Mission: Marriage: Bulletproof Marriage

The way he studied her sent shivers down her spine. Finally, he nodded. “Unfortunately, you’re right. What do I need to do?”

“Let me wet my head in the lavatory sink.” As soon as she’d accomplished that, she combed through her already short locks and returned to the bedroom. “Now I’m ready.”

“I’m not.” He didn’t sound as if he were joking.

Ignoring him, she dug out her newly purchased scissors, holding them out, along with the comb. “Will you do the honors? I could do the sides, but I’m afraid I’d make a hopeless mess of the back.”

Accepting the scissors, he moved the desk chair over by the bed. “Sit here in front of me.”

One deep breath for strength, and she did as he asked. The mattress springs creaked as he took a seat on the bed directly behind her. “How short?”

Did his voice tremble?

“Chin length.” Her hair touched her collarbone now, which meant he’d be removing two to three inches.

As he combed through her hair, she sighed and closed her eyes. When they’d first met, he’d loved her long hair, insisting on brushing it every night. Sometimes those sessions had turned heated, and they’d made fierce and passionate love. Her entire body warmed just thinking of it.

She could tell from the catch in Sean’s breathing that he hadn’t forgotten either.

The first time he skimmed the comb through her hair, a chill skittered along her spine. How she wanted to turn her head and press a kiss into the palm of his hand, the way she used to. Instead she held herself perfectly still, trying to relax.

Impossible.

His breath tickled her ear, her throat. Any moment now … She braced herself for his whisper-soft kiss, so familiar she ached for it, so alien she dreaded it.

When it never came, she reminded herself to breathe. Too much time and deception had passed between them. They each had a job to do, for their country, their agencies and their own personal satisfaction.

Giving in to old memories, old lusts, would accomplish nothing.

“It’s done.” His voice sounded husky. When he ruffled her newly shorn locks, she couldn’t suppress a shiver.

To keep from doing something foolish, she jumped to her feet and went to the mirror over the desk.

She looked … different. The choppy haircut brought out the hollows of her high cheekbones, but it was more than that. Life had returned to her face. Her eyes were no longer a muddy brown, but the amber color they’d once been, the color Sean had always teased her about by saying they glowed with passion.

Passion. No matter how she might try to hide this, even from herself, passion burned in her and her body knew. Each moment she spent with Sean, hearing his voice, longing to feel his touch, marked her.

Natalie was no longer Natalie Major, the efficient Super-spy, the woman made of ice. Despite her best intentions, she resembled Natalie McGregor, the woman hopelessly in love with her mate.

From behind her, Sean made a strangled sound. In the mirror, she saw him standing on the other side of the bed. His dark eyes glowed, full of such heat she nearly gasped. Their gazes locked and held.

Slowly, she turned, her pulse beating erratically.

When he came to her, gathering her in his arms, the scent of him, the feel of his muscular body against her, was almost unbearably painful.

Still, she hungered.

His touch as intimate as the old days, he trailed his hands over her skin and caressed the small of her back.

Ah … this. Arching against him, she lifted her face for his kiss, starving. He met her halfway, crushing her mouth beneath his. His lips devoured hers, demanding, hard and punishing, making her whimper a weak protest at first. But as he deepened the kiss, she welcomed his mouth as though two years had been erased.

Finally, her world was … full.

Stupid. With a hiss, she jerked away. Though she immediately felt bereft, she hid it with a scowl. “Don’t do that.”

The lazy look he gave her had amusement mingled with the desire. “You’re mine,” he stated, with all the confidence of a lion surveying his pride.

“Not anymore.”

“Always.” His voice dared her to disagree.

Though she could have argued, Natalie chose not to dispute his words. He’d always been able to tell when she was lying.

Instead, she grabbed his head and pulled his mouth down for another kiss. Impatient now, anger blazing into desire and need, grief becoming longing and the shame of his betrayal subjugated into want, she used her tongue the way he’d always found unbearably arousing, stroking the inside of his mouth, suckling his tongue. Reckless, abandoned, she tore at his clothing, craving him naked, hard and deep inside her.

His breathing came harsh, unsteady.

“Natalie?”

“Don’t talk,” she growled. “Not now.”

