As the top-secret SPEAR agency
uncovers the identity of the
evil traitor in its ranks,
A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY
concludes….

“Jonah”

The mysterious man behind the SPEAR agency

is about to come out of hiding and do combat

with his greatest nemesis….

But first, the world-weary agent had a debt of the

heart to pay. And so he traveled to see the one

woman he had always loved—the woman he had

left behind—but had never forgotten….

Cara Justice

Age had only made this blue-eyed beauty

even more lovely….

She had never thought she would see him again,

yet suddenly, there before her, stood the man

she had fallen in love with when she was just

sixteen. The father of her child and the soldier

who had stolen her heart. Dare she hope their

happily-ever-after had finally arrived?

“Simon”

He would have his revenge, even at the cost

of revealing himself to his foe….

Simon was preparing for his greatest battle yet—

facing down the one man he could never forgive.

The elusive “Jonah,” a man he knew better than

anyone—even himself. A man he was determined

to destroy—even if he died in the process….

Dear Reader,

The excitement continues in Intimate Moments. First of all, this month brings the emotional and exciting conclusion of A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY. In Familiar Stranger, Sharon Sala presents the final confrontation with the archvillain known as Simon—and you’ll finally find out who he really is. You’ll also be there as Jonah revisits the woman he’s never forgotten and decides it’s finally time to make some important changes in his life.

Also this month, welcome back Candace Camp to the Intimate Moments lineup. Formerly known as Kristin James, this multitalented author offers a Hard-Headed Texan who lives in A LITTLE TOWN IN TEXAS, which will enthrall readers everywhere. Paula Detmer Riggs returns with Daddy with a Badge, another installment in her popular MATERNITY ROW miniseries—and next month she’s back with Born a Hero, the lead book in our new Intimate Moments continuity, FIRSTBORN SONS. Complete the month with Moonglow, Texas, by Mary McBride, Linda Castillo’s Cops and…Lovers? and new author Susan Vaughan’s debut book, Dangerous Attraction.

By the way, don’t forget to check out our Silhouette Makes You a Star contest on the back of every book.

We hope to see you next month, too, when not only will FIRSTBORN SONS be making its bow, but we’ll also be bringing you a brand-new TALL, DARK AND DANGEROUS title from award-winning Suzanne Brockmann. For now…enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

Familiar Stranger
Sharon Sala

Dear Reader,

I hope you’ve been enjoying A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY. The past eleven books have been action-packed, emotionally charged stories of larger-than-life heroes and heroines who were willing to risk everything, including their lives, to keep their country safe, as well as protecting the identity of the inimitable Jonah. From the first book to the eleventh, we have come to understand the depths of respect in which Jonah is held, but the stories were always about the people who worked for him. With only an occasional glimpse into this secretive man’s life, we could only imagine what drove him.

But now, in this twelfth book, Familiar Stranger, Jonah’s story is finally told. I think you will agree with me that this hero is everything you expected him to be and more. His journey has been a lonely one, but with a showdown between him and the deadly Simon inevitable, he does something completely out of character and against all the vows he took when he slipped into the shoes of Jonah. He goes in search of the woman he lost and the family he’s never known.

As you read, the heart of the man will be revealed, as will Simon’s identity. And even then, you won’t know—until the very last pages—how A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY will end.

I love to hear from my readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 127, Henryetta, OK, 74437, or online c/o www.eHarlequin.com.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Author Note

Chapter 1

Rain thumped against the small, thatched roof like soggy bullets. The familiar sound of an incoming Huey rocked the air as it passed overhead, but Private David Wilson was deaf to everything but the panic.

Blood…so much blood. Don’t look at Frank. Don’t think about what he’s done…what he made you do. Destroy the evidence before it’s too late.

The scent of gasoline was everywhere now. On the walls, on the bodies, saturating the money that his brother, Frank, had been willing to die for.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Money for guns. Brother for brother. Honor for sale. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Match. Need a match. Don’t look at Frank. Just think about what has to be done.

Jonah rolled from his belly to his back and kicked in his sleep, unconsciously sending his covers to the foot of the bed. Even though the second-story window beside his bed was open, there was little breeze stirring. It was unseasonably warm for the Colorado mountains this time of year, but the sweat on his body wasn’t from the heat of the night. It was from the hell in his dream. And even in that dream, he still couldn’t control his own warning.

He looked. And saw the dead gunrunners…and the money, now saturated with rain and mud and gasoline…and the blood pooling beneath his brother’s body.

A muscle twitched near Jonah’s mouth, a reflex to the scream echoing inside his mind as the match was struck. A word slipped from between his lips, too faint to be heard, although it hardly mattered. He’d been alone for so many years he wouldn’t have known how to share his thoughts if he’d had the chance.

In the space of one breath, the dream jumped from 1974 and Vietnam to two weeks ago in New York City, bringing with it the same sense of desperation and leaving Jonah writhing in torment.

From the air, New York City appeared as a vast but inanimate object, with only a small cluster of land and trees they called Central Park embedded within the mass of concrete and steel.

He banked the chopper toward the unwinding ribbon that was the East River, and as he did, his heart began to pound. Only a few more minutes and this hell would come to an end.

Below him was a dark blanket of land peppered with thousands and thousands of lights. Almost there. With the desperation in Del Rogers’s voice still ringing in his head, all he could think was, no more. Too many innocents have been caught in this crazy man’s revenge to bring me down. Please, God, just let Maggie and her baby still be alive. Let us get them out of all this still breathing and kicking.

Unconsciously, Jonah’s hands curled into fists, as he relived the descent of the black stealth helicopter he was piloting, all the while knowing that Simon was holding a woman and child between himself and destiny.

A faint breeze came through the open windows, blowing across his nude body, but Jonah was too deeply asleep to appreciate the sensation. The muscles in his legs twitched as he relived landing the chopper.

In the landing lights, the fear on Maggie’s face was vivid, overwhelming Jonah with a renewed sense of guilt.

The cowardly son of a bitch, using innocent people just to get to me.

The force of wind from the descending helicopter whipped Maggie’s hair and clothes and sent a shower of grit and dust into the air around them. He saw her trying to use her body as a shield for the hysterical baby in her arms, but the man holding her hostage gave her a yank, making sure she still stood between him and the guns aimed in his direction.

As the helicopter landed, Jonah could only imagine what was going through Maggie’s mind—all this hell—all the danger to her family—and for a man she didn’t even know. He slid open a door in the side of the chopper and flashed a bright light in Simon’s face.

In that moment, Jonah’s mind shut down. Before his senses could wrap around the truth of what he was seeing, Simon’s body jerked. He had been shot by Del Rogers.

After that, everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.

SPEAR agents firing from surrounding rooftops.

Simon taking another bullet.

The play of emotions moving across Simon’s face—a face that was aged with hate as well as passing years, bearing scars both old and new.

The impact of the bullet as the shot tore through Simon’s body.

The desperate lunge Simon made toward the East River in a last-ditch effort to escape.

The way the water parted to let him in.

The knot of dismay in Jonah’s belly when he realized that Simon was gone.

Jonah woke with a grunt and sat straight up in bed. It had been two weeks, and he still hadn’t gotten over the shock of seeing Simon’s face. The guilt of all these years—of thinking he had killed his brother—had been for nothing.

“Ah, God…Frank. I thought you were dead.”

He shook his head and then massaged the tension in the back of his neck. As he did, the powerful muscles in his shoulders bunched and rolled. The misery of these nightmare-filled nights was getting to him. He needed to work it off, but not in the weight room, as he normally did. He wanted the air against his skin and the ground beneath his feet. He needed to run until he set his muscles on fire.

It was 5:10 A.M. as he rolled out of bed and strode to the bathroom. Even the shock of cold water on his face was not enough to wash away the horror of what he’d been dreaming. With a curse on his lips, he strode into his bedroom, moving through the darkness with the confidence of an animal that well knew its lair.

Every motion was deliberate as he dressed—grabbing a pair of shorts and a clean T-shirt from the top drawer of the dresser, then lacing his running shoes and fastening the holster of a small-caliber handgun at the waistband of his shorts. Five minutes later he paused at the kitchen table, fingering the single page of a letter he’d received less than twenty-four hours ago. Although the room was too dark to read the words again, he didn’t need to read them to remember.

I know who you are. Your time has come. I’ll be in touch. Frank.

Jonah shuddered. Ghosts. He’d never believed in them until now. He dropped the letter and moved onto the deck. Daybreak was less than an hour away, but he didn’t need light by which to see. He stretched a couple of times to ease tense muscles, then he stepped off the deck and began to walk toward the trees. Within moments, he’d moved to a jog, and by the time he disappeared into the tree line, he was running, only now there were no demons to outrun. He had a face and a name to go with it and only a short time left before the inevitable confrontation. Only God knew how it would end, and in a way, it almost didn’t matter.

Almost.

