Necessary Secrets Page 16

  He groaned, his length sandwiched between them. The person she was right now was driving him crazy.

  “Give me a little control, Jon?”

  He shut his eyes. She sounded like a curious, exotic mix of shy virgin and steamy siren.

  “Yeah.” What the hell else could he say?

  She climbed off the bed and—his breath caught—out of her panties.

  He could barely focus his vision. How could it be that he needed her so badly? What had happened to all those carefully erected walls of defense? Where was that insistent voice reminding him she had secrets? And a past? Besides, he was a cop with a failed marriage behind him, too wrapped up with his own work to bother with the long-term commitment he knew they would both expect…

  And what the hell happened to the respect he carried for Rick?

  She settled down on him, warming him intimately with her own snug heat. And she watched him, too, tiny cries drifting out of her parted lips every so often, all the while controlling their satisfaction, with little wasted energy.

  He loved her.

  The second the realization hit him, a potent curse exploded in his mouth. He shut his eyes, clamped down his jaw and kept the blasted word captive, not wanting to ruin the moment they were sharing, the increasingly dynamic, rising moment.

  The rhythm she’d started grew stronger, faster, wilder.

  When he felt her shudder, he opened his eyes. She collapsed on him, her breasts, now moistened with perspiration, slamming into his own damp chest.

  What were they doing? She was carrying Rick’s baby and he was having sex with her.

  No! Not sex. This wasn’t just some quickie to top off some evening with a woman he barely knew.

  This was Sylvie, the woman he loved.

  Now, as she buried her head in the hot hollow of his throat, he knew that, regardless of the fact she belonged to Rick and not him, he loved her more than he loved himself.

  She tightened around him, pulling him into her, holding him with everything she had.

  And he found his own shuddering, overwhelming release deep inside of her.

  They lay there, still joined, still drifting down from someplace as close to heaven as he’d ever get. At least, he drifted. Her whimpering moments ago had put her somewhere up there, too, he wagered.

  He should regret this. He should be lifting her off him and apologizing profusely for even wanting to make love to her. But he couldn’t. Instead, as the minutes passed, he grew again inside of her.

  And judging by the subtle grindings she’d started with her slick body, she wanted what he needed.

  Or did she?

  He checked his urges tightly, focusing on her wet face as it lay buried in his neck.

  Why the hell was she crying?

  Chapter 13

  She was still thinking of her foolish tears from last night when she spotted the staff car gliding smoothly in over the potholes in her driveway. The damn tears still baffled her, but she’d managed to sweep them away before Jon noticed them.

  Just the release of stress, she told herself, the overwhelming emotions pouring out of her when she finally admitted to herself that she loved Jon Cahill.

  Even now, in her office, the love still struck her hard in the center of her chest.

  But she could never tell him. He’d be leaving to return to his own life in Toronto and he wouldn’t want to be burdened with the knowledge she’d fallen for him. He had a right to see his brother’s child, and she wouldn’t want him troubled by her feelings during any future visits.

  The papers and invoices on her desk fluttered in the breeze that slipped in behind her.

  She’d need every last scrap of self-control the military had taught her, but she’d do it. She’d keep her feelings, and her secrets, safely hidden.

  Her hand strayed to her stomach. Life had never been so complicated, so difficult to sort out. Carrying one man’s child, in love with another. Both men brothers yet worlds apart, pulling her taut like a rubber band ready to break. She couldn’t think of one without thinking of the other, and she needed to catalog her feelings, but they seemed to ruffle around her like the papers on her desk.

  The sound of the military vehicle penetrated her office like an armored tank.

  She stood and slipped closer to the window. Hot summer air flowed in, hitting her through the ugly maternity pants she’d been forced to wear.

  A soldier in combat fatigues climbed out. Oh, no. Major Tirouski. With a briefcase.

  Despite the hot air, she shivered. The man could drop the ambient temperature ten degrees with just his presence.