Grabbing her hands to hold them still, he held her away. The question she saw in his eyes felt like a dash of ice water down her back.

What had she almost done?

“I—” Hand to mouth, she backed away, as far as the small room would allow. Still, her body throbbed, wanting him.

“Shhh,” he told her, not coming after her. Was that grief she saw flash across his rugged face, or merely thwarted desire? No matter.

He’d saved her. She owed him that. She’d nearly made another huge mistake to add to her already huge list of them.

Even now, trying to clear her head, one look at the front of him, at his blatant arousal, and she nearly said to hell with it and went to him.

Closing her eyes, she drew one ragged breath, then another. How well she remembered the fit of him, tightly sheathed inside her. Their lovemaking had been explosive, intense and fulfilling, something she’d known no other man could measure up to.

“I’m sorry,” she told him, absurdly on the verge of tears.

“I understand,” he said, though she knew he didn’t. Aching, she wanted to weep.

“I’m …” She couldn’t find the words, though she knew she should be asking questions. Ask, hell, anyone else would demand an explanation. As if anything he could say would explain his betrayal.

When her mother had left, Natalie was six, but she well remembered her questions, and the way her father had had no answers. Finally, he’d told her she was better off not knowing.

Now she understood what he’d meant. Sometimes knowing the truth could hurt more than whatever the mind could imagine. She’d been an adolescent when she’d finally figured out her mother hadn’t wanted her, didn’t love her, and had left of her own free will. Up until that point, Natalie had convinced herself the woman had been abducted, forcibly dragged away from the daughter she adored and the husband she loved.

No longer a child, nor a teen with easily bruised emotions, Natalie knew she should demand answers. Should, but wouldn’t. She didn’t really want to know.

Instead, she brushed past Sean, grabbed the box of hair coloring off the table and went into the toilet, closing and locking the door behind her. She needed to walk, needed it the way a smoker craves a cigarette. A breath of fresh air and a brisk, two- or three-mile walk would clear her head and help her regain her shredded composure.

The crack of gunfire woke him.

Sean jerked up, years of training enabling him to snap instantly awake. Since he was still fully clothed, including his damned uncomfortable cast, he shoved himself to his feet and did a quick survey of the room.

Natalie was missing.

Moving as fast as the boot would allow, he grabbed his gun and yanked open the door, then moved down the hall to the front door. He opened it and cautiously stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind him.

Another round of gunfire had him dropping to the ground.

Where the hell was Natalie? Combined with the streetlights, the full moon provided ample light, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. Maybe she’d taken cover. Maybe she wasn’t there. So where the hell was she?

He had to assume she was safe so he could concentrate on taking out the shooter.

Keeping close to the brick building, he moved in the direction of the gunshots. He heard sirens, which meant someone had called the police. This could be good—or bad. It might stop the shooter, but there was no way he or Natalie could talk to local law enforcement.

The shooting stopped—Sean could only guess the gunman had heard the sirens, too, and was calculating how long he had before he needed to escape.

More confident now, Sean moved closer. He’d fitted his Glock with a silencer, which would do the job nicely if he had to take out an enemy. Though he’d rather capture the guy and question him. With the police on their way, that might not be possible.

Right now what mattered was keeping Natalie safe.

Rounding the corner, Sean stopped. A long, open stretch lay between his building and the next. No way was he going out there blind, making himself a perfect target.

The wail of the sirens grew louder.

A shadow moved.

Sean raised his gun.

Natalie jumped up and began running toward him.

His heart stopped.

Then, knowing he had no choice, he jumped out into the open, both to cover her and, he hoped, distract the shooter.

When she reached him, she knocked him back around the side of the building. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Shhh.” Listening for more shots, he heard only the rapidly approaching sirens. “He’s gone. We’ve got to get back to our room.”

Though her gaze shot daggers, she didn’t argue. Together, they ran, keeping close to the wall.

Another shadow.

“Get down,” he shouted, just before the shooter again opened fire.

She dropped like a rock. Sean felt a searing heat right above his cast. “Damn it,” he cursed.

Rat-ta-tat-tat. And again. The sirens were closer still. Again the shooting stopped.

