On Thin Ice @page { margin-bottom: 5.000000pt; margin-top: 5.000000pt; } On Thin Ice By Anne Stuart Table of Contents � CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE CHAPTER THIRTY CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE ACKNOWLEDGMENTS CHAPTER ONE Elizabeth Pennington closed the heavy cypress door behind the last of her young students, shut her eyes and leaned her forehead against the thick wood. She had a miserable headache from the incessant South American heat, the children had been gratifyingly noisy after the first few weeks of polite whispers, and what she needed most was a few quiet moments in her small, darkened room and a cool damp cloth on her forehead. Father Pascal would be in the infirmary, dealing with the host of ailments so prevalent among the people in this small village outside the larger city of Puerto Claro – ear infections, dysentery, infected cuts, eyes and stomachs. As soon as Beth had rested she’d head out to help him. Father Pascal’s clinic was understaffed – until she’d volunteered with the Catholic Charities of Callivera he’d had no one but a couple of widows from the village to help. No one good at raising money, no one capable of teaching English. Father Pascal only spoke French and Spanish, which made things tricky, since Beth had only studied French and Latin in school and hadn’t done well with either. But her Spanish was coming along, almost as quickly as the children’s grasp of English. The children had stronger motivation – she showed them superhero movies and cartoons without subtitles to encourage them, and music was an even more powerful enticement. They loved hip-hop, though it still struck her as slightly odd when rail-thin, eight-year-old Manuela started singing, �śwhat the bitches want with a �Ś” Only fourteen year old Carlos had remained aloof, treating her with a scarcely veiled contempt that bordered on hostility. Beth pushed away from the door. Things were unnaturally still – the sprawling compound of Santa Luz was usually busy with the sound of children, with Father Pascal’s gentle drone, with the quiet chatter of the village women who’d come in to help. But now all was still, which she could only count as a blessing. Except that she couldn’t. She had good instincts, even if she’d never had to rely on them. Growing up in the cocooned atmosphere of the Pennington Pharmaceutical dynasty, she’d always had people looking out for her, money to cushion every one of life’s more unpleasant moments. Ever since she’d arrived in the tiny, war-torn country of Callivera seven months ago she’d been alert, listening for a danger that never came. It just went to show that all those years growing up with bodyguards and chauffeurs had been silly precautions. She quite desperately needed to lie down to get rid of this blistering headache. And she would. As soon as she checked on Father Pascal and made sure everything was all right. She moved through the long corridors of what was once the largest convent and mission on the eastern border of the country of Callivera. The floors were spotless, swept clear every day, though the scent of rotting vegetation was strong in the air. Most of the place was now deserted, and had been for more than twenty years when the Calliveran army had taken over the government, ousting the current dictator and bringing their own brand of military control. When three nuns had been raped and murdered, the convent had been shut down and the current government had only grudgingly allowed the mission to be reopened to help some of the desperately poor people of the neighboring villages. It had taken months for Father Pascal to get permission to come in, and if it weren’t for the Pennington money greasing the wheels, Beth would still be in Philadelphia, waiting. She could smell the familiar scent of alcohol and pine-based cleaners that emanated from the infirmary, cutting through the damp smell of the undergrowth that was slowly encroaching on the mission. She listened for Father Pascal’s pleasant, soothing monotone as he dealt with whichever patient had come to him, but no sound came from behind the closed doors. Beth pushed the swinging door open and walked into the deserted room. A room that was never empty. There were no children in the metal cribs that lined the far wall. Father Pascal liked to keep the little ones overnight until he was sure the ear infections were under control, and there were always at least two or three babies in residence. Not today. No sign of the widows who lived at the compound and took care of Father Pascal, the building, and everything else they could get their capable hands on. Beth had been a constant frustration to them with her insistence on doing her own laundry, her own cooking, her own cleaning. She hadn’t been about to explain that it was the first time in her life she’d been allowed to do so and she was finding it empowering. They wouldn’t understand that the heir to millions of dollars could always feel helpless. She walked through the infirmary to the small office. It was late autumn and the sun set early, the shadows long and deep, shrouding the place. She flipped the light switch but nothing happened. She let out a sigh of relief. The generator must be down again, and Father Pascal would be out working on it. The generator was a dinosaur – temperamental and ancient, and only Father Pascal could soothe it into behaving. Beth was very good with children, a natural teacher, brave in the face of snakes and scorpions, but her mechanical ability was nil. She’d probably only get in his way if she offered to help him. On the other hand, if she was lying down trying to sleep and the lights suddenly blasted on it would make her headache worse. Best to make sure everything was moving in the right direction before she tried to nap. The generator was in a separate building around the back of the compound, surrounded by locked gates so that no enterprising band of soldiers would be tempted to liberate it. This part of Callivera had a great deal of unrest, and members of the self-styled liberation army, the Guiding Light, were always causing trouble. Absurd that a group of semi-terrorists had named themselves after an American soap opera, but she’d seen members of the organization in the village, young men barely older than the children she taught, with hollow eyes and the omnipresent tattooed lighthouse on their forearms. Father Pascal had promised her they were basically harmless, but there were times when she wondered just how na�Żve the sweet old man was. She was about to turn back, head for her room, when she heard a sound, short, sharp, brief. A cry that was cut off abruptly. She’d been in Callivera long enough to recognize most of the bird calls, and this sounded nothing like them. It sounded almost human. She was suddenly cold in the sticky heat of the infirmary. She could do the smart thing – head for her room, lock the door, and hide under the bed until morning. That was what Father Pascal had insisted she do in case of trouble, but she’d taken the old man’s cautions with a grain of salt. Now they didn’t seem so ridiculous. But she wasn’t going to leave the frail old man alone in a dangerous situation. She wasn’t going to run and hide. She had come down to Callivera for many reasons, and to get over her childhood fears was only a small part of it. But here was her chance to move past the sometimes crippling paranoia her parents and bodyguards had instilled in her. Despite the international news reports, Callivera was safe. Violence was kept to the big cities, and no one would want to hurt an old priest and a teacher. She pushed through the screen door, stepping out into the early evening shadows, and the thick jungle air closed around her like a wet velvet shroud. She took a shallow breath, annoyed that it sounded shaky, and headed for the corner of the building and the path to the generator. She saw Tia Maria first, lying face down, the dark pool flowing beneath her and sinking into the damp earth. The other woman, Juana, was a few feet away on her back, her dark eyes staring sightless into the darkening sky, her skirts pulled up to her waist. Beth froze for a moment, her stomach lurching, and then she stumbled backwards in a daze, hoping she wasn’t going to throw up, hoping she had enough time to run. She spun around, and saw what was left of Father Pascal lying in the shadows beside the building. He’d been savaged, and one old hand was clutching a crucifix, holding tight as he faced a cruel death. She heard a small sob and knew it had come from her own throat. It was too late to help them, too late to help anyone but herself. There would be no reason to hurt the children – with any luck they would have reached home safely, never hearing the sounds of their teachers being hacked to death. Never hearing Senorita Pennington’s cries. She heard the noise behind her, the rustle of movement, the smell of sweat and alcohol and anger, and there was no place she could run. She’d foolishly closed the door to the infirmary behind her, and even if she made it that far she’d never get inside. She had no choice but to face them. She turned, slowly, knowing death was hovering near her on dark wings, waiting for the bullet to split her skull or her chest. They were standing there, the tattooed soldiers from the village. With young Carlos beside them, his own fresh tattoo oozing blood, the look on his face like the others, like a wild animal incapable of mercy or fear. She didn’t have time to speak. She saw the rifle from the corner of her eyes, and a moment later everything exploded as she sank into blackness, the walls coming up around her, and she knew she was dying. Finn MacGowan stretched his legs in front of him, keeping a lazy smile on his face. They’d stopped putting him in leg shackles, though the chains around his wrists had worn calluses against the bones. He picked up the bottle of home-made beer, carefully, and brought it to his mouth, letting the chains clank against the dark bottle. They’d started giving him beer and mountain brandy a year and a half ago, probably because they hoped it would keep him from trying to escape. It hadn’t, but they’d been watching him too closely for him to make a third attempt at getting away. The time would come – he just needed to wait for it. He’d been held for more than three years, dragged from one remote camp to another. He’d seen more than half a dozen other people come and go, South American millionaires, British petroleum experts, French nuns and priests, American and German businessmen. Some were ransomed, some were executed, none of them managed to escape. The closest had been the American mercenaries two years ago. He’d made the break with them, but the Guiding Light had caught up with them before they reached the foothills. They’d killed the other two and dragged his sorry ass back up into the mountains, and he still couldn’t figure out why. In three years they’d never asked for ransom, but then, who the hell could they have asked? It’s not like they knew anything about the Committee, and the Ice Queen, Isobel Lambert, wasn’t about to spend money extricating an operative who never should have gotten caught in the first place. And that was assuming Madame Lambert was even still alive. It was hard to believe – she never would have left him there to rot for close to three years, she would have sent operatives to break him out. Her second-in-command, Peter Madsen, was another matter. There’d never been any love lost between them, and Madsen wouldn’t have given a crap. And if, as MacGowan suspected, it had been up to Madsen, he was going to see the sodding bastard paid for it. He’d find out the truth once he got out of here. And the third time was the charm. There were five other hostages in their current camp high in the Andes: a German engineer, the spoiled movie star’s son from California, two Guatemalan businessmen and the old nun. He couldn’t take them all when he left. The nun was too old to make it down the mountain; she was barely surviving the high altitudes. The Guatemalan businessmen were on their way to having their ransom paid, so there was no reason for them to risk it. Hans Froelich, the engineer, had offered him a tidy fortune to take him out of there, and Dylan Hamilton would be worth millions to his grieving family in California. Unless they were smart enough to celebrate his disappearance. Dylan was a major pain in the ass, and if he didn’t have the potential to be an asset, MacGowan would have killed him just because he was so damned irritating. But he was pragmatic enough to consider taking them with him, just in case. He took another drink of the warm beer. He wasn’t sure whether it tasted more like piss or skunk, and he didn’t particularly care. Two more days and they were out of there, and if the Guiding Light decided to kill the hostages who remained, then so be it. He’d learned long ago that he couldn’t save everyone. He could only save himself. They’d been in their current camp for three months now, and they’d be moving them soon. MacGowan couldn’t afford to put it off much longer. They weren’t watching him closely, and he’d done a damned good job of looking whipped. They had no idea. The one who called himself Izzy came and sat down beside him, grinning up at MacGowan. �śPoker? I can beat you this time.” Since Izzy was half stoned on the crap he took, MacGowan doubted it, but he gave him a lazy grin anyway. �śYou can try,” he replied in the same Spanish dialect. �śYou need to put your money where your mouth is.” Not that money would do him any good, and Izzy and the rest had very little to barter with. American cigarettes, cans of Coke, the occasional bottle of real beer were about it. But what they could barter was small bits of freedom. He’d lost the leg shackles thanks to three queens a few months ago, and a full house had given him private bathroom breaks. He didn’t particularly care whether he was taking a dump in front of an interested crowd, but it gave him a precious few moments of being unobserved and he was going to need that when he took off. Today he had every intention of getting rid of the handcuffs, and he wasn’t going to rely on the luck of the draw to do it. The followers of the Guiding Light were young, stupid, and addicted to bazuco, or bazooka, the crap left behind when you made cocaine. It was child’s play to cheat, to take their money. The only problem was the bazooka made them trigger happy and wide-awake, and this time he couldn’t afford any screw-ups. They wouldn’t let him survive another escape attempt, particularly if he took people with him. He still couldn’t figure out why they hadn’t put a bullet in his brain years ago. They dragged him from place to place when he had no intrinsic value, and these men were very focused on money. The revolution had left the building years ago – kidnapping was about cold hard cash and the Guiding Light was nothing more than gangsters in camo. Porco, Izzy’s friend, and two others squatted down by the fire as Izzy dealt the cards. MacGowan had gotten good at reading the signs, and there was an edginess to all of them that signaled a coming change. He was going to have to move fast. By the third hand Porco was unfastening his handcuffs, the fire had burned down low and the chilly night air was seeping in around them, but no one seemed to notice. �śWhat’s up?” MacGowan asked casually as he dealt the next hand. �śYou guys seem on edge.” �śThey’re bringing someone new,” Porco said, never the brightest. �śWe’ll have to break camp tomorrow morning so they can’t trace her.” �śShut up!” Izzy snapped, grabbing his cards from the packed dirt that served as a table. �śHe doesn’t need to know anything.” �śWhat’s he gonna do?” Porco said defensively. �śHe knows there’s no way he can escape – he tried it twice already.” MacGowan picked up his own hand. Nada. He let a small, satisfied smirk play at the corners of his mouth. Bluffing with a bunch of stoned teenagers was always a challenge – if he overplayed it they’d get suspicious, if he underplayed it they wouldn’t notice. �śI like it here,” he said, putting the cards face down in front of him with the demeanor of a man well-pleased with life, or at least with his poker hand. �śThen you’re loco,” Izzy said. �śYou sleep on the dirt, there’s no pussy, it’s cold and rainy. Englishmen like their comforts.” �śI’m not English,” he said pleasantly, steel beneath. �śI’m Irish. From Northern Ireland.” �śWhat’s the difference?” Porco asked, blinking as he tried to focus on his hand. �śTrust me, there’s a big one,” MacGowan said in an easy voice. �śI’ll explain to you a bit of our history this winter. Assuming you’ll continue to keep me alive that long.” Of course, he wasn’t going to be anywhere around in the coming winter, but they wouldn’t know that. �śYou’ll be alive,” Izzy said. �śWe’re supposed to keep you that way if we can. We had orders when we took you.” Which didn’t make sense. If Madsen was responsible he never would have bothered with the expense of keeping him on ice. So why the hell was he still here, and still alive? He simply nodded, dealing new cards to those who asked for them, standing pat on his miserable pair of twos. He could hear them coming from a distance, but his poker buddies were too caught up in the game to notice. He drained his beer, then looked up with all the innocence of a hungry puma. �śYou want to call?” �śI want. . .” Izzy began, when the newcomers broke through into the clearing, and everyone jumped, scattering cards and cigarettes and beer bottles in their wake. There were five of them, a little higher on the food chain than Izzy and Porco and their friends, though in two years MacGowan hadn’t learned their names, plus a new kid who looked small and nasty. He knew what they were capable of, though, and he stayed where he was. If they saw he was missing his handcuffs they’d do something to remedy that, and he wasn’t about to take that chance. The others only showed up when they moved camp, and this was his last chance. They’d brought something with them – it looked like nothing more than a pile of fabric and bones, and someone dumped it on the ground. It was either a skinny kid or a woman, and it had been so long since he’d gotten laid he didn’t care which. �śThey’ll be looking for this one,” the one in charge, a man MacGowan thought of as Redbeard, said, giving the bundle a little nudge with his foot. �śWe break camp tonight.” Shit. He’d been hoping for a couple more days, just to make certain Hans and Dylan would be up to it. Maybe he should say the hell with it and go alone. They’d probably be more of a liability than an eventual asset. But he did like money, and it was going to take a fair amount to get back to England. �śWho’s this?” Izzy had approached the pathetic bundle on the ground, sniffing like a dog who’d found a bitch in heat. �śLeave her alone. You already killed one of the nuns,” Redbeard said. �śThis one is worth a lot of money, more if she’s in good shape.” Izzy glared at the older man. MacGowan could remember the screams coming from the shed that had held the nuns. Two of them originally, now only one was left. If he had a chance before he left he was going to take care of Izzy, as a favor to the dead nun. �śShe’s mine.” The new kid was a little bit younger than Izzy, but MacGowan didn’t make the mistake of thinking he was harmless. �śI’m the one who took her.” Redbeard looked at the kid with contempt. �śShe belongs to the Guiding Light now. No one touches her, comprende?” Okay, this was going to work out fine. They’d be so busy keeping the jackals from the new female flesh that they wouldn’t have time to notice as he slipped away. Froelich and the kid were going to have to fend for themselves. They weren’t guarded the way he was. The members of La Luz knew that neither of them had the skills or the determination to escape, and they had more freedom than he ever had, including bathroom breaks. He’d leave the prearranged sign in the latrine, and if they saw it and followed him to the meeting place, fine. Otherwise he was better off on his own. �śPut him back in his hut,” Redbeard said. �śWe’ll move at first light.” MacGowan rose, keeping his wrists together so they wouldn’t realize the handcuffs were gone, and Izzy shoved him in the direction of the hut that had been his home for the last three months. He allowed himself one glance over his shoulder before stumbling into the darkness, long enough to see Redbeard pull the hood from the woman’s head. And she was a woman all right, with a spill of long, golden hair in the firelight. Unconscious, and better off that way, he thought, turning back to the narrow path. She was going to be keeping all of them busy tonight, and he was going to be able to get out of there because of her. Too bad there was no way to help her, but he had his own skin to think of. He just hoped he got far enough away before she started to scream. CHAPTER TWO The world was still whirling, the noise in her head unbearable, and Beth sank back down on the hard earth, praying for it all to go away, praying to wake up back in her tiny cell at the mission, knowing that no matter how hard she prayed, nothing would change. �śGet up!” Carlos was kicking at her. Carlos, the little shit who’d refused to learn English but refused to leave her classroom. Clearly he’d had a different agenda. Had they been his hands she’d felt on her breasts, between her legs, as she’d been tossed from car to jeep and onto the back of some smelly animal that could have been a donkey or a llama? She was a gentle woman, who put her money and her life where her pacifist ideals were. If she had an axe she’d cut off Carlos’s hands. Someone hauled her to a sitting position, and she bit back her instinctive moan. They hadn’t bothered to tie her up – they would have known she’d be no threat to them – and she put her hand to her pounding head. Blood was matted there – whoever had clubbed her must have broken the skin. She tried to distance herself emotionally – did she have a concussion? It seemed likely. She was dizzy, disoriented, she couldn’t see clearly, and the blow to her head had kept her knocked out for what seemed like days. She’d have to talk to Father Pascal . . . The sob that caught in her throat was instinctive, too late to swallow it. She choked it back, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them to make herself into the smallest target available. And then she looked around her. They were up in the mountains – she knew that much. As she’d slowly regained consciousness during the long, jolting trip into the jungle she’d recognized the change in elevation, the sound of the jeep engine straining as it climbed higher. She blinked, and slowly things came back into focus. She’d lived in Callivera long enough to understand what had happened. Kidnappings for profit were everyday occurrences in other parts of the country, and while she’d done everything she could to keep a low profile, it should come as no surprise that she’d been taken. She couldn’t tell whether they were guerillas or paramilitaries, and in the end it didn’t matter. Kidnappings like this were about money, nothing more, no matter how noble the excuse the kidnappers gave. �śNo one will touch you,” one of the older men said in halting English. �śYour family will pay your ransom and you will be returned, unharmed. There is no need to be frightened.” Beth raised her head to look at him. �śI’m not frightened,” she said. �śIf you hurt me there won’t be any money. And revolutions need money.” The man with the reddish hair grimaced. �śWe do what we must do.” �śIncluding killing a harmless old priest and two women who were only trying to help the people?” Carlos started to push past him. �śLet me shut her up, jefe. She needs to show respect . . .” He was swatted away like the nasty little bug he was, and Beth felt a faint surge of hope. �śThe deaths were unfortunate,” the man said. �śThe result of young soldiers who panicked. You have my word of honor that you won’t be hurt.” She looked past him to Carlos’s glittering eyes, and to the slightly older boy behind him. The chief’s word of honor wasn’t going to mean squat if those two had a chance at her. She’d also been in a Latin country long enough to know that you don’t question a man’s power in front of his underlings. So she nodded, ducking her head again. �śPut her in with the Englishman,” the older man said. A flurry of Spanish greeted that pronouncement, clearly protests, but he shut them off with a sharp wave of his hand. �śJust in case any of you decide to disobey my orders,” he said. �śThe Englishman is a romantic – he’ll make certain you keep your hands off her.” One of the jackals said something, then spat. The boss still spoke in English, clearly to be sure she understood. �śYou will do as I tell you.” She was hauled to her feet with rough hands, and she just barely managed to keep her balance, but at the last minute she locked her knees and threw her shoulders back, standing upright. Anything to keep them from putting their filthy hands on her again. She was hungry, dizzy, and lucky they’d allowed her a few moments in the bushes to pee a number of hours ago. The ground was rough under her feet, but she had no choice. This time they tied her arms behind her back, and she stumbled into the undergrowth, Carlos and his friend on either side of her. She understood more than they thought she did. She concentrated on their voices and the rough footing underneath as they pushed her deeper into the trees. They were arguing, but at least the consensus was they wouldn’t touch her now. Not until something happened to el jefe. She could barely see the hut in front of her – the night was overcast, the moon invisible. She stumbled and fell against the rough wood and it creaked in protest. She heard the door open and a moment later she was sent sprawling into the darkness, landing hard on the rough dirt floor. What little light had come from the overcast sky was now gone entirely, and she was trapped in the darkness, blind, helpless. A moment later a light flared, and she closed her eyes against the glare. The smell of sulfur followed the match, and she squinted, trying to take in the bearded, long-haired figure sitting cross-legged across the small room. �śHoly Mary, Mother of God,” came the dry voice from the darkness. �śAs if things weren’t bad enough.” And he blew out the match. Finn MacGowan leaned back against the rough wall of the shed and contemplated fate, that fickle bitch. Izzy and the new kid were wandering off, complaining bitterly and fantasizing about what they would do to the new arrival the moment they had the chance. MacGowan wasn’t particularly squeamish, but he was glad the woman either couldn’t hear or couldn’t understand what they were saying. If she did she’d be screaming bloody murder. �śNo.” Her voice was flat, calm, as she struggled to sit up. He could see her quite clearly – the match had momentarily blinded him but once he blew it out he found he could concentrate on her silhouette and take in all the basics. Late twenties, maybe even thirties, long golden hair that would probably attract snakes, expensive clothes and shoes. They’d chosen someone with money this time – maybe the Guiding Light was finally getting smarter. �śNo, what?” he said, curious. �śNo, I don’t happen to be Holy Mary, Mother of God,” she said, wiggling herself into a sitting position. �śMy name’s Beth Pennington.” He would have been impressed with her coolness if he hadn’t heard the betraying wobble in her voice. �śI won’t lie and say I’m pleased to meet you,” he said. �śYou have any idea why they put you in with me? I don’t suppose you’re my reward for good behavior?” He saw her silhouette jerk nervously, but her voice in the darkness was still calm. �śAs far as I could tell the General thinks you’ll keep me safe from Carlos and his rabid friend. Apparently you’re a romantic.” He couldn’t help it – he laughed. Faced with one major monkey wrench in his plans for escape, all he could do was appreciate the absurdity of it. �śAfraid not, darlin’,” he said. �śI’d as soon cut your throat as look at you. If I had to.” There was a sensible pause from the silhouette in the darkness. �śThen I should probably not give you a reason to,” she said. �śWho are you? How long have you been here?” He had a number of names he could offer her, but in the end they wouldn’t make much difference. One or both of them would probably be dead in the next twenty-four hours – it didn’t matter if she knew his real name or not. �śMacGowan,” he said. �śYou’re Irish.” Score one for the new kid – he’d been using his generic BBC voice. �śWhen I want to be,” he said. �śWhen did they take you? Where were you?” �śWhy do you care?” It wasn’t a hostile question. In all, she seemed more curious than hysterical with fear the way most of the female hostages were. �śI don’t,” he said. �śI’m trying to figure out exactly where we are. If I know where you came from and how long it took them to bring you here that would help me pinpoint where we are.” �śI was in the town of Talaca, at the Mission of Santa Luz.” �śOh, Christ, not another nun!” �śDo I look like a nun? And what have you got against nuns?” He decided against telling her the truth. �śI was raised by nuns, and still have the scars to prove it,” he drawled, using his best Irish. �śI’m an aid worker. I teach English, help Father Pascal . . .” Her voice faltered. �śI helped the priest in the infirmary.” �śThey killed the priest?” He kept his voice matter-of-fact. �śThey did. And the two women from the village who worked there as well.” �śAnd they took you. They’re showing some brains. The Catholic Church doesn’t ransom priests – they only protect them if they molest children.” �śDid they molest you?” �śJesus, woman!” He laughed it off. �śDon’t believe everything you read. So where’s Talaca?” �śTalaca is thirty-five miles west of Puerto Claro. I don’t know how long I was unconscious – and my sense of time is still a little rattled, but I think it took around three days. We were climbing steadily – first by car, then by truck, for a little while by animal, and then by jeep. What day is it?” �śYou’ve got to be kidding. I don’t even know what year it is.” Silence, as she digested that information. �śHow long have you been here?” �śHere? About three months. Before that, about a two day hike to the north. Before that, somewhere down in the rain forest. Or maybe that was the time before.” �śHow long since they took you?” �śYou don’t want to know.” A deep intake of breath. �śAre they going to keep me as long as they kept you?” �śI doubt it. You’ll either be ransomed or dead long before then.” �śHow encouraging. And why are you still alive?” �śThey keep me around for comic relief.” �śYes, you’re a bundle of laughs.” Damn, he thought in the darkness, moving a little away from her. He liked her. Faced with a terrifying situation, she was neither panicky nor weepy. �śI’m also a damned good poker player.” �śWell, that’s something.” Her silhouette shifted in the darkness. They must have tied her up – they’d stop that after a few weeks, once they knew she wouldn’t make a run for it. �śAt least we’ll have something to do.” �śSorry, darlin’. I’m not going to be here long enough.” �śYou’re being ransomed?” �śI’m getting the fuck out of here. And don’t even think of asking me to take you with me. I travel alone. You’re better off here, waiting for the ransom to be paid. Assuming someone’s got enough money to pay them.” �śThere’s enough money,” she said. No begging or pleading, just calm acceptance. �śBut you’d better watch Izzy and the new kid. They’ve got orders to keep their hands off you but they’re not real good at following orders.” �śCarlos. That’s the new one’s name. He was one of my students.” �śIf you were anything like the nuns who taught me then it’s no wonder he wants to kill you.” �śCarlos never paid any attention to me.” �śThat’s what you think. He’s clearly spent many hours thinking about what he’d like to do to you. I take it you don’t understand Spanish. What the hell are you doing in Callivera when you don’t speak the language?” �śI speak Spanish. I just don’t understand the dialect and Carlos’s slang.” �śYeah, they don’t teach those words in schoolgirl Spanish. Trust me, their plans aren’t particularly pleasant. And once Redbeard leaves you’ll need to watch your back. I expect they’ll think fun with you would be worth more than any ransom your people could come up with.” �śI don’t think so.” �śThey like inflicting fear and pain on women, darlin’. It takes a hell of a lot of money to trump that.” �śMy name isn’t �Śdarling’,” she said. �śIt’s Beth Pennington. Pennington. As in Pennington Pharmaceuticals. There’s enough money.” He was silent for a moment. �śWell, shit. Maybe I’ll kidnap you.” �śI can pay you more than you ever earned at your regular job if you take me out of here.” �śTempting,” he said. �śBut if I tried to take you with me I’d end up killing us both, and money’s no good if I’m dead. Tell you what – I’ll get the hell out of here, spend a couple of weeks getting drunk and laid, and then I’ll come back and bust you out.” �śLovely,” she muttered. �śI won’t hold my breath.” She squirmed again. �śI don’t suppose you have anything to get me out of these ropes, do you?” �śMaybe for a price.” �śI beg your pardon?” �śWell, I figure we might both get out of this alive, and I can always use a little cash. Say ten thousand for untying you?” �śYou’re kidding,” she said flatly. �śI never kid about money.” Too bad she couldn’t see him in the dark – he was using his charming Irish-adventurer persona and having to rely on his voice to do it. Then again, he had a matted beard