True Shot (31 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

S
am eased out of bed, careful to not jostle Mac even the slightest bit. When he stirred and murmured in his sleep, she leaned over and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead.

“I’m falling in love with you, too,” she whispered as she trailed gentle fingers down his temple and over the sandpaper texture of the light beard covering his jaw.

Then she grabbed her clothes and went into the bathroom, where she cleaned up before quickly pulling them on. When she looked in the mirror, she paused, surprised by the flush in her cheeks, the dazed expression in her eyes. She looked like a woman who’d been thoroughly loved, thoroughly satisfied. And yet was thoroughly confused.

She ran a hand down the front of her body, over her abdomen. As if in answer, her stomach lurched and churned.

She braced a hand on the vanity as her knees trembled. What was she doing? She didn’t have the strength to take on Flinn by herself. She needed help.

But how could anyone else help without endangering themselves? Flinn would do anything to get her back, not because he wanted
her
or couldn’t live without
her
or valued her work as a spy, but because of the life she carried.

She closed her eyes, fighting against the nausea, fighting the sense of violation. If she were indeed pregnant—and she believed she was—she knew when Flinn had done it. She’d known when it happened but hadn’t had enough information to pull the threads together. Now she did.

She’d awakened the morning after, out of it and woozy. Flinn sat in the chair beside her bed, waiting for her to wake up. He laughed at her, saying she’d drunk too much the night before. She obviously couldn’t hold her liquor.

He’d brought her home after dinner and put her to bed. Stayed with her in case she woke in the middle of the night and needed something. The kind, caring boss and friend. He’d even made her scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast, chattering away about innocuous news events and other topics she couldn’t follow because her head hurt too much.

Thing was, she couldn’t imagine she actually drank that much. She certainly couldn’t remember anything beyond a glass of wine with dinner. And even that she’d only sipped because she never knew how alcohol might interact with the drugs that bolstered her empathy.

She knew now, for a fact, that Flinn had drugged her that night.

The thought had crossed her mind then, but she’d shaken it off. It briefly occurred to her again later, when Zoe had insisted he’d impregnated her against her will. But why
would
he drug them? They both already did everything he told them to, with a few tiny exceptions in Sam’s case.

Over the years, he’d made it clear in multiple subtle ways that he owned her, that he could use her for whatever purpose he wanted. To prove it, he and his scientist partner in crime, Dr. Toby Ames, had devised all sorts of tests to learn how to enhance and expand and take full advantage of her gift. Because of her, N3 knew how to get the most from its psychic operatives. Because of her, N3 knew that an agent pumped full of this drug and that drug could precisely mine the memories of anyone he or she touched.

On top of all of that, Flinn had roofied her.

And now she was pregnant.

She wondered how he managed that part. He hadn’t raped her. She would have noticed the signs afterward. And that would have been an inexact science timing-wise.

Instead, after he drugged her, he must have called Dr. Ames, and that equally sick bastard, the one who’d pumped just about every drug imaginable into her veins—just to see what would happen to her empathy—had shown up with doctor bag in hand and pumped her full of something else.

She wondered whose sperm they used. Had to be that of another psychic operative if they were indeed trying to create empathic spies. She couldn’t imagine any of her fellow spies being a willing donor, though, so they’d probably drugged the donor, too.

After all that, though, the thing she had the most trouble believing was that Flinn would have the patience to wait for a child to grow into the super spy he wanted. He’d have to wait at least two decades. By then, Flinn would be pushing seventy.

That didn’t make sense.

She curled her fingers against her belly, closing her eyes. The answer lay beneath her palm. A tiny life created inside her against her will.

And somehow, some way, the thought of that tiny life flushed warmth into her veins.

She’d never considered being a mother. She’d thought life had forced her down a road that precluded having a family. She’d pushed thoughts of never loving a child who needed,
wanted
only her far from her mind, refusing to let herself even think about it.

Now, against all odds, she was going to be a mother.

And whatever Flinn Ford’s plans, she wouldn’t let him take that away from her.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

A
fter pulling on a royal blue cotton top and jeans, she liberated one of the prepaid cell phones from its bag, gathered up the notebook computer that Mac had already used to check, but not send, e-mail and returned to the bathroom.

Sloan Decker’s cell phone number came to her as if she used it every day. Before she’d lost her memory, she practically had.

His deep voice answered after the first ring. “Decker.”

“It’s Sam.”

“Holy Christ. Where the hell are you? You just vanished. And after what happened with Zoe—”

“I need to see you. Just us.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Your line isn’t secure. I’ll get you the information in the usual way.”

“Got it.”

She cut off the call, then opened the notebook computer where it sat on the vanity. Opening a Web browser, she went to the Google home page and accessed the Gmail account she and Sloan used for secure communication. They changed the account name and password every six months, and neither of them ever accessed it from their home or work computers or cell phones. She typed in the password then started a new e-mail message. When she was done giving him the information he’d need to find her, she saved the e-mail as a draft then signed off.

In Washington, DC, Sloan would be on his way to the library to check the drafts folder for the message she’d left him. No one could trace it because it had never been sent over the network. Now all she had to do was find a place to hide for the next several hours, until it was time to meet Sloan.

She savored one last look at Mac, who lay on his back, snoring, one hand flung over his eyes. She memorized every handsome detail, her throat closing and her eyes burning, before she slipped out the door and into the hall. As she shut the door gently behind her, she closed her eyes and took a moment to breathe, to calm her frantic heart.

She didn’t want to do this.

She had to.

And not just for herself. She had to do it for Zoe. Zoe had a sister out there who had no idea what had happened to her. And there might be other N3 operatives who were pregnant with a Flinn Ford science project. She couldn’t just walk away and let—

“Sam ?”