  After surveying the grounds a moment with what Sylvie could imagine was a cool, methodical stare, he walked over to Michael, who had just thrown a small square haybale to the llamas.

  The major’s voice filtered over to her. “I’m looking for Mr. Cahill. Do you know where I can find him?”

  Sylvie shrank away from the window, her heart pounding. She hadn’t really expected the officer. Sometimes the local militia would drop by to request permission to cross her land at the northern edge, but she’d be a fool to hope for something so benign from the major.

  He was here to give Jon the final report on Rick’s death.

  The full autopsy, also? A heartrending list, itemized as she might have done with the well-stocked shelves of her unit’s QM?

  Would the autopsy also include the fact he’d had sexual intercourse hours before his death? Could a medical examiner find such evidence on a man, the way they could with a woman? Would he even think to look for it?

  With eyes shut tight, she prayed they couldn’t.

  She should close the window. Slam it hard and shove all such guilty speculation from her mind.

  Michael called out across the front yard, toward the campground office, and a moment later Jon strode across the dusty driveway.

  She’d barely spoken to Jon at breakfast, choosing instead to ply Purley and Michael with endless toast and coffee, while answering Lawrence’s questions about some chores at the campground side of the business. Throughout the meal, she’d forced her eyes to stop roaming toward Jon, where he sat wordlessly eating his bacon and eggs.

  No one commented on the fact that Jon hadn’t returned to the bunkhouse the night before.

  And today she hadn’t expected him to be so handy, but then again, she had mentioned that the window in the campground office needed adjusting.

  She couldn’t move. The breeze had waned, and her feet, now ice, froze to the floor. Her hands clutching the sill, she watched Jon shove out his hand to welcome the officer. Their voices cut through the dry air with perfect clarity.

  “Mr. Cahill, as you know, I’m the liaison officer assigned to the committee investigating your brother’s death. Is there anywhere private we can talk?”

  Jon swung around, peering at the house. At her window.

  Their gazes locked.

  And her heart stopped.

  With his Stetson on, she could only guess his expression. But regardless of his hidden thoughts, his gaze lingered on her, like his hands had last night, when he’d decided he’d had enough of lying there while she made love to him. When he’d rolled them both over and pinned her to the bed with a consuming gaze and a mouth that knew how to love a woman.

  Would he ask her to join him?

  Please, no. Please leave me out of this.

  Shocked by her own cowardice, she blinked several times. The wind picked up again, and she had to make a conscious effort to inhale. Outside, Jon broke the eye contact and removed his Stetson. Then, as he wiped his brow, he turned his attention to the officer and indicated the porch ahead.

  Oh, no. Please not so close.

  “Warm today, isn’t it?” The officer made small talk as they made their way up the steps. Even though they were out of view, their voices grew louder. The porch didn’t wrap around to include her office, but Sylvie knew she was a mere yard from where the two men stood.

  Oh, Lord, she didn’
t want to hear this conversation, and it wasn’t because it was Jon’s private moment, the truth he’d been seeking to finally bury Rick in his heart.

  She was a coward. Just as she’d been that night in the truck. A coward, bent on easing her own fear. And killing Rick in the process.

  “So, let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” Jon’s voice penetrated the office. “All I was told was that Rick probably died from his injuries. Are you going to tell me more?”

  “Mr. Cahill, let me first say that the Armed Forces deeply regrets Private Cahill’s death. His loss has been felt not just in his unit, but throughout the entire military.”

  Such lip service nearly always accompanied bad news. She sank onto her chair, too frightened to slam shut the window, hating that the major hadn’t followed Jon’s gaze and seen her there and suggested a more private spot.

  Do your job and leave, Major.

  There was a rustling of paper, the officer having pulled some documents from his briefcase. Sylvie waited, knowing that Jon had chosen the porch because she was so close, listening, however unwillingly.

  And if she left the office, she’d be spotted through the window of the front door.

