And now, there was a chance he would never again touch her, never taste her, never know the culmination of the need that filled her gaze each time she looked at him.
He could only imagine the damage, and the horrific results of those images flashed through his mind, sending a shaft of pain through his soul that he should have been immune to.
“Status?” He could barely force the words past his lips as he suspected the worst.
Jordan had stated she was compromised, not dead. That left hope. God, he needed hope. He couldn’t imagine his Night Hawk gone forever, the tiny glimmer of hope that always lingered in her gaze extinguished.
“Recovering. She moved at the last second, so the bullet just grazed her. She has a damned hard head, but there are complications.” There was no emotion in Jordan’s tone. He could have been discussing the weather rather than a person’s life.
Travis had to do something. If he continued to stand there, then he might end up losing his grip on reality.
Jerking fresh, dry jeans from his pack and ignoring Jordan, he removed the leather riding pants before pulling the jeans over his legs and securing them quickly. Pulling the damp jacket from his shoulders, he tossed it negligently to the floor before stripping the moist T-shirt from his body and tossing it to the floor with the jacket.
Jordan wasn’t talking.
Travis pulled a T-shirt over his head, then turned, lifted the beer, and finished it in one drink.
“What are the complications?” he finally asked, knowing Jordan was going to draw this out, to force him to ask, to reveal any emotions he might feel. Any feelings that could compromise the assignment or Travis’s ability to use Night Hawk however Jordan intended to use her.
When he spoke, he was deadly serious.
“Amnesia. She’s completely forgotten the past six years. That includes her father’s death. For all intents and purposes, she’s become a liability, Travis.”
Amnesia. She was once again the woman she had been rather than the woman she had been trained to be. For a moment, a sense of joy threatened to swell within him, because he remembered the young woman she had been rather than the agent she had been forced to become. One he knew suffered from the loss of the life she had left behind.
“Then the operation has changed?” She was alive. She was alive. The words played through his mind, his heart, as he fought to get his bearings upon realizing that she hadn’t been killed, that at least he could hold on to the fact that she still breathed.
“The operation’s focus is still the same. But the reasons behind the mission have . . . expanded a bit,” Jordan informed him. “And we’re still going to use her. You’re still going to use her.”
Knowing it and hearing it were two different things. Having that knowledge affirmed with such cool confidence, such lack of regret or mercy, had the power to piss Travis off more than it should have.
“Now why the fuck doesn’t that surprise me?” Travis bit out, his voice rough, emotion slipping through his control despite his attempts to hold it back. “Fuck, Jordan, over the years, has it occurred to you that you’ve turned into nothing more than a governmental fucking robot?”
He knew the original operation that had been planned. It would have been hard enough for her to go back to her old life. Doing it with no memory of who she had been for the past six years would make her a danger to herself, to himself, and to the mission, and that wasn’t acceptable.
“We suspect that whoever tried to kill her six years ago has somehow found her again. The Elite Ops could be jeopardized if this is true, Travis. If they found her, then every agent in the program could now be at risk. We have to find this bastard and find out just how much he knows.”
“You’ll get her killed if you try to use her now,” Travis warned him, only barely managing to maintain an air of unconcern now that the initial shock had passed. “If she’s unaware of her training, then she’s unaware of the danger as well.”
He was surprised at the slow nod of assent he was given in reply.
“We’ve considered this,” Jordan informed him. “Myself and Night Hawk’s commanders have come up with a viable alternative for the situation. She’s changed, Travis, just as the rest of you have. She won’t be the same woman no matter what her memories are. However, you were more involved in her training and she’s closer to you. We suspect she’ll trust you no matter the situation. You’ll have to guide her through the mission without revealing your true reason for being there, or her previous agent status.”
“Really?” His lips twisted cynically. “Is that all?”
Jordan gave him a mirthless grin.
“Her closeness with me may not help,” Travis told him. “Actually, it could hurt.”
Jordan watched him closely for long moments.
“I’m confident you can handle it,” Jordan finally stated. “Especially considering the night the two of you spent together.”
Travis remained silent at the comment. His night with Lilly was between him and Lilly. It had nothing to do with Jordan or with the Elite Ops. “What do you know about the attempt on her?” he asked instead.
“The plastic surgeon listed as her doctor was killed in a fire in his office the day before she was shot,” Jordan revealed. “And Raisa has reports that in the past month someone had been questioning Lilly’s contacts in Berlin and Afghanistan. We have to find out if they know about the Ops as well.”
Dragging his fingers through his hair, Travis sat down on the edge of the bed and stared back at his commander. “What are the chances of her memories returning?”
Jordan shrugged. “Our doctors say no chance. There was too much damage. She’s damned lucky to be breathing on her own.
“Elite Command is willing to let her go, to allow her to return to her old life as long as her memories stay buried. She’ll never be safe, though, until her would-be assassin is caught. This is the second attempt on her life. We have to know if Elite Ops is at risk as well, how she was found, and who Lord Harrington suspected was electronically stealing and transferring those funds. It’s all tied together. Find Lilly’s attempted murderer and we’ll solve the rest of the mysteries.”
