3
Trying to kill me.
The words kind of hung in the air like a noxious odor. When I finally found my tongue, I asked, “What do you mean?”
Now, most might wonder why I’d go with that query, rather than the Who, What, and Where. But I knew Clark was perfectly capable of defending himself with lethal force, and had done so before. And for the record, his prowess in killing people wasn’t something I usually dwelled on. What he didn’t usually do was a) let himself get caught, and b) not finish the job.
“Let’s just say that there was almost a nasty ‘click-click-click’ . . . hmm . . . ‘click-click-click . . . boom’ with my car.”
“Boom? You mean your car blew up?”
“Would’ve. Luckily, the ‘click-click-click’ warned me in time.”
Clark had almost been blown up. One part of my brain tried to process that while another part went through the ramifications. “Who’s after you? And why? Was this the first time something like that has happened? Wait . . . someone’s trying to kill you and you came here?” My voice rose as each question only panicked me more.
He winced. “Okay, only dogs can hear you. Take it down a notch.”
“I won’t take it down a notch,” I argued, lowering my voice anyway. “You realize that Mia, my niece, lives with me. If you’ve put her in danger—”
“Relax,” he interrupted me. “You should know I wouldn’t do anything to put you or her at risk.”
The sharpness of his reply silenced me, and his sincerity eased my concern. But still—
“Who is it? Who’s after you?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I’d tell you if I did, trust me.”
That struck something inside that had been hurting ever since he’d walked out of my life three months ago.
“Trust you,” I retorted. “Trust you? You left with barely more than a ‘Have a nice life.’ I thought we were friends. Partners. Then you . . . you . . .” Kissed me was on the tip of my tongue, but I was still in heavy denial about that particular incident, so I skipped right to Stammering Incoherence. “And now you just show up here in the dead of night and expect me to welcome you with open arms?” I was proud of using that last idiom correctly. I’d been working on my idioms and colloquial phrases, since I had a tendency to take people’s words literally.
Clark set his wineglass on the counter. “If you want me to go, I’ll go. But I don’t do apologies. And I don’t explain myself to anyone. I like it that way. So just say the word and you’ll never have to see me again.”
The part of me that had ached at the sight of him now gave a sharp stab of pain at his last sentence. Never have to see me again. It made something anxious flare inside. My hands fisted in the folds of his leather jacket, holding it tighter.
“I didn’t say you had to leave, just that I didn’t have to be overjoyed at your presence,” I said stiffly.
“Well, that’s good, because you don’t seem overjoyed.” His dry tone and the roll of his eyes clued me in to the sarcasm. He retrieved the bottle of wine from the fridge and emptied the rest of it into his glass. “Got anything stronger?”
“You know I don’t drink much,” I said, reaching inside the cabinet for my ever-present package of Fig Newtons. I was in need of my nightly fix. I bit into one and offered the package to Clark, who grimaced.
“No, thanks. Doesn’t go with the wine.”
“So what exactly do you want from me?” I asked, finishing off exactly two Newtons. I wanted a third but limited myself to two.
“Just need a place to crash for tonight,” he said with a shrug. “I won’t be in the way.”
I seriously doubted that. “I don’t have another bedroom, and my office doesn’t have a bed in it.” Mia had taken the one remaining room and converted it into a teenage girl-cave.
“Couch will work. I’m not picky.” He quirked an eyebrow at me. “You’re not going to start getting all twitchy on me, are you? Upsetting your routine?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. And I don’t twitch.” Not unless he started using seen instead of saw or demanded I change the scent of my laundry detergent.
Opening the linen closet underneath the stairs, I pulled out a set of sheets, a thick blanket, and a pillow. Heading to the couch, I said, “Don’t touch the thermostat and hang up your towels.”
“Gotta say, you’ve become pretty flexible.” He glanced at my fish tank. “You’ve even managed to keep the Doctor alive, I see.”
I flinched at the mention of the lone goldfish swimming in the depths and started tucking a sheet over the couch cushions. “Ah, well . . .”
He quirked a dark eyebrow. “Which number are we on now?”
Rubbing my forehead, I mumbled, “Nine.”
