Angel of Desire (10 page)

RACHEL HAD HOPED Shade's anger would abate. Unfortunately, if anything, it seemed to grow hotter and more dangerous as they drove in silence along the traffic-packed George Washington Memorial Parkway leading out of the city.

At first she thought he might be taking her to CIA headquarters, but he passed the exit to McLean without a word. Soon they'd reached the Capital Beltway circling the metropolis.

"Are we going to the airport?" Dulles was nearby.

Instead of answering, he shot her a blistering look. "I said─"

"I know." She sighed her own frustration. "Shut up."

He nodded his satisfaction. "Got it."

Soon they were in the Shenandoah, a place of rushing mountain streams and flowering apple trees and a seemingly endless patchwork of fields and farms spread out on either side of the roadway. As they sped past a family of Mennonites driving their horse and black buggy to market, Rachel wondered if, like her, they found the fast pace of modern life unsettling. Rachel wished she could enjoy the magnificent scenery as they drove through the Blue Ridge Mountains, past Civil War battlefields, and quaint little villages that reminded her faintly of towns from her own time.

But she was too aware of Shade's smoldering anger to relax. What was the matter with the man? For not the first time since her arrival on earth, she wished she knew what he was thinking.

For thirty-five years, she'd observed Shade from afar, watching his every move, reading his every thought. She found it both frustrating and ironic that she could be in such close proximity to the man and not have a clue what was going through his mind.

He turned off the Skyline Drive onto a gravel road that twisted up into the mountains. After a time they came to a high wrought-iron fence. Shade punched a code into a remote control and the gate slowly opened, closing behind them.

The white clapboard house, boasting three chimneys, had been built atop a hill, crowning a vast apple orchard. The trees were in flower, their blossoms looking like puffy white clouds. Instead of a lawn, wild-flowers surrounded the house like a brilliant carpet.

"It's lovely," Rachel murmured.

Another remote opened the garage. Shade parked the car and closed the heavy steel door behind them. "We're not here to admire the scenery."

As he climbed out of the car, his leather jacket fell open and Rachel caught sight of a flash of blue steel. Even knowing he would never kill an innocent person, the deadly pistol did nothing to soothe her already anxious nerves.

He went around the front of the car and opened her passenger door. "Get out."

"Since you asked so nicely, I believe I will." She flashed him a falsely sweet smile. "Are you going to tell me what we are doing here?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

Rachel's long sigh was the only outward sign of her building frustration. As they entered the house through the garage door, she cast her eyes upward, seeking divine guidance.

With his fingers curled around her upper arm, he led her without ceremony into a book-filled room. The furniture, leather and oak, could have come from some eighteenth-century gentlemen's club. Hunting prints hung on the wall.

"Sit down." He pushed her into a forest-green chair, then crossed the room to the desk.

"Have you ever thought of getting a dog?"

"A dog?"

"Well, you certainly seem to have the vocabulary down pat. Come. Stay. Sit—"

"Shut up," he reminded her through clenched teeth.

Rachel thought she caught hints of both annoyance and amusement in his gruff tone. "That, too," she agreed.

A crystal decanter rested on the leather desk top. Shade poured a healthy amount of Scotch into an old-fashioned glass.

"Isn't it a bit early in the day to start drinking?"

He shot her another of those fulminating looks he'd perfected over the years. "Worried about me, Sister Rachel?"

As irritating as she found his rude behavior, she could not lie. "Yes."

Shade nearly forgot his anger at her seemingly ingenuous remark. He sipped the liquor, eyeing her over the rim of the glass. He was almost fooled. Almost.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, just when Rachel didn't think she could stand the thick silence another second.

"I told you, I'm Rachel Parrish."

"Yeah, that's what you said, all right." He took another drink. "From Salem, Massachusetts, right?"

She bobbed her head. "That's right."

"Want to tell me why the hell you don't exist?"

Even though Rachel had been waiting for this, his gritty question made her blood run cold. Things were a great deal easier the last time she came to earth, she considered. Then all she'd had to do was dive into that frozen lake and pull him to shore.

