In the Dark (12 page)

If only there were time to poke around the shops, Hannah lamented. But then again, her town house was crammed with furniture from both her parents' and grandmother's estates. There wasn't room for any more.

Organ music floated on the breeze, escaping a Friday night church service. This quaint old-fashioned town seemed like the perfect place to raise a family, not a hotbed of corruption—which was probably why Lovitt had gotten away with hiding his weapons here as long as he had.

As they turned the corner toward the restaurant, Luther's grip tightened. Hannah looked around, catching sight of the six marked police cars parked beneath the lampposts.

"Do you get the feeling they're expecting us?" Luther asked under his breath.

"Mrs. Dodd must have sent us here intentionally," she agreed. "We have to play it off."

"If anything goes down, get behind me," he advised.

She clicked her tongue in annoyance. "I wouldn't have to, if you'd given me a gun," she whispered back.

"What do you need a gun for when you have me?" he purred, holding open the door for her. His gaze lingered on her upturned face as he slipped into the role of doting husband.

Hannah swept inside, looking casually about. Waterside Inn touted outdated carpeting, gaudy light fixtures, and laminated furniture in dire need of replacement. But given the mouth-watering aroma and the scarcity of seating, there was no better place to eat in Sabena. And with its large-paned windows overlooking the river, it had the potential to be a fine-dining establishment.

"Two, please," she told the hostess. Trailing the girl to a corner table, she counted the law enforcement officers seated in the center of the room. There were eight of them, all pretending not to notice their entrance, which was obviously an act, as Luther wasn't the kind of man to walk into a room unnoticed.

"Here you are," said the hostess, laying their menus on the table for two.

Luther held out the chair that put Hannah's back to the wall.

"Don't you want a view of the room, dear?" she asked him.

He glanced at the window. "I can see just fine."

The window behind her mirrored the interior of the restaurant, she realized. Luther could still be a gentleman, while keeping an eye on the cops.

As they took their seats, the hostess filled their glasses with ice water and told them their waitress would be along shortly.

"The seafood must be fresh here," Luther commented.

Probably, but thinking that one of those cops had run Ernie off the road had stolen Hannah's appetite. She made a quick selection and put her menu down. A policeman was eyeing them over his coffee cup.

The waitress appeared with a basket of bread. "What can I get you tonight?" she asked brightly.

Hannah chose the flounder. Luther opted for crab-stuffed clamshells. He handed the waitress the coupon Mrs. Dodd had offered them, and with a puzzled look, she moved away.

Hannah took note of the waitress's confusion.

"How come Westy never told me about his grandfather?" Luther asked her, harking back to their earlier interrupted conversation.

"Probably because you never asked him," she replied.

He just looked at her. "I've worked with him for three years," he said. "He never talks about himself."

"That's because there's a lot in there that he doesn't want to face."

Luther regarded her thoughtfully. "I think you're right."

"What's your code name?" she asked him abruptly. It had just occurred to her that Lieutenant Renault was called Jaguar and Chief McCaffrey was called Westy. So what was Luther's code name?

"Little John." He helped himself to a roll from the breadbasket.

"Little John?" She looked him over, her eyes widening. "Is there possibly some part of you that's little?" she inquired, raising her eyebrows.

Luther buttered the lower half of his bread very carefully. He took great pains to avoid eye contact, but to her amazement he appeared to be blushing.

"Well?" she prompted.

"John is my first name," he explained. "John Luther Lindstrom. I was the youngest guy on the team. Hence, Little John, you know, from Robin Hood. The name lost its meaning after I was promoted to lieutenant."

Hannah frowned in concentration. "Why does that name sound familiar?" she asked. "John Lindstrom."

He leaned forward, pitching his voice discreetly. "You should know this already, sweetheart. We're married."

The deep blue depths of Luther's eyes captured her. She leaned in, too, so that their faces were mere inches apart. "Know what?" she asked, giving herself permission to study his strong-boned face, his nicely shaped lips. She remembered how they'd felt against hers, tender and restrained.

"I played football for the Dallas Cowboys. That's why I sit with my back to the room."