  She was trapped. Just as she’d been in her supply truck that night.

  The major cleared his throat. “Before we go over this report, I’d like to explain what exactly we investigated and how.”

  “How did my brother die?”

  “Mr. Cahill, the autopsy report is—”

  “Major, my brother was attacked. I want to know by whom and what this government has done about it.”

  A distinctive pause followed. “Mr. Cahill, this ranch belongs to Warrant Officer Mitchell, doesn’t it?”

  Jon’s voice tightened. “Does that present a problem to you, Major?”

  “Has she discussed the incident with you?”

  “Is that what the military is calling Rick’s death?”

  Sylvie shut her eyes. Not since Major Tirouski had come weeks ago to remind her she was obligated by law to stay silent, had she felt her heart wrench so much. An incident? Rick deserved more. So did Jon.

  The major resumed talking. “Mr. Cahill, we investigated all aspects of the incident. For ease of explanation, I can go through the investigation in a chronological manner.”

  What was Jon doing? Suddenly the urge to see him, hold him, overpowered the horrible cowardice she’d felt earlier. She pushed herself to standing and hurried from her office. A quick turn on her heel and she was at the front door.

  Jon glanced up, their gazes colliding through the window of the door. He sat on one of her wicker chairs, facing the house, while the major sat on another chair with his back to her, completely unaware of her presence.

  For the moment the officer skimmed the documents, and Jon’s frustrated expression hardened.

  Sylvie reached out to touch the door. Quickly Jon shook his head, his mouth forming a short, cold no.

  He didn’t want her there? She swallowed, ready to ignore his silent request, just as he mouthed something else. Back off!

  What? For a flash, she thought he’d cursed her, but then the actual words settled silently into her. How could he so rudely tell her to leave? Reluctantly, she melted into the shadows of the hallway. Though muted by the insulated door, she could still hear Major Tirouski’s booming voice.

  “We began an initial investigation immediately upon Private Cahill’s arrival at the camp. Here is a copy of the initial investigation, and a partial transcript of military police communications—”

  “Partial? Why partial?”

  “Some of their conversation is considered sensitive in nature. I’m sure as a police officer, you understand.”

  Sylvie waited for Jon’s answer, but it didn’t come. Yes, he’d understand, but he’d hate it.

  The major must have sensed something. “Mr. Cahill, you have to understand we can’t give you a full report.”

  There was more rustling of paper. The creak of the porch floor betrayed the fact Jon had stood. “Major, what’s the point of giving me a report at all? Is this supposed to make me feel better? My brother’s dead. Some coward killed him. What has been done to find that person and bring him to justice?”

  “You must understand—”

  “No, Major, you understand. I want to find that person myself and wring his neck. I’ve wanted nothing more since I received that phone call from the army chaplain that night. What has been done to find that person?”

  “Mr. Cahill,” the major began again. “You must understand that your brother was a soldier in a war zone—”

  “The war was supposed to be over, Major.”

  “Yes, Mr. Cahill. Your brother was part of the Sustainment Force to make peace possible, but sometimes peace takes time.” More rustling of papers followed the major’s tight words. Sylvie gripped the door to the kitchen, feeling her stomach heave.

  Jon’s voice grew louder. “Major, I don’t see anywhere, the actual events that led up to Rick’s death. Was he able to defend himself? What kind of protection did he have?”

  “Here is a list of equipment your brother was wearing when he was brought in. You can see he had on all his personal protective equipment.”

  “Where’s the ballistics report? He’d been shot, but when I spoke to the pathologist in Toronto who performed the autopsy, he didn’t extract any bullets or shrapnel.”

  “The unit’s surgeon performed emergency surgery on Private Cahill—”

  “Damn it, his name was Rick!”

  The major’s voice dropped, moderating with contrition. “Yes, of course. As I was saying, the surgeon tried to keep him alive, but he’d gone too long without medical attention.”