He wanted this over. All of it. Being Jonah. Hiding secrets. Telling lies. Just over. He wasn’t the first man to give up his identity for the good of his country and he wouldn’t be the last. But he’d given up more than an identity, and that was what dug at him in the wee hours of the mornings when sleep eluded him.

He’d given up Cara.

Unconsciously, he increased his speed as the memory of her face crept into his mind. So pretty. So young. And they’d been so much in love. Looking back, he would say crazy in love.

He ducked on the path to avoid a low-hanging branch and swiped his arm across his forehead, catching the sweat before it ran in his eyes. His calves were starting to burn. The pain felt good—a reminder that he was more than just a machine for Uncle Sam.

Cara.

My God, what had he been thinking? They were only sixteen years old and he’d begged her to run away with him. What had he thought they’d do? Better yet, where in hell would they have gone? The fact that she’d pleaded with him to wait until they were out of college said something for the theory that girls matured faster than boys. In their case, she certainly had. She’d known what he’d refused to consider, and because they’d fought and then been too stubborn to admit they were wrong, their lives had turned upside down.

A large bird flew across his line of vision, and he could tell by the absence of sound at its passing that it was an owl, probably on its way home from a night of hunting.

If only he’d had the sense to go home after their fight, but no, he’d had to show the world—and maybe himself—that he was a man. And what better way to do that than to go fight a war?

His older brother, Frank, had signed up months earlier and was already somewhere in the jungles of Vietnam. The family had gotten one letter from him in all that time, and their mother had cried herself to sleep when it came. But that hadn’t occurred to David then. All he’d wanted to do was prove that he was man enough for Cara to love.

When he told her he’d enlisted, he hadn’t expected her to like it, but he’d expected her to wait for him to come back. Instead, she’d cried hysterically, claiming that he’d chosen the army over her. Unable to undo all the choices he’d made, he got on the bus and never came back, although at first, that hadn’t been his plan.

He’d written to her religiously, but to his dismay she never replied. Over a year and a half later and a world away in Saigon, it had all come undone. Receiving a package containing all of his letters unopened was rough, but it was the two accompanying newspaper clippings that nearly killed him. One was the announcement of her wedding, the second the birth of her first child.

He knew Cara, and he’d done the math. The baby was his. He had a daughter back home in the state of New York, and someone else was going to raise her.

After that, short of turning the gun on himself, he’d tried to die. So many times. In so many ways. It should have been simple. Everyone else around him was dying in combat, but it was as if he’d become immortal. Nothing could hurt him.

Then he’d discovered Frank’s treason, and bloodshed had followed. After that, he’d quit on everything, including himself. Just before the war was over, he was recruited by SPEAR. By then, giving up David Wilson was simple. His parents were dead. Cara had given her life and their child to another man. A man who slept with her and laughed with her and raised the baby David had put in her belly.

And David had left her alone—until now. With no way to know what the future would hold, he needed to make peace with his past. Cara was a widow these past three years. Their child was grown. Hell, he was a grandfather and had never set eyes on his own daughter. It, by God, wasn’t fair.

Daybreak was hovering on the horizon by the time he reached the edge of the cliff. His heart was still pounding from the run, his clothes dripping with sweat as he lowered himself down into a sitting position on the lip of a rock, as he had so many, many times before.

The air was beginning to stir, promising a stiff breeze before the day was out. He sat with back straight and legs folded, his hands resting lightly on his knees, staring at the crack of light appearing over the mountain. The sky was changing now, wrapping itself in pale, dusty blues intermingled with threads of hot pink and gold.

As he watched, the anger in him slowly stilled. He’d seen just such a sunrise many times since he’d come to this place, but it never failed to instill in him a feeling of awe—a gentle and vibrant reminder of Who was really in charge. The vista blurred and he told himself it was nothing but sweat in his eyes.

Moments later, the sun made itself known—the first rays catching and then holding in the silver wings of hair at his temples. With a deep, heartfelt sigh, he stood. It was time to go home. But not just to the cabin. Thanks to the chaos Frank Wilson had created, his days as Jonah had to be over. His guess was, the President was probably already in the process of choosing his successor, but would wait until his formal request for retirement. And before that came, he had the final showdown with Frank. The way he saw it, he owed it to himself to make peace with his past, and to do that, he had to become David Wilson one last time and see Cara—the girl he had left behind.

Finger Lakes Region, New York State

Cara Justice swatted at a bee that kept pilfering about her flowers as she knelt at the side of the flower bed.

“Get back, you little beggar. Just let me get these weeds out of the bed and then you can have at the blossoms.”

The bee, of course, didn’t answer, and Cara, of course, expected none. But it felt good to be talking aloud, even if there was no one to hear. She tossed aside the last handful of weeds and then stood, brushing off the knees of her slacks and straightening the collar of her shirt. The day was warm, but not unbearably so. She stood for a moment, surveying the landscape of her backyard, and smiled. She loved this time of year. Everything was new and green, flowers in varying stages of buds and blooms, birds nesting.

Renewal.

That’s what it was. Everything was new all over again. Except me, she thought, and then thought of her youth and sighed. Those had been sad times and nothing she would ever want to relive. She’d suffered, endured and prevailed. After that, she’d made herself always look forward, never dwelling on the past. Truth be told, she didn’t want to be young again. It had hurt too much the first time around. Turning fifty had been a plateau she’d welcomed. Her oldest daughter, Bethany, who lived just down the road, was grown and married, as were her two youngest children, Tyler and Valerie, although they lived out of state.

She bent to pick up her hoe, and as she did, her blond chin-length hair brushed the sides or her face. She straightened, tossing her head to get it out of her eyes, and made a mental note next time she came out to tie it all back. As she started toward the gardening shed, a stiff breeze came out of nowhere, molding her clothes to her body and momentarily outlining her slender, willowy build. From a distance, she could easily have passed for a young, thirty-something woman. It wasn’t until one looked closer that the tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and the small laugh lines framing her mouth were evident. Her stomach growled as she put up the hoe and tossed her gloves in the basket. She glanced at her watch, surprised that noontime had come and gone.

As she started toward the back door, she heard the sounds of an approaching car. It couldn’t be Bethany. She and her family were on vacation and weren’t due back for several days. Maybe it was the mailman with a package, she thought, and hurried toward the front of the house, anxious to catch him before he left.

It wasn’t until she rounded the corner of the house and saw the tail end of a dark sedan that she knew it wasn’t the mailman. She paused in the shade beneath the cluster of maple trees and watched as a tall, middle-aged man emerged from the driver’s side of the car. His shoulders were broad, his belly flat beneath his white polo shirt. He walked with a military bearing—head back, chin up. His hair was short and dark, but winged with silver above his ears. In reflex, she touched her own hair, aware that the same silver threads lay there among the taffy-colored strands, only not as evident as those on the man.

He didn’t see her at first, and so she allowed herself to stare, trying to think why he seemed so familiar. She was certain she’d never seen him before. She would definitely have remembered. And then the stranger suddenly stopped and turned, as if sensing her scrutiny. She waited for him to speak.

David didn’t have to look at the map to Cara’s home that he’d downloaded from the Internet. It was burned into his memory. Even though he knew how to get to her house, he felt lost. As Jonah, he’d done something unheard of by seeking out any part of his past.

But it wasn’t as if he’d just walked off the job. There was enough equipment in the trunk of his car to connect him with everything from spy satellites to the President of the United States, should the need arise. For all intents and purposes, he was still in charge of SPEAR, but in his heart, he was already pulling away.

Frank had set the ball rolling in this direction the day he’d kidnapped Easton Kirby’s son. After the last incident with Maggie and her baby, David had mentally called it quits. There would be no more people assigned to risk their lives on his behalf. Not for an issue that was technically personal. The President knew David’s feelings on this, and although David had not said a word about looking for Cara, he made sure the President knew things were going to change.

As he came around a curve, his heart started to pound. He was almost there. He began slowing down, then turned the steering wheel, guided the car into a long, graveled drive and pulled up to the house. He killed the engine and then sat for a moment, absorbing the structure.

It was a long, rambling two-story brick home with a porch that ran half the length of the house. A chimney rose from the center of the roof, evidence of warm fires on cold winter nights. Ancient trees threw large patterns of shade upon the lawn while flowers in bloom abounded everywhere.

He sighed. It looked so beautifully ordinary. Would a woman who lived in a home like this be able to accept what he was going to say? Then he took a deep breath and got out of the car. Hesitation would gain him nothing. Centering his sunglasses comfortably on the bridge of his nose, he started toward the house.

More than halfway up the walk, he caught a movement from the corner of his eye and paused, then turned.

God in heaven, it was her—standing beneath a cluster of maples with a curious look on her face. Once he’d seen her, his feet moved of their own accord. When he was only yards away, he said her name, and as he did, he saw confusion and then panic as it registered on her face.

“Cara.”

She gasped, then in spite of the heat, shivered.