Hannah gaped at him, harkening back to Westy's observation several days ago.
You don't know who he is, do you?
he'd said. "Guess I picked a lousy partner to go undercover with," she muttered. Then, because she knew she could get away with it, she stroked the hard curve of Luther's jaw.

Her touch so obviously unsettled him. She could tell by the wary look that stole over his features. With reluctance, she released him, noting the approach of the waitress again.

"We serve a complimentary bottle of wine to all the newlyweds stayin' at Magnolia Manor," announced the girl. She displayed a bottle of white wine and commenced to fill up their empty wineglasses.

"None for me, thanks," Luther said, sliding his wineglass to the wall.

"Is there something else I can get you?" the waitress asked.

"No. Water's fine."

"Your dinners will be right up then," she said smiling.

Hannah took a sip of the wine, which was tart and unremarkable. "Tell me why you became a SEAL," she demanded.

He glanced at the room's reflection. The police were still eating.

"Come now, I'm your wife," she cajoled, unsettling him further. "Football is so lucrative, so glamorous. Why'd you quit?"

"I got into a car accident," he admitted shortly.

Hannah eyed him with concern and waited for more.

"I'd had too much to drink," he added, glancing toward his empty wineglass, "which is why I don't drink anymore. I couldn't breathe. One of my ribs had punctured a lung. I was pretty sure I was going to die. But I didn't. I was stuck in the car for hours. It gave me time to think about…what I was doing with my life."

She suffered an almost-overwhelming urge to grab his hand. "What happened?" she prompted.

"I promised myself I'd make changes in my life; do something to make the world a better place."

She nodded with approval. "So you became a SEAL."

His smile was wry. "Not exactly. First I spent six months in traction. I trained for a year after that. Then I joined the Navy, went to Officer Candidate School in Pensacola. Then I went to BUDs—basic underwater demolition and SEAL training in Coronado. I had to roll out the first time around because my back wasn't up to it. I finally graduated with class 235. That's when I became a SEAL."

"Any regrets?" she asked.

A few bleak memories flickered in his eyes but he shook his head. "Not about quitting football, no."

They fell quiet as the waitress reappeared bearing their meals. "Flounder and stuffed clam shells," she announced. "How's the wine?"

"Delicious," Hannah replied with an innocent smile.

"Enjoy your dinner," said the girl, moving away.

"You know, if you weren't so famous," Hannah remarked, cutting into her flounder, "you'd be great for the Agency."

"Thank you," Luther said, "but I'll stay where I am." His expression darkened. "Unless Jaguar loses his case."

"He won't," she promised him.

They fell quiet as they savored the food. Luther nudged her under the table, bringing her gaze up sharply. One of the cops was coming toward them. A fish bone lodged itself in Hannah's windpipe. She snatched up her water and chased it down.

"Evening, folks," said the bewhiskered cop with a shallow smile. "How're you doin' tonight?"

"Just fine, Officer. Yourself?" Luther dabbed his mouth with his napkin.

Hannah's gaze dropped to the officer's name tag.
Duffy.

"You must be from out of town," the officer wagered.

"Yes, we are." Luther's tone was affable.

"Where you from?" the man persisted.

"Virginia Beach area." The restaurant seemed to have gotten awfully quiet. "We're on our honeymoon."

"Congratulations. I don't suppose you own that little Nissan parked over at Magnolia Manor?"

Luther betrayed no reaction to the question, even when it was blatantly obvious that the cop was fishing for information. "No, actually, the car belongs to a friend of mine."

"Ah, well. I happen to run a check on all the cars that come to town, and I come to find that car's got an unpaid speeding ticket."

"Does it? I'll have to remind my friend to pay it."

"You do that. We run a pretty tight ship up this a'way. Bein' in the Navy you ought to appreciate that."

"Navy?" Luther shook his head.

"Your friend has military stickers on his car," the cop explained.

"Ah," said Luther, admitting nothing.

"You mind showing me your driver's licenses?" he asked. They'd come to the point of this conversation. "Just in case you're the owner of the car and you're shy 'bout tellin' me," he added with an oily smile.

Luther tugged his wallet out of his rear pocket and handed over his license, taking care to hide his military ID. The cop seemed more interested in seeing Hannah's ID. She was grateful that they'd waited a day for it. As the police looked at her photo, then her face, then back at the card, turning it over to assess its authenticity, she held her breath.

