Leave No Trace (Black Ops, #5.5)(11)
Author: Cindy Gerard

Her memories were so out of focus that she couldn’t accurately reconstruct what happened after the chopper had touched down. A fast, loud flight. Landing somewhere in Bangladesh. Boarding a waiting jet for a charter flight to Jakarta.

Shock, she supposed. Shock and confusion and a sense that life as she’d known it was never going to be the same again.

How could it be, after David Cavanaugh?

She flashed on a vivid, visceral memory of him nak*d and needing her. Of the dark eyes that had burned into her soul when he’d made love to her. The connection had been intimate and meaningful, and now… Well, now, apparently, it was over.

It had become acutly clear that with the transition from peril to peace, the only part David Cavanaugh intended to play in her future was that of a memory.

She jumped when she heard a sound behind her, spun around, and there he stood: the reason her life had changed forever.

Her savior. Her lover. And very soon part of her history, if the emotional distance he’d erected between them was any indication.

She watched him walk toward her, swallowed back the pain. He was larger than life, twice as imposing, a vibrant light as moving as a sunrise… but for the veiled look in his eyes when they met hers.

“It’s a go,” he said, holding up a handful of legal-looking documents. He gripped her elbow and steered her briskly toward the exit. “But we’ve got to move fast, before they change their minds and we end up hamstrung by paperwork that could keep you here until the next millennium.”

She didn’t ask him how he’d managed to unsnarl the paperwork; he wouldn’t answer her anyway. He never answered anything.

It didn’t matter. She’d already figured out by the deference he was shown at the embassy that David Cavanaugh was an important man. She’d already known he was extraordinary. And even though he had to know she was confused and hurt, he remained as distant as her freedom from the labor camp had once seemed to be.

Rain poured down in a deluge as they sprinted to a waiting car. She was soaked to the bone as they ducked into the backseat, then a driver took them through the clogged city streets to the airport, where a chartered jet waited to fly her back to the States.

Silent, she watched the city speed by through rain-blurred windows. What was the point in talking? Idle conversation would be both painful and insulting.

“You doing okay?” Cav finally asked from across the very far distance to his side of the backseat.

She nodded, unable to look at him. If she looked at him, she’d just see that carefully imposed distance that meant heartbreak, regret, and good-bye.

Could she really just let this happen without saying a word? Without at least making it a little easier for him? Didn’t she owe him that much?

She glanced at him, saw his dark eyes watching her with regret and maybe even a little longing. But she couldn’t go there. If he wanted more, he’d had ample opportunity to say so. Plenty of chances to reach for her, to pull her into his arms and tell her…

No. There was a bottom line here that she couldn’t ignore. He’d done none of those things. He was letting her go. It was the end of this particular love story, and she had to let him know it was okay.

“Look.” She drew a steadying breath to settle herself. “I get it, okay?” She forced a smile. “I understand that saying good-bye isn’t easy for you either.”

“Carrie—”

She held up a hand, stopping him. She didn’t want to hear that he was sorry. She didn’t want to make him tell her what she already knew. He deserved to walk away with a clear conscience.

After all, he hadn’t known she was going to fall in love with him. And as outrageous and illogical as it was she had. She’d fallen hard.

He leaned forward, pushed a button, and raised the glass partition between the front and back seat so they could speak in private.

“It’s okay,” she said forcing herself to hold his gaze. Forcing a smile despite the pain, when his expression told her how uncomfortable he was. “We got a little lost in the moment out there. Desperate times, desperate measures and all that.” She lifted a shoulder. “People get caught up in a life-or-death situation and it’s human nature to say things, do things… things they meant at the time but don’t translate to the real world.”