“Do we have any suspects?” Travis questioned, his voice rough.
“A whole society full,” Jordan informed him grimly. “Lady Victoria Lillian Harrington and her father were incredibly social, as her family still is. At this point we haven’t pinpointed who it isn’t, so it could be anyone.”
“What does your gut say?” Travis demanded.
“Her uncle, Desmond Harrington. He married her mother the second year after Lord Harrington’s death. He’s my best guess.”
Breathing in roughly, Travis fought to push back the anger that was fraying his control. He’d learned over the years that it rarely paid to give in to his emotions. The plain and simple fact was that he had signed up for this willingly, and he had known the rules when he had done so.
“Any indication Elite Ops has really been compromised?” It was all he could do to force the words past his lips, to keep his anger at bay that Lilly would now be so damned vulnerable.
“Several.” Jordan’s jaws clenched together. “There were inquiries into several agencies questioning any covert status she might have with them. In Afghanistan one of her contacts reported and forwarded several anonymous e-mails he received requesting any known agents she may have worked with.”
“That list is long,” Travis bit out, his voice cold. “Lilly Belle was trained for just such work.”
“And it’s well documented within those agencies that she provided security as well as contacts,” Jordan agreed. “But we believe her cover will hold.”
Travis nodded thoughtfully. He kept his anger contained for the moment and forced his mind to consider the angles of this new, far more dangerous operation.
&n
bsp; “How will I re-establish myself in her life?” he asked.
“Directly would be the most efficient,” Jordan said. “Her Elite Ops cover as a professional escort will be in place. If anyone goes digging into the past six years, that’s what they’ll find. We’ll also stick close to the truth about your past association with her—that you trained her. But in addition to that, you were one of her more frequent clients, as well as her lover. That should give you more than enough cover to get close to her. She’ll want to know about those missing years. Who better to tell her about them than her lover, Travis Caine?”
Travis clenched his teeth and refrained from warning Jordan that this might not be as easy as he and the others were assuming.
He knew Lilly. She would never accept that she had been a professional escort. She would know better, and he fully expected she would eventually remember the truth. Lilly was too stubborn not to remember.
“It’s as if you had this planned from the beginning. It’s laying in smooth as hell, isn’t it, Jordan?” Travis mused sarcastically.
“Nothing about this has been smooth,” Jordan informed him. “You were the one who rescued her that night. If you hadn’t been there, she would have died six years ago. It’s unfortunate we weren’t fast enough to save Lord Harrington though or to identify the killers.”
Travis regretted that as well. And sometimes it shook him to think that it had been mere luck that had saved Lilly’s life that night. He and Noah had been there hoping to steal the information Lord Harrington was going to turn over to MI5.
“So is MI5 in on this?” Travis asked.
Jordan shook his head. “We’ve been involved with this one since the beginning and it concerns one of our own agents, so they’re handing it over to us completely. Besides, you know they’d prefer not to have to go after one of England’s most privileged themselves, and that’s exactly where this thing is pointing.”
Jordan sighed. “As for Lilly, this is her chance to go home, Travis. We both know she’s missed it, despite the fact that she never mentions it.”
“Even if she doesn’t belong there anymore?” Travis ran a hand through his hair.
“Yes,” Jordan said with a joyless smile, “even if.”
Travis paced to the large window, though he didn’t pull the curtain aside to stare into the night beyond.
Lady Victoria Lillian Harrington.
Victoria Harrington had been quiet, filled with laughter, and as polite as hell. She had been all woman, though.
He remembered dancing with her before his own “death.” He had been very married at the time. He had also been very aware of his wife’s infidelities. He’d danced with Lilly and fought his arousal as he saw the very innocent, very feminine hunger in her eyes. He’d seen her regret, too, just as sharply as he had felt his own.
“Do you think it’s truly possible for her to go home after the life she’s lived the past six years?” Travis mused. “She’s not that innocent, idealistic young woman any longer, Jordan.”
Was it really possible to return to innocence no matter the memories lost?
Jordan breathed out roughly at the question.
“Who knows?” He finally shrugged. “Either way, we have a mission to complete and a very dangerous person to find. Lord Harrington was a very specialized, well-trained agent. Whoever killed him knew what the hell they were doing.
“MI5 focused on the new lord. Desmond Harrington, Harold Harrington’s half-brother from their father’s second marriage. He’s caretaker of the Harrington title now.”
“I’m surprised Lady Harrington remarried so quickly.” Travis knew Angelica as well. There were few things that mattered as much to her as appearances did.
Jordan sat back in his chair and finished his beer before speaking. His expression was thoughtful, suspicious.
“If she hadn’t, the title would have been lost to her son. If Desmond Harrington married and had other children, Jared would have no chance of inheriting it.” He looked at Travis. “Speaking of Angelica, it seems she tried to have Lilly sent to a psychiatric clinic in France to cure her of obstinacy.”
