Heart Of The Tiger

Chapter 2

Blood raced through Layne’s veins, pounding in unison with her heart. Matt was so close, so incredibly virile that she was slightly dizzy. Raising her hand, she touched her brow. Even as she felt him rise away from her, she mourned the loss of contact with him.

“Stay here,” he ordered gruffly, moving toward the bathroom.

Layne lay back against the chair, her eyes closed, experiencing a wild gamut of emotions. She didn’t realize Matt had returned until she felt him press a cool washcloth against her hot, tearstained face.

“Here…let me do that,” she whispered, forcing her eyes to open and taking the cloth from his hand.

Matt rested easily on the back of his heels, watching her in the comfortable silence. “Your mascara ran.”

Layne grimaced, pressing the cold, damp cloth against her aching eyes. “I probably look a sight.”

“No,” he answered softly. “Just the opposite.”

Her black hair tumbled across her shoulders and lay against her breasts as she leaned forward, burying her face in the washcloth. She tried to wipe away the mascara that had run from her unexpected tears, then she straightened, looking uncertainly at Matt.

“You didn’t have to stay.”

A wry smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “I know.”

“Why did you?”

He shrugged. “I’m a sucker for women with tears in their eyes who refuse to cry.”

Layne knew he was referring to the meeting with Lowell. “I see….”

“I’m sorry we upset you.”

She searched his lean face with penetrating thoroughness, seeking the truth behind his words. Brad had been a consummate liar.

“That would be a first—an operative sorry for his actions.” She leaned back, pushing several rebellious strands of hair out of her face. And then Layne realized how harsh her sentence sounded after he’d been so kind to her. “I didn’t mean to sound callous. I’m a casualty of the Company’s attitude toward spouses. Wives are the last to know, if at all.”

Matt rose slowly to his feet, unwinding from his coiled position. “There’s some truth in that, I suppose.”

Layne sat up, her eyes wide. “I’m sure I appear temperamental, but you don’t understand why.”

His eyes grew hooded as he looked down at her. “Just because I held you doesn’t mean you owe me an explanation.”

She felt chilled by his sudden withdrawal. “You might have had something to gain by your display of humanity,” she pointed out.

Matt smiled calmly, watching the golden fire of anger igniting within her luminous eyes. “Is that your experience? Did your husband premeditate everything he did, including intimacy with you?”

Layne gasped, crumpling the washcloth in her right hand. “You have no right to information about my personal life!”

Matt suddenly looked weary, exhaustion shadowing his azure eyes. “That’s the name of the game, isn’t it? You think we all manipulate others in subtle ways, bending people’s wills to overcome their resistance. Look, we’re both tired. You’ve had a rough couple of days, and I think a hot bath and some sleep are in order.” He ran his fingers through his short, neatly cut hair. What he really wanted to do was reach out, move into her arms and simply be held by her. He was so tired of the loneliness aching inside him.

Layne slowly got to her feet, standing mere inches from him, and tilted her chin upward to meet his shadowed eyes. “I lived with an agent for five years,” she began tensely. “He was a master of the very thing you’re talking about. I’d like to believe that what you did was out of human need and compassion, but I’m afraid all my conditioning tells me differently.”

Matt’s mouth pulled into a grimmer line. Carson must have wounded her deeply to make her this distrustful of his own intentions. He wondered how much of her sensitivity had been left intact over the years.

Matt reached out, taking a damp wisp of black hair curling along her cheek and placing it behind her delicate ear. Her skin was soft as a ripe peach. A rose hue stained her cheeks as she met his intense gaze. “I stayed because you needed someone, Layne. Good night.”

Layne swallowed hard. There was a lump in her throat and her heart was pounding heavily. How could this man walk into her life and literally turn her world upside down in fifteen minutes’ time?

“Wait!”

Matt rested his hand on the doorknob and turned his head slightly toward Layne. She looked almost ethereal, that glorious cloud of black hair surrounding her pale face, her lips parted breathlessly.

Layne slowed to a halt. “You haven’t yet earned my trust, Mr. Talbot, but you don’t deserve my anger.”

“Prove it. Have lunch with me tomorrow.”

Her heart gave a sudden thud. “Why bother?” she challenged him. “I already gave Chuck Lowell my answer.”

“He didn’t know how to handle you.”

“And you do?”

“Why not wait until you hear what he wants before you turn him down?”

Her lips tightened. “You’re very good at your job, Mr. Talbot. Keep victims off balance so they can’t ferret out your real motive.”

He offered her a hint of a smile, his azure eyes darkening with an unknown emotion. “It’s Major Talbot, Mrs. Hamilton. And I’ll pick you up at the university at noon.”

