Internal Affairs (7 page)

And he so wasn’t going there. Didn’t dare. So instead of approaching her, he held his ground. “I wasn’t taking off. I was preparing in case your cop came in with you and I needed to do a fast fade.”

She made a quiet humming noise that didn’t quite call him a liar, but said only, “Tucker offered to come in and take a look around, but I declined, and he took me at my word.” She paused. “If you were going to vanish, you could’ve done it hours ago.”

He thought about denying it, but figured there was little more than patchy honesty between them at this point, and he didn’t have the heart to take that away from either of them. “I would have, but I passed out and only just now came around.”

“Maybe that’s your subconscious telling you to stay put.”

“Maybe.”

They stood squared off opposite each other for a long moment. Romo couldn’t see her eyes, could only see the dark outline of her in the low, golden light, but he knew she was studying him, trying to figure him out. He wanted to tell her to let him know what she came up with, and he wouldn’t have been kidding. He had a feeling she’d understood him better than he’d understood himself, even before the amnesia. But if that were the case, why had he cheated? He didn’t feel like a cheat, didn’t think it was his normal M.O. It didn’t make any sense. None of it did.

“Well, it’s your call. As usual.” The last was said with a faint bite as she took a step back into the main room, ceding the hallway. The move brought her out of the shadows and into the light, showing him her lovely face, which was wearing an expression that was simultaneously both composed and worried. Her tone, though, was even as she said, “If it helps, neither the blood nor the bullet came from one of the officers or agents on the manhunt.”

It did help, but he latched on to what she
hadn’t
said. “The spatter was consistent with me cutting the victim’s throat.”

She swallowed. “Yes. How did you know?”

“I don’t remember what happened,” he said, answering the unspoken question. “It was just a feeling.”

Unfortunately, feelings were all he had to go on just then, and they included his growing attraction for Sara, which was starting to mess with his ability to assess and analyze all the other things going on around them. He sus
pected the pull he felt toward her was a combination of unremembered history, the situation, and the simple fact that he’d been attracted to her once before, and nothing had changed about his basic taste. The things that had drawn them together before were still in place. And he suspected he wasn’t the only one feeling the pull. He didn’t know exactly what had happened during their breakup, or why, but he thought part of Sara might be seeing the situation as an opportunity for a do-over. Or maybe he was the one thinking that. Either way, asleep or awake, he was filled with thoughts of her, of how she had tasted when he’d kissed her, how she had felt against him.

Aware that they’d both been silent too long, he said, “I should go.”

“Where?” The single word was both a question and a challenge, making him feel as though she’d just called him a coward.

“Away from you,” he said bluntly, expecting her to take it personally, in a way wanting her to, because he didn’t know how to deal with his almost obsessive need to be near her. It was a selfish, destructive urge, one he needed to fight. And in doing so, he attacked.

Instead of taking offense, she tilted her head and asked softly, “Does the idea of trusting someone frighten you that badly?”

Instincts had him wanting to snap at her that he wasn’t afraid, but that would’ve been a lie. He
was
afraid, not so much for himself, but for her, for what he’d brought into her life. But he didn’t snap. Instead, he moved away from the door and down the short
hallway, crossing the distance between them and stopping just short of the light. “What do you suggest I do?”

“Let me set up a meeting,” she said immediately. “You, me, Fax and Tucker. All the evidence points to you being undercover for the good guys, Romo. Let them help us figure out who you’re working for.”

“Your so-called evidence is pretty damned thin from where I’m standing,” he said dryly. “All we really know for certain is that the clues we’ve got don’t conclusively indicate that I killed those agents. Everything else is conjecture.”

“I know you,” she said staunchly. “You wouldn’t have faked your own death to join al-Jihad. You’re a good man.”

“I cheated on you.”

Her eyes flashed. “You’re trying to make me kick you out. I won’t do it.”

“You should.” He stepped into the light, into her space. He stopped opposite her, with a few feet separating them. He had the sensation of drowning as he looked down into her caramel-colored eyes. “Tell me to leave.”

“Stay,” she said instead. “Let me call Fax and Tucker.”

He touched a finger beneath her chin and tipped her face up to his. “You believe in me that much,” he murmured, “because of what we were to each other.”

He knew touching her was a mistake the moment his fingertip connected with her soft skin. First, because of the warmth that spread up his arm and lodged in his chest, threatening to undo all his best intentions. And second, because her eyes snapped dark with what he
thought was fury, but was wiped away before he could be sure, to be replaced by cool, studied indifference. She eased away. “Despite the impression you might have gotten from my kissing you last night, I’m all too aware of our history. Trusting you got me a broken heart before. This time it could very well get me killed.”