“What’s wrong?” Natalie asked, her eyes and gun trained in the direction of the gunman.

“I’m hit.”

“Where?”

“The leg.”

Natalie was beside him. “Cover me.” Then she was tearing her shirt to make a tourniquet on his leg. A rapidly spreading crimson stain showed the wound right above his walking cast, as he’d suspected.

“You’re determined to lose that leg, aren’t you?” she muttered. “Come on. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Can’t.” Perspiration ran from his forehead into his eyes.

She muttered a string of curse words strong enough to make a sailor blush.

“What the hell were you doing out here anyway?” he asked.

“I needed a walk,” she growled, her expression daring him to say anything.

“A walk.” He stared, wondering if he’d ever really known her. The Natalie he’d known and loved wouldn’t have left him to go for a walk.

“We’ve got to go. Now.” She grabbed his arm.

“No.” He jerked away. “I’ll do it on my own. You’re not strong enough.”

“Been there, done that. I got you out from under a ton of concrete, didn’t I?”

“Blind luck.”

Another round of gunfire. More smoke. He swore.

Who was this psycho? They didn’t know and had no time to find out. Again he cursed his clumsiness.

“Blind luck, my ass. Try blind skill.” This time, when she grabbed him, he didn’t resist. Half tugging, half shoving, she got him moved to the limited shelter provided by a Dumpster trash bin. His eyes drifted closed. Shaking his head, he tried to keep them open. “Let’s go.”

“Stay conscious. Sean, you’ve got to stay with me.”

“Why?”

The question appeared to blindside her. “Because,” she told him fiercely. “This isn’t the way you want to go out.”

“True. But it’s taking all I have to stay conscious. So tell me, Super-spy. Now what?”

“Usually I have backup or radios or one of a hundred tricks a well-equipped spy has at her disposal.” She snorted. “I’m guessing there’s no use looking toward the sky for a James Bond-style helicopter to magically appear and rescue us, right?”

The fact that she could joke in such a tense situation made him attempt a smile. “Let’s move.”

They made it to the next building without incident, huddling under the small portico over a back door, protected a bit by metal trash cans.

“Listen,” Sean said. They both heard the sharp click as the shooter reloaded. Any second now, he’d squeeze off another volley of shots.

Heart in his throat, Sean tensed. He’d been away from this game far too long.

“Is he following us?” Natalie whispered.

“You broke protocol,” Sean suddenly told her, fiercely. “I thought you were a professional.”

“I am. I—”

“Professionals don’t leave without telling their partner. You could have gotten us both killed.”

“Stop, Sean.” She glared at him. “I screwed up, true. I’m sorry. But this shooter was obviously heading for our B and B. I surprised him out in the open, before he was ready. He could have cut us down in our sleep. So part of this worked out for the good.”

Attempting a nod, he sucked in his breath instead. He didn’t know how much farther he could go. His strength ebbed out of him with every breath.

“How—” He couldn’t finish.

“How did he find us? I don’t know. Maybe we need to do a sweep for bugs.”

Another series of shots. Several rounds cut a wide swath through the metal trash bins.

“Too close. Run,” he gasped. “Go. Save yourself.”

“No.” She prodded him forward.

Assess. The. Situation. She wouldn’t leave him. Nor he her, he knew. Never. His life wouldn’t be worth living if he lost her again. Result. He had to save himself, and, in doing so, save her.

The sirens were nearly upon them. Somehow, he had to get them to safety. No way could they attempt to explain to local authorities what had happened here.

“Come on.” He made his voice harsh. Strong. Commanding. “Let me lean on you.”

Without hesitation, she moved her shoulder under his arm. Taking a deep breath, he lurched forward.

Chapter 5

Somehow they made it out from the porch and across the alley, moving through the neighboring yards, backtracking to their B and B.

The tourniquet held and he left no trail of blood to betray them.

Leaning on her heavily, Sean forced himself to shuffle his feet, step after step after painful, labored step. Grunting from the strain, Natalie kept her shoulder under him, staggering at times in her attempt to keep them moving.

Luckily, their room had French doors that led out to a small terrace. Privacy was always a good thing.

