Midnight Bride. Barbara McCauleyЧитать онлайн книгу.
an agent that way.
But hadn’t that kind of thinking nearly killed him seven months ago?
It had killed Tom and his wife, Jenny. Agents in Caleb’s department rarely married or had families. They didn’t even have friends. It was too risky. Not only because the work was dangerous, but the threat of retaliation and blackmail against loved ones was too great. And once an agent was in this highly specialized department, they didn’t get out. If you married, your spouse took the same risks as you. Tom and Jenny had known that and taken that risk. They hadn’t even seen their first anniversary.
Caleb’s hand tightened around the poker as he stared into the flames. He still woke up at night with the sound of the explosion, still heard Jenny’s screams….
That operation had been one massive screwup. After he’d gotten out of the hospital, Caleb had found every man responsible and had graphically demonstrated his anger. If it hadn’t been for Mike, and the man’s rank in the department, Caleb would be in the brig right now, instead of on a leave of absence.
Mike Townsend was the only person Caleb would ever trust again. The only man he truly called friend. They’d entered the agency at the same time fourteen years ago and had both risen quickly, with Mike choosing command positions and Caleb preferring the hands-on assignments. They’d been to hell and back together, and each of them had saved the other’s life. More than once.
That’s why, when he’d gone to town earlier, he’d called Mike, who had sworn he hadn’t sent an agent in. But Caleb knew that didn’t rule out the possibility someone else in the department had without Mike’s knowledge. And there was always the possibility, though remote, that she was from another department, or even less remote, from another government. Caleb had information that men—or women—would kill for. If they’d found out he was here, they might try to get at him through a woman.
He would know soon enough. He’d mailed the water glass she’d drunk from to Mike. Her fingerprints would reveal the true identity of his mystery woman.
“Caleb?”
He turned sharply at the unexpected sound, the poker raised and ready to strike. She stared at him from the bedroom doorway, eyes wide, one hand clutching the top of the shirt she wore. With a curse he slowly lowered the weapon.
Sarah’s first impulse was to bolt back into the bedroom and lock the door, but her feet wouldn’t move. She swallowed the lump in her throat and stood at the door. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
“You shouldn’t be up,” he said tightly.
“I’m feeling much better.”
Except for the light from the fire, darkness cloaked the room. Shadows flickered on Caleb’s face. He looked fierce and powerful. Dangerous. His dark gaze fell on her.
Why was he staring at her like that? she wondered. Not just staring at her, but into her. As if he knew things she didn’t. She almost laughed at the irony of that, considering she knew nothing about herself. She felt her breath release as he set the poker back into its holder.
“I didn’t mean to intrude.” She took a hesitant step into the room. “I thought I might use your phone.”
He raised one brow. “And call whom?”
“The police, to start. Maybe someone has filed a missing person’s report or they found my car.”
He moved beside her. “I just got back from town, Sarah. There’s been no report made, no car found.”
“That—that’s not possible,” she whispered.
“Apparently it is.”
The room began to spin. She reached back toward the doorway, but suddenly found herself off the ground and in Caleb’s arms.
“I’m fine,” she protested. “Really.”
He carried her to the fire and set her on the seat of the brick hearth. “Right. And I’m Don Quixote.”
She touched her trembling fingers to her temple. “No. You’re much too dark and handsome. I’d say more like Bronte’s Heathcliff.”
Sarah nearly gasped at the audacity of her words. My God, did I really say that? Heat rushed to her cheeks as she looked up at Caleb.
He stood over her, thumbs hooked in the front loops of his jeans. Amusement lit his eyes; firelight danced in his black hair. She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Frantically she searched her aching brain, trying to think of a retraction. Oh, sure, she thought irritably, now I can’t think of a thing to say.
“How’s your head?” he asked.
“I think the construction crew is taking a break right now.” She caught a flash of straight white teeth just before he sat down next to her.
“Let me take a look at it.”
“No, really, it’s fine.”
But he was already reaching for her, and there was nothing she could do, outside of jumping into the fire. When his thigh brushed hers, she nearly did that.
“Turn around.” He took hold of her shoulders and turned her body until her back was to him. It was impossible to stop the shiver that raced up her spine as he swept her hair aside.
“This might hurt.”
It didn’t. Quite the opposite. A delicious tingling sensation skimmed over her head and neck, spreading down her shoulders. When he tugged the bandage off, the tingling only intensified.
He angled her head toward the light of the fire. The heat from the flames burned through the cotton of her shirt and thermal underwear, but the whisper of Caleb’s breath on her neck was like a long, slow sip of warm brandy. She closed her eyes and, in spite of herself, felt herself relax as his fingers roamed the base of her neck.
He carried the scent of the storm on his skin, she thought languidly, and something else, something even more potent, more enticing. His scent. A mixture of soap and pine and untamed masculinity. Her pulse tripped, then bolted.
“That’s strange,” he said thoughtfully.
She held back another shiver as his fingers combed through her hair. “What?”
“Unusual.”
“What?”
“Your hair.”
“What about my hair?”
“It’s natural.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in. With a cluck of annoyance, she pulled away and turned to face him. “I’ve misplaced an entire life, nearly died, and you’re making jokes.”
“It’s not a joke. Your hair is natural.”
He wanted to tell her that it was soft, too. Like spun silk. His hands ached to lose themselves in those golden strands. When he saw tears glisten in her eyes, he cursed his lust and let his hands fall to his sides.
“I looked in the mirror in the bathroom,” she whispered raggedly. “A stranger stared back at me. Have you any idea what that’s like?”
More than you could possibly know, he thought.
“Caleb.” She lifted her gaze to his. “I want you to take me into town, to the sheriff.”
He wanted to agree with her. For her sake, as well as his. There had to be someone looking for her-family or friends. And he sure as hell didn’t need an angry husband breaking his door down. Whatever trouble she’d gotten into was her problem, not his. It made no sense for her to stay here. No sense at all.
But he couldn’t let go of the desperation in her voice and the fear in her eyes when he’d found her. If it had been an act, it had been a damn good one. But if it wasn’t, then someone had tried to