He let his hand fall, held his palms up in apology. “Sorry. I misread.”

“Yes. You did.”

“Then why are you pushing me to stay and meet with your friends?”

“Because Bear Claw is my home,” she said simply. “I won’t let al-Jihad destroy it. I’ve hidden behind my job for too long, and it’s time I stopped doing that. Which means that if there’s something I can do to help the task force break the case, then by damn, I’m going to do it.” She fixed him with a look that held more challenge than entreaty. “Will you?”

She was asking for the impossible. She wasn’t just asking him to trust her, she was asking him to trust her friends, people he hadn’t met in this incarnation of himself.

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Surprise flared in her eyes. “You’ll meet with Fax and Tucker?”

“Yeah. I’ll meet with them.” But even as he said the words, something inside him warned he was making a huge mistake.

The next morning, Sara left the house early wearing a light suede jacket and casually elegant pants with a tailored shirt a couple of shades darker than her hair. Her boots were low-heeled and rubber-soled, and her purse, which she wore slung over her shoulder, was heavier than usual, containing the loaded .22, along with extra bullets. She’d tried to press the weapon on Romo, but he’d insisted that she be the one to carry the protection. Some small, soft part of her had wanted to believe his worry was personal, intimate.

They’d both slept in the living room the night before, for a second night in a row, she on the couch, he on his makeshift pallet near the door, keeping watch. Sometime during the night, though, he’d moved closer to her, and she’d awakened to find her fingertips dangling over the side of the couch just brushing his shoulder. It hadn’t quite been his old habit of wanting some part of him touching some part of her, but it had been enough to make her heart shudder a little in her chest. Enough to make her yearn, damn him.

Focus!
she told herself, forcing her attention on the meeting at hand as she marched to her hybrid and climbed inside.

The skin between her shoulder blades prickled with the sensation of watching eyes, but she told herself to ignore it. If al-Jihad’s people had figured out where Romo was hiding, they wouldn’t be sitting around, watching. They would’ve done something already. The thought brought a serious shiver, but it did make a fatalistic sort of sense. Which meant that if she was being watched, it wasn’t by one of the terrorists. More than likely, she knew, it was Tucker. Or, since Tucker was due at their meeting point, he might have deputized Alyssa to keep watch in his stead. The married couple made a formidable team.

Sara had called Tucker first, then Fax, and had told them only that she needed to meet with them in the utmost secrecy. She hadn’t dared reveal more than that, for fear that the information might leak to one of the conspirators believed to still be within the task force. Not that Fax or Tucker would talk, but still…thanks to Jane Doe’s defection, al-Jihad’s people had access to the latest spy-ware technology and strategy. As Fax had once said, the task force members had to assume that the terrorists had all of the toys and know-how the good guys did, and then some.

“Which is so
not
an encouraging thought,” Sara muttered to herself as she fired up the hybrid’s engine and pulled out of her driveway. After taking a few turns through her neighborhood and deciding she wasn’t being followed, she drove down a street two blocks
over from her house, and pulled up next to a thick stand of landscaped trees.

Romo slipped from concealment—she hadn’t even seen him hiding there, though she’d been looking for him—and climbed into the hybrid, folding himself into the backseat and keeping his head down so it looked as though she were still alone. “See anything?” he asked as she pulled away from the bushes.

“Nope. But I’m not a professional, either.”

“You do fine.”

His calm assurance steadied her more than it probably should have. But then again, that was Romo. He’d always made her feel like more than she really was, as though together they made something that was better than each of them alone. She’d thought he’d felt the same way, until he’d proven otherwise. But although his betrayal was never far from the surface of her thoughts, she was startled to realize that the pain was beginning to fade, in a way it hadn’t done during the months after they’d broken up, or after that, when she’d believed him dead. And that was a problem, she knew. Thanks to her mother, she was genetically and environmentally predisposed to forgive the man she loved, even when he patently didn’t deserve forgiveness.

She could potentially get past Romo’s disappearing act, presuming that he proved to have been undercover. They hadn’t been together when he’d faked his death; he hadn’t owed her an explanation or a warning, a sign that he was really alive. Or so she kept telling herself, and the logic worked even if the emotions lagged a little. What didn’t work was knowing she was just as
ready to forgive him for what had happened before then, when they
had
been together. All he’d had to do was send her some of his long, slow looks and a single hot, toe-curling kiss, and a large part of her was more than ready to forgive and forget, and give their relationship a second chance. Not that he’d even indicated that he wanted a second chance with her, she reminded herself. The weakness was inside her. It always had been.

