Mission: Marriage. Karen Whiddon

grip on the phone. She relaxed her fingers and straightened her shoulders.

      “I’m trying, Papa,” she whispered.

      “Good.” After exchanging a few more pleasantries, her father rang off. Natalie closed the phone and looked up to find Sean watching her.

      “Papa said you’ve been living in the Highlands.”

      Expression shuttered, he nodded. “Yes.”

      She’d only been there once, and he’d taken her. Her first impression had been of chilly damp mystery—the land shrouded itself in mist, hiding its secrets.

      “If I remember correctly, you didn’t see much of the scenery when we were there,” he drawled.

      Her cheeks warmed. “True.” They’d been newly married and had spent the entire time in bed. From the way Sean’s eyes darkened, she knew he remembered, too.

      “I never forgot,” he said. “As I matter of fact, I bought a cottage in a glen near where we stayed.”

      Helpless to move, she could only stare. “Why, Sean? Why?”

      “It’s beautiful there. Peaceful. No bloodshed or gunshots or murder. Just sheep and goats and the occasional bark of a collie.”

      “You sound as though you made a home there.”

      “In a way. But my cottage always missed something.”

      She didn’t want to ask—but she had to. “What? What were you missing there?”

      “You.”

      For the space of several heartbeats they stared at each other, his gaze full of longing, making her wonder if the same need showed in her eyes.

      Once, they wouldn’t have hesitated. Sex had been a balm on anything, a mind-blotting sort of plaster they’d used to fill the cracks in their relationship. And there had been fractures, she realized now. She’d been too blind to see them or, if she’d noticed at all, she’d believed herself too happy to care.

      But what about Sean? Had these small fissures become a huge crevice to him? Had this been why he hadn’t trusted her enough, why he’d felt he had to do something as drastic as fake his own death?

      Second chances were hard to come by, and she refused to begin even the possibility of healing by using sex as a balm. Not this time. Not ever again.

      Tossing her cell phone to Sean, she climbed out of bed. “I’ve got the first shower. If Corbett calls back, talk to him.”

       Chapter 7

      As the door closed behind Natalie, Sean sighed. He felt like an idiot, mooning after her when she continued to make it clear she wanted nothing to do with him.

      Yet he’d seen her when she didn’t know he was watching, when she let her guard down.

      She wanted him as badly as he craved her.

      This, and only this, kept his hope alive. Sex between them had always been out of this world.

      The shower started and he allowed himself the fantasy of joining her. Once, they’d taken turns surprising the other, slipping in the tub and playing with the soap. He grew hard just thinking about it. If he kept this up, he’d have to make his shower an icy-cold one.

      Natalie’s cell phone rang, distracting him. For half a second, he debated ignoring it and letting her return the call, but he snatched it up and said hello.

      Corbett’s clipped British accent boomed through the earpiece. While Sean spoke with him, he heard Natalie turn off the shower. A mental image of drying her with a fluffy white towel had to be pushed away as Sean tried to concentrate on listening to his former boss.

      Corbett rang off and Sean closed the phone as Natalie emerged from the bathroom, finger-brushing her damp hair. She glanced at him, noticed him holding her phone, and froze. “Did he call?”

      “Yeah, that was Corbett. He’s arranged a drop-off for us.”

      She visibly relaxed. “I hope he’s providing more weapons.”

      “Yes, and other supplies. He specifically mentioned a laptop.”

      Her smile made him ache. “Wow, that was fast. Where’s he leaving it?”

      “Bus station, downtown. In about forty-five minutes.”

      “That’s so clichéd it works.” She laughed, then bent over to shake out her short locks. When she straightened, her hair stood out from her head in wanton disarray.

      He couldn’t stop staring at her. She looked like a beautiful, exotic stranger.

      “What?” She lifted a brow. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

      “I can’t get used to you with red hair.”

      Her smile faded. He could have sworn she looked wounded for half a second, before she lifted one shoulder in what might have passed for a carefree shrug if he hadn’t known her. “I know I look better as a blonde, but my hair color doesn’t matter right now.”

      Ah, but it did. Only he couldn’t tell her. He’d learned to paint, alone in his remote crofter’s cottage. Amateurish, true, but every canvas had come alive with her face, her eyes, her smile. And her silky hair the bright color of sunshine. He’d painted the true her, letting the images serve as a reminder of the short time in his life when he’d been the happiest.

      He’d loved her more than he’d ever loved anything, before and since.

      But she knew none of this and never would. He forced his own face into a nonchalant expression. “Give me five minutes in the bathroom and I’ll be ready, too.”

      When she didn’t answer, he hobbled to the bathroom door, feeling like a lovesick fool.

      The area around the bus station smelled of diesel. They parked two blocks away and Natalie got out. She walked on the opposite side of the street while Sean parked since he couldn’t walk. Pretending only a cursory look at Sean, Natalie gave him a quick nod as he went in, limping in his cast. Natalie waited, counted to ten, then crossed the street with a crowd, her bulky sweater and sturdy boots nondescript, her dark-red hair making her blend in with everyone else. She kept one hand in her pocket, where she’d stuck her pistol. Just in case.

      While Sean was inside the bus station, Natalie remained outside, scanning the inevitable group of vagrants and panhandlers hanging around the front. Assassins could easily hide among them, and no one would notice. Well—she wrinkled her nose—except for the smell.

      She kept her back to the brick as a safety precaution. Casually, pretending to be taking in the scenery, she watched people hurrying past. In reality she was searching for anything or anyone the slightest bit out of place. She felt horribly exposed. A shooter could appear from any direction, under the cover of the crowd and the noise, and begin firing. Innocent people would be hurt.

      She breathed a sigh of relief when, a few minutes later, Sean emerged, carrying a large black duffel bag. He hobbled down the street without even glancing at her.

      Again, Natalie counted to ten and then sauntered off as though she wasn’t following him or even heading any place in particular. She stopped to peer in shop windows and lifted her chin to breathe in the scent of fresh-made scones from a bakery. Just an everyday citizen, out for a stroll on a chilly autumn day.

      No one shot at her. Must be her lucky day.

      When she reached the car, Sean already had it running. Slipping into the passenger seat, she secured her seat belt and locked her door as they took off. He drove slowly, not wanting to attract attention.

      “Corbett came through. Though I wasn’t able to spend much time checking out the contents of the bag, Corbett’s pretty thorough. I’m sure we’ve got what we need. Money, weapons, food.”

      “Don’t forget