Although she'd known he'd seen her that day, he was too frightened and too young to spend much time wondering who it was who'd saved his life. Later, seeking a rational answer, he'd managed to convince himself that she'd been nothing more than a hallucination.

Rachel folded her hands in her lap in an attempt to stop their trembling. "I don't understand. As you can see, I most certainly exist."

"You don't have a driver's license."

"I don't drive."

"Nor a Social Security number."

"I don't work. At least not for money." She thought about telling him that she worked for love and decided he'd undoubtedly take that all wrong.

"So you're telling me that you're independently rich?"

"I suppose you could say that." Wealthy in love and peace, she tacked on silently, thinking of Joshua and all the others in that calm and halcyon world she'd temporarily left behind.

"Want to tell me why the post office doesn't have any address for you?"

"I don't receive a great deal of mail."

Shade flexed his fingers, giving Rachel the distinct impression that he'd love to put them around her neck. He hadn't been all that surprised when last night's wineglass he'd had tested hadn't resulted in her fingerprints being in any government files. If she hadn't been arrested, or in the military, or had a job that entailed getting a bond, she could go her entire life without having a reason to be fingerprinted.

But the entire country—hell, the world, for that matter—was run by legions of faceless bureaucrats who loved their red tape.

Over the years every American was categorized into myriad categories and assigned numbered identities. Birth certificates, baptismal records, drivers' licenses, Social Security, marriage licenses, divorce papers, health insurance plans, credit cards, mortgages—Big Brother was keeping track of all these things. And more.

But Rachel Parrish, whoever the hell she was, didn't even have a damn library card. Impossible! Shade had yelled at Liz.

To which his former lover had suggested sarcastically that perhaps his mysterious stranger was a Pod Person, or a recent visitor from Saturn.

After instructing Liz to go back to work, and concerned about Marianne's safety, Shade had gone home and gotten Rachel out of his friend's house. Just in case.

He polished off the Scotch, put the glass down and crossed the room on the loose-hipped stride Rachel was beginning to find increasingly disturbing, stopping inches in front of her chair.

"I don't suppose you'd like to tell me who you're working for?"

"I told you, I'm not working for anyone." It was nearly the truth. At least close enough, Rachel decided. Besides, there was always the chance that her superiors would be so busy disciplining her over last night's indiscretion, they might overlook a little white lie. "This is personal."

He leaned down until his cold hard face was a whisper away from hers. "like worming your way into Marianne's house was personal?" he snarled. "What were you going to do? Take her captive, too?"

"I'd never harm Marianne!"

Her shock appeared genuine, Shade allowed, watching her carefully. But, dammit, there was a helluva lot more to this story than the woman was telling him.

"How about Conlan? Did you have anything to do with his capture?"

"Of course not!"

Her eyes were wide and innocent. Shade was finding them too damn appealing for his own good. "So I guess that leaves me."

"You?"

"Am I your target, Rachel Parrish?"

There was no way she could answer that question safely. If she said no, it would be a lie. If she answered in the affirmative, he'd get the mistaken idea she was a professional assassin, hired to kill him in retribution for some past adventure.

"I've told you, I merely wish to accompany you to Yaznovia. I need to go to the country, you're planning to go there, and I believe that you can provide me with much-needed protection."

He stood up and submitted her to another of those long, probing looks. "That's what this is all about? You want my protection?"

"It would be most appreciated." Another half-truth. Rachel decided that she'd probably lied more in the past eighteen hours than she had in her entire life.

"My services don't come cheap."

"I'm prepared to pay. Whatever it costs." Despite the fact that the sky outside the leaded glass windows was still bright and sunny, Rachel heard the distant rumble of thunder and realized that Joshua had overheard her outrageous statement.

He rubbed his jaw. She was still lying. He knew it, with every fiber of his being. The way Shade saw it, he had two choices. He could cut his losses and walk away now, leaving Rachel Parrish to her own devices.

