She swallowed. “I’ve got granny panties underneath. You’d be disappointed.”
“That would only make it more fun,” he whispered. “And I like the way your nipples stand out when you eat something that’s spicy. I’d like to lie you down on the bed and experiment with you, see what makes your nipples hard, see what makes you wet.”
She was already wet from the sound of his soft voice. Wet and burning, as if he’d put that searing mouth between her legs. He wasn’t even touching her, and she was melting, ready to fall, wanting an excuse, any excuse, to go into his arms. All he had to do was touch her and she’d give in. It was their last night, what more harm could it do, she wanted him so badly . . .
Then he moved away.
Turned his back on her and headed back to the computers, as if he’d said nothing incendiary at all. “I’ve got work to do,” he said without looking at her. “There are a bunch of movies and a portable DVD player in the first room on the right. You should find something to occupy yourself with before you head for bed. We’re going to have an early start, so don’t stay up too late.”
It wasn’t a slap in the face. It wasn’t even a gentle rejection. It was a dismissal, as if she were not worth thinking about. He had more important things to do.
And the thing was, she couldn’t fault him. Oh, she could blame him for cornering her in the kitchen, getting her all hot and bothered, but the stuff he was doing at the computer was keeping them alive.
She left the room without a word, slipping into the hall. She wasn’t going to watch movies, she wasn’t going to read, assuming she could find something that interested her. This house had everything, but a collection of good romance novels seemed unlikely, and racy sex scenes were the last thing she needed right now. Her mouth burned, her body burned, outside the thunder shook the sky, but there was nothing she could do to get through the long night but get through it, she reminded herself.
Merlin had stayed behind with James, and for just a moment she felt bereft. Merlin was as wise as his name—James was going to be up for a while. He was the one who needed company.
She closed the door behind her. She wasn’t particularly tired, but she needed some solitude. She’d forgotten to check his wound—she’d meant to breeze into the room and demand that he remove his shirt, but she’d forgotten all about it. Well, he could just fester if he was too noble to ask for help.
But he wouldn’t. This house would have everything he needed to take care of any wounds. He was probably doing better than she was, and she was almost healed.
She flopped down on the bed, limp as a rag doll, worn out by the emotions, the tension, the danger. Overhead the thunder seemed to be closing in on them, danger from the sky as well as the world around them, and she shivered in the ozone-laden air. Maybe she needed to turn down the AC. The thunder was getting on her nerves, and every now and then lightning would spear through the sky. She rolled over on her stomach, pulling the pillow over her head. She wanted her old life back. This hurt too much—she just wanted to return to her boring world in Wisconsin where James Bishop was nothing more than a distant memory. That was a damned lie—James Bishop had been with her always, every day, an empty place in her soul that nothing had ever filled. Maybe this time she could finally forget him.
And maybe children weren’t starving in China. And Texas. And everywhere, and . . .
For a moment she thought the arm that slid under her was James’s, but the hand over her mouth held a reeking cloth in it, and before she had time to strike out, she was gone, into a scary darkness as the thunder shook the world.
Chapter Sixteen
Bishop pushed himself back from the computer and grabbed another beer. He was almost tempted to take another habanero chili. All he could remember was the taste of her mouth, not the explosive heat, and he didn’t want to be thinking about her mouth. He glanced at Merlin, sound asleep beneath the computers. He’d fed him earlier—the Powers That Be at the Committee had provided the same designer dog food Evangeline used—and Merlin was conked out, as if he’d spent the day racing around, not in a cramped RV.
“Wake up, Merlin,” he said, closing the refrigerator door. “I’m surprised you haven’t been making a fuss about being with her. When I trained you to look after her, I didn’t expect you to fall in love with her.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Not that he expected conversation from Merlin, but why the fuck had the word “love” come from his mouth? And why the fuck wasn’t Merlin moving?
He crossed the room in two strides, leaning under the table to put his hand on Merlin’s neck. The dog didn’t even twitch.
Bishop wasn’t a man who panicked. He spent less than two seconds checking Merlin’s heartbeat and pupils—he was alive but heavily drugged. And then he was down the hall, crashing into Evangeline’s bedroom.
It was dark, but he already knew the bed would be empty. He turned on the light, staring at the open window. The rain had started an hour ago, but he’d barely paid any attention. It was pouring in, the wind whipping the wet curtain across the room, and for a moment he wondered whether she’d run away from him again.
He knew she hadn’t. She never would have endangered Merlin by drugging him—she would have taken him with her. How the hell had someone managed to get into the dog food? Merlin wouldn’t eat anything that didn’t come from someone he trusted, but whoever had taken Evangeline had managed to circumvent that precaution.
Taken Evangeline. The words slammed into his head as he crossed to the open window, but he could see nothing through the torrent of rain. Who? Why? Her main value had been as a way to get to him. If they found her, they found him, and a sniper’s bullet would have taken care of him. That, or blowing up the whole damned house to get rid of both of them.
Instead they’d taken Evangeline, someone who had no enemies, not even that asshole of a not-real husband who’d cheated on her and ripped off her work.
No enemies, except for Claudia, who never forgot a potential threat.
He didn’t want to waste time, but calling London was a necessary evil, and he wasn’t going to go through the computers.
Claudia was in the Far East, Madsen told him in the voice of a man who didn’t like to be called at the crack of dawn. He
had Takashi O’Brien’s word for it.
Bishop didn’t even bother to consider what time it was in Japan. Taka picked up the phone at the first ring, and he could hear the fretful cry of a hungry baby in the background, quickly silenced. He’d lost count of how many children Taka and Summer had, and he wasn’t about to waste time asking.
“Have you seen Claudia recently?”