Chapter 11

Seymour watched pensively as his assistant's face became more and more grim. One didn't have to be a genius to see that things were quickly going from bad to worse. His fingernails bit into the palm of his hand as he clenched it into a fist, waiting as the young man hailed the team captain over and over again.

"No answer, sir," Joshua said quietly, cutting off transmission and removing the earpiece.

His boss stared into space quietly, his expression completely still and unreadable. He was wondering how exactly one man, good though he may be, was able to take out four specialized agents all by himself. That, and he was pondering how on earth he was going to avoid getting fired for this whole fiasco, which was spiraling faster and faster out of his control. Such a thing had never happened to him before.

"Think it's time to hail the Swiss police?" Lynwood asked from his desk, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"No," Seymour replied stonily. "Not yet, at least. They won't be as cooperative. If our guy's smart, he won't kill anyone while he's there – at least then the police will leave him alone."

"Sir." The voice at his back was soft, and feminine; one he was hearing more and more as the long hours of this mess stretched on. "Is there still a satellite phone in the Zurich vault?"

He turned to the young woman named Rikku and raised a frosted eyebrow at her. "Why?"

"Well," she said carefully, examining her nails, "we could still try to contact him. Just to see what exactly we're dealing with, here. Maybe he'll want to talk."

Seymour grit his teeth and mulled the idea over before reluctantly glancing towards his two most annoying colleagues, Mika and Kinoc. Both were smiling genially at him, obviously very amused with his growing predicament.

"It's worth a shot, ain't it?" Kinoc offered with a broad wink. "I mean it can't be worse than anything else you've suggested."

Sighing heavily, Seymour nodded at Lynwood, the only person in the whole department he actually knew he could count on. "Get it set up. I'll be doing the talking."

000

Her eyelids lifted slowly, the leaden shackles of exhaustion still weighing them down. She did not want to be awake. She wanted to sink back into oblivion and never have to leave this bed, wherever it was. The small town's name had eluded her last night, but she still couldn't bring herself to care. They were so close to the Swiss border that she could almost smell the Alps in the distance.

But then she gradually became aware of the other presence in the room, and she forced herself to sit up.

He was sitting patiently on the bed across from hers, looking freshly showered and scanning the day's newspaper. She studied him for a second, wondering how he managed to look so well rested while she still felt as though she could sleep for another week.

She brought her hand up to smooth down an annoying cowlick, and he glanced up at her over the paper.

"Good morning," he said politely.

"Good morning," she yawned in reply. "Is there anything in the paper about us?"

He shook his head, looking suddenly grim. "No. I have a feeling some strings were pulled to keep the train incident quiet," he told her, setting the paper down on the bed. She nodded wordlessly, unaware that she was hugging herself.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

She made a face to try and lighten the mood, and threw the covers aside before rising to her feet and crossing to the bathroom. "I'll leave you to form your own answer while I take a shower."

He smiled slightly and nodded.

Upon shutting the door, the first thing she saw was her reflection in the mirror. She grimaced and moved closer to examine herself. The last couple of days had been such a whirlwind that she hadn't given much thought to her appearance.

The unflattering fluorescent lights in the bathroom made her look even paler, almost ashen, and cast hideous shadows under her eyes and cheekbones. Some of her makeup from the night before had smudged slightly, darkening her eyes and making her look like one of the undead. Her hair was a tousled mess, sticking up in random places. Its colour had never looked so mousey and lackluster as it did at that moment.

Disgusted, she turned away. She had never been a vain person, but the effortless beauty of her companion only served to remind her how plain and ordinary she was. Until now all she had ever really cared about was hygiene and, at the very least, looking tidy. At the moment, however, she found herself lamenting her small breasts and forgettable figure.

The shower helped; stepping out, she saw that it had flushed her complexion and washed away the residue of the day before. It wasn't much, but it was enough to let her feel a little more comfortable with herself. Hot water did wonders for her mood in the morning.

"Ready to go?" he asked when she emerged, fully dressed and smelling of soap.

"I should be asking you that," she returned. "We're close, aren't we?"

He nodded solemnly. She peered closely at him. "Are you all right?"

For a moment she thought he was going to tell her that he was fine, and continue to suffer privately. But he surprised her by looking away and shrugging. "I don't really know."

She moved a little closer to him. "Whatever we find . . . it doesn't change you, the way you are right now. This is who you are, no?"