“Problem?” he asked.

She glanced in the rearview mirror, saw him looking at her in it from his cramped position in the back. “Why would there be a problem?” she inquired with a faint bite in her tone as she returned her attention to the road. “My cheating ex comes back from the dead, bleeds all over my living room, forces me to lie to a friend and runs a strong risk of getting me killed. No problem there that I can see.”

“All true, but none of it is news at this point. Which means there’s something else going on in that head of yours that had you frowning.” He paused. “You want to talk about it?”

“Not even remotely,” she snapped.

“I’ll listen. Venting might help.”

She cut her eyes back to his in the mirror. “And that’s the sort of thing that leaves no question you’ve got a head injury and amnesia. The old Romo Sampson never would’ve put himself in the line of fire for an emotional outburst.” He’d avoided negative emotions, claiming he got enough of them at work; he didn’t need to go looking for drama on his off hours.

“I’m starting to think I might not have entirely liked the old me,” Romo said mildly.

“Join the club.” But the absurdity of it tugged a reluctant smile from her as she turned onto the highway and then off it again.

She made a quick stop at one of the big box stores that dotted the region, and went inside to buy jeans, a white oxford and a black blazer for Romo, so he didn’t have to wear her sweatpants to the meeting. He’d kept hold of his own boots, so she filled in the gaps with a package of socks and a pair of boxers. The clothes weren’t the more expensive brands he’d preferred, but once he’d changed in the car—covering the winces as best he could, though obviously still in pain—he looked much more like the man he’d once been, albeit a version of himself wearing a layer of stubble and a hunted, haunted look in the back of his eyes.

Haggard or not, Romo’s dark, sharp good looks had always drawn female attention wherever he went. And, damn it, his looks hadn’t changed with the time away. If anything, his features had gotten even sharper with the loss of a few pounds, as though any softness that had once been inside him had been burned away by whatever he’d seen and done.
And it’s that “whatever he’s seen or done” that you need to focus on,
she reminded herself, forcing her eyes away from the mirror and gluing them back on the road.

She hadn’t thought he’d noticed her glance. But moments later, he said softly, “I’m sorry I’ve made things so difficult for you, Sara.”

He saw through her, damn it, saw into her. He knew
what she was thinking and feeling, and the knowledge made her feel stripped raw inside. But when she glanced into the mirror and away, she saw only compassion in his gorgeous green eyes with their ridiculously long, sexy lashes. “Just don’t kiss me again,” she said, voice going ragged before she could force it steady.

She expected easy assent. Instead, he said, “I can’t promise that.”

The quiet statement sent a bolt of electricity through her midsection as she rolled to a stop at a red light. She wanted to turn and look at him directly, but didn’t dare, so she met his eyes once again in the mirror, and saw heat there. Desire. “Don’t,” she said, the single word coming out in a dry-mouthed whisper.

“I’m not the guy who cheated on you, Sara.” His eyes were steady on hers.

“Yes, you are.” But she knew that was a lie. The old Romo had been a charming rogue who’d committed himself fiercely to the chase once she’d let him know that she was attracted to him but made it a point not to date men who went through girlfriends with depressing regularity. She’d eventually given in and gone out with him, then had fallen for him, but he’d only let himself fall so far. There had been a distance between them, a barrier she’d been unable to breach.

With this man, though, there was no barrier that she could see. Stripped of his practiced game, he remained as fiercely protective of her as he’d been before, but he let her see it in him. His eyes showed his thoughts and feelings, and when he reached up between the front seats to touch her elbow in a brief caress that lit her body
as though it had been so much more, there was an honesty in his touch that she didn’t remember from before. It was as though, in losing himself, Romo Sampson had found a new, different man. A better one.

“Sara,” he began.

“We’re here,” she interrupted, unable to deal with whatever he was about to say, knowing she wanted to hear it far too much. She turned into the small parking lot of the state park trailhead that Fax had chosen as a meeting place and saw two other cars already there, a dark green truck and a standard-issue sedan. “Those are Fax and Tucker’s rides.”

