-of-factly, but Amber could hear the undertone of sadness.

Amber nodded, closing the pain off to some dark part of herself to deal with later. After the mission was over, she'd grieve for her friend. Right now, she had no time.

“Should we go after him?” Finn's voice.

Amber whirled. “Dammit, Finn. I thought you were asleep.”

“I woke up.” He moved toward her, jeans slung low on his hips, his chest bare since she was wearing his shirt. “I heard. I'm sorry.” He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “He might not be dead. We can try to track him down.”

“Thank you.” She stroked his cheek, genuinely moved by his concern. “But we can't. We don't have time. We have to go forward with the mission.”

“Do we change the plan?”

She shook her head. “No.” She looked up at him, stifling the urge to insist he stay behind. This one was going to be dangerous, and losing both Finn and Brandon was more than she could bear. But he was right. She did need him. Unfortunately for her, she needed him in more ways than one.

Amber turned back to the computer, fearful she was making a mistake by taking Finn along, but at the same time sure that she wasn't. That, somehow, was even scarier. Finn kept creeping into her life, and now into her job. And when this was all over, she only hoped she had the strength to show him to the exit.

Numbers and letters scrolled across the monitor, and she blinked, forcing herself to focus on the problem at hand. She could deal with Finn after they got back.
If
they made it back.

She'd undertaken a lot of risky missions over the course of her career, but this was the first one that truly bordered on suicidal. With the mole, however, she didn't see any other option.

She turned to Mrs. Digby. “I need to get in touch with James. I have no way of knowing if Brandon got through to him to arrange our backup.”

“James might
be
the mole,” Finn pointed out. “Or…” he trailed off.

“Brandon might.” Amber finished the thought for him, her voice flat. “I know. But I don't think so.”

Logically, she knew he was right, but she simply couldn't believe it. Emotion wasn't a good enough reason, though, and so she recited the facts. “All the evidence seems to lead back to Schnell. He reclassified Bernie, he was in the military with Drake. It's pathetic, but that's how the chips are stacking up.”

Finn's expression remained dubious, but he moved on to other subjects. “The island's two hundred miles off the Pacific coast, and we're up in the mountains. How are we getting there?”

Amber looked at Mrs. Digby. Her expression was not encouraging. “I've had very little luck so far,” the woman said. “I'll keep trying, but I'm afraid most of my usual channels are compromised.”

“Tom,” Finn said.

Amber raised an eyebrow. “You want to fly to the island in a biplane?”

“A chopper,” he said. “His works just fine.”

“Does it have enough range to get us there and get him back to the mainland?”

“Back?”

She met his eyes, sure she knew what he was thinking. “We find our own way off,” she said. “If we don't make it, I'm not going to be responsible for Tom getting plugged by the bomb, too.”

“Right,” he said. “Of course.” He nodded. “The range is good. He'll get back to the mainland with fuel to spare.”

Amber met Mrs. Digby's eyes. The older woman shrugged.

“He'll, uh, want to know what's up,” Finn said. “Other than that, I'm sure he'll do the run for free.”

“What's up?” she repeated. “And you expect me to tell him?”

“Well, hell, sweetheart. We're already dealing with a mole. What's one stunt pilot in San Diego knowing the true story going to hurt?”

She glared at him, but the truth was, he had a point. She was just about to say so when Mrs. Digby spoke first.

“Amber.” Her voice was harsh, a demand, and Amber forgot all about Tom as she peered over the other woman's shoulder.

She drew in a quick breath, her muddled mind processing what she was seeing on the monitor—someone had breached security. Someone uninvited was in her house.

She turned to Finn. “Stay here,” she said. “And whatever you do, don't leave this room.”

 

Amber crept up the stairs to her bedroom, hoping that she'd open the door to find Brandon, but somehow knowing that wasn't going to happen. She'd brought her gun, and now she held it at the ready.

She'd left the door open upon leaving, but now it was closed, and she eyed it suspiciously. The mole? Drake? Who the hell had found her hideaway?

In a quick move, she reached out and twisted the knob, pushing the door open just enough for the latch to disengage. She stepped back, gun aimed at the portal, and waited for someone to approach.

Nothing.

Here we go.
With the tip of the barrel, she nudged the door open, letting the gun enter first, the rest of her body following. She switched the light on, then arced the gun in a covering pattern.

James was sitting in her armchair, his expression both amused and proud.

With a sigh of both relief and irritation, she lowered the gun. “Goddamn it,” she said, but she wasn't really angry. On the contrary, she wanted to lay all her problems out at his feet and have him tell her they'd get through this, just like they had every other seemingly impossible mission. She drew in a breath. “What are you doing hiding out up here?”