A flinch tensed already tense muscles, and she opened her eyes to see her sister striding toward her. Her lungs seized, preventing her from taking a breath.

Charlie
.

Tears flooded her eyes, and she blinked them away. She needed Soldier Sam now, not Sister Sam. But, God, it was
Charlie
.

Charlie paused before her, her intriguing eyes—light brown irises encircled in dark brown—bright with excitement and something else. A growing wariness.

“Going somewhere?” Charlie asked, cocking her head.

She looked slim and healthy in a pink tank top and navy shorts that had white stripes running up the outer thighs. Her long, reddish-brown hair was captured in a loose ponytail, as though she’d rolled out of bed only minutes ago and headed right to Sam and Mac’s suite.

Sam swallowed hard. Charlie had a right to that wariness. Sam was about to fulfill her worst expectations.

“I have to go.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed, the excitement dimming to disappointment. She made no move, just stood there, watching Sam with a guarded expression and that knowing tilt of her head. “Didn’t you just get here?”

“I’m sorry, Charlie. I truly am.”

“Go where?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“I shouldn’t be here. It isn’t safe for you.”

“Then why did you come? Why did Mac ask Alex and me to meet you?”

Sam’s heart thudded in her chest, and she let her gaze dart past Charlie’s shoulder. Was Alex here, too? Just down the hall, still sleeping or perhaps brushing her teeth in preparation for their reunion? Just a glimpse of her sweet kid sister would mean the world.

“Alex isn’t here,” Charlie said.

Sam didn’t have to be empathic to hear the tension in her sister’s voice. “Is something wrong?”

“She’s—” Charlie broke off and swallowed. “She’s having some trouble.”

Alarm stiffened Sam’s shoulders. “What kind of trouble?”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you had to get going.”

“If Alex needs help—”

Charlie’s incredulous laugh cut her off. “You’re ready to run to her rescue
now
? After fourteen years of being the absent big sister?”

Sam took a step back, which brought her up against the hotel room door. This wasn’t how she’d pictured this. But how foolish had she been to think a reunion would be all hugs and exclamations of “I’ve missed you so much”?

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “I am. I wish I could explain—”

The door at her back opened so fast, she stumbled back a step before she caught herself. She turned to face Mac, expecting recriminations and disappointment, but he just broke into a broad smile when he spotted her sister. “Hey, Chuck.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

His grin grew as he enfolded her in his arms for a heartfelt hug. “Why do you think I do it?” He met Sam’s eyes as he rubbed a hand over Charlie’s back. “How you doing, Charlie? You okay?”

She nodded as she pulled back from him. “I’m great. You?” She studied him, approval growing with each second. “You look good, Mac. Really good.”

He nodded. “Got my mojo back.” He cast a glance at Sam, his eyes dark and guarded. Hurt. “Had some help.”

Sam had no doubt he knew she’d snuck out on him, intending to leave without a word. She considered piping up with an “I was heading out to get coffee,” but Mac deserved better from her. He deserved better
than
her. He and Charlie both did.

“So,” Mac said. “Why don’t we get out of the hall?”

Charlie shot Sam a questioning look, as if daring her to take off now.

Sam stepped back into the hotel room ahead of them, conscious of the glances Mac and Charlie exchanged, carrying on a conversation with nothing but their eyes. She suppressed the surge of jealousy. She had no right to feel so possessive of a man she planned to leave.

In the small sitting room, which contained the red sofa and two club chairs that formed three sides of a square, Mac gestured vaguely. “You two can get comfortable, and I’ll make us some coffee.”

Sam hesitated. She needed to
go
. Yet, it would take hours for Sloan to catch a flight to Florida. She’d planned to hole up somewhere and wait. Did it make a difference where she hunkered down for the next several hours?

She met Charlie’s cool gaze, and her heart sank. She’d blown this on so many levels.

“Actually, Mac,” Charlie drawled, “Sam was just on her way out.”

He paused in the door to the kitchenette and sighed. “Look, I know this is weird, but—”

“You know what’s weird?” Charlie cut in. “The cell phone I get in the mail every few years with speed dial to her voice mail. Every once in a blue moon—meaning hardly ever—she returns my messages or calls to check in, like she’s some kind of . . . I don’t know . . . mob witness or something. That’s what’s weird.”

Sam’s knees began to do their impression of Silly Putty. Sitting down would have helped, but she didn’t dare risk moving. She should have left when she had the chance, should have taken the easy way and been done with it.

“You sounded happy on the phone,” Mac said to Charlie. “When I told you I was with Sam, you said you’d been looking for her.”

“I
was
happy,” Charlie said. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing her again for days now, barely able to contain myself. And then I get here and catch her trying to slink away all over again, and it made me mad. I mean, what the hell, Sam?”

Sam couldn’t control her wince. And she had no idea what to say. Charlie was right about everything. She had no defense.

“Tell her, Sam.”

She flinched as much at the rasp in Mac’s voice as at his words.

Before she could gather her nerves enough to speak, though, a knock sounded at the door.

“That’s probably Noah,” Charlie said. “He was still sleeping when I slipped out.” She flashed a narrow-eyed glance at Sam. “I left him a note after I charmed the guy at the front desk out of your room number.”

Charlie went to the door and opened it to a large, muscular man with dirty-blond hair and an impressive five o’clock shadow. He wore khaki cargo shorts, a white T-shirt and an expression that looked like thunder.

As soon as Charlie kissed him, though, his facial muscles relaxed. She murmured something that only he could hear, something that sounded like “Good morning,” before she turned back toward Sam and gestured. “Noah, this is my sister Sam.” To Sam, she said, “Noah Lassiter.”

Sam hesitated to take the hand he held out, and just as she decided to suck it up and go with it, his dark eyes flickered with something—recognition, understanding, compassion—and he lowered his hand with a small smile and a never-mind nod.