Page 95 of Delta Force Defender

He took his time wandering over to the far side of the bed, then switched on the bedside light.

“This is like déjà vu,” she drawled, without the hint of any shake. Or any softness, either. “Or, wait a minute. Is this a dream? If I pinch myself, you blow away like smoke?”

“I can pinch you if you want.”

He enjoyed, maybe more than he should have, the way her eyes widened as she took in his expression. “I believe I’ll pass on that.”

She sat in the center of the king-sized bed, cross-legged and looking the sort ofcalmthat would normally require medication. He knew she was faking it. Just like he knew she’d stolen that T-shirt she was wearing from his cabin in Alaska. The blond hair made her blue eyes look different, but it was still her face. The face that had haunted him for years now.

The face that would always haunt him.

And he knew that while he would remember each and every moment he’d gazed at her when she was nothing short of perfect, he would catalog how she looked tonight, too, and wear it like some kind of talisman. Every bruise on her that had bloomed into deep purple andblack. The scrapes that looked sore and angry. The mottled patches of abrasions that stood out against the skin of her throat.

He would add each and every one to his nightmares.

“Press conferences?” he asked, keeping his voice as quiet and almost-friendly as possible. And enjoying it when she tensed. “Is that smart?”

“I think it’s very smart, actually, thank you for asking.” She rubbed at her eyes, taking care not to touch any of the tender parts of her face. “Why not accuse my brother of his crimes on as grand a stage as possible? I tried hiding for ten years and I ended up getting beat on in the lobby of a crappy building in Southie. Figured I’d try a different way this time.”

“Blond.”

She held his gaze, as challenging as ever. And slowly, deliberately twirled a piece of blond hair around her finger. “Not a wig, this time. Just to give it that extra dose of reality.”

“What’s your actual, natural hair color?”

“What doesnaturaleven mean? It will be gray soon enough, now that I have a life expectancy longer than the average carton of milk.”

“So this is like your name. Do you pick out dyes while you come up with new identities?”

“One-stop shopping is everyone’s favorite, Gentry.”

He knew she liked to call himGentryto keep him at a distance. He should have heeded that years ago. “Do you really think you can taunt him into leaving you alone?”

Caradine studied him, and Isaac had the lowering notion that while some of the military’s finest interrogators couldn’t get him to say a single thing he didn’t want to say, she could. And probably would. All it took were bright blue eyes he couldn’t resist and her attention.

He could take apart the world with his bare hands, easily.

But this woman had him in the palm of one of hers, and worse, he suspected she knew it.

“What I think is that he’s going to go to jail,” she said after a moment. “He might not have killed all the people in that house, but I’m pretty sure the difference between seven and ten bodies is more or less academic at this point.”

“What if he sends some more of his lackeys to handle you?”

“He’s not a Mafia don. He just knows Mafia dons. A crucial distinction.”

“They’re all splashing around in the same sewer, as far as I can tell.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Whatever she saw on his face made her sigh. “It really doesn’t. Lindsay gets to stay dead as far as Jimmy knows, and that will keep her safe. What would he gain by sending people after me?”

“You’ll be dead. That’s the gain. And bonus, you won’t be able to testify.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But I’m not running anymore. I’m done.”

“Maybeis not acceptable. We’re talking about your death, Caradine.”

“You’re talking about my death. I’m talking about mylife.” And when he’d dreamed of her smiling at him, it wasn’t like this. As if he made her sad. “I survived my homecoming when I was sure, for ten years, that coming back here would kill me. I’m not scared anymore. Jimmy’s in custody, and I don’t see him getting out anytime soon. Even if he did, he’s compromised. He lied about who he was to people who take that kind of thing very, very seriously. I’m the least of his problems.” She shrugged. “And the more press conferences I give, the more attention I draw to myself, the more he would have to lose by coming after me with so many other problems to worry about.”

There was a certain logic to that. If he were a better man, Isaac wouldn’t resent that, surely. “You played me. Deliberately.”

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