The Only Way Out Part 13

She closed her mind to the questions. It was going to end soon. That was Jeff's job. It was past time for the killing to stop. She drew in a deep breath and wondered how she would explain this to her son. Bobby hadn't asked many questions about his father, but he would. How was she supposed to tell him the truth? How was she supposed to tell him about Jeff's wife and son? What about the other people Kray had murdered? How many families had been destroyed? How many souls waited for revenge?

She wasn't sure how long she knelt in the surf. The waves continued to wash over her, the rain fell lightly. Eventually she felt a slight p.r.i.c.kling along the back of her neck. She turned and saw Jeff standing by the edge of the sea. It was too dark to see his individual features, but he seemed to be waiting.

"You all right?" he asked.

She nodded,then slowly rose to her feet. The white-and-pink romper was wet and clinging to her. The damp edges of her hair stuck to her arms and back. She felt drained.

She walked toward Jeff. He waited. No wonder he stared at her with contempt. No wonder it hurt him to watch her son laugh and play. What strange twist of fate had brought them together? If there was one woman in the world most wrong for him, it was her. Yet he'd promised to get them off the island. He was their only hope.

When she reached the soft dry sand, she stopped and turned toward him. The faint light from the house didn't reach this far. She still couldn't see his face.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her voice was low and raspy from her tears. She cleared her throat.

He didn't answer. She wanted to touch him and offer comfort, but she had none to give. None that would matter to him, anyway. She understood why he was contemptuous of her. It would have been so easy for him to walk away and leave her on her own. But he hadn't.

"I know my apology doesn't mean anything to you. It can't bring your wife and son back." She glanced down,then squeezed the hem of her romper. The wind blew harder now, the rain was more insistent, although still warm. "It must be difficult for you to be with us, knowing we're alive and they're not."

In the distance came a faint rumble. Jeff turned toward the sound. "The storm is going to get worse," he said. "We'd better get inside."

She didn't move. "You're so honorable and good. You probably don't understand about not recognizing evil until it's too late." There were more tears. She hadn't thought she had any left to cry. She brushed her fingers against her cheeks. "I never meant to be one of the bad guys."

"It's not your fault."

He grabbed her arm and started toward the house. She let him pull her along. When they reached the porch, she climbed the stairs with him. Once under the protection of the overhead covering, he released her. She stared up at him.

Now she could see his features. The light from the living room exposed the starkness of his expression and the grim line of his mouth. Something dark and ugly hid in his eyes.

"If it's not my fault, why do you blame me?" she asked softly.

"Because you married him."

"I didn't know."

"You should have. You should have made it your business to know."

"I just wanted to belong. I just wanted someone to care for me."

"You wanted to be taken care of. You wanted the easy way out and you took it. Now you're paying the price."

She struggled hard for control. "No, it wasn't like that. I really believed I'd found someone I could care about."

"That doesn't say a whole lot about your judgment, does it?"

"I swear I didn't know," she repeated, knowing she would never convince him. "I met him and he was so overwhelming. I didn't have time to think."

"You didn't want to think."

He had her there. "Yes," she whispered. She brushed her wet hair off of her face. "I wanted to be protected."

"We all pay a price for what we want."

But he wasn't looking at her anymore. He was staring past her, toward the storm. She wondered what he saw, what he was thinking,then decided it was best if she didn't know.

"If I could change things..." she started.

"What would you change?" he asked. "What would be different this time?"

"I would question. I wouldn't let it happen so fast. I wouldn't just react to what I was feeling." Like now. Only, she didn't say that. She didn't speak, didn't dare to breathe. Because, once again, she could feel the heat. The need between them. It frightened her, because he frightened her. He hated her, yet he wanted her.

Jeff tilted his head back and stepped away from her. Every line of his body screamed his contempt. But that didn't erase the desire. His gaze narrowed.

"No," he growled. "Never."

He turned on his heel and walked into the house. Andie stared after him. When he went into his bedroom and closed the door, she leaned against the railing and watched the storm. The rumbles of thunder grew louder. Soon lightning filled the sky. She had to check on her son. If the storm woke him, he would be frightened.

She went inside. As she walked past Jeff's closed door, she paused long enough to touch it with her fingertips. He'd risked his life for his enemy's wife and son. Despite the disdain and the hostile remarks, he was a good man. In the end, it was actions that counted, not words. The measure of a man could be found in what he did, not what he said. Jeff was one of the best.