covering his face, hair to his shoulders, and he hadn’t seen hot water in almost three years. Maybe she was better off with the voice. �śAll right,” she said finally. �śI’m afraid I don’t happen to have ten thousand on me, but once I get out of here I’ll write you a check. You do take checks, don’t you?” �śI prefer cash but I can be reasonable.” He dropped the handcuffs on the dirt floor and moved across the hut, quiet as he’d been trained, so quiet that she jumped when he put his hands on her. �śHold still,” he said. �śI can’t untie you when you’re squirming.” �śYou’re not tied up?” She was beginning to sound a little testy – that was a good thing. Her unnatural calm was refreshing, but she was going to need a temper to get her through this. He made quick work of the nylon ropes – Izzy had never been very good at knots. Back when Finn had been kept tied up he’d always been able to get them unfastened, do what he needed to do, and tie himself up again. He finished untying her wrists, then began to run his hand down her legs to see if her ankles were tied, when she batted him away, scrambling back. �śI can untie my own ankles,” she said. �śI don’t want to have to spend another ten thousand dollars.” �śOh, I would have done those for five,” he said cheerfully. �śYou hungry?” �śYes.” He was learning her voice better – he could trace the edge of desperation beneath her measured tones, and he decided not to razz her any more. �śHere,” he said, tossing her the candy bar he’d won off Izzy three nights before. He’d been saving it for something special – his first night off the mountain, or Christmas, whichever came first. He didn’t even tease her with it. She caught it expertly, even in the dark. �śWhat is it?” �śA Santander bar.” �śOh . . . my . . . god.” Her tone was reverent. �śReal Callivera chocolate?” �śAs good as it gets,” he said, trying to ignore the erotic pleasure in her voice. He heard her rip off the paper, heard the exquisite torture of her teeth biting into the rich, dark chocolate. There were times when he didn’t understand his own crazy impulses – probably a gift from his madman father. And then she moved, sliding across the dirt floor before he realized what she was doing. �śHere,” she said. In the dark he couldn’t be sure what she was offering, and he didn’t know which he wanted more. The taste of chocolate, or sex. It had been thirty two months without either. He put out his hand and touched hers, and she put a piece of chocolate in it. A big piece. �śYou don’t want it?” he said. �śWorld’s best chocolate not good enough for you?” �śI’d kill for it,” she said. �śBut I figure, until you abandon me, that we’re in this together. Take it.” �śI don’t . . .” The chocolate stopped his mouth – she’d taken aim like a drunken bride with a wedding cake, and he wasn’t about to resist. It was no wonder she’d been making sex noises – he could practically come from the taste of it. Why the hell had he suddenly gotten noble? He could have eaten ten times that amount and not even begun to satisfy his hunger. She started to move away, and he reached out and grabbed her ankle, stopping her. Her mouth probably tasted like chocolate, he thought, momentarily distracted. �śMacGowan, what are you doing?” she said. He wasn’t quite sure. He hadn’t been this close to a woman in God knew how long. �śMaybe we’ll call it even then. You can have the untying for free.” �śYou’re the one who had the candy bar in the first place,” she said, reasonable. �śIn fact, I’ll give you another ten thousand dollars if you have a second one.” �śThat’s how you get �Śem hooked,” he said, releasing her. Reluctantly. �śGive them a free sample and then make them pay.” �śFifteen thousand?” �śI’m guessing you really like chocolate.” �śWhat woman doesn’t? Twenty thousand.” �śSorry, princess, I’m all out. That’s the only candy bar I’ve seen in thirty-four months.” For a moment there was silence. �śAnd you gave it to me?” Shit. �śA farewell present,” he said lightly. �śSince I’m leaving you.” �śWhen?” The night was cool, overcast, and he could hear the partying from up the hill. �śNow,” he said, and pushed open the door to the jungle night. CHAPTER THREE Beth didn’t hesitate. She dove after him, out the rough door, scrambling down the path behind his silhouetted figure. He was moving fast, blending with the shadows, and she had a hard time keeping up with him. Every step she took seemed to echo in the night forest, twigs snapping beneath her feet, leaves rustling as she brushed by, but she didn’t hesitate. She could barely see him up ahead – if she lost him she’d be screwed. Wilderness training had never been part of her upbringing, and she’d be lucky if she didn’t get eaten by alligators. Except there were no alligators in the Andes, she was pretty sure of that. But there were wild cats and God knew what else. She’d eaten some strange things since she arrived in South America, and she didn’t like to think about what kind of animal they’d come from. Probably Rodents of Unusual Size. She slipped, going down hard on her backside, but she managed to keep it to a small grunt of dismay. By the time she got to her feet again he had disappeared into the night as if he’d never been there. She froze, momentarily panicked. He was her only chance at escape, and she’d already lost him. She’d understood more than MacGowan had thought when Carlos and the other boy were arguing – if she made it back home it wasn’t going to be in pristine condition. The thought pushed her onward, deeper into the jungle. So she knew squat about surviving in the wilderness. At least she’d read enough Worst Case Scenario books to have a general idea of what to do in an alien abduction. She couldn’t remember whether escaping from guerilla kidnappers in the Andes was mentioned, and if it was, she’d forgotten. All she could do was keep moving and hope she’d catch up with MacGowan before he went to ground completely. In the distance she could hear the sound of a stream. That was a start – water had to flow downhill, and her only chance at survival, if MacGowan proved elusive, was to get as far down the mountain as she could. If nothing else, she could follow the stream. Someone with MacGowan’s training wouldn’t need to rely on something as simple as that. He was clearly well-versed in dealing with these kinds of things. The closest she had come was reading a book on worst-case scenarios. She was simply going to have to hope for the best, expect the worst, and just keep moving . . . An arm came around her waist, a hand clamped over her mouth to keep her from screaming, and a moment later she was pulled back into the thick foliage, held against a strong male body. �śKeep still,” he whispered in her ear, barely a ghost of a sound. She had the sense not to fight him. A moment later someone walked by, one of the guerillas on nightly rounds. He was smoking something dubious and his rifle was slung carelessly over one shoulder, and as he moved past she let out her pent-up breath. It wasn’t even a noise, lighter than the wind through the greenery, but MacGowan tightened his hand over her mouth, hard, and the stoned soldier spun around, the rifle at chest level. And suddenly she was alone. MacGowan had released her, disappeared back into the jungle, leaving her at the mercy of the creep in front of her. �śWho’s there?” he demanded in Spanish. He speared the brush aside with the barrel of his gun, and Beth sank lower into the dirt. She felt like a terrified rabbit, small and quivering in the dirt, and she crouched there, frozen, waiting for rough hands, pawing at her, waiting for a bullet, waiting for God knew what. She heard a noise, a rustle, a thud, a crunching sound, and she lifted her head just a little. The gun had disappeared, as well as the man behind it. She sat up a little higher, then almost screamed as someone looked out of the darkness. MacGowan. It was MacGowan’s rough hands on her, pulling her to her feet. �śWhat the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demanded in a breath of sound. �śYou can’t leave me behind!” �śI can and I will, if I have to break your neck to keep you from following me.” �śI’d like to see you try.” �śNo, you wouldn’t.” His voice was flat, unemotional, but even in the darkness she could see the faint flicker in his eyes. She looked behind her, at the crumpled body of the pot smoking soldier, his head at an odd angle, his eyes open and staring. �śOh, God,” she whispered, horrified. What had seemed a strange kind of nightmare was suddenly, terribly real. �śDid you kill him?” �śNo, the tooth fairy came along and took care of him.” He stared down at her for a long moment, and she wondered whether he was thinking about how easy it would be to break her neck. He wasn’t the kind of man who was troubled by moral qualms. And then he turned. �śCome on,” he said. �śKeep up, do what I tell you, keep your mouth shut, and if you lag behind I’ll leave you.” He was already moving down the narrow path again, so fast that her words of gratitude were eaten up in the night air. She took one last look at the dead man lying in the dirt, and on impulse she leaned down and closed his eyes, making the sign of the cross as she’d seen Father Pascal do. She wasn’t Catholic, but doubtless the dead man had been, at least in the early part of his life, and she could give him some brief benediction before she took off into the night after his murderer. All the while wondering if she was trading danger for outright disaster. Right then, she didn’t care. So what the fuck was he doing, taking her with him? He’d always been a bleeding heart. Isobel Lambert would laugh if she saw him now. Except that if she knew, he wouldn’t be here. If Dylan and Froelich got the message they’d probably be waiting for him down by the bridge. They should have managed to sneak out hours ago, as soon as they saw the sign he left. The Guiding Light knew that neither of them were much of a threat – they didn’t have the cojones to try to escape. But the so-called rebels didn’t realize that Finn MacGowan would do almost anything for money at this point, reverting to survival mode and throwing all his idealist crap out the window. It was a dog eat dog world. So why had he told the bitch she could come along? Maybe it was that simple. He wanted to get laid, and she was there. He was saving her life – she owed him, and he knew he could collect. She was pretty enough, from what he could see in the almost moonlit night, though right now he’d fuck any female between the ages of twenty and sixty who wasn’t a nun. Which wasn’t a given. She hadn’t given him a direct answer earlier. �śYou’re sure you’re not a sister?” he tossed back at her, his voice little more than a growl on the night air. She was closer than he thought, making decent enough headway on the steep hill. �śI’m an only child.” Stupid, he thought. �śI’m asking if you’re a holy nun.” �śI told you, I’m not a nun, holy or otherwise.” Okay, she met the criteria for fuckable. �śThen what are you doing in this hellhole?” �śI’m an aid worker. Volunteer.” Her voice only wavered slightly. �śAnd what stupid-ass organization sent you into a war-torn country with a history of kidnappings?” He heard her hesitation. �śThe Pennington Foundation.” He snorted in disgust. �śSo you bought your way in here? You got a death wish, lady?” �śI wanted to be somewhere I could make a difference.” �śDoesn’t seem like you made much of a difference with Carlos there. He’s planning to rape you any which way to Sunday, and I’m thinking he’s been dreaming about it for a long time. You could at least have cut your damned hair.” �śWhat’s wrong with my hair?” She sounded bewildered, which pissed him off even more. �śYou’re a baby in a nest full of rattlesnakes. Don’t you know any better? Blondes are prime targets. In fact, that’ll be a fucking beacon if anyone trains a light in our direction.” He pulled the grungy kerchief from around his neck. He’d washed it out in a nearby stream any number of times, but that didn’t make it any cleaner. He turned, and she almost barreled into him. He caught her before she smacked right into him, grabbing her by the arms. It had been thirty-four goddamn months, and he didn’t need her any closer. �śHere,” he said, shoving the kerchief into her hand. �śCover your goddamn hair.” �śIs everything goddamn and fucking?” she said in her cool voice as she tucked the kerchief around her head. �śThis thing doesn’t have bugs, does it?” �śBugs are the least of your problems. I’m in a bad mood. After you’ve been here a while you’ll know why everything is goddamn and fucking. Are you sure you’re not a fucking nun?” �śNot a holy one, not a fucking one,” she said. �śI’m a teacher.” �śChrist,” he muttered. �śAnd a social worker,” she added. That one silenced him. �śLady,” he said finally, �śyou’re an idiot.” And he turned and continued back down the narrow trail. �śAt least I’m not a fucking idiot,” she said smartly. Not yet, he thought. He half expected her to sound like a herd of cows making her way through the brush, but she was surprisingly quiet, following his lead. She picked up on the routine quickly without him wasting a word – letting branches fall back softly, moving lightly through the thick vegetation. There was no sound from back in the camp – Carlos and Izzy hadn’t built up enough courage to come for her, and by the time they did, he and the woman would be long gone. In fact, they would have discovered he’d gone when they came after her – he hadn’t lost anything by taking her along. She wasn’t even slowing him down. Much. The ground was slippery beneath their feet. He was wearing the remnants of the boots he’d been captured in, bound together with strips of cloth as the sole had eventually parted from the rest of the boot. He’d been marched from place to place, covered hundreds of countless miles in such lousy conditions that his boots had given up the ghost long ago. He usually made do with the sandals they’d given him, but for a trek like this he needed all the covering he could find. He halted abruptly, and this time she did slam into him, but at least it was his back absorbing the blow of her soft body. He could pretend to ignore it. �śWhat have you got on your feet?” he growled. �śShoes.” He looked down, his eyes accustomed to the inky black. Light-weight sneakers, already soaking wet from the damp undergrowth. �śChrist, woman,” he muttered. �śI didn’t exactly get a chance to choose my wardrobe when they kidnapped me,” she said. Damned if he didn’t like her. He was doing his best to intimidate her into total compliance, and she was undaunted. As she had been in the hands of her captors. Of course she’d had Redbeard looking out for her, and she clearly hadn’t understood Carlos’ and Izzy’s plans for her, or she might have been a little less cheeky. But some part of him would have regretted that. He moved forward with a grunt. The less he talked to her, interacted with her, the better. First things first. Hans Froelich and the kid would be waiting up ahead by the makeshift bridge if they’d gotten away. Once he caught up with them he could concentrate on how to get this motley assortment of people down through a deathly tangle of undergrowth, rocky outcroppings, and the pursuit of drug-fueled sociopaths. Piece of cake. He heard her mutter something beneath her breath. You son of a bitch, she said, thinking he couldn’t hear. He could hear everything. She had no idea just how big a son of a bitch he could be. It would be interesting to see if she was still that cocky after a couple of days of scrambling down the mountain and maybe, just maybe, a couple of nights beneath his lust-starved body. She’d go down fighting. But he’d make absolutely sure she went down. Vincent Barringer was a handsome man on the edge of retirement, looking over his covert little world from a secret basement room in Langley, Virginia. He prided himself on being a warm, friendly man, a laid-back boss who nonetheless demanded excellence and invariably got it. He had the commendations and awards to prove it, and he’d been contemplating an early retirement on the comfortable investments he’d shepherded over the years, just as he’d shepherded some of the world’s most dangerous operatives through the deepest cover imaginable. Some had died, some had come through, failures had always been followed by triumphs, and he cherished his reputation, almost blemish-free. He was a good man who’d lived a good and honorable life, free from smoking and drinking, free from carrying on and foul language and the weaknesses of modern society. People laughed at him, calling him a prude, but they’d done so affectionately, he was sure of it, and he knew he was viewed with both admiration and gratitude for his spotless work. He could retire happily. If it hadn’t been for Thomas Killian. There were times when he still couldn’t believe Killian would dare think he could simply walk away from the company. When you sign up for the CIA undercover wet work, you sign up for life. Unlike Barringer, you didn’t get to retire to a nice little estate in Virginia and play golf. You couldn’t walk away, and yet Killian had, with the kind of information that would topple governments, locked away in his razor-sharp brain. No one had blamed Barringer, exactly. After all, people trained in wet work weren’t the most malleable of souls, and he was lucky only one of them had gone rogue. Only one that his superiors knew of, of course. He’d been able to see the warning signs in any of the others who seemed likely to break rank, and he’d dealt with them, calmly and efficiently. He hadn’t had that chance with Killian. By the time he knew Killian was planning to leave the reservation he was gone, disappearing as only a high level operative could. If he’d gone alone, Barringer might have been able to find him. But he’d disappeared with the head of the Committee, Isobel Lambert, and it was only belatedly that Barringer discovered the long standing connection between Thomas Killian and the woman who became Isobel Lambert. His intel had failed him badly that time, and he dealt with that problem as well. Perhaps a little too quickly, but he was seriously annoyed and Killian was out of reach. He wasn’t a man to regret his abrupt actions. He always made certain the families were well taken care of in these cases, that they knew their husbands or wives were heroes, giving their lives for their country. Barringer believed it, and he would cry at the funerals. It made no difference if his hand had held the gun or he’d simply ordered it. Each death was still in service of the country he loved. In the four years Killian had been gone Barringer had never given up. Sooner or later there had to be a sign. They’d surface, maybe in a neutral country in Africa, maybe in Australia or the Arctic; heck, maybe in Washington, DC. He wouldn’t put it past someone like Killian. So he waited. Patience was one of his many virtues, and he knew the value of taking his time. His retirement package was waiting, his comfortable house on the sound was furnished and waiting. All he needed was Killian. He couldn’t leave his career with a blot like that on his record. He couldn’t leave a loose cannon like Killian out there with all that knowledge. And Killian had been a loose cannon - ignoring orders, following his own head, refusing half the wet work assigned. He’d been brilliant, though, and Barringer had learned to let him go. He’d pulled victory from defeat so many times and those victories had gone on Barringer’s record. Killian had no record, very few in the company even knew of his existence or the few others he’d run. The others had done what they were told, and done it well. But they weren’t Killian. His betrayal had felt personal, and Barringer had no intention of letting him get away with it. Patient though he was he was almost ready to give up. The days were long, the commute, even with the car and driver he’d earned, was tiring. He needed to work on his golf game, he needed to join the R.O.M.E.O.s, the other Retired Old Men Eating Out, for their weekly luncheons. But the ghost of Killian kept haunting him. But now it had happened, finally. He’d known he’d be most likely to track him through Isobel Lambert, and he’d had the shattered remains of the Committee watched very closely for any sign of her. So far there had been nothing, but the sudden reappearance of one of her operatives was likely to change the playing field. He’d known the Guiding Light was holding one of the members of the Committee up in the mountains at the behest of Harry Thomason, but he’d decided it was none of his business. He’d always liked Thomason, though his language could be offensive, and he had no interest in anyone else’s operatives. But apparently no one else had known where the man was, and his escape from La Luz was causing ripples that would be felt all the way to wherever Isobel Lambert and Killian were living. MacGowan had escaped, and he’d be out for blood. Lambert had been known for her loyalty to her men; it was one of the reasons Thomason had been kicked upstairs to a powerless position on the governing board. She wouldn’t abandon operatives if she could help it. She also wouldn’t let MacGowan screw up his life by wreaking vengeance on whomever he could blame, he would bet his retirement on it. It would be easy enough to fan the flames of Committee concern, make it clear that MacGowan was out for blood, whether he was or not. And Isobel Lambert and her husband would emerge from hiding, just to make sure that didn’t happen. How glorious to come back to his superiors, on the eve of his retirement, and tell them Killian was dead, that the one leak had finally been plugged. It was worth any risk. He would send Sully, he decided. Sully was a crack shot, perhaps better than Killian in his prime. Once MacGowan made it down out of the mountains, Sully would find him, snatch him, and wait for Isobel Lambert to emerge to set the cat among the pigeons. And she wouldn’t come alone. In retrospect he might have let the Committee know that MacGowan was a hostage, but he didn’t trust them. Peter Madsen, who’d taken over when Thomason had died in a so-called explosion and Lambert had disappeared, was too efficient, and he would have extracted MacGowan without Lambert ever knowing. No, this was better. Enough people in the intelligence community had heard about it that he knew the word would get to Lambert. And he had complete faith in Sully. If MacGowan proved too hard to kidnap he could always cancel him. Lambert didn’t need to actually find MacGowan, she just had to believe that he was heading for Madsen. Killing him might even be easier. He would trust Sully. Maybe he’d buy himself a sports car for his retirement. Drive fast, with the top down, except that his very expensive, undetectable hairpiece would probably get blown to heck and gone. No, he was better with a solid American car, something large and comfortable but not too ostentatious. Too bad they didn’t make Oldsmobiles any more. MacGowan really was a bastard and a half, Beth thought as she half-climbed, half-slid down the narrow trail after him. If she were feeling fair she wouldn’t blame him – by the looks of him he’d been held for a long time, and it was little wonder he was lacking compassion, sensitivity, or even manners. He was getting her out of there; that was all that mattered. Reluctantly, on his part, but he knew she was worth hundreds of millions of dollars at last count. He’d be well-paid for his efforts. She hadn’t had a really good look at him. She knew he was tall, thin almost to the point of gaunt, but she didn’t make the mistake of thinking he was weak. She’d felt the strength in the hard hands that had clamped around her arms. They’d probably added to the panoply of bruises on her tanned skin. He was nothing but hair and dirt and rags, and she found herself wondering what he looked like under those layers of grime. Ugly as sin and twice as mean, most likely. It wasn’t her concern. So she was feeling grateful, pathetically so. It was only logical. He was getting her out of here. No wonder she wanted to see him as heroic. They walked on in silence. Her feet were sopping wet, she felt as if she’d been walking for days, her stomach was so damned empty it hurt, and she was frightened. It was taking everything she had to keep from panicking, and her reserves were running low. She would have given everything she had just to be able to curl up in a corner and rest, pull together the tattered remnants of her courage. But she had no choice. She would follow him, silent and uncomplaining. Anything else meant degradation and probably death. She’d understood more than he thought. It hadn’t taken a linguistic expert to know what Carlos had in store for her, and the other scrawny rat had looked just as dangerous. He was right about the blonde hair, of course. The children she taught had loved it, loved to touch it and stroke it. She had very pale hair, thanks to her part-Scandinavian heritage, and it stood out. She should have dyed it brown before she got here. She stumbled, going down on one knee, and she felt her pants rip. Her unwilling rescuer didn’t stop, didn’t even slow, and she scrambled to her feet, hurrying after him, keeping her curse between her teeth. She was at war with her own stamina, and she was at the losing end. If she fell and couldn’t get up, if he decided to abandon her to the Guiding Light again, she might just ask him to kill her instead. She was sure he could, quite easily, with those strong hands of his. It wasn’t a case of death before dishonor. It was more a question of death before rape, torture, and death. Might as well skip the uglier parts and get straight to the pay-off. She wanted to laugh at her thoughts, but try as she might she couldn’t find the humor in her melodramatic musings. Because they weren’t actually melodramatic – they were based in fact. She slammed into him again, unaware that he’d stopped. �śChrist, woman,” he muttered. �śMust you always fling yourself at me?” It wasn’t even a whisper beneath his breath. �śAs long as you keep stopping without any warning,” she said back, not quite as soft as his but close. �śYou could . . .” The words were cut off, as he moved, fast as the strike of a snake, yanking her against him and slamming a hand over her mouth. �śMake a sound and I’ll snap your neck,” he breathed against her ear. Well, that answered that question, she thought. He could easily kill her by hand. She stayed absolutely still and silent against his strong, bony body, waiting, though she wasn’t sure for what. Two figures loomed up out of the inky darkness, and she felt a panicked scream bubble up. If she tried he’d kill her – better than having him hand her over to Carlos and the other one. He must have felt her sudden panic, because his arms tightened for an uncomfortable moment. �śYou made it,” he said, and she realized he was talking to the newcomers. Newcomers who, as they approached, were definitely not the two feral kids. Relief hit so hard she sagged against him, and he held her for only the briefest of moments before he released her. �śWhat the hell’s wrong with you?” he grumbled. She almost fell again, but she managed to keep to her feet by sheer willpower. �śI thought you were handing me back to Carlos and his new friend.” He only grunted – such a charming companion, she thought. She was almost light-headed with relief as she looked at the two men - one middle-aged, the other a kid not much older than Carlos. �śWho the hell is she?” the older man demanded in a German accent. �śWe’re paying you to get us out of here. She’ll slow us down.” She felt MacGowan’s eyes on her. �śIf she does we ditch her,” he said. �śMiss Beth Pennington, this is Hans Froelich, who works for Deutschland Oil, and the brat there is Dylan Hamilton. He says his father is a movie star, and the two of them combined have more money than God. As do you. I figure I get at least one of you down, I’m due a tidy sum. If I get all three of you down I’m set for life.” A mercenary, she thought, vaguely disappointed. She kept trying to turn him into a hero. It was no wonder – she was counting on him to save her life. �śNice piece of tail,” the teenager said. �śYou feel like sharing?” �śI’ll let you know,” MacGowan said, faint amusement in his voice. �śIn the meantime, keep your mouths shut and follow me. I want to get as far away as we can by first light.” �śWhere are we going, exactly?” the German demanded, still eyeing her uneasily. �śIf I told you it wouldn’t mean anything, exactly,” he mimicked. �śAnd Junior, keep your hormones to yourself. She’s tougher than she looks, and she’s had enough of horny teenagers to last her.” �śDude!” the kid protested, but a sharp gesture shut him off. �śOkay, darlin’,” he said. �śYou follow me, then Froelich, then Junior. I figure he’s not worth as much as the rest of you, and if his father has any sense he wouldn’t pay a dime to get him back, so he’s expendable.” �śHarsh, man,” the kid said. �śShut the fuck up and start walking,” he said. And they did. CHAPTER FOUR The home offices of Bradley Manufacturing and Import, Ltd., were still and quiet in the late November morning. Peter Madsen sat back in his chair, staring at the computer screen abstractedly, barely listening as the rain clicked against the windows with icy insistence. He was used to the cold of English winters. Only his bad leg protested, and he ignored it, as he ignored anything inconvenient. He liked working in a vacuum. The board that oversaw the covert work done by the organization he headed left him alone, and it seemed as if even the CIA had stopped hounding him. It was always possible that they’d finally given up looking for the former head of the Committee, Isobel Lambert, and her lover and former CIA operative Thomas Killian, but he didn’t believe it. In four years they’d been unable to get any closer to finding them, and if Peter had his way they never would. Nor would the various other international groups that desperately wanted to take out Killian, or Serafin the Butcher as he’d once been known during his undercover work. Both Isobel and Killian were experts at getting so lost no one could ever find them. Not even the best in the business, which was, frankly, himself. The fact that he knew exactly where they were, and always had, was due to Isobel’s choice and not any brilliance on his part. If anyone decided he held the answers and tried to get them out of him, Isobel knew that he was, simply, unbreakable. There were no family photos on his desk or on the computer or in his wallet. He didn’t need them – he had a photographic memory. And there was no way he’d put them at risk. Their existence was no secret, but his reputation as the Iceman was so widespread that no one would dare touch them. He’d done just enough to terrify the most hard-boiled assassins. He’d installed other security measures as well, just to be on the safe side, and he’d made sure Genevieve knew how to shoot, and shoot well. Mahmoud, once a child soldier and now a seventeen-year old with the arrogant attitude of a teenager and the cold-eyed determination of a killer, would keep the only mother he’d known safe, as well as the two babies, six month old Sasha, and Isobel, nearing three. They were as safe as anyone could humanly be, and normally he didn’t even think about them when he was at work, compartmentalizing everything neatly. But today he couldn’t help it. The message had flashed across his computer screen, the ghost messages that came from Isobel, merely a passing cloud of phosphors that vanished the moment he touched the computer. He had no idea where she got her intel. She and Killian were so far off the grid that they could have been on another planet. The tiny island in the middle of the Southern Pacific was almost impossible to find, like something out of a dream, and he liked to think of the two of them living alone there, dispensing with clothing and even conversation most of the time. At other moments he wondered whether they’d ended up killing each other, two trained assassins so caught up in passion that it could have turned deadly. He didn’t think so. The last he’d seen of Isobel she was a different woman. Some of the shadows had lifted, and the bright southern sunshine would keep them at bay. The sun, and Killian. He still couldn’t figure out how she could have discovered something that had eluded even his substantial efforts for the last three years, but she’d somehow managed to ferret out the truth. Finn MacGowan was alive. He still couldn’t believe it. MacGowan had disappeared in the bloodbath Harry Thomason had instigated almost four years ago, a debacle that had ended with the loss of five of their best agents, the disappearance of Isobel Lambert, and the death of Thomason himself, just before the old bastard had been about to be knighted for his noble deeds, may he rot in hell. Peter had turned over every rock, looked everywhere for MacGowan, only to be assured that he had died in a gunfight in Callivera. When all the time he’d been held prisoner, with the Guiding Light waiting patiently for word from Thomason on what to do with him. At first he hadn’t been able to figure out why they’d waited so long, but once he’d had a place to start it hadn’t take him long to come up with the answers. He could hack into anything, leaving no trace, and he found the hidden account in no time. Thomason had set up a blind trust, sending automatic payments to the ever-bribable Guiding Light to keep MacGowan on ice. He could imagine just what he’d been through. Rebels like F.A.R.C. in Callivera were finally releasing prisoners who’d been held for up to seven years. The Guiding Light would have waited longer, seeing as they were being well-paid. Even that would have been no guarantee that MacGowan had survived. The rebels would have continued taking the cash even if Finn had inconveniently expired. But the son of a bitch had finally managed to escape, and his movement was what had alerted Isobel in her island sanctuary. He’d taken off with a few of his fellow hostages, disappearing into the heavily-forested mountains with his captors hot on his ass. Peter leaned back, considering. If Isobel had even a decent approximation of where they were she would have told him. Right now he had a country and nothing else, and no one he could trust to send after MacGowan. The rest of the operatives were just too new to the game. He could always go himself. Genevieve would just look at him out of huge, sad eyes, but she’d let him go. Taka could take over the day to day running of the Committee – handing out assignments, gathering intel, and he could pull his cousin Reno in if need be. Peter had no delusions about his being irreplaceable – no one was. And Taka could be just as ruthless and coldly deliberate, if not more so, than he could. His wife would be just as happy if he stayed put for a while, and so would Taka. But he’d promised. Even if Isobel wouldn’t hold him to it, he’d promised not to walk into a firestorm again, not if he could help it. Tomas was on the ground there, and MacGowan would go to him. Tomas was an independent contractor, but he was the best man in the business for false papers. MacGowan would go straight to him, and Peter would make certain he had enough money to get where he wanted to go. He had a good idea where MacGowan would be headed. Back to England to kill the man who had left him to rot in a South American jungle. Namely, Peter Madsen. