Exposure Page 9

  To that end, he removed his shirt, as well, and then scooped her back into his arms. Her skin against his felt like ice, and he could feel the shudders rippling through her. It didn't take a genius to realize that she'd spent the night outside somewhere.

  And been sick to boot.

  Gingerly he stepped into the shower, letting the hot spray of water envelop them. Lowering her feet, he let her body slide against his until she was leaning back against him in a more or less standing position, then he locked his arms around her so that she could remain upright.

  The water beat down on them both, the steam surrounding them like a shimmering curtain. Her eyes were still closed, but as the water began to work its magic, she moaned as the heat bit into her skin. The blue tinge receded, replaced by a healthy pink, and Nigel sighed in relief.

  Carefully, bracing her against him with one hand, he reached for the soap and began to wash her, starting with her neck and shoulders, her skin silky beneath his callused fingers. Even that simple touch brought back memories, and he steeled his body, trying not to react to her tantalizing proximity. In the water, her underwear had become diaphanous, her breasts highlighted with mouthwatering clarity.

  Gritting his teeth, he continued his washing, lathering her hair and neck, massaging away the remnants of whatever it was she'd endured. Next, he concentrated on the angry red contusion left by the bullet. It had already stopped bleeding, but the slug had left its mark on the tender skin of her upper arm. He fought against a surge of anger directed at her unknown assailant.

  In New York City, anything was possible, but based on the fact that she'd apparently spent the night out in the cold, he'd have to guess that this was more than a random shooting. Most likely something related to her latest assignment. And if that were the case, then it meant her cover had been compromised.

  Obviously someone either knew who she was, or simply wasn't taking chances. Either way there was no way to analyze the situation further until she could tell him what happened. Which meant he needed to concentrate on getting her warm and awake.

  As if reading his thoughts, she sighed and turned around so that she was facing him, leaning into his warmth, her breasts pressed against his chest. Fighting the carnal heat racing through him, he concentrated on getting her clean, his hands skimming over her back and belly beneath the undershirt.

  Unfortunately, the motion sent her shimmying against him, her pelvis rubbing against his penis in a provocative rhythm that threatened to be his undoing, but he persevered, tightening his muscles against the sensory onslaught, sheer determination his greatest ally.

  Completely unaware of his plight, Melissa murmured his name on a sigh, and her eyes fluttered open. She smiled sleepily up at him, pressing closer, her lips parting for a kiss, then she froze, reality surfacing as anxiety flooded across her features.

  "Why are we here?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in question as she tried to push away.

  "To get you warm," he said, keeping his expression neutral as he pulled her back into the circle of his arms and the heated spray of water. "You were bordering on hypothermia."

  She struggled for a moment more then relaxed against him, her mind finally wrapping around the logic of his words and accepting them. "The shooter."

  Her words were almost too faint to hear, but he knew what she was saying, the red mark on her arm providing an all-too-real testament to her statement.

  "As soon as I've got you warm, I'll go and see if there's anything left behind to identify him." Nigel knew that if he was right about this being something to do with her operation there wouldn't be anything to find, but he wanted to reassure her.

  "You know better than that," she whispered against his chest. "There'll be no trace."

  He should have known she'd be quick to assess the situation. She hadn't gotten where she was by being slow on the uptake. Hypothermia be damned. He stroked the back of her hair, the gesture stemming from a need to do far more than soothe her, and as if she too relished the contact, she leaned into him for a moment more, then drew a sharp breath and stepped back.

  Nigel swallowed, trying to maintain focus. She was a beautiful woman, wearing her maturity with an ease one seldom saw, and it made his body tighten with a need that transcended the physical, creating a hunger that ran straight to his soul.

  Suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin, he stared at the floor of the shower, working to pull his thoughts from his need to hers. Reaching over to the taps, he turned them off, the sudden cessation of the water leaving the room eerily quiet. Still avoiding her gaze, he stepped out onto the bath mat and grabbed a towel, handing it to her before retrieving another for himself.

  "I didn't know what else to do." He felt foolish, as if he'd blundered into some sort of parallel universe where he'd regressed into adolescent insecurity. She'd always done that to him, stripping him bare of all pretense. It had been exhilarating and uncomfortable all at the same time, but just at the moment, the latter took the forefront.

  "You did exactly the right thing." Her voice broke through his riotous thoughts, and he looked up to see that she'd stripped off her sodden undergarments and pulled on the hotel's toweling robe. "But then you always do."

  He wasn't sure if that was a compliment or an insult, and so he let it pass, concentrating instead on removing the other robe from its hook on the back of the door. The corners of her mouth twitched as she turned her back, waiting for him to change out of his wet chinos. The maneuver was not as speedy or as graceful as he would have liked, but soon they were both clad in terry cloth and seated in the living room of the suite. A part of him wanted to be back in the shower, nothing between them but moisture and heat. But another part, a much wiser one, was grateful for the distance between them, and the thick camouflage of the toweling robes.

  He was neither a saint nor a eunuch and even the desperation of her situation hadn't dulled the ache the sight of her naked body had elicited. He was, however, a consummate professional and, bearing that in mind, he turned his attention to the situation at hand.

