Lethal Consequences (12 page)

“Oh God, Landon . . .” Every muscle in her body contracted. Her back arched, and she cried out. Her channel grew incredibly tight around him, and though he told himself not to let go, biology took over. He thrust up again and again as his own climax barreled down his spine, slapped into his balls, and exploded through the end of his cock.

She fell forward, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, his lips blowing warm breaths against the soft column of her throat. She continued to ride him slowly, to milk him of every last drop of bliss. His heart raced against hers. Sweat slicked both their bodies. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her tight, trying—working—to clear the stars from his vision, to stop the room from spinning long enough so he could think.

Slowly, she stopped moving and relaxed into him, her hands sliding from around his neck to fall against his chest, her head settling in the crook between his shoulder and neck. Her chest still rose and fell with her ragged breaths, but her body was limp against him, as if she’d expended every last bit of energy. Which, considering everything she’d been through tonight, she probably had.

Brushing his hand down her silky hair and across the soft skin of her spine, he tried to keep reality at bay. Tried to focus on the way she felt against him and the fact she was naked and straddling his lap in the first place. But the harder he concentrated, the more difficult it was to listen. Because as the sex haze cleared and his mind started working again, the truth slammed into him with the force of a freight train rocketing down the tracks at a hundred and twenty miles per hour.

That wasn’t the way he’d wanted their first time to be. There wasn’t supposed to
be
a first time for them, period. Considering the fact he’d lied to her and almost gotten her killed, there was no reason she should ever want to be with him. And every moment they spent together only put her life in that much more danger.

A lump formed in his throat. One that made it hard to draw air. “Olivia—”

“Don’t,” she breathed against him.

“Don’t what?”

She pushed her upper body away and sat up, still straddling his lap. It was still too dark to see her face, so he couldn’t tell what she was thinking or feeling to decipher if he should pull her back. “You don’t have to say anything. I don’t need any postcoital chitchat.” Sighing, she carefully climbed off of him, a chill replacing all her sultry heat. Seconds later, fabric rustled, telling him she was searching for her clothes. “That was good, though. Thanks.”

Thanks?
Landon sat in stunned silence while she moved around, pulling on her pants and shirt. No other words, just
thanks
. As if he’d given her a foot rub instead of made love to her until she’d shattered around him.

He reached for her, his hand finding her arm in the darkness, already covered by the sweatshirt he’d snagged for her. “Olivia—”

She wiggled out of his grip, then the decking creaked, and though he couldn’t be certain, he was pretty sure she’d flopped down next to him on the blanket. “I don’t do after-sex cuddling, Landon. Sorry.”

He nearly choked on his tongue. She was close enough that he could touch her if he tried again, but the sound of her voice told him she’d rolled away.

She’d already dismissed him. As if he were nothing more than a casual fuck. Which, when he thought back to it, he realized he was. She’d let him kiss her, but she’d been careful not to let him pleasure her in the ways he wanted, as if she were trying to keep it physical and nothing more. And she’d cussed, telling him loud and clear she’d been working hard to stay out of her own head and keep it from being personal.

Regret stabbed through him. Not for what they’d just done—he didn’t think he could ever truly regret that because he’d wanted to be close to her like that for a very long time—but for what he’d done to her in the long run. How his being with her was changing her from the sweet, strong, trusting woman he’d fallen for even when he’d known he didn’t have the right, to a jaded shell of her former self—someone a lot like him.

“Olivia,” he said, throat thick. “I need—”

“Sleep,” she said quickly, cutting him off. “We both need sleep.” She yawned, an even clearer sign she’d completely shut down and was done. With him, probably for good.

“Mm,” she muttered in a tired voice. “I can’t wait for tomorrow. All I want to do is forget any of this last day happened.”

Not Landon. Because even as awful as some of it had been, he knew the last fifteen minutes were going to stay with him for the rest of his life.

O
livia couldn’t lie still anymore pretending to sleep.

Rolling to her back, she carefully looked to her right where Landon was silent beside her, his head tipped her way, his eyes closed, his arms crossed over his chest as it rose and fell with his steady breaths.

The first rays of dawn spilled over him through the open window at the end of the loft, highlighting the strands of red in his dark hair she hadn’t noticed before, the jagged scar high on his left cheek, and the bruises around his eye that looked darker this morning. He’d pulled on his pants and the black button-down after they’d had sex, but he’d draped his sweatshirt over her to keep her warm, and she knew he had to be cold.

Her heart did a slow roll, and all those emotions she’d fought to hold back came rushing in. Blowing out a heavy sigh, she tore her gaze from his rugged face and looked toward the high-pointed ceiling of the barn, grappling for control.

She was an idiot to think she could sleep with him—no, correction:
fuck
him—and not feel anything after. She wasn’t sure what she’d been thinking at the time—only that she’d needed the physical release—but as soon as she’d gotten it, she’d known what a giant mistake it had been. This was Landon. The man she’d been crushing on for the last three months. The one who’d saved her life—countless times now. The one she knew so little about.

