“I sent him to Somalia,” she said, marveling at her ability to sound calm and detached. A cigarette would have done wonders for the image she was determined to project, but there was no way she was going to incite another wrestling match. “He got careless and he died. End of story.”
“Then why are you carrying around such a buttload of guilt? He can’t have been the only man you sent to his death. Not even the first man.”
“I loved him.”
She wanted to slap the slow smile off Killian’s face. “Tragic,” he said. “But you didn’t marry him.”
“We didn’t need to get married.”
“You didn’t live with him.”
How the hell did he know that? “That was unnecessary, as well. We had an understanding. And I still don’t see why you’re so interested in my ancient history.”
“I’m interested in everything about you, princess. Including why a medium level operative like James Reddy would have made the kind of fucked-up mistake that got him killed. You shouldn’t have sent him to Somalia in the first place—he wasn’t properly trained.”
“Goddamn it, how do you know…?”
“I know,” Killian said. “Just accept it. Why did you let him go to his death?”
Hiding wasn’t going to help. The only way out of this trap was to tell him the truth, calmly. “James and I were…close. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to have the kind of relationship he wanted, and he thought proving himself might change my mind. Instead he died. Badly. Not in the helicopter crash—he was still alive when they dragged him out of it. It took him anywhere from two hours to two days to finally die.” She pushed her wet hair away from her face. She was getting it together, and she met Killian’s gaze squarely. “It was unfortunate, and I felt needlessly responsible. We all have our weaknesses, our mistakes.”
“Not me.”
“Bullshit,” she replied. “You’ve screwed up on just about every mission you’ve been involved in. It’s no wonder half the world wants you dead. The other half wants to kill for the things you didn’t fuck up.”
“I’m not going to argue with you,” he said lazily. “You see mistakes, I see alternative opportunities. And I don’t have any particular weakness.”
“Not even me?”
“Damn, woman, you’re getting feisty on me,” he said lightly. “Are you sure you want to go there?”
She didn’t. She didn’t want to go anywhere near the question of why he’d kept track of her over the years. Except that answer made perfect sense. “I assume you want revenge. A stupid, innocent girl got the drop on you and almost killed you. That must have hurt your pride, even worse when you found I’d survived, and spent my life doing a damn good job of interfering with monsters like you. I think you want to humiliate me, torture me and then kill me.”
He looked thoughtful. “You don’t seem to be troubled by any of those possibilities.”
“I said it was what you wanted to do. Not what you were going to do. You need me, you need my resources, and by the time I’m no longer necessary I’ll be well out of your way.”
“I could always hire someone.”
“You could have done that anytime in the last eighteen years.”
“Maybe I wanted to see your face when you found out I was still alive.”
“Well, you missed that particular treat. I was alone in my office when I realized the lousy footage of a war criminal was someone I thought I’d killed long ago.”
“And how did you feel, Mary Isobel?” His voice was silky.
“Redeemed. Justified. Saddened that I hadn’t done a better job. You were someone who should have been killed—I just wasn’t good enough at the time.”
“You are now. And you can’t do it, because you need me as much as I need you. That must be incredibly annoying.”
“Incredibly.”
“So why couldn’t you have the kind of relationship James Reddy wanted?”
She thought she’d distracted him from that line of questioning. The more she resisted, the more he’d dig, so she swiveled around on the banquette, drawing her legs up under her. “He was in love with me. Hearts, flowers, all that bullshit. And I don’t believe in love.”
“So why didn’t you just screw him and keep him happy? Most men will settle without going all emo on you. Most men would prefer it that way.”