if it were that simple—”
“No!” She shook her head, and the clip that had been holding her hair slipped free and clattered to the floor. Waves of shimmering gold fell over her shoulders.
He swallowed against the lump that suddenly rose in his throat.
“No,” she repeated. “Believing you is something I will never do again.”
Rook slammed his fist down on the arm of his leather chair. “Then what do you want from me?” he yelled.
Too late, he realized he’d done what he always did when backed into a corner. He’d turned a weak defense into a strong offense.
And this time he’d aimed it at his wife. His wife. The one person in the world who least deserved it. Who had never deserved what loving him had put her through.
She winced, then lifted her chin. “I want the truth. But, as I am sure you can understand, I’m a little shy right now.”
Gun-shy, he almost said, but he bit his tongue. She’d always laughed when he’d correct her English. She wouldn’t appreciate it now.
“Why don’t you ask the questions, and I’ll answer them.”
“Truthfully?”
Rook growled and rubbed his aching jaw. The muscles there and in his neck throbbed with tension.
“Did you plan all this?” she snapped.
He looked up at her from beneath his brows. “All what?”
Irina let fly a string of Russian that Rook was sure would have shocked her father, were he still alive.
“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling mean and cornered and exposed. “I planned to die. It was the only choice I had—”
He clenched his jaw and pressed his lips together. No. She didn’t deserve excuses.
He propped his forearms on his knees and nodded, looking down at the floor.
“If you planned the whole thing, then who did you hire to shoot you?”
He bent his head and squeezed his temples between his palms. He was tired. He was frustrated. He ached with the need to pull her into his arms. Just long enough to remind himself that he was a human being. That he was alive.
He hadn’t felt anything in so long, he’d begun to wonder if he ever would.
“Rook? Who shot you?”
Her voice sizzled with venom. She hated him for what he’d done to her. And she had every right.
His very presence here put her in danger—her and everyone else involved with Black Hills Search and Rescue. That thought sent a shard of fear through his chest.
No. He couldn’t afford to feel anything—not until all this was over. If he let his emotions get in the way, the consequences would be too great to bear.
He’d already pushed Irina too far. Answering the question she’d asked would sever the last frayed thread that bound them together. And he wasn’t sure he could survive if that thread broke.
He took a long breath. “Deke.”
Irina gasped audibly. “What?”
He lifted his head and met her shocked gaze. “You heard me,” he muttered.
“D-deke?” she stammered.
As she spoke, the door from the kitchen opened.
“Deke shot you?” Her voice was shrill with shock.
“Oh, crap,” Deke said.
IRINA MET the wary gaze of her husband’s best friend. She shook her head back and forth—back and forth, while her stomach churned with nausea.
“I don’t understand…” she whispered. Her throat was too tight, her chest too constricted, to speak any louder.
“Don’t blame him,” Rook said, standing.
He might as well have been in a different room. She barely heard him. All she could do was stare at Deke, who had been there for her, who had grieved with her, who had kept Black Hills Search and Rescue going and had taken care of her during the dark time since her husband’s death.
“Deke? You—?”
“Irina, he was only following—” Rook started.
“Shut up!” She swiped a hand through the air in his general direction without looking at him.
Deke’s tanned faced turned a sickly green. He opened his mouth, closed it, ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Irina—”
“You shot him? You shot Rook? It was you?” Saying it didn’t make it any more real. In fact, it confused her more. The memory of those awful seconds washed over her like a volcanic wind. For that instant she was back there, on the deck of their yacht, feeling the downdraft from the helicopter, gripping Rook’s arm as she asked him why it was flying so close.
“But that’s impossible. The shot—it came from a helicopter. He was—” She turned her head to look at Rook. “You were hit in the chest. All that blood…” She had to force air past her constricted throat.
“It was so awful. How could you not tell me, Deke?”
“It was…a matter of national security—” Deke started.
“He was following my orders. He didn’t know I was still alive until he contacted a prearranged number three days ago.”
Irina’s head was spinning. Too much information. “But I saw the bullet hit you. It made a little puff.” She gestured with her fingers. “F-fibers from your shirt, I think. Then blood—your blood—spattered on my blouse. You fell into the water.” She pressed her palms to her temples. “Were you wearing a bulletproof vest? No, you couldn’t have been. We’d just…” Her voice trailed off as more memories flashed across her vision.
They’d made love. She’d watched him dress afterward. All at once she realized that was the origin of her recurring dream.
They’d made love and then he’d been shot.
Killed.
“I watched you die,” she whispered. Then suddenly the floor tilted and her vision turned dark. Strong arms enveloped her.
Rook’s arms. But no. It couldn’t be. Rook was dead.
She came awake as he laid her gently on the sofa. She didn’t open her eyes, afraid the room would tilt again. Afraid her world would turn right-side up again and Rook would be gone.
The next thing she was aware of was Deke’s voice.
“—can’t believe you’re here in the flesh. But I gotta say, I’d like to