“Get me in that way. We need to avoid any questions from our hostess.”

“My thoughts exactly,” she huffed.

Shouts from the porch they’d recently vacated told them the police had arrived. Sweat rolling down his brow, Sean struggled futilely to increase his pace.

“Come on,” she urged. Together they shuffled forward as fast as they could. Sean kept his teeth clenched against the pain, forcing himself to move without uttering a sound of complaint.

Finally, they slipped through the metal garden gate. Natalie pulled it closed behind them, then quickly picked the lock on the French doors.

Pushing Sean inside, she slammed the door closed and drew the curtain shut. He staggered to the bed and dropped down on the mattress, breathing heavily.

They were safe. For the time being.

“What now?” he panted.

Licking her lips, she swallowed. “I have to see about getting that bullet out of your leg.” She rummaged around in the knapsack she’d carried with her all day, finally pulling out a small box. Then she grabbed the pillowcase off one of the pillows and tore it into strips, and some of the strips into pieces.

“No way.” He tried to rise, but couldn’t. Fighting against nausea and unconsciousness, he couldn’t even lift his leg to move it. “Damn thing burns like hell.”

“Hold still.” Her voice, still harsh and sounding completely unlike her, stopped him cold.

Through a haze of pain, he eyed her. “Like I can move,” he ground out, wondering if she’d ever been shot. He had, almost more times than he could count, though never seriously. No major organs or arteries. This was one aspect of his job he hadn’t missed over the last two years.

“You might be wanting to move in a minute.” Was that a warning? Without waiting for his response, she pushed him back and began unwrapping the makeshift tourniquet that had kept him from bleeding to death.

Each pass of the material hurt like hell.

Gritting his teeth, he bit back a few choice curse words. Instead, he managed to keep his voice relatively level. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’ve got to get the bullet out. And it’ll be painful.”

Her matter-of-fact tone told him she was cutting him no slack. Still, he’d done fieldwork for too long to argue with truth.

“How about whiskey? Do you have any?”

She barely even glanced at him. “No, of course not. Do you?”

He shook his head, wincing as a piece of fabric caught on the edge of his raw wound. The sharp bite of pain made everything spin, and he sucked in air, trying to stay conscious.

Wouldn’t do to show weakness before the woman he was supposed to protect. He bit back a groan.

“I’ll be as gentle as possible.” Was that a hint of concern in her voice? She began rummaging in the plastic box.

“I appreciate that,” he managed, the pain overwhelming. Worse, she hadn’t even started searching for the bullet. “Let’s get this over with.” He grabbed a piece of cloth from the small stack she had in front of her, twisted it and shoved it in his mouth.

“Wait a second.” She continued rummaging. “I think I saw some pain pills in here. Aha!” She held up a small, brown plastic bottle. “These might work.”

He took two and swallowed them dry.

“Ready?”

He nodded.

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Go ahead and pass out if that will help.”

Pass out? Who did she think he was? “Hell no,” he growled, mumbling around the cloth. Finally, he yanked it out and glared at her. “I’ve had bullets removed in the field before. I want to make sure you do this right.”

In the act of disinfecting her hands with waterless cleanser, she paused. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

“Have you ever done this before?”

“No.”

At least she was honest. Still, her answer didn’t give him the confidence in her ability he’d hoped for.

“Have you?” she asked.

He jerked his chin in a brief nod. “Of course. Make sure you sterilize whatever you use to get the bullet out.”

Intent on separating the rest of the blood-soaked material from his skin, she didn’t respond. When she had the area clear, she sucked in her breath with an audible hiss.

The sound had him raising his head. “Are you gonna be okay doing this?”

Instead of answering, she bent over him and, setting her jaw in that intent way she had, picked up a pair of tweezers, coated them with waterless cleanser and held a match to them. “Sterilized,” she said, still focused on the bloody mess the bullet had made of his leg.

An instant later she began poking with her tweezers.

Shoving his temporary gag back in place, Sean felt as if she was stabbing him with a fiery torch. Damn, that hurt. He tried to force himself to breathe deeply and evenly, fighting to maintain consciousness.

Struggling not to cry out, he broke out in a sweat. Hot and cold, dizziness and nausea, then, despite his best intentions, everything faded to gray and he passed out.