  “He had survived the night with Sylvie.”

  She could feel the air throughout the house chill. Finally, in a quieter, lower tone, the major said, “Mr. Cahill, have you been speaking to Warrant Officer Mitchell on this matter?”

  Again, maddening silence. Finally, Jon spoke. “Major, is there some reason why I should speak to Sylvie…on this matter? For something not mentioned in this…filtered report?”

  The major’s tone turned smooth, more patient. “Warrant Officer Mitchell cannot give you an accurate account. She was under duress during the time and did not handle your brother’s death very well. I would probably discount what she might have to say about your brother, apart from the fact that he was a good soldier. She had to speak to a counselor several times, and in fact, we have already asked Veterans Affairs—”

  Sylvie couldn’t listen to any more. She wasn’t on the brink of insanity. The counseling sessions had ceased when she left the military. Simple as that. And if the major had somehow got wind of her request to Veterans Affairs…

  She may have acted cowardly the night Rick died, but not now. Not when Jon needed her. He needed her and suddenly she needed to hold him. Tightly.

  But just as she stepped into the hallway, she remembered Tirouski’s last visit. And the nondisclosure agreement she’d signed, and her training tugged her back. Surely they knew the truth she’d already guessed—

  “Sylvie?”

  She spun around with a start. Lawrence stood there, his thick gray brows knitted into one tight line. He and Purley were to straighten the line shack this afternoon. What was he doing here? “Is there something wrong?”

  He shook his head, all the while peering over her shoulder with unabashed interest. “Nothing. The jacks we rented are too small. I sent Purley into town to replace them. The line shack will have to wait another day. Who’s the soldier out there?”

  She glanced back to the front door, seeing Major Tirouski’s shoulder flashes. The rank displayed on them was clearly visible. When Lawrence touched her arm, she jumped again.

  Oh, Lord in Heaven, she could hardly breathe. Her voice dropped. “He’s here to deliver the report on Rick’s death.”

  Lawrence’s mouth formed a thin line. “And it isn’t good news, is it?”

  “I didn
’t mean to eavesdrop. I was in the office and Jon knew it. He even brought the major over to the porch on purpose. I think he wanted me to overhear it. I should have gone out—”

  “No. If Jon had wanted you out there, he would have asked you to come out on the porch.”

  “But he knew I could hear.”

  “Is that officer the same gentleman who was here a few weeks ago?”

  She hadn’t expected Lawrence to know that Tirouski had visited. But then, not much got by him. “Yes, and I know he’s just doing his job, but he wasn’t that much of a gentleman the last time he came.”

  “That explains why Jon might want you to overhear but not go out. And I agree. You shouldn’t go out there.” Lawrence’s glance to her growing abdomen was quick but unmistakable.

  She touched her belly. Right now it was the only part of her that felt warm. Lawrence was right. She couldn’t possibly go out to the porch.

  A gentle touch on her arm made her turn. When she looked up into Lawrence’s craggy face, she saw only compassion. “Is there something Jon deserves to know that isn’t in that report?” he asked her.

  She sighed. Lawrence knew her so well. Her voice cracked when she spoke. “I’ve signed a nondisclosure agreement. It’s a gag order—”

  “Really?” Lawrence’s tone was dry. “I had no idea you had military secrets.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Everyone signs one so the military can try to prevent you from going to the media or writing a best-selling tell-all book on them.”

  “So there is something Jon should know.”

  She quickly swiped her hand across her eyes and down her face. “It won’t bring Rick back. We can’t change anything. And these past few weeks…” Where could she start? “Well, I’ve been arguing with myself whether I should tell Jon anything.”

  “Like what?”

  She turned in time to catch Jon walking the major to his staff car. He held his shoulders straight as a board and her heart wrenched at the sight of him.

  Jon hadn’t got his closure after all.

  She finally spoke. “Everything.” Even that I killed Rick, she wanted to add.