  "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

  She chewed on her lip for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "It started with the call I got at the party." Two spots of color rose in her cheeks, and Nigel bit back a smile. At least he wasn't alone with his runaway emotions. Their gazes met, and a moment ticked by, the air full of electricity—and then it passed, the two of them safely back on level ground. "It was my handler. He said he'd found something important and that he wanted to meet at a diner near the Brooklyn Bridge."

  "I take it something went wrong?"

  "He never showed. And then when I left, I got horribly sick. The last thing I remember was losing everything in an alley."

  Nigel frowned. "Food poisoning?"

  "It's possible. The coffee was awful, and I did eat some pie," she said, her frown answering his. "But it happened really quick. I'd hardly taken ten steps before the nausea hit. I remember fighting to hang on to consciousness, but there was nothing I could do. One minute I was standing there puking my guts out and the next thing I know, it's morning and I'm freezing."

  Nigel ran a finger across the line of his mustache, trying to sort out the pieces of the puzzle. "So you spent the night in the alley."

  It wasn't a question, but Melissa nodded anyway.

  "And then what happened?"

  "I tried to call Ed, but he wasn't there."

  "Your handler."

  Melissa nodded. "I called the night before, too, when he didn't show up, but there was no answer then, either."

  "Is he usually so elusive?" Nigel fought against an unreasonable surge of jealousy. He didn't know the man, didn't know Melissa's relationship to him, and he certainly hadn't the right to feel anything at all about the men in her life.

  "No. He's actually sort of annoyingly prompt. The sort who never shows up to anything a minute late. That's what's got me worried." Melissa's eyes were dark with concern. "That and the fact that I woke up covered in blood.
"

  The coat. Suddenly his brain grasped what his eyes had already seen. "Not yours." He knew it was true, but somehow he couldn't help saying it anyway. "Any idea whose it was?"

  "None at all." She shook her head to emphasize the point. "There was no sign of a struggle, and no residual blood at the site. Just what was on my coat. I double-checked the area, but there was nothing."

  "And the outfit?" Nigel prompted.

  "I stole it." Melissa's smile was rueful. "There was a courtyard at the end of the alley. I scaled the fence and helped myself. It seemed the best solution."

  "I'd have done the same." Nigel nodded his support, his mind still turning over the details. "Is that when you called me? After you'd changed?"

  "No." Melissa threaded her fingers together, the knuckles turning white. "I headed home first. I thought stupidly that maybe there'd be a message there, or something to help me sort things out. But the place was surrounded by official-looking cars and I figured it'd be better to stay low until I knew what was what. That's when I called you."

  "I see." He didn't really, but it was simpler to say that he did.

  "You don't believe me."

  "I didn't say that. It's just that the pieces don't seem to be coming together as a whole. We know that your handler— Ed—called. You're sure it was him?"

  "Positive." She nodded, waiting.

  "And you went to meet him, only he didn't show."

  "Right. And while I waited I drank coffee and had a couple of bites of apple pie."

  "Was there anything unusual about the food?"

  "Nothing out of the ordinary. The coffee was bitter, which I thought was a little odd since it was a new pot, but this wasn't exactly Starbucks." She closed her eyes, trying to force the memory. "There were a couple of teenagers, you know the kind that make punks look like choirboys, and an old guy that looked like he came straight off the streets. Except for them the place was empty."

  "What about staff?"

  "All I saw was the waitress. She was the kind of woman that my mom used to say had been rode hard and put away wet."

  "Any of the occupants show unusual interest in you?"

  Melissa tipped back her head, thinking. "I don't think the kids even looked at me. They were too interested in their pie. Actually, that's what made me think of having it myself. The waitress was the usual monosyllabic type, and the old man was just drinking coffee. We made eye contact when I came in, but that's it." She frowned, holding up a hand. "One thing that struck me as off was the fact that the old man got his coffee from a different pot. At the time I wrote it off as decaf, but now..." She trailed off with a shrug.

  "It's worth considering. Any vomit on the coat?"

  "I'd imagine so, although it'll be hard to see with all the blood." She scowled at him. "What the hell difference does it make whether I threw up on my coat?"

  "A lab might be able to analyze it. Figure out if you were poisoned."

  "Sorry, I should have thought of that." Her expression was a cross between apology and dismay.

  "It's all right, darling." The endearment slipped out before he could stop it, old times settling in like a well-worn rug. "It's not like you didn't have other things to deal with."

  "I should have thought of it, though." She either hadn't heard his slip of the tongue or she was ignoring it. Either way Nigel was relieved. "At least I had the presence of mind to keep my clothes. They're wrapped up in the coat. Maybe they'll give us something more to go on."

  "My thoughts exactly. We'll just get them analyzed for trace."

  She glanced around the hotel room. "You carry a lab with you?"

  "Right. I've just got it tucked away in the back room." Melissa's eyes widened, and Nigel laughed. "I told you at the consulate's party that I have some powerful friends. They'll be able to provide anything we need."

  "I don't want anyone else involved in this." She started to stand, then seemed to think better of it and sat back in the chair. "I mean, after all, it was Ed who had me go to the diner in the first place." She paused, her gaze troubled. "That's why I didn't try to call anyone else at the CIA."