She continued down the hall,then peeked into the bedroom. Bobby lay sleeping, unaware of the storm swirling around him. She watched him, praying for his safety. If they could just get off the island, they would have a chance. If...

As she listened to the thunder and the rain on the roof, she felt strangely calm. They would succeed, because Jeff wasn't the kind of man who failed. They would escape. She felt it deep inside. For the first time since Kray had stolen her son, she felt hope. And bittersweet longing. After six years of watching her back, after Kray had destroyed her life and her ability to believe, she'd finally found a man worth trusting. A man who made her want what she'd long ago decided she could never have. A man she could care about.

And for what? He would never look at her with anything but contempt. He would never forgive her for a crime she didn't commit.

The deafening blast of the explosion knocked Jeff off his feet. He tried to stand, tried to crawl, but he couldn't move. It was as if the concussion of the blast had sucked away his mobility along with the air. His chest was tight, his lungs empty. He opened his mouth to scream, but there was no sound. Nothing but the flickering of the flames and the pain.

He stared at the wreckage, at the burning hulk of metal that had, moments before, held his wife and child. He opened his mouth and this time the scream of pain echoed across time.

"No!"

He sat up in bed. Sweat coated his body. He was breathing heavily, his pulse racing. It was just a nightmare. He hadn't had one in over a year. He knew why it had come back tonight. It was there to punish him for giving in to temptation, for wanting Andie when he should have been mourning his wife.

He took several deep breaths to calm himself. The storm had abated. The thunder and lightning were gone. All that was left was the gentle rhythm of rain on the roof. He leaned back against the headboard and listened to the sound. Slowly his body returned to normal. Only when his heartbeat slowed did he realize someone was hovering in the hallway.

In one quick, fluid movement, he reached for the pistol he kept on the nightstand. As he went to grab it, the door opened. He saw the faint gleam of long blond hair. He left the gun in place and rolled back into the center of the bed.

"What do you want?" he asked coldly.

She jumped, as if she hadn't expected him to speak. "I was checking on you. You've been having nightmares. I heard you cry out a couple of times."

"I'm fine."

"Do you want a gla.s.s of water or something?"

"I'm not Bobby."

"I know, I just thought-"

She stood partway in the room, yet poised to flee. He knew he was being a jerk, but he couldn't seem to help himself. The memories of their last conversation crowded around them, filling the room. The harsh words, the ugly truth, her sorrow and apologies.

In the deepest part of his soul, he knew it wasn't her fault Jeanne and J.J. were dead. Yet it was easy to blame her. It saved him from blaming himself.

"What did I say?" he asked.

She took a step closer. There were a couple of night lights in the hallway. They allowed him to see her shape. She wore an oversize T-shirt that hung to midthigh. He wondered if she wore anything underneath.

"You called out a few things I couldn't understand. And a woman's name." She hesitated.

"Jeanne," he said, then pulled the pillows up behind him and leaned once more against the headboard.

"Yes, that was it." Andie folded her arms over her chest. "Is she-Was she your wife?"

He couldn't remember her face when he was awake, but he called out her name when he was asleep. "Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

She sighed. "You said that before, but I'm still ... I feel responsible somehow. As if I should have been able to prevent it or have known it happened." She waved one hand in the air. "Sorryis such an inadequate word. There should be a different one for greater tragedies."

He understood that. He remembered after the explosion, when he'd finally gone home to the States. His family and Jeanne's had wanted to talk about what had happened. They'd wanted to hear the details. He'd refused to talk with them about it. He couldn't bear to remember. They'd all been sorry. He remembered thinking he would be happy never to hear that d.a.m.n word again.

"It's not you," he said, then wondered why he bothered lying. Some of itwas her. Or maybe it was just him. The guilt wasn't her fault. He was the weak one. He was the one who was having trouble holding on to the past. "It's this place and the situation."

He could lash out and say something ugly, but he didn't care enough to continue hurting her. Or maybe he cared too much. Maybe her courage and intelligence deserved more. If he believed her, and he had a bad feeling he did, her only crime was that of being young and foolish. She'd married the wrong man. Not for his money or power, but out of ignorance. She'd paid a big price for that already. Maybe he should let it go.

Even if she wasn't perfect, she was hardly in Kray's league. After all, she thought he, Jeff, was here as part of a team to take her ex-husband in. That he was part of a n.o.ble, well-thought-out act. Killing someone was never n.o.ble. It was ugly and difficult.

