Watch Your Back

He brushed his lips over hers. ‘Stefania,’ he whispered. ‘Finally mine.’

  Her eyes stung, filled. Spilled, wetting her cheeks. Some of it was the crash after the adrenaline rush, more intense than she’d had in years. Maybe ever.

  But mostly it was relief. It was hearing her given name in his velvet voice. It was feeling cherished again. The sex had been mind-blowing. The look on his face . . . made it perfect.

  He let her legs slide down his until her feet touched the floor. One arm around her waist, he wiped at her tears with his free hand, his forehead creased by a panicked frown. ‘I was too rough. I hurt you. God, Stevie, I’m sorry.’

  She pressed her fingers to his lips. ‘No. I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right.’

  He blew out a breath. ‘Good.’ He studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing. ‘Wait. You thought I’d be disappointed?’ he asked incredulously. ‘Really?’

  He’d understood. Why did this continue to surprise her? She nodded. ‘I guess I did.’

  ‘But now you know I’m not.’

  She nodded again, her lips turning up in a small smile. ‘I think that was pretty clear.’

  ‘I should hope so,’ he said mildly. He eased her arms from the sleeves of her T-shirt, pulling it over her head as if she were a child. He peeled back the edge of her bandage, checked her stitches, nodding when he found them intact. Then he startled her by scooping her up into his arms and stepping into the shower. He wrapped a hand towel around her bandage. ‘Keep your arm out of the spray,’ he said and turned the water back on. ‘Warm, this time.’

  ‘I should hope so,’ she echoed, then lifted her brows. ‘But I already had a shower.’

  ‘One can never be too clean. Especially for what I have in mind.’

  Another delicious shiver pebbled her skin. ‘You mean we’re not done?’ she teased.

  His eyes glittered. ‘Not even close.’

  Towson, Maryland, Monday, March 17, 8.50 P.M.

  This wasn’t a ‘care package’, Henderson thought, turning in a slow circle. This was a goddamn bunker. Westmoreland had food supplies for months. Medicine, bandages.

  Fletcher didn’t know about this, of that Henderson was certain. Otherwise, the doc would have had the supplies to treat me at the Key Hotel on Saturday night. There would have been no need to risk exposure at Dr Sean’s free clinic.

  Westmoreland had always been the most private member of their group. Still. Wow. This place had everything.

  Knives, nun chucks, and boxes of ammo of at least three different calibers, but oddly, only one gun. The nine mil Sig had been cleaned recently, the serial number filed off long ago. That it had a silencer was a plus.

  There was a tub on one of the shelves that said ‘Ether’. It proved to have not only ether, but also fentanyl and ketamine. All very useful knock-out drugs. Another tub held syringes. Another, stacks of cash in small bills.

  Westmoreland, you have got to be the most organized hoarder I’ve ever known. Henderson searched every shelf, marveling at this treasure trove.

  And then the tub of a different color caught Henderson’s eye. It was bright blue where the rest of the tubs were all the same basic green. Inside . . . Henderson’s throat caught. My stuff. It wasn’t a lot of stuff, but it was better than nothing.

  Westmoreland had set the fire that burned down Henderson’s entire apartment building. He must have retrieved my stuff first. At least he knew I wasn’t home. Unlike Robinette’s attempt to kill Wes’s parents.

  Henderson’s eyes stung at the sight of the family photo that had hung on the apartment’s living room wall. Everyone in the photo was gone now. Except me.

  Wes had set the fire, but had saved a few treasures. Sweet.

  At the bottom of the tub was an item that made Henderson’s heart beat faster. A silver flask, a gift given three years ago by Westmoreland, Fletcher, and Brenda Lee – on the day of Henderson’s fifth anniversary with the company.

  Henderson twisted off the top and sniffed. Then smiled. It was still filled with the brandy it had come with. Well, technically not the exact brandy. That was gone long ago. Henderson just kept refilling it and nobody would have been the wiser, if anyone had thought to check.

  Just a taste. The first swallow brought a relieved sigh. So good. The next swallow was as good as the first. It was four swallows later before realization set in. You’re going to get drunk.