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to stop him long enough to tell him. In fact, he wasn’t sure MacGowan’s rage wasn’t justified. He should have made certain. But when operatives disappeared it was hard to verify they’d been cancelled. He would wait. With an eye out for an extremely pissed off Irishman out for blood. At least, for now, the CIA was the least of his worries. Beth was past exhaustion, past hunger, past pain. She simply kept walking, her eyes trained on the back of their fearless leader, careful not to careen into him again. It wouldn’t do any good to complain – his feet and legs would be hurting too, after all that time in captivity. He’d been just as hungry as she’d been when he’d shared his last candy bar. Which, in retrospect wasn’t nearly as noble a gesture as it had seemed, since he’d been planning on getting out of there and getting any number of Santander bars in the near future. The German and the American weren’t as circumspect. Hans Froelich complained vociferously about her presence, about the roughness of the trail, and the teenager – Dylan – kept whining about being hungry. There was an odd, jittery intensity to him that somehow reminded her of Carlos and his buddy, and she found it unnerving, but she said nothing, just put one foot in front of the other. MacGowan had told him to keep his hands off her, and Beth had every faith in him, though she wasn’t quite sure why. He’d protect her, at least from the worst predators of the night. She would have said a teenager was hardly that dangerous, but then she remembered Carlos. She heard the noise first, a muffled roar that could have been a convoy of trucks, or a helicopter, rescue or recapture, but MacGowan ignored it. She tried to do the same, but it was slowly growing light, and if the Guiding Light were imminent, she was heading into the bushes. �śWhat’s that noise?” she said finally in as soft a voice as she could manage. There was no response, and she wondered whether he’d heard her. She started to ask again when he spoke. �śIt’s a waterfall. We’re stopping there for a few hours. There’s less coverage further down, and we’re better off travelling at night.” �śThat’s where we’re stopping?” Froelich demanded, pushing past her. The man turned to look at him. �śWhy the fuck do you care so much about where we’re stopping, Hans? You expecting company?” In the early morning light she could see the German’s already high color deepen. �śI’m expecting you to get me out of here as soon as possible, given the money I’m paying you.” �śAnd I’ll do exactly that,” he said in a voice filled with silken menace, �śas long as you shut the fuck up and do exactly as I say. Which means sleeping during the day and travelling at night, and today we’re sleeping by the waterfall.” Froelich made an ugly noise and started after him, but MacGowan stopped again. �śYou’re behind the little lady.” Froelich started to complain, but something in MacGowan’s face made him stop, and he fell back behind Beth, muttering under his breath in German. They kept walking, the sound of the waterfall growing louder, the night-dark sky growing lighter. At one point Beth realized she’d been crying, silently, out of sheer misery, and she made herself stop. Tears were useless, a waste of time. She was a survivor, and she wasn’t in any worse shape than if she’d gone on an Outward Bound course. She would survive. The next time he stopped she wasn’t as alert, and she bumped into him. He gave her a look, and she stepped back hastily, unaccountably nervous. Beneath his occasional charm he had the same feral intensity of some of the men who’d taken her, that raw edge of lawlessness that threatened the very tenets of civilization. Good, she thought. A civilized man wouldn’t keep her alive. �śWe’re here,” he said briefly. �śThe water’s good. Get yourself something to drink, and I’ll see what’s around that we can eat. It’s not going to taste good but at least it won’t kill us, and it’ll give us enough fuel to keep going another night. In the meantime, find someplace to sleep. Alone.” �śMacGowan, man, you’re no fun,” the grubby teenager said, moving off into the thick brush. �śNot supposed to be,” MacGowan said. �śAs for you, sweetheart, I’d suggest you keep your sweet little tail away from all of us. I don’t fancy breaking up a fight or having to kick some randy teenager butt when I’d rather be sleeping.” She looked up at him. His hair was long, to his shoulders, of an indeterminate dark color, in some sort of dreadlocks, and his rough beard covered half his face. All she could see was tanned skin and dirt and flinty eyes staring down at her as if she were an unwanted insect. �śAll right,” she said in a numb voice, about to turn away, when he caught her chin in one rough hand. �śYou’ve been crying,” he said, his voice cool. �śThat’s a weakness you can’t afford, not if you want to get out of here in one piece.” Clearly she didn’t deny it. She must be filthy – the tears would have shown down her dirty face. �śIt didn’t slow me down,” she said. �śNext time it might.” He stared at her. The other two men had disappeared into the thick growth, leaving them alone by the edge of the waterfall. It was surprisingly small, given the noise it made, but then, the jungle trail was very quiet in the night, and she looked at it longingly. �śI won’t do it again,” she said. �śCan I go swimming?” �śNo.” �śI’m filthy. What harm would it do?” �śHoney, you don’t know the meaning of filth,” he drawled. �śI haven’t seen hot water in I don’t know how long.” She made a face. �śNor a comb or razor.” �śNope,” he said easily. �śYou feeling squeamish?” �śNot particularly,” she said, trying not to pull back. �śYou don’t smell that bad.” His sardonic grin did little to lighten his dark face. �śJust how bad do I smell? Don’t answer that. In case you didn’t notice, the rebel camp was beside a stream. They liked to watch me bathe in it, particularly when it was cold. It hasn’t been that long.” �śNot my business,” she said, wishing she’d vanished into the bushes along with her fellow hostages. �śIt might be, depending on when I’m planning on collecting my rescue fee.” �śWhen we get to a major city, I assume,” she said stiffly. �śI can hardly get sufficient funds while we’re in the jungle.” �śI’m thinking that I don’t really need your money. Froelich and Dylan have enough.” �śThen what do you want from me?” �śIt’s not only hot water that I’ve been missing.” She froze. There was no mistaking his meaning, and it would be a waste of time to pretend she did. She looked at him calmly. �śYou expect me to go to bed with you?” �śIt seems like a reasonable idea.” �śNot to me.” �śThen stay here.” He started to turn away, and she felt the familiar panic begin to return. �śYou can’t just leave me here.” �śOf course I can.” �śI’ll follow.” �śI can tie you up for Izzy and his new friend to find you. Trust me, you wouldn’t like it. They spend their time getting high on bazooka, which is part cocaine. Gives them lots of energy. Izzy decided to tap one of the nuns they’d captured and he ended up killing her. Think what two of them could do. And don’t tell me you’d rather them than me. That’s bullshit and you know it.” �śSo I’m supposed to drop my jeans for you or you’ll leave me to die? What kind of man are you?” �śAn angry, dangerous, extremely horny man. And fate has seen fit to provide me with just what I need.” �śNo.” �śWe’ll see about that.” They weren’t getting anywhere like this. She looked at him, shuddering slightly. She wasn’t having sex with a stranger, even if it would save her life. She’d take a header into the waterfall first. Death before dishonor, she thought again. Maybe it really depended on who was doing the dishonoring. �śThen why don’t you just rape me? Who’s to stop you?” He shook his head. �śIt’s up to you, sweetheart. I don’t force women, I don’t hurt women. I just thought you might be feeling grateful. If you find the idea that horrifying then maybe I’ll give you a break. Just behave yourself and maybe I’ll let you off. Annoy me and we’re heading into the bushes.” She laughed harshly. �śNot likely.” His smile didn’t reach his flinty-gray eyes. �śGo find a spot to sleep. Not too far from the waterfall if you don’t want to be left behind.” She didn’t move. The stupid truth was that she was afraid to be alone in the jungle, afraid of worse predators than MacGowan. And she was still having trouble believing his cool threat. �śUnless you’ve decided a little show of gratitude wouldn’t be amiss,” he drawled, his eyes running down her body like a physical touch. She backed away from him, abruptly, and lost her footing, crashing backwards into the bushes. He sighed, reached out and hauled her up again. �śGo find a place to sleep,” he said in a tired voice. �śI’ll wake you when it’s time to go.” A moment later he was gone, vanishing into the jungle like the ghost he was. Jesus, he was a fool and a half, MacGowan thought as he moved through the underbrush. He didn’t have the luxury of feeling sorry for the girl, for that’s all she was, despite the fact that the laugh lines around her eyes and the wisdom in her face made her at least thirty. She may have bought her way into Callivera but she was still reeling from the shock of real life. She hadn’t been raped yet – he’d picked that up from Carlos’s comments, and women who’d been raped had a different look in their eyes, one that never went away. An ugly, broken look, and he was a right bastard for even threatening her with it. It was a guaranteed way to keep her on her best behavior. He was no more interested in having an unwilling sex partner than he was in heading back to camp, but it was a very effective threat, especially considering the way she was looking at him, like a cross between a monster and Jesus Christ. This way she wouldn’t get too fond of him before he dumped her off. He wasn’t going to give her the chance. He figured it would take at least two more days to get down the mountain and to the nearest decent-sized town. They couldn’t afford to stop in any of the villages that dotted the foothills – too many of them were under the control of the Guiding Light. La Luz. Depending on the stamina of his little brood, it might take as long as four days. The faster the better, but he couldn’t afford injuries any more than he could afford to abandon any of his meal tickets if he could help it. They’d passed some juniper bushes – the berries were bitter as hell but they’d provide enough nourishment to get them through the next night, and by tomorrow they’d be down low enough for him to find papayas. They’d make their way toward more and more food, and it would give them incentive when they were too tired to think. He’d feed them, keep them alive, deliver them to safety, and then maybe disappear himself. The Committee had abandoned him – he owed them nothing. If any of them were even left. Except that he had a very good idea who had left him to rot. That son of a bitch Madsen. She’d found a spot about twenty feet upwind of him, trying to make as little noise as possible as she lay down. He could smell her, the sweet scent of female skin and sweat and a hint of something flowery. Nothing as intense as perfume – it probably came from the shampoo she used. Now there was a concept. He hadn’t seen shampoo in three years either. When he finally dumped them he was going to find the biggest bathtub in the country, climb in and stay there for days. Damn, she smelled good. He couldn’t tell what kind of body she had beneath her rough clothing, but he hoped it was soft and slightly plump. He’d had enough of wiry women, entirely made of bone and sinew instead of curves. Too bad he wasn’t really going to take his payment out in trade. Unless he offered, and he didn’t think that was likely. Beth Pennington didn’t like sex. He knew women well enough to sense it. And his threat wouldn’t have helped matters. He had more important things to worry about than some bleeding heart’s sexual hang-ups. He’d waited this long, he could wait a few more days. He just wished he didn’t find her so damned tempting. He ought to move further away before he bedded down himself. He knew exactly where Dylan and Froelich had ended up. Dylan had settled down quickly, a few hundred yards off the trail, and he was probably already asleep, dreaming of things he was too young to know about. Froelich was restless, wandering, which surprised him. He was a businessman, middle-aged and sedentary, and the hike had to have been harder on him than anyone. And yet he was wandering. MacGowan didn’t like it. He didn’t trust the man, which was no surprise. He didn’t trust anyone, and hadn’t in years. Only a few in the Committee – Madame Lambert, Taka O’Brien, and he’d thought Peter Madsen, as well as Bastien Toussaint. Millionaire industrialists weren’t likely to make the cut. He moved to a clearing by the waterfall. He should have warned the girl about sleeping in the bushes – there were snakes and spiders and all sorts of beasties to crawl inside her clothes – but he hadn’t wanted to prolong their encounter. She was too distracting, and that made him mean. He needed to save his mean for whatever the fuck Froelich was doing. Not that he didn’t have more than enough mean to go around. He stretched out on the hard ground. He could set his body like an alarm clock, he could sleep lightly, ready to move at a moment’s notice. He could keep going for days without sleep, but he could also afford to catch up just a bit. He closed his eyes and slept. CHAPTER FIVE The roar of the waterfall lulled Beth to sleep. At first she thought she would never be able to rest – every inch of her body vibrated with pain, her eyes were dry and gritty, and her stomach felt hollow. She should have taken her time with that chocolate bar. She shouldn’t have refused the beans and rice she’d been offered on the road by a grinning Carlos. But then, she’d happily starve before she took anything from Carlos. He’d been the one to kill Father Pascal. She’d listened to him brag about it, and he’d known perfectly well that she’d understood enough of what he was saying. How the old man had said his rosary until Carlos had used the machete on his throat. How he would have hacked the old man’s hand off first, the one clutching the beads, but one of the women kept beating at him. He’d taken care of her as well, ancient piece of tail that she was. As the light in her eyes dimmed she’d known it was Carlos, the boy she’d ordered around and known from infancy, who was fucking her as she died. Beth had gagged then, listening to his triumphant words. His eyes had gleamed at her, and his mouth had formed the words, �śyou’re next.” No, she’d lie down for MacGowan long before she let Carlos near her. It was that simple, and MacGowan knew it. But it would also be under duress, no matter what the man’s inflated opinion of his own irresistibility was. But it was better the devil you knew . . . She heard the soft rustle in the underbrush, and she was instantly awake. The afternoon sun was getting low, sinking down behind the mountains, which meant they were heading east. She wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad, but it wasn’t as if she had a choice. She sat up, trying to be as quiet as possible, as she listened carefully to the soft sounds above the rushing water. It was probably just the wind through the dense growth. She held very still, but the sound of her heart hammering in her chest was louder than the rustle of leaves. She must have imagined it. And then she heard it – a soft, metallic sound. One she couldn’t identify, but it made her skin crawl. Something was wrong. There were no voices. No sound of footfalls. Nothing but the rustle of the wind through the leaves. Had he abandoned her? Taken the others and gone, leaving her alone to either survive or end up as one of Carlos’s victims? The thought of being abandoned in this mountainside jungle was beyond frightening, but she refused to let the familiar fear seep through her. As long as she kept putting one foot in front of the other she’d survive. But if he had left her she needed to do everything she could to catch up with them. She rose to her feet, slowly, her aching muscles screaming in protest. And then she froze. She was more than average height – just about five-nine in her stocking feet, and the thick jungle growth only came up to her shoulders. She could see them moving through the deepening shadows. Four men, one barely grazing the top of the bushes. Carlos and three others. She ducked down, mercifully silent, praying they hadn’t seen her. They didn’t slow in their determined progress toward the edge of the ravine. They were going after MacGowan. Had they already recaptured Dylan and Froelich? Most likely. And MacGowan wouldn’t hear their approach over the noise of the waterfall. She had two choices. She could make a run for it, hoping they wouldn’t be able to find her, hoping she’d be able to make her way down the treacherous mountains on her own. Or she could try to warn MacGowan. It really wasn’t any choice at all. If she valued her own comfort and safety she wouldn’t have moved heaven and hell to get to this country, to try to make a difference. And despite MacGowan’s rough demeanor and not-so-veiled threats, he was still one of the good guys, at least compared to Carlos. He’d tried to get her away from her kidnappers, even if it hadn’t been his idea in the first place. She was no fool – she’d paid very careful attention to where MacGowan had settled down to sleep, in case she needed to get to him quickly. The rebels were moving toward the spot, making as little noise as possible, and if she was lucky she could make it there faster, with time enough for him to hide. If she was unlucky they’d hear her and shoot into the heavy bushes and kill her, but she wasn’t going to think about that. In the last forty-eight hours she’d had to come face to face with the possibility of her imminent death, and she’d faced it calmly enough. Now was no time to freak out. She moved swiftly through the underbrush, keeping down, doing her best to jostle as few leaves as possible. She could hear their steady progress and she sped up. The waterfall grew louder and louder, and suddenly the clearing was in sight. She reached the edge, just about to break through, when something slammed her to the ground, something huge and crushing, smashing her face into the dirt as a hand clamped around her mouth. She knew that hand – it had covered her mouth before. She was getting to know the body as well, heavier than the gaunt frame would suggest. �śWhat the fuck are you doing?” His voice was no more than a breath in her ear. �śNo, don’t answer that. Do you want to get yourself killed?” She didn’t bother answering that either. She let her body relax, so that he’d know she’d recognized him, wasn’t going to fight him, and he slowly took his hand away from her mouth. The soldiers had reached the clearing, and they were arguing, angrily, looking back toward the way they came. She turned her head, just able to see them. �śYou expect to get out of here, you need to give us MacGowan,” the older man said. �śWe don’t get him, you go back to the camp.” �śHe’s here,” the voice came back. The German accent made it unmistakable. �śHe must have heard you coming. It’s not my fault if you’re clumsy.” Carlos was looking at the German out of narrowed eyes. And then, to Beth’s shock, he raised his gun and fired, three times. She couldn’t see Froelich fall, but she heard the thud, just as she saw an older man cuff Carlos along the side of his head. �śStupido! You wait for orders! They could have heard your shots and hidden.” Carlos looked sullen. �śHe was of no use to us. He lost us the man and the gringa. Better to leave him here.” MacGowan levered himself off her body, slowly, and Beth felt a sudden panic. What the hell was he planning to do? She reached out a hand to stop him but he was already gone, circling around the clearing, and she let her face drop against the dirt with a silent groan. The men kept arguing, only half of the words intelligible to her untrained ears, and she wanted to cover her head with her arms to shut everything out. She could smell death in the thick, hot air, and she wanted to gag. She closed her eyes and breathed through her mouth, slow, deep breaths, as she tried to shut out what lay in the clearing. A moment later there was an explosion of sound, gunfire, and she jerked her head up to see MacGowan on the ground with the older man, locked in a furious struggle. Carlos had been knocked back against a tree, and he was lying there, dazed, as the third man circled the combatants, trying to take a shot. MacGowan’s leg shot out, sweeping the other man, and he went down, hard. MacGowan surged up, leaving the older man unconscious or maybe dead, and leaped onto the second, catching the man’s head in his hands and giving it a quick, vicious jerk. She didn’t need the sound of crunching bones to know he’d broken his neck, killing him instantly. He rose, looking down at the first man, reaching for the gun in his dead hand, when Carlos came at him, his machete raised high, too quick for MacGowan to stop him. �śNo!” Beth screamed, moving on instinct, slamming into Carlos, knocking him off balance before he could hack into MacGowan’s exposed back. Carlos caught her against his skinny body, bringing the machete up to her throat, so tight she could feel it begin to bite into her skin, as MacGowan turned around, the dead soldier’s gun in his hand. �śLet her go, hermano,” he said in rough Spanish. �śYou can’t win.” �śI’m not your brother,” Carlos spat. �śAnd I think it’s you who are the one who can’t win.” �śDon’t make me kill you. You’re just a kid.” MacGowan’s voice was unutterably weary. �śYou shoot me, I go over the falls, and I take her with me. You want to risk that?” Carlos taunted him. MacGowan shrugged. And pulled the trigger. Beth felt the recoil of his body before the explosion of sound in her ear, deafening her. The machete dropped, but his grip on her held, and a moment later he sank back, falling into thin air, dragging her with him. �śShit,” MacGowan said wearily, kicking off the poor remnants of his boots and dropping the gun beside the dead body. And a moment later he dove after her, his body slicing through the heavy rush of water. It was bitter cold, melted ice from the peaks of the Andes, and the shock took his breath away. He cursed himself all the way down. The force of landing wrong would probably kill her, if she managed to avoid the stone sides of the canyon. The water was so cold she’d go numb in short order and be unable to swim. He was doing this for nothing. Some quixotic gesture that if he’d stopped for a moment to think about it, he would have stayed where he was, mopping up after Froelich. His body cleaved the water neatly, lessening the shock, though immersion in the icy river was hard enough. He surfaced, looking around him for a body floating face down. There was one, but it was Carlos, half of his head blown away by the gun he’d taken off the dead rebel. Stupid piece – a nine millimeter was more than enough fire power. He turned in the water, but there was no sign of her, and he dove under, looking for her. She was more than likely dead, but since he’d already done such a damned fool thing he may as well carry through to the end. He saw her, drifting through the water like a ghost, her long hair loose and flowing behind her, and he kicked out, heading toward her, grabbing her dead arm to drag her body to the surface. Only to find her struggling when he caught her, panic filling her body. He hauled her to the surface, clamping an arm around her shoulders to keep her above water as he headed toward shore. She took a deep, harsh gulp of air and then began puking water, and he tilted her so she wouldn’t suffocate. He was more than ready to clock her one if she struggled, but even in her panic to breath she seemed to recognize he wasn’t going to hurt her, and by the time he’d hauled them both onto grass she’d stopped coughing up water and had begun to breathe more normally. No mouth to mouth, he thought reluctantly, sprawling on his back while he tried to slow his own labored breathing. The cold water had been bad enough – dragging her body had just about done him in. He stared up into the late afternoon sky, then closed his eyes again. He’d killed three men today. Izzy, Ramon the sadist, and the new kid who’d arrived yesterday with Miss Priss. It had been a long time since he’d killed anybody, and he may never have killed anyone as young as the one he’d just shot in the head, thanks to the woman lying beside him. He owed her for that. He’d felt the kid coming at him, and he’d been perfectly ready to stop him when she’d interfered. And why the hell had she done it? � The sky was dark, overcast. November was a month of rains – that was all he needed to make this day perfect. A bloody rainstorm with mudslides. And Hans Froelich’s backstabbing had cut his profit in half. He was going to have to climb back up the cliff and find Dylan, when he’d been secretly hoping he could dump the little monster. It was beginning to look like Beth Pennington was going to end up paying cold hard cash. He wanted to laugh. As if a piece of ass was worth the kind of rescue money someone like Beth Pennington could afford to pay him. He didn’t need to let her know that. Things worked better if he kept her scared enough to do what he told her to. That didn’t mean he might not still get a piece of her. If he just put a little effort into it he could have her eating out of his hand. Saving a woman’s life was a powerful aphrodisiac. And he could be down-right irresistible if the mood struck him, for which he thanked his Irish heritage. Not his da, that murdering braggart. But the friends and neighbors who’d tried to look after him when his da went to prison for knocking his wife about once too often, just a bit too hard. There were times when he wondered if she were still alive. Last time he’d seen her she’d been hooked up to machines, only kept alive because it was a Catholic country, his father locked up in Maze prison. A real republic hero, his da was, dying during the hunger strikes, so that people forgot why he was put in prison in the first place. He still couldn’t hear the accidental clang of trash can lids without being covered in a cold sweat. Ah, but that was in the past. What mattered was now. He sat up, glancing over at her, wondering if he was going to have to fend off her teary gratitude. Not likely. She was glaring at him, bless her. �śYou could have killed me,” she said, her voice raw from the water she’d puked up. �śYou’re welcome.” He shoved his mattered hair away from his face and narrowed his eyes. Bloody hell. The icy cold water had plastered her loose shirt against her body, and her nipples were hard, pushing against the cloth. He could warm them, he thought, wondering what she’d do if he tried it. �śYou’re alive, aren’t you? That little piece of shit would have taken your head off with that machete in another moment. What did you do to make him hate you so much?” �śNothing. I was his teacher.” He laughed without humor. �śThat explains it then. He was too fucking young to die. I owe you for that.” �śHe killed Father Pascal. As the old man was praying. And he raped and killed Tia Maria, who helped with the laundry and the cooking. She was in her fifties, a grandmother, and the last thing she saw was him, a child she’d known from infancy. He died too quickly.” Her voice was cold and bitter, and she drew her legs up, pressing her face against her knees. He could thank her for that, but he wasn’t in the mood to be grateful. The sun had set, the temperature dropping, and his wet clothes were cold and clammy against his skin. �śAnd what the hell were you doing, wandering around in the jungle like that? I told you to stay put. They could have killed you if I hadn’t gotten to you first.” Faint color stained her pale face. �śI was trying to warn you.” �śWhat?” �śI said I was trying to warn you. I saw them coming and I thought the waterfall would be too loud for you to hear them, and I was trying to find you.” He stared at her in amazement, not sure what to say. �śI hate to tell you this, darlin’ one, but I can save my own life. Next time stay put and wait for me to come for you. I’m not one of your orphans to be rescued.” The color on her face darkened, and he felt a moment’s regret. He pushed it away. �śI’m going to need to climb back up and see if I can find Dylan. He’s a pain in the butt but he’s worth too much to leave behind. Unless you have any objections.” �śOf course not,” she said. He had to give her credit – she was terrified of the idea of being left alone, but she didn’t say a word. �śYou can’t leave a teenage boy out alone in the wilderness.” �śHe’s older than your friend Carlos.” �śDon’t!” She shuddered, casting an uneasy glance toward the water. The body had sunk beneath the surface, and she wouldn’t have had a good look at the damage the forty-five caliber bullet had done. She put her face back down on her knees. �śGo ahead,” she said weakly. �śI’ll be right here.” He couldn’t afford to show her any mercy. He started back, surveying the cliff he was more than likely going to have to scale, then paused, spun around and hauled her to her feet. She looked up at him, her big eyes wide and unnervingly calm in her pale face. Without a word he hauled her toward the underbrush, and for a moment she began to fight him. He caught her flailing arms in one hard grip, pulling her back against him as he dragged her further into the undergrowth. He released her, and she went sprawling on the ground. �śStay put,” he said in a flat voice. �śIf you even know the meaning of the term. I’ll come back for you, but if you make the stupid mistake of following me again I’ll let you die.” It took him a moment to recognize the look of panic that faded into surprise and then into nothing at all, and he managed a mirthless laugh. �śNo, sweetheart, I’m not going to rape you. I’ve got more important things on my mind right now. Mainly staying alive. You’re a choice piece of ass but I value my skin a little more highly than a quick fuck in the undergrowth. Now stay put or I might change my mind.” He wouldn’t, of course. He’d been in too many war zones, seen the horrors of rape at close hand, and it disgusted him. But nothing else seemed to scare her into obeying him, and he wasn’t beyond fighting dirty. He turned his back on her before he could change his mind. It wouldn’t take much to convince himself he had to kiss her to scare her into not moving, had to feel those hard nipples against his hands, push his body against her. He was cold and wet and bad-tempered and he was getting a hard-on anyway, which annoyed him as much as her big innocent eyes. He hated women who screamed and cried, yet for some reason Beth Pennington’s measured calm drove him crazy. A moment later he was gone, the jungle closing around him, as the sun set behind the jagged peaks of the Andes. Beth shivered. He was bluffing, she knew it. He wasn’t going to rape her, even if she’d felt a moment’s panic when he’d started dragging her into the bushes. It had been a knee-jerk reaction on her part, and she should have known better. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to believe, but one thing was absolutely certain. He cared more about staying alive than having sex with someone like her. It wasn’t as if she thought she was a dog. She was tall, average weight, a pretty enough face. But she had a touch-me-not quality that scared men off, and she’d never done anything to change that. She wasn’t interested in having a lover or a husband. She’d tried sex, given it a fair shot, and she hadn’t liked it. She could see no reason to change her mind. She didn’t want or need a man. She’d perfected her calm demeanor, the one that no one could get past, and for the last few years no one had even tried. MacGowan had made it clear he valued money, but she was pretty sure he valued freedom more. He’d settle for payment for services rendered, despite his threats to the contrary. She was cold. Her clothes were wet and clammy, and she considered stripping them off on the remote chance that they might dry, then thought better of it. She had no idea how long it would take MacGowan to get back down to the lake, but she wasn’t going to risk it. Besides, she was already feeling vulnerable enough fully dressed. She lay down on the damp earth, wrapping one arm around her body, tucking the other beneath her head to cushion it. He was coming back to get her, and he would see her safely back to the city. Nothing else was worth considering. Barringer always sat at the same table in the company dining room, but nowadays he sat alone. His friends, the men he’d started with, had either retired or died, and he disapproved of the new bunch, with their foul language and flashy behavior. He held with an old-fashioned view of covert work, one that had served him well. The more boring, self-effacing you could be, the better you did your job. And the women! It appalled him, to listen to their cursing and their brazen behavior. Women had a place in the world of espionage, but it was on their back. They could lure a man in, but it was up to their male counterparts to handle the complicated stuff. Not that women couldn’t kill – he knew that far too well. But in general he didn’t trust them. Part of the reason why he never married. He ate the same thing every day, a chicken salad sandwich on white bread. He supposed it was boring, but he liked order and he liked routine. His job was unsettling enough, never predictable, never ordinary. It was little wonder he wanted the rest of his life to be calm. Sully’s initial report wasn’t promising. MacGowan had killed a number of his captors in his escape, and they were out for blood. The poor fools had finally realized they could continue to collect the money whether MacGowan was alive or dead, and right now they wanted dead. He had complete faith in an old campaigner like Sully, though, and he’d given him a blank check. For enough money the Guiding Light would help him recapture MacGowan and kill the other escapees. If MacGowan died in the firefight then Sully could cover it up, and Isobel Lambert would believe he was alive and well and heading for England to kill whoever was in charge. She wouldn’t just sit back and let that happen, and Killian would be there with her. No, things were moving along as well as could be expected. In another week Killian might very well be within his reach. And then he’d be dead, and Barringer could retire in peace. But he would miss the chicken salad sandwiches. CHAPTER SIX When she woke it was full dark, and she was filled with panic. She could hear nothing past the muffled roar of the waterfall, and she sat up, immediately alert. It was much cooler up here at higher elevations. Back in the tiny village of Talaca the nights had been hot and steamy, and she would lie in her tiny nun’s cell in her underwear and pray for a stray breeze. She could hear the wind in the trees overhead, and the night was chilly. Her clothes were still damp and clammy, clinging to her skin, and she shivered. She heard the rustle of bushes and froze. She’d been a fool to fall asleep – she should have kept going, following the water. It could flow in no other direction but downhill, where towns and cities lay. If MacGowan was as good as he said he was he’d be more than capable of catching up with her if he wanted to. Even if he didn’t want to, she was better off taking her chances than staying there like a sitting duck, waiting. It was too late now, she thought irritably. If she got caught it was her own damned fault for being so trusting. Trusting MacGowan would come back, trusting that things would work out for the best. Hadn’t she learned first-hand that life wasn’t particularly fair? She might die on this mountainside because of her stupid belief that helping people was her responsibility and her calling. The night birds were silent now, and she wondered what kind of four-legged predators roamed around here. She already had enough trouble with the two-legged kind. Would she prefer to be raped and slaughtered by someone like Carlos, or torn to pieces by a jackal or puma or whatever prowled the mountainside? Neither option seemed particularly delightful. Someone, something was getting closer, and she looked around her for a weapon, but there was nothing. Should she try to run, or stay where she was, hoping whatever it was would miss her? A shadow loomed out of the darkness, suddenly, and she screamed, then slapped her hands over her mouth when she recognized MacGowan. There was a faint sliver of moonlight, enough to illuminate his gaunt figure, and she could see the trace of an ironic smile. �śGood thing the Guiding Light are looking miles away, or you would have brought them straight to us, princess,” he growled. �śYou wanna try not to scream so much?” �śThat was the first time I screamed,” she shot back, indignant. She couldn’t begin to count the number of times she wanted to shriek in total panic, and each time she swallowed it. �śDid you find Dylan?” �śUnfortunately.” Beth’s heart sank. �śDamn,” she said softly, getting to her feet. Her legs were cramped, and she stumbled a bit before she righted herself, but MacGowan didn’t make any effort to help her. �śHe was so young.” �śStill is,” MacGowan said in a disgruntled voice. �śHey, brat, show yourself. Our little nun thinks I killed you.” The lanky teenager appeared out of the heavy foliage, a sullen expression on his face. �śI can take care of myself,” he muttered. �śYeah, right. That’s why you were still trussed up like a Christmas goose when I found you,” MacGowan drawled. �śI thought the others had killed him, not you,” Beth snapped. �śAnd I told you, I’m not a nun. I’m not even Catholic.” �śClose enough, Sister Beth,” he said. He was deliberately taunting her, and she knew she shouldn’t rise to the provocation, but she couldn’t help it. She bit back her retort. �śAnd I’ve already lost one meal ticket – I’m not about to let go of another.” �śSuch nobility of spirit,” Beth said under her breath. �śYou betcha, lady,” he shot back. �śI’ve been stuck in a hellhole for almost three years – I want the good life when I get back to civilization.” �śThree years?” She didn’t bother to hide the shock in her voice. �śI didn’t realize . . .” �śAnd I don’t need your bleeding heart fixating on me. Money will soothe my wounded soul just fine. And if you feel like throwing in a mercy fuck on the side I’d be grateful.” �śDude, that’s no way to get a chick,” Dylan scoffed. MacGowan glanced at him, amused. �śReally? You can give me pointers while we head down the mountain. Based on your vast experience, no doubt.” �śHey, I’ve had lots of pussy in my life.” He cast an uneasy glance at Beth. �śExcuse me, Sister Beth.” �śI’m not a nun,” she said through gritted teeth as they started, single file, down the winding trail. �śSure she is,” MacGowan said. �śPay no attention to her. I want to hear how an infant like you gets pussy.” �śI’m sixteen!” he protested. �śAnd I live in Hollywood. I’ve been getting laid since I was twelve.” �śGreat,” MacGowan muttered. �śWhat cougar got to you?” �śNone of your business. And I like my chicks young, just a year or two older than I am. Even Sister Beth is too old.” She felt ridiculously offended. �śI’m not . . .” she began, but his words drowned her out. �śYour mistake. Sister Beth feels like a prime piece of ass to me, and I’m a connoisseur in these things.” �śWould you mind not discussing me like I’m a side of beef?” They both ignored her as they continued down the path, and she had to hurry to keep up with them. �śYou haven’t been laid in three years,” Dylan scoffed. �śA heifer would look like a prime piece to you.” Enough was enough. �śAre you calling me a cow?” Beth demanded in a dangerous voice. MacGowan glanced back at her, and in the fitful moonlight she could see the shadow of a smile in his dark face. �śA very young cow,” he said, amused. �śCalm down, Sister Beth. He’s too young to appreciate your mature charms.” �śI’m thirty-one years old,” she snapped. �śAnd I’m not a goddamned nun.” He laughed out loud then. �śYou get kidnapped by rebels, threatened by a psychopath, fall off a cliff and face death around every corner and the only thing that can make you swear is being called a nun? You should have said you weren’t a goddamned cow.” �śGo to hell,” she muttered. �śBetter,” he said judiciously. �śBut I’m looking forward to you telling me to go fuck myself.” �śConsider it said,” she snapped. �śOh, no. I need to hear the words from your innocent lips.” She tightened her innocent lips, glaring at him. �śYou two already got a thing going on?” Dylan inquired. �ś’Coz I’ve been up in the mountains away from females for more than six weeks myself, and if you don’t mind I just might tap that.” Beth couldn’t even begin to respond to that one. MacGowan did it for her. �śJust a suggestion, brat, but if you’re wanting to seduce a woman, you’re better off not calling her a cow and suggesting she’s too old.” �śWell, hell, she’s probably in need of a little physical comfort and escape just like we are. Women have needs too, you know.” �śDo they really?” MacGowan said in an innocent voice. �śI think Sister Beth will do without your attentions. She looks like a virgin to me.” It was the last straw. �śI am not!” He glanced back at her. �śClose to it, I bet. You probably slept with someone, didn’t like it, and decided not to try again.” �śYou’re not even close,” she said. It had been two men and a total of three encounters before she’d given sex up for good. �śAnd I’m not discussing this with you.” �śThen why do you keep answering?” He stopped again. �śDylan, I think we’d better keep Sister Beth between us. She’s smaller than the two of us, more vulnerable, unless she’s got a black belt I don’t know about, and she’d be safer between us. Besides, this way you get to look at her ass, and trust me, it’s a very fine ass for a woman her age.” �śI’m thirty-one!” she protested again, then gave up. He was right about one thing – she shouldn’t keep rising to the bait. �śAnd I’m fine where I am.” Dylan had stepped aside, but she refused to move. �śAnd I don’t give a damn what you think,” he said, grabbing her upper arm in his strong grip and pulling her behind him. She was going to be a mass of bruises by the time she reached the city. Carlos and company had already inflicted a fair amount of damage, and MacGowan was finishing the job. �śJust follow me and don’t wiggle your ass too much. The boy is young and impressionable.” �śGo. Fuck. Yourself.” She enunciated the words very carefully. �śBetter,” he said. �śBut I don’t hear real conviction in the words. We’ll work on it.” �śI’m certain you’ll give me plenty of opportunity to practice it,” she said sweetly. For a moment he said nothing. �śYou’re a dangerous woman, Sister Beth,” he said finally. And she had no idea what he meant. He could fall in love with a woman like that, he thought darkly, moving down the narrow path, feeling her behind him. She was cold and he knew it. Her clothes hadn’t dried, and the night was chilly. If hadn’t been so damned quixotic and rescued the brat he could have taken her someplace secluded, stripped off her wet clothes and warmed her from the inside out. And he’d have made sure she enjoyed it. That was a danger too. If you give a woman the best sex of her life then she’s likely to want more. And more. More than you were willing to give. No, Beth Pennington was nothing but temptation wrapped up in a prim, tasty little package, and he couldn’t afford to be tempted. He needed her money, and rescuing Dylan hadn’t been quixotic. He needed his money as well. He had no idea what he was going to face when he got back to London, but Peter Madsen was going to die slowly and in a great deal of pain, and that would cost money. The thought of revenge had kept him alive, and he wasn’t going to let go of it so fast. He couldn’t afford to let Beth Pennington distract him. He needed to get paid and get rid of the two of them as soon as possible, so he could concentrate on his own problems. If he could make them hike through the daylight tomorrow they might reach the edges of civilization by tomorrow evening if his calculations were on target. There they could find transportation to the nearest city with an airport, and they could wire the money into his bank account in the Cayman Islands. Once he had verification he could dump them and be on his way. In the meantime, keeping her annoyed gave her energy and made her forget to be scared. And it amused him. Dylan was easier to handle – he was a typical adolescent mass of hormones, and talking about sex kept him fully distracted. They would both be hungry – he’d taken the weapons and food rations from the bodies of the men he’d killed, as well as a decent pair of boots, and he’d feed his two lost lambs around midnight, when the moon was bright overhead. That would keep them going. But eventually even he was going to have a hard time coming up with distractions, and then all they could do was put one foot in front of the other and hope they made it. Things weren’t that bad yet. And if he got too tired to bait them he could simply bully and threaten them, and fill his mind with erotic fantasies about all the things he wanted to do as soon as he found a willing professional. The only problem was, with each explicitly, definitely X-rated fantasy he was seeing Beth’s face, her eyes wide with shock and pleasure. Damn, he needed a woman. CHAPTER SEVEN By the time the inky-black night began to fade into the early glow of daylight, Beth was numb. Beyond hunger, despite midnight rations that had the taste and consistency of dog biscuits, beyond fear, beyond distrust. If the Guiding Light caught up with them, raped and murdered her, then at least she’d get a chance to lie down, she thought, too exhausted to summon up even a tremor of panic at the thought. If MacGowan decided to exact physical payment before they made it down the mountain, the same held true. Anything to stop this endless trudge though the thick growth of the jungle. Everything hurt. Her feet, her hips, and knees from the constant jarring of the steep downward path, her back and shoulders from the backpack MacGowan had dumped on her, telling her she had to share the load. Which she would have insisted upon anyway, and would have told him so, but even then she’d been too tired to argue. Besides, she knew very well he’d made the pack as light as he could out of deference to her ridiculously puny strength. When she got out of this she would soak in a hot tub for three days, have marathon massages, and then she would start iron-man training. This was absurd – she should be able to handle a climb down a mountain without falling to pieces. Though he was moving fast, pushing them along with barely time to breathe. She viewed the approach of daylight and almost wept with relief. They’d have to stop and hide so the rebels wouldn’t find them. But to her horror MacGowan pushed on when she began to slow. �śWe’re far enough away from them that we can keep going,” he said. His head swiveled around and his eyes narrowed. �śDid you say something, Sister Beth?” She couldn’t even summon up annoyance. It had been a tiny sob of pure despair, one she’d swallowed immediately. �śNot a word,” she managed to say. And they kept walking. The heat was unbearable. The lower they climbed the thicker the growth, and as the sun cooked away the dew it steamed slightly. Beth managed to braid her hair and tie it up with MacGowan’s grubby bandanna, but she could feel the sweat slide down her back and puddle at her waist. She was wearing nothing but a thin sleeveless tank underneath the loose cotton shirt, with no bra, but eventually she stripped down to the tank, no longer giving a shit. MacGowan was too intent on moving them to notice, and Dylan, who had finally stopped his incessant complaining, was behind her. Besides, he considered her ancient, mutton to his lamb, even if he had generously offered to �śtap that.” Her feet began to burn. Her expensive pair of sneakers were a mess. There was blood soaking through the heel, but it didn’t seem to be leaving any trace, so there was no need to stop. At one point she cried again, keeping her face down and wiping the silent tears from her face, but if the monster in front of her noticed he said nothing. He just kept going. They finally stopped as the sun began sinking again. They’d been following the stream that was slowly turning into a river, the sound of the water one last bit of torture. He turned and she almost barreled into him, managing to halt in time. She felt her body begin to droop, and she stiffened her knees and her spine. �śWe can take an hour,” he said, and she was too whipped to do anything more but nod, dropping where she stood in a boneless heap. A mistake, she realized glassily as he loomed over her, even though Dylan followed suit and sprawled out behind her, his usual litany of complaints simply background noise like the tropical birds and the rush of water. And then MacGowan’s steel-gray eyes hardened. �śYou fucking moron,” he said softly. �śYou’re bleeding.” She could barely summon enough energy to look at him. �śI don’t care.” �śI do. You know how fast you can get an infection in this climate? I don’t fancy having to carry you the rest of the way.” She took just a moment to notice the touch of Irish in his voice again. What American man said �śI don’t fancy”? �śJust leave me then.” �śTempting. But you’re worth too much money.” He glanced down at Dylan’s sprawled body. �śHey, brat. Stay here. If you move I’ll kill you.” �śI can’t move,” he groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the sun. �śJust kill me now.” It said a lot that she didn’t even react when MacGowan leaned down and scooped her up, effortlessly, as if he hadn’t been leading the Bataan Death March. She let her head sink against his chest, keeping her eyes closed. He smelled like the jungle. Like sweat and sun and the rough cotton of his clothing. He smelled strong and good, and she wanted to turn her face against him, hide herself from a world that had become too much. But she had never been the type to run and hide, and she held very still in his arms as he carried her through the jungle. The water was louder now, and the sound of it covered her stifled groan as he stopped and lowered her to the ground. It was running clear and cold, dancing over the rocks, forming pools here and there on the wide, flat river bed. He knelt down in front of her and began to take off her shoes, and the pain was sudden and unexpected, strong enough that she let out a short cry that she managed to muffle behind her hands. �śYou can scream if you want to,” he said, taking off the second one with more speed than delicacy, like someone ripping off a band-aid. �śThere’s no one around to hear.” She managed to pull herself together. �śAnd how can you be sure of that?” Her voice was breathless from pain and exhaustion, but it was better than being dead. �śTrust me, I know.” �śI don’t really have a choice, do I?” she said, trying to put a little strength into her voice and failing. �śNo, you don’t.” He was rolling up the loose legs of her heavy cotton pants, and she suddenly fell back with a helpless laugh. �śWhat’s so funny?” He didn’t pause as he reached for the other pants leg, rolling it to her knee. �śI was thinking that I haven’t shaved my legs in months,” she said, feeling a little hysterical. �śAnd I was worried about what you were going to think.” She giggled again, unable to stop. He sat back on his heels, watching her inappropriate amusement. �śFirst, Sister Beth, I don’t know why you’d be worried about what I’m thinking. Do I look like the kind of man you’d normally shave your legs for?” She tried to control her giggles. �śI don’t shave my legs for anyone but me,” she said. �śAh, but that would be a crime, darlin’,” he murmured, and she felt his rough hand slowly run up her calf. �śYou have the most beautiful white gold down on your legs. If this were another place and another time I’d lick my way up them.” She jerked, startled, her dazed eyes opening fully, and she could see him grin at her. She pulled herself together. �śGiven the amount of hair on your face, I don’t think you’re anyone to judge.” �śIt’s been a long time without a razor, Sister Beth. I’ll make you a bargain. We get out of this in one piece, I’ll shave for you if you promise not to shave for me.” �śGo drown yourself, MacGowan,” she muttered, closing her eyes. She heard his laugh. It was a good laugh, she thought muzzily. The laugh of a man who enjoyed life. What would it be like to live through three years of captivity in the Andes and still be able to laugh? �śThe bank’s a little high here,” he said, reaching for her. She tried to fight him, and he caught her wrists in a hard, painful grip, hauling her toward him. �śDon’t annoy me, Sister Beth, or I might have to drown you. I’m betting I could talk your bleeding heart foundation to give me some money for at least trying to get you out of here.” �śNot if you murder me.” �śBut they won’t know that, and you won’t be around to tell.” He pulled her against him, and a moment later he’d slid down the bank of the river, carrying her with him, and they were hip deep in icy water. The current was so strong that it tugged her out of his arms, but he managed to hold on to her, letting her half float against him. �śAnd this is supposed to accomplish what?” she demanded. �śIt’ll cleanse the wound, since we don’t have any disinfectant. I can wrap something clean around it, but you’re going to slow us down anyway.” Her endurance was fading fast. �śSo drown me,” she muttered. �śPut me out of my misery.” He pulled her floating body back against his gaunt one, and his grin was savage. �śOh, hell no, darlin’,” he murmured. �śYou’ll make some lucky man a very rich, very pretty wife, and there aren’t that many of them to go around. I consider it my duty to mankind to keep you alive.” �śI don’t feel particularly pretty right now,” she grumbled. He looked down at her, held loosely in the circle of his arms as the water bounced her against him. �śAs a matter of fact you wouldn’t win any beauty contests at this point,” he said judiciously. �śBut I expect you’d clean up well. I’ll give you my final judgment after we got to civilization.” �śNo, thanks,” she muttered, knocking against him. He was hard all over, hard bones, hard muscles, hard . . . Her eyes opened wide as she stared up at him in disbelief. He just laughed down at her. �śThree years of celibacy, remember?” She yanked herself out of his arms, but a moment later the water had pulled her away, and he came after her, cursing, a pungent mixture of Spanish, English, and a few languages she didn’t recognize. The water swept her off her feet, and she went under, then came up sputtering, looking around for him in a panic. He was nowhere in sight, and she screamed his name, as something closed around her ankle, and she remembered anacondas, as the water closed over her head again. And then she was hauled up into the blessed, muggy air, and MacGowan was beside her. Even MacGowan was better than an anaconda, and she threw her arms around him, sobbing in relief. For a moment he froze, then simply hauled her out of the water, dumping her on the river bank and climbing up beside her. �śWhy the sudden affection?” he said gruffly. �śI don’t like snakes.” �śAnd?” �śI thought it was an anaconda getting my ankle. Not you.” �śI’m not as bad as an anaconda?” �śNot quite,” she said, observing her pale feet. �śWhat next?” �śJust keep from touching the dirt and I’ll bring the bandages.” He disappeared into the undergrowth. Dylan was there, watching her with interest, and Beth untied her shirt from her waist and pulled it around her, shivering with the cold but determined to keep her frozen nipples from his interested gaze. He came and sat down beside her. He hadn’t had the benefit of two immersions in icy streams and he stank, but she could smell weed on him as well. �śDude,” he said companionably, �śthe man likes you.” �śDude,” she replied, �śhe likes the money he’ll be paid when he brings us back to civilization.” �śWell, he likes you more than he does me. Don’t you?” He turned to MacGowan �śThat’s not saying much,” he grumbled. He looked at her critically. �śTake off your shirt.” �śI will not.” Without a word he turned and walked away, and she knew he wasn’t bluffing. �śOkay, okay,” she called after him. �śBut why.” He came back. �śI need something clean to rest your feet on while I bandage them. And I was planning on using the sleeves for bandages. Any more questions?” She wasn’t in the mood for fighting. �śNo questions,” she said, unbuttoning the shirt. They were in the shadows, and even in the steamy heat she had a chill, which the wet cotton wasn’t making any better, and she slipped it off her shoulders and handed it to him. He caught her ankles in his hands, and they were warm against her icy skin. Her feet were pale in his tanned hands, vulnerable, and she turned her face away while he worked, swiftly and efficiently, binding her feet. Next he took her light sneakers, split them open with a wicked-looking knife, and managed to edge them back onto her swathed feet before falling back, eying his handiwork critically. �śThat’ll have to do,” he said, rising. �śNext time tell me before things get this bad.” She looked up at him. �śYou want me complaining about every little twinge?” He held out his hand to her, but she scrambled to her feet on her own, managing not to wince in pain. �śI wouldn’t call those feet a minor twinge.” �śI didn’t think there was anything that could be done about it.” �śDo me a favor – try not to think.” His voice was terse, and under any other circumstances she would have snapped back. But this was his element, not hers. �śAll right.” He raised an eyebrow, then laughed shortly. �śA submissive female? I didn’t think they still existed.” �śHardly. These are unusual circumstances.” �śGlad you realize it. Dylan, what the hell are you doing?” The teenager had lit up a joint the size of California and was smiling at them peacefully. �śJust chilling, man.” MacGowan snatched the blunt from his mouth and sent it spinning into the swirling river, ignoring Dylan’s howl of protest. �śWhere’s the rest of it?” �śThat’s all I had left, honest. You’re a major buzz-kill. I was keeping up with you – what the fuck does it matter how stoned I was as long as I didn’t fall behind?” MacGowan grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, shoved a hand inside his loose shirt and emerged with a faded cloth bag. He sniffed it, and tossed it after the joint, holding on to Dylan as he tried to go after it. �śSuffer, dude,” he said. He glanced up at the sun overhead. �śAnother couple of hours and we can stop. That okay with you, Sister Beth?” �śYou’re the boss,” she said wearily. �śJust get me out of here.” He laughed again, shaking his head, releasing Dylan. �śYou going after the weed, Junior, or are you going to come with us?” Dylan just glared at him, not smart enough to realize MacGowan was their only hope, Beth thought. A moment later they were moving again, down the path that was growing steeper, and then she stopped thinking entirely, putting one foot in front of the other, just to keep moving. It was pitch-black when he stopped next. There was no moonlight – thick clouds covered the night, and somewhere in the distance she could hear an ominous rumble. It either had to be gunfire or thunder and at the point she would have preferred gunfire. She’d gone beyond misery to a state of numbness that kept crumbling every time she stepped the wrong way, or the bandages rubbed against her feet, or her stomach growled. She was almost disappointed that it was only another fucking rainstorm, the third that day. MacGowan shoved the two of them down in the bushes with a terse, Schwarzenegger-like �śI’ll be back,” but even a tropical downpour couldn’t put a dent in Dylan’s stink, and his mood was even worse. So Beth simply curled in on herself, ducking her head and praying for it to be over. She didn’t know how long he was gone and she didn’t care. At least she wasn’t walking. She heard his voice from a distance as the rain pounded down on her bowed head but she didn’t bother to move. He could go on without her. She was staying here, and if things got really bad she’d find an anaconda and feed herself to it. Enough was enough. She was barely aware of his hands on her, and when he scooped her up in his arms she was too beaten down to react. Between their soaked bodies a faint trace of heat bloomed and blossomed, and she turned her face into his shoulder, hiding it from the pounding rain. She stopped thinking, she stopped feeling. She simply closed her eyes and let the night take her. CHAPTER EIGHT MacGowan dumped the girl’s body down on the cot near the stove. She was a woman, not a girl, he reminded himself, remembering the unexpected feel of curves beneath his hands, and she was over thirty, wasn’t she? Still, she felt like a girl. Still innocent enough not to realize the way the big bad world worked. Dylan trailed after him, sullen and exhausted, and collapsed on a pallet in the corner. He didn’t have enough energy to glare, he simply stretched out on the wood floor of the tiny house and immediately began snoring. �śGracias, abuelita,” he said to the old woman who’d shown them in. It had been blind luck stumbling on this ramshackle cabin on the edge of the jungle. He could see the distant lights of a small village a few miles in the distance, but even that seemed a little too crowded right now. He needed time to sit back and come up with a plan, a time without two civilians whining at him. Not that Sister Beth whined. She was as stalwart as any of the nuns who’d taught him in elementary school, if not as mean. Dylan more than made up for it, but even so, MacGowan was constantly aware of the woman, and it wasn’t simply because she was the first relatively available female he’d been around in years. He glanced over at her, passed out or asleep on the narrow, sagging bed, and tried to picture someone he wanted more. He couldn’t. The old lady took the money he offered her, the grease-stained pesos part of the poker winnings he’d been amassing, and then disappeared, leaving the three of them alone in the rude hut. MacGowan pushed away the uneasiness that always stalked him. The years had taken their toll – he could no longer trust his instincts. Everyone seemed suspect, including the harmless old woman who’d disappeared into the night, tucking his money into her blouse. She’d taken one disapproving look at them, the disapproval fading as he brought out the money, and then she was gone. The night air was cool, even down at these lower altitudes, and he grabbed an extra blanket from the bed and spread it over Dylan’s gangly figure. The kid was starting to sprout whiskers – maybe he was older than Finn had thought. He was still a brat. He looked around the room. He’d slept on hard wood floors before - in truth, he was more used to it than Dylan would be. He’d slept on worse, and there was a quilt he could roll up in. He wasn’t going to do it. None of his little chickens had eaten anything, and abuelita had left some savory mixture of meat and beans for them, with fresh tortillas to mop it up with, but he figured they needed their sleep more at this point. So did he. He closed and locked the flimsy door. Not that it would keep anyone out, not anyone determined to get in, but it might slow them down a few seconds. He doused the lights, so that only the glow of the cooking fire lit the shabby room. He shouldn’t do it, he knew he shouldn’t. And he knew he was going to. He kicked off his boots and went to the bed, lowering himself down beside her, pulling her into his arms as he settled into the narrow space. She was dead to the world, and he moved against her, surrounding her body with his. Even after falling into the river he figured he wasn’t smelling too sweet, but that was the least of their worries. For some damned reason he wanted to put his arms around her, bury his face in her blonde hair, and breathe in the pure animal smell of her. He’d been too fucking long without a woman. And here she was, the antithesis of every woman he’d gotten near in the past few years. Blonde, pale, almost ethereal in her beauty. She’d be a trophy for anyone, and he’d never been the kind of man to collect trophies. His job was to get her safely back to her millionaire lifestyle, collecting a healthy reward in the bargain. Enough of a reward that he could take his time and find half a dozen blonde-haired gringas who wouldn’t react like a frightened virgin every time he came near her. He almost might have thought Izzy and his friend had gotten to her, but he’d overheard their arguing and knew that no one had raped her. Yet. That was probably one reason he’d decided to bring her with them. And it all worked out for the best, didn’t it? Hans Froelich sold him out, and MacGowan’s reward went south with him. He could use the money the Pennington Foundation would pay him for the return of their precious heiress. And he got to spend a few hours wrapped around a soft, female body. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her hair. It smelled like the jungle, it smelled like flowers. He slept. It was the pain and stiffness that woke her, and for a moment Beth didn’t move, disbelieving what her senses were telling her. She’d been dreaming for what seemed like hours. She had heard the soft rumble of MacGowan speaking in liquid Spanish, a woman’s voice answering him, and the smell of something divinely delicious on the air. Either she’d been dead or dreaming, and either way she wasn’t going to do anything to change things. She was lying on something soft, not the hard ground, and there was a roof over her head, and if anyone tried to drag her back into life she was going to kick and scream and fight them every inch. �śGracias, abuelita,” MacGowan had murmured. Grandmother. The very word warmed her. Between MacGowan the soldier and the old lady, she would be safe. One to defend her, the other to comfort her. And she gave herself up to sleep once more. When she woke again it was pitch black, even the dim light of the fire was out, and yet she felt safe, warm, wonderful. She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to wake, she wanted to stay there forever in the safety of his . . . Her eyes flew open in the darkness and she tensed. She was lying in his arms, and she had no doubt as to who he was. She could feel his long beard at the back of her neck, the strong arms wrapped around her, holding her against his body. Not that he had any choice in the narrow little bed – it was scarcely big enough for one. His body was curled around hers, and she realized with sudden panic that he was hard. There was no mistaking the feel of it beneath her butt, and for a moment she thought of Carlos and his hands, his eyes. A child, and he was dead. She wanted to weep, and would have, if she hadn’t remembered the vicious cruelty in his touch, his words. �śGo back to sleep, Sister Beth.” His voice was only a breath of sound in her ear, but for some reason it calmed her. She had no illusions about Finn MacGowan – he could be fully as dangerous as any of the men who’d kidnapped her. Perhaps even more so. So why was she feeling safe? �śStop calling me that.” Her voice wasn’t any louder than his. �śAnd what are you doing in bed with me?” �śDidn’t fancy the floor, love,” he replied, using the Irish to try to cajole her. It didn’t work. �śYou’ve slept worse places.” She heard him laugh. �śHow right you are. But not by choice. If there’s a hard floor and a soft bed I’ll go for the soft bed anytime.” �śIt was already occupied,” she said, starting to pull away from him. �śI don’t mind the floor.” She was hauled back against him, his hands making her struggle useless. �śStop being a baby about it. I’m hardly going to fuck you in full view of young Dylan, who doubtless would be more than happy to watch. Your virtue is entirely safe with me. I just want warmth. And the feel of someone by my side. No ulterior motives, saintly one. I just need someone to hold on to.” For a moment she said nothing, remembering the dead men in the last few days. The men MacGowan had killed. After so much carnage it was little wonder he needed to hold on to something. Someone. �śAll right,” she said. �śBut does it require your hands on my breasts?” She could feel the soft rumble of laughter in the chest pressed up against her back, and his hands slipped down to wrap around her waist. �śThree years, remember?” �śThere’s only so long you’re going to be able to coast on that, MacGowan. It’s getting old.” The vibration of laughter increased, and for some reason it did even more to warm her than the heat from his big, strong body. �śYou know, Sister Beth, you’re a dangerous woman.” �śYou said that before, and I assume you’re being sarcastic.” She was too sleepy to come up with a real argument, too warm and safe for the first time in days to bestir herself. �śI can’t imagine anyone more pathetically weak than I am. What could I possibly do to you?” �śSweetheart, you could make me fall in love, and that’s fatal.” His voice was soft and cajoling in her ear, and she didn’t bother responding to his absurdity. �śGo back to sleep.” Again that warming laugh. �śJust tell me one thing, Sister Beth. If you’re so uninterested in the lure of the flesh, why were your nipples hard in my hands?” �śI was dreaming about Brad Pitt.” �śWoman, you are truly evil.” �śI thought I was a nun.” �śYou forget, I grew up in Catholic schools. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” �śAre we going to keep chatting or are you going to let me sleep? We’ve been running for our lives for the last forty-eight hours, and I wasn’t any too comfortable before that.” Determinedly she shut out the vision of Father Pascal, his hand still clutching his rosary. �śIf you want to talk, go curl up with Dylan.” �śAnd you seemed so meek and mild when I first saw you.” His voice was faintly mocking. �śGo to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll watch over you.” She should have protested, kicked him off the cot. She couldn’t. She felt too safe. �śI am meek and mild,” she said firmly. �śJust not when people are trying to kill me.” �śThat works.” She wouldn’t have thought he could get any closer, but he did, his body so close he was almost inside her, his body heat radiating into her. �śYou’re too bony,” she complained, settling back against him, unconsciously aiding him. �śThe Guiding Light doesn’t believe in generous rations for prisoners.” He must have felt her laugh. �śThat amuses you?” �śI can’t help it. What self-respecting rebel group takes their name from an American soap opera?” �śIt’s a soap opera? I wouldn’t know. I don’t watch television.” �śIt’s been cancelled anyway.” She felt the warmth of his breath on her neck, and felt a blossoming of heat in her body, in inexplicable places. She knew full well that any feeling between her legs was extremely dangerous. �śStop talking.” He nuzzled her neck, and against her will she felt another odd, answering flare. �śYou started it this time,” he said. �śComplaining about my bones. Can’t help it, sweetheart. Any of it,” he added mischievously. And she wasn’t going to think about that particularly hard part of him, pressing up against her butt. �śGo to sleep.” And for a short, blessed while, they did. She felt him shift, moments before his hand clamped over her mouth, and her eyes flew open in sudden terror. He’d rolled on top of her, immobilizing her, but there was no slumberous lust on his face. �śDon’t make a sound,” he whispered, so quietly it was more a suggestion of sound. She nodded, and he removed his hand, then slid off her, leaving her cold and alone and frightened. The early morning light was just beginning to filter into the small shack they were in. She couldn’t even remember clearly how they’d gotten here, and she looked around in sudden panic to see Dylan on the floor, MacGowan looming over him, waking him a little more roughly than he’d done with her. She scrambled off the narrow cot, leaving its remembered warmth with regret. The shredded remains of her sneakers were on the floor, and she shoved her feet into them, barely aware of the pain of her wounded feet. She stayed low, out of sight of the window with its rough burlap covering, and MacGowan turned back to look at her, the flash of approval in his eyes almost as warming as his body had been. He moved back to her, dragging the yawning but compliant Dylan with him, and they huddled together on the floor. �śThat old bitch sold us out,” he said. �śEither that or La Luz has become suddenly more efficient, which I doubt. They’re coming.” �śHow can you tell? I don’t hear anything,” Dylan complained. MacGowan cast him a withering glance. �śI’m trained for this kind of thing, idiot. We need to get the fuck out of here. There are too many of them to take in a fight.” �śHow?” Her word was simple – it was no time for them to argue tactics. �śLa Luz is coming down the mountain and they were never any good at being quiet. We sneak out the back, through the underbrush. It’ll be rough going compared to what we’ve been doing, but it’s our only chance.” Rough compared to what they’d been doing? She didn’t say a word as defeat swamped her. She’d barely survived what they’d been doing. And he wanted more of her? She couldn’t. She’d rather he just shot her. But for some reason she nodded, and the approval in his eyes gave her more strength. �śYou first, Sister Beth, then Dylan. I’ll take up the rear, just in case they’ve sent out someone in advance.” She looked at the narrow opening in the cabin. Beyond it she could see nothing but darkness and the strangling overgrowth of the jungle, and he expected her to take the lead. She swallowed her instinctive whimper – she could howl later. Right now she had no choice. �śGo!” he said, and she didn’t dare hesitate any longer, or she wouldn’t be able to do it at all. She dove out the window headfirst, the thick foliage cushioning her fall, and she rolled when she landed, ending up almost on her feet in the middle of a jungle so dense she felt trapped. A moment later Dylan was beside her, landing a little more clumsily, and she reached down and yanked him up while he shoved the fronds out of his mouth. They stood still and silent, waiting for MacGowan. He didn’t come. Beth stood very still. The chill of the night was lifting, and the smothering heat of the day was moving over them with the growing sunlight. She was shivering anyway, from fear. There was no noise from the cabin, but no sign of MacGowan. �śHow long do we wait?” Dylan whispered. �śAs along as we have to.” Since when had she become the fearless leader? Then again, Dylan was younger than he seemed, for all his bravado, and she was, God, almost twice his age. Had they managed to sneak up on MacGowan, slit his throat so quickly and silently that there’d been no struggle for them to overhear? Was he lying dead in a pool of his own blood, and it was a matter of moments before they were recaptured? Or had he abandoned them, using the Guiding Light as an excuse, bringing them close enough to civilization to ensure they’d find help. But why – he wanted the money he could claim as a reward. No, the only reason he wasn’t there was because he couldn’t be. She waited as long as she dared, and then stiffened her spine. �śLet’s go,” she said finally. �śMacGowan can catch up with us. He wouldn’t want us standing around like sitting ducks.” �śHow can you stand like a sitting duck?” Dylan managed to reply. �śStuff it,” she said, pleased with her gruff tone. She was channeling MacGowan, and she’d keep the two of them alive until he found them again. Because he would. They couldn’t have gotten that far only to . . . No, she wasn’t going to think about it. Too many people she cared about had died. She couldn’t face the idea of one more. Not that she should care about MacGowan – he was alternately gruff and charming and about as sincere as an anaconda, not to mention as lethal. But he’d saved them, again and again, and he’d distracted her and made her laugh and she didn’t want him dead. Not him, too. She pushed the heavy fronds out of her way, moving forward. The ground was too even, and she had no idea where the river was. The sun was rising to her left, which meant that was east, the direction they’d been heading as they moved down the mountain. Unfortunately that was where the cabin and the encroaching rebels were, so they’d head south, at least until the sun was high overhead and she lost all sense of direction, and . . . He loomed up so fast it she couldn’t stifle her scream, as all she saw was a shadowy figure with the machete in his hand. She threw herself back at Dylan, flinging out her arms to protect him, and the two of them landed in a tangle on the jungle floor, Dylan using the opportunity to cop a feel as MacGowan loomed over them. �śJesus, Sister Beth, you spook easily,” he said, pulling her up. �śI had to find something to hack our way through the bushes.” He glanced down at Dylan. �śYou can get to your feet by yourself, boy-o.” It was a good thing he’d diverted his attention to the kid. She would have flung herself into his arms in relief, and that would be very dangerous indeed. Not because he was wound so tight he was ready to explode, not because there was still a trace of wet blood on the machete, but because throwing herself in his arms was what she wanted to do more than anything in the world. And there was no room for that in his life or hers. �śWe ready, my chickens?” he inquired in a deceptively mild voice. �śReady,” she said, not hesitating. Exhaustion and safety were the best cures for the ridiculous feelings rushing through her. �śOnward!” His grim mouth, barely visible in the thick growth of beard, quirked in amusement. �śOnward,” he said. CHAPTER NINE Peter Madsen slammed his hand down on the ancient walnut desk, which had once graced a far nobler establishment than the covert offices of the Committee, and cursed, long and fluently. Things were getting stickier, and he was understaffed. He’d hoped to send someone out to intercede with MacGowan and bring him back in without MacGowan feeling murderous. Rafferty was too new an operative to handle something so explosive, and he didn’t know if he could reach Taka in time. If he tried Reno, MacGowan would probably take one look at that flame-colored head and shoot first, ask questions later. The only person MacGowan would be likely to listen to was Isobel, and she was at the back end of beyond and she’d better damned well stay there. The CIA was too hungry for Thomas Killian’s blood, and they’d be alert for any sign from her. He wasn’t particularly afraid of MacGowan – he was a hard man to kill, and he hardly considered Finn MacGowan a match in a fair fight. It depended how fair MacGowan was in the mood to be. Isobel was already far too involved, even from her island paradise. The word from Isobel said MacGowan was out and heading toward Puerto Claro. Tomas would be there to meet him, and maybe the money would assuage some of MacGowan’s rage. But it wasn’t likely. MacGowan knew how to hold a grudge, and he’d always hated Peter, seeing him as the very essence of English power. He had no idea Peter’s bully of a policeman father had been the very epitome of working class. But it was still British class, and MacGowan held a grudge. Not that MacGowan ever had anything to do with politics, despite his father. Doubtless the IRA had come calling, but MacGowan had turned his back on them to work for the international organization called the Committee. Peter was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He had no choice but just to sit tight and wait until MacGowan got in touch with him. He wasn’t going to be happy at being left high and dry for all these years. He shoved away from the desk, limping over to the row of cabinets. He had a competent young man in the outer office doing secretarial work, he had Taka O’Brien and Rafferty spearheading operations, much to Summer O’Brien’s annoyance, and Taka’s notorious cousin watching over the American branch of things. He had people he trusted, a wife he adored, two, no, make that three children if you counted Mahmoud. He shouldn’t be feeling restless. But he was getting a very bad feeling about this, and he trusted his instincts. The CIA had been far too quiet. They were planning something, and he had no idea what, or whether it had anything to do with MacGowan. It was probably the least of his worries. MacGowan was going to be so pissed off he’d kill him. He poured himself a glass of single malt, the good bottle he kept for members of Parliament and very bad days, and held it up in a silent toast. �śEnjoy your retirement, Isobel, you sodding bitch. And don’t you dare try to come back home.” They reached the small town by early afternoon. Siesta time, when curious eyes would be few. It meant taking his companions in circles as they made it down the last bit of the mountain, and he suspected that Sister Beth had noticed. She didn’t say anything, though, simply trudged on with her bandaged feet, and if they’d been alone he would have offered to carry her. She would have refused. No, scratch that. If they were alone he would have already fucked her, and she’d be more than happy to curl up in his arms again. But they weren’t alone, and in the end it was a good thing. Civilization held working girls, and he could leave the almost-virgin alone, returning her home in pristine, unsoiled condition. The money would be more than enough compensation. He went ahead, checking out the small cantina, asking the right questions, passing the right amount of money, before he went back and retrieved his charges. The cantina was only a bar and there was no hotel, but outside of town lay an abandoned mission. Haunted, the innkeeper told him, which sounded good to MacGowan. Ghosts kept nosy villagers away, and they could rest for a day or two before finding some kind of vehicle to get them out of there. He was going to have to steal one – these places had no transportation to spare, but he was careful not to signal his intentions, disappearing back into the jungle without a word. He checked the knife wound on his way back. He’d done his best to keep it hidden from curious eyes, and the bleeding had stopped a while ago. He’d packed the slice on his ribs with soft cotton that looked reasonably clean, and he had no intention of letting either of his companions know about it. They didn’t need to be worrying about him – things were tenuous enough. There was an infirmary at the abandoned mission, and he could patch himself up there when no one was looking. He took them the long way around, bypassing the village until they came to edge of the mission. Dylan was too tired to bitch, and Beth’s eyes were glazed with exhaustion until he stopped at the edge of one of the buildings that had clearly been used as a hospital. She raised her face, and all color drained from her face. �śNo,” she said in a hoarse voice. �śWhat’s your problem?” he drawled, annoyed �śThe place is abandoned, there are beds and a roof and we can probably even find some food. It hasn’t been abandoned for more than a few days . . .” �śNo,” she said again, and it finally clicked. Dylan had already pushed ahead of her, disappearing into the building in search of God knew what, and MacGowan stared at her, momentarily uncertain what to do. Of all the damned luck, to have brought her back to the place they took her. He’d heard the kid talking about the attack, bragging about what he’d done. He knew that Sister Beth, for all her elegant calm, had witnessed some of that slaughter, had known the victims. She’d put up with everything he’d thrown at her, mostly without complaint, even been stupid enough to have tried to save his life. He’d finally found the one thing that could break her. �śI’m sorry,” he said, and those words never came easily when he actually meant them, as he did now. �śI didn’t realize this was your mission. The man at the cantina said they gave the old priest and the women a decent burial, and the whole village attended, for what that’s worth. But there’s nothing you can do for them now, and this is our best, safest chance. You can’t walk any further, I’m about to pass out from hunger, and God knows what Dylan’s likely to do. We have to stop, at least for one night.” �śI can’t go in there.” �śYes, you can. There are no such things as ghosts, sweetheart. And if there were, don’t you think they’d be on your side?”( She turned on him, her sweet eyes suddenly blazing. �śDon’t you understand? I failed them. I was in the schoolroom while they were being slaughtered, and if Carlos didn’t know I was worth money I would have been dead too. Once again I get to buy myself out of trouble while other people, innocent, good people pay the price.” He looked down at her, and shrugged. �śLife’s a bitch, lady. If you want to sleep outside you can, but I wouldn’t recommend it. There are nasty things that can roam around villages. So you were lucky enough to be born with a shitload of money. Cheers. When you get back give it all away if it makes you feel that guilty. After you pay me for rescuing you, of course. But in the meantime pick up your feet and get your butt inside before anyone notices we’re here.” Her mouth was set in a mulish expression he hadn’t seen before, so he simply sighed, moved toward her and slung her over his shoulder before she had time to argue. She pounded on his back, and he cursed when she hit the knife wound he’d been so careful to hide, but he simply continued up the steps, ignoring her, slamming the door after them. He set her down, keeping a hand on her in case she decided to bolt. He hadn’t needed that extra abuse on his ribs, and he certainly didn’t need to be running after her, but after glaring at him she settled into a sullen, acquiescent silence. �śWhere’s the infirmary?” That caught her nosey interest. �śIt’s the building right next to this one. This is the school, the one next to it is the hospital, and beyond that are the dormitories.” �śThat where you slept?” �śYes.” �śThen you’ll be able to find clean clothes. Does this place come with electricity or hot water?” �śIt did,” she said after a moment. �śFather Pascal was trying to fix the generator when he was cut down.” �śMaybe I’ll see what I can do with it.” �śNo!” He’d released her arm, but she simply grabbed his hand. �śWhy, Sister Beth, I do believe you’re worried about me. I promise you that the rebels who attacked here are long gone, and if any of them lingered they wouldn’t be likely to get the drop on me. I’m a far cry from your gentle priest.” He was hoping to coax a smile at the absurd comparison, or at least a relaxation of her death grip, but she didn’t move. �śI don’t know what we’d do if you were killed.” He covered her hand with his, slowly detaching her death grip. �śWell, darling, I’ll tell you,” he said, �śif someone managed to sneak up on me and slit my throat, then I think you’d both already be dead, seeing as the two of you are much easier targets, so there’s nothing to worry about. If by some miracle I get murdered and you escape, then it’s simple. You steal a car – I’m willing to bet young Dylan knows how to hotwire an engine. You head east, to the nearest port city, which I suspect will be Puerto Claro, and get on the next plane, boat, or surfboard you can find and get the hell out of Dodge. And when you get home raise a glass of the good Irish in my memory.” �śNo.” �śDamn, woman, you’re like a toddler who’s just learned a new word. Do you have any idea how much I hate the word �Śno’?” �śI can imagine.” She was clinging to the sleeve of his shredded shirt, and if he didn’t get away from her she’d notice the bleeding and start fussing, and he couldn’t stand fussing. �śThen are you going to let go of your death grip on me and let me take care of business? Or do you want me to come back to your room with you?” She let go immediately, and he gave her a cynical smile. �śThat’s what I thought. Why don’t you go see what food they left behind while I look into the electricity? With any luck you can take a hot bath and soak your feet.” She wasn’t happy with the idea, but she stopped arguing, and he congratulated himself on his cleverness as he headed out in the direction of the utility shed where doubtless the generator lodged. All he had to do was threaten her with his attentions and she’d do anything. He’d been used to things the other way around. The utility shed was easy enough to locate – they’d hacked at it with their machetes in a futile effort to break the lock, but it was still intact. Something must have scared the rebels off before they could steal the generator. He glanced around the dusty courtyard in search of something that would help him either pick or break the lock and noticed the stained patches. Old blood – the priest and the helpers would have been murdered here, probably protecting the Goddamned generator. Though from what that little monster had said, half the murders were for fun and games. He kicked dust over the tell-tale stains; it wouldn’t do for Beth to come across them. She was already spooked enough, and he needed to keep her calm and distracted while they rested up. He ended up breaking the lock with a rock, something that lacked finesse but worked just fine, and the generator was a piece of cake. He listened to its noisy hum with satisfaction, then primed the water pump so that water flowed into the mission. His grandfather had been a mechanic, and MacGowan always told himself the gift for practicality had skipped his father and come directly to him. There wasn’t a machine he couldn’t coax to life given enough opportunity. His rib was bleeding again, thanks to his exertions with Sister Beth. His next stop was the infirmary to see whether the Guiding Light had left any medical supplies behind. There wasn’t much. He took off his shirt and t-shirt, removing the blood-soaked pad gingerly. He could have used a few stitches to pull the slash together, but it was mostly shallow, with only a deeper gash at the end of the wound. He poured alcohol over it to clean it, sucking in his breath at the searing pain of it, then began blotting it with gauze as the blood began to flow. He ought to let it bleed for a bit, just to finish clearing it out, when he heard a muffled noise, and he froze. He’d left the machete with Dylan, who’d found great pleasure in trail-blazing through the tropical jungle, hacking at the plant life. He pulled the gun from the back of his jeans and headed toward the noise, as silent as the ghosts who haunted this place. The adjoining room was empty. He recognized it as a rudimentary kitchen, efficient enough to have fed the daily students and the few inhabitants of the mission. He heard the muffled noise again, and the hackles on his skin rose. It was the sound of a woman, and if anyone was messing with Sister Beth he’d rip them apart, limb by limb. He moved around the wide counter, silent as always. She was sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped around her knees, her fist in her mouth to try to quiet her sobs, and he realized he hadn’t actually seen her cry before. He knew she had, during their endless march down the mountains. She wasn’t in the kind of shape that trek demanded – few people were, but she’d kept up, and only occasionally he’d seen the marks of tears on her dirty face, and he’d wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her. He hadn’t touched her. He should walk away now, let her cry in privacy, but he couldn’t move, torn. She must have felt his eyes on her, for she suddenly swallowed her sob on a choked gasp and looked up at him, her huge, sorrow-filled eyes a sharper pain than the knife slash. He moved slow enough, so as not to spook her, to give her plenty of time to move, but she stayed where she was, her huge eyes looking into his, and she fucking broke his heart, if he still possessed such a useless organ. He sank down on the floor beside her, but she didn’t flinch away. And then it was a foregone conclusion – he lifted her onto his lap, pressed her face against his bare shoulders, and held her, as her weeping returned, no longer muffled, a wail of pain and sorrow that had been boxed up too long, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her with more tenderness than he would have held a child, and let her weep. He didn’t need her smothered, random words to know why she cried. She cried for the gentle priest who’d been her friend, for the two women who’d teased her about her love life and fussed over her like a pair of nosy grandmothers. And she cried for Carlos, a vicious, murdering piece of shit if ever he’d seen one, but to her a lost child. He didn’t bother talking sense to her. He simply stroked her braided hair and let her weep against him, enjoying it. He had no problem with women’s tears – he was Irish, after all. As long as he wasn’t the cause he could comfort her for as long as she’d tolerate it. Gradually her tears lessened, coming to a shuddery, choking halt. He knew when she suddenly realized where she was, whose arms were around her, whose bare chest she was pressed against. The sudden stiffening of her muscles, a slow withdrawal, and he let her go. She scrambled off his lap like he was radioactive, and tried to rise to her feet, but her fit of weeping had taken the very last of her energy, and she sank back down on her knees, at a safe distance from him. �śDon’t worry, love, I’m not taking that as an offer of sex,” he said with a wry smile. �śI got the generator working. Why don’t you go take yourself a long, hot bath while I find something to eat.” She didn’t move. Her voice was raw from her tears when she finally spoke. �śThere’s still a lot of food left behind. Cans of fish and beans, flour and corn and rice. If you just give me a minute I can make something.” �śYou cook?” Teasing might help bring her back to her fighting weight. �śRich, beautiful, virtuous, and you can cook? What more could a man ask for? Well, maybe virtuous wouldn’t be on my top-ten list of desirable traits, but the rest of the package makes up for it.” She wasn’t responding to his blarney, but then, she’d always proven surprisingly resistant to it, probably because of the intensity of their situation. She glanced down at herself, then at him, and he realized she wasn’t admiring his manly physique. �śYou’re bleeding.” Her voice was flat, strong, no longer shaken by repressed grief. �śJust a scratch.” He saw the tension suddenly sweep her body. �śIs someone here?” He shook his head. �śI got this when I went to get the machete. It stopped bleeding until you decided to pummel me.” He wasn’t above using guilt to get what he wanted. Sister Beth, however, was impervious. �śYou need stitches.” �śYou offering?” She was considering it, then shook her head. �śMuch as I’d love to drive a needle through your un-anesthetized flesh, I think I’d rather not. I can put some butterfly bandages on it.” This time when she rose she was steadier. God save him from a holy martyr, who could draw herself together for the greater good but could no more take care of herself than a newborn kitten. �śNo, you can’t. They took most of the medical supplies.” �śNot the kit in my cell.” He raised an eyebrow. �śAnd you still swear you’re not a nun?” �śFine, I’m a nun. So keep your lascivious thoughts away from me. I can find enough butterfly bandages to keep that slash together so that it will heal.” �ś’Lascivious’?” he echoed with a laugh. �śI’ve never heard them called that before.” �śIt means . . .”