Her words damn near set his skin on fire, to think of her identity out there, exposed. It was one thing for Sutton Harper to have a vague sense of her as an agent in the area. But for enemy intelligence agencies and governments around the world to know specifics, to have her on their radar…
His brain grasped on one bit of hope in her words. “You thought your name was on the list? But it wasn’t?”
She shook her head, braid swinging like a pendulum. “It doesn’t say Stella Carson. It says Melanie Carson. It’s my mother’s name.”
“Your mother? Why would her name be there?” Unless. Holy crap.
“My mother wasn’t working for the Peace Corps.” Stella looked from her computer screen straight at him, her eyes hollow with disillusionment. “She was a CIA operative.”
***
Sam would miss these late night walks with Annie when they came to an end, and he knew they would have to end eventually. His job here would be over once she realized exactly why he wasn’t the man for her. For now, he wanted to breathe in the air heavy with humidity from the rain and make the most of every last second with her.
How far was he willing to take that, even knowing it couldn’t last? Somehow he’d lost sight of that end result in his yearlong pursuit of her. At some point he’d become so consumed with making her notice him, he’d forgotten there would be a very real expiration date.
After the way they’d kissed at the school earlier, his time to figure out his next move was coming. Most likely sooner rather than later.
Annie tipped her face into the night breeze, moonlight streaming down over her porcelain face, illuminating the freckles along her nose. “The kids recovered quickly from the disturbing news reports. By supper, they were acting like nothing had happened.”
“You were good with them in the cafeteria.” As they walked onto the playground, he squeezed her hand, a privilege he didn’t take for granted. “You calmly talked them through the television report then kept them occupied with all the cookies they could eat.”
Her laugh rode the gritty wind that twisted swings until the chains clinked. “They’ll be upset later when they realize there’s no dessert for the rest of the week.”
“We’ll add an extra recess.” He punted the ball farther, toward the swing set.
“Wearing them out with soccer.” She nodded, kicking a stray soccer ball. “Good plan.”
“It worked well this evening after supper.” He pointed to the row of dark windows along the dorms.
“Worked for most of them.” She tipped her head toward his conspiratorially. “Khaali stuffed pillows under her blankets again and hid in the bathroom.”
“To read late?” He respected how much she cared for her students, looking after each one like a child of her own.
“Maybe. That’s what she says.” She dropped into a swing, pushing off with her toe. “But I think she just wants some time to be alone.”
He leaned against the metal A-frame. “So she’s asleep now?”
“I gave her a flashlight.” She pulled on the chains and swung higher, hooks overhead squeaking.
“You broke the rules. I like that about you.”
“I’m a rebel at heart, I guess.”
He liked that about her too, more than she could imagine. Damn it, this was getting complicated.
Sliding behind her, he palmed the small of her back and nudged her higher. “The staff party this weekend would be a good time to make our dating officially known.” Because if their time was limited, damn it, he wanted to make the most of it now that finally she’d noticed him as a man. “We could see each other more openly rather than sneaking a late night walk. I could offer you a proper date.”
She glanced over her shoulder and she wasn’t smiling. “You’re a good cook and I happened to enjoy our movie night.”
“Back to the staff party…” he pressed, more determined with each passing second that he was making the right decision. His hand grazed her back again. “Will you go with me as my date?”
She drug her feet along the dusty earth, slowing, stopping. “The staff party would be a sad place to end something that’s only just started.”
His gut dropped. He stepped around to kneel in front of her. “You want to—what is the English phrase?—break up with me already?”
“I think you are rushing things between us.” She trailed her fingers down his cheek.
“I have waited for a year.” And he feared time was running out. He clasped her soft hand.
“A year…” She blinked and stuttered. “I…”
“You are speechless for once.” He kissed her knuckles. “I am amazed.”
“Suddenly you’re a comedian.” She rested her forehead against his.
“I am a man who has waited a long time for a chance with you.” A chance that would very likely be ruined when she learned more about him, about why he left Egypt to come here. But for now, he would allow himself to enjoy what time he had with her.
“You know, an affair would be easier than a relationship.”He choked on a cough. “Pardon me?”
“Does that shock you? We are both adults—more than adults. I may be wrong, but I assumed from your kiss that you find me attractive.”
“You know I do.” God, he wanted to take her up on the offer, had been thinking the same thing himself.
“Then let’s skip the formalities.” She kissed him lightly, deliberately. “Come with me to my apartment.”
He wanted her, without question, wanted her so much his body ached. And he couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life never knowing what it would be like to hold her in his arms through the night.
But his conscience balked at the notion of being intimate with her when he held back so much about himself. When he knew she could not be honest with him.
She pressed fingers to his mouth. “I am not naïve. I know there are things you haven’t told me. There’s a look to a person who has secrets. I…” She stuttered for the first time. “I have my own. Maybe that’s why we’re drawn to each other. And perhaps that’s why we can have an affair.”