  Stop drinking and get to work. Filling a bag with Westmoreland’s supplies didn’t take long at all. Now I’m ready to take Mazzetti down.

  No, not yet. There was still the matter of getting Mazzetti’s exact room number. If Henderson hit the wrong room, a victim could send up an alarm. At a minimum it meant killing any witnesses. And that tended to get messy if there were too many.

  Milo’s Venus, here I come. At the bar waited a cameraman whose sole goal was to get laid. Buddy, it’s your lucky night. Or at least it will be until I kill you.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Baltimore, Maryland, Monday, March 17, 8.55 P.M.

  Clay stared up at the hotel bedroom’s ceiling, sated. Completely blissed out.

  He should sleep so that he’d be alert to stand watch, but he didn’t want to. A piece of him worried that he’d wake to find none of this had really happened. That he hadn’t just had the best sex of his life. Twice. Or that he didn’t hold Stevie Mazzetti in his arms. But he had. And he did.

  The second time they’d actually made it to the bed, and, though he’d wanted to conveniently ‘forget’, they’d remembered to use protection. He’d honestly forgotten the first time, but who could blame him? To his credit, it was he who’d remembered the second time, watching her eyes widen as she’d counted the days, murmuring that they were probably okay.

  But her words hadn’t been accompanied by relief. Instead her eyes had filled with a dark yearning that rekindled his hopes for the family he wanted – with her.

  Then she’d taken the condom out of his hand, rolling it down his cock with an agonizing deliberation that made him forget his plans to go slow. He hadn’t scraped the surface of what he wanted to do to her. With her. For her. Warm and fragrant, she curled into him now, her head on his chest, her legs intertwined with his. Her fingers gently toying with the hair on his chest.

  He was happy. And he couldn’t remember when he’d ever felt this way. He kissed the top of her head. ‘What changed your mind?’ he murmured. ‘About me?’

  Her fingers paused in their petting. ‘I don’t think I changed my mind as much as I saw things more clearly. I think I always knew. I was just too scared to admit it.’

  ‘Then what made you un-scared?’

  He felt her smile against his skin. ‘Your daddy’s new girlfriend. She’s a very nice woman, Clay. You should get to know her better.’

  ‘I already told my dad I would. I was wrong. He deserves to be happy.’

  ‘I know. So does she. Apparently Tanner had to do some serious wooing because Nell wanted them to be just friends.’

  ‘He said as much. The wooing part. Said he charmed her into changing her mind.’

  She laughed softly. ‘Charm, manipulation. Potato, po-tah-to.’ She sobered. ‘What made her change her mind was that she finally realized she was afraid to fail.’

  ‘Fail who? My dad?’

  ‘More like a fail what. She was married to a good man. She said she was afraid she’d fail in any other relationship.’

  He frowned. ‘Because he’d been the best and no one else would be as good as he’d been?’

  ‘No. Because he’d been better than she. The better partner. The better person.’

  Clarity hit him like a brick. ‘Oh. And she was just a hanger-on, lucky to have had the ride.’

  ‘Sounds silly when you hear it said out loud,’ she murmured. ‘But it’s true. I thought I was afraid I’d mess it up with you, because I was afraid to open myself up again.’

  ‘That’s what I thought the problem was.’

  ‘And it wa
s, partially, because loving and losing might be better than never loving at all, but it totally sucks ass.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘I told myself I was afraid of hurting you, because you’d never be good enough.’

  ‘Second best,’ he said quietly and she cringed.

  ‘I was trying to scare you away.’

  He cupped her jaw, fanning his thumb across her cheek. ‘I figured that out myself.’

  ‘I know, but I hate that I hurt you. Now I realize the real issue was that I was afraid I’d never be good enough. That I’d be second best. And I hate to fail.’

  ‘Really?’ he deadpanned. ‘That comes as a total shock.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘So am I. More serious than I’ve ever been in my life. Because this, Stevie, whatever it is we have, is the most important thing in my life.’

