The Prey

He put his finger to her lips, took her arm, and motioned for her to sit. She did. Together, they watched the sunset. Such a normal thing, really. Why did it feel so odd? So different?

Because she didn’t do normal things. She didn’t have a normal life. She didn’t watch sunsets with handsome men she loved-cared about, she corrected herself.

She wanted to freeze this moment in time, as John wrapped an arm around her, squeezing her close to his side. Sighing, she let her head rest on his shoulder. This quiet affection was something she’d never had, but she could live with it. Forever.

“They’re going to catch Bobby,” John said quietly as the sun began its descent, seeming to sink into the ocean.

“I know.”

“You being here, safe, is the right thing. I know you’re torn up about not being in on the op, and I’m sorry I wasn’t more-uh, sensitive-about the way I told you.”

He was worrying about her feelings when she’d acted so irresponsibly. “No apologies, John. I’m okay.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. I am. For the first time in a long time I’m okay.”

Acknowledging that she hadn’t been okay for a long time was the hardest part. But once she’d said it out loud, she felt at peace.

John fidgeted next to her. She glanced over at him. He was frowning slightly, his brows furrowed in some sort of deep thought, and she wondered what was going on in his mind.

She was also curious about what Roger had told her about John’s past, the sting operation that had gone bad.

“Roger told me what happened in Baton Rouge.”

John tensed next to her. “Did he?”

“Roger was impressed.”

“Not many people were.”

She sighed, looked at his hand on the ground, and took it into her own. Rowan surprised herself; she’d never considered herself a comforting sort of person.

“It seems to me,” she said after a moment, “that you risked your own life to save your fellow agents. At least, that’s how Roger portrayed it.”

She paused, glancing at him. “Did that have anything to do with you quitting DEA and going freelance?”

He didn’t speak for a long time, only staring out at the setting sun and the vast array of bright colors that shaded the sky. “Someone had to do it.”

Rowan had a dozen questions, but remained silent. Momentarily, John spoke, his voice reflective.

“I was in Pomera’s inner circle. It took me three years. Three years to gain the trust of his people, to become part of the team. I had to break a lot of rules to get there, doing some things I’m not especially proud of.”

“I can imagine.”

“Can you?” John said, his voice full of venom. “Look the other way while your comrades kill innocent people?”

She knew he wasn’t angry at her, but at himself. “We do what we have to do, John. Sometimes the lesser of two evils is the only choice we have.”

Silence descended, and as the sun disappeared on the horizon the air grew cooler. Still, they stayed on the edge of the cliff, and John didn’t doubt that Rowan understood.

“I could have taken down Pomera then. But that day, in Baton Rouge, the lesser of two evils was letting him go. And we still lost eight men and women.” He’d never forget the brief moment of indecision, and the guilt that the two minutes he’d wasted in pursuit of Pomera had been two minutes taken from saving his colleagues.

The guilt had never left him. John would never know if he could have saved more of them.

“Many more lives would have been lost had you not diffused those bombs,” Rowan said.

“Maybe fewer would have died had I not debated my duty.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I started to go after Pomera. I could have gotten him, and I went after him. But-”

“But you thought twice and ended up doing the right thing.” She squeezed his hand and forced him to look at her.

She hadn’t worn her little shaded glasses, and the compassion-and love?-he saw in her stormy blue eyes told him she did understand. Some choices were almost impossible to make. Some choices were between wrong and wrong, and there was not a damned thing you could do about it.

Yes, he’d saved lives. But how many lives had been lost because Pomera got away that day? He’d never gotten that close to him before.

Too often, he doubted he’d ever be that close again.

“Yeah, I did the right thing,” he said softly. “But I had to quit. There was a mole in the operation, someone my boss trusted, and he protected the bastard. Too many people died, and ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t hold any water with me. I got fed up with the bureaucratic nonsense, the waste, the damn walking on eggshells trying to play by the rules.”

They sat in silence, John thinking about the choices he’d had to make. Were they the right ones? He didn’t know. But at the time, it was the best he could do.

Much like Rowan’s choices.

Rowan wondered about the recent decision John had made.

“John? Are you okay? I mean, about not being there to apprehend Bobby?”

He looked at her and his eyes flashed anger and something else, something personal, that warmed her. “You don’t even have to ask, Rowan. I wouldn’t be anyplace else except here with you. Can’t you see that I care about you?”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond. He kissed her hard on the lips, a groan escaping his chest. She wrapped her arms around him and in his urgency to get close, they toppled to the ground. His hard weight pinned her down, but she relished the closeness, the desire radiating from him.

Suddenly, he jumped up, pulling her with him.

“We can’t do this here,” he said, his voice rusty and his eyes dark as he set a vigorous pace back to the cabin.

John was certain about two things. One, that Rowan believed he would walk away when this was over. And two, that he wouldn’t allow her to leave him. Somehow, some way, she had to remain in his life.

He didn’t quite know how it would work. The next time there was a shot at Pomera, he’d take it. He’d be in South America for as long as it took to get that murderous bastard. It could be months, or years. It wouldn’t be fair to ask Rowan to wait for him.

But he wanted her. Now and forever. He couldn’t imagine making love to another woman. She’d become a part of him. Through the pain of losing Michael, the betrayal of her guardian, the confrontation with her father, he saw her foundation and it was solid. She was rebuilding her life. He saw it in everything she did. She thought she’d been weak when she quit the FBI, but if anything, it was self-preservation.

Even he had burned out once.

But he’d come back from that defeat to fight again. So would Rowan. Because that was what she did. He wouldn’t be surprised if she went back to the FBI when this was all over. Her sense of justice was too important to lock herself away in seclusion, writing. But even if she didn’t return, even if she continued her writing career, it wouldn’t be from fear. It would be because she wanted to.

And that made all the difference in the world.

So he’d kissed her. But one taste wasn’t enough. One taste reminded him of making love to her, of touching her, of holding her lithe body in his arms after sex, both of them satiated.

Not for long. He always wanted more of her.

He couldn’t get back to the cabin fast enough, but he had protocol to follow, though that had certainly slipped his mind for the moment he almost made love to her there on the cliff.

“Wait here,” he told her as he did a security check around the perimeter.

Surprisingly, when he finished his check he found her waiting right where he’d left her. He almost smiled, but as soon as her eyes narrowed with desire and she took a step toward him, he couldn’t wait any longer. He dived