By the time she located the bullet, Natalie’s shirt clung to her back, drenched in perspiration. She dropped the bloody piece of metal onto the plastic lid and picked up her small bottle of rubbing alcohol. One thing she’d learned early on in her career—when doing fieldwork, always have a rudimentary first aid kit handy. Luckily, she hadn’t lost hers in the gun battle.

Bracing herself, she dumped half the bottle into Sean’s open wound.

“Aaaah!” Sitting bolt upright, Sean cursed. Then, mercifully for both of them, his eyes glazed over and he went back to unconsciousness.

“Good,” she muttered. Snatching up a needle and thread, she lit another match and sterilized the needle. Then, praying Sean stayed unaware, she began stitching up the wound.

Later, with the wound dressed and wrapped, Natalie made herself a cup of tea with the tiny electric kettle the B and B provided. Taking a seat in the chair at the side of the bed, she watched her husband sleep, wishing she could sort out her chaotic emotions.

Previously an optimist, she’d learned the hard way that clouds didn’t always have silver linings. People died, friends lost touch, and previously warm and sunny days were prone to become gray with a simple change in the direction of the wind.

Life wasn’t fair and if you didn’t like that, there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it.

Her rose-colored glasses forever broken, she’d grieved heavily over the loss of Sean. Her friends and coworkers had worried about her, finally contacting her father to help them pull her out of the deep, dark depression.

And she’d realized she had to go on without Sean. Somehow. Burying the ever-present sorrow deep inside her, she’d set about redefining her life, vowing she would live on her own terms now.

Though she’d always enjoyed her job, she hadn’t become fiercely intent on it until after Sean died. She’d made SIS her entire focus.

This showed in her work. In the two years she’d lived alone, she’d been promoted twice. Headquarters had even offered her a desk job, a plum most agents would have snatched eagerly.

Not her. She’d refused, preferring fieldwork. Every new assignment had brought her a fierce kind of happiness—the only happiness she knew these days. She lived for the excitement, the adrenaline rush. After all, danger and her emerging talent for cracking codes had been a working distraction from her pain.

She’d solved a few solid cases, one of them huge. Her father had been proud of her and Corbett Lazlo had even offered her a job working for him at the elite Lazlo Group. She’d said no, her loyalty to SIS strong. Her anger at Lazlo for the role he’d played in her life was still there, even if she knew it was unreasonable. Then her entire team had been killed and she’d become a target. And once again, the fates had intervened. Emerging from the grave, Sean had reappeared to claim her. Not dead. Not even hurt.

All along, she’d been living a lie. Her entire life—before and after his so-called death—had been false.

The turmoil this knowledge caused her felt overwhelming.

She had no time to deal with it. The mysterious and evil Hungarian they hunted seemed involved with it all—the SIS, the Lazlo Group, destroying her life and her team—and Sean’s, too, if she were honest.

Sean’s voice startled her.

“Could I have some water?” He licked his lips, his dark gaze as powerful as always.

Nodding, she rose and went to the tap, half filling a glass and carrying it to him. She moved the other pillow behind him and helped him sit up before handing him the glass.

He drank eagerly, gulping so quickly he spilled most of the water on the sheets. When he’d finished, she took it from him and placed it on the nightstand.

“You’re going to be all right,” she said.

Though he nodded, something in his gaze as he searched her face made her feel as if he knew what she’d been thinking. Hell, maybe he did. They’d used to joke about being able to read each other’s minds.

She’d once found this immensely satisfying, proof they were totally compatible. Now, she found it unsettling.

“What?” she asked, hating the defensive tone to her voice.

“Do you want to explain to me why you felt the need to go for a walk in the middle of the night, endangering our mission and our lives?”

A flash of anger warred with guilt. “Only when you feel like explaining to me how your entire family and you died in the same accident. In a car you weren’t even supposed to be in. And since you haven’t mentioned them, I’m going to assume your family really is dead.” She knew her voice was laced with pain and anger, and chose to focus on the anger. “I’ve long known someone had to be responsible, though no one—not Corbett, not my superiors at SIS—claimed to know who. You know, don’t you?”