Clark’s low chuckle made me smile a little, too. It was almost impossible not to. He looked as though he’d stepped from the pages of my favorite Superman comic. Except the Man of Steel didn’t have the wicked glint in his eye that Clark sported in his baby blues.
It felt good to have him back. As bristly as his personality was, he was one of only two people I considered to be my close friends.
“Fresh towels are under the sink in the bathroom,” I said briskly, returning to my task. “You’re free to help yourself to anything to eat if you’re hungry. Watch TV if you want. Just don’t delete any of my recordings.” I was two episodes behind on Castle. “Please use the Poo-Pourri before any BMs, and I don’t like dirty dishes left on the counter.”
“The poo what?”
Not wanting to go into details of the exact chemical reaction that occurred when using the product, I just said over my shoulder, “It’s in the bathroom. You can read the instructions.”
The corners were tight and I started tucking the blanket in, leaning over to reach the far side.
“Enough.”
The sudden sharp word startled me upright, and I spun to face Clark. He’d moved up behind me, and the look in his eye made my breath freeze in my chest.
“The striptease earlier was bad enough,” he said, his voice low, “but I don’t need more reminders of . . . Star Trek.”
He was close enough that I could see the pulse beating underneath his jaw, and I had to tip my head back to meet his gaze. I could smell the slight tang of his skin, and his eyes were so very blue. It hurt to look at him, he was so beautiful. When I was caught off guard—like now—he took my breath away.
“Um, it’s Star Wars,” I managed, nervously pushing my glasses up my nose. “Not Star Trek.” An unforgivable sin, confusing the two, not that Clark looked like he’d heard a word I said.
“You’re like a piece of candy that’s just out of reach,” he said softly. Now I felt a soft touch on the outside of my thigh, his fingers sliding up underneath the hem of the jacket I wore to skim the skin at the edge of my panties.
Surprise froze me and I had to swallow from a suddenly dry mouth. “Don’t,” I managed to say. “We’re partners and friends. That’s all.” I still remembered the wry finality in his voice when he’d said those same words to Jackson. “That’s all we’ll ever be. Remember?” I didn’t think I sounded bitter, but he winced ever so slightly.
“Shhh. I’m just stealing a moment. Something I can replay inside my head when I’m alone.” His hand cupped my cheek, and not the one on my face. I could feel the heat of his touch through the thin satin. “I’m alone . . . a lot. I never thought it would bother me.” He sounded vaguely surprised.
“Everybody needs friends.”
“Do you?”
“Of course I do,” I replied, trying to ignore his touch. I sidled away a bit and his hand dropped. “I need to be needed, just like anyone else.”
Clark’s brows drew together. “A need to be needed. That helps you get up in the morning?”
“My alarm clock gets me up in the morning,” I said. “But Mia needs me, and Bonnie needs me—since I’m one of her only friends who’ll test her lackluster cooking skills. My job needs me.” I paused. “Jackson needs me.” The reminder of my boyfriend made Clark’s gaze narrow. “Whereas you obviously don’t need me, because you left without a backward glance.”
He stepped away to sit on the couch. Elbows on his knees, he pushed a hand through his hair, which fell perfectly into place. How he’d gone this long without a long-term relationship, I had no idea. Women probably fell all over themselves to get at him. When he didn’t reply, I headed for the stairs, unsure what else to say or do.
“I do.”
His words froze me on the second step. I glanced over to where he sat. The room was shadowed with just a lamp lit, and I couldn’t see the expression on his face.
“You do what?” I asked.
“Need you.”
I didn’t move and neither did he, though the air between us felt heavy with unsaid things. Our gazes were locked, and I searched for something to say.
“I don’t understand you, Clark,” I said at last. “And I don’t know what you want from me. Why are you here, really?”
He took a deep breath. “I need your help.”
Something inside me crumpled, deflating like a balloon after a few days until it was shriveled and shrunk. For a moment, I’d thought . . . well, I didn’t know what I’d thought. But Clark was my friend, and he’d just admitted to needing my help. To my knowledge, the only time he’d ever done so. I went back down the steps and took a seat beside him on the sofa.
“Talk to me.”
Clark settled back against the cushions, rubbing his jaw with one hand while he stared into space. “It was a long time ago,” he said. “Or at least, it feels like it.”
“Why? What happened?”
He glanced at me, his eyes flicking down to my bare knees and thighs, then looked away. My cheeks warmed and I thought I should probably run upstairs and put some clothes on, but then he started talking.
“I used to be in the Army, which you know. What you don’t know is that some of what I did was in special ops. There was a job I did about six years ago. There were five of us who were tasked with getting into Bab al-Azizia.”
“Where?” My geography wasn’t as good as my math skills.
“It’s in southern Tripoli,” Clark clarified. “And was Muammar Gaddafi’s headquarters.”
Ah. Okay. Gaddafi. Tyrant of Libya until his execution in 2011. “Why did you have to go there? Wasn’t it dangerous?”
Clark gave me a look that said he still had doubts as to my IQ, despite the fact that I’d shown him my score numerous times. “Just a little,” he deadpanned. “Our mission was to get in and steal documents and secret recordings that proved the United States had helped keep Gaddafi in power. Between him or Al Qaeda, we came down on the side of the lesser evil.”
“Why did it matter who kept him in power?”
“Because he killed and tortured thousands of his own people,” Clark replied. “It would have looked very bad had the United States been seen helping to prolong his rule. Especially in light of the Arab Spring going on at the time. Effectively, we helped keep him in power two years longer than it might otherwise have been.”
“So did you get what you went in for?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah, but it went to shit. The tech guys were supposed to shut down the security system, but they only did half their job. We barely made it out.” He paused. “Not everyone did.”
My eyes widened. The regret and sadness on his face was unmistakable. Reaching out, I tentatively touched his hand. “I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged and cleared his throat. “It’s in the past. The problem is that someone knows about it, that mission, and I think they’re . . . hunting . . . us. Killing the remainder of the team, one by one.”
Clark’s eyes met mine and I went cold all over. The idea of someone hunting him down—
“What can I do to help?”
“I need to find the rest of the team and who else knew about the mission. Only you have the kind of access and skills it’ll take to get that information.”
“It’ll be classified. Probably Top Secret.”
“I know.”
“I could be fired.”
“That’s a distinct possibility.”
We stared at each other. As Clark was someone who tried never to depend on anyone or ask for anything, I understood that this was a Big Deal for him. He prided himself on being a one-man show. When he’d left Vigilance, he’d told me it was because he didn’t want to have to worry about someone else, a partner, and fail.
“Why didn’t you tell me this right away?” I asked.
“I hadn’t decided whether or not to ask you.”
“Why not? I’m your friend. Why wouldn’t I help you?”
“It’s not that I didn’t think you would,” he said. “It’s that I didn’t want to ask it of you.” He hesitated. “I’m . . . unused to needing anyone, as you put it.”
He looked so pained at having to admit that, I almost chuckled. Instead, I squeezed his hand, slotting our fingers together, and smiled.
“I’m glad you asked. And of course I’ll help you. No one’s going to kill you on my watch.” I said it lightly, but I meant it with every fiber in my five-foot-two-inch body. If Clark needed to know who was after him, then by God I’d find out.
“You can’t tell Coop,” he warned. “The fewer people who know, the better.”
I squirmed a little on the inside at the idea of keeping something like this from Jackson, but I nodded. “Okay.”
“You are still together, right?” he asked. “Or did you dump him for some hot personal trainer?”
I laughed at the thought of trying to maintain a conversation with a personal trainer. “Right. Please. Yes, we’re still together.” I hesitated, then added, “Tonight he even . . . proposed.” It was the first time I’d said it out loud, and it felt very strange.
Clark’s face took on an expression I couldn’t read, though I was familiar with happy, and it didn’t look like that. “Wow. I guess I should say congratulations, then.” He extricated his hand from mine and pushed his fingers again through his hair. “So, um, when’s the big day?”
“Actually, I haven’t answered yet.” A minor detail, that.
“You’re going to say yes, right?”
“Um, yeah. I mean, I should, so I guess I will.”
Clark snorted. “You might want to muster up a little more enthusiasm when you talk to Coop.”
