Chapter Two

How Can We Begin Again?

"Thank you…" I breathed gratefully, watching him turn the car expertly to merge with the passing streams of traffic.

Inside, I felt as if I'd just run a marathon. In a way, I guessed I had. All the way from our long-ago shared past until this very moment. Everything telescoped down into the warm, leather-scented interior of Edward's – I mean, Devon's – elegant red sports car.

The car certainly matched its taciturn owner. An unsuspected power, tightly leashed beneath immaculate lines, softly growling. But if you pushed down too hard on the accelerator…

My insides quivered as I watched his large, capable hands, with their sprinkling of fine golden hairs, controlling the steering wheel. He was fully in charge of the powerful machine as he'd always been. There was an economy of movement I'd often admired.

I vividly remembered those long fingers caressing my skin and my breathing got all tangled up with a burning rush of desire that went straight to the most intimate parts of my body. The man had been always like an addictive drug. He had been young and incredibly vital, and I could never get enough.

Not if we'd had all of eternity together. His loss had nearly ended my own life in despair. I ran away to Paris and then Ian's hurried proposal had taken me away from all hope of finding my love again.

Without looking, Edward - Devon! - reached down to change gears. His fingers came close to touching my knee. I moved it slightly closer, but he didn't appear to notice.

I sighed, inwardly. He'd always been a very graceful man for one so tall and powerful. I remembered he danced like a dream and I'd never felt so safe with anyone before or since. Ian didn't like to dance and I missed the sweet temptation of a slow, intimate waltz.

Only the watch on Ed… Devon's… left wrist was now different. I could see it beneath his cuff as he turned the wheel. In the past, he'd worn one with a brown leather strap, a treasured gift from his beloved mother. Now it was a newer model, large and very expensive. A man's watch, for someone used to being in charge.

Oh, and he smelled divine. A clean, fresh aftershave that only added to his already high level of sophistication. I knew it was a very expensive brand, hard to source in this country.

I studied him carefully while trying to appear not to be doing so. To my critical eyes, he looked little changed. Of course, he was older, more mature and very confident in himself. His hair, which had once been a mass of strawberry blond curls - curls I adored to run my fingers through – was now darker and more silvered.

His body had filled out in all the right places. Standing in front of him, when we met again, he made me feel even smaller than ever. I wanted to run into his arms and be held tight.

He seemed disinclined to touch me. I made the first move, taking his arm as we walked to his car. In times past he would have kissed my fingers lingeringly.

I glanced down, then up. His waistline was still lean and his shoulders as wide as they had always been in my most cherished memories. I had clung to them, my only sure anchor as we climbed through our mutual desires together and crested the top of our shared ecstasy once more. His blue eyes stared right into mine as we spiralled back into the wide, rumpled bed that looked as if a storm had just torn right through it.

'Cuisle mo chroí… Oh, yes, I remember… I will always remember…'

After we'd managed to start breathing again, we'd laughed, holding each other as if we would never let go. Until the irrepressible feeling began to build again.

I felt my cheeks heat anew at the memory of my utterly abandoned behaviour. We could not get enough of each other. Which is what our masters saw. Our unexpected closeness. We'd broken their unspoken code of conduct. They said we were endangering the mission and designed their dreadful plot to break us apart and send us in different directions.

I couldn't tell this Edward that I'd named my first-born child after him. His cover name, not his real one. Its origins were a closely guarded secret I'd never told anyone. I had thought to carry it to my grave.

My husband had disliked the name, wondering more than once what had possessed me and who was that man? Jealousy over what I couldn't tell him about my past had always coloured his vision of me. In the end, he didn't want me, but he didn't want anyone else to have me either.

But neither of our sons was named for their father and as for our daughter…

I smiled briefly. Luciana… Lucy for short.

Again Ian had questioned my sanity but he'd finally let me have my way. I could be incredibly stubborn at times and deaf to his shouted commands to be sensible and act like a married woman!

And then this tall, gorgeous ghost from my past said my pet name again. I felt like the same starry-eyed young woman that first time he'd leaned down and kissed me. Twenty years old and thought I had the whole world within my grasp. I felt as if I was floating beneath the intimate caress of his lips. All I had to do was close my hands and hang on tight to him.

Beside me, Edward stiffened, sensing I was watching him. I couldn't help wondering what he was thinking now. His grimly set face gave nothing away.

Edward – It's Devon! I must get used to saying that name and thinking it! – was very adept at hiding his feelings. Except with me, when we were alone together, lost in our tiny, closeted world.