Travis grimaced at the information. “It’s a very nasty but common occurrence in some of the titled families,” he responded. “It’s kept quiet, considered a shameful secret, but highly relied upon to control the actions and decisions of the younger generations.”
Jordan was staring at him as though he were crazed.
Travis sat down heavily on the bottom of the bed and stared back at his commander in resignation. “Did you read my wife’s file?”
Jordan frowned. “There was nothing there about psychiatric problems or hospitalization.”
“There wouldn’t be,” Travis agreed. “It’s kept quiet, as I said. Very quiet. Even I was unaware of Patricia’s ‘stay’ in France until after her death. It was then her father informed me of her psychiatric problems. The fear of going back ensured that Patricia kept any activities her father or I would disagree with carefully hidden.”
Not that Travis would have allowed her to be hospitalized again.
“Hell.” Jordan shook his head in amazement. “Will Lilly be at risk?”
Travis’s lips thinned. “It’s possible. If Lilly associates with Travis Caine, Lady Harrington might try. However, when she discovers her daughter’s past as a paid escort, one day she may simply disappear, and then we’ll be looking at a mess.”
Jordan’s expression hardened. “A mistake Lady Harrington doesn’t want to make.”
Travis’s smile was mocking. “Lady Harrington doesn’t make mistakes. She’s always right. Always perfect. And she’ll be a pain in our collective asses.”
Chapter 2
Two months later
Hagerstown, Maryland
he was there again.
Lady Victoria Lillian Harrington glanced out of the corner of her eye as she pretended to survey the dresses in the shop window while she and her mother strolled down the crowded sidewalk of historic Hagerstown, Maryland.
She could see him, there in her periphery, standing dangerous and tall, his gaze narrowed on her, watching her with almost complete absorption.
She should be terrified. She should be fighting against the dark shadows, the terrors that rose inside her at night and the visions that haunted her even when she was awake. He brought to mind the one vision she couldn’t get away from even when she slept. The figure standing by her bed, watching her with such intensity, holding her with gentleness and compassion as agony screamed through her brain.
It was a vision her mother had sworn time and time again couldn’t have been real. It was one she knew had to be real. It was too intense, the echo of that pain too agonizing.
She didn’t fight her mother over it, though. Lady Angelica Harrington was too determined, too certain of herself and her own rules to admit she could be wrong.
Lilly rarely argued with her mother.
No, Lady Victoria Lillian Harrington rarely argued with her mother. But Lilly was finding it harder and harder to keep from doing just that.
“Darling, you’re too quiet again.” Her mother reached out, her fingers trembling as they still did whenever she touched her daughter, as though she couldn’t quite believe she was there.
“Sorry, Mother, I was thinking about that dress.” Glancing back to where she had glimpsed the aloof figure moments before, she felt disappointment tear through her.
He was gone. Dark blond hair, or was it light brown? Those eyes, what color were they? she wondered as she turned back to the window of the shop. Brown. They had to be brown. A raptor brown. Mixed with green. Intent and brooding. Eyes that could fire a woman’s arousal and her imagination. Not to mention her confusion why she would know that.
“We could go in and try it on,” her mother urged her, the soft lilt of her Engl
ish accent drawing gazes from the couple that passed by them. “I’m certain it would look positively gorgeous on you.”
Would it?
She looked beyond the dresses to the other attire the store offered. Jeans, close-fitting, and shirts that would have her mother gasping in shock, she was certain. Not because they were revealing, but because they were common. Her mother strictly detested whatever she believed was common.
“Victoria, we could look at the dresses.”
Victoria.
She frowned at the image that greeted her in the glass.
She didn’t see Victoria there. She saw an unfamiliar image, a woman she was comfortable with, yet those weren’t the features—the face, the eyes, or the hair—of the woman she’d been before. Lady Victoria Lillian Harrington of the London Harringtons. She was related to royalty, though admittedly, the kinship was a distant one at best. Still, she couldn’t quite acclimate herself to who she knew she was, the person she knew she was supposed to be.
“Victoria.” Her mother’s voice echoed with exasperation now.
“I don’t think I need another dress, Mother,” she stated absently as she moved for the door of the shop. “I see something else I might like, though.”
Where the hell was her British accent? She remembered having one. She remembered once being proud of that accent. It didn’t exist now, though. Her voice was smooth and cultured, but it lacked any accent, any inflection, that could have identified her as a member of any particular country or indicated her social status.
“Victoria, you’re acting rather odd.” There was a note of fear in her mother’s voice as she entered the shop and moved beyond the dresses.
Was she acting odd? She was sure as hell feeling damned odd, she thought, before a brief moment of shock hit her. More and more often she found herself cursing. There were moments it was all she could do to hold back the earthy vulgarity when she was talking.
“I’m fine, Mother,” she assured her again as they moved through the small store.