As she rolled the hybrid to a stop, Fax emerged from his truck. A couple of inches under six feet, he was tough and compact, with dark hair, piercing blue eyes and a thin scar running through one eyebrow. He looked healthier than he had when Sara had first met him, fresh out of his own undercover hell. He hadn’t mellowed over the ten months, though, despite his engagement to Chelsea. If anything, Fax had grown even more intense as she had progressed through her FBI training, as though he was bound and determined to end al-Jihad’s reign of terror before the woman he loved wound up any deeper in the danger. Even now, he practically vibrated with deadly tension as he rounded his truck to join Tucker, who leaned back against his car, arms folded over his broad chest.

Tucker was a couple of inches taller than Fax, with wavy dark hair, brown eyes and a swarthy tan and an air of unconstrained wildness that made him look more like a park ranger than a senior homicide detective.

Both men wore bulletproof vests marked with their
affiliations, and had guns on their hips. When Sara parked the hybrid and just sat there for a second, dithering, her friends moved to stand shoulder to shoulder, presenting a strong, united front. She told herself she should feel reassured by the sight. Instead, nerves skittered to life beneath her skin.

“They’re going to kill me when they hear what I’ve done,” she said, mostly to herself.

“They’re not going to touch you,” Romo said succinctly from the backseat, where he was still hunkered down, avoiding detection. “And for the record, the you-and-me conversation isn’t over.”

Her throat went dry even as her blood revved in her veins. “What if I want it to be over?”

“I can’t let it be over,” he said, and in his eyes she saw a raw honesty she’d never seen in his face before. “I don’t know what the old me did, exactly, and I sure as hell don’t understand why he did what he did, but I’m not that man anymore, Sara. And the man I am now wants his chance with you.”

Her heart thudded unevenly in her chest. “I don’t do second chances.”

“It wouldn’t be a second chance. It’d be a first one for the guy I am now.”

A bubble of near-hysterical laughter rose within her. “For how long? As far as I know, you’re thirty seconds from being dragged back undercover. And even if that doesn’t happen, how long will it be until it all comes back, until the real Romo Sampson returns?”

“Trust me,” he said. “I won’t let you down this time. I promise.”

But how could she trust him when she didn’t really know who he was anymore? Before she could respond—before she could even figure out how she wanted to respond, as warmth and wishes swirled in her chest—he straightened up and slipped from the vehicle, leaving the door ajar as he headed toward where Fax and Tucker both went stiff and on point at the sight of him.

“Sampson!” Tucker bit off. “Son of a—”

Heart drumming, Sara hurried to catch up with Romo. They were maybe three or four car lengths from the men, and Sara could already feel the tension coming off them in waves. Figuring she should make a rearguard effort to smooth things over, she called, “Hey, you two. Thanks for meet—”

A whistling shriek cut her off, followed quickly by Romo’s shout of alarm. Then he was slamming into her, driving her to the ground.

Half a heartbeat later, the world exploded.

They’d been ambushed! Sara’s heart constricted in her chest as Romo covered her body with his own. “No!” she cried. “Tucker! Fax!” She tried to struggle out from beneath Romo, but he wouldn’t budge, just hung on to her tightly, covering her ears with his big, strong hands.

A terrible noise blasted over them, coming from where Fax’s truck had been. Waves of concussion battered Sara, even though she was protected by Romo’s weight pressing her down into the hard surface of the parking area.

Her ears rang and went dull as panic gripped her, took her over, paralyzing in its intensity. She thought
someone was screaming, realized a moment later it was her, and shut up. Heat flared in the air, bringing terrible, choking smoke.

Slitting her eyes, she looked toward the conflagration. Fax’s truck was burning. Tucker’s car was marked with blast char, its front quarter panel mangled. The two men lay twenty or so feet away from the vehicles, close to each other. Neither was moving.

“Fax! Tucker!” Hacking against the burning ash, Sara struggled to get up, to get to her friends. Then Romo rolled off her, dragged her up and pulled her into a shambling run. Only he was going in the wrong direction. He was headed away from the other men.

“No!” Sara dug in her heels and tried to twist away. “No, we’ve got to go back for them!”

“We can’t.” His grip was inexorable, his jaw set and his face colder than she’d ever seen it, even before the amnesia, when he’d been a far harder man.

“Romo, stop. We can’t leave them.” Tears stung her eyes, a combination of smoke and emotion.

“We don’t have a choice. Move!” He shoved her into the back of the hybrid, shut the door and climbed in the driver’s seat. He had the little vehicle moving before she even scrambled to grab the door handle with some mad intent of flinging herself out and running to Fax’s and Tucker’s aid.