Her head and heart were caught in a ferocious battle. Images from the last day flashed behind her eyes, but she forced them away. In her heart she wanted to believe that he’d never hurt her, but she was having trouble rationalizing the lethal warrior from yesterday with the one who’d made her feel so many things last night—things she hadn’t wanted to feel.

She pressed shaking fingers to her closed eyelids. God, she was a mess. She wanted him, she didn’t want him. She was pissed at him, she felt compassion for him. She wanted to believe he’d lied to keep her safe, she didn’t know if she could trust him. How the hell was she supposed to know what to do next when she couldn’t even form a single coherent thought?

She needed to talk to Eve. Dropping her hands to her sides, she opened her eyes again. She’d never been one to turn to her older sister for advice about men, but she needed Eve’s experience and knowledge now. Eve had worked for the CIA for years. She above all others would know about the things Landon had done with the DIA. If anyone could explain to her the contrast she saw in him—what he was capable of and what was real—it would be Eve.

Plus, with her connection to Aegis, Eve could arrange to get her—
them
—out of this mess.

Carefully, so as not to wake Landon, she rolled off the blanket he’d laid out last night and found her shoes. After sliding the Keds on her feet, she tiptoed toward the ladder that led down into the barn. A board creaked just as she reached the opening, and she drew up short, held her breath, and looked back.

Landon grunted and rolled to his side, but he didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t even once indicate he’d heard her. Breathing easier, Olivia slowly climbed down the ladder, then quickly made her way out into the late September sunshine.

The barn—which thankfully housed old farm machinery and no smelly livestock—sat a quarter of a mile from town. A winding road angled down the hill toward the village as she walked, and a crisp breeze blew the hair back from her face, making her thankful for the sweatshirt. She wasn’t sure what time it was but figured it had to be early. There likely wouldn’t be many people up, but hopefully she could find an open store or coffee shop or something where she could access a pay phone.

Stone buildings with red-tiled roofs covered the gradual hillside. Several were covered in the murals and Italian text Landon had told her about. Somewhere to her left a dog barked, reminding her of Rex, and a smile curled her lips when she thought of the way Landon had scrambled out of that store like demons from hell were hot on his tail.

The man might be tough as nails when it came to international terrorists, but a ninety-pound growling dog was enough to reorganize his priorities.

She crossed into the village, checking shop windows as she moved up the steadily rising street. A dress shop, a barber shop, some kind of office. All the windows were dark, too early for any kind of business to be open. Turning right, she headed down a slight slope and wove through streets, finding the same result. Lots of shops, nothing open, no sign of life this early in the morning. Just about the time she was ready to give up and go back, she spotted a group of older men lingering ahead. Two sat on the edge of the sidewalk. Two more lounged on the stoop of a nearby building.

A tiny voice in the back of her head warned people could be looking for her. That being caught out in the open might not be such a good idea. But she brushed the thought aside, rationalizing that these were elderly men sipping coffee and smoking pipes, not international terrorists hell-bent on finding two Americans.

She approached slowly and held up her hand. All four looked up with blank, unreadable expressions.

Play it cool, Olivia.

She could. After all, she’d studied acting for years. Although it would help if she could speak even a smidge of Italian.

She slowed her steps. “Um . . .” How the hell did a person say
good morning
in Italian? She thought back to the
Godfather
movies she’d watched as a kid and figured it was worth a shot. “
Buongiorno.
”

The two men on the sidewalk puffed on their pipes and didn’t respond, just stared at her with assessing eyes. The white-haired gentleman in the back, the one sipping a mug of coffee, lifted a wrinkled hand. “
Buongiorno. Si guarda perduto
.”

Olivia had no idea what they were saying. She held her hand up to the side of her face, extending her thumb and pinky. “Do you know where I can find a phone? I’m looking for a phone. Can you help me?”

Three of the men—the two on the sidewalk and the one who’d waved at her—all turned to look at the fourth, sitting on the stoop, puffing on his pipe. He didn’t look right at Olivia; he seemed to be staring at something down the road, but for some reason Olivia got the impression he was the ringleader. Of what, though, she wasn’t sure.

The white-haired man beside the ringleader waved his hand and said something in Italian Olivia didn’t catch. He pointed back at her, then down the road where the ringleader was looking. Olivia watched the exchange, wondering if she could slink away unnoticed. Before she could make up her mind, the ringleader turned his gaze toward her, pushed his gnarled hands against his knees, and stood, motioning her forward.

“You,” he barked. “Come now. Follow.”

His English was broken and heavily accented, but clear enough for Olivia to understand. She looked around, unsure of what to do. The other three all pushed to their feet as well and motioned her to follow the ringleader, who’d stepped into an alley between two buildings and
stood still, waiting
for her to catch up.

