Mission: Marriage. Karen Whiddon

the woman I loved more than life itself, too. But I couldn’t find you.”

      “I wasn’t there,” she reminded him, softly.

      Ignoring her, he went on. “For one terrible moment, I believed you’d been taken hostage by him, a man who had no problem ordering the brutal torture and slaying of innocent people. But when I turned on my cell phone to call the police, I found the message you’d left while I was in flight. I played it back. Your cheerful voice seemed out of place as I stood in the middle of the bloodstained room and played it, again and again and again.”

      “The message I left telling you my flight had been cancelled.” Her whisper was hoarse, the pain in her voice as raw as his own.

      “Yes.” He didn’t tell her that right then he’d fallen on his knees and thanked God she was alive. Natalie was alive. As long as she lived, the Hungarian hadn’t won. She’d been spared the sight of the carnage, of the message written in blood on the living room floor.

       This is only the beginning. We’re not done.

      He’d known then. The Hungarian had done this to make him pay.

      The blame for all these deaths could be laid squarely at his feet. The murders were his fault. Repercussions always had a way of catching up with you. He should have known that.

      But even then, even grieving and hurting and furious, he’d tried to figure out a way to save Natalie. Because he’d known the Hungarian wouldn’t rest until she’d died a horribly slow death, just to punish him. Sean had wanted to spare her that fate. So he’d died instead.

      Now, once again, he faced the consequences of his actions. Proving no one ever got off scot-free.

      “Sean?” Her voice brought him back from the horrific memories. “Why didn’t you contact me, tell me what was going on?”

      “I couldn’t risk it. If anything had happened to you …”

      “I’m a trained SIS agent.” She sounded impatient. “I can protect myself.”

      “I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’d just lost my entire family.” It was the first time he’d admitted it, even to himself.

      He cleared his throat. “Nat, if I hadn’t died, the Hungarian would have killed you. You wouldn’t have seen it coming. Then he would have put a price on my head.”

      “What did you do to make him hate you so much?”

      Ah, the six-million-dollar question.

      He took a deep breath, both dreading what he had to say, and relieved that he could finally say it, struggling to find the right words. Awash in pain he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in twenty-four months, two weeks and three days, he knew he couldn’t break down in front of her. Not now, when every word he said could impact his future.

      Their future, if he dared to dream of such a thing.

      “Years ago, before I met you …” Despite his resolve, he choked up.

      Restless, he almost got up from the bed. But she hadn’t moved from her chair. Who knew—maybe all that psychology crap was right and allowing her to be in a seated position, and thus dominant, while he reclined on the bed, would make her feel better. And maybe, just maybe, help her understand. There was so much more he needed to say.

      Yet once again, the words stuck in his throat.

      The tears shimmering in her eyes nearly undid him. “It’s really awful, isn’t it?” she whispered.

      He nodded, the truth catching in his throat, choking him. The most horrible lie of all.

      But before he could think about how or even whether to begin, she got up and sat beside him. She placed her hand on his arm, sending shock waves through him. For a moment he simply existed, breathing her scent, feeling her touch, and felt he’d finally been allowed a glimpse of heaven.

      “I—” he tried to begin.

      Her voice as soft as her touch, she asked, “Instead of going into hiding, why didn’t you go after him and kill him? Make him pay for what he’s done? You were—are—an assassin. Some say the best. If anyone could bring the Hungarian down, it would be you. How could you allow a bastard like that to live?”

      Wincing, he looked away. “That’s the same question that’s haunted many sleepless nights.” His insides churned. “I wanted to. God, how I wanted to. But I knew it would take time to find him. Your life was at stake. I couldn’t keep you with me always, and I couldn’t use you as bait—too much risk. Yes, I wanted him to pay, but I wanted you to live more. I made a snap decision, dazed by grief, full of rage.”

      “So you faked your death.”

      Put that way, his choice sounded cowardly. In truth, leaving her, making her a widow, had been the most difficult thing he’d ever done. Bar none.

      “I had no choice.”

      She shook her head. The grief in her expressive eyes mirrored that in his heart. “That’s where you’re wrong. You did, Sean. You did. I would have helped you hunt him down and kill him. Back then, we made a hell of a better team than we do now.”

      Shoulders shaking, she got up and walked away, to the only place she could go, the small lavatory, leaving the rest of what he had to tell her trapped on his tongue.

      Staring after her, he wondered if she’d ever understand. Or if she’d ever forgive.

      And she didn’t even know the worst of it.

      It took half an hour, but Natalie was reasonably certain she’d managed to hide all signs of her bout of weeping. Except for the red eyes, and she was banking on the dim lighting to hide that.

      She’d halfheartedly hoped Sean had fallen asleep while she’d hidden in the bathroom, but when she opened the door he still waited, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

      Despite herself, her best intentions flew out the window. “Are you all right?”

      “Fine.” Straightening, he looked away. “Remember, there’s more I’ve got to tell you.”

      The bed dipped as she sat down beside him. “You can do that later. I think I’ve had enough for one day.”

      “But—”

      “Seriously. Unless what you want to tell me will endanger my life if I don’t learn it, let it be for one more day. I can’t take any more today, okay?”

      Finally, he nodded. The stark relief that flashed across his handsome face was painful to see. Especially since she felt the same—as if she’d dodged a bullet.

      “Then let’s talk about something else.”

      “What?”

      “Anything,” she said. “You choose.”

      “Tell me why you’re here, hiding from your own agency. Why you called Corbett and not SIS for help.”

      “My entire team was slaughtered in SIS headquarters. Cut down in cold blood, without warning. Since SIS was breached once, I have no doubt it could be breached again. I don’t trust anyone there at the moment.”

      “Breached?”

      “We had a mole. Roland Millaflora. You might have heard of him.”

      “But he was captured, right?”

      “Yes. But I don’t know who he was working for, or worse, if he had help inside. So I’ve cut myself off from headquarters. As far as they know, I’m on the French Riviera.”

      She yawned, then stood up and started to move away. “Let’s get some sleep. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

      “Not yet.” His gaze darkened. “Come here, Nat.”

      She opened her mouth and closed it.