  ‘I know,’ she said again. ‘And, with the exception of Cordelia, mine, too. Thank you for giving me so many chances, even though it hurt you. You’ve been more than patient.’

  ‘It was worth it. You’re worth it. I always knew that. I just stopped believing it would ever happen for us. I kept telling myself to forget about you, to find somebody else. But I couldn’t. There is no one else for me. There hasn’t been since the day I met you.’

  Her eyes warmed and she smiled almost shyly before kissing him, long and lush. ‘If I could move,’ she murmured against his lips, ‘I’d be jumping your bones right now.’

  He snorted a surprised laugh, watched her eyes sparkle. ‘If I could move, I’d beat you to it.’

  She returned her head to his chest and sighed, content. ‘We can vie for position later.’

  He smiled up at the ceiling. Trust Stevie to turn sex into a contest. He couldn’t wait.

  For a long while they lay there, saying nothing, but gradually contentment gave way to something that had been bothering Clay for a while. He wondered if this was a good time to bring it up, then realized there would be no good time. Just a less bad time.

  Might as well get it all out in the open. For better or for worse. ‘Stevie? You said that nobody in your family talks about your husband and son. Why don’t they?’

  She stiffened. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because I’d like to know.’

  She was quiet for so long he thought she wouldn’t answer. Then she blew out a breath. ‘I love my parents, Clay. They’re good people and they sacrificed a lot for us.’

  ‘I know they’re good people. But all families have issues. If I’m going to be a part of your life, I’ll be spending time with your parents. I’d like to know. Did they . . . like Paul?’

  ‘They loved Paul like a son,’ she said defensively. ‘And Paulie . . . He was the only grandson.’ She drew a breath and held it for long seconds before slowly exhaling.

  She’s calming herself. This wasn’t going to be easy. He stroked her hair, saying nothing. If she told him, fine. If not, he wouldn’t force her.

  ‘Paulie was treated like a prince. But after . . . no one mentioned his name.’

  ‘Why, honey?’

  Her swallow was audible in the quiet of the room. ‘My parents came from Romania. I guess you figured that out. Their accents are still strong. What you don’t know is that Sorin and I were born there. We left when we were six.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it was the eighties and people were being murdered,’ she snapped bitterly. ‘All kinds of people. Just because the government could.’

  ‘You defected?’

  ‘Yes. My father became a high school science teacher after we moved here, but there he worked for the government. He was a physicist. Working on nuclear fuel extractors.’

  And it had been the tail end of the Cold War. ‘He developed weapons.’

  ‘Not according to the government then, but I think so. He still doesn’t discuss it. He was watched, all the time. So was my mother. And my aunt. My father’s sister.’

  ‘She died?’

  ‘She was murdered. Hit and run as she was crossing the street. But we knew it was deliberate. We saw it happen, my father and I. She tried to run, but the car swerved so that it could hit her. She died there, in the street, in my father’s arms.’

  And little Stefania had witnessed the grisly event. Clay kept his voice level even though he wanted to curse. ‘Why did they kill her?’

  ‘She was also a scientist and had been vocal about her disagreement with the fuel research program. I picked up that much from the arguments she and my father had after Sorin and I were supposed to be asleep.’ She shrugged slightly. ‘Cordelia comes by it honestly.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘They never mentioned it. Never mentioned her, ever again. Except when we’d gotten out and come to America, my mother was pregnant again. My aunt’s name was Izabela.’

  ‘They named Izzy after her.’

  ‘Yes, but they never said so. I asked about my aunt once. My father clammed up, said the dead were dead. Light a candle for them at Mass if you so desire, but talking about them solves nothing. So when Paul and Paulie died, I knew better than to bring them up.’

  ‘Does Izzy know about your aunt?’

  ‘Only what I’ve told you, because that’s all I know.’

  ‘But you saw it. Your dad’s six-year-old witnessed a murder. Did he get you counseling?’

  ‘No. There wasn’t such a thing in Romania at that time. But even if there had been that’s not Dad’s style. You suck it up. Be strong. Don’t air the family laundry in front of strangers.’