He looked away, ducked his head as if he was struggling to form the right words. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with regret. “You’re an amazing woman, Carrie Granger. Another life… another time—”

“Don’t.” She let herself touch his arm, just one last touch. “You don’t need to explain anything. And you don’t owe me anything. But I owe you. I owe you my life. More, even. You gave me the adventure of a lifetime,” she added, desperate to make him think she wasn’t dying a little inside. “To steal a line from my all-time favorite movie, ‘You’re the best time I’ve ever had.’

She made herself smile for him. “What matters is that I asked you for a moment back there. You gave it to me. And it was wonderful. But now it’s time for both of us to move on with our lives.”

She averted her gaze to the window then, willing back the tears that threatened to expose her for the liar that she was.

If he realized how close she was to coming unglued, he wisely chose to pretend right along with her that everything was fine.

Black and white and gray and fine.

CAV WATCHED THE G-550 Gulfstream business jet taxi down the tarmac, wait for clearance, then fire its powerful engines and roll down the runway.

For a full minute after the sleek silver bird disappeared he stood there in the rain, soaking wet and numb to the bone.

Carrie was on her way home to Georgia. Exactly where she should be, safe and sound, doing good things, having good things happen to her.

He was right to let her go. Like she’d said, what they’d had was a moment in time. And it was over.

He turned and climbed back into the waiting limo. Made a decision.

He was going to find himself a big bottle of scotch. He shoved his wet hair back with both hands, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the seat. A huge f**king bottle. Then he was going to do his damnedest to drink her out of his life.

Fourteen

“Hey, sugar. Got a cup of coffee for a thirsty man?”

Carrie looked around her computer monitor to see Wyatt Savage standing in her office doorway. During the past two weeks she’d gotten used to his impromptu visits. Since Sophie was a patient here, Wyatt spent most of every day at the hospital with her, but he often popped in to say hello.

“Pot’s on. Help yourself.”

She’d been home from Jakarta for fourteen days now, and life had remained as gray and dismal as the weather. As fate would have it, the rain had followed her from Jakarta to Georgia and hadn’t let up yet. She hadn’t seen the sunshine since she’d been back.

“How’s Sophie doing today?” she asked as Wyatt helped himself to coffee from the fresh pot she kept on the credenza beside her desk.

Carrie had been shocked to learn that Sophie had been admitted to the hospital the same day she’d left for Myanmar. While it had been touch and go for a while, as of yesterday both Sophie and the baby were in stable condition.

“She’s doing great.” Wyatt sat on the leather easy chair across from her desk. “So’s the baby. The doctors are thinking she’ll make it to full term now. They may even release her by the end of the week.”

“Oh, Wyatt, that’s wonderful news.” Carrie smiled at her friend. Between worrying about Sophie and the baby and concern over her, he’d been a wreck when she’d returned. It had taken him a couple of days to tune in to her somber mood, and he’d chalked it up to her harrowing ordeal. But it hadn’t taken long for him to put two and two together and realize there was something more going on.

“So how are you doing?” he asked over the steam rising from the cup.

“I’m good,” she said meaningfully. “And I don’t want to talk about it.” Her face flushed with embarrassment as she thought about the way she’d fallen apart yesterday.

She’d had a long, grueling day, a “poor me” moment, and Wyatt had caught her with her defenses down. She’d sniveled all over his shoulder about her heartbreak over David Cavanaugh. It had not been her finest hour.

“I’m good,” she repeated when he gave her a look that telegraphed concern, skepticism, and pity. Then she glanced out the window. “I’d be a lot better if the sun would come back out.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. “He’s a complicated man.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Who’s half a world away with a life to live. I’ve got a life, too. A good one, so stop looking at me like my dog died. Go back to your wife and give her a hug for me. I’ve got to tie up this report, then I’m heading home. It’s been a long day.”

“Fine. I get it. I’ll butt out.” He rose, his kind eyes assessing. “But if you ever want to talk…”

“I did enough of that yesterday. Now go. I’m fine.”

She was still trying to convince herself of that when she pulled into her driveway an hour later. The drizzle had transitioned to a steady rain, so she gathered her purse and laptop and sprinted for the door.