He had no right to judge her, not without first looking at his own situation. If she knew the truth about him, she would take off running in the opposite direction.

He leaned over and flipped on the small lamp on the nightstand. He squinted against the light. Andie stood just inside the door. She still had her arms folded over her chest. With her short T-shirt exposing her long legs, and her loose hair spilling over her shoulders, she looked like someone posing for a men's magazine. All soft curves and temptation. Her full mouth was straight, her eyes wide,her expression wary. If she smiled, if she tilted her head and whispered an invitation, there wasn't a man alive who could resist her.

"Go to bed," he ordered.

"I can't sleep."

"Well, I'm tired."

She shook her head slowly. Blond hair drifted back and forth in lazy counterpoint. "You're afraid the nightmare will come back if you go to sleep now." She shifted slightly,then dropped her arms to her sides. "Will it go well tonight?"

The mission. He'd almost forgotten. In less than twenty-four hours she would be on her way to Florida. Then he could get on with what he'd come for. With a little luck, Kray would be dead soon.

"My man is trustworthy, if that's what you're asking."

"I wasn't worried about that. I just wondered if there was anything that could go wrong."

There were a thousand things, but he knew she didn't want to hear about them. "You and Bobby will be fine."

She gave him a half smile. As if she weren't quite sure she believed him, but she appreciated the effort on her behalf.

"When we're gone, will you kill Kray?" she asked.

He raised his eyebrows.

"I know you're going to. I mean, not just because of what you said before, but because of the rifle I saw. I understand that waiting for him to make a mistake is taking too long. He's very smart and he's very lucky." She twisted her hands together, lacing and unlacing her fingers. "He's a bad man. That's sounds simplistic, but it's true."

"And that justifies killing?"

She stared at him. "No, it doesn't. But I don't think there's another solution. He's a murderer. Not just what I saw, but others we'll never know about, and your family..." Her voice trailed off.

She looked around the room. There was a single straight-back chair in the corner. She walked over to it and perched on the edge. "I don't know what's right anymore. When he came into my condo to steal Bobby, if I'd had a way to hurt him, I would have done it. I'd do anything to protect my child. But shooting someone deliberately is different. Not necessarily wrong, just hard to understand." She shook her head. "I'm not making any sense."

Jeff leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes. "You'd be amazed how much sense you're making."

"How do you do this for a living?"

He smiled slightly. "I'm not a paid a.s.sa.s.sin, if that's what you mean."

"Good."

He opened his eyes and glanced at her. She sat straight in the chair, with both feet on the ground. Prim and proper. If he hadn't been sure she wore almost nothing under her nightshirt, it wouldn't have been provocative at all. Or it shouldn't have been. He had a bad feeling everything Andie did would turn him on. He shifted on the bed and was grateful the white sheet bunched around his waist hid his arousal from her.

"Sometimes the lines are gray," he admitted. "I don't always know what the right thing is, but that's my goal. To stay on this side of the line."

Except for this mission, he admitted. This time he'd crossed the line. There was no going back.

"Do you spend a lot of time out-" She waved her hand around them. "What's the technical term? In the field?"

"Most of the time I'm stuck behind a desk in Washington."

"Really? So you're not Rambo Two?"

"No." He smiled. "I'm just an ordinary man trying to take care of business."

"Only, Bobby and I got in the way," she said softly. "No wonder you were so angry at us that first day and angry at me ever since. I don't blame you."

Big eyes met his own. Sorrow and compa.s.sion darkened her irises to the color of a stormy sky. She was beautiful. Not a flashy look-at-me kind of woman, but someone who would always have cla.s.sic features. In time her face would change. The skin would drawtighter, wrinkles would deepen around her eyes. Yet she would age with elegance. He could imagine her in forty years. That should have scared the h.e.l.l out of him.

He didn't want to like her. He wanted everything to be her fault. "Andie, I-"

"No, really," she interrupted. "It makes sense. Besides, I trust your temper."

"You're crazy."

"No, I'm not. The fact that you haven't wanted me around is sort of comforting. If you'd been nice to me from the beginning I would have wondered what you wanted from me. By making me stand up to you, you've forced me to keep being strong. I'm scared of the future but I think I have a chance at keeping Bobby safe."

"I hope so," he said, and meant it. He wanted her and the kid to get away.