He took a step toward her, and then another. Cara started to shake.

“Cara, don’t be afraid.”

“No,” Cara moaned, and covered her face. “No ghosts. No ghosts. I don’t believe in ghosts.”

Suddenly his voice was right beside her. She opened her eyes.

“I’m not a ghost.”

“David?”

His stomach knotted. After all these years, hearing his name from her lips was more painful than he would have believed.

Before he could answer her, she shook her head in vehement denial.

“You’re not David. David is dead.”

This was harder than he’d imagined. “Cara… I’m sorry…so sorry.”

He reached for her hand. When he touched her, she shuddered once, then her eyes rolled back in her head.

He caught her before she fell.

“Damn, damn, damn,” he muttered, as he carried her unconscious body to the shade of the porch.

Choosing the nearest chair, he sat down, cradling her carefully as he looked at her face, trying to find the girl that he’d known in the woman he held in his lap, but she was gone.

It wasn’t until her eyelids began to flutter and he saw the clear, pure blue of her eyes that he found the girl he’d left behind.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Her hands cupped his face—her eyes wide with disbelief.

“David? Is it really you?”

A car drove past on the road beyond the house, and David looked up, suddenly aware of how public their reunion had become.

“Let’s go inside. We need to talk,” he said, and started to carry her inside when she slid out of his lap and threw her arms around his neck.

“How? Why? Did you—”

He put a finger across her lips, momentarily silencing her next question.

“Inside…please?”

Cara grabbed him by the hand and led him inside the house. The moment they entered the hallway, she shut the door behind them then stood, staring at his face with her hands pressed to her mouth to keep from crying.

David ran a shaky hand through his hair, then gave her a tentative smile.

“I don’t know quite where to start,” he said. “Do you want to—”

Tears rolled down her face, silencing whatever he’d been about to say.

“Oh, honey, don’t. You know I never could stand to see you cry.”

And then her hands were on his shirt, moving frantically across the breadth of his chest, then up the muscular column of his throat, then tracing the outline of his features. He grabbed her fingers, trying to put some distance between them so he could think. But there had already been forty years of distance, and for Cara, it was forty years too much.

His name was just a whisper on her lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Before he could think, she’d kissed him—a tentative foray that went from testing ground status to an all-out explosion. It was instinct that made him pull her against his body, but it was need that kept her there.

“If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake,” Cara muttered, and then pulled his shirt out of the waistband of his slacks.

His stomach flattened as he inhaled sharply. The feel of her fingernails against his skin was an aphrodisiac he wouldn’t have expected. Then her arms were around his waist as she lifted her lips for his kiss. David was broadsided by the sexual tension erupting between them. He’d planned for everything—except this.

“Cara…God, Cara, we shouldn’t be—”

“Since when did shouldn’t become part of your vocabulary?” she asked.

She caught him off guard, and he laughed. And the moment the sound came out of his throat, he wanted to cry. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d known joy. His eyes narrowed hungrily as he began pulling at her clothes, undoing buttons and shoving aside fabric. Her hands were on him, as well. Somewhere between one moment and the next, his shirt was on the floor and his slacks were undone. He lifted her off her feet and then spun around, pinning her between his body and the wall. Her arms were around his neck, her legs around his waist and she threw back her head and laughed when he slammed into her.

One hard, desperate thrust followed another and another, as if they were trying to destroy all the bad memories with this sexual act. Somewhere between one breath and the next, it began to change—turning into a dance between lovers.

Cara’s eyes were closed, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she followed the rhythm of his body and was taken by surprise by the force of her climax. While she was still riding the high, David spilled himself within her in what seemed like endless, shuddering thrusts.

The silence that came after was as abrupt as their mating had been. David’s hands were slick with sweat as he eased her down, and when she moved away and started rearranging her clothes, David followed suit. He could tell that she was as shaken by what they’d done as he, and was afraid she’d withdraw in embarrassment before he had a chance to explain. He touched her shoulder, and when she turned, he cupped her face in his hands.

“Look at me,” he said.

Cara hesitated, then lifted her head, meeting his gaze straight on. Again, disbelief came and went as she stared at him. Then she touched the swollen edges of her mouth, as if needing the reminder of pain to assure her what had happened was real.

“I see you,” she said. “Oh, David, there are so many things I have to tell you. After you left, I found out I was pregnant. We have a—”

“I know,” he said. “Bethany.”

A look of shock came and went on her face and then her eyes narrowed sharply.

“You knew we had a daughter?”

He nodded.

The timbre of her voice rose a notch. “You knew and you still didn’t come back?”

David felt as if he’d been sucker punched. He should have seen this coming, and yet after what they’d just done…

“It wasn’t like—”

“No. Wait. Let’s start this meeting all over again.”

The anger in her voice was blatantly apparent now, and he knew there was no going back.

“David Lee Wilson, just where the hell have you been?”

Chapter 2

“Cara, please…can we do this somewhere else?”

She made no attempt to hide her pain. “Maybe we should adjourn to the bedroom to talk, since we just had sex in my hall.”

David inhaled slowly, using every mental skill he had to remain calm.

For Cara, his silence was stronger than any denial he might have made. Courtesy demanded she apologize. She lifted her chin.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. What happened just now was more my fault than yours. If you don’t mind, I’d like to change my clothes. The guest bathroom is just down the hall if you’d like to…uh…I’m just going upstairs now and…”

“Ssh,” he said softly, and lifted a lock of her hair with one finger, gently pushing it into place. “Go do what you have to do. I’ll be here when you get back.”

The tenderness in his voice was her undoing. Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them go.

“You’ll pardon me if I have doubts about that,” she said. “I seem to remember telling you the same thing about forty years ago and look what happened.”

She walked away, leaving him with nothing but a cold, hard truth. He had walked out on her—twice. Once when she wouldn’t run away with him and then again when he left for Vietnam. He headed for the bathroom, feeling a lot less optimism than he had when he walked in the door with her earlier.

Cara barely made it to her bedroom before she started to cry—huge, gulping sobs that shattered her all the way to her soul.

Tearing off her clothes as she went, she staggered into the shower and then turned the water on full force, standing beneath the stinging spray until her mind was numb and her skin was burning.

One minute led to another and then another until she lost all track of time. The adrenaline rush of making love to a man she’d long thought dead was fading, leaving her shaken and weak. If it hadn’t been for the slight discomfort between her legs, she could have made herself believe it was nothing more than a dream.

She flinched as the water began to run cold and reached down and turned off the faucets. She pushed back the curtains only to find David sitting on a small stool by the door.

He handed her a towel.

“I got worried.”

She clutched it in front of her nudity like a shield, and as she did, realized any show of modesty was like closing the barn door after the horse had escaped.

“If you’ll give me a few moments…”

He stood up and quietly closed the door, leaving her alone to finish drying.

Cara’s hands began to shake as she swiped erratically at the moisture clinging to her body. It wasn’t until she was completely dry that she realized her clothes were in the other room, with him. She grabbed her bathrobe from a hook on the back of the door and quickly put it on, wrapping and tying it firmly before making another appearance. To her relief, he was nowhere in sight.

As she began to dress, she glanced at the clock. It was almost three. It had been just after one when she’d come around the corner of the house. No wonder he’d come looking for her. He probably thought she’d gone to her room and slit her wrists.

She snorted lightly as the thought came and went. If ever there had been a day when that thought had crossed her mind, it was long since over. She’d survived a lot more than this with a hell of a lot less reason. Except for their child. After she’d known about Bethany, everything had changed. David Wilson might have walked out on her, but he’d left a piece of himself behind that he’d never get back. With that thought in mind, she gave herself the once-over in the mirror, nodding in satisfaction at the simplistic style of her clothes. No need dressing like this was any kind of a celebration, because it felt more like a wake. But as she started down the stairs to face the ghost from her past, she had to accept the fact that she didn’t want to bury him again.

David was lost in thought, staring at the array of family pictures displayed on the mantel and trying not to resent the picture of the short, stocky man with his arms around Cara. Ray Justice. They had been laughing when the picture was taken. He took a deep breath, making himself accept the reality of her life. She’d done just fine without him. Maybe being here was another selfish act on his part and he should never have come back. Before his thoughts could go further, he heard her footsteps in the hall and turned to face his accuser.

She saw him by the mantel. Her gaze slid from his face to the pictures behind him, and she realized what he’d been doing.

“She’s beautiful,” David said.

Cara’s lips trembled, but she nodded. “She has your coloring. All that pretty dark hair and your eyes.”

“But she has your smile.”

Cara caught back a sob, determined not to fall apart again.

“Oh, David…where have you been? We were told you were dead, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

Cara tried not to stare as she sat down on the sofa, but it was difficult not to do so. Her memories encompassed a young, gangly sixteen-year-old boy, not this powerful, secretive man.

“Won’t you please sit?” she said, as she seated herself on the sofa.

“I think better standing.”