“Come on, come on,” she muttered as she dug into the bowels of her purse for her house keys, trying to keep from dropping her laptop.

“Can I help you with that?”

Her head flew up.

And there he was.

The man who had haunted her days and kept her awake at night.

She simply stared incapable of speech as he relieved her of the laptop.

“I don’t know about you” he said with a trademark David Cavanaugh smile, “but I’m getting a little wet.”

Yeah. He was. So was she. She didn’t care. “What… what are you doing here?”

He smiled. “Getting wet. But we already covered that.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry. Hold on.” Her hands were shaking as she dug back into her purse and finally came up with the elusive keys.

“Damn it!” she swore, almost dropping them when she couldn’t make her fingers work.

A big hand covered hers. “Let me help.”

She let him take the keys. Then she just stood there, staring at his beautiful, hard, amazing face, trying to come to grips with the fact that he was here, in Georgia, on her porch.

He calmly inserted the key in the lock, turned it, and swung the door open.

“Carrie?”

She blinked. Lifted a hand. “Go on in.”

He motioned for her to lead the way.

Her legs felt wooden as she stepped into the small foyer. Her heart beat like crazy. And though it was a muggy eighty degrees outside, she shivered in her wet clothes as the door closed behind her.

“Pretty dress,” he said from behind her.

“I… um… thanks.” It was a pretty dress. It was a sleeveless, summery yellow linen, and why they were talking about it was beyond her.

Apparently any semblance of rational thought was beyond her, because she couldn’t come up with a single thing to say to him that didn’t start and end with her begging him to stay. Only pride kept her from doing that.

“How are you, Carrie?”

She walked across the foyer, set her purse on a small table, and after drawing a steadying breath, turned back to him. He looked so big standing there in her little house. Big and imposing and uncomfortable as he held out her laptop. And wet. His hair was wet. His shirt was wet and plastered to his skin. And why, oh why, was he here?

“I’m okay.” She took the laptop, then set it down beside her purse. “You… you look good.”

He looked fantastic in dark dress pants and a pale blue silk shirt that was open at the throat. She could see his pulse beating there, and suddenly she was swamped by a memory of her lips pressed there, where he’d been hot and salty and vital.

“Let me get you a towel.” She took off like a shot, because if she stood there one moment longer she was going to do something stupid. Like fly into his arms. Like kiss him until they were both senseless and show him exactly how desperate she was to keep him here. Right here, where he couldn’t possibly want to stay.

In the hallway that separated the living area from the bedrooms, she flattened her palms against the wall and leaned back against it. She closed her eyes, made herself draw a deep breath, willed herself to get it the hell together.

“Carrie.”

Her eyes flew open. He stood right in front of her, his dark eyes steady and unblinking on her face. His big body close and moving closer. “I don’t need a towel.”

His mouth was a shallow breath away. Heat pulsed off of him like a heartbeat.

“N-no towel?”

He shook his head, brushed his nose against hers. “No. What I need is you.”

“Oh, God,” she sobbed and flew into his arms.

She didn’t care anymore that she should exercise caution. And when his mouth slammed over hers in a kiss of desperation and desire, she knew he felt the same way.

He lifted his head long enough to murmur, “Bedroom,” against her lips before taking her under again with a blistering kiss that stole what was left of her breath.

They managed to stumble down the hall, fumbling with buttons and zippers before falling onto her bed. Naked. Hungry. Beyond greedy for the feel of skin on skin, his mouth on her breast, his hands in her hair, his body pressing hers into the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her breast, his breath hot and damp on her nipple. “I’m sorry I let you go. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

She choked out a sob, a memory of the pain of losing him, and embraced the reality of now. He was here now. He was hers now. And there wasn’t any pain. Only deep, penetrating pleasure.

She arched against him, reveling in his weight and his heat and his passion as he parted her thighs and entered her on a long, deep stroke.