Now he wore a firm mask. The look of a wealthy corporate man going about his very important business. Almost as if I was a client and not a long-lost lover he'd only just found again. He'd put his sunglasses back on, shielding his eyes from view. That irked me.

On that platform in Piccadilly station, I told him he was beautiful. I'd never seen a more beautiful man, both inside and out. I told him not to forget me and to make sure he came back to me as soon as possible. He promised, with his lips hard against mine, and that was the last time I saw him. Until today…

"Edward…" I said tentatively. "Oh, dammit. I mean, Devon. I'm sorry, I keep forgetting." I injected a small amount of hope into my tone. "I promise I'll get it right."

His deeply frowning gaze flicked to mine. "There's nothing to apologise for. I'm not that man you once knew. Not anymore."

"How can you say that?" I asked in a broken tone.

His sunglasses mirrored my confused expression as I stared at him. I wanted to snatch them away, expose what he was really thinking.

'There is so much to say…' I replied silently. 'I should have made more of a push to find you. If only I'd know you were still alive…'

My heart felt as if it was breaking then. 'How could we begin again?' The forlorn wish seemed as remote and as inaccessible as the moon.

I couldn't bring myself to confide that I was a published writer of contemporary crime novels with a strong romantic theme. I found I was very good at them and could well afford to live on my own. Another thing Ian had disliked about me.

All my novels ended with a welcome and satisfying happy-ever-after for my lovers who were caught up in the next dark mystery that needed solving. But there was nothing like that for my gorgeous hero. He always went on alone to solve the new crime in my next novel.

Of course, he was tall, blond and blue-eyed. I couldn't help it. A certain long-lost man was always on my mind and my hero just turned out that way. I couldn't tell anyone the true reason.

And now, here he was. My real-life hero, sitting right beside me. But there wasn't a chance for any happy-ever-after. Not for us. Not anymore.

Tears stung my eyes as the city flowed past the windows and an uncomfortable silence fell between us. The miles rolled quickly beneath the hissing wheels of the vehicle. Finally, my real-life hero swung the car expertly from the line of traffic and brought it to a halt before the elegant façade of the Beverly Wilshire Hotel.

I wiped a hand across my eyes. I wanted to cry but I wouldn't. This was the end. I could feel it humming within his guarded stillness. He wouldn't be coming up to my suite. We wouldn't be making up for lost time by getting lost once more in each other's arms.

He had other places to be and more important people to see. I was a loose end to be neatly tied up.

Devon had once told me about a weird guy's crazy experiment with a cat in a box and some kind of poison. If you didn't open the box then you would never know if the animal was alive or dead. I closed my eyes tight. I'd just opened the box to find it was long deceased as I feared. Now there could be no going back to the safety of not knowing and still nursing a tiny grain of hope.

The hotel's doorman hurried up to greet me, opening my door with a flourish to hand me out. I went unresisting, standing on the pavement waiting for Edward. 'Devon…'

He got out to circle the hood, quietly informing the attentive valet he wouldn't be staying. He said he was only here to see the lady safely inside. A generous tip changed hands and the valet touched the brim of his cap with two respectful fingers.

The man nodded. "I'll watch your car for you, Mr Miles. It'll be my pleasure."

"Thank you, Brent."

Devon came toward me, taking my arm to escort me inside the lobby. I went without a fuss, stricken and unsure of what would happen next. He'd said he had a wedding rehearsal to get to and the bunch of beautiful yellow roses was slowly wilting on the back seat of his car. He didn't have time to waste on escorting me up to my suite.

I drew him to a halt, turning him to face me. "Look, you really should be going. You need to get to that rehearsal. The young lady needs your support more than me. I'll be fine."

My breathing hitched. "It's been so wonderful to see you again after all this time…"

On impulse, I went up onto my toes to kiss his cheek. He had to lean down to receive it. His innate courtesy made me want to cry all over again.

"She's one very lucky young lady," I whispered, staring at his mouth like I was a drowning woman and he was my only hope of rescue.

I inhaled deeply, drinking him in, adding to my secret layers of memory against the dark and lonely years that stretched ahead. I would pen more books about him. He would always be there for me in my dreams. He would do and say exactly what I wanted from him. He would live through the words I typed on every page…

"Stevie," he supplied with a deep frown as he studied my expression closely. "Her name is Stevie. She's getting married to Michael next week." He puffed out his chest ever so slightly, with obvious pride. "She's asked me to give her away. Her own father is dead."