She sighed and then smoothed her hands down the legs of her navy slacks.

“I couldn’t form a rational thought right now if my life depended on it,” she said.

David shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

“I know this is going to be difficult for you to understand, but you’ve got to believe me when I tell you that what I did, I did for you, not to you.”

Cara’s eyes teared again, but she remained firmly in her seat.

“Letting me think you were dead was doing me a favor?” Her voice started to shake. “Even if I didn’t matter to you anymore, how could you father a child and then ignore her existence?”

“No…no…not that. Never that.”

“Then explain,” Cara begged. “Make me understand.”

He took his hands out of his pockets as he began to pace, and Cara couldn’t help but stare at the animal grace of his movements. And then he started to talk and she became lost in the sound of his voice.

“It began with the letters.”

“What letters?”

“The letters I wrote to you.”

“I didn’t receive any letters.”

“Yes, I know…at least, I knew after a while, but before I found out, I kept wondering why you didn’t answer mine. There were dozens and dozens. I wrote almost every day for about three months and then as often as I could after that.”

She stiffened. “I don’t believe you.”

He strode to a chair and picked up a packet he’d gotten from his car while she had been dressing.

“See for yourself. I carried the damn things all over Nam after they came back. Half a dozen times I thought about chucking them, but I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them. Even though you hadn’t opened them, they were the last link I had to you.”

Cara’s brows knitted as she dumped the contents of the packet into her lap.

“That’s not all of them,” David said. “But enough for you to know I’m telling the truth.”

As she turned them over, she started to shake. The evidence was there before her eyes. Water-stained papers. Ancient postmarks. All addressed to Cara Weber and all unopened. But it was the two newspaper clippings, yellowed with age, that startled her. One was of her wedding, the other an announcement of her baby’s birth.

“Where did you get these?”

“Your parents sent them to me, along with all of the letters I’d written you.”

She gasped.

“The message was plain,” David said. “I had no place in your life anymore. You had a husband and a child.” He tried to smile, but the pain of saying what he’d lived with all these years made it impossible. “Only I knew the child was mine. I knew you would never have cheated on me before, and the baby came too soon after your wedding.”

“But David…why let everyone think you were dead? I would never have refused you the right to know and love your own child.”

“I know, but you have to understand. It was hell over there and Frank died about a month after I got the package. After that, I guess I pretty much went out of my head. I tried so many damn ways to get myself killed, but it didn’t work. I volunteered for mission after mission, and each one should have been my last. When my tour of duty was up, I reenlisted. I was there when Saigon fell.”

Tears slid down Cara’s face as she sat with her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

“Why didn’t you come home then? Why did you let me…let everyone…think you were dead?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Hell…I felt dead, I guess I was just waiting for my body to catch up with my mind. Only thing was, Uncle Sam beat me to it.”

“I don’t understand.”

He hesitated, trying to figure out exactly what he could say without giving too much away.

“I can’t tell you everything,” he said. “But I got recruited by a Special Forces unit and became involved in some covert missions for the government. One thing led to another and now, let’s just say that my years with Uncle Sam are coming to an end.”

“Are you telling me you became a spy?”

“Don’t ask me anything more, honey…please. I’ve already said more than I should have.”

“My God,” Cara muttered. She stared down at the unopened letters in her lap and then covered her face with her hands.

David dropped to his knees and took her hands in his.

“Cara?”

Forced to look at him, she realized that, for the first time, she was really seeing the man—and his secrets—and his scars.

“Why did you come back? Why now, after all these years?”

He hesitated again, still carefully choosing his answers.

“Because I needed to make peace with myself and with you. I needed to look you in the face and tell you that when I left for Vietnam, I had every intention of coming back and making a life with you. I couldn’t go to my grave knowing you still believed I’d walked out on you, leaving you pregnant to raise our baby on your own. I swear to God, Cara, I would never have done that to you. I loved you.”

“What do you mean, go to your grave? Are you ill?”

He slid into the seat beside her, reaching for her hands.

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m fine.”

Cara looked down at his hands, so gently worrying the knuckles of her fingers, wondering if it was safe to give so much of herself away. And then she shoved the worry away. They’d already lost too many precious years. Whatever he had to give her, she was willing to take.

“What are your plans?” she asked. “I mean…can you stay awhile? Maybe a few days? I want to show you things…and oh, David, you have to stay and meet Bethany. She and her family are on vacation, but they’ll be back at the end of the week. Five or six days. You can stay that long…can’t you?”

He heard himself answering and knew he was making a mistake, but there was no way he was going to lose her again, at least not yet. There was every reason to believe that his final showdown with Frank could be his last. He didn’t want to give Cara false hope, but on the other hand, he couldn’t deny himself this little bit of heaven.

“Yes. I’ll stay. At least for a while.”

For the first time in a very long while, Cara felt a sense of anticipation.

“Are you hungry? I was coming in the house to make myself some lunch when I heard you arrive.”

The lilt in her voice only deepened his guilt, but he found himself agreeing. “That sounds good. I can’t remember when I last shared a meal with anyone.”

Cara pulled out of his embrace. “Can’t remember when you last shared a meal? My God, David, what kind of life have you been living?”

“You don’t want to know.”

It was the dripping faucet in this excuse for a kitchen that finally sent Frank over the edge. He picked up a pan and began hammering on the fixture until it broke off in the sink. Water shot up like a geyser, spraying the ceiling and cabinets alike. A string of virulent curses filled the air as he reached for the shut-off valve beneath the sink. Finally, the water ceased to flow and Frank was left with a bigger mess than before he’d started. But it wasn’t the condition of his decrepit hideout that was pushing his buttons. It was the fact that, once again, he had failed to reach his goal. The water pooled around his pant legs as he leaned back against the cabinets and closed his eyes. He’d been close, so close.

He’d seen the stealth chopper coming in and knew in his bones it was David. Who else would have access to such state-of-the-art military equipment but the infamous Jonah?

As he thought of David, the muscles in his wounded shoulder gave a twinge and he shifted, easing his back to a more comfortable position against the cabinets. It was nothing but a flesh wound. He’d had worse. And the wound on his ear was almost well, too, although it would never be the same. Then he ran his hands through his hair in mute frustration, absently fingering the ancient burn scars on the side of his face. Hell, nothing had been the same since the day his own brother tried to burn him alive.

Disgusted with the mess in which he was standing, he went to the phone to call the manager to fix the sink. It didn’t occur to him that, like the sink, all of his troubles stemmed from something he’d done, rather than something that had been done to him. Afterward, he strode into the bedroom to change his clothes, absently stepping on a cockroach as he went. As he crossed the threshold, he caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked and dusty mirror across the room and froze. In that moment, he saw himself as others saw him, a tall and aging man with a glass eye and a bitter expression. His gray, thinning hair was brushed back, baring his scarred face for anyone who chose to look. Oddly enough, the look seemed to appeal to a certain type of woman, although he rarely took advantage of the fact. He still mourned his beloved Martha, his wife of so many years.

As he thought of her, pain shafted. He turned away, moving to the closet to get a fresh change of clothes. As soon as his shoulder was better, he was going after David himself. No more trying to get to him through the agents who worked under him. He was tired of this game. He wanted it over.

He dressed quickly, his mind shifting from one scenario to another, imagining the pleasure of watching the life drain out of David’s body. There was no future for him beyond that fact. His daughter had ceased to exist for him when she’d defected to the other side by falling in love with one of the agents. If only Martha was still alive. She’d been his reason for living. Then he blanked out the thought. There would be time later to wallow in memories. Right now, he had murder on his mind.

Night had come when Cara wasn’t looking. One minute she was cleaning up their supper dishes and tidying the living room and the next thing she knew it was dark. The idea of sleeping under the same roof with David Wilson was almost frightening. She’d known the boy, but she didn’t know this dark, brooding man. Then she reminded herself that his persona hadn’t bothered her enough to stop her from making love to him in her hall. Surely they could sleep beneath the same roof without incident. It wasn’t like he was going to murder her in her bed.

And the moment she thought it, her sanity took a hike. He’d all but said he was a spy. Spies killed people. Then she shook off the thought. He’d also been a soldier, and they killed people, too. It didn’t make them heinous. It made them heroes.

Having settled that in her mind, she began to rearrange the magazines on the coffee table, unaware that David was watching her from the doorway. It wasn’t until she straightened and started to leave that she saw him standing in the shadows.

“Oh! David! You startled me.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Was there something you needed?” she asked.

Yes, my life back…with you. “Not really. I was just watching you, thinking how very beautiful you are.”

“I’m a middle-aged grandmother,” she muttered, and gave the coffee table a final swipe with her dust cloth.

“With a damned fine body and a face that could still break a heart,” he added, and then walked into the room and took the dust cloth out of her hands. “We need to talk.”

Her heart fluttered, then settled back into a normal rhythm as she reminded herself there was no need to be nervous. The man was the father of her child. But when he took her by the hand and pulled her close to the light, she felt naked all over again beneath his gaze.