He hesitantly brought his eyes up to meet hers. "What makes you so sure of that?"

The fear in his voice made her stomach knot unexpectedly. "You've shown me nothing but kindness. That is enough proof for me."

"I just keep wondering if I'm going to find something that will make me hate myself," he admitted darkly, moving past her. She had the feeling he was trying to hide his expression from her. "I've done such terrible things. Even since meeting you. I've been trained to be a killer, and nothing else."

"You've had plenty of opportunities to prove to me what a bad man you are, yet you have been nothing but brave and selfless," she countered swiftly, taking his hand in hers. "I'm alive because of you."

He gave her a long look, one that seemed to rob her of breath. Then he slowly brought her hand up to his lips and held it there. She fought to keep from swaying on the spot, suddenly feeling a wave of panic rise up at the openness of his gaze. He was on the verge of saying something, and she had the terrifying notion that whatever he was would make her fall in love with him.

So when he opened his mouth to speak, she stepped closer and silenced it with her own.

It was quick and light, but it was enough to make his body stiffen and go rigid with shock. He didn't even have time to react before she released him. He was standing perfectly still, looking down at her with a somewhat paralyzed look on his face. It was perhaps the most unguarded she had ever seen him, and the sheer idiocy of what she had just done dawned on her.

"Sorry," she breathed. "I don't know –"

This time it was he who shut her up, his lips crashing down on hers with a fierce hunger that sent shockwaves rippling through her body. He was pressing her to him so tightly that she could feel his stomach muscles tensing against her, begging to be touched and explored. She would have fallen to her knees were it not for the strength in those arms. Deliriously, she slid her hands up from his waist to his chest, and then higher to comb through his hair. A tremour of delight shuddered through her as he cradled the back of her head with one powerful hand, while the other slide down to explore the small of her back and lower.

They broke apart once for air, and she had enough time to see the way his eyes were blazing into her before she needed more and pulled him back down.

He's killing me, she thought in agony as he slowed their rhythm, eager to memorize every inch of her with his hands. Setting me on fire. In spite of his strength, how easily he pinned her against him, she could sense him holding back ever so slightly, afraid of crushing her with his need. It made her want him even more.

Still locked in his arms, Yuna began taking small steps backwards, pulling him with her. He followed readily, already pushing up under the hem of her shirt. She obligingly removed it. The edge of the mattress hit the back of her knees and she fell onto the bed. He went down with her, arching his back as he tore off his own shirt at her insistent tug. The number of clothes scattered about the room began to grow, until both were wholly naked and her skin began to remember this sensation. Her fingers roamed his body wondrously, unable to recall seeing someone shaped with such perfection. For a moment she stared up at him, and he down at her, and she felt a stab of fear at the prospect that he would come to his senses first and pull away from her.

I don't even know your name.

But then he lowered himself so that all the contours of their bodies were pressed together. He kissed her soundly, slowly, and any thought of rejection was immediately cast out.

And when his lips began to move lower, she lost all thought entirely.

000

A few hours later – it could have been longer, he supposed – they reluctantly left the motel room. It had taken him a while to clean the place up and get rid of any evidence they left behind, and all the while he couldn't stop his body from remembering the feel of her skin all over his.

Yuna was smiling at him, hair still slightly tousled. It was downright distracting and made the cleaning process take much longer than necessary. He was not used to being flustered, but it was hard to keep his eyes from appreciating the lines and curves of her body, now inescapably familiar to him. She stood by the door, waiting as he did one last check to make sure they weren't leaving anything for their hunters to find. When he finished, they walked silently to the truck parked outside.

The smart thing to do would have been to push her away and firmly put to rest any further ideas. It would have kept things simple between them, almost professional. He wouldn't have these fresh feelings of guilt and the gut-wrenching fear of getting her hurt or killed. It would drive him insane with worry. It wouldn't fill him with false hope that maybe, somehow, he could have a happy ending with someone who seemed to feel the same way but deserved so much better than him.

But then he had gone ahead and kissed her back, and she had been so soft and warm, and even her lightest touch made him feel like something more than just a face with no name. More than a weapon. In that moment it hadn't mattered who he was, or what he had done or who he had hurt. It didn't matter how many guns he knew how to handle or how efficiently he could kill someone with his bare hands . . . none of that made him feel like a man the way she did. And at the same time, he had never felt more powerless. Vulnerable.