( �śI know what lascivious means, sweetheart. It’s just not a word I hear in everyday conversation.” �śYou surprise me. You’re a powder keg of testosterone ready to explode. I’m surprised more women haven’t mentioned it.” �śI don’t tend to shag women with your vocabulary. And it’s been three years, remember?” �śHow could I forget? Are you going to stay there, or come with me to my bedroom?” He surged to his feet with far more energy than he felt. �śNow there’s an offer I can’t refuse.” �śMedical treatment only, MacGowan.” Her previous bout of grief might never have happened – she was her calm, indomitable self. �śFollow me.” �śTo the ends of the earth, me darlin’.” CHAPTER TEN Don’t think about it, Beth told herself firmly. It won’t do any good, they’re gone and you’ve already fallen apart. You just have to hold on. They hadn’t gotten into the living quarters. But then, why bother? They’d already killed everyone who lived here, and had her as hostage. She pushed the narrow door open and looked at the familiar, safe confines of her little room once more, and a stray shiver ran across her body. �śGet on the bed,” she said. Odd how much bigger MacGowan seemed in her tiny room. Without his shirt she could see just how bony he was, probably twenty or thirty pounds under his fighting weight from his years in captivity. He loomed over her, and she finally understood her ambivalence. He had protected her, killed for her, led her to safety. He was safety. But he was also big and raw and so elementally male that it made her teeth sweat. She’d spent most of her life blissfully above the calls of the flesh and the dark, desperate couplings that subsumed others. She didn’t like sex, didn’t want sex. Body parts were simply that. She looked at MacGowan and thought about sex. �śI’m too bloody, sweaty, and dirty to get on your sheets, sweetheart. You can work while I stand.” Which kept him looming over her and kept her in a subservient position. She was going to argue with him, but the longer he stood in her tiny room the more overwhelmed she felt. She needed to get him patched up and out of there. �śAll right,” she said, reaching under the bed and pulling out her medical kit. A bed that wasn’t as small as the bed they’d shared last night, she realized, feeling her face heat in sudden awareness, and she kept her face down, her voice brisk. She sat down on the bed herself, opening the kit. �śCome here.” He said nothing, moving closer so that his legs were against her knees. The knife had bounced off his ribs, only going in deep in one spot, and it looked relatively clean. She reached for a pair of rubber gloves and started to pull them on when he plucked them out of her hand. �śWe’ve already been mixing blood, sweat and tears. Save the plastic for someone else.” �śI bet you say the same thing about condoms.” The moment the words were out of her mouth she wanted to bite her tongue. She didn’t want to be talking condoms with this man. He laughed. �śWhat makes you think I use condoms, Sister Beth? I’m a good Catholic boy.” That made her give him a disgusted look, but of course he was still teasing her. �śLighten up. I don’t go around courting disease and dropping bastards. We’re almost out of here, this is just a scratch, and in a few days you’ll be safe back in the states and I’ll be a rich man. No one else is going to die, you’re safe, we’ve made it. Now patch me up and go take a long hot bath.” She said nothing, bending to her work. Fresh blood had crusted on the wound, and she cleaned it before reaching for the butterfly bandages. She knew it hurt him, but he said nothing, not even flinching, and she began pulling the torn flesh together with the bandages. �śHow come you have so much hair on your face and so little on your chest?” she grumbled, trying to keep her mind off how warm and sleek his skin was. �śHoping to shave my chest, were you? I never bothered to think about it. Do you like your men hairy or smooth?” �śIt depends where the hair is.” He laughed, and she realized how indelicate that sounded. �śYou have the mind of an adolescent boy,” she grumbled, putting on another bandage. �śAnd don’t give me any more crap about three years. I don’t imagine you were ever restrained.” �śYou don’t know anything about me, Miss Pennington.” It was the voice of a stranger, clipped, cool, polite, and she looked up, startled. Even past the familiar beard he looked completely different, an upper class Brit in a distasteful situation. And then, just as swiftly, the mask fell away, and it was MacGowan again, with a slow, lazy grin on his face. She bent back to her work. �śWhat was that?” �śYou don’t know what I do for a living. There’s a reason I survived up there for so long, a reason why they took me in the first place, a reason I was able to get the two of you down safely. I’ve been trained by the best, and I know how to get a job done without looking back. I also know how to be anyone I want to be. A year from now if you passed me in the street you wouldn’t even know me.” His voice was cool, dispassionate, almost bleak, and she wanted to break through that sudden wall. �śEspecially if you shave,” she said caustically. �śAll done.” She gave him a little shove, but instead he moved closer, pushing between her legs so that he was too close, and he caught her hand as she started to put the bandages away. She looked up, into his eyes, and her breath caught. He was looking down at her with the oddest expression on his face, something she’d never seen before, something she couldn’t understand. �śWhere the fuck have you guys been?” Dylan appeared in the doorway, breaking the tenuous thread that had stretched between them. MacGowan stepped back, and Beth felt her breath return. �śSister Beth’s been patching me up,” he said. �śWhere have you been?” �śExploring. Whoever was living here sure left in a hurry. I found . . .” MacGowan already had him by the arm, manhandling him out of the room. �śBeth was living here,” he said. �śAnd I don’t think she wants to talk about it. You can take care of dinner. She needs a bath and a rest, I need the same.” �śWhat makes you think I wouldn’t like a bath?” Dylan shot back. �śYou’ve got a choice between food or a bath and you’re a teenage boy. I figure the answer is simple. You can take a bath after I’ve finished.” �śShe stab you?” Dylan surveyed him with great interest. �śNo. Not that she wouldn’t have liked to, but Sister Beth is a woman of infinite resources. Unlike you and me. Come along, hermano, and I’ll let you raid the kitchen.” Their voices trailed off, and she was alone once more, sitting on her bed, unmoving. They were gone, and she’d already indulged herself in the luxury of grief. For now she could put it away, deal with it more properly once she was home. In the meantime, if she could trust MacGowan, there would be a hot bath available for the taking. Grabbing clean clothes from the trunk by her bed, she went out into the familiar hallway, heading for the bathing room that had once served the nuns. The old bath was huge, and she filled it only half-full, with lukewarm water. MacGowan and Dylan needed baths or showers themselves and she wasn’t going to hog all the hot water. Besides, room temperature water was almost warm enough. She was completely filthy, and the tub would be muddy in two seconds if she got in like this. She stripped off her clothes and stood under the shower, unbraiding her long hair as the top layer of mud and dirt came off her. Turning it off, she slid into the old porcelain tub, sinking down. She tilted her head back, letting her hair flow about her in the warm water, and felt the last bits of tension drain away. For now, for this moment, she was safe and happy. In an hour they’d begin the fight to survive once more, but right now she could simply lie back in the tub, rub herself with the rose-scented soap Tia Maria had brought her, and be glad to be alive. It was no wonder she fell asleep. No wonder that getting a mouthful of water woke her with a start, and she climbed out of the now-cold water, wrapping herself in the threadbare towel. Her skin was burned by the sun, and bruises covered half of her body. There were no mirrors at the mission – the nuns had been denied them and Beth hadn’t cared, but now she wished she could see just how bad she looked. She pulled on a clean pair of cargo shorts and a tank top, covering her lack of a bra with an oversized cotton shirt. Her feet were a pathetic mess, but she had an old pair of flip-flops she could wear that would give her soles some protection, and she could smell food coming from the kitchen. Something spicy and good, and she realized with relief that Dylan was a better cook than she would have thought. The electric lights were on, the overhead fan spinning lazily when she walked inside the kitchen, and she opened her mouth to speak, then stopped in shock at the sight of the stranger standing by the stove. Not Dylan after all, and she should have run, but she was too petrified to move. It was one shock too many, and she stared at the man, trying to assess whether he was going to kill her, rape her, or feed her. The stranger looked up at her out of cool gray eyes. He had long, blonde-streaked brown hair, a strong nose, and a mouth that curved in the trace of a smile. He wasn’t Hispanic, and therefore unlikely to be a threat, but she wasn’t going to let down her guard just because a ridiculously handsome man appeared in her kitchen. �śWhere’s MacGowan?” she demanded fiercely, determined not to show fear. �śWhat have you done with him? And where is Dylan?” The man gave her a lazy smile, the kind that would charm most women, and the suspicion blossomed before he even opened his mouth. �śI didn’t do a damned thing to MacGowan except give him a shower and shave him, Sister Beth. What do you think . . . do I clean up well?” That was the understatement of the year, and for some reason Beth was suddenly annoyed. Almost betrayed. What the hell was someone that good-looking doing hiding under all that hair and dirt. Granted, he’d had no choice in the matter, but it was unfair of fate to have suddenly presented her with someone that gorgeous. �śWell enough,” she said in an unpromising voice. She limped over to one of the long tables where they’d fed the children, Carlos included, and sat. �śDylan’s in the shower?” �śLet’s hope so. He was making a fair mess of things here so I kicked him out. How are your feet?” �śThey’ll heal. Did you get your dressing wet? I don’t have an unlimited supply of butterfly bandages, you know.” �śI know how to take a shower without ruining a field dressing, darlin’.” He started dishing up a plate of something, then dumped it in front of her. �śEat up. Tons more where that came from.” It looked like canned dog food and smelled like heaven, and she took the fork he handed her and dug in, burning her mouth on the first bite and not caring. �śWhat is it?” �śA bit of this and a bit of that. Flavored with a lot of chili.” He filled another plate and sat down opposite her, and his leg knocked against hers under the table. She jumped back, nervous, but either he didn’t notice or pretended not to. She kept her eyes lowered, staring into the mystery food in front of her, suddenly tongue-tied. As if things weren’t bad enough. She needed to say something. He was watching her, she could feel those hard gray eyes assessing her, and she swallowed too large a mouthful of the dinner, then had to wait while she chewed. �śHow did you manage to shave?” she said finally. �śThere aren’t any mirrors here, and I gather scraping that much hair off a face is a complicated matter.” �śI can make do with most of the basic necessities of life. Look – not even a nick.” She had no choice but glance at him, but her eyes skittered away quickly. He had a stubborn jaw, high cheekbones, with a deceptive delicacy about his mouth, a sweetness she knew was a complete lie. And there wasn’t even a scratch on his gorgeous face. �śI’m impressed,” she muttered into her stew. He laughed. �śWhy, Sister Beth, I do believe you’re shy.” That was too much. She glared at him, looking for what she remembered in his face, the mocking, flinty eyes. �śI don’t do shy.” �śNow that’s a lie, sweetheart.” Before she realized what he was doing he’d reached across the table and caught her hand in his. There was a world of difference. His hands were large, burned dark by the sun, covered with scars and scratches. Two of his fingers had been badly broken at one point and hadn’t been properly set, and her smaller, paler, much more delicate hand seemed almost child-like caught in his stronger one. His thumb rubbed against the inside of her palm, and she felt heat move up her arm, and she wanted to pull away from him, but she looked up into the handsome face of a stranger and didn’t move, mesmerized. �śI’m clean,” Dylan announced unnecessarily from the kitchen door, and Beth tried to yank her hand free. She couldn’t. �śDinner smells great.” He peered into the pot distrustfully. �śLooks like ass, though.” He looked back at them. �śWhat’s going on with you two? Every time I walk in the room you both look like you’ve been fucking. You decide to have a piece, dude?” �śYou need to learn to respect your elders, lad,” MacGowan said in a lazy voice, still caressing her palm with his thumb, the slow, deliberate strokes sending a mass of contradictory feelings through her. Dylan plopped himself down at the table beside MacGowan and dug in. He seemed to take MacGowan’s transformation in stride, but then, the elegant cheekbones, the seductive mouth would most likely leave a teenage boy cold. �śYou know, holding hands isn’t gonna get you anywhere,” he confided, his mouth full of food. �śYou’re not that old.” MacGowan laughed then, and released her. �śYou make me feel positively ancient. If I have any trouble getting Sister Beth in bed I’ll ask your advice. Until then, shut the fuck up.” Dylan chuckled. He glanced over at Beth, who’d snatched her hand back and stuck it under the table. �śYou look nice,” he said to her. �śNot that you look all that different from when you arrived, just cleaned up a bit. I didn’t recognize MacGowan when I first saw him.” �śThree years,” MacGowan reminded him absently, his eyes still on Beth’s face. She wished he’d look somewhere else. She looked in his direction, avoiding his gaze, concentrating first on his shoulder, then looking at his long hair. �śHe looks very different,” she agreed. �śHow long were you held captive? And how did they kidnap you?” Dylan shrugged, but he looked a bit sheepish. �śI was just bumming around the country with a couple of friends, having a good time, and the next thing I know I wake up and I’m in the mountains.” �śWhat he’s not saying,” MacGowan broke in, �śis that he and a bunch of his rich friends commandeered his father’s private jet and came down here in search of drugs and a good time. The friends got hauled back to the States but our lad here managed to avoid capture and struck up a friendship with the wrong sort of people. People who sold him out to the Guiding Light. How long were you with us, kid? Three months? Four?” Dylan seemed unoffended by this harsh assessment. �śSix weeks and two days, dude. Until you got me out.” He sighed. �śThere’s a cantina in town, and I sure could use some . . .” he glanced at Beth, �ś. . . some feminine companionship. It’s a long time to go without . . . uh . . . feminine companionship.” �śMeaning he wants pussy,” MacGowan translated, �śand he’s suddenly decided to watch his language.” �śIt wouldn’t do you any harm either,” she snapped. �śBut the thing is, kid,” he continued, as if Beth hadn’t said anything, �śI don’t want you leaving this place. I have to go scout things out, see if I can find us a vehicle, and I need you to look out for Sister Beth.” �śI don’t need looking out for.” He just looked at her, and once more she lowered her eyes to the stew. �śI would have thought by now you’d realize that the only way we’re going to survive is to do what I tell you.” He pushed back from the table, and for the first time since she’d seen the new, gorgeous version of him she found she could breathe. �śDylan, since you didn’t cook and Beth needs to stay off her feet, you end up with KP. And then I want you both in bed.” He cast a menacing glance at Dylan. �śSeparately, kid. But take the room next to her just in case. I’ll be taking care of business.” �śYou’re the one who’s going after pussy,” Dylan accused him. �śThree years, kid.” He headed for the door, then paused for a moment, looking back at her, and once more she felt the uncomfortable warmth of his gaze. �śWatch out for Sister Beth.” Vincent Barringer was feeling uncharacteristically annoyed. He always acted with deliberation and calm, but things had definitely not gone his way. Sully had lost MacGowan. The Guiding Light had gotten a tip, and had gone after MacGowan before Sully could stop them, and his quarry had disappeared into the jungles without a trace. They would have to wait until he showed up in a town. He had no choice, if he wanted to get out of the country he’d need to make it to a reasonably large city, and Sully’s informants would make sure Sully found out about it. It was just going to take a little bit longer. In the meantime, his people in London had picked up what seemed like ghost transmissions. Messages that had come from a source they were unable to trace so far, but he was guessing had come from Isobel Lambert. Unfortunately he could only bring in his most trusted operatives – there was no budget for this. Killian had been written off long ago, though the file was still open, and would be until there was a verified kill. Still, Barringer had to be careful whom he trusted. Thank God for Sully. If Sully couldn’t catch MacGowan, then no one could. And once he was in the hands of the CIA, Isobel would emerge, Killian at her side. The perfect target. He felt himself calming at the pleasant thought. He’d been a crack shot when he was younger, a sniper in Viet Nam. Maybe he’d do the hit himself this time, though he’d much prefer handling it face to face. Anonymous death was frustrating for both the victim and the executioner. People needed to know why they were dying. Even Killian deserved that much. CHAPTER ELEVEN She was going to be the death of him, Finn thought as he made his way toward the village. He could lie with the best of them; in fact, it was his stock in trade as an undercover operative for the Committee. He never told the truth if he could help it – a lie was always easier to slip out from under, and he never forgot details. But he never lied to himself. He’d been hoping he’d dazzle her with his newly-shaven glory. Even without a mirror he knew what he looked like – his face was just one of the many weapons in his arsenal, and he knew how to use it. It had worked, sort of. Beth Pennington had taken one look at him and freaked. He would have preferred a gentle swoon, accompanied by a �śtake me now” but he’d always known it wouldn’t be that easy. She wouldn’t be that easy. Beth had a wall around her taller and stronger than any of the ones he’d erected around himself. He ought to respect a fellow refugee, leave her in peace. Dylan was right, of course. He was going to look for a piece of tail to work off his three-year drought, and Sister Beth wasn’t the woman to take care of him. He needed a professional. It was a ten-minute walk back to the tiny cantina, and all the way he thought about exactly what he would do. Maybe start with a blowjob to take the edge off him, then follow with a more leisurely straightforward fuck, and then they could start getting creative. Problem was, each act he envisioned wasn’t with some raven-haired beauty. It was with a pale blond almost-nun. By the time he reached the cantina he was disgusted with himself. The place was crowded, and showing himself among so many people wasn’t necessarily the best idea, particularly since he recognized one of Redbeard’s men busy flirting with one of the barmaids. He skirted the building, then moved through the village, silent as a shadow, until he found the right vehicle for their needs. He wasn’t going to take some farmer’s beat-up truck, or the desperately-needed transportation belonging to some poor family, not if he could help it. But parked a ways back from cantina was an SUV that, while showing wear and tear, was too expensive a vehicle for anyone in this village to afford. The bullet holes in the rear fender clinched the deal. Just to make certain it would be there when he needed it he removed the distributor cap, closing the hood silently again, and then made his way back to the mission. It was a beautiful night. The moon was half-full, giving his excellent night vision a clear view of the surrounding area, and he sank to the ground at the wall beside the entrance to the mission, his gun across his lap, ready for use, forcing his body to relax. It didn’t matter that he’d rather be pumping away between the thighs of the barmaid that Redbeard’s man would probably end up with. It didn’t matter that even more, he wanted to spend all his pent-up energy and frustration on Beth Pennington’s pale body. He did what he had to do. Long ago he’d perfected his almost trance-like state, where he could keep watch and still manage to rest his body enough to keep going. He felt his heart rate slow, his breathing drop, and he waited, through the long, silent night, protecting his little chickens. It felt . . . odd not to have someone watching him. To know he could simply walk away, go wherever he wanted to go, with nothing holding him back but the two helpless children now sound asleep in the old mission. Except that Beth was neither a child, nor helpless. She didn’t have the skills to survive this place, but she would go down fighting if it came to that. But now, he didn’t want to be thinking about Beth Pennington going down. He was already horny enough. The night birds kept him company. They’d always avoided the rebel encampments, scared away by the noisy men and their raucous laughter. He’d ended up killing Izzy, and he shouldn’t feel regret. Izzy had raped and murdered a nun, caused her to die in shame and agony. But he’d also been as close a friend to MacGowan as any of them. Hell, he’d learned long ago that things weren’t black and white but shades of gray, and no one was all bad or all good. He did what he had to do at the time, and hoped karma sorted it all out in the end. What kind of karma had brought him Beth? She wasn’t his type – he liked them busty and enthusiastic, not thin and aristocratic. He kept telling himself it was simply because she was the first woman he’d seen in God knew how long, but he knew that was just an excuse. He could have had fucking Angelina Jolie there and he wouldn’t look at her. Which meant, of course, that he needed to keep his bloody paws off her. Easier said than done, mate, he told himself. And he leaned back, lowering his eyelids to mere slits, and kept watch. He didn’t wait for the sun to rise. The first light was just coming over the trees beyond the mission, and he could picture the blue Atlantic Ocean waiting for them. He’d gone back for the SUV, returning the distributor cap, and driven it back to the mission, filling the back of the vehicle with anything he thought might come in handy. He woke Dylan up first, sent him to make coffee and get ready to go, and then he moved toward Beth’s room. Loud knocking would do the job. She’d probably locked the door, maybe even dragged stuff across it if she had any sense. He turned the handle, and it opened far too easily. The room was warm, and she lay stretched across the twin bed. She was wearing men’s boxers and a tank top, standard sleepwear for women who weren’t interested in seduction, and her silver blonde hair was spread out over the pillow. He stared for a long moment. He could see her breasts quite clearly through the thin fabric. A B-cup, when he preferred a generous handful. Pale nipples, when he liked them dark. And he would have given ten years off his life to yank up that damned shirt and put his mouth on them. She stirred, curling up protectively, her hand tucked under her chin, as if she knew he was watching. She had long, gorgeous legs – he had no complaints there. Fuck, who was he kidding? He had no complaints about any part of her. Except the fact that she was so patently out of his league. She opened her eyes then, startled, looking up at him, and again there was the frisson of shock. He wasn’t sure what caused it, he only knew it couldn’t be good. And the sooner he got to civilization and got righteously laid, the better. �śTime to go, Sister Beth,” he said. �śThe car’s waiting.” �śCar?” Her voice was soft and raspy with sleep, another fucking turn-on. �śYou were able to borrow a car?” �śStole it might be a little closer to the truth. You want to travel like that?” She flipped the cover over her body, a little too late since he’d already had plenty of time to peruse her. �śJust give me a minute.” �śOkay.” He didn’t move. �śAlone.” He gave her a mock salute. �śAt your command, Sister Beth.” And he wandered off, leaving the door wide open. Dylan’s abilities with making coffee equaled his social graces, so MacGowan kicked him out of the kitchen, making it himself, so strong it would strip paint. No milk in the place, but there was a jar of creamer on the shelf, and he shoved enough in the thermos to turn the color a dark brown instead of the deep black. By the time Beth appeared she looked like a different woman. Her blonde hair was braided in a thick braid, and she had a kerchief tying it back, disguising its color. She wore some kind of long, drapey skirt and a loose shirt, and he suspected this was what she normally wore down here. He decided to wait to tell her what she was going to end up in. Of course Dylan had already deposited himself on the front seat of the SUV. MacGowan kicked him into the back, barely waited long enough for Beth to get her seat belt buckled, and then they were off, driving as fast on the almost non-existent roads as he dared, so that by the time the sun had fully risen they were miles away. She’d taken one sip of his coffee, shuddered in horror and set it back. He could feel her eyes on him, and without turning he said, �śWhat?” �śYour hair. Exactly what color is your hair?” �śWhy the fuck do you care?” he countered. He hadn’t bothered trying to cut it, and it reached to his shoulders. He caught a piece and pulled it in front of his eyes, frowning. �śIt used to be brown, but I dyed it black when I came down here. What color is it now?” �śWhy did you dye it?” �śNone of your damned business.” He wondered whether he’d shut her up, but after a moment she spoke again. �śWell, it’s brown, I can see that. And there’s some red there too.” �śYeah, that happens.” �śAnd bleached blond from the sun, and some black left from the dye, and an awful lot of white.” �śWhite?” he demanded, horrified. �śShit, I’m only thirty-six.” �śThree years,” she said. �śChrist.” He rubbed a hand through the long mass of hair. �śI’m too fucking young.” �śHow old was your father when his hair started turning gray?” He felt the familiar coldness fill him, but he answered her question. �śHe died when he was younger than I am.” A shocked intake of breath. �śI’m so sorry. How did he die?” �śStarved himself to death in Maze prison as part of the hunger strikes.” He’d managed to shock her into silence. �śHe was IRA?” �śObviously,” he said flippantly. �śThough not to begin with. He was put in prison for beating my mother to death, and decided to become a martyr when he realized he’d never get out. So he’s on a list of fucking heroes and I changed my name rather than live with that legacy.” She was only silent a moment. �śI think you do anyway.” He almost drove off the road. He wanted to grab her by both arms and shake her, but he simply gripped the steering wheel so tightly he could have bent the steel, and kept driving. �śWell, that’s my cross to bear, now isn’t it?” �śYes.” Damn the woman and her utter calm. He’d wanted to shock her, and instead she’d listened with her quiet attention and refused to feel sorry for him. Which he would have hated, but her lack of pity pissed him off as well. �śSo since you’re telling me this much, why don’t you tell me what you do for a living?” she said after a moment. �śI kill people.” Again no shock. �śI already noticed. What else do you do?” His anger disappeared just as suddenly as it had come on, and he laughed. �śI’m a spy, me darling. A super-secret operative who goes undercover to see what the real bad guys are doing, kills when ordered to, rescues hostages when the money’s good enough. You see, you couldn’t have come across a better man to get you away from the Guiding Light.” �śI agree. The question is, why didn’t you get away sooner? Or was that part of your undercover assignment?” He frowned briefly. �śThey knew exactly who I was, and they weren’t taking any chances. I’d been sent down to take out their leader. I almost got away twice, but each time they brought me back. I have no idea why they kept me alive – as far as I know they never asked for ransom, and the Committee wouldn’t have paid any. That’s part of the deal. If things go south we’re on our own. Except that they’re supposed to make an effort to get you out, not just fucking forget about you.” He sensed rather than saw her nod. �śWell, then I just have to be glad you were still there when they brought me. Though maybe I would have been all right. After all, they could have gotten a very large ransom for me, and they would have wanted to keep me in good condition.” He shook his head. �śYou would have been dead in twenty-four hours. Redbeard would have been furious, but Carlos and Izzy had plans, and I don’t think you would have survived. And if you had, you would have wished you hadn’t.” �śAnd you were going to leave me to them?” Now she was getting the point. �śDarlin’, it was about me getting out, not saving the fucking world,” he said. �śIt still is.” For a long moment she said nothing. �śGood to know.” Her voice was cool, emotionless, and he was almost sorry he’d set her straight as to what a total son of a bitch he was. �śBut you’re committed to see Dylan and me safe now, right? Because we’re worth so much money to you?” �śExactly.” �śAnd what are you going to do with all that money?”(�śGo back to England and kill the people who left me here,” he said in a cold, uncompromising voice. He expected her to argue, but she said nothing. �śDude,” came Dylan’s plaintive voice from the backseat. �śShut up,” MacGowan and Beth said in unison. Who would have thought the jungle would feel cold, Beth thought as she rubbed her arms. She stared out at the lush greenery as MacGowan drove too damned fast and wondered whether she’d ever feel warm again. She shouldn’t be surprised by anything Finn had said. So she’d had delusions about him being something noble when he was, in fact, nothing but a mercenary. He’d said as much, from the very beginning, but at some point along the way she’d wanted to imbue him with nobler principles. She’d been a fool. She could tell herself she was with MacGowan’s clean-shaven, too-attractive doppelganger. The man who’d saved her life, bandaged her feet, killed for her, kept her warm, teased her, and watched over her had been left behind on the mountain. This cold-eyed man beside her would have left her at the first chance he got if it weren’t for the money. The real MacGowan wouldn’t have, even though he threatened. Hell, she didn’t know what was what anymore. She only knew she’d had enough of death, and yet it followed MacGowan like a cloud. Once they reached a port city they could part ways, once he was assured of proper compensation for getting her away from La Luz, though what was proper was beyond her. One hundred thousand dollars? Five hundred thousand? A million? Exactly what was her life worth? Surely not any more than kindly Father Pascal’s. He made two stops, one in a medium-sized town, coming out of a store with a bag of food and what looked like a cell phone. �śAre you going to let me use that?” she asked as she and Dylan drained the canned fruit juices he’d bought. �śDream on.” He kept it beside him. �śWe’re not safe until we’re out of this country, and it’s too easy to track cell phones. They’ll be watching your family, and the kid’s.” �śI don’t have any family.” That made him pause. �śWhat happened?” �śNothing as dramatic as your story,” she said. �śMy mother died of an accidental drug overdose when I was seven. Sleeping pills and alcohol, they said. My father was much older, he died in his late sixties. Leaving me, the sole heir to the Pennington fortune.” �śLucky you.” There was no sympathy in his voice, and she hadn’t expected it. �śLucky me. So who are you going to call on this dangerous cell phone?” �śI’m going to call in some favors.” He glanced over her in patent annoyance. �śWhy don’t you go to sleep? We’re heading for Puerto Claro, and it’s going to take most of the day.” �śWhy there?” �śBest chance of getting a freighter.” Dylan popped his head up from the back seat. �śFreighter? Dude, I want an airplane! I can’t wait to get the fuck out of this hell hole.” �śThe Guiding Light and the army were hand in hand last thing I knew, and I doubt if things have changed. They’re not going to want two such high-profile victims to simply slip out of the country. They’re either going to want to make a big fuss about your escape, or they’re going to want to make you both quietly disappear. Either way, I can’t take any more time making sure you two survive. Either you come with me on the freighter or you’re on your own.” It was a tempting thought. The sooner she got away from him the happier she was going to be, but she didn’t feel like risking becoming one of the disappeared ones. The idea of a media firestorm was almost as bad. Dylan spoke first. �śSticking with you, man,” he said, sinking back. She said nothing. She had no choice, she knew it, and so did he, but she wasn’t going to give him the victory of a quick answer. �śYou can let me know, Sister Beth,” he said. �śIf you want I can put in a call to the American Embassy after I’ve finished my phone calls and then drop you in the next town.” �śI haven’t made up my mind,” she said, refusing to be bullied. She should have remembered she was outclassed and outgunned. �śYou’re out of time, sweetheart. Either you’re in or you’re out.” She didn’t give in to the temptation to glare at him, or the even stronger one to stick out her tongue. The very impulse was childish and absurd, given the desperate nature of their situation, but she was feeling childish and stubborn. �śI’m in,” she said. He said nothing, giving her a sideways glance, but she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wished she’d given the other answer. CHAPTER TWELVE � It was close to dusk when MacGowan pulled the car off the paved road. He’d already made the phone calls he’d needed, then deliberately smashed the phone so his charges wouldn’t be tempted to use it. They had berths on the Martha Rose, a Nigerian freighter sailing from Puerto Claro to Spain tomorrow night at midnight, and in the meantime he needed to keep Beth and Dylan stashed while he dealt with a few things, including forged passports for the three of them. Tomas could dig up internet photos of them and go from there in making the phony documents without them having to provide photos. Tomas was a genius when it came to forgeries, and a genius was what he needed. �śHave you called Peter yet?” Bastien Toussaint had asked him at the end of their short conversation. �śHe’s been trying to get through to you.” �śI’ll just bet he has,” MacGowan drawled. �śWhat do you want me to tell him?” MacGowan only thought about it for a minute. �śTell him to watch his back.” And he broke the connection. Dylan had already abandoned the car to take a leak, but Beth had stayed put, watching MacGowan out of those unnervingly calm eyes. �śOkay, Sister Beth,” he said, coming over to the side door and opening it. �śCome on out.” She made no effort to move, just looked up at him. �śI don’t need to use the bathroom.” �śThe bathroom, as you call it, is the bushes, and I don’t care whether you use it or not. It’s time to change.” �śWhat do you mean?” �śI mean that if we go into Puerto Claro looking like we do we’ll be picked up in no time. I’ve got a much better idea.” �śWhat?” He tossed the yards of black and white fabric into her arms. �śMeet Sister Maria Elizabeth.” �śNo.” She tried to shove it back at him. �śDon’t give me grief. When the church abandoned your mission they left a shitload of things behind, including clothes. No one ever looks too closely at a nun, particularly in a Catholic country. You keep your head down and your mouth shut and let me do the talking and everything will be fine.” She opened her mouth to say no again, but something in his face stopped her. She was learning, MacGowan thought. Dylan chose that moment to come around the side of the car, chuckling. �śAw, c’mon, Sister Beth. Don’t be such a spoilsport.” �śYou too, kiddo,” MacGowan said, tossing another bundle of cloth at Dylan. The boy actually looked pleased. �śI get to be a priest?” �śI’m the priest. Nuns always travel in pairs.” For