“I frighten you, don’t I?” he asked.

Cara blushed then sighed. Finally, she nodded. “A little.”

“My life has been ugly, I’ll admit, but I would die before I’d hurt you.”

The tenderness in his words was shattering. Before she knew it, her hands were on his chest, her face tilted toward the light—and him.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly. “I wasn’t thinking physical harm. It’s just that I’ve been alone for almost three years now and just starting to learn to live without the sound of someone else’s voice. It’s hard to become accustomed to loneliness when you’ve shared your life with another.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Again, his answer pulled at her emotions.

“What I’m trying to say is…you were my first love, David. I gave the truest and best part of myself to you.”

He groaned and started to take her in his arms when she stopped him.

“No…wait…let me finish.” She took a deep breath. “The only thing that kept me going after you left was knowing that I carried your child. My husband was a good man. He loved Bethany as if she was his own and never made a difference between his affections for her and our other two children.” She ducked her head and then made herself look at him. “But I’m ashamed to say that I never gave him what I should have because I’d already given it to you. Dead or alive, you had my heart. Now he’s dead and you’re back and I’m afraid. I’m afraid to get to know the man you’ve become. I’m afraid I’ll love him as much as I loved the boy.” Her voice trailed off into a whisper. “And I’m afraid that if I do, I won’t get over losing you again. So…what I guess I’m asking is, why did you really come? Was it just to assuage what you perceived as guilt, or were you looking for something more?”

He wanted to assure her, but he couldn’t lie. As long as Frank was loose, his life wasn’t worth a damn.

“I’d be lying if I said I’d only come to say hello. But there are a lot of loose ends to my past that have to be tied, and until that happens, I don’t have the luxury of making plans.”

Cara felt the blood draining from her face. That wasn’t what she expected to hear.

“That sounds fatal,” she said, trying to fake a laugh.

He didn’t answer, and the laugh became a sob.

“My God…tell me I’m wrong.”

“I can’t make promises…but if I could, then I’d be giving you fair warning that I wanted back in your life.”

Her voice trembled. “How far?”

“As far as you’d let me go.”

“Ah…David…you always were a hard sell,” she said, and then wrapped her arms around his neck.

The weight of her body against his chest was a gift.

“So, are you saying it’s enough?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not saying that, but I am saying that I’ll take what you’re willing to give. I asked for too much the first time and lost you. I’m not willing to make that mistake again.”

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

“God…woman, you don’t know how many years I’ve dreamed of this.”

She pulled back to look at him. “Oh, but yes, I do. And while I would like the luxury of being wooed and courted, I’m not willing to waste our time on the ritual.”

“What are you saying?”

“I want to fall asleep in your arms and wake up the same way. I want to laugh with you and cook for you and play with you. I don’t want to think about loose ends. Whatever time you have to give me will have to be enough.”

He tunneled his fingers through her hair, taking her kiss without asking, ripping her emotions to shreds with the anguish on his face.

“I don’t deserve this,” he said.

“No, you don’t,” she said. “But I do.”

He laughed softly, then swept her off her feet and into his arms.

“Are you going to make love to me?” she asked.

“Hell, yes,” he muttered.

She sighed. “It’s about time.”

“If you don’t mind,” David whispered, nuzzling the side of her neck, “I’d rather do this in a bed this time.”

“Down the hall, third door on the right.”

As he carried her there, he had to remind himself that this wasn’t a dream. Cara was really in his arms.

When they reached Cara’s room, he set her down by her bed and kissed her. Tentatively, then gently, then with a low, muffled groan.

Cara tangled her arms around his neck, clutching him desperately. When he began to take off her clothes, her knees went weak. This was happening, she knew, but it was all so surreal. She couldn’t count the number of times in her life when she’d imagined such a scene. David striding through the door and sweeping her into his arms and then carrying her off into the sunset. The fantasy had lasted through her twenties and her thirties, and somewhere around the middle of her forties, she’d given up on fantasies.

Now this was happening and it wasn’t a dream.

It wasn’t a fantasy.

It was David—a rock-solid, flesh-and-blood man who wanted her as much as she wanted him.

When he began pulling off her clothes, then his, her pulse accelerated. Seconds later, she was flat on her back in the middle of her bed and he was hovering above her.

“You are so very beautiful,” David whispered, and then rolled over onto his side and began tracing the contours of her body with one hand, fingering the curve of her chin, cupping the shape of a breast, mapping the plains of her belly, then testing the juncture between her thighs.

Cara’s heart was pounding, her mouth slack with desire. She wanted to touch him, too, to test the strength of his muscles against the tenderness of his gaze, but she was too distracted by what he was doing.

“David?”

He shook his head and leaned over her, taking license with everything that he chose while leaving her breathless and aching for more.

One minute passed and then another and another and the coil that had been winding within Cara’s belly began to throb. She moaned, then moaned again. This time louder. This time longer.

David’s head was pounding as the blood rushed through his veins. The need to be inside her was strong, but he was waiting for that breaking point of coming undone.

Then he heard her gasp and saw her eyes lose all focus. When she clutched at his arms, his name a prayer on her lips, he made his move.

“David…oh…oh…please.”

He was above her and inside her before she took her next breath. Her climax shook him, coming within three strokes of entry, and it was all he could do not to follow. But when she started to cry in soft, happy sobs, he couldn’t hold himself back. The joy of knowing he’d given her this pleasure was an aphrodisiac he couldn’t control. He rode the feeling with all the strength he could muster, and when it was over, thought he’d died in her arms.

Cara woke abruptly, as mothers always do when sensing something wasn’t right in their world. Only this time, it wasn’t the high-pitched wail of a frightened child that woke her, it was the man beside her. She lay motionless, listening to the labored rhythm of his breathing, and fought an urge to cry. His skin was clammy and he kept muttering something she couldn’t understand. She raised up on one elbow, staring intently into the shadowed contours of his face, then let her gaze drift down his body. She’d seen the scars. Bullet holes. A shrapnel wound. A thick, ropy scar along the back of his leg. Dear Lord, what had happened to him? What hell was he reliving in his dreams?

Suddenly, he sat straight up in bed and she fell back in surprise.

“David?”

At the sound of her voice, his body went limp.

“I forgot where I was,” he said.

“You were dreaming.”

“Yes.”

“Can I get you something? A glass of water? Some aspirin?”

He crawled out of bed and walked across the room to where his suitcase was lying.

“Where are you going?” she asked, as she watched him dig a pair of shorts from the case.

“I need to run it off,” he said shortly. “I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep.”

“Run what off, David?”

He turned then, nothing but a mass of shadow and shape on the other side of the room, but the tone of his voice was image enough.

“The past.”

“But David, you can’t run away from the past.”

“I know, but I can damn well wear it out. Now go back to sleep. I’ll let myself in when I come back.”

“You’ll need a key,” she said, and started to get up.

“No, I won’t.”

Then he was gone.

She lay there for a moment, absorbing the last thing he’d said and then started to tremble. What kind of man had she let into her bed?

Chapter 3

David ran without thought, focusing only on the impact of foot to ground and the mind-numbing relief that exhaustion always brought. Leaving Cara had seemed cowardly, especially after he’d come all this way to see her. But he was too ashamed to let her see his weaknesses—to admit that something as innocuous as a nightmare could undo him to this extent.

When he’d first run into the woods behind her house, he’d gone without a destination other than to forget. But a short time later, when he realized he had no idea where he was, he paused in a clearing and looked at the sky, reading the heavens like road map. The North Star was a constant that he quickly sought out. Once he found it, he realigned himself with the world and wished it was as simple to do that in his own life. By the time he’d outrun the demons, he had begun to circle back and was less than a mile from her home. Now it was simply a matter of getting there before exhaustion hit.

He came out of the trees, his steps dragging, his feet numb and burning. As he started up the gentle slope behind her house, he looked up and then stopped.

Lights.

She’d turned on the lights so he could see to come home.

There had been so many times in his life when he had not allowed himself the luxury of shedding a tear. He had no way of knowing that the simple act of lighting his way home was all it would take. But now…

He shuddered, then swallowed around a lump in his throat. Not once since he’d begun this lonely journey that had become his life had he had someone to come home to.

Dear God, if only he did belong here—to Cara and what was left of her world. He needed it—deserved it. He’d given up so damned much. Surely he would be allowed some joy on this earth before his days were over. He took a deep breath and then shook off the thoughts. As long as the showdown with Frank still loomed, he couldn’t allow himself to dwell on the future. He threw back his shoulders and started to walk.

Cara saw him come out of the trees. Her shoulders sagged with a relief she wouldn’t voice. He paused at the bottom of the hill, and although she couldn’t see his features, she was struck by the stillness of his posture, as if he’d become a part of the scenery. Then he started toward her, his steps slow and dragging.

