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He didn’t because he knew beyond a doubt how she would react. At best, she would walk away from him and disappear. At worst, she would try to kill him. Given her past and how wary and untrusting she was in general, he’d bet on the worst-case option. If she hadn’t already been betrayed by a lover who had tried to kill her . . . maybe he’d have had a chance. He’d almost groaned aloud when she told him about that episode, because he knew it had set a terrible precedent in her mind. After barely escaping with her life that time, she wouldn’t be inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt and talk before shooting.
Her emotions were on a hair trigger, and he knew it. She had been battered by loss and betrayal to the point that she had almost totally withdrawn, because she couldn’t bear another blow. He knew very well that only circumstance had forced her to him, though he’d been quick to take advantage of the situation. She’d been starved for human contact even while she shunned it, her life totally devoid of laughter, fun, enjoyment. At least he could give her that, for a little while, and as he’d told her, he was one lucky son of a bitch because that was exactly what she could least resist.
The way she’d bloomed in the last few days broke his heart. He didn’t flatter himself that the cause was his superior lovemaking technique or even his winning personality; it was the simple human touch that had done it, drawn her out of her shell, let her laugh and tease and accept affection as well as give it. But there was no way a few days could offset months, years of conditioning; she was still so delicately balanced that the least hint of betrayal would undo the trust he’d been building between them.
He was in a hell of a mess, because he was as caught as she was. If he’d touched her, she had also touched him. These past two nights, making love to her, had been . . . hell, they’d been the best time of his life. Losing her was going to rip his guts out, and he’d let things progress to the point that he’d lose her no matter what he did, because if he told her what he was and that he’d tracked her down, all she’d see would be betrayal. Son of a bitch. he’d thought he could handle it, have a good time and show her a good time for a little while, but he hadn’t allowed for how important she would become to him. Nor had he known how emotionally battered she’d been, which would pretty much dictate her response if he spilled his guts to her now. He’d been stupid and arrogant, thinking with his little brain instead of his big one, and now he and Lily were both going to pay.
Okay, he deserved to pay, but Lily didn’t. If anything, she was the good guy in this situation. So she’d killed a CIA asset; the son of a bitch had deserved to die, especially in light of what he’d been planning with the flu bug. Not that she’d known about that at the time, her motive had been pure revenge, but to Swain that was splitting hairs. What it came down to was, Lily hadn’t quit. She just kept on throwing herself into the breach, willing to sacrifice herself to do what she thought was right. Not many people had that sort of moral fortitude, or plain stubbornness, whatever you wanted to call it.
The bottom of his stomach dropped out, and his heart started pounding as he realized exactly what had happened, how he’d been blindsided. “Jesus God,” he said aloud. Despite the cool day, he broke out in a sweat.
Lily looked up at him, puzzled. “What?”
“I’m in love with you.” He said it starkly, in shock at the realization of what he was feeling and the disaster looming in front of him. He ground hi
s teeth together, his jaw locked as he fought to keep from blurting out everything. What he’d just said was enough to make him feel as if he’d leaped off a cliff.
Because of the sunglasses, he couldn’t see her eyes very well, but he could tell she was blinking rapidly, and her mouth fell open a little. “What?” she repeated, but this time the word was very faint.
Her cell phone rang.
A fierce scowl twisted her face. “I’m so tired of these damn phone calls!” she muttered as she fished the phone out of her pocket.
Frustrated by the interruption, he grabbed the phone. “I know what you mean,” he growled as he glanced at the little view window. He paused, staring at the number. He knew that number; it was one he’d called just a few days ago. What in hell—? “We have a number this time,” he said to cover his pause; then he flipped the phone open and snapped, “Yeah, what is it?”
“Ah . . . perhaps I have the wrong number.”
“I don’t think so,” Swain said, thinking furiously as the quiet voice confirmed his suspicion. “You were calling about a meeting?”
Perhaps the caller caught his voice, too, because there was a long moment of silence, so long that Swain began to wonder if he’d cut the connection. Finally the caller said, “Oui.”
“I’m the friend you were told about,” Swain said, hoping this guy wasn’t going to blow the whistle on him. He knew Swain was CIA; if he asked Lily about that, the jig was up.
“I do not understand.”
No, he wouldn’t, because his assumption—a correct assumption—was that Swain had been sent to France to take care of a problem, namely Lily. Yet here Swain was apparently working with her.
“You don’t have to understand,” Swain replied, “just tell us if the meeting is still on.”
“Oui. I did not realize this park would be so—I am at the basin in the center. That is an easier meeting place. I will be sitting on the rim of the basin.”
“We’ll be there within five minutes,” Swain said, and closed the phone.
Lily snatched the phone out of his hand. “Why did you do that?” she snapped.
“So he’d know for certain you weren’t alone,” Swain said. That was as good a reason as any, plus it was the only one that came to mind. “He’s waiting for us at the center of the park, at the basin.” He took her arm to lead her into the park.
She pulled her arm free. “Hold it.”
He stopped in his tracks and looked back at her. “What?” He was afraid she was going to insist on talking about his out-of-the-blue statement, because in his experience women loved to talk things to death; but her mind was going in a completely different direction.
“I think we should stick to the original plan. You stay back, where you can watch me. Rodrigo may be slick enough to have known we’d be suspicious if he jumped at the chance for a meeting.”
Let her meet alone with a guy who knew he was CIA? That wasn’t going to happen.
“It wasn’t Rodrigo,” he said.
“How do you know?”