He inhaled deeply. "Over the years, Michael has become like the son I never had. I'm very happy for both of them. They promised to name their first son after me."

His lips twisted with wry amusement even as a bleak look of sadness came into his eyes. A frown of imminent loss creased his brow. I got the impression the sudden, brooding look had nothing to do with me.

"I'm glad…" I smiled through the sting of my unshed tears. "I couldn't think of a better man for such an important role. You'd better go. Goodbye… and thank you. It's been truly wonderful to see you again."

I kept myself from breaking down as I stepped back, telling myself it was easy. One step, then another, turn, smile, give a small wave and walk away. Fast!

'Don't look back.' I stuffed the crazy man's daft cat firmly back into its box and slammed the lid shut.

But, of course, I wasn't quick enough. I hesitated for a split second of indecision. Devon's reflexes were always much faster than mine.

His long arm reached out before I'd gone more than two steps and he pulled me back to him. "Come with me. Please. Come and meet them. I would like you to do that. There's plenty of room for one more guest. It won't take long."

The invitation seemed to have been dragged from him. He grimaced wryly and I had my answer. I knew he wasn't going to ask me. He had intended to let me walk away.

"I…" I inhaled deeply.

I could easily see many traps and more than a few hidden dangers. How would he introduce me? As a long-lost lover? A fellow Nazi hunter? Even though I was never very good at it. All that cloak and dagger had been fun, for a while. I got sick of the need for lies and half-truths. Devon seemed to thrive on it as if he'd been born to constantly pretend he was someone else.

"As an old friend from back in England, after the war," he supplied in a low tone as if he'd just read my mind in my consternated gaze.

Which was another trick he'd perfected. The uncanny knack of seeing everything you didn't want him to know. It sent a shiver up and down my spine. Whenever he looked deep into my eyes he made me feel as if I was the only woman he could ever love. Had that also been a convenient lie?

"Blast…" I said softly, using a long-forgotten word I'd learned from him. "You'd already made up your mind to leave, hadn't you? It's all right if you want to change your mind. I understand."

"I've only just found you again," he explained brusquely. "And no, I don't want to change my mind."

He looked up toward the front doors of the hotel. "But you're right. I do have other places I need to be. You will come with me and that's the end of the matter."

I felt like snapping to attention and saluting. Could I deny his command and walk away? I doubted it. My traitorous feet seemed rooted to the middle of the expensive lobby carpet. They turned on their own accord and meekly followed Devon's lead, all the way back outside to his car.

The attentive doorman opened the passenger door with a knowing smile and handed me carefully back inside. He shut the door with a snap while accepting his tip in his outstretched free hand.

Both hotel employees stood back, watching Devon put the car into gear and drive away. I got the distinct impression I wasn't the only woman he'd brought to the hotel before today. That sent a streak of blind jealousy a mile wide rushing through me. I clenched my fingers around the strap of my handbag and kept my gaze fixed on the cityscape flowing past the windows.

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We drove quickly up into the hills above the city. Following a long winding road, we finally passed into a vast estate through a massive pair of wrought iron gates set in a high stone wall. An armed, uniformed guard stepped immediately from his station house beside the gates and into our path, raising one hand.

Devon brought the car to a halt and rolled down his window. "Good morning, Gordon," he said. "How are you today?"

I was sure I could hear the movements of more guards behind us, quietly watchful as the gates swung closed again. I glanced at Devon, wondering why he needed so many well-armed men. What was he guarding?

"Good morning, Mr Miles. I'm fine, thank you." Gordon nodded as he bent to look into the car, his dark eyes assessing me.

"Mrs Bridges is my special guest for the day," Devon told him evenly. "I will vouch for her."

"Duly noted…" The guard added an entry to the clipboard in his hand. "Everyone's waiting for you up at the house. They've already telephoned down twice to ask if we've seen you. You'd better hurry. Have a nice day, Sir." He saluted before he stood back to indicate we could continue.

"Thank you." Devon put the car in gear and we drove up a wide sweeping driveway that wound up the hill. He turned into a large circular area centred with a fountain that fronted a truly impressive house.

"You said you worked for the United States government in some way," I commented. "Is all of this some kind of massive spy base in disguise? Is that why you need those armed guards down at the gate?"

Devon glanced at me, obviously working out his response without giving too much away. "It's not a spy base exactly. This is a private enterprise that was founded many years ago. We often work outside the government for a number of important reasons. FLAG is not an agency like the FBI but we have utilised them and helped them from time to time."

"FLAG…" I prompted, now deeply curious. "What does that stand for?"