She stood up from the chair in which she’d been sitting, then stayed within the shadows, struggling with the urge to run to him. Still uncertain where she fit into his life, she watched, waiting to take her cue from him.

David felt her presence before he saw her, and when she stepped out of the shadows to the edge of the porch, a weight lifted from his chest. This was just like a dream he’d had so many times before. Coming home to find this woman awaiting his arrival was nothing short of a miracle.

“Cara.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“I made some coffee. There are fresh towels and a washcloth in the bathroom.” She hesitated, then added, “Do you need anything else?”

He swallowed around a lump in his throat. “Just you.”

“I’ve been here all the time.”

“I know. I’m the one who’s been lost.”

She walked off the porch and took him by the hand.

“Then welcome home, my darling,” she said softly, and led him inside.

David went silently, knowing that simple act had done more toward saving his sanity than anything else she could have ever done.

When he came out of the shower it was close to four in the morning. The lights were out in the rest of the house, with only a small ginger jar lamp lighting the area beside Cara’s bed. He stood in the doorway, watching her sleep. So still. So beautiful.

He wondered how many times Ray Justice had done this very same thing, maybe in this very same place—watching his wife in their bed. Jealousy burned low in his gut but he shoved it aside. There was nothing left to be jealous about. The man was dead, and he was here.

But there was Frank.

The possibility existed that he might never have another chance to do this—to stand within the quiet of a home and watch the woman he loved as she slept. This time, it was regret that drew him to the bed. He pulled back the covers and slipped in beside her, selfishly taking everything she had to offer now.

When she sighed and turned, snuggling her cheek against his chest, his arms tightened around her.

God…don’t let this end.

Then he closed his eyes and let exhaustion claim him.

David smelled coffee and rolled over in surprise. Most of his adult life had hinged on being cognizant of his surroundings, even in his sleep, and yet Cara had arisen from this bed and dressed without him knowing it. And from the scents wafting down the hallway, she’d been up for some time. Not only did he smell coffee, but if he wasn’t mistaken, also bacon and the aroma of baking bread. He rolled out of bed and grabbed a clean pair of shorts and a shirt, unwilling to waste another moment of this day. After a quick trip to the bathroom to brush his teeth and comb his hair, he padded barefoot down the hall. The television was on in the living room and he stopped, taking a moment to listen to the announcer.

“Talks between the Irish Republican Army and Great Britain have come to a halt. Reports from unnamed sources tell us that the recent bombing in Trafalgar Square has been attributed to a renegade faction of the IRA and that until this has been sorted out, negotiations will cease.”

“Damn,” David muttered, and made himself a mental note to check on the status of the situation. When the announcer continued, he lingered another moment, although he was torn between his duty to SPEAR and his longing to be with Cara.

“On the local front, hit-and-run robberies are continuing within a three-county area of upstate New York. Just last night, a liquor store in Three Corners was held up, and the clerk on duty was shot and robbed of more than six thousand dollars. The woman, a thirty-four-year-old Asian mother of two, is still in surgery. More on her condition later.”

David sighed, sorry for the woman and her family, but his focus had to be on the larger picture. Even though it was on a limited basis, terrorism had already made its mark in the United States. It was part of his job to make sure it didn’t escalate.

When the station broke for commercial, he turned to other issues—namely breakfast with Cara.

When he entered the kitchen, Cara was washing her hands at the sink. He walked up behind her, slipped his arms around her waist and nuzzled the back of her neck.

Cara gasped with surprise.

“David! You startled me,” she said, then she leaned back against him and closed her eyes as his hands moved up her belly to her breasts.

“Then we both got a surprise this morning,” he said, as he turned her in his arms and kissed the smile on her lips.

“How so?” Cara asked.

“I never heard you get up.”

She shrugged. “I was trying to be quiet. You were sleeping so soundly I thought you must need the rest.”

“That’s beside the point,” David said. “There were lots of days and nights I went without sleep and I still stayed alert. It made the difference in my ever seeing another sunrise.”

She cupped his face with her hands. “Yes, but that was when you were in danger, right?”

“Yes.”

“So…subconsciously, you knew there was nothing here to fear. End of story. Now come sit down. Breakfast is almost done.”

She was right, and the answer was so simple, he didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him first. Maybe he’d spent too much of his life in hiding to be able to do this normal-guy stuff.

“Need any help?” he asked.

“No, but thanks.”

He took a seat, thinking he couldn’t remember the last time he sat down to a meal with flowers on the table. Then he saw the basket of hot blueberry muffins and his heart skipped a beat. He felt Cara’s hand on the back of his neck.

He looked at her. She was smiling.

“You remembered,” he said softly.

“How could I forget,” Cara said, and then brushed a brief kiss across his mouth. “We had breakfast together at Flanders’ Deli the morning you left for basic training. I was so mad at you and I still came to say goodbye.”

David sighed, unwilling to think about the negative aspects of their parting. “It was blueberry muffins with some kind of sugary stuff on top.”

“Streusel. It’s called streusel.”

David touched the corner of her mouth. “You had it stuck right here.”

Cara smiled. “And you removed it with your tongue. Caused quite a scene there in the deli, as I recall.” Then she frowned. “Someone told my parents. When I got home, there was the proverbial hell to pay.”

“Sorry,” David said.

“I’m not. Even though they’ve been gone for several years, after knowing what they did to us, David, I don’t think I can ever forgive them.”

“Holding on to grudges isn’t healthy,” he said, thinking of Frank. “Let’s just focus on here and now.”

Cara sensed he was alluding to more than what her parents had done, because that dark look was back in his eyes. Determined not to talk about anything negative, she handed him a muffin and made herself smile.

“Start on that while I get the rest of our food.”

The bread was warm against his palm, and when he broke it open, the scent of sugar and blueberries made him feel like a kid of sixteen all over again. Ignoring the butter and jam, he took a big bite, savoring the taste as well as the thought behind it.

“What do you think?” Cara asked as she set a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs at his place.

He swallowed. “I think Ray Justice was a damned lucky man.”

At first, the mention of her deceased husband was startling, until she began to accept the compliment in the manner in which it had been made. She smiled.

“Why, David…what a genuinely dear thing to say.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I have my moments.”

She laughed and then went to get her own food, leaving David with the sound of her laughter echoing in his ears and the knowledge that whatever happened later, he’d been right in coming.

They finished their meal in near silence, each absorbed in the simple wonder of sharing food. For Cara, the whole experience seemed surreal. Day before yesterday, David Wilson was a heartache from her past, and now he was sitting in her house, at her table, eating the food that she’d prepared. But this David was nothing like the boy who’d left her behind. He was hard and secretive and rarely smiled. She wanted her old David back. Not only that, she wanted more—so much more. But she kept remembering an old saying about being careful of what you wished for. Her life was settled. If he stayed, could she live with a man with so many secrets—a man who had to wear himself out physically to be able to rest? She sighed. God help them both, because she had never wanted anything so much in her life and she was afraid she wouldn’t be up to the task.

David got up to pour himself another cup of coffee.

“Want a refill?” he asked.

“No, I’ve had enough.”

Her words wrapped around his senses, reminding him that he would never have enough of her. The smile he’d been wearing stopped at the corner of his mouth as he sat the cup down on the counter, unfilled. Then he walked across the room, pulled her up from her chair and into his arms.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice husky with promise.

She smiled. “Maybe I was a little hasty.”

“If you come back to the bedroom with me, we can take all the time you need to decide.”

A shiver of longing rolled through her as she slid her arms around his neck.

“The way I’m feeling right now, it won’t take any time at all.”

A rare smile broke the somberness of his face as he scooped her up in his arms.

“I can walk,” she said, as he carried her down the hall.

He laid her on the bed and then crawled on top of her, straddling her legs. There was a gleam in his eye as he began to undress her.

“Tell me that again afterward,” he said.

Breath caught in the back of her throat as his hands tugged her shirt from the waistband of her slacks. From where she was lying, he seemed indomitable. And then he leaned forward and centered his mouth across her lips. She moaned.

He leaned even closer, his mouth against her ear as he whispered something dark and promising that sent her sense of self into a tailspin. Could she do something like that—even with a man she loved?

Clothes came off, flying in every direction.

Her slacks.

His shorts.

Her bra.

His shirt.

When there was nothing left between them but his promises, he turned her over on her stomach.

Cara shivered as his hands encircled her ankles. After that, nothing in her life would ever be the same.

Cara stepped out of the shower to find David waiting on her. She smiled slowly, gazing her fill of his strong, naked body and the look in his eyes.

David returned her grin as he wrapped her in a towel.

“What?” he asked.

“It would have been an absolute tragedy if I’d lived my whole life without experiencing that.”

The corner of his mouth tilted, but not much. “That, as you call it, is one of the most interesting pages of the Kama Sutra.”

“Oh? And here I thought you’d learned that from some Mata Hari type during your world travels.”