  Now so much more made sense. ‘Did he think you’d just forget?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘I guess so.’ She let out another sigh, this one sad. ‘Just like I thought Cordelia would forget. That she could go on sleeping in her bed. Eating at the kitchen table where Silas held a gun to her side. Sitting on the floor in front of the TV on the new carpet I had put down because I couldn’t get Silas’s blood out of the old one.’

  ‘But you did try to get her help, Stevie. You took her to therapists.’

  ‘But it wasn’t helping and I didn’t try anything different.’

  ‘Now you are.’

  ‘Only because Izzy forced the issue.’

  ‘Do you talk about your husband and son to Emma, during your lunches?’

  ‘Yes. At first, I’d phone her a few times a week. Then every few months. Then I went back to work and we started our yearly lunch. And over time . . . it got better. I healed enough to get through the day.’

  Clay knew her healing wasn’t done, but he was glad to hear her say it. ‘You talk a lot about Paul. But not your son.’

  She stiffened again. ‘So?’

  ‘Would you tell me about him? About Paulie?’

  She swallowed hard. ‘Would you tell me about Sienna?’

  It was Clay’s turn to stiffen. How the hell had she known? Then he remembered the conversation with Cordelia as she’d stood on the stairs at his father’s house. ‘You weren’t asleep Sunday morning. You were listening.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to spy on you. I meant to spy on Cordelia. She tells you more than she tells me. So? Will you?’

  ‘I tell you about Sienna and you tell me about Paulie?’

  ‘Seems like a fair trade.’

  Maybe not. There was so much about how he handled his situation that left him ashamed.

  ‘There’s not much to tell,’ he said. ‘I married Sienna’s mother right after high school. She’d just broken up with a guy she’d been going steady with for three years. I was the classic rebound date. We drank too much beer and did it in the backseat. I was two weeks from leaving for basic training at Parris Island when she told me that she was pregnant and I was the father.’

  ‘So you married her.’

  ‘Yep. She wanted me to “quit the Marines”. I told her I couldn’t, that I’d signed a contract. She pouted, told me if I loved her, I’d find a way. You don’t get out of a military contract, so I did the only thing I could. Risked her father’s wrath and ma
nned up. He was a scary sonofabitch, her father. He did not approve of the marriage, but approved of having an unwed mother for a daughter even less, so he allowed it. I went to boot camp, sent her letters every week and most of every paycheck. She cashed the checks, never sent a letter to me. This went on for five months.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘She finally sent me a letter. Told me she’d lost the baby. I’d finished boot camp and was in training school. I tried to get leave, but a miscarriage wasn’t a good enough reason in those days. I had a 72-hour leave between training and deployment so I went home, tried to find her. My dad helped me search, but she was gone. Her family said she’d moved and wouldn’t give me a forwarding address. I couldn’t stay to find her. I was shipping out. I got to Africa and seven months later got another letter, this one from her attorney.’

  ‘Requesting a divorce?’

  ‘Yeah, and me halfway around the world. I granted it. I mean, it wasn’t like she was the love of my life at that point. She clearly didn’t even want to talk to me. I figured the emotional trauma of the miscarriage made dealing with me too painful.’

  ‘Did you want the baby?’

  ‘At first? No. I wasn’t even nineteen years old and potentially going into a combat zone. But the more I thought about it, yeah, I wanted it. She never told me what it was, a girl or a boy.’

  ‘Since Sienna is alive, she obviously lied about the miscarriage.’

  ‘She did indeed. I came home on leave between tours, met up with some old buddies. Heard she’d gotten married again – to the guy she’d gone steady with through high school. That he’d been willing to take her, even though she had a six-month-old baby at the time.’

  She propped her forearms on his chest. ‘What’d you do?’

  ‘Went to find her. That was my child. She didn’t want me to know about the baby, because she knew I wanted it. She didn’t want to share custody with me. But it turned out that her old high school flame beat her senseless and dumped her for another woman with no kid.’

  ‘A real winner.’

  ‘Word in the neighborhood was that she’d gone out West to live with an aunt. I went to see her father because I wanted answers, but I got a black eye instead.’