Again, Devon hesitated, obviously thinking he'd already said too much. Then he shrugged. "The Foundation for Law and Government. It's a crime-fighting organization dedicated to dealing with those criminals who think they can operate above the law. We use our technical skills and expertise to fight back and prove them wrong."

"I see. It all sounds fascinating and just the right thing for you. You must have been very busy all these years." I looked again at the house. "So your foundation owns all of this? It's utterly incredible."

The enormous Tudor-style mansion was set on a hill above formal English gardens that stretched away in several directions. But the house itself dominated the landscape with multiple floors and vast chimney stacks. Its mullioned windows sparkled in the warm sunshine. It was straight out of every fairytale and could have been the setting for any of my novels where the villain lived in splendid isolation while weaving his deceitful web of lies.

"Yes," Devon replied as he cut the engine. "The estate was gifted to our trust by the previous owner who founded FLAG. He had a remarkable vision of the future. But Wilton Knight sadly died six years ago. It's important that we are able to continue our work in isolation and secret."

He looked up at the house. "I have my own wing on site. I need to remain close to my work and at the heart of the operation."

I glanced at him with renewed respect. He'd said everything in a flat, matter-of-fact manner. Many such grand mansions had long-since been pulled down or turned into high-class hotels. The Foundation he ran must have incredibly deep pockets to afford the upkeep of such a huge estate.

Before I could reply, a very tall, dark-haired young man appeared through the open front doors and ran toward the car across the flagged courtyard. He looked none too pleased about our tardy arrival.

"Devon!" he shouted, waving his hands in agitation. "You're late! I'd thought we'd lost you somewhere. Gordon said he hadn't seen you. I was about to send Kitt out on a grid search. Stevie's been so worried. We've got to get this thing underway. The minister's already agitating to leave."

His blue eyes raked over me, making me feel on edge. Intense curiosity sparked deep in his gaze. He was obviously trying to figure out why I was with Devon and what my purpose was in coming here. I braved his stare with one of my own. This day was becoming more surreal by the minute.

Devon grimaced as he shed his sunglasses and got out of the car. "Sorry about this, Michael. I got held up. But I'm here, now. Don't look so worried. Everything will be fine."

He frowned repressively at the other man before walking around to my door and opening it to hand me out. He kept possession of my fingers in his as he led me forward. "Michael Knight, this is… Carolyn Bridges. She's… an old friend from back in England. We met quite by accident this morning while I was returning here for the rehearsal."

"Ah, I see. Now I get it. You got held up." The younger man nodded as his deepening frown dissolved into a cheekily knowing grin.

He appeared to make up his mind about me as being somehow non-threatening. For now. I didn't know if I should be relieved or peeved. There was still an edgy wariness to him, however, no matter how wide his smile. It didn't quite reach his searching eyes.

But he appeared to relax as he came around the car to seize my free hand between both of his. "Any friend of Devon's…" he said with a broadening grin, almost crushing my hand in his eagerness to shake mine.

He looked at Devon. "You sly old silver fox…" He shook his head as he glanced back at me admiringly. "You've still got it." He winked as he let me go, his blue eyes full of a mix of devilment and that same watchful wariness.

"I have nothing, Michael," Devon replied severely, releasing me to pick up the roses from the back seat and shutting the door with a snap. "Carolyn is as I said. Simply an old friend from another time. We haven't seen each other in years. We met quite by chance."

I tried to keep my expression neutral, even though his words did hurt. Then a flash of red lights momentarily distracted my attention. I looked beyond the two men to see a sleek black Pontiac Trans Am parked at the side of the driveway.

I knew what it was from my youngest son's deep obsession with cars. Just like the man standing beside me, my Danny loved a great car. I knew he would lose his mind over this one. It was a pity I'd never get the chance to show it to him.

I frowned at the line of red lights running from side to side in the front of its hood. It was like a single eye. I had the sudden and troubling impression the car was somehow watching me. Making judgements of its own. I felt dissected and reviewed with a cold, clinical precision.

Then I could have sworn it moved a few inches toward us even though there was clearly no driver behind the wheel. Was it trying to get a closer look at me, as I stood between two tall men who blocked its view?

"Crazy…" I put a hand to my head, inwardly cursing my lack of sleep and the stress of the day so far. And I still had an unknown woman's wedding rehearsal to get through.

"So, then if you two haven't seen each other in years, you must have a whole lot of catching up to do, right?" The younger man clapped his hand companionably to Devon's broad shoulder as he impatiently guided us both toward the house. "Come on, we'd better get inside fast. Or I'll be divorced before I've even had a chance to get hitched."