“Hell, honey, it wasn’t a James Bond type of life, I can tell you that. I could count the number of women I’ve slept with in the last twenty years on one hand and have fingers left over.”

“Oh, I wasn’t speaking from jealousy,” Cara said. “Quite the reverse. I was going to suggest that if I’m ever with you and you see any of those women again, please introduce me.”

“Why?”

“I want to thank them for whatever they added to your expertise.”

His eyes widened in surprise and then he threw back his head and laughed as he swung her off her feet.

Cara wrapped her arms around his neck, grinning at his delight.

“God, woman, you unman me,” he said, as he set her on her feet.

“Not for too long, I hope. Now let me get dressed. I can’t stay naked all day.”

“Why not?”

Her grin widened. “Because I have things to do.”

He frowned. “What kind of things?”

She shrugged. “Normal, everyday things, like picking up some clothes from the cleaners, buying groceries, washing the car. You know…just stuff.”

David followed her into the bedroom and sat on the bed as she began to dress. He didn’t want to admit that he didn’t know. Stuff hadn’t been on his agenda since the day he’d left for Vietnam.

“Can I come?”

Cara turned, surprised by the hesitant tone in his voice.

“Of course you can. I expected you to.”

“Is there a dress code for this kind of stuff?”

She started to laugh and then realized he was serious. Her hands fisted as she struggled to keep the anger out of her voice.

“I keep wanting to ask exactly what the hell the United States government did to you in the name of peace, but I’m afraid of the answer. You can wear shorts or any kind of pants. Jeans…slacks, whatever you like. A shirt of any kind is fine with me. There’s this great little restaurant where we can have lunch.” She frowned, then added, “Actually, it’s more like a tearoom, but the dress code is casual.”

“Okay,” David said, and took a pair of chinos from a hanger, then stood for a moment, choosing a shirt that would match.

Cara paused, watching the play of muscles across his back. Her gaze fell on the multitude of scars on his body as it had so many times before. Suddenly blinded by tears, she turned before he could see them and began digging through a dresser drawer.

It occurred to her then that she’d taken her freedom for granted, never considering the countless men who sacrificed on a daily basis so that she would never live in fear. She turned abruptly.

“David.”

“Yeah?” he muttered, as he bent over to tie his shoe.

“Thank you.”

He looked up. “For what?”

“For the years you spent in the service of this country. For the nights you didn’t sleep and the pain—”

He stood and put his forefinger in the center of her mouth, gently stopping what she’d been about to say.

“You don’t have to say this,” he said.

“Yes…actually I do,” Cara said. “I spent a lot of years feeling sorry for myself because my life didn’t work out the way I’d planned. And then I see you, like this, and what you suffered while I was warm and safe and—”

Her voice broke and she looked away.

David’s expression was shuttered. How did he respond to a brutal truth?

“Come here, honey. It’s okay.”

“No,” she muttered. “It will never be okay.”

“It’s almost over,” he said.

She frowned. “That’s not the first time you’ve alluded to unfinished business. What is it, David? Why can’t you tell me?”

He tried to grin. “You know the old spy joke. If I told you, then I’d have to kill you, and we both know I couldn’t do that. So…”

Cara turned away, muttering something beneath her breath as she finished dressing.

David arched an eyebrow as he smiled. “Those are pretty salty words for such a pretty lady.”

She purposefully ignored him, which made him smile even more. This woman was a far cry from the girl he’d left behind. He was falling in love all over again.

“I’ll finish dressing now,” he said.

She almost glared. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No, ma’am.”

She sighed. “Yes, you are.”

“What would it take for you to change the subject?” he asked.

She lifted her chin, refusing to smile. “I’m going to the living room. When you’re ready, I will be waiting.” Then she marched out of the bedroom, leaving him on his own.

David hesitated briefly, then grabbed his wallet and keys before following her exit. This might be new and uncharted territory for him, but damned if he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Tearoom, indeed.

Two hours and a half dozen errands later, they walked into the restaurant. Almost immediately, Cara saw people she knew. They waved a hello, and she could tell by the looks on their faces that their curiosity was raised by the man at her side.

Earlier, she’d almost lost his company when she had gone into the hair salon to pick up a bottle of her favorite shampoo. One of the stylists had flirted, which he’d calmly ignored, but when the shampoo girl came by and pinched his behind, Cara thought he was going to bolt. Cara had calmly told the girl to go molest someone else, which had made everyone laugh, including David. After that, the rest of the morning had been fairly innocuous. But now there was this. She glanced at David, judging his expression. To her surprise, he was looking at her.

“What do you think?” Cara asked.

“It smells good in here,” he said.

She smiled. “The food tastes as good as it smells.”

“Then I think you made the right choice, and I think those people at the table near the window are trying to get your attention.”

Cara sighed. “Yes, I know. What do I do…about you, I mean?”

An eyebrow arched. “What do you want to do…about me, I mean?”

She grinned. “One thing has certainly changed since I first knew you. You have a wicked sense of humor. Now be serious. Is it, uh, safe to introduce you as David or should I—”

David slid his hand along the length of her spine and gave her a gentle push in their direction.

“I am who I am. If it was dangerous for me to surface, I damn sure wouldn’t have brought it to you.”

She looked startled, and he realized she hadn’t considered that aspect of his life having a negative impact on hers.

“Cara! Dear! How wonderful to see you.”

Cara smiled. Obviously they’d stood too long at the door waiting to be seated. Her friend Debra Shay had been too curious to wait.

“Good to see you, too,” Cara said.

“Well…aren’t you going to introduce me?” Debra asked, and then glanced coyly at David.

Cara smiled. “If you promise not to pinch him on the backside, I will.”

Debra giggled and patted David’s arm in commiseration. “Oh, no! You must have been at Ream’s Salon. That Janis female is lethal around good-looking men.”

David smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said smoothly. “I’m David Wilson. It’s a pleasure to meet one of Cara’s friends.”

“David, this is Debra Shay,” Cara said. “Ray worked with her husband, Roy.”

David nodded congenially while thinking that he felt like he was playing a part. Normal chit-chat, ordinary people, having lunch in a tearoom in Chiltingham, New York. It was a far cry from subterfuge and espionage. And then the hostess arrived and the moment ended.

“I’m sorry for the delay,” she said. “Please follow me.”

“Nice to meet you,” Debra gushed, giggling again as David and Cara were shown to their table.

David seated Cara, then took the chair beside her. As soon as the hostess left, he took Cara’s hand.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She made herself smile. “No.”

“Why do I feel like there’s a but just waiting to come out?”

She sighed. “Because there is.”

“Then what?”

“This doesn’t feel real.”

He started to smile, which was the last thing Cara would have expected him to do.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“I’d forgotten that we used to think alike.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just a few moments ago I was thinking the very same thing. I feel like I’m acting a part and any minute now someone is going to yell cut and I’m going to turn back into—”

He caught himself before he said the word Jonah and looked away, but the message was clear. Cara put her hands over his and gave them a squeeze.

“It’s all right, darling,” she said quietly. “If you’re uncomfortable, we can go home. I’ll make us some sandwiches and we can—”

“Hell, no. I’m not fragile, just out of practice,” he said, and then handed her a menu. “Now, tell me what’s good.”

The smile on her face was worth every uncomfortable moment he’d had thus far. When she bent her head to study the menu, he watched her changing expression as devoutly as he’d watched the sunrises over the Rockies. He didn’t know how this journey was going to end, but he would never be sorry he’d made it.

“How hungry are you?” Cara asked.

He blinked. Telling her the truth about what he really hungered for would probably embarrass her, but when she started to blush, he figured she’d just read his mind.

A small grin tilted the right side of his mouth, then as quickly disappeared.

He leaned across the table until their foreheads were almost touching. “I’m starving,” he said softly

Her blush heightened. “Just don’t lick the corner of my mouth again until there’s a really good reason.”

His eyes glittered warmly as he sat back in his chair. “You’re safe for now,” he promised. “Now, since you’re the expert here, why don’t you order for me?”

“Really?”

“I think I’m secure enough as a man to let a woman order for me without feeling threatened. Besides, I’m curious as to what you think might appeal to me.”

“What if you don’t like it?”

He thought of the times he’d eaten grubs and insects to survive and decided against mentioning it.

“I’ll still eat it.”

She beamed. “My kind of man.”

The teasing disappeared from his eyes. “Sweetheart, I was always your man.”

Unprepared for the gentleness in his voice, Cara’s eyes teared, but she blinked them away.

“Just for that, you’re going to get their famous dessert, too,” she said.

“What’s that?”

She grinned. “Cake. It’s called Better Than Sex.”

David thought she was putting him on until she pointed to the dessert portion of the menu.

“No way,” he muttered, wondering what else had changed in this world while he’d been hiding behind the generations of Jonahs who’d gone before him.

“Oh, yes, and when you’ve finished your meal, I’ll prove it,” Cara said.