  "How much did they tell you about Last Chance?"

  "Not much more than you told me last night. It's a group of agents, mainly CIA, operating at the President's behest."

  "Well, my friends may be CIA, but they're also a bit on the unorthodox side, so no worries about their alliances. We stand together—most of the time." Nigel pushed aside his regret; he'd made a mistake once, put country before Last Chance, and he'd not do it again. Gabe and Payton would never have done it at all. Their loyalty was absolute. "I trust them. And you can, too."

  Melissa nodded, but he could tell that she still wasn't convinced.

  "We've survived a lot, the three of us. The other members of the team, as well. If we ask them to keep this quiet, they will. It's as simple as that."

  "So what? You just call them up, and we wait for the posse to arrive?" There was a little bit of sarcasm in her tone, and Nigel was pleased. Anger meant she was recovering nicely, and at the moment her health was his primary concern.

  "No. We need to get out of here immediately. Whoever was shooting at you had to have seen where you went. Which means that sooner or later he'll find his way here. And I don't fancy running into him until we've got a better idea of what we're up against."

  "So what do you suggest?"

  "There's a safe house I know about. It's upstate a bit. I can arrange for a helicopter to take us there."

  "Isn't that a little like blowing the bugle and letting everyone know where we're heading?" She still looked skeptical, and Nigel suppressed the desire to kiss her until it disappeared.

  "Not in New York. Helicopter pickups are a dime a dozen. Besides, I'm good at this sort of thing, remember? You're not the only undercover operative in the room."

  "And last night you were playing the part of the lush?" She tilted her head toward the empty minibottles on the table.

  "Hardly likely with that lot. There wasn't even enough to give me a buzz."

  She stood up, taking a step toward Mm, the static in the room stretching taut between them. "Were you having trouble sleeping?"

  "Something like that." He moved toward her, the distance between them now measured in centimeters. "I ran into an old friend, and the memories were a little more than I'd bargained for."

  "I see." She threw his words back at him with a crooked grin, her color now completely normal It wouldn't take any effort at all to close the distance completely, but he'd been down this road before, and he knew with certainty that it couldn't have a pleasant ending. Truth was, he'd barely recovered from the last time the two of them had tangled, and damned if he was going to jump back into the fire without so much as a second thought.

  It was important to protect oneself after all.

  "I really should see to that arm," he said, purposefully stepping back, trying to ignore the flash of disappointment in her eyes. "I'll just get the first-aid kit."

  CHAPTER NINE

  MELISSA STARED AT the bedroom door, trying to decide if she was angry or relieved. On the one hand, she couldn't help her reaction to Nigel—after all, it had been one hell of an affair all those years ago—but on the other, she'd learned the cost of such endeavors and had thought she was well past this kind of thing. She'd turned a corner, and quite honestly, she had no intention of ever looking back.

  Only here he was not ten feet from her and all she could think about was running in there and begging him to make love. Considering the idea bordered on ludicrous, the better thing to do would be to hit the high road, but that meant she'd be on her own again. And despite the pull of the chemistry between them, she was still relieved to have Nigel on her side. Not that she couldn't have handled it on her own if necessary, it was just easier this way. Two heads and all that.

  She shook her head and decided the whole dilemma had to be a by-product of stress. Spending a night in the cold hadn't exactly left her at her best. Add to t
hat the blood and the shooter, and really a girl couldn't be expected to keep her emotions safely under lock and key.

  She stood up, crossed restlessly to the window and stared down at Park Avenue. It was nearing noon, and the road was teeming with cars and taxis, the median in the center still bright with fall chrysanthemums. People were walking below, an uptown mix of society matrons, nannies pushing carriages, and businessmen with ears glued to cell phones.

  Just an ordinary day.

  "Sorry to be so long." Nigel's voice warmed her like a familiar sweater, and she turned from the window to face him. He'd dressed in khakis and a dark blue sport shirt, the clothes making him look both sophisticated and sexy. Whatever else he might be, Nigel Ferris was a gentleman and he looked every bit the part. "I wanted to go ahead with arrangements. The helicopter should be here in half an hour or so."

  "They're coming here?" Melissa asked, more for something to say than for information.

  "Right on the roof. I told you I had connections." His smile was crooked and her heart twisted with memory. "Now come over here in the light and let me look at that arm."

  "It's just a scratch really." She waved it off, not entirely certain she wanted him touching her again.

  "I know, but you still need to watch for infection. Come on." His smile grew a little more wicked. "I'm not going to bite." As if to underscore the fact, he lifted the roll of gauze and antibiotic cream, pointing at the chair she'd just vacated.

  "Fine." She walked over to the chair and sat down, shoving up the robe sleeve. Unfortunately, it wasn't possible to push it up that far, and she was forced, against her better judgment, to drop the robe off her shoulder so that he could access the wound.

  His touch was professional, gently probing the rut left by the bullet. "It's less red than it was in the shower. I think you'll be fine. Probably not even a scar."

  She'd been shot before. More than once, actually, but never with the bullet specifically intended for her. She winced as he rubbed the antibiotic into the wound.