Or he could pretend to buy her sorry little story, what there was of it.

"Nothing is going to stop me from going to Yaznovia," Rachel said quietly, as if sensing his inner deliberation and wanting to sway his decision. "I'd prefer to go with you, but if you don't agree—" she shrugged "—I intend to travel there myself."

He stared down into her gray eyes, seeking some hidden truth. Her determination was evident in every rigid line of her body.

That was enough for Shade to make his decision. Even if she wasn't intending to infiltrate his mission, she could screw things up just the same. At least this way, he could keep an eye on her until Liz and the rest of his contacts in the intelligence community could find out who the hell she was. And what she was up to.

And if she was an amateur, as she insisted, taking her with him would also keep her from inadvertently stumbling into his plan and blowing it sky-high. "Hell." The last thing Shade needed right now were more complications. And Rachel Parrish, whoever she was, represented one major complication. "All right. You can come with me."

"Oh, thank you!" Her relief was palpable. Her luminous eyes gleamed, her face was wreathed in a warm, honest smile that once again struck some distant chord of memory.

But then it was gone, overwhelmed by his lingering frustration. Shade was irritated when he couldn't pinpoint the distant recollection. "But you'll have to play your little game by my rules."

Rachel bobbed her head agreeably. Although she hated to admit it, she'd been worried that Shade was going to turn her down. Not that his refusal would have kept her from saving him, of course. It just would have made her mission far more difficult.

"I understand."

"No, I don't think you do." He scowled as he took in her dress. "Where the hell do you buy your clothes? Missionaries R Us?"

She ran her palm down her wren-brown dress. The shapeless, calf-length garment had a demure high neck trimmed in white lace, and snowy white lace cuffs. "What's wrong with my clothing?"

"Nothing. If you happen to be mother superior to an order of missionary nuns. But that dress is definitely not mistress material."

"Mistress material?"

"I'm getting into Yaznovia as an illegal arms dealer. Your role, Sister Rachel, will be that of my assistant." He flashed her a blatantly sexual smile. "And lover."

"You actually expect me to pretend to be your lover?"

Never, in her wildest dreams, had she considered such a scenario. And she knew if Joshua or her superiors had anticipated such an outrageous outcome, she never would have been granted permission to return to earth in the first place.

"How much you pretend is up to you," he said with a nonchalant shrug, as if only academically interested in the question. "Although it might make things more believable if we really are sleeping together."

She deeply resented the way that outrageous suggestion, tossed so casually at her, made her pulse dance. She remembered last night, how his body felt pressed against hers, hot and hard and so perilously tempting.

"I'm not going to sleep with you."

"That's all right by me." His anger was gone, replaced by that lazy male sexuality Rachel found far more threatening. "When I do take you to bed, sweetheart," he said, rocking back on his heels, "I don't intend to waste time sleeping."

This had to stop! Rachel jumped up from the chair. She was losing her already tenuous hold on her simmering impatience.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are a very annoying man?"

He flung a dark hand against his chest. "Sister Rachel, you wound me."

He was laughing at her! Her eyes narrowed, her face paled with anger. Her fatal temper flared.

"You are," she snapped, poking her finger against the front of his shirt, "the most arrogant, egotistical—"

"You can save the flattery, sweetheart." He caught the stabbing finger and lifted her hand to his lips. "For later."

Rachel tugged viciously, trying to free herself. He ignored her futile gesture and planted a kiss against the sensitive flesh of her palm. And then, turning his back on his lingering uneasiness, putting aside his deep-seated instinct for self-preservation, Shade pulled her into his arms.

Forbidden excitement surged through Rachel's veins. She knew, without a single doubt, that Joshua would be appalled by her unseemly behavior. In truth, Rachel was appalled herself. But her common sense, along with her resolve, had deserted her.

At the first touch of Shade's lips, her mind emptied.

Rachel could taste the remnants of Shade's anger. She could taste his irritating laughter. But most of all, she tasted need. A thick, hot need that echoed her own unwilling desire.