At this point, David’s sense of justice got the best of him. He’d never had a bite of food in his life that was better than making love to Cara—not even when he’d been starving.

“You just do that,” he whispered. “And I’ll be a really good boy and eat everything on my plate, but when we get home, I’m going to prove to you that there isn’t anything better than sex, especially when it’s with the right person.”

“May I take your order?”

Startled, Cara looked up. The waitress was grinning—proof that she’d overheard, at the very least, the last thing David just said. Cara glared at David and then rolled her eyes. This would be all over the tearoom before they’d been served their first dish.

The waitress waited, her pen poised above her pad.

Refusing to look at David, Cara gave their order. As soon as the waitress was gone, Cara glanced up, but he seemed preoccupied with a couple across the room. She turned to look and then sighed. It was Ben and Katie Murphy and their new baby girl. Probably their first outing since the baby’s arrival last month. She looked at David again. The pain in his eyes was unmistakable. Despite the fact that everyone in the room would see and put their own interpretation on the action, she reached for his hand.

Startled by her touch, David blinked, then turned his focus to Cara.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

He sighed. So she’d read his mind again. So what else was new?

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said briefly.

“Don’t, David.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t deny your feelings…not to me.”

“Okay then. What do you want to hear first?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “That I envy that young couple the life ahead of them, or that I want things I know I can never have?”

“I can’t give you back your youth, but I can give you a daughter…and grandchildren.” She held her breath, afraid to say the rest of it—that she would be his wife if he wanted it.

David made himself smile, unaware that the action never reached his eyes.

“You’ve already done that,” he said. “And I can only hope that they will forgive me as quickly as you have.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Cara said, refusing to admit her disappointment that he had mentioned nothing about the future of their relationship. “When they get to know you, they will love you.”

Before David could answer, he saw a woman approaching their table. From the look on her face, the curiosity was eating her up. He gave Cara a nod and then braced himself, thankful he was sitting down. This one looked as if she wouldn’t settle for a simple pinch on the behind.

“Ooh, Cara, who’s this big hunk and where have you been keeping him?”

Cara flinched and David saw it, identifying the woman as someone other than a friend. Whoever she was, she’d just become his enemy, too.

“Macie, I thought you were in Reno.”

“I just got back, and look, I’m a free woman again.” She wiggled the empty fingers on her left hand as proof.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Cara said.

“Don’t be! I don’t know what I was thinking when I married that Glen Harvey.”

“That he owned his daddy’s business?” Cara muttered, too low for anyone but David to hear.

“Well,” Macie said. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

It was the way Macie Harvey leaned over, displaying her more than ample charms in David’s face, that pushed Cara’s buttons. That plus the fact her husband, Ray, had confessed to having a brief affair with Macie between husbands three and four. Although she had finally forgiven Ray, she had never confronted the woman. Suddenly, now seemed like the perfect time to yank her chain.

She turned in her seat, giving Macie a beatific smile.

“Macie, this is David Wilson. He’s not only my childhood sweetheart, but also Bethany’s father. David, Macie Harvey. Elizabeth Taylor has nothing on our Macie for shedding husbands. I believe Glen was number seven…or was it eight?”

David was surprised but secretly pleased that she’d admitted their relationship. He stood and held out his hand.

“Mrs. Harvey, my condolences on your recent divorce, but as I’m sure you must know, time does heal all wounds, except those that kill you, of course.”

Macie blinked. She didn’t know whether to be insulted first, or run to spread this juicy bit of news. She opted for the news.

“Yes…well…thank you, I’m sure,” she said, giving Cara a fierce glare.

Cara returned the look, still wearing her smile. Macie was the first to look away.

“I’d better get back to my table,” Macie said. “I think my order has arrived.”

“Enjoy,” Cara said.

Cara’s eyes were glittering as she turned to David.

“Cara, honey?”

“What?”

“Remind me never to make you mad.”

She started to grin. “Why?”

“Because you shed blood better without weapons than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

She tossed her head and then smiled primly. “Thank you. It’s part of the gift of being a woman.”

“Old enemies are often the most difficult to dispatch,” David added, thinking of Frank.

“She had an affair with Ray. They thought I didn’t know.”

David’s heart twisted. So many things she’d had to endure, and all because he hadn’t come home. This time, he was the one reaching for her hand.

“This time, it’s me who’s saying I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “You didn’t do it. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong,” he said softly. “It’s what I didn’t do that has caused the most hurt.”

Before she could answer, their food arrived and the tension of the moment dissipated.

“Hot beef sandwich and tuna salad, coming up,” the waitress said, setting the hot plate of thinly sliced roast beef on toast points with thick brown gravy in front of David and the plate of cold tuna salad on lettuce in front of Cara. “Eat hearty, folks, but remember to save some room. You don’t want to forget that dessert.”

David laughed.

It filtered through Cara’s anger, leaving her weak and breathless. It had been so long since she’d heard that remarkable sound.

“This looks great,” David said. “I don’t remember the last time I had this.”

He dug in with relish, rolling his eyes in appreciation.

Cara smiled and tucked into her own food, all the while thinking about cake and sex with the marvelous man at her right.

Chapter 4

Frank Wilson slammed the phone down in disgust. So far, no amount of money had been able to buy him any pertinent information on where his baby brother had gone. David had disappeared as thoroughly as he had when he’d first come back from Vietnam. He frowned as he stared across the room. He didn’t like not knowing where his enemies were. It left him defenseless, and he didn’t like being weak.

Abruptly, he strode to the window overlooking the street below. East L.A. was an easy place to get lost in. Cash bought anonymity here. Identification was unnecessary for renting rooms or cars if enough money changed hands. Despite all that, the fact that he was still in the United States was dangerous. He’d messed with Uncle Sam’s elite, and even though he’d gotten away, he’d ruffled far too many feathers to think they’d brushed him off.

His frown deepened as he absently stared at the people on the street below. There were too damned many people in this world and not a one of them knew their hand from their ass. The longer he thought about it, the more convinced he became that that was what was wrong with his plans. No more trying to get to David through other people. He’d taken eleven runs at the man and come up empty-handed every time. The next time it happened, it would be himself and David—face to face.

Next time.

In frustration, he suddenly slammed his fist against the window ledge, and in doing so, jarred his shoulder, sending a barrage of pain up his neck and to the back of his head. What if there was no next time?

Cursing the infirmity that caused him pain, he turned away from the window and moved to the bed to lie down, telling himself that he would find David. It would happen—when he was ready. He had no desire to face him again until his gunshot wounds weren’t so tender. Another day or so and he’d be raring to go.

He closed his eyes, letting his thoughts drift. Outside, the squeal of a police siren came and went, while down the hall, he could hear a man cursing and a woman’s shrill cries for help. He rolled over on his good shoulder and pulled the pillow over his head. Crazy. The world had gone crazy. Within a few minutes, he was snoring. Sometime later, he began to dream.

“Frankie, go find your brother and tell him supper is ready.”

Ten-year-old Frankie Wilson rolled his eyes, then peeked over the kitchen counter to the pies cooling on the rack near the sink.

“Okay, Ma, and can I have seconds on dessert?”

“If you eat good.”

“I will,” Frankie said, exiting the kitchen on the run.

He jumped off the porch and ran around the holly bushes toward the side of the house where his six-year-old brother, Davie, had been playing. But when he got there, the yard was empty.

“Dumb kid,” he muttered, thinking of the dessert awaiting him inside. “Hey, Davie! Supper!”

No one answered and no little kid came running. He began to circle the house, thinking that Davie must have moved to the shade tree in front. But when he got there, his little brother was nowhere in sight.

“Hey, Davie! Davie!”

No answer. He frowned. Frankie Wilson considered himself almost grown, but Davie was just a kid, and he knew better than to leave the yard without permission.

He jogged toward the sidewalk, and as he did he heard the unmistakable cry of someone in pain. A few feet farther, he rounded the lilac bush and saw his little brother sitting on the curb, holding his knee. His bicycle with training wheels was lying on its side in the street.

“Hey, kid, what happened?” Frankie asked, as he knelt in front of Davie.

Davie sniffed loudly, then wiped a dirty hand beneath his nose.

“I fell and skinned my knee,” he said.

Frankie looked. Sure enough, the kid was missing a good chunk of skin and bleeding all over his shoes.

“You weren’t supposed to be in the street. If Ma finds out, she’ll whip your butt.”

Davie’s eyes widened. Not only had his brother used the B word, but he was right about their mother. She would whip him for riding his bike in the street.

“Don’t tell on me, Frankie. I don’t want a whipping.”

Frankie sighed. Being a big brother carried a lot of responsibilities. He patted Davie on the head and then helped him to his feet.

“Come on, kid. I’ll get your bike in the yard and Ma will just think you fell off there, okay?”

Davie nodded. “Okay.” Then he smiled through his tears. “Thanks, Frankie, you’re the best brother ever.”

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