He reached to take my arm, placing me firmly between them. "And Bonnie's about ready to lynch both of us from the highest tree! She said we're ruining all her wedding arrangements. You know how she gets when she's got a project and it isn't going to plan."

"You don't need to remind me, Michael," Devon replied grimly. "I will make my apologies."

"Just saying…" Michael shrugged, winking at me.

His smiling irreverence was infectious even if his edge of wariness was still there. I really couldn't help liking him as we followed his long strides into the house and across its wide black and white tiled foyer.

Michael Knight looked to be about the same age as my youngest child and he had Danny's infectious brashness. As if nothing and no one could ever hurt him. I admired that even if I worried about it in my own son who enjoyed seizing life in both hands and shaking it like a guard dog with a juicy bone he had no intention of giving up without a fight.

Michael ushered us quickly through the house, giving me no time to appreciate the magnificent interior, and out again into an immense back garden that gave more than a passing nod to the elegant Italianate ideal. A row of tall cypress trees lined either side of a walk beside a formal garden of stone walls and long pathways that invited your feet to wander while you admired the intricate design.

Not that we were allowed that chance either. On a long, lush oblong of immaculate lawn, running beside the walkway with the tall cypresses, two young women were waiting, pacing the grass. A harassed-looking man in a formal suit was clutching a bible and frowning at his wristwatch.

Another, younger man, with an open, smiling face, pumped the air with his fist the moment we appeared. "See? I told ya the boss would make it! You all owe me ten bucks. Each!"

"Thank you for your unswerving faith in me, Reginald," Devon replied repressively, as he brought me forward down the steps with a guiding hand at the small of my back to meet the bride-to-be and introduce us.

Stevie Mason was young, sweet and very beautiful. A slender blonde with an infectious smile. She was obviously deeply in love with Michael. She smiled up at him as he told her I was Devon's unexpected, but welcome guest. He gave another broad wink.

Devon shook his head as he stood beside me, assessing my reception among his close friends. I knew he was watching to see any sign of distress or concern in my demeanour.

He needn't have worried. Stevie immediately greeted me like a long-lost girlfriend even as she slanted Devon a questioning look. It was for him that she reserved an admonishing frown.

"You're almost too late," she accused softly. "Where have you been?"

"I do apologise most profoundly." He bowed his head and then raised the bunch of roses. "I have brought you these…"

"Oh, thank you." Stevie took them with a polite smile that said she hadn't completely forgiven him. "They're so lovely." Her joy broke through and she went up onto her toes to kiss his cheek.

Her frowning companion - Devon introduced her to me as Bonnie - hovered around us, looking very keen to get on with marshalling her arrangements with ruthless efficiency. We became pawns in her detailed plans as she placed the three men where she wanted them to stand and began to instruct Stevie. The minister opened his bible with an audible sigh of relief and a final glance at his watch.

Stevie sweetly asked me to please hold Devon's gift of flowers before she took her wedding bouquet from Bonnie. Unneeded for the ceremony, I subsided gratefully onto a handy stone bench to watch the proceedings. The heady scent of the roses drifted on the warm midday air.

The massive gardens held a sense of welcome quietude where the minister's words could be clearly heard. The whole scene was magical and I felt happy for the engaged couple as they went through their vows. They were obviously deeply in love, holding hands and kissing as often as they were allowed by Bonnie who fussed around them like a mother hen.

I did not know any of them, but they were Devon's friends and that made them special. He watched over them all like a benevolent father. Occasionally he would glance in my direction and that same look of loss flickered through his blue eyes.

I wanted to ask who was he losing. All I could assume was perhaps the happy couple would be moving on with their lives after the wedding. I had no real idea how or where Michael fitted into Devon's corporate or private life. They all appeared to be very close.

My mind went back to that strange car parked in the front driveway. The memory of its curious red gaze being fixed on me in such a measured way made me shiver again with unwelcome awareness. Where did that one fit into this bucolic scene?

It wasn't until the mock ceremony had almost been completed that I became aware that the sleek black Trans Am had crept along the stone path between the twin rows of cypress trees. Its arrival had been silent and again there was no sign of any driver.

Through the intervening foliage, it appeared to be watching everything play out with its single moving red eye. As I stared at it I felt as if my mind was beginning to lose its grip on reality. In that bright red movement, I could almost swear I could see that same look of deep sadness Devon's eyes also carried. Some kind of imminent loss I had no way to explain or any hope of understanding.

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