“We need to talk,” he said. “I couldn't call ahead.”

She nodded in understanding. Considering her status, her phones were likely tapped. And if James were seen with her, his reputation would be shot, too.

“Did you come to commiserate with me?”

“There's a mole in Unit 7,” he said, not answering her question.

Amber frowned as she moved to the foot of her bed. “I know.”

A look of concern and then suspicion crossed his face. She held up her hands, unable to believe what she knew he was thinking. “For God's sake, James, it isn't me,” she protested. But even in the protest, she felt a bit of relief, and she realized that—just a little—she'd wondered if it was him. Even the shadow of that thought seemed disloyal, and she hated herself for it.

His expression immediately shifted to contrite. “I know. I know, of course I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking more frazzled than she'd ever seen him. “But Brandon…” He tilted his head up as he trailed off, the overhead light deepening the shadows under his eyes. He looked exhausted, and more than ready for his looming retirement. “Someone took him out. While he was on the phone.” He closed his eyes as if to blot out a memory. “Talking to me.”

Amber shook her head slowly, trying to process his words, trying to stay in professional mode. “Tell me.”

He rubbed his temples. “That's all I know. He'd barely started talking when—” He cut himself off, pain flashing in his eyes. “What is going on? First you two are disavowed, and now Brandon's…dead. What do you know, and why does someone want you dead?”

Amber swallowed, her thoughts absurdly drifting to Finn. Her world was crashing down around her ears, and more than anything, she wanted him there with her, his presence a rock in the sudden storm. She shook her head, irritated by her own foolishness. The Unit's demise was a problem—a big one—but she could worry about that after she pulled Drake's plug. “Drake Mackenzie is about to start a war in the Middle East,” she said, then gave him the rundown on what she and Finn had learned on the island. “Whatever's wrong in the Unit can wait. I have to stop this.”

The lines creasing James's face deepened. “Shit. No wonder they want you dead.” His frown tightened. “Do you know who? Have you discovered the mole?”

Amber closed her eyes. “Not for certain,” she said. She looked at James, about to indict his friend. “But everything points to Schnell.”

James flinched. After a moment, he nodded slowly. “Well, that makes it trickier, doesn't it?”

“Trickier?”

“I can't just go through the Unit to authorize military deployment and blow the island.”

“No. You can't.”

“I have other contacts. Give me a few hours.”

She shook her head. “No. I have to go. Make your calls, yes. But only as a contingency in case I fail.”

“Amber, that's a suicide mission.”

“Hear me out,” she said, pacing the room. “If you call on your resources, you'll be aligned with me, and I'm disavowed. Not a good position for you, and I don't want you taking the risk unless it's truly necessary. I want you as backup in case I can't disable Drake's satellite connection. Not before.”

He shook his head. “I'll still have to be ready. I'm going to have to call in some favors either way.”

She nodded. “I know. I'm just hoping you'll stay under the radar if you never have to follow through.” She took a deep breath. “There's another reason I have to go—I have to clear my name. If I can prevent this, I'll be reinstated.”

He shook his head, his usually unreadable face sad.

“James, you know I'm right.” She pressed her lips together. “The Unit is my life. Hell, you know that better than anyone. I have to go.”

He was quiet another minute, and she feared he was going to argue. But then he got up, crossed the room, and stood right in front of her. “You don't deserve this, Amber.”

She managed a watery smile, even as he pressed his palms to either side of her face and then brushed a kiss across her forehead. Amber blinked, unfamiliar tears welling in her eyes as she leaned up against him, this man who'd been like a father to her. The one man in the world she knew she could always turn to.

“Do you have weapons? Transportation?”

“Already on it,” Amber answered. She didn't have much in the way of weapons at the house, but she had basic firearms and explosives. “I've got enough to get us in and blow up the dish.”

She stepped back, standing up straight. The time for sentimentality was over.

“And this Teague fellow?”

Amber frowned. “What about him?”

“What agency is he with? Has he notified
his
superior?”

She almost laughed. “He's a civilian.”

“A civilian,” James repeated, his voice flat. “Is he here?”

“Yes.”

His brow furrowed. “Is he going with you?”

She conjured a laugh. “Of course not.” She'd never lied to James before, and she didn't intend to do it again. But Finn defied explanation. She'd satisfied herself that she was doing the right thing by taking him along. She wasn't about to waste time satisfying James as well. “Digby will babysit him while I'm gone. That's one of her many talents.”