Karen Whiddon - Mission - Marriage

“What?” he repeated, groggy and slow and wishing he could simply wrap himself around her and drift off to sleep.

“Get in the bed,” she repeated. “You look like you might pass out at any moment.”

Grateful, he crawled for the pillow, barely registering her touch as she tugged the blanket over him.

Outside, the rain beat steady and heavy, drowning out the noise of the traffic and the city. Sean’s last thought as he drifted off to sleep was how he’d give anything to wake up with Natalie warm and willing in his arms.

“Sean, I need the truth.”

He started, yanked up out of a light doze. The soft question came out of nowhere, the dark room amplifying the sensual sound of her breathing, of her silky voice. “I gave you the truth.” Blinking, he cleared his throat. “Honestly, I told you what really happened.”

“No. You told me pieces.” Her tone made it clear she thought there was more. “You left part of the puzzle out. The biggest piece. What’s the real reason the Hungarian wants to destroy you?”

His heart thudding dully in his chest, he swallowed. She’d asked the one question he’d dreaded for so many years. The one question that, if he answered, might completely and utterly destroy whatever speck of love remained in her heart for him.

Propped into the corner of the high-backed chair, her elegant neck looking impossibly long, her short, copper-colored hair sticking up in wanton disarray and her half-lidded amber gaze appearing sultry, she made him want her all over again.

He couldn’t help but wonder if she knew her beauty struck him dumb. Fervently, he hoped she didn’t.

While he stared, she stared back. Finally, she narrowed her eyes, the dim light from the lamp making them appear to glow golden. “Are you even awake enough to talk?”

He could have taken the coward’s way out—told her he wanted to go back to sleep and they’d talk about this in the morning. But he was tired of running, tired of hiding. And, even though he’d given her a partial truth, he was damn sick and tired of having her think he’d disappeared because he didn’t care.

“I’m waking up.” Sean couldn’t help but wonder if she remembered the way he always woke around her—aroused and ready. She used to love teasing him, until they both were panting and breathless.

Damn. Remembering didn’t help his current situation at all. Pushing himself up, he plumped up the pillow and propped it against the headboard. He was careful to keep the blankets piled on top of his lap.

“At the time, I believed I had no choice.” It was the closest he could bring himself to admit he might have, in the awful grief and rage, made an error in judgment.

“I thought our marriage was based upon trust. Love. Respect. You’ve proved me wrong with your lies. You weren’t the man I thought you were, Sean.” Her voice broke. “The man I loved.”

He opened his mouth, closed it and swallowed. In this, with secret upon secret upon secret, he wasn’t even certain where to begin. There were some things he’d believed he would never have to tell her.

Now, he knew he had no choice. If they were ever to have a second chance together, Natalie had to know everything.

She misread his hesitation as refusal. “Cut the crap. Tell me everything.”

Everything. He closed his eyes and sighed. The rest of what he had to tell her tasted like bile, though he knew someday she’d have to know the truth.

All of the truth, no matter how much it hurt.

“Start at the beginning, so I can keep this straight.” Her clothes rustled as she moved. “Begin with the family reunion.”

Though his feud with the Hungarian went back much further than that, the family reunion was a good place to start. Natalie had been scheduled to arrive close to the same time as his parents. A missed flight had saved her life.

Clearing his throat, he began. “What the Hungarian did to my family earned him a special niche in hell.

“I arrived on the island early, planning to surprise my folks and you. I’ll never forget jumping out of the rented boat and jogging toward the main house, full of excitement.

“The pool of blood on the front porch was my first clue something was wrong.”

He tasted bile and swallowed, forcing himself to continue. “Bloody footprints in the foyer had me running for the den. My family was there—or what was left of them. The killers had dragged them into the center of the room and tossed them in a horrible, bloody heap.”

Eyes wide, she watched him. “Dead?”

“Oh yes. They were all dead. Brutally murdered. Missing limbs, or eyes or heads. From the expression on their faces, they’d suffered horribly before they died.”

The blood leached from her face. “I’m so sorry.”

Ignoring her, he continued. “Frantic, my first thought was for you, my wife. I couldn’t find you. Your body wasn’t in the bloody carnage of all that remained of my family. I searched every inch of that doomed vacation house. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

“As if losing my parents and brother and sister weren’t enough.” Again he swallowed, blinking back tears. “I couldn’t bear losing the woman I loved more than life itself, too. But I couldn’t find you.”

“I wasn’t there,” she reminded him, softly.

Ignoring her, he went on. “For one terrible moment, I believed you’d been taken hostage by him, a man who had no problem ordering the brutal torture and slaying of innocent people. But when I turned on my cell phone to call the police, I found the message you’d left while I was in flight. I played it back. Your cheerful voice seemed out of place as I stood in the middle of the bloodstained room and played it, again and again and again.”

“The message I left telling you my flight had been cancelled.” Her whisper was hoarse, the pain in her voice as raw as his own.

“Yes.” He didn’t tell her that right then he’d fallen on his knees and thanked God she was alive. Natalie was alive. As long as she lived, the Hungarian hadn’t won. She’d been spared the sight of the carnage, of the message written in blood on the living room floor.

This is only the beginning. We’re not done.

He’d known then. The Hungarian had done this to make him pay.

The blame for all these deaths could be laid squarely at his feet. The murders were his fault. Repercussions always had a way of catching up with you. He should have known that.

But even then, even grieving and hurting and furious, he’d tried to figure out a way to save Natalie. Because he’d known the Hungarian wouldn’t rest until she’d died a horribly slow death, just to punish him. Sean had wanted to spare her that fate. So he’d died instead.

Now, once again, he faced the consequences of his actions. Proving no one ever got off scot-free.

“Sean?” Her voice brought him back from the horrific memories. “Why didn’t you contact me, tell me what was going on?”

“I couldn’t risk it. If anything had happened to you …”

“I’m a trained SIS agent.” She sounded impatient. “I can protect myself.”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’d just lost my entire family.” It was the first time he’d admitted it, even to himself.

He cleared his throat. “Nat, if I hadn’t died, the Hungarian would have killed you. You wouldn’t have seen it coming. Then he would have put a price on my head.”

“What did you do to make him hate you so much?”

Ah, the six-million-dollar question.

He took a deep breath, both dreading what he had to say, and relieved that he could finally say it, struggling to find the right words. Awash in pain he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in twenty-four months, two weeks and three days, he knew he couldn’t break down in front of her. Not now, when every word he said could impact his future.