a moment the boy’s face was blank with incomprehension. And then he understood. �śOh, no. Hell, no. No fucking way. If there need to be two nuns then you can dress in drag, not me.” �śYou’d never pass as a priest. Sorry, kid, but you’re too young. Beth can show you how the outfit goes.” �śI have no idea,” Beth protested, looking at the various pieces of fabric. �śThis is a terrible idea.” �śYeah,” Dylan said. �śWhy don’t we just . . .” �śEnough!” MacGowan thundered, and his squabbling charges fell silent. �śI’ve had enough of the two of you. I don’t give a flying fuck how much your families are willing to pay – some things just aren’t worth it. I hear one more complaint, one more disagreement, and I’m leaving you here to find your way home on your own. And I wouldn’t give you very good odds.” Dylan looked mutinous, but he kept his mouth shut. Beth climbed out of the car, tossing the fabric over the open door. �śCome on, Dylan,” she said in a soft voice, �śwe’ll figure it out together. And just think, it’s going to make one hell of a story later on.” �śI’m not telling anyone I dressed in drag,” he muttered. �śIt’s up to you. All I know is I want to get home, and I think you do too. So let’s see how good we are at being nuns. I bet we’re a lot closer to God than MacGowan is.” Finn was already stripping off his shirt. The dressing across his ribs had come loose, and he yanked it off in frustration, but the butterfly bandages still held and there was no fresh blood. He could see Beth’s assessing eyes on the wound, but she said nothing, merely diving under an enveloping dress of black cotton. He turned his back on them, pulling on the old-fashioned priest’s cassock he’d found. Whoever had last worn the thing was a man who enjoyed his food, and Finn had to distribute the folds of cloth beneath the rope belt. The priests in Ireland had given up wearing such old-fashioned cassocks, but he could hope the backwaters of South America would be behind the times. He fastened the high collar, looked at the two black-garbed crows and laughed. �śYou make a more believable nun than Beth does, kid,” he drawled. �śIt’s those limpid blue eyes of yours” �śFuck you,” Dylan snarled. �śThe rules go for you as well. Eyes downcast, no talking.” �śFuck you,” Dylan said in an artificially high-pitched voice. He glanced at Beth. He’d had the distant hope that wrapping her in a nun’s habit would help keep her off-limits in his sex-starved brain, but just his luck. It had the opposite effect. She looked serene, saintly, exquisitely pure and beautiful. And he wanted nothing more than to debauch the hell out of her. If his fantasies had been dark before, they were now bordering on depraved. What was it about purity that made a man want to defile it? Bring her down to his level? She’d never make it – it was too far to sink. In fact, Dylan would be keeping her company, and he could count on Sister Beth to keep the kid in his place. And with Dylan there, Finn wouldn’t be able to get any closer. Check and mate. �śWe ready?” he said, irritated. Beth looked at him. �śYes, Father,” she murmured in a dulcet voice that made him want to throw her on the hood of the SUV and take her then and there. �śThen get in the Goddamn car,” he growled. It certainly wasn’t the worst hotel MacGowan had ever spent the night in, but it came damned close. By the time he’d stashed the SUV it was pitch dark, and even the lights of the small city didn’t penetrate into the dock area where he’d decided to stash the three of them. The hotel owner seemed taken aback that members of the church would choose his less than respectable establishment, but after MacGowan had explained in perfect idiomatic Spanish that they’d taken a vow of poverty he was willing enough to accept the money MacGowan gave him before handing over a key. �śYou don’t mind sharing a room, Father?” the greasy-haired owner had asked. He heard Beth’s choked protest, but his voice covered it. �śWe prefer it that way, se�ąor.” He kept a solemn expression on his face. �śThese are dangerous times, and we stay together.” The man shrugged. He was about thirty, pock-marked and unwashed, with the same feral expression in his eyes that many of the rebels had. It was too late to change his mind, and the man didn’t seem interested in more than taking his money and returning to the soccer game he was watching, but MacGowan felt uneasy. Not that he’d felt anything but uneasy since he’d started his escape. He still had the gun tucked in the waist of his jeans, but it would take a while to get to it under the enveloping folds of the cassock, and he wished to hell he had some other kind of weapon. Once he locked the good sisters in for the night he’d have to see about getting a second, smaller gun, and a couple of good knives. They weren’t out of the woods yet. The room was small, shabby, and none-too-clean, and he didn’t need to see Beth’s expression to know what she was thinking. There was a table, two chairs, and two beds, and Dylan threw himself down on one, ripping the wimple off his head in disgust. �śDon’t think I’m sharing with you, dude. Wearing skirts is bad enough.” �śYou’re not sleeping with me, kid,” Beth said with asperity. She’d left her veil on, and he knew why. To remind him that she was off-limits. It annoyed him. He had no intention of getting any nearer than he had to, for his own self-preservation, but he didn’t need her making that decision. He’d planned to sleep on the floor. Instead he gave Beth a slow, wicked smile. �śGood to know you prefer me.” She didn’t rise to the bait. �śWhere are we going to eat? We haven’t had much food today and I’m starving.” �śI’ll have the innkeeper send something up. I’ve got things to do and I need you two buttoned up here so I don’t have to worry.” She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it without a word. �śWhatever,” Dylan said. �śJust tell me where the bathroom is. I need to take a dump.” �śEnd of the hall. And put your fucking veil on again.” Dylan yanked it onto his head, slamming the door as he went. Leaving him alone with saintly Sister Beth. She looked up at him then with those clear blue eyes that saw him all too well. �śAre you coming back?” The question annoyed him, partly because he’d been considering dumping them, leaving the two of them to their own devices. He had enough money on his own if he stretched it, and they were slowing him down. By this point they should be able to make it the rest of the way home unless they were really stupid. The temptation had passed as quickly as it had come. Revenge was a dish best served cold. He could take his time getting to Madsen. The better to enjoy killing him. He looked at her, annoyed that she’d read his mind. �śI brought you this far, didn’t I? I’d be a fool to leave you now. Once we get to Spain I’ll put you on a plane and you’ll never have to see me again.” �śLovely,” she murmured under her breath. �śLovely,” he echoed, moving toward the window. It was grimy, and the dim light barely illuminated the alley behind the hotel. That nagging feeling of unease was still dogging him, and for a brief moment he considered dragging them along with him to make the deal for the papers and cash to keep them going. If it had been only Beth he would have done it, but two of them complicated matters too much, and Tomas was Committee. He would count privacy more than payment. He felt her come up beside him – how could he not – and every inch of his skin prickled. She followed his gaze out into the alleyway. �śIf there’s trouble, go out the window.” He kept his voice flat. �śYou did a good job at the old woman’s cabin – just roll when you land and you probably won’t break or sprain anything. And then run like hell.” He felt rather than saw her nod. �śIsn’t there an American consulate here? Someone we can throw ourselves on?” He shook his head. �śPuerto Claro is a small city, very poor, and few if any American tourists make it this far south. They probably rely on the consulate office in the capital.” She said nothing, and he made the mistake of looking down at her. Always dangerous, being so close to her, and he said the first thing that came into his mind. Anything to push her away. �śI’ll probably take a little longer. I need to get laid. The girl at the cantina only took the edge off.” �śThe girl in the cantina?” There was something in her voice he couldn’t define, but he could guess. Disgust. Disappointment. Hell, maybe some ill-placed jealousy. It didn’t matter – it did the job, keeping her at a distance. �śYeah, I spent the night with a lovely piece of tail at the local cantina, and she was very generous with her favors. But one night isn’t going to work off . . .” �śThree years,” she said before he could. �śThat was pretty fast work, seducing her so quickly.” He grinned at her. �śSeduction had nothing to do with it. She was a working girl, and cash cuts through a lot of the bullshit. Not that I couldn’t have seduced her. I can seduce anyone, given enough time. I just wanted to cut to the chase.” �śLovely,” she murmured. �śAnd I doubt you could seduce anyone.” �śEven a lesbian nun.” �śI’m neither a lesbian nor a nun.” �śI know.” The unspoken words hung between them. What would that mouth taste like? Would it be disapproval and impatience? Or sweet, yielding promise? She was looking up at him, not shifting her gaze, and it drew him so that he felt his head dipping down, so close . . . �śDamn, that bathroom was foul to begin with!” Dylan slammed open the door again, and MacGowan pulled back without speed, turning to look at him. �śYou’re gonna wanna keep out of there for the next half hour, Sister Beth. I took a dump to beat all dumps, and . . .” �śI don’t think Beth wasn’t to hear the details of our digestive system,” MacGowan drawled. �śThe two of you behave and I’ll be back as soon as I can.” �śAfter you work off some of your three years,” Beth said. He grinned at her. �śYeah, that too.” He headed for the door, and to his surprise Beth followed him. Dylan was already stretched out on the bed, his veil off again, his skirts pulled up to expose his rolled up jeans. Finn paused in the open door. �śWhat do you want?” �śI want to talk to you.” He sighed. �śStep into my office,” he said, and she followed him into the hall, closing the door behind them. The corridor was deserted and dimly lit, half the light bulbs burned out. He crowded her against the wall. Physical intimidation had only been partially successful with her, but he needed to keep trying, and he loomed over her, radiating impatience. He needed to get away from her before he made another mistake. �śI just want to make sure you’re coming back,” she said. �śJesus Christ, woman, how many times do I have to tell you?” he exploded softly. �śI don’t lie to you.” �śYou just did.” He stared down in confusion. �śWhen?” �śYou forget that I lived in Talaca. There are no working girls at the cantina – only Jimena whose husband owns the bar and would gut anyone who put a hand on her. I went looking for you last night – you kept guard outside the gate. So if you lied about that, you’re probably lying about other things.” For the first time in a long while he felt stupid. He had enough sense not to bother with an unnecessary lie, and yet he’d given her one, a clumsy, easily disproved one. He shrugged. �śI just thought it would set your mind at ease.” �śWhy?” �śSo you wouldn’t be afraid I’d jump your bones. You’re the first gringa I’ve been around, and I . . .” �śI don’t think you give a damn whether I’m a gringa or not,” she interrupted him. �śAnd I don’t see why you have to keep telling me that you aren’t going to touch me. I believe you. Maybe you were slightly tempted by the first female you’d seen in years, but you’ve come to your senses and now you wouldn’t touch me with a ten foot pole. I get it. I just wanted . . .” He didn’t wait to see what she wanted. Before he even realized what he was doing, he’d pulled her into his arms, against his body, slid his hands beneath the thick cloth of the wimple and put his mouth on hers. The moment their lips touched the two of them froze. And then he moved, tilting her head back, pushing her mouth open, sliding his tongue inside and kissing her so fucking hard that he could feel his cock stiffen painfully in his jeans. It didn’t matter. He lifted his head, glaring down at her, into her dazed eyes. �śKiss me back, damn you,” he said, and ducked his head again. This time she did. And damned if she didn’t kiss like a nun. She wasn’t used to using her tongue, wasn’t used to giving up everything with a kiss, and he had to show her. Stupid as it was, he was more than happy to do so, letting his tongue tease hers, lead her, seduce her, so that she was shaking in his arms and making soft little noises that drove him crazy. He wanted to fumble under the cassock and shift his cock so the damned thing wouldn’t be crushed, and for half a moment he considered diving under her skirts and taking her then and there. He could seduce her into letting him, but with his luck, some good Catholic would come up the stairs to see a priest shagging a nun, and that would blow their cover big-time. He pushed his erection against her, just in case she missed the point, rubbing for an endless, blissful moment as she panted into his mouth, and he knew that beneath all those layers of heavy cloth her nipples would be hard and sweet like cherries. And then he pulled back, quickly, while he still could. �śGet back in the room before everyone finds out I’m not your everyday priest,” he said hoarsely. �śYou can see why I’m going to take a little time on my way back. I’m so fucking horny I’d shag a pig.” �śLovely,” she said caustically. Her mouth was swollen from his, and he realized he’d just called her a pig. She shoved him away, hard. �śWe’ll wait until noon tomorrow. If you’re not back by then we’re going to set off by ourselves.” No one had given him an ultimatum in twenty years. They wouldn’t dare. He stared down at her in shock. �śYou heard me,” she snapped. �śNow go find yourself another pig.” The door slammed behind her. He didn’t tend to let other people get the last word. He was Irish, after all, and while his father had been a murdering, grandiose whoreson and drunkard, he also had the soul of a poet. He’d been able to draw people to him, to convince his wife to stay with him after all the drunken beatings, including the one that had killed his unborn baby sister. No, he was his father’s son. A right bastard, ready to ruin a woman for his own needs and nothing more. He glanced at the tightly shut door. He wished he dared lock them in, but that could cause more trouble than it was worth. He had complete faith in Beth’s ability to keep Dylan under control, faith in her solid judgment. She wouldn’t take off at noon tomorrow unless she had good reason to believe he was done. No fool, his Beth. She wasn’t his Beth, he reminded himself, wiping the taste of her from his mouth. She was a meal ticket, nothing more. He shoved his overlong hair behind him, wondering what the hotel clerk had thought of a priest with hair past his shoulders. But no, he’d been more interest in soccer than in paying customers. He probably wouldn’t even be able to tell anyone a thing about them, if anyone should come asking. He looked at the door one last time. He could drag Dylan out, tie him up and leave him in the toilet while he finished what he and Sister Beth had started. He wasn’t going to do that. He was going to go off, take care of business, and get royally fucked. Hopefully not at the same time. CHAPTER THIRTEEN �śTell Peter to watch his back.” The message was loud and clear. �śYou need me to come there?” Bastien had offered. �śThe day I can’t handle a hothead like MacGowan will be the day I deserve to get a knife between the shoulders,” he’d replied. �śI doubt Genny would feel the same way.” It wasn’t going to happen. Peter pushed away from the computer to limp over the window. MacGowan wasn’t the backstabbing kind – if he had a problem with you the knife would go straight into your heart with him looking you in the eye. Nothing sneaky about Finn MacGowan. And he wouldn’t make a move without being certain who had failed him. The damnable thing was, Peter had failed him. It didn’t matter how many dead ends and false trails Thomason had set up. It didn’t matter that the Committee was in freefall, that Isobel had disappeared, and half their operatives had been murdered. He should have made certain. He should have gone to Callivera himself, except that he’d promised Genevieve, and he couldn’t afford to leave with no one to take over. And they were so short-staffed there was no one else to send. People disappeared in that country all the time, and their bones were found bleached and brittle in old mines and ancient caves, with only DNA to figure out who was there. And MacGowan was one of the best in the world – there was no way anyone could keep him on ice for three years. No reason. If they hadn’t let him go, if he hadn’t escaped, then he was dead. It was that simple. Apparently it wasn’t. And MacGowan was coming home, at last, to find out just how and why he’d been abandoned. Harry Thomason, the treacherous former head of the Committee, had held with the firm belief that it was every man for himself. Peter was a pragmatist, but in the end he believed you never left a man behind, not if there was any way around it. If he’d just pushed a little harder . . . He wasn’t a man who wasted time with ifs. Even if he couldn’t leave England at the moment, he could see what he could do to grease MacGowan’s way home. Though whether that was simply speeding up a fight to the death was debatable. For some reason the CIA was nosing around in Callivera, looking for MacGowan. He couldn’t imagine why – he’d gone over MacGowan’s file and hadn’t found anything that would excite the boys at Langley. As far as he could tell MacGowan had never interacted with the CIA. Their sudden curiosity made him uneasy. Hell, everything was making him uneasy nowadays. Genny would tell him his spidey-senses were acting up. She watched too many movies, curled up on the sofa beside him while he read, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t bother telling her they weren’t spidey-senses; they were finely honed, well-trained instincts. When you were an operative with his level of experience you knew when something bad was going to happen. You also knew when there wasn’t a damned thing you could do about it, and that was now. All he could do was wait and see if MacGowan came to his senses. He wasn’t holding his breath. Beth came back into the room, closing the door quietly behind her before going to sit on the bed. Dylan was sprawled out, looking sulky as always, and she considered trying to engage him in conversation, just to distract him. And distract herself. She could still feel Finn’s mouth on hers. His hard body pressed against every inch of her. Three years, she reminded herself. It meant nothing. But it hadn’t felt like nothing. It felt like something that had been building between them since the moment he’d first handed her his hoarded chocolate in the darkness of the shack high up in the mountains. She was a sensible, grounded woman. Her reaction to his kiss was pure instinct and had nothing to do with civilized behavior. He had come in and saved her life, defended her from rape and death, taken her from danger to safety, and while she was still in this fight or flight mode she felt ridiculously . . . beholden was an odd word, but it fit. She felt as if, God help her, she belonged to him. Was it a Chinese saying? That if you saved a life, that life now belonged to you? She could see where that came from. She didn’t even want to think about where she’d be if he hadn’t gotten her out of there. And it had nothing to do with owing him, or ransom, or the money he was demanding. He would have done it without the money and they both knew it. It was part of the game he played. And until she could get her head on straight, get her ass back to civilization, she belonged to him. Body and soul. �śYou look like you just saw a giant spider,” Dylan said in a sulky voice. It surprised a laugh from her. �śIt’s been an interesting few days.” �śDude,” Dylan said, which Beth gathered meant he agreed. �śYou suppose they’re really going to bring us food?” �śIf they don’t we’ll go find some,” she said firmly. �śI’m not going to sit here and starve while he goes out to . . .” What was he going to do? It was early evening. He said he was going to make arrangements. Chances were he was going to get laid and eat steak while the two of them were trapped in this dismal hotel room. Then again, if he came back stinking of some back alley whore, then the magic would have worn off. He would no longer be sending out those subtle and not so subtle waves of longing, and for her part she expected her fascination to end. After all, she’d decided sex wasn’t her thing, and it was crazy to let gratitude and proximity make her think otherwise. Whores were one thing. If the man came to her stinking of steak she was going to kill him. She got off the bed, restless, and paced toward the door. She could hear voices coming up from below, and she tried the door. She opened it, peering outside, when she noticed the tray on the floor. She snatched it up quickly – God knew what kinds of vermin were crawling around this place. Whatever they were, they probably lived in the kitchen as well, but she wasn’t going to think about it. �śBeans and rice and some kind of meat,” she said, bringing the tray in and setting it on the table, kicking the door shut with her foot. Dylan sat up, suddenly cheerful. �śIs that wine?” �śYou’re too young.” He just gave her a look. �śYou want to know how long I’ve been drinking?” �śNot particularly.” Since he’d already straddled one of the chairs and poured himself a glass she didn’t bother to argue. She took the other seat, grabbed one of the plates and began to eat. Dylan was looking at her strangely. �śAren’t you going to say grace?” �śYou know I’m not really a nun,” she said sternly. �śWell, yeah, but aren’t you some kind of religious fanatic? I mean, you worked in that mission and all.” She ignored the searing pain at the memory of Father Pascal and the long, busy, happy hours. The children. �śNo, I’m not some kind of religious fanatic. I just wanted to make a difference.” The food wasn’t bad – very spicy, and the wine was rough and almost medicinal-tasting, but since MacGowan probably wasn’t coming back for hours it probably wouldn’t hurt to drink enough to help her sleep. �śSo tell me about your family. What was it like to grow up in Hollywood?” �śYou mean you want me to tell you about my father,” Dylan said cynically, refilling his wine glass. �śNo,” she said patiently. �śYour father was never my type. I was never big on muscle-bound action heroes. I’m interested in you.” �śMore of your social work?” There was an unpleasant sneer on his mouth. �śThere’s not much to tell. I was a poor little rich boy. My parents weren’t around much, but they made up for it by buying me anything my heart desired.” �śThey must be frantic.” �śOh, I don’t think so.” He’d cleared his plate in record time and was looking longingly at hers. �śThey don’t know where I am and they don’t give a damn. Last time I saw them they told me not to come back.” �śA lot of parents say that in the heat of the moment. I’m sure they’ve regretted that a thousand times.” He shook his head. �śI don’t think so. My mother’s remarried and living in Oregon and her new husband hates me. She’s too busy with her aging hippie lifestyle to even think about me. And my father’s got a coke habit, a seventeen-year-old girlfriend and a twenty-three-year old wife, not to mention triplets born by a surrogate who moved into the household as well. They don’t want me anywhere around upsetting the babies.” �śI’m sure . . .” �śNo. You’re not sure of anything. They don’t want me, I don’t want them. I just wish they’d kept sending me money, but that dried up a few months before I ended up in the mountains.” She didn’t bother arguing. Either the wine or the food or both had cast a surprisingly relaxed glow over the room. �śHow long were you up there?” �śSix months. It was only supposed to be a week or two, except that my parents refused to pay the ransom. You want the rest of that?” He pointed toward her dinner. It took her a moment. �śNo, you take it,” she said, pushing the plate toward him. �śYou’re kidding.” �śNo, I’m really hungry.” �śYou know what I mean. How do you know they refused?” �śBecause they told me. They were going to kill me, but MacGowan intervened. Told them my parents might change their minds. He also said I could be used for propaganda, and they decided to wait a few weeks until the big jefe showed up. Fortunately we got out of there before my time ran out.” He seemed amazingly unconcerned about his close call. Beth had the feeling she ought to be weeping for him, but the good will the wine had cast settled over her and she smiled at him a little woozily. She was already tipsy, she thought, on one glass of wine. Must be the result of the stress of the last few days. �śWho’s the big jefe?” �śSome dude named the Alcista. He’s the one who decides who lives and who dies. MacGowan knows all about him – apparently he was sent down here to kill the dude, but got caught before he could do it.” Dylan yawned. �śAlcista? Sounds like a girl’s name.” Dylan looked at her with annoyance. �śIt means The Bull, and you don’t want to know why he’s called that.” �śThe Bull? I remember stories about someone named the Bull.” Beth shivered. �śHe’s not our concern any more. I’m more worried about you. What will happen when MacGowan brings you back home? Will your parents pay up?” She was so damned sleepy she wasn’t sure she even had the energy to put the tray back outside the door. The hell with it. No, MacGowan would say �śfuck it.” Let him get rid of the dishes when he bothered to get his ass back there. �śHe’ll get the money,” Dylan said, stumbling back toward his bed. �śYou know MacGowan.” She didn’t know MacGowan. Not at all. She stood up, and suddenly the room began to spin, and she reached her hands out to the table to steady herself. It wasn’t there. She felt herself begin to fall, and she tried to cry out, but Dylan was lying across the bed, passed out, and she knew she wasn’t going to make it that far. She went down in a crash of dishes as everything went black. MacGowan ate steak. He ate the biggest, rarest piece of prime beef he could find and he didn’t feel a moment’s guilt. Tomas was going to have the paperwork ready for him in a couple of hours, and he’d be back at the hotel not long after midnight, check on his charges, and then see whether the scrawny desk clerk could find him a blonde to while away a few hours. While Beth slept upstairs, safe and untouched in the narrow bed he wasn’t going to risk sharing with her. He should never have kissed her. He still wasn’t sure why he had, but in the end it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to do it again. He’d stashed the priest’s cassock in an alleyway near the dockside hotel, making his way through the dark city streets like the shadow he’d once been. He wondered if Dylan was dumb enough to try to make a pass at Sister Beth. She’d smack him down soon enough – if she could keep MacGowan in his place then a sulky teenager would be child’s play. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t smack the hell out of the brat if he tried, but chances were Beth wouldn’t rat on him. She was that kind of woman. A good woman. God preserve him from good women. Right now he needed a bad woman. Someone lowdown and nasty and willing to do just what he wanted. The freighter was going to take six days crossing the Atlantic, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. Six days holed up with her. Hell, maybe he could put them on a separate boat. No, he couldn’t afford to do that – he had to see them back to safety and a Nigerian freighter wasn’t exactly the Queen Mary. He paid his bill with the last of the money he’d won off the rebels. Half the people he’d played poker with were now dead, at his own hands. He wasn’t a sentimental man, he couldn’t afford to be. He stared at the crumpled bills on the table for a moment, then headed out into the cool night air of the city. It was strange, smelling of dust and diesel and a handful of different foods. It was the smell of choice, the smell of freedom, and he couldn’t get enough of it. Tomas had finished the work, and the papers were impeccable. He looked at Beth’s passport photo and wondered where the hell Tomas had found the original. She was looking polished, made-up, clean and shiny, and untouchable. Hell, she was still untouchable. Dylan’s photo showed a younger kid, but that was okay – Tomas had adjusted the date on the passport to reflect it. He had the cash as well, a combination of currencies that would keep them until they reached Spain. �śThis is more than I asked for,” he said, counting it. �śGot word from London. You’re to have anything you want.” MacGowan grinned sourly. �śA little late for it,” he said, folding the wads of cash and tucking it in the stained wallet Tomas provided. �śYou got off that damned mountain just in time, friend,” Tomas said. �śWord has it that Alcista was on his way up there when you got out. He ain’t happy.” �śMy heart’s broken.” �śThe sooner you get out of here the better. He wants back the ones you took, and he wants you dead, and it doesn’t take a whole lot of brains to figure you were heading in this direction. It’s the nearest port. You don’t want that man catching up with you. You got trouble from the CIA as well.” MacGowan looked up from his perusal of the documents. �śWhy the fuck would the CIA give a rat’s ass about me?” �śIt’s not you they’re interested in, exactly. I think they want to use you as bait to lure Madame Lambert out of retirement.” �śShe retired? Hard to believe, but good for her.” He would have thought Isobel Lambert would die at her desk, frozen solid. Good to know she was human after all. �śWhere did she go?” �śNo one knows. The problem is she went with Serafin the Butcher.” �śYou’re shitting me.” Tomas shook his head. �śTurns out Serafin is actually CIA, and he didn’t exactly tell them good-bye. They want him back.” �śSo they want to use me to get to Isobel to get to Killian? That’s crazy.” �śThat’s the CIA,” Tomas said, unimpressed with American intelligence. MacGowan shrugged. �śThe day I can’t outsmart the CIA is the day I deserve to die. Assuming they want to kill me.” �śEveryone wants to kill you, MacGowan,” Tomas said. He grinned. �śIt’s part of my charm. So I get to avoid the CIA and the Bull. Though hell, maybe I can finish what I came here for. Alcista was my original target. The world would be a better place without him.” �śMaybe. But I think you’ve got enough on your plate for now, getting those two gringos out of here and keeping away from the CIA. Where’d you leave them? Not at the American hotel, I hope.” �śWhat kind of an idiot do you think I am?” He drained his glass of cheap whiskey. �śI put them in a hotel down by the docks. The Santa D’Oro.” �śJesus fucking Christ.” MacGowan put the empty glass down. �śWrong hotel, eh?” �śIt’s Guiding Light territory. I thought you knew.” �śIt wasn’t three years ago.” �śTimes change.” Tomas’s face creased. �śYou need some help?” MacGowan shook his head. �śThanks to you I’ve got enough firepower to blast through Alcista himself. I better get back there.” �śThey may not have figured out who you are.” �śYeah, and pigs may fly.” Suddenly he remembered Sister Beth, looking at him after he told her he’d kiss a pig. Yeah, he was in deep shit there. Maybe if he saved her life again she’d overlook it. �śGood luck, amigo. You’ll need it.” CHAPTER FOURTEEN Beth woke slowly, her stomach clenching, and she lay very still. She hated throwing up, she’d do almost anything she could to keep from doing so, including not moving when she had absolutely no idea where she was. The room was dark and smelled like mold, and whatever she was lying on was lumpy and uncomfortable. She could hear a sudden burst of laughter, loud male voices talking in Spanish so fast that she couldn’t follow it. But then, with her brain spinning, she probably wouldn’t be able to follow English. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe through her mouth, slowly, carefully. Where was she? For that matter, where was Dylan? She should sit up, look around, but she was afraid if she did she’d end up hurling. She took shallow breaths and counted to calm herself, as she tried to piece together what had happened. They’d been drugged. That had become obvious in the last moments she remembered, as she crashed onto the table. Since she refused to open her eyes she had no idea whether she was still in the hotel room or if she’d been moved. She suspected it was the latter. The surface beneath her felt different, and the men’s voices came through an open door. It didn’t seem likely that people would be congregating in the hall outside her hotel room. Unless something awful had happened to Dylan. Her eyes flew open at that, and she had to shove a fist in her mouth to stifle her groan. The room was in total darkness, but there was enough light coming from the open door to tell her that this was another room entirely, and there was no sign of Dylan anywhere. Her veil was gone, and the front of the habit was open to the sultry air. Except that there was no opening at the front of the nun’s robes, and she reached up and found someone had ripped the dress open while she’d been unconscious. She lay very still, taking stock of her body. Her muscles still ached, her feet still hurt, and there was a new throbbing in her upper arm, as if someone had yanked her or even dragged her. But below the waist felt the same, thank God. No one had raped her while she was unconscious. Though if she was going to be raped, that was definitely the way to go, she thought, trying to be rational. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known Callivera was an unsettled country. If she’d wanted safety she never would have left Philadelphia. Words were becoming clearer from the rapid Spanish in the other room. There were at least three men, probably more, and none of the voices sounded familiar. There was no missing �śLa Luz” and the reverential tone, answering one question. Somehow they’d managed to catch up with them, and she was a prisoner once more. She felt despair bleeding over her, but she fought back. Giving up hope wasn’t an option. Not until she was dead. What had they done to Dylan? If he was telling the truth about his family’s abandonment then they would have no use for him. Had they left him behind? Had they killed him? And then a name came through the rapid Spanish that almost put the finish on her barely-controlled nausea. Alcista. The Bull. The rarely-seen leader of the Guiding Light, known for his insatiable appetite for food, drugs, and sex. And he was coming here. She started counting again. She remembered the stories now. The Bull liked sex and he liked an audience, that much she remembered. He usually stayed in the more populous northern part of the country, but the escape of three important prisoners was bringing him down south. The voices of the men sounded more excited than worried, like a visiting rock star was coming to town. If they’d been part of the rebel encampment they’d be a little more concerned about retribution. Concentrate, she told herself, her mind growing clearer, though the advent of Alcista was doing nothing for her stomach. She needed to find out what had happened to Dylan. And whether MacGowan had walked into a trap. For some reason she wasn’t particularly worried about MacGowan. If ever a man could take care of himself, MacGowan was that man. In fact, maybe she didn’t need to worry about anything. MacGowan would make sure Dylan was all right. MacGowan would rescue her. MacGowan . . . MacGowan was only human, even if he seemed larger than life. Father Pascal would tell her to be patient and kind, turn the other cheek, the Lord would provide. Father Pascal had been slaughtered for his goodness. Maybe she couldn’t afford to wait. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, though her arms were trembling with the effort and her stomach gave an unfortunate lurch before settling back down. The room was deserted – no Dylan - and she was sitting on a mattress on the floor. She drew her knees up and rested her forehead against them for a moment, taking in calming breaths. Her stomach seemed to have finally settled itself, and when she raised her head the barren little room had stopped spinning. There was a boarded-up window in one wall, and it looked as if the door had been ripped off its hinges. She heard another rough burst of laughter, and she cringed. It had been early evening when they’d brought her the drugged food, and she had no idea how long she’d been unconscious. Hours? Days? A squat figure appeared in the doorway, blocking out the fitful light, and it was too late for her to dive back down and pretend to be unconscious. �śYou awake, gringa?” he said in Spanish. �śYou won’t have too much longer to wait. Alcista is coming, and you’ll have a chance to see what a real man is like.” She couldn’t understand every word, and she hoped she was wrong, but the threat was very clear. �śWhere are my friends?” The man scoffed. �śThat kid? We left him behind. He’s no use to us. And your good friend left you. They tell me MacGowan knows better than to risk his life unnecessarily.” For a moment she didn’t recognize his pronunciation of Finn’s name. She didn’t bother arguing. She might imbue Finn with all sorts of noble qualities, but in the end he was a pragmatist and she was nothing but trouble. He would cut his losses and get Dylan out of there. There was nothing he could do for her. She swallowed, wishing she weren’t still wearing the torn nun’s habit. It was stifling in the airless room, and she wished she were wearing her own clothes. Callivera was a Catholic country, and the torn nun’s habit probably didn’t help. Then again, the Guiding Light was probably not big on religion, considering what happened at the mission. And she couldn’t let herself think about that. �śWhat do you intend to do with me? My corporation will pay ransom, but not if you hurt me.” A lie. The Pennington Foundation would pay any amount of money to get her back, no matter what condition she was in. The man shrugged his heavy shoulders. �śThat’s not up to me. Alcista will decide, but I think he will want to make an example of you. You’re heard of Alcista, have you not?” �śYes,” she said. �śI’ve heard of him.” The man’s laugh was low and evil. �śThen you will know he is muy hombre, and he likes blondes. Someone like you, so fair, so superior, he likes to bring them down. Me, I’m thinking he will put on a good show for us when he gets here this morning.” Morning, she thought. So, maybe twelve hours or so since she’d been taken. MacGowan said the freighter was leaving at midnight. There was still time. Unless she’d been unconscious for so long that midnight sailing had come and gone, and she’d been left behind. �śMy people will pay more money if I’m returned unharmed.” It was worth trying again, but the man was unimpressed, and she heard voices in the background, laughing, calling out rude suggestions to him. �śMaybe you get a taste of this once Alcista is done.” He cupped his genitals in a rough gesture. �śHe’s a man known to share.” Her stomach must have really improved, she thought distantly. She didn’t throw up at his threat. She sat up straighter. �śI would like to speak to this Alcista when he arrives.” �śOh, you’ll get your chance, gringa,” he said with a rough laugh. �śBut I don’t know how much talking you’ll be doing.” He left her then, and she sank back against the wall, shivering in the stuffy air. If only there was a door and they’d locked her in, she could do something about the barred window, maybe find a weak spot to work the boards loose. She’d use her fingernails, her teeth, anything. Right now the situation was hopeless. What had they told her about rape? Were you supposed to fight back, or lie still? Did trying to empty your bladder or throwing up on the rapist drive them away or infuriate them to the point that they hurt you even more? Would he want her to scream and cry in order to get excited, or would noise bother him? It probably didn’t matter. She hadn’t heard much of Alcista, but his reputation for violence and rape was legendary. There was probably no way she could stop him. But she could endure. She could crawl inside herself and simply endure what they did to her, and when it was safe she would emerge. It might never be safe. There was a good chance she might die this afternoon. In which case she’d be safe inside that little world she created, and this time when the lights went out for good she wouldn’t even mind. �śDo you need anything, Mr. Barringer?” Alice, the girl who had been his personal assistant for the last seventeen years, poked her head in the office. �śNo, dear,” he said. She was a homely girl, close to sixty if she was a day, and loyal to a fault. He only hoped her new boss would be as appreciative as he was. �śI’m just waiting for a last minute phone call. You go on home.” Alice nodded, closing the door, leaving Barringer alone. He didn’t like to receive business calls at home, and he was waiting to hear from Sully. Once he had MacGowan, things would start to fall into place. He didn’t worry about how the missing Isobel Lambert would hear. He had no doubt she’d know sooner than the people in London. She’d been that good, and even in exile she’d stay connected. He looked at his watch. What was keeping Sully? He should have dealt with this by now. He had better things to do than stay around the deserted office waiting for a phone call. He didn’t even bother to consider what he might do if Sully failed him. In more than twenty years in the business Sully’s success rate was almost as high as Killian’s. He didn’t make mistakes. Odd, Barringer thought. He prided himself on his patience, and yet suddenly he could feel it beginning to fray. He glanced at the telephone, willing it to ring. Where in the name of all that was holy was Sully? CHAPTER FIFTEEN The waiting was the hardest part, Beth thought miserably. If she was going to be raped and murdered she just wished they’d get it over with. The notorious Alcista was in another part of the country, and it was taking him time to get there, apparently. No one bothered her again, though every now a then a different silhouette would appear at the broken door and peer in at her, but she simply stayed where she was, her back ramrod straight against the wall, waiting. To her amazement she even drifted to sleep for a bit. It was his arrival that woke her, the excited shouts of the men, the general backslapping and obsequious behavior befitting the rock star of terrorists. Most people didn’t even know what he looked like, she realized, but word had it that he wasn’t bad-looking. Maybe she wouldn’t mind it so much. Yeah, as if violent rape by George Clooney would be any better than violent rape by someone ugly. Rape was rape. Apparently a great number of toasts had to be drunk before Alcista would decide how to deal with her. She knew he came to the door to look in on her – she could see the swagger in his stride, the vanity in every ounce of his body. He turned away and made a filthy joke at her expense, one she only half-understood in his guttural, idiomatic Spanish, a joke the rest of the men found hysterically funny. She concentrated on her breathing. She’d been through pain before, she could tolerate that. And no one could shame her without her permission. She would survive if she could, die if she had to. The noisy conversation began to make a little more sense as she got used to the timbre of Alcista’s voice. He was not pleased with the men, that was one thing. �śYou have fucked this up, hermanos,” he said. �śI had to finish the American boy and get Matteo to dump the body in the harbor. But what about the Englishman? Where is he? You just let him walk away?” A babble of excuses, which Alcista cut short. Beth closed her eyes, willing her breathing to stay slow and steady. She couldn’t think about Dylan right now, or she’d start screaming. She could only breathe. Survive. �śEnough!” the man spat. �śI have had word he’s headed north, to the capitol, hoping to get a plane out of here. I want three of you to go after him. Don’t come back without him.” There was a short burst of protest, one that halted quickly. �śAnd the rest of you,” he continued. �śWe’ve lost three sources of income. Why are you sitting around drinking cerveza when you should be looking for new guests of La Luz?” �śWe’ve been awaiting your orders, Alcista,” one man was brave enough to say. �śAnd you promised we could watch you deal with la gringa.” Alcista made a sound of disgust. �śYou think you deserve a reward? Get out of here, all of you. I’ll take care of her on my own.” There was a noisy scramble, the slamming of the door a number of times, and Beth held her breath, wondering if she had been left alone with the monster. Apparently not. �śWhy are you still here?” he demanded. �śYou told us to stay, Alcista.” It was the squat man; she could tell by his voice, and she wondered how many had stayed behind. How many would be watching. �śBesides, we know you prefer an audience.” Silence, as if the man were considering this. �śYou can stand by the door if you like,” he said grudgingly. �śOh, no, jefe,” Squatman said. �śThere are no lights in that room – you wouldn’t be able to see her properly to enjoy her. And five of us cannot crowd into that narrow doorway.” �śAre you really telling me how to do this, Teo?” The sound of Alcista’s voice brought chills to Beth’s skin. Apparently Teo was made of sterner stuff, though his voice quavered somewhat when he responded. �śYou told me you wanted witnesses, and that we might take a turn later if you were pleased and she was still . . .” Okay, now her nausea was back. She didn’t move. Breathe, she told herself. Maybe if she tried to run they’d shoot her, get it over quickly. �śDo not tell me what I want. There are times when I want company, times when I want privacy. Just what does this gringa look like.” �śShe’s beautiful, jefe. Hair like silver, nice tits, a pretty mouth.” �śAnd how have you seen her tits, Teo? Did you decide to sample her first?” Now Teo was sounding terrified. �śNo, jefe. We just looked, that’s all. To make certain she would be worth your time.” �śIf she has hair like silver she is worth my time.” She could hear his voice getting closer, and she gulped in air, afraid she was going to cry. The light was blocked, as Alcista the Rapist stood there, looking at her, a dark shape in the doorway. �śYou men make yourselves busy,” he said over his shoulder. �śI will let you know when you can watch.” �śYes, jefe. Gracias, jefe.” He was coming closer, and Beth couldn’t help it, she scrambled back into the corner, trying to get away from him. He loomed over her, and she wanted to curse herself for a coward. She had planned to get through this with dignity, and here she was shivering. �śTake off your clothes, gringa,” he said in a voice that carried to the next room. And then, inexplicably, in a soft voice, he added �śplease.” In English. She stared up at the figure in the shadows, her eyes widening with shock. �śNo,” she said instinctively, her mind reeling. �śThen I’ll tear them off you,” the man announced in loud Spanish. �śDon’t make this harder,” he whispered. She froze. It was MacGowan, she would know that voice anywhere, though he moved differently and looked like a stranger. He had a pair of sunglasses in his hand, his hair was tied back under a bandanna, and his face looked colder, crueler, indefinably different. But it was MacGowan. She was frozen. She couldn’t say a word, and he moved so fast she hadn’t seen it coming, catching the nun’s habit in his two strong hands and continuing the tear, ripping it down the middle. The fabric was old and frail, and it fell apart beneath his grip, falling down her shoulders, and she sat there in nothing but the tank top and panties she’d worn beneath it. He squatted down beside her, and she could see his face. His cold, brutal face and his unexpectedly kind eyes. �śI’m sorry, senorita,” he said loudly. �śBut there’s no way out of this.” He added in that whispered English, �śno way at all, Sister Beth.” �śYou tell her, jefe!” came a voice from the living room, and MacGowan snarled. �śI can’t get rid of them,” he whispered. �śI really am sorry.” He reached out and ripped the tank top in half, and she clutched at the torn cloth, holding it over her breasts as she let out a cry of dismay. More laughter from the other room. �śWhere is the real Alcista?” she whispered. �śPillow talk already?” one of the men must have overheard her, if not the words. MacGowan had already slapped a hand over her mouth, and he leaned forward, breathing in her ear. �śHe’s dead. I killed him two hours ago. If it were anyone else we could get out of this, but he was notorious. I’m sorry.” It took her a moment to understand, and then her horror grew. �śTry not to think about it,” he added. �śIt’s a game, a play. You can fight, scream, do anything you want. It’s for show, and when I think they’re convinced I’ll take them out.” He was still covering her mouth with his hand, but she questioned him with her eyes. �śNo, sweetheart, I am not going to rape you,” he whispered again, and unbelievably there was a note of laughter in his voice. �śYou are, however, going to have to get naked.” He raised his voice. �śEither you strip or I will bring my men in to strip you.” He moved his hand, giving her an encouraging nod, and she managed a strangled protest. It didn’t matter. He tore the rest of tank top off her, then rose, yanking off his shirt and reaching for his zipper. �śTake those pretty panties off, gringa,” he said in Alcista’s rough voice, �śor I’ll tear them off you.” To her shock he shucked his worn jeans, and stood there, naked. She averted her gaze quickly, but not quite quickly enough, and she was suddenly furious. It didn’t matter that he was trying to save her life, that this was a play. The damned man was turned on, and that was betrayal enough. He sank down on the mattress. �śSpread you legs, gringa, and get ready for the bull!” he said. She slapped him. She had no idea where it came from, maybe just the fury that she was so vulnerable and he had an erection. An impressive one. She hated him, hated him so much that it would have been better if it had been the monstrous Alcista. Then it wouldn’t be such a betrayal. �śOoooh,” one of the men called out. �śYou won’t get away with that, will she, Teo?” He was kneeling on the bed, an unreadable expression on his face. �śBitch,” he said in Spanish, and slapped one hand against his palm, hard. She didn’t have the wits to say anything, and he frowned at her. �śNot hard enough, bitch. See if you like this?” He hit his hand again, and this time she shrieked in simulated pain. He nodded. �śThat’s the way,” he said in coded approval. He caught her ankles and yanked her down on the bed so that she lay flat, and he pushed her legs apart. Her panties, plain cotton ones made for practicality rather than seduction, were still in place, even though her smallish breasts were exposed. He didn’t seem to notice, but she wasn’t going to look at him again, not when he was naked. He picked up a piece of the discarded habit and ripped it noisily. �śWhen I grunt loudly you shriek,” he said with barely a breath of a sound. That wouldn’t be hard, she thought, keeping her eyes closed as he moved between her legs. A moment later he was lying on top of her, emitting a loud, groaning noise, and she belatedly remembered to squeak. �śIs she tight, jefe? I bet she’s tight.” �śShut up!” he called out in Spanish. And then she felt a vicious pinch on her arm and she let out a really good cry. �śYou like that, don’t you, bitch?” he called out, making another guttural moan. She opened her eyes, looking up at him. She could feel him against her, between her legs, iron-hard, and for some reason she felt her fury ebb. It was MacGowan, who had saved her time and again, and he was saving her once more. He put his head down again, against her ear. �śI’m going to move, and make a lot of noise. You need to play your part or we’re not getting out of this. Don’t be a baby – your virtue will still be intact.” He didn’t even seem to notice that his hard chest was against her breasts. She hadn’t realized he had a light dusting of hair, and it pushed against her nipples in unspeakable, unmistakable arousal. �śIf you’re being so damned noble why do you have an erection?” she said in an icy whisper. She saw his grin in the shadows. �śThree years, babe.” And he began to move. She shrieked obediently. She hated this, hated the parody of rape, and yet she clutched his arms, wanting to assure herself he was there. Her fingers moved up his biceps as he thrust against her with loud, ferocious grunts, like a pig in heat, and she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to giggle or weep. She caught his shoulders in her hands and held on, the force of him shaking her, and she realized with sudden shock that she wanted him inside her. Despite everything, this hideous parody was bringing an atavistic longing, and she lifted her knees, cradling his hips. He turned his head to look at her, and for a moment they stared at each other. �śBitch,” he called out in Spanish. And then he kissed her. Her response was instant. She arched up against him as a shiver of desire started deep within her, and she kissed him back, touching him with her tongue, mating with him, wanting him, wanting him so badly, his safety, his strength, his fierce power that had become sexual, and she wanted to throw herself into it, to melt and die . . . �śShit,” he whispered. And then louder. �śShit, shit, shit,” in Spanish, and she felt the wet heat of him on her stomach, as he sank his head on her shoulder, shaking. For a long time he didn’t move. To her surprise she realized she was cradling him, her arms around him, her hands stroking his smooth back, a soothing aftermath. She had done this for her other lovers, but to her overwhelming shame these twisted minutes, when he hadn’t even been inside her, were still more sexually charged than any intercourse she’d ever endured. A shadow filled the door. �śMy turn, jefe?” �śGet the fuck out of here.” His voice was rough, and the man moved away without argument. MacGowan looked down at her, a rueful expression on his face. �śYou can scream at me later,” he said, rolling off her, taking the torn piece of cloth and wiping her stomach. She knew a moment’s shock at the indecent use of a nun’s habit, and then realized he was looking at her breasts. �śStay here,” he said, unnecessarily as he pulled on his jeans. He reached down and picked up the gun. It was large and black in the shadows, oddly elongated, and she’d seen enough TV to know it had a silencer. It was now, she thought. Whether they were going to live or die. She should have ripped her panties off herself. CHAPTER SIXTEEN He had no choice, MacGowan thought. The feigned rape had distracted the men – they never saw what was coming. He did what he had to do, quickly, efficiently, and one of the men cried out before he died, and he wanted to kick him. That sound would distress Beth, who had already been through enough. He’d come in hoping to spare her, and then he’d come all over her like the animal he was. She had every right to be disgusted with him. He dragged the bodies into the kitchen, dumping them on top of each other. They’d left a smear of blood behind, and he cursed beneath his breath. He didn’t want her to see it, but there wasn’t time to clean it up. He went back into the tiny room. She was sitting up again, huddled into the corner, hugging herself. He’d ripped the clothes off her, and she had nothing to wear. �śStay there,” he said in his normal voice. She looked up, in his direction, not meeting his eyes. �śAre they . . .?” She couldn’t finish the sentence. �śDead, or close to it. They won’t bother us. I need to find you something to wear.” �śYes.” Her voice was lifeless, expressionless. Good. Shock would make things easier until they got aboard the Martha Rose. Dylan was already there waiting for them, unless he’d decided to exert his independence. If so, fuck him. He’d killed too many people for his little chicks, and he couldn’t do it any more. He found an ancient, flowery dress in one of the other rooms, brightly colored and much too big for her, but it would provide some cover, and the cheap flip-flops would protect her feet, at least until they got to the ship. He threw it at her, but she didn’t move, simply sat there in stunned disbelief. �śThere’s no time for this, Sister Beth,” he said, knowing kindness wouldn’t help. �śI tried to get rid of as many of them as I could, but that doesn’t mean some of them might not come back to see what fun they might be missing. Put on the fucking dress.” She fumbled with it, awkward, and he came over to her, impatient. She flinched, which ticked him off even more, because he knew he’d screwed up, but he hauled her up anyway, his hand rough, and pulled the dress over her head. He didn’t want to see her breasts. Small, soft, perfect breasts with pale nipples in the shadowy room. He wanted to put his mouth on them, he wanted to rip off those sensible panties and really take her. He made do with monosyllabic noises, shoving the flip-flops at her. �śLet’s get the hell out of here,” he said, heading for the door. If he moved her quickly enough she wouldn’t look in the tiny kitchen and see the bodies of the three men. She wouldn’t notice the blood smeared on the floor, or the stink of death in the air. But the blood was the first thing she saw. She looked around her in a cold panic and saw the feet sticking out of the kitchen doorway, and she started to scream. He had no choice. He slapped her, for real this time, hard enough to shock her out of her hysterics, not hard enough to hurt her. Her scream was cut off, and her eyes glittered with unshed tears and what he knew was fierce hatred. �śWe don’t have time for squeamishness,” he snapped. �śOnce we’re on the freighter you can scream all you want.” He reached for her arm, but she tried to avoid him, pissing him off even more. He caught her in a hard grip, yanking her against him. The dress was huge on her, the neckline gaping, and he cursed, pulling it back over her shoulders so the sight of her breasts wouldn’t distract him. �śPut your head against my shoulder and pretend you’re in love.” The sound she made in response to that was reassuring. Her contemptuous disbelief was the sound of someone who was pulling herself together, and he wanted to pull her closer, to kiss her again. He didn’t. �śVamanos,” he said in Alcista’s rough baritone. And they headed out into the stifling afternoon heat. The heat wrapped around Beth like a shroud, thick and liquid. MacGowan had her clamped to his side, and if anyone looked too closely she sincerely doubted they would mistake them for lovers. In the late afternoon sunlight she took a good look at him. He hadn’t even bothered with a disguise; it was more the way he had carried himself. He was still underweight from his time in the mountains, but as Alcista he seemed hulking, menacing, a thick-set brute of a man. He was someone else now, not the Bull but not MacGowan either. He had the sunglasses covering most of his face, dirt smeared on his face, and his hair was slicked back with something that made it look almost black. �śStop looking at me,” he growled, mashing her head back against his shoulder. Son of a bitch, she thought, trying to summon up a righteous rage. He’d . . . he’d . . . the memory of his arousal under those awful circumstances was appalling. The fact that he’d . . . finished was even worse. She should be furious, and of course she was. What she couldn’t understand was the strange hint of something else in her reaction to his disgusting behavior. A feeling, almost, of tenderness. She didn’t like sex. She didn’t make a habit of admitting that – women looked at her with pity and men decided they had a mission to change her mind. Not everyone was cut out for passion, and she knew her blood ran cooler than most people. Her emotions were reserved for friends, for children. There was no question she’d fantasized about MacGowan. Even if she knew from experience that lovemaking wasn’t for her, she could still toy with the idea that if she were different, if things were different, if she were ever to take a lover, it would be someone like MacGowan. Someone tough and tender, someone with high cheekbones and flinty gray eyes and a lean, strong body. It was no wonder that she felt a stray tendril of reaction from their simulated sex. Well, not simulated on his part. Not that she was going to let him know that. She would spend the next day or two in offended dignity, enough so that he would never bring the subject up. And Dylan . . . She yanked her arm away from him, coming to a dead stop. �śWhere’s Dylan? Did they kill him?” �śHe’s already on the ship.” He tried to pull her back against him but she managed to skitter out of his way, yanking up the shoulder of the dress before it dropped perilously low. �śIs he all right?” He looked at her. He’d been dragging her through a series of narrow alleyways, all of them deserted. This one was littered with trash and old boxes, the flies were buzzing loudly in the quiet afternoon, and it smelled like rotting meat. Rotting meat, she thought, picturing the dead men in that stifling apartment, and she almost threw up. �śNow isn’t the time to hold a conversation,” he snapped. �śHe’s fine, but we won’t be if we don’t . . . fuck.” The final word was low and vicious, and she flinched. It was insane, that words would still affect her after all the things she’d seen. But at that moment she was teetering on the ragged edge of control. One more curse, one more yank on her arm and she’d shatter. �śWould you mind?” She was astounded at how icily calm she sounded. But then, she’d been perfecting her controlled mask for years. �śI think I’ve had enough cursing for the day.” He moved quickly, coming up to her fast, pulling her into his arms like a lover suddenly overcome with desire. In the middle of a trash-strewn alleyway. His hand was between their bodies, and she felt the heavy metal of the gun in his hand. It was cold – how could it be cold in this heat? He put his mouth to the side of her face, by her ear, and to an observer it would have looked as if he was kissing her. �śWhen I tell you to, run,” he said in an undertone. �śEven if I fall, just keep running. If I don’t catch up with you I’ll send someone else.” She was as cold as the gun now. �śWhat’s happened? Where are you going?” He didn’t answer, simply turned, shoving her behind his back as he faced the figure at the end of the alleyway. There was a moment of silence, and she had the sudden image of two gunfighters facing off at high noon. �śLong time no see, MacGowan,” the man said. American, and she knew she should feel relief. She didn’t. �śSully. What are you doing here? Part of the welcoming committee?” He sounded cool, unconcerned. He wasn’t hiding the gun he held. �śYou might say so. Put the gun away, Mac. I didn’t come alone, and I don’t necessarily have to take you alive.” There was a pause. �śWhat I’m wondering is why you have to take me at all? What’s the CIA want with a renegade Irishman? And don’t tell me it’s intel on the Guiding Light. This country doesn’t have oil – you have no interest in messing with their politics.” �śSo cynical, MacGowan,” the man called Sully chided. �śI hate to break it to you, but we don’t give a flying fuck about you. You’re simply the means to an end.” �śWhat end? No, let me guess. You want Serafin. What have I got to do with it?” Sully grinned. �śNo one ever accused you of not being fast on the uptake. Isobel Lambert has always been loyal to her people, and she left you in the lurch when she ran off with our operative. She’s not going to stand by and let you kill Peter Madsen. She’ll want to make it right.” �śIt was hardly her fault. Madsen should have followed through.” MacGowan’s voice was hardly more than a growl. Sully shrugged. �śNone of my concern. If we knew they had you stashed in the mountains for the past three years then the Committee should have known as well.” �śThe CIA knew I was a hostage?” Beth shivered at the tone in his voice. �śNone of our business,” the man called Sully said. �śYou didn’t think you should inform the Committee? Since we are, ostensibly, working on the same side?” Macgowan’s voice was deceptively casual, like a snake about to strike. Didn’t the man know how dangerous MacGowan could be? �śNot my concern. It worked out well in the end. We have you as bargaining tool and . . .” MacGowan moved abruptly, sending Beth sprawling onto the filthy pavement. A shot rang out and she felt something go whizzing past her head as she fell. And then a volley of shots, as Sully went down, and he was lying at eye level, a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. Staring at her, out of blank, dead eyes. MacGowan dragged Sully’s body into a corner, covering it with discarded cardboard boxes. They’d find him soon enough – in this heat the smell would start quickly. He cursed beneath his breath. This was so fucking useless. Sully hadn’t needed to die, not until he took the first shot at Beth, and then there’d been no choice. He was so bloody tired of death. He hauled Beth up, allowing himself one worried look at her face. At least this time she wasn’t screaming. She’d had too much as well, and she had retreated into some quiet place. It made things easier. He needed to get her to the ship as fast as he could, and he hadn’t needed still another delay. Sooner or later the men he sent on a wild goose chase would realize they’d been had. They wouldn’t be finding the body of Alcista any time soon, if at all. He’d been afraid for Beth, and he couldn’t afford to take time finishing him, but there was still enough for payback for the hundreds of women he’d raped. He felt no regret for ending that piece of filth. He should feel no regret for the men who’d wanted to join in with Sister Beth. Sully was a different matter. MacGowan had no choice. Once Sully aimed his gun at Beth he was a dead man. Still, it infuriated him. He had no illusions left – the taking of a life diminished him. It was astonishing there was anything left to him at all. Beth said nothing as they moved through the teeming city. She limped, but there was nothing he could do about it. He didn’t dare try for one of the ancient taxis that plied its trade on the narrow streets – taxis could be traced. He couldn’t even slow their pace. The sooner they got off the streets the better. By the time they reached the docks he was wondering if he’d have to carry her. The Martha Rose carried coffee beans and maize, and he suspected a hidden cargo of coca, but that was none of his concern. All he cared about was getting Beth, and Dylan, to some form of safety. She gave out when they reached the gangplank to the ship, and he scooped her up, ignoring her futile struggