72 Hours. Dana Marton
him, it smelled sexy. His body was still incredible, his lips still just as sensuous. He could still arouse her with a touch. The full-frontal contact was wreaking havoc with her senses.
And she panicked, because in her perfect little world, she had managed to convince herself that she was over him, that if they ever met again, she could walk by him without batting an eye. And here she was, assailed by such a sharp sense of longing it stole her breath away. It took all her willpower not to bury her face into the base of his throat and lap at the warm, smooth skin she knew she would find there.
The voices faded.
He didn’t move.
And she didn’t want him to.
No. Not again. She couldn’t fall for him again. He had never truly loved her. He couldn’t have. He had left her every chance he’d had. He had lied to her about things. She was pretty sure about that. She didn’t want to think how many nights she’d lain awake wondering about where he was.
The two of them together spelled disaster, she reminded herself and pushed him away. Maybe with a little more force than was strictly necessary.
“Easy,” he said, watching her with his usual unsettling intensity, as if trying to puzzle out her thoughts.
Not if she could help it. She stepped away from the wall. “Let’s go.”
He moved away from her with some reluctance. “I’ll pick the lock, you see what else you can find here that we could use.”
She moved around him and set to the task.
The opposite wall of the staircase was lined with metal shelves. He already had a length of inch-wide nylon rope twisted around his waist that he had found, and a small screwdriver in his hand that he had gotten from the giant four-feet-by-four-feet toolbox near the bottom of the stairs.
The basement was used by the Russians as a storage facility. It held everything from broken office furniture to security supplies and crowd-control posts, even a crate of sea salt in one-kilo bags.
She opened an oil-stained box and rummaged through it. “What are we looking for exactly?”
“You’ll know it when you see it,” he said. “Grab anything you think we can use.”
A lot of help he was.
But he was right. When she spotted the flashlight hanging from a peg behind the box, she took it. She was pleased to notice its metal case was heavy enough to be used as a weapon in a pinch. She flicked it on and grinned at the circle of light that appeared on the wall. “Even the battery works. Doesn’t get better than that.”
“Here we go.” He straightened.
The door stood slightly ajar. He had obviously worked some magic on the lock.
“I don’t even want to know where you learned that.”
“Of course you do.” He flashed a flat grin. “You want to know everything.”
“Fine, I do. But I’m not asking. You wouldn’t tell me, anyway.”
His mouth twitched. “Wish we had time to look around some more, but we should probably head out.” He bent his sinuous body into some SWAT-team pose.
Where had he learned that? Of course, she wasn’t about to ask that, either. Trying to pin Parker down was futile. She ought to know.
He pulled the door a little wider, peeked out then closed it again, pulling his gun up and ready to shoot.
She could hear footsteps come their way then fade into the distance.
“Is your name Parker?” she whispered, unable to take her eyes off the weapon.
He tossed her a don’t-be-stupid look that got her dander up, but then he nodded.
“You never were a foreign correspondent, were you?” Bits and pieces fell into place; a lot of things that had bewildered her in the past were making terrifying sense now.
He held her gaze. “No.”
Oh God. “I’ve been so stupid, haven’t I?” She looked away, embarrassed that she had never figured it out. He must have thought her incredibly gullible. She’d been blinded by love and lust. She would have believed anything of him. Not until the very end had she begun to see the chinks in his armor.
“You’re one of the smartest women I know. One of the reasons why I fell in love with you.”
Her heart, her stupid, gullible heart, turned over at his words. But had he really? Had he fallen in love with her, or had he been using her as some kind of a cover? He was a spy or a secret agent or something. He would probably say anything to have her cooperation so he could carry out his current mission successfully. She’d do well to remember that.
But it was difficult to remember anything when he put a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off. She didn’t need to be further confused by the way his touch had made her feel. She hadn’t been able to forget that, or anything else about him. Not for a single day, not even when she had dated other men.
“We’d better get going,” she said, trying hard to shake off the sharp sense of unreasonable longing that hit her out of the blue.
She needed to think about the hostages instead of Parker. They had to get to the gym before some rebels decided to check on their buddies stuck watching over the embassy staff. Every minute counted. Every minute could save a life.
He nodded slowly before he took his eyes off her and pushed the door open again. This time, the hallway must have been clear, because he stepped outside.
She followed. She had been a guest at the Russian embassy a half dozen times, but had never been in this part, wasn’t sure of the way.
After a moment, Parker glanced back at her and parted his lips as if to say something, but was prevented by the sound of gunfire coming from somewhere above.
Above and to the left. They were just coming to a T in the hallway. There had to be a way to get up there. Kate turned left and took off running.
More gunfire. It lasted longer this time. Long enough to have killed every man and woman in the gym.
“Oh, God, no.” She held the flashlight as tightly as she could, the only weapon she had, and ran faster, her heart beating its way out of her chest.
They had spent too much time arguing over what they should do. And now it was too late.
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