“I know, it’s just . . .” I struggled to put my feelings into words, always a painful task. “I never really thought about getting married. Unlike the cliché, I haven’t been planning my wedding since I was six. Jackson is in such a hurry to settle down, I don’t know what he expects from me. I mean, will I have to stop working? Is he going to want kids right away? I don’t even know if I want kids. What if they turn out just like me?”
“You say that like it would be a bad thing.”
I looked at him. “I wouldn’t want to inflict the kind of childhood I had on my own kid. My mom was the only one who understood me, and she passed away when I was eight. Having a kid, being a mom . . . I just don’t know.”
“I take it you and Coop haven’t had this discussion.”
I shook my head. “It hasn’t come up.”
“Maybe you should have that conversation before answering his proposal.”
Just thinking of doing that made my palms sweat and my ears ring. “I-I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” I said, “we might not agree. And this isn’t the kind of difference of opinion like which Chinese restaurant is the best or who’s the best Doctor.” David Tennant, obviously. “This is something that could end our relationship.”
“And if it does?”
That anxious panic I’d fought earlier returned with a vengeance. “Jackson is a fixture in my life. I can’t just go and . . . change that. I’ve gone through too much to get here. I never even had a boyfriend before him. What if we break up and there’s no one else who likes me again, ever? I don’t want to be alone.”
“China—”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I interrupted, jumping to my feet. “I’ll start looking in the morning to see what I can find. Just write down any details that could help me.” I hurried to the stairs.
“Wait, China—”
“Oh yeah. Sorry. Here you go.” I tossed his jacket to him, and he caught it, then I turned and ran up the steps.
I changed into my winter Star Wars: Hoth pajamas and climbed into bed, pulling the blankets up underneath my arms just so. Time to go to sleep. Except I just stared at the ceiling.
The next morning, Mia was waiting for me in the kitchen. “You do know that Clark is here, right?” she asked, sliding a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of me.
“Yes. He came by last night and needed a place to stay.” I glanced around. “Where is he?”
“He’s in my shower,” she complained. “Getting boy germs all over it.”
“I told him about the Poo-Pourri,” I said, sitting down opposite her.
“Thank God,” she grumbled, shoving a forkful of eggs into her mouth.
We ate in companionable silence. Mia, I had found, could make amazing scrambled eggs. She said her secret was that she didn’t rush them, letting them cook slowly as she stirred them to fluffy perfection. I’d thought about telling Bonnie about Mia’s cooking secret, but Mia had assured me that Bonnie wouldn’t appreciate the advice.
I opened the paper and pulled out the Lifestyle section, handing it to Mia, who passed me the front page of her paper. They all carried the story of the assassination attempt last night, and said the police were still searching for the suspect but that the president would recover. We ate and read in silence.
“So how was last night?” she asked when she was finished. “I mean, up until the president was shot.”
“Oh my God, I just remembered.” I scrambled out of my chair and grabbed my silver clutch, opening it and carefully removing the velvet case inside. “Jackson gave me these.”
My smugness must’ve clued her in that it was something big because she eased open the lid as though expecting to see the Hope Diamond inside. It took her a moment of shocked disbelief, then she clapped a hand over her mouth. She looked at me, her eyes as wide as saucers.
“Yep. It’s really them,” I assured her.
“This is so amazing . . . wow. Best Valentine’s gift ever, right?”
I nodded. “I couldn’t believe it either.” Taking our plates to the counter, I rinsed them off. “And he proposed, too.” The dishwasher was nearly full, but I saw just enough space on the bottom rack—
“What?”
I nearly dropped the plates at her sudden shriek.
“Jackson proposed? And you didn’t lead with that?” She was still talking really loud.
“Well, I—”
“You’re getting married!” She threw her arms around me. “That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!”
I didn’t know what to say, even if I could speak. She was squeezing me so hard, it was difficult to breathe. “Can’t . . . breathe . . . ,” I managed. Mia let go immediately.
“Can I be a bridesmaid? Please?” she begged.
“Um, yeah, of course, but—”
“Awesome!” Another rib-cracking hug. “Just wait until Granny hears. She’s going to be tickled pink. But don’t worry. I won’t spoil it. I’ll let you tell her.” She glanced at her phone. “Oh, crap. I’m going to be late for school. Jen’s picking me up.”