Options raced through her mind. She was in a foreign country, with no money, no ID, no passport, and she hadn’t even told Landon where she’d gone. She’d be stupid to follow blindly, but then, lately stupid seemed to be her middle name. And something in her gut told her these old men were not the people she needed to be afraid of.

Her feet shuffled forward. She nodded and mumbled thank-yous to the first three men, then stepped into the alley behind the ringleader.

Alley
was a generous term. There was only about eight feet of space between the two buildings, an access road for a bike, not a car. The elderly man she followed didn’t say anything as they walked, just put his head down as he trudged up the gentle slope. A few doors faced the alley. Ahead, three cement steps led up to the only open door in the area. The man stopped at the stoop, turned to look back at her, and urged her to hurry.

Her pulse was racing by the time she reached him. He motioned for her to move up the steps. The sweet scents of dough and sugar reached her nose. Gripping the railing, Olivia climbed the stairs and stepped inside the back kitchen of what had to be a bakery.

A woman dressed in a long dress and frilly apron with her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a bun looked up as they entered. The man said something to her in Italian without looking her way. She responded with a perturbed wave of her hand and went back to kneading her dough. Voices echoed from out front, but Olivia couldn’t see into the shop. Unease slid through her as she followed the man down a short hallway and into a small office.

A file cabinet sat along the far wall. A beat-up desk and old wooden chai
r took up the center of the room. On the desk sat a lamp, file folders, a printing calculator, and a phone.

Relief burst inside Olivia. She lifted her brows and pointed toward the phone. “May I?”

“
Si, si,
” the man said. “I wait”—he pointed down the small hallway they’d just come through—“here.”

“Wait.” Olivia caught him by the arm, drawing him to a stop. “How do I dial the US?”

His brow lowered. His hazel eyes searched her face as if he didn’t understand. Wishing she knew at least something in Italian that could help, she pointed to the phone again and said, “US?”

“Ah.” The confusion cleared from his wrinkled eyes, and he reached for a piece of paper, scribbled some numbers, then handed it to her and left.

Olivia looked down. Zero, zero, one.

Blowing out a deep breath, she dropped into the chair behind the desk and reached for the phone. After typing in the three numbers, she dialed Eve’s mobile number and prayed the call would go through.

The phone rang three times in her ear before a voice answered. “Wolfe here.”

Olivia gripped the phone tighter
.
“Eve?”

“Olivia? Is that you?”

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“Oh thank God.” Then muffled, as if she were turning away from the phone, “I’ve got her.” Stronger, she added, “Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been going out of my mind.”

Leave it to Eve not to sugarcoat. But today, Olivia could cut her sister some slack for the swearing. “I’m okay. I didn’t mean to make you worry. Everything’s fine, I’d just . . .” Emotions closed in—emotions she thought she was strong enough to handle—and tears pricked her eyes. Resting her elbow on the desk, she rubbed her suddenly aching forehead. “I’d just like to get out of here.”

“Tell me where here is, Olivia. I know you’re in Sardinia somewhere. We’ll send someone to pick you up right away.”

Olivia’s brows drew together. “How do you know that?”

“Because I put a GPS in the lining of your purse.”

“You
what
?”

“Relax,” Eve said. “I never thought I’d have to use it. It was just a precaution after what happened in Seattle. But now I’m thinking it wasn’t such a bad idea. The tracker stopped working about eight hours ago, though, and I’ve been going nuts here waiting for you to call.”

Irritation pulsed through Olivia. She didn’t like being tracked or coddled or looked after as if she were a child, but in this case, she had to admit, part of her was relieved. “I couldn’t get to a phone until now. I’m still in Sardinia. In Orgosolo.”

“Dammit,” Eve muttered. “Orgosolo’s in the middle of nowhere. How did you wind up there?”

Olivia huffed out a half laugh, half grunt. “I don’t know. I was sort of out of it on the trip from Barcelona. Eve, people are after us.”

“Okay, stay calm. Is Miller with you?”

With her? Landon wasn’t
with her
in any way, at least not in the way her schoolgirl heart still foolishly wanted. And after last night, after the way she’d stupidly thrown herself at him and used him just for sex, then brushed him off as if it had meant nothing, she doubted if they could even get past everything else, he’d still be interested. If he ever was to start. “Yeah, he’s here.”

“Put him on the line.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s not
here
here, with me in this room. He’s off . . . doing something.”

“Son of a bitch,” Eve muttered. Paper crinkled over the line, and Olivia imagined her sister sitting at some desk, jotting down notes as they talked. Always the information specialist. “Okay, here’s what we want you to do. The closest airstrip is in Tortoli, which is at least an hour
southeast
from you by car. Do you think you can get there?”

“I don’t know. We don’t have a car.”

“Miller should be able to procure one for you. If he can’t, you need to call me back ASAP and we’ll work out something else. We’ll be there in a couple of hours to get you.”

Shock rippled through Olivia. “You’re in Europe?”

“Zane and I are in the air on our way to Sardinia. We were going to land in Sassari, but we’ll reroute to Tortoli to rendezvous with you.”