"Good picture, Miss Lindstrom," he finally said, handing their IDs back. "Can't say the same for you, though," he added, needling Luther. "Ya'll enjoy your stay. Ma'am." With a final nod, he moved away to join his buddies who, in one accord, stood up to leave.

Luther kept an eye on the window.

Hannah cut out another piece of her fillet and chewed it slowly, covering up the fact that her heart was beating fast. They waited until the chatter in the restaurant resumed its normal volume to discuss the confrontation.

"What do you think?" Hannah asked.

"Lovitt gave them a heads-up, but they're not sure it's you," Luther guessed.

"We need to move fast," Hannah suggested.

"No. They'll be watching us tonight. We go straight back to the B and B and we stay there. Tomorrow we'll sightsee," he added, "keeping our eyes peeled. Don't forget Westy's out there making inquiries."

"I guess you're right," Hannah conceded.

At the same time, it occurred to her that it might just be more dangerous to lock themselves in their room—just the two of them—than to be out and about, scrounging for evidence. Spending time one-on-one with Luther was quickening something inside her, something that demanded her attention. If she wasn't careful, her feelings for him would threaten the plans she'd nurtured for years now. She was growing less obsessed with returning to the CIA and more interested in spending time with Luther. Right about now, she'd give anything for a second kiss.

Sabena, Virginia
25 September ~ 1:28 EST

Luther floated in a semiconscious state, resisting the pull toward a deeper sleep. With the cops in Sabena so suspicious, it was safer to stay awake. He dozed sitting up in the sofa chair, his MP-5 propped within reaching distance.

For the first hour he listened to Hannah toss and turn as she fought to fall asleep. Every sigh she made had him recollecting how soft her hands were, how long and slim her fingers. The rest of her body would be softer still.

She'd said and done things tonight that had ratcheted his awareness of her to a whole new level.

Is there possibly some part of you that's little?
she'd asked with a teasing smile that had made him realize that sex with Hannah would be downright fun. He'd envisioned himself pinning her to the wall, sliding himself up inside of her, and saying,
Does that feel little to you?

Luther shifted in the chair. Thoughts like those weren't going to get him anywhere but into trouble. Hannah was hot, yes. He'd known that the minute he'd laid eyes on her, and he'd been wary of his attraction ever since.

But she wasn't the woman for him. She wasn't going to keep the home fires burning while he went out doing what he did. In fact, she would rather be on the front lines, fighting alongside him. Therefore, regardless of how pleasant he found her company to be, how tempted he was to slip into bed with her and exorcize his burgeoning need for her, he wasn't going to do it.

His cell phone vibrated, doing a dance on the bureau. Luther leaped out of the chair, snatching it up before it wakened Hannah. He carried it into the bathroom and shut the door. "Lindstrom," he said.

"Sir." It was Westy reporting in. "I've talked to several people this evening. I think I have a fix on Lovitt's warehouse. It belongs to another Blaylock, the sheriff's brother."

Bingo. "Where is it?" he asked, staring at the whites of his eyes in the bathroom mirror.

"Just across the river from where you are, sir. You'll see it when the sun comes up. I'm going in for a job interview in the morning. I'll bring the camera, in case I see anything." Master Chief had handed off the infrared camera he'd used to recon Miller's apartment.

"Good work, Chief. Keep me posted."

A strangled sound had Luther spinning toward the bedroom. He severed the call abruptly, wishing he'd brought his MP-5 into the bathroom with him.

Cracking the door, he peered into the room. To his relief, there was no intruder. Hannah lay rigidly upon the bed. She'd kicked the sheets off, caught in the grips of a nightmare.

"No!" she cried, bringing her fists up as if holding on to something.

He went to rouse her. "Hannah," he said, shaking her shoulders lightly. Even in the dark, her hair shone a deep, dark red. He was dying to run his fingers through it.

To his astonishment, she threw her arms around him, seizing him in a headlock. He had one knee up on the bed, and as she rolled, she took his head with her. He ended up flat on his back with Hannah straddling his hips, pinning him to the mattress.