Afterward, Layne stood in the foyer in stunned silence. Was he manipulating her, or was her paranoia from the past haunting her? Her mind spun with questions. But what difference did it make? She had sworn never again to get involved in any way with a man who worked for a government agency. So let Major Matt Talbot play his game of intrigue. It wouldn’t get him anywhere.

* * *

Nervously, Layne gathered her sheaf of papers and put them into her desk drawer. Other teachers milled around, discussing the humidity and high temperatures. The desultory chatter set her on edge even more. She looked at her watch again—for the hundredth time, it seemed. Miserably she sat staring out the window overlooking the university campus. Maybe Matt wouldn’t show up. Twice, Layne had almost picked up the phone to tell Chuck Lowell to have his man back off. She touched the collar of her plum-colored silk dress she’d accented with a hot pink sash. She had chosen the colors to strengthen her emotional state.

“Hey, Layne?” Dr. Fred Gerus called. “You have a visitor.”

Layne forced herself to remain calm. She had purposely woven her raven mane into a chignon, softening it with wispy tendrils at the temples. Smoothing out the folds of the dress, Layne moved slowly toward the door of the teachers’ lounge. Nothing, however, could have prepared her for what awaited her as she rounded the corner.

Matt Talbot was impossibly handsome in uniform, his lean, whipcord body attesting to his peak physical condition. He stood tall and relaxed, hands clasped before him. His azure eyes darkened with pleasure as Layne walked toward him. His blue Air Force uniform boasted a gold major’s oak leaf on each broad shoulder. Layne’s eyes widened as her gaze traveled downward. On the left side of his uniform were silver pilot’s wings and rows of military ribbons attesting to his abilities. He was every inch a warrior, her mind told her. But her heart lurched anyway. He gave her a devastating smile of welcome, barely inclining his head forward.

“Mrs. Hamilton.”

She gripped her purse. “Major Talbot.” And then in a low, husky voice she whispered, “If, indeed, you are a major in the Air Force.”

Matt grinned, confidently settling the officer’s cap on his head, its black bill shading his eyes. “I am what I seem, Mrs. Hamilton. Shall we? I have reservations at La Fleur for twelve-fifteen.”

Layne walked briskly beside him, wildly aware of his fingers on her elbow as he guided her out of the university. “La Fleur? That’s terribly nouveau riche for someone on an officer’s pay, Major Talbot.”

“A classy place for a classy lady,” he murmured, guiding her toward the parking lot.

“Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, Major.”

Matt smiled tentatively, guiding her to a shark-gray Lexus. “I prefer women with silky black hair and beautiful golden eyes,” he corrected.

Layne observed him closely as they arrived at his car. Brad had gone through similar motions hundreds of times: carefully inspecting the vehicle before putting the key in the door. After all, a bomb could have been placed inside, ready to explode upon contact when the key entered the lock. Although it was ninety degrees and the hot sun was beating down upon them, Layne shivered.

Finally satisfied, Matt opened the door for her. Layne climbed in without a word, strapping the seat belt across her body. Then Matt slid in, deceptively relaxed.

“Why are you being so complimentary today?” Layne demanded as he guided the purring Lexus into the noontime traffic.

“Why not?”

Layne fumed inwardly. How many times had Brad answered a question with a question? She’d finally realized she wasn’t supposed to ask questions at all, although she’d had many during the last four years of their marriage. Now, she gave Matt Talbot a murderous look.

“Because you want something from me, Major Talbot, that’s why.” And you’re too handsome, she added silently, aware of his clean profile as he drove. A slight, inviting smile hovered around his mouth, easing the hard planes of his face.

“Why do you confuse my honesty with wanting something from you?”

Layne frowned and clutched her leather purse more tightly between her hands. “Since when did agents become honest?” she retorted scathingly.

“I’m an officer in the Air Force, Mrs. Hamilton.”

“You also work for the Company.”

“Sometimes.”

“Like now. You’re working for them now. This minute.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve got the nerve to ask me why I don’t trust your compliments?”

He slid a lazy look in her direction, then returned his attention to the driving. “Did you question your husband’s compliments?”

Tears drove into her eyes. She felt as if someone had struck her in the chest with a fist. “That’s unfair!”

“Any more unfair than questioning that I might compliment you because I think you’re attractive?”

Her nostrils flared with anger as she glared at him. “You’re very good at slipping a dagger between someone’s ribs, Major Talbot. Did someone teach you to use personal assaults to net the desired response from the other party, or does it just come naturally?”

His eyes turned glacial. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re paranoid?”

“It comes with the territory.” Layne’s knuckles whitened, and she stared straight ahead.

