Cheryl Biggs - Hart's Last Stand

To kill Rick? To get caught? To make me want you? The words screamed in Hart’s mind, but not from his lips. “I ordered my aide to do a background investigation on Rick. I should have it by morning.” He didn’t mention that he’d ordered one on her, too.

She looked up at him, puzzled. “Why? You know Rick was a good soldier, and you said you saw his chopper go down. You said it exploded. You said no one—”

“I know what I said,” Hart snapped, struggling to control his temper and hang on to at least a thread of patience. “But the feds don’t believe he’s dead, and I couldn’t think of anywhere else to start.”

Suzanne nodded.

“I’ll go over the report in the morning, then decide what to do from there.”

“I’d like to see it, too.”

He frowned, instantly suspicious. “Why?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, really. I just know I have to be involved with whatever you’re going to do about this mess. It’s my fault you’ve been drawn into it. I shouldn’t have come here.”

He sat down in the chair across from her. Play their game. It was one of the first things he’d been taught in POW training. Play your enemy’s game and get inside their head. It was a soldier’s best chance of survival.

But he’d never lusted after any of his enemies.

He purposely softened his tone. “It wouldn’t have mattered whether you came here or not,” he said. “I was already being investigated.”

“You were?” She frowned. Could she believe him or was it a lie to throw her off guard? “But why? By whom?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.” He sat on the edge of his chair, arms resting on his thighs, and leaned slightly toward her. “Did Rick mention anything unusual to you the day before we left on that last mission?” He started to reach for her hand, then caught himself. “Think, Suzanne. It could be important. Did he say or do anything out of the ordinary?”

He demanded a divorce. She shook her head again. “No. Why?”

She was lying. He’d sensed it in her hesitation before answering, saw it in her eyes.

“I think something was bothering him that last day,” Hart said.

She looked at him. How much did he really know?

Hart paced the small sitting area of Suzanne’s hotel room, struggling against his frustrations, against the resentment and anger that were roiling inside him and that he was trying not to let her see. He wasn’t getting anywhere, and the longer they talked, the longer he looked into those fathomless brown eyes, the more he felt torn between ugly suspicion and the unfounded desire to believe her.

She set her glass of water on the coffee table, and he paused, turning at the sound of glass on glass. His dark gaze met hers, and for a split second he thought he saw the passion and mistrust he knew was most likely mirrored in his own eyes.

“I shouldn’t have come back,” she said again, though she wasn’t really talking to him.

Hart slid a hand through his hair as he contemplated his next move. He knew how to play the game as well as anyone. Better, actually. And it was definitely time to play. He closed the distance between them and knelt in front of her. “Suzanne.”

Innocence or treachery? Which was it that shone from those infinite depths, that coated her words, that hid behind that tantalizing smile?

He reached for her, and the moment his hand touched hers, and without warning, all the old feelings of desire welled up inside him, stronger than ever, a scorching inferno that instantly began to war with his suspicions of betrayal.

He’d meant the gesture merely as a way to get her confidence and trust. But it had been a mistake, one he had no doubt now would end up costing him dearly.

With an effort of concentration and training he pulled on the cold mantle he normally assumed when readying for a mission that would take him into battle—and possibly take his life—and shrugged the unwanted feelings of desire aside. He needed to stay focused. To remember that she was likely the most dangerous enemy he’d ever faced.

That caution might be all that stood between his life and his death.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I know you’re scared, Suzanne, and I shouldn’t have accused you of lying. It was a stupid thing to do. But you can understand, can’t you? I mean, this whole thing sounds so unbelievable. I was taken back. I felt I had to test you.”

He saw the wariness in her eyes. The fear. But was she afraid of him? Or afraid she wouldn’t succeed in fooling him?

“Look, I’m sorry,” he repeated, making an effort to soften his voice further. “I know you have no reason to lie about something like this, Suzanne.”

She looked down at the hand enveloping hers. “I didn’t lie, Hart, but I shouldn’t have come to you,” she said. “Now they suspect you, too.”

“I told you, someone was already investigating me. They requested my personnel file before you got here. I’m not quite sure where it fits, but your coming has added a piece to the puzzle and given me at least an idea about what’s going on.” That was probably the biggest lie he’d told in years.

She looked at him in surprise.

“It’ll be all right,” he said, seeing the fear still in her eyes, but not trusting himself, or her, to believe it was real. “We’ll figure out what’s going on.”

Suzanne nodded. They’d been attracted to each other once, and the timing had been wrong. Terribly wrong. It was no better now, and she felt certain it never would be. Rick’s ghost would always be between them.

Hart started to stand.

“No,” she said quickly, surprising herself. She didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want him to leave for fear he might not come back. “Stay awhile longer, please. You were right, we need to talk. Maybe we can discuss this further over dinner.”

And you’ll tell me more lies? Hart wondered, still kneeling in front of her. Yet in spite of the ugly thought, he thought he saw innocence in her eyes. Or maybe it was merely the skill of a good actress. A well-trained spy, looking up at him guilelessly, letting him see what he wanted to see while she drew him into her deadly web.

And a good soldier knew when to confront his enemy and when to let them think he was coming around to their way of thinking, Hart reminded himself, and this was not the time for confrontation or assault. Congeniality was called for. Maybe even seduction. “I’d like that,” he said, smiling at her for the first time since she’d returned.

Suzanne stole a glance across the table at Hart. Her reactions to him were intense. But she had to believe they were merely physical. She’d been so lonely since Rick’s death. And in reality, long before that. But another whirlwind romance like the one she’d had with Rick before they got married was not what she was looking for. In fact, she wasn’t looking for anything. Or anyone. She liked her life just the way it was. She was independent, successful, and…

Alone, a little voice in the back of her mind said.

She ignored it. The only reason she was here with Hart was that someone was trying to destroy her. She needed his help—that was all.

She opened her mouth to say something to him, but a movement near the entrance to the hotel dining room caught her eye, and as she turned, she instantly forgot every thought in her mind. The man she’d seen near the pool earlier looking up at her room stood talking with the maître d’.

He was short and wiry with small eyes, dark, oiled-back hair, dark complexion and a thin black mustache that followed the curve of his upper lip and ended bluntly at each corner. She thought instantly of a weasel. A very dapper, very slick and very polished weasel.