They drove in silence for the most part, and he would catch her watching him from time to time. He would have done the same if he weren't forced to keep his eyes on the road.

He had been expecting some kind of border patrol to make things difficult – and in truth he wasn't sure how they would make it through, if at all – but the Swiss policemen didn't seem interested in stopping people today. They were waved on through, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Yuna whispered a small prayer of thanks.

They stopped in Bern for the night. It felt strange not to be constantly looking over his shoulder, though he knew he was quickly approaching forbidden ground. He had the strangest sense that his pursuers – both the police and the unseen enemy – had backed off slightly. That made him both extremely nervous and extremely thankful at the same time.

Inside the hotel, two policemen were talking to a woman who was reporting a theft of some kind. At the sight of them, he instantly tensed up and every instinct screamed at him to get himself and Yuna out of there as soon as possible. Yuna grabbed his hand and took a step backwards towards the exit. The man at the counter, however, spotted them and waved them forward with a smile. The policemen glanced up at the two people standing in the doorway and then went back to interviewing the woman in front of them. The Swiss obviously weren't on the lookout for a young blond foreigner and a Frenchwoman with two different coloured eyes.

He forced himself to relax and walked up to the counter with Yuna, who had also managed to regain her composure. She even managed to smile knowingly at him when the man at the desk asked whether they wanted two beds or one.

000

Yuna lay in the dark, listening to his silence. He was awake; his breathing wasn't soft and regular like it would be if he were asleep. Even after they made love, he had seemed strangely preoccupied.

"You're awake too, you know," he pointed out, sounding as though he was smiling slightly.

"How did you know?" she demanded. He chuckled, causing the bed to vibrate ever so slightly.

"You snore in your sleep," he told her. "Loudly. Like a man."

"You lie!" she accused, rolling over to smack his arm. "French women never snore."

He laughed and shielded his head. "I like it," he said warmly. "It's soothing."

She huffed at him and turned her back on him, determined to make him feel bad. He slipped his arms around her from behind, and she tried to act as nonchalant as possible, even though his touch still made her heart fly wildly. "I do not snore," she insisted, sounding almost plaintive. "Not like a man, at least!"

He buried his face in her hair and breathed in deeply. "Okay, okay, not exactly like a man. It's a softer, sexier snore." His voice had dropped low enough to make her shiver involuntarily.

"Well, when you say it like that . . ." she gave in, rendered helpless in his arms.

They lay in silence for a while, long enough for her to start nodding off, when he spoke again.

"Yuna . . . what's the one place you've always wanted to go to?" he asked her, almost hesitantly. "Some place you've never been."

The question puzzled her. She turned and looked up at him over her shoulder, only to find him staring back intently.

"Well . . . I've always thought the Antilles looked nice," she replied slowly. "Why?"

"Want to go there?"

She blinked. "With you?"

"Yeah. Tomorrow. First thing in the morning."

"What about Zurich?" she asked, rolling over to face him. "We're so close."

"Forget Zurich," he said sitting up in the dark. "Let's just . . . go. I'll find a way t pay you back somehow, I promise. Do you want to?"

"I . . . well, I . . ." she stammered, running a hand through her hair. Where on Earth was all this coming from? "I don't know. It's . . ."

"Sudden, I know. But think about it. Just the two of us on a beach somewhere, away from all this . . ."

"Are you all right?" she asked, growing nervous at the strange tone in his voice. He sounded almost like a stranger. A real stranger, not the man with no name who had somehow stolen a piece of her heart.

Part of him must have realized how he was sounding. The desperation left him and his posture sagged almost brokenly. "Forget it," he said quietly, suddenly looking very tired. "Just . . . I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

"You scared me," she confessed, regarding him closely as he lay back down.

"I'm sorry," he said again. She could dimly see his expression, even though the room was almost completely black. His expression was so sad and defeated that she almost wish she had blindly said yes.

"Zurich . . . is important," she said cautiously, lying back down against him. "You know that, right?"

He pulled her close to him and rested his chin on top of her head. "Yeah, I know. Let's just get some sleep."

She knew he wasn't angry – at least not with her – but she bit her lip anxiously all the same. Being a natural people-pleaser, she hated to disappoint, and she knew that he was absolutely serious when he talked about going away with her.

It wasn't the idea of running off to the Antilles with him that frightened her so much and made her lie awake for several more hours that night. It was the fact that a huge part of her desperately wanted to say yes.