“You make a compelling argument.” One he didn’t have the strength to argue with.
He pulled her from the swing and into his arms. Kneeling right there in the dusty playground, he kissed her, tasting the lingering sugar and cinnamon from cookies. But more than that, he took in the feel of her, the press of her full br**sts against his chest, the silky glide of her hair as he thrust his hands under her scarf. The intimacy of those chestnut strands caressing his skin was almost more than he could withstand.
They needed to move this inside before someone saw them. He wouldn’t compromise her reputation or set an improper example for the children. Clasping her by the elbows, he stood, bringing her with him. His body protested the loss of her lips, of her hands on his shoulders even as his mind reassured him soon, soon she would finally be his for as long as they had together.
“Sam,” she said, her voice husky with desire. “Your phone.”
“What?” His passion-fogged mind wrestled to keep up with words.
“Your phone is buzzing. Can you ignore it?”
His phone. Buzzing. With a message.
Damn it.
Not now, not now, his brain chanted as he hoped the text was something simple. He received countless memos. But this wasn’t his regular phone. It was his second, for official business. His instincts told him the news would be bad, and for Annie’s sake he needed to know sooner rather than later.
He reached into his pocket and thumbed through the code to read… A series of numbers scrolled across his screen. A code, rather than words, in case his phone was compromised.
A code he knew meant only one thing.
He cursed the timing and his duty. This was not the way this evening was supposed to end. He jammed his phone back in his pack and clasped Annie’s arm with purpose rather than passion.
“Sam? What’s wrong? Where are we going?”
He couldn’t believe all that he was giving up tonight. But he didn’t dare look at her right now or he would forget all about his job.
“I don’t have time to explain, but I know who you are. Your identity has been compromised. Melanie Carson, I work for Interpol and I need to take you into protective custody.”
Chapter 13
Stella sat in the middle of her bed, legs crossed, rocking back and forth. A small corner of her brain registered that she was in shock, so she let Jose take over. They’d been lodged at a hotel near the airport, a blah place with plenty of amenities and none of the local flavor.
If she’d been in her right mind, she would have voiced how much she hated it and Jose would have grinned, then offered to distract her. Or checked them both into someplace more exotic. But all of that would have been wasted on her. She was too numb to feel or register anything other than the surreal discovery that everything she’d believed about her childhood, the memories that had shaped her, had all been lies.
He locked the door and closed the blinds, creating a cocoon for her to process, to grieve. She’d come to Africa to find out about her mom, but she’d never expected to find this. Her mind was still reeling with the fact that her mother had lied about everything. Stella forced steady breaths in and out, willing her heart to slow.
Smith had pulled her off the case the second he’d realized her mother was involved. But involved how? What had she been doing here? Stella’s image of her mom grew all the more complicated. Her mom hadn’t been on Peace Corps missions. Her mother had been serving the government in some capacity. Her mother had been doing exactly what she did, probably since before Stella was born.
And her mother had died in the line of duty rather than on some random road trip from village to village between goodwill missions.
The truth had rocked her to the core.
Jose opened a water bottle and set it on the bedside table before he sat on the edge of the mattress, not talking, just waiting. Giving her space to deal with mind-blowing information at a time when she was already on shaky ground.
How was she supposed to sift through it all? She was such a mess she could hardly lift the water bottle from the end table. Hand shaking, she brought it to her lips. Three gulps later, she wasn’t any steadier. The words welled inside her without any organization at all. No surprise since the walls of logic had been blasted away.
“My mom was in and out of my life so often when I was a kid. We made big memories when she was home.” She squeezed the bottle, the plastic crackling in her hand, water sloshing up and over. “It was like being with her was always a huge party.”
“What about your dad?” Jose took the bottle from her hand. “Wasn’t that tough for him, her being the good guy while he managed the daily grind?”
He spoke with an understanding that pierced through her fog, making her think of him as a kid and teenager, taking care of himself while his parents ignored the real problem. The only time he’d had anyone on his side was during that time his grandmother lived with them.
“I honestly don’t recall my father complaining.” But then she questioned her perceptions today. Big time. “He really tried. He shared lots of stories about my mom when she was overseas… and after she died… to keep her alive in my mind. She was artsy. My dad kept all her crafts, even after she died.”
“He cared about her.”
“I believe he did, but tonight I’m not sure I trust my instincts anymore.” She pressed her palms to her temples. “I missed the signs from Harper. I obviously didn’t have a clue about my own mother…”
He clasped her wrists, thumbing her pulse. “Remember what you said earlier? You’re not a robot. You’re human and you did the best you could. Your best helped us catch Sutton Harper before he hurt anyone. And your best found the answers about your mom in spite of all the odds. From where I’m sitting, you’re mighty damn amazing.”