“There’s an old axiom that the more paranoid the agent, the better he or she is destined to be—” Matt gave her a keen look “—but it’s not recommended behavior for the family of the agent.”

“It rubs off,” she replied, tight-lipped.

As they walked into the elegant French restaurant located in a popular section of Georgetown, Matt leaned over. His voice was low, vibrating through her. “I owe you an apology. It’s been one hell of a rough day, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Am I forgiven?”

One look into his eyes and Layne’s retort melted. She avoided his searching look. “Let’s just call it a draw, shall we?”

Matt laughed softly, guiding her into the darkened foyer of the establishment. “Now you see us as sparring partners in a boxing match.”

“Aren’t we?” she needled him.

He gave her an amused look, saying nothing.

Layne was not surprised when Matt shifted into fluid French with the maître d’, and she reluctantly admitted his accent was excellent. As they approached a quiet, intimate table, Layne noticed that Matt was the only uniformed guest. The noontime trade at La Fleur mostly consisted of Hill people.

“You’re getting quite a few daggered looks, you know,” she said when he’d completed the wine order.

Matt’s gaze settled hungrily on Layne. He liked her husky, warm voice. It reminded him of melting honey. “Does it bother you?”

She shook her head, folding her hands and resting her chin on them. “No. They probably think you belong back over at the Pentagon and not on this side of the Potomac.”

He smiled, placing the menu aside and resting his forearms on the table. “There wasn’t a restaurant like La Fleur over there. You deserve the best, Mrs. Hamilton. And if my uniform causes any of the patrons a bit of discomfort, I can live with that if you can.”

“Men in uniform don’t bother me, Major. It’s agents in plain-clothes that I distrust,” Layne reminded him sharply.

“Then I’m glad I’m in uniform.”

Layne had the grace to blush. And then she recognized the sincerity in his softly spoken words. She felt as if he’d reached out and caressed her, the vibrant warmth of his voice again soothing her emotions. Last night she had lain awake a long time remembering his comforting words in her ear as she’d sobbed against his chest. And she remembered with vivid clarity the strength of his arms around her body, rocking her, caring for her simply because she was hurting and alone. Layne felt confusion rise within her as she met and held his gaze.

“Please,” she begged softly, leaning forward, “why are you going to all this trouble? I know you want something from me.”

Matt cocked his head, studying Layne with raw intensity. She was warm and outgoing by nature. And he had known her late husband, Brad Carson, off and on for years. Brad had been as cold as they came. Matt couldn’t imagine Layne in Carson’s arms. She was a woman of vulnerability, her sensuality as natural as moonlight. And Carson had never shown any response to others’ feelings or emotions. How had they come together? Matt wondered.

Rousing himself, he forced a slight smile. “For you, I’m an open book.”

Layne gave him a careful look that implied skepticism. “Oh, sure you are!”

He opened his hands in a gesture of peace. “Try me.”

The waiter came, interrupting them, and Matt ordered their lunch. Once the waiter had left, he picked up his wineglass. “Shall we toast, Mrs. Hamilton?”

She picked up her glass filled with the chilled Chablis he’d ordered. “To what?”

“To the future.”

Layne looked at him over the raised crystal. “What future?” she asked carefully.

Matt grinned, clinking his glass against hers. “On our assignment. Salut.”

She nearly dropped the wineglass, and her lips parted in stunned surprise as she set it down. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you know how beautiful you become when you’re angry?”

“Stop it! Answer my question.”

“I told you, I’m an open book to you.”

“If you think you’re going to con me into doing anything with you or—or—”

He reached over and gripped her hand gently between his fingers. “Rule number one—we don’t mention any names.”

She jerked her hand away, muttering an oath under her breath that raised his eyebrows. “I ought to leave. You’re such an arrogant, self-assured—”

“Where did all this temper come from? I thought you had very little backbone when it came to fighting for yourself?” he teased, trying not to smile.

Matt watched her eyes darken to the color of ripened wheat. “That’s none of your business, Major Talbot! Now, either you stop this little game or I’m getting up and leaving.”

Settling his features into a more serious expression, he said solemnly, “Okay, start asking your questions.”

“You’re taught to lie.”

“I won’t lie to you.”

“There isn’t an operative alive who doesn’t lie. That uniform could be nothing more than a cover!”

“I’m a major in the Air Force. And I am a pilot.”

Her lovely eyes narrowed. “Be careful, Talbot. My father was in the Air Force. And he was one of the finest test pilots they ever had.”

“I know that.”

“Of course you would. You have my whole life history on microfilm somewhere in the vaults.”

“I’ve read your file.”

An Air Force pilot, indeed! Layne thought angrily. How many times had Brad assumed other careers, other covers to suit the purpose of his job? “What do you fly?”

He gave a lazy shrug of his broad shoulders. “Anything they’ll let me get my hands on.”

“Any idiot knows you’re either a fighter or a bomber pilot, Major! Don’t hedge on that with me. I’m afraid you don’t know your cover very well. I’m not impressed.”

“I’m a test pilot. Is that acceptable?”

Layne sat back, surprise followed by sadness welling up in her. Memories of her father came rushing back. She remembered his taciturn face as he’d climbed into the cockpit of the aircraft that would kill him on that hot October day. She forced herself to look at Matt Talbot again. Yes, he had that same look she had seen on other test pilots—the “look of the eagles.” These men had an arrogant pride melded with the unshakable confidence that they could fly anything with wings attached to it.

“Where are you stationed?”

Matt sipped his wine. “Nellis Air Force Base.”

Layne’s mind ranged over the myriad bases her father had been assigned to during the twenty years he had been in the Air Force. “Nellis isn’t a testing base. Edwards is where they test all the new aircraft.” She watched him, waiting for an answer, but his face remained impassive. He said nothing.

“Well?” she prodded.

“I’m assigned to Tactical Air Command, Layne,” he said, using her name for the first time since that evening. “Other than that, there are some things I can’t tell you, so I’ll remain silent rather than fabricate a story.”

Her lips compressed as she glared at him. “Nellis is home of the Red Flag. It’s where our fighter pilots sharpen their skills against specially trained U.S. pilots who fly like Soviets.”

He gave her a nod of his head. “Yes. They’re called Aggressor pilots and spend at least five hundred hours learning Soviet fighter techniques to use in training flights against American fighter pilots.”

“But you’re not an Aggressor pilot?”

“I was once, many years ago.”

“But not now?”

“No.”

“Nellis is right outside Las Vegas. It’s all desert and sagebrush. What’s a test pilot doing there?” she demanded. She felt frustration nestling in her throat. This conversation was reminding her of talks with Brad. Only Brad had always smoothly handed her a story, treating her like a child. Matt Talbot was at least telling her he wasn’t lying to her, even if it meant withholding information. Which was better? she thought angrily. “Wait a minute, I saw an article in the Washington Post just last week about…” Her voice trailed off, then she straightened. “RAVEN. They say the RAVEN prototype is at Nellis for testing because the airspace there is off-limits to all civilians.”

Talbot’s face revealed nothing, but his azure eyes calmly met hers.

Layne grimaced. “All right. Don’t say anything. By saying nothing you’re practically admitting to me you’re one of the men testing the RAVEN bomber!”

“I’d rather talk about why we need your help, Layne,” Talbot returned quietly.

She slid her fingers around her wineglass. “I’m listening. Not that it’s going to do you any good. I can say no to you just as easily as I did to Chuck Lowell.”

The waiter arrived, bringing each of them a crisp salad topped with a special vinaigrette-and-baby-shrimp house dressing. Perhaps he wasn’t lying. Why did part of her want so much to believe he was telling the truth? Because, her suspicious mind said, he held you last night when you were hurting so badly. He could even have taken you to bed and made love to you…. Layne gasped softly, stunned by her realization. Bed? Matt Talbot running his lean, powerful fingers over her hungry body?

“Chuck was right, we do need your services as an interpreter of Chinese,” Matt said, breaking into her tumultuous thoughts. A self-deprecating smile tugged at his mouth. “I don’t speak one word of Chinese, and we need someone who can.”

Unwittingly, Layne found herself lulled into the conversation. “You’re going to China?”

“I’m going, yes. But not to China. To Hong Kong.”

She blotted her mouth with the napkin, intrigued. “I know Hong Kong like the back of my hand. My father made many friends over there while I was growing up.”

Matt put the half-eaten salad aside, resting his elbows on the table, concentrating on her. “That’s another reason why your name came up, Layne. One of your old friends contacted us while trying to reach you.”

She frowned. “Who?”

“The last time you and your husband took a vacation, you went to Hong Kong and ended up writing a series of articles. Do you remember?”

The old hurt came up again. That had been the last vacation she had shared with Brad shortly before his death. “Y-yes, of course I remember it.” And she also remembered Brad’s cold, biting anger because she had insisted upon doing the articles. He had wanted to relax around the Princeton Hotel, taking it easy, while she’d been as excited as a child at Christmas at an offered chance to meet Kang Ying, lao-pan, or leader, of the notorious pirates of the South China Sea. During the interview she and the lao-pan had developed a warm friendship that had endured, although they had not seen each other again. Brad had been furious with her for abandoning him.