With an air kiss and a flurry of blond hair, she was past me and out the door, a cloud of flowery perfume left in her wake.
“Choosing bridesmaids already? I thought you had to say yes first.”
I glanced up at where Clark stood at the top of the stairs. He had a towel around his neck, another around his waist, and that was all.
Wow, was the first thought in my head, which was really the only correct response to a near-naked, damp Clark. The next thought was, Isn’t he cold? Which was the one I ended up voicing.
“Aren’t you cold? It’s February.”
“I take very hot showers.”
That provoked more images I didn’t need. Shaking my head, I firmly set my gaze back on the dishes that still needed loading. I had a boyfriend, maybe even a fiancé. I didn’t need to be drooling over another man, no matter how drool-worthy he might be.
“So, when you gonna talk to Coop?”
I jumped, startled. How he’d come up behind me without me hearing anything was beyond me. For a big guy, he could move as silently as a cat. I mean, I assumed cats were pretty quiet. I’d never owned one, but that was one of those idioms again.
“Um, I, uh . . .” I struggled to focus on what he’d asked. Clark was currently pouring a cup of coffee for himself, and he’d left one of his two towels in the bathroom. I had a brief flash of regret that it had been the one around his neck. “I mean, yeah . . . at some point. There are more important things on our plate right now.”
He was leaning against the counter, one hand braced on the edge, the other holding his coffee. The morning light dappled across his chest, and I suddenly found a pressing need to reorganize the utensils in the silverware drawer. Mia had put the soup spoons with the regular spoons, which was wrong wrong wrong.
“So you’re just going to keep him in suspense?”
Salad forks didn’t belong with dinner forks . . .
“I doubt he’s in suspense,” I said, moving cutlery. “Men don’t usually ask that question without knowing the answer. I would guess he assumes my answer is the affirmative.”
“But it’s not.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t say yes either.”
A knock at the door interrupted the conversation I didn’t want to be having anyway. I hurried to look through the peephole. I jerked back and clapped my hands over my mouth.
“Mmph,” I mumbled.
“Who is it?” Clark asked, coming up next to me. He’d left the coffee behind and now held a gun. I had no idea where he’d gotten it. Not a lot else could possibly fit underneath that towel.
“It’s Jackson,” I hissed. “He can’t see you. Not here. And especially not like . . . that.”
Clark’s lips twisted. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”
The knock came again, more insistent. “China? Are you there?” Jackson called through the door.
“You have to hide.” I grabbed Clark’s arm and pulled open the coat closet. “In here.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groused.
Jackson knocked again, harder. “China?”
“Just get in!” I put my palms on his chest and pushed, which was a mistake. The minute my skin touched his, I sucked in my breath and froze. His flesh was warm and his muscles rock hard. I was standing too close and we were both inside the closet, shrouded in darkness. His eyes seemed to glow in the low light, his gaze locked on mine.
For a moment, I didn’t breathe. I could only think of how close he was and how very little he was wearing. There had always been an energy between Clark and me, but it had transformed into a friendship and partnership. Now it was morphing again, and I wasn’t ready.
Jerking away, I slammed the door in his face, then spun to open the front door. Jackson looked worried, then relieved, when he saw me.
“S-sorry,” I stammered, pushing my glasses up my nose. “I was . . . upstairs.” I took a breath. “What are you doing here?”
His brows lifted. “Seriously? After last night, did you think I was just going to let you go to work today?”
I stared at him, flummoxed. “What else am I supposed to do?”
“Come with me.”
“Come with you where?”
“Nebraska.”
Surely I’d misheard him. “Nebraska? What’s in Nebraska?” I asked.
“Your family.”
Okay, that shut me up. Jackson must’ve read the confusion on my face, because he said, “I thought, if we’re getting married, we need to meet your family.”
So much was wrong with that sentence, I couldn’t process it all at once. “I’m not going to Nebraska. I have to go to work.”
He sighed. “I figured you’d say that. Fine. I’ll take you. We’ll discuss it on the way.”
Yay.
“Let’s go,” I said, grabbing my backpack and coat from the chair by the door. I followed Jackson out, leaving a nearly naked Clark hidden in my closet. I decided that my routine wasn’t just off today—it was descending into soap-opera territory.