Radclyffe - Word of Honor

“People can get pretty wound up about those issues,” Dana said casually.

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“Did you know the person who attacked you in Boston?”

“No, he wasn’t…” Emory stopped suddenly and pulled her hand out from under Dana’s. “Why are you doing this? Why are you using what’s happening between us to take advantage of me?”

“How am I doing that?”

“By treating me like a story.”

“You are a story. You, Emory. You.” Dana’s expression darkened and when she leaned forward, her eyes sparked with anger. “Don’t you get it, Emory? If you’re in danger, publicizing it makes you safer. Letting the world know you’re a target for hatemongers and zealots will force the foundation to give you more security. It will make local law enforcement agents more alert the next time you step onto a stage. You’re an important person. Maybe one of the most important people in the world. What part of that don’t you get?”

“I don’t need you to worry about my safety.”

“Well, that’s just fine, but I already do.” Dana reached across the table and grabbed Emory’s hand. “And I happen to like holding your hand. I happen to like you a lot.”

“I don’t like you using the fact that I like you.” Emory kept her voice down even though she wanted to yell. “Is that why you kissed me earlier? Because you know it makes me stupid and senseless?”

“How can a simple little kiss make you stupid?”

“I don’t know,” Emory hissed, “but it does. I can’t think. All I can do is feel how hot your mouth is and how soft your lips are and how much I want you to keep kissing me. The tips of your fingers are rough, did you know that? I think about you rubbing them—” She closed her eyes. “Oh my God. Now I don’t even have to kiss you and I lose my mind.”

All the air left Dana’s chest as her stomach did a slow somersault. She knew Emory wasn’t trying to seduce her. In fact, it sounded like the last thing in the world Emory wanted was for something to happen between them. But just thinking about Emory wanting to be kissed—wanting to be kissed by her—was the sexiest thing she’d ever experienced. “It’s a damn good thing we’re sitting in a coffee shop right now.”

Emory opened her eyes. “Why?”

“Because I want to kiss you like you’ve never been kissed, and I don’t want to stop until we’re both naked and I’m inside you and I can watch you come.”

“I really haven’t thought beyond kisses,” Emory whispered. “So you might want to back up a step or two.”

Dana grinned, but her legs were shaking. If she’d been standing up, she might’ve fallen down. “I’m not using you, Emory. Yes, I want to write about you and what you do. But it’s more than that. I want to know you. I want to know why you do it.” She pulled her chair around the side of the small, round pedestal table until they were side by side. She kissed the side of Emory’s neck. “I want to know what pleases you. What frightens you. What makes you happy.” She turned Emory’s face to hers and kissed her on the lips. “I want to make love to you.”

Emory traced her fingers over Dana’s mouth. “You have such beautiful lips. But I’m not ready to have an orgasm in a coffee shop.”

“I was thinking we would probably wait until we were in bed.”

Emory laughed. She wished they were alone so she could curl up in Dana’s lap and kiss her and be kissed, and touch her and be touched. Her body had never felt so alive. “I’m glad we’re not alone right now.”

“Why?”

“Because I think I would let you take me to bed, and I’m not ready for that.” She laughed again, her voice shaking as much as her insides. “Well, at least not all of me is ready.”

“Okay.” Dana eased away but kept Emory’s hand in hers. “No orgasms tonight. But will you come back with me? Just stay in the apartment with me. I promise I won’t ask you any questions.”

Emory looked down at Dana’s hand and ran her thumb over the scratches. Then she looked into Dana’s eyes. “What if I want to ask you questions?”

Dana wanted to say no, but how could she ask for what she wasn’t willing to give? She nodded. “All right. But I have one stipulation.”

Emory quirked an eyebrow.

“You did agree earlier that a kiss or two would be a reasonable expectation on my part.”

“One or two.” Emory appeared to be considering it. “As long you promise not to get greedy.”

“I’m not usually greedy by nature,” Dana said. But where Emory was concerned, all bets were off.

Cam stared at the monitor, which provided a still image of the country house and the surrounding grounds where they believed Matheson had gone to ground. No lights, no vehicle in the drive. She clenched her jaw as Savard’s voice came over her radio feed.

Place looks deserted, Commander.

“Deploy your teams,” Cam told her. The satellite image wasn’t precise enough, especially at night, for her to track the movement of individual team members, and as the minutes dragged on the muscles in her neck screamed from tension. She should have been there. What if word of their plans had gotten out somehow? What if there was an ambush? What if she was wrong and Matheson had laid in a force like the cadre that had hit the Aerie?

Nothing, Savard reported. The bastard’s like smoke.

Cam closed her eyes. Where the hell was he? Matheson on the move was going to be twice as hard to locate and three times as dangerous.

Matheson passed through Cumberland, Virginia, and headed north on Route 220 into Pennsylvania at 4:10 a.m. Right on schedule, he noted with satisfaction. The rental car that had been delivered to his safe house a little before midnight was appropriately nondescript, the kind of midsize low-budget sedan any businessman might drive. When he pulled into the parking lot of the Denny’s restaurant, there were a dozen others like it parked nearby. He got out and stretched, then made his way beneath the still-dark sky to his hastily arranged meeting.

He stopped just inside the door, pretending to survey the newspapers in the coin-operated boxes while scanning the area. Considering the hour, the restaurant was more crowded than he had expected with truckers and travelers heading north to the turnpike. All the better. In his bland khaki jacket, dark trousers, and tab-collar blue shirt, all purchased in the men’s department of a low-end chain store, he doubted any of the busy waitresses would remember him in an hour. That might not be the case for the man he was meeting, which was why he detested doing business in public places. However, the alternative—a clandestine rendezvous—was unacceptable when he couldn’t bring backup. Here, at least, he was unlikely to be targeted if his friends decided he was no longer useful. Of course, he was under the same constraints himself, but he had no doubt that when the time came to eliminate any unwanted associates, his men would rise to the occasion.

“Breakfast for one?” a careworn blonde asked him as she automatically handed him a shiny laminated menu.

He took the menu and smiled. “Thanks, I’ll just grab a booth if that’s okay. My business partner just ducked into the john.”

“Sure, go ahead,” she said, already turning away.

Matheson settled into the bench seat of one of the smaller booths facing the door and ordered two coffees, giving the waitress who barely looked at him the same story. A minute later, another traveler entered, took a quick look around the room, and walked directly to Matheson’s table. Dressed in casual business clothes, he too would have gone unnoticed as easily as Matheson if he hadn’t been so obviously foreign. Matheson resented the necessity of working with nonwhite men, finding them inherently untrustworthy and lacking in true moral character. But war demanded that men sacrifice, and the cause sometimes necessitated unusual alliances. This one had so far proven valuable.