Exposure Page 32

  "And once we know what we're up against, all we have to do is get something into place to stop the rod from extending to finish the circuit."

  Melissa studied the device again, then nodded. "Something plastic or rubber. Anything metal will just act as a conductor."

  The LED showed ninety seconds.

  Melissa sprayed the air freshener between the cylinders and immediately lines of intersecting green light flashed against the ensuing fog of pine-scented mist.

  "How the hell are we supposed to get something in between all that?" The mist cleared, the lines wavering, then disappearing.

  "We'll use this." Melissa held up the pink plastic swizzle stick. "Puts a new spin on the idea of nuking cancer, don't you think?"

  Again he felt a swell of emotion that had nothing at all to do with the situation at hand, and everything to do with the woman standing in front of him. Their gazes met and held, time standing still for just an instant.

  "Nigel, I need to tell you—"

  He raised a hand, cutting her off before she could start. "No near-death protestations of love. I'll wait until after this. When we're facing a very long and boring life together."

  "Never boring, Nigel." Melissa smiled. "Never boring."

  Nigel picked up the aerosol and aimed at the bomb. The clock showed just over forty seconds left. "All right. I'm going to spray this stuff as continuously as possible. Your job is going to be to maneuver the swizzle stick through the spaces between the lasers so that it's in place in front of the pad. Then if we're lucky when the rod fires, the plastic will prevent it from hitting the metal and no circuit. No bomb. We'll do it on my go."

  Melissa gripped the pink plastic stick in her hand, moving so that she could see the pathway as soon as he hit the nozzle on the air freshener.

  Nigel glanced at the clock—twelve seconds. "All right, this is it." He hit the nozzle, and the mist erupted on a hiss, the protective grid highlighted again in green.

  Melissa began to move the swizzle stick between the lines, twisting her wrist now and again to accommodate her line of vision. "Almost there," she whispered. "How much time now?"

  "Five seconds."

  She moved the stick forward a tiny bit more. It was only millimeters away now. "Nigel, I have to say it. You have to know."

  "I do know, Melissa. I've always known, I think. I just didn't know how to combat your fear."

  "And you do now?"

  Three seconds.

  "I'd sure as bloody hell like to find out."

  The aerosol hissed and then stopped, the can empty, the green lines already fading from view. Two seconds.

  "This is it. Can you see well enough?"

  She was chewing the side of her lip, but her hand was steady. "I don't really have a choice."

  "One second, Melissa. It's now or never."

  She shoved the stick forward into place just as the LED clicked zero. The metal rod shot out of its hole, trapping the plastic permanently in place between the cones.

  There was a click as the mechanism finished moving. And then nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  "Score one for breast cancer awareness," Melissa said as she dropped to the floor, her breathing coming in gasps. "We did it."

  "We sure as hell did," Nigel said, falling down beside her, exhausted beyond caring. "And it sounds to me like we're getting a standing ovation."

  Melissa rolled over, lifting her head so that she could listen to the applause coming from the ballroom. "If only they knew."

  Nigel watched as the horrors of the past few days played across her face, his heart constricting with her pain. The cost of any war was high, but terrorism in particular threatened so many who were innocent—on both sides of the game. "Khamis may not have his revenge, Melissa. But we can hope that somewhere in eternity he's found peace."

  "And maybe his family." The words were soft, almost a whisper.

  "It wasn't your fault." Nigel reached up to stroke the soft contour of her cheek. "His choices were what set tragedy in motion, not yours."

  "I know that somewhere up here—" she pointed to her head and then her heart "—but in here it's harder to deal with, you know?"

  "Yes. I do know. Because if I'd lost you today, I honestly believe I'd have wanted to take out anyone who had even the slightest connection to your death. So in that respect, I understand Khamis. But that doesn't mean either of us would have been right in our actions."

  "You're an amazing man," she said, looking down at him, her eyes warm with the hint of promise.

  "Then why not tell me what it was you wanted to say earlier?" he asked, working to hold his voice steady.

  "You mean now that we've got a lifetime to share?" she answered, her eyes crinkling with laughter. "I seem to have forgotten."

  With a loud groan, he flipped her over so that her body was beneath his, his lips finding hers in a kiss filled with passion. Lifting his head, he reverently traced the edge of her bruised cheek, cherishing all over again the fact that they were together and alive.

  Melissa's eyes filled with tears, and she reached up to cup his face in her hands. "I've loved you for fifteen years, Nigel Ferris. And if I have my way I'll love you for a hundred more."

  "So," Sam's familiar voice broke into the moment, "I see you managed to disarm the bomb."

  "Along with a few other things." Payton's voice was laced with laughter. "What did I tell you, sweetheart? There's just something about Last Chance—it's like The Love Boat. Take a case and find your heart's desire. Maybe Cullen is really Mr. Roarke."

  "You're mixing up your television shows," Sam said, deftly moving the dead bomb into a lead-lined container. "Mr. Roarke is from Fantasy Island."

  Nigel leaned back down to kiss Melissa, shutting out the banter of his friends, the rustle of people as they were evacuated from the ballroom, and the thought that this wasn't the time or the place. All that mattered at the moment was the fact that they were alive, together and in love.

  They had been given a second chance—make that a last chance—and he was bound and determined to make the most of every minute.

  EPILOGUE

  LAVERSHAM HAD NEVER looked so grand. Everyone from the first under butler to the village parson was saying so. Not to mention most of the gossip columnists in England. It was as if the estate had been infused with new life. But then again, Melissa supposed, it had in a way. Somehow, in marrying her, Nigel had finally come to terms with his heritage. Not exactly in a lord-of-the-manor kind of way, but still, he seemed to have found peace.

  Or as much peace as anyone could have when surrounded by noisy family and friends. The late-spring grass was just turning green, the roses on the trellis beginning to bloom, white and crimson weaving together in a topiary salute to the Laversham crest.

  Considering she'd never had much of a past, Melissa found it a bit overwhelming at times to be known as Lady Laversham with all that entailed. Fortunately, however, it was clear that her husband felt exactly the same, and for the most part they avoided the titles altogether.

  "Hey, aren't you going to play?" Madison called from the croquet lawn, little Andrea balanced between her legs, determinedly holding the mallet that was several inches taller than she was.

  "Not right now." Melissa smiled. "It's too much fun watching you."

  "And it's not fair at all," Payton grumbled. "You can't croquet a toddler. She's got the run of the course."

  "About time someone got the better of you on that course. You've already whipped anyone else who dared to give it a go." Sam, pregnant to the bursting point, lifted her lemonade in a toast.

  It had been almost a year. A whirlwind of activity. There'd been assignments of course, for the CIA and for Last Chance. But she'd curtailed both because she hadn't wanted to be apart from Nigel. They'd wasted far too much time to let anything stand in their way.

  He'd taken to working only the odd case for MI6, preferring instead the idea of making Laversham a home. She had no doubt that eventually he
'd tire of playing house husband and head back into the field, but she understood his wanderlust better than most and knew it was part and parcel of the man she'd chosen to spend her life with.

  "Penny for your thoughts?" Andrew asked, tipping his head to one side, the gesture almost identical to his brother. Along with inheriting Laversham, she'd also come into Andrew. As brothers went he was a handful, constantly finding trouble and then exacerbating it, but, like Nigel, he was easy to love. And she cherished the fact that her family now included so many wonderful people.

  "I was just thinking about how happy I am."

  "And that better had be because of me, and not my oh-so-roguish brother," Nigel said with a grin, perching on the arm of her chair.

  She reached for his hand, her smile answering him without words.

  "Looks like Payton's got more competition," Sam said, pointing to Aaron, holding baby Micah in his arms as he tried to play. "It's all good practice for him, really," she said, patting her belly.

  "Somehow, I don't think Payton's going to need any help. He'll make an amazing father." Nigel's voice held a wistful note. Or maybe Melissa was just transferring her feelings. Either way, his hand tightened on hers, and she felt a wash of desire, the heady feeling always surprising her with its power.

  "All right, I've made the hamburgers." Gabe strode across the lawn, balancing a giant platter of meat, and sporting an apron emblazoned with Kiss The Cook. A Father's Day present from Andrea, according to Madison. Although exactly why it had made the journey across the Atlantic was still somewhat of a mystery.

  "I couldn't find the ketchup, and your cook was a bit disgruntled to be sharing her kitchen, but I've done the best I can." Gabe opened the barbecue grill with a flourish. English to its core, the machine resembled an oversize griddle far more than an American grill, but Nigel had assured him it would suffice.

  "There aren't any hot dogs, though." Harrison arrived with a plate of buns and assorted condiments.

  "We have hot dogs," Andrew protested.

  "Not the American kind," Harrison assured him. "Yours are more like really pregnant sausages."

  "Hey, watch it, Harrison," Sam groused with a smile. "I resemble that remark."

  "Not even a little," her husband reassured, although the gesture was diluted by the fact that he failed to look up from the wicket.

  The burgers sizzled as Gabe placed them on the fire, the smell enticing. All that was missing was the hand-cranked ice cream, but Cook had drawn a line at that, insisting on red, white and blue custard in its stead. Melissa wouldn't put it past her to add little British soldiers for decoration. The woman wasn't exactly thrilled to be celebrating a war they'd lost.

  Still, as Fourth of July celebrations went, especially ones in Gloucestershire, it was shaping into everything it should be. Good food, good friends and family. There were even fireworks. Nigel had arranged for them as a surprise, but Melissa and Harrison had stumbled on the men setting them up when she'd showed him the maze.

  "Guess what I've found?" Alicia asked, setting a fresh pitcher of lemonade on the table along with a pot of tea.

  "I sincerely hope it's something alcoholic," Andrew said, casting a suspicious eye on the new beverages.

  "There's beer in the ice chest over by the croquet." Nigel nodded toward a red plastic cooler full of beer. "Payton hates to be in short supply."

  "He thinks it helps his game," Sam laughed, "but in truth it's the only thing that gives the rest of us a chance."

  "So maybe it's time to show him how it's really done." Andrew stood up with a grin. "I mean, after all, just because you won the blasted war doesn't mean you're better at everything."

  Melissa watched Andrew striding toward the croquet lawn, feeling absurdly contented. Everything right with the world. She leaned against Nigel and smiled up at her sister. "You said you'd found something?"

  "Actually it's not a something, it's a somebody." With a flourish of her hand, she stepped aside to reveal a man striding toward them, his sports shirt a bright shade of turquoise.

  "You didn't think you could possibly have a Fourth of July celebration without me, did you?" Cullen smiled at the assembled group, ignoring Harrison's groan. "I flew in especially for the occasion."

  Cullen had in large part been responsible for Melissa's being able to fill her sister in about her past, a favor she'd be forever grateful for. He'd even convinced the powers that be that Alicia was not only trustworthy, but an asset in Melissa's cover—since her sister was often traveling about Europe in the company of her husband.

  "It's a wonderful surprise," Melissa said, standing up to give Cullen a hug. "Just as long as you haven't got any other news."

  "Like what?" he said, his eyes full of mischief.

  "Something involving murder and mayhem, if I'm to guess," Andrew said with a wry grin. "I've heard it's your stock-in-trade."

  "That and matchmaking." Cullen's gaze embraced them all. "I do seem to be rather good at that."

  Andrew blanched, taking an involuntary step backward.

  "Not your cup of tea, I take it?" Cullen laughed.

  "Doesn't even recognize it as a beverage," Nigel said, bending to drop a kiss on Melissa's head. "Poor bloke doesn't know what he's missing."

  "So you really flew out here just to be with us?" Harrison was still eyeing Cullen with suspicion, studying the older man for traces of ulterior motive.

  "Well," Cullen said, accepting the beer Gabe offered. "Now that you mention it. The President is having a bit of a problem. You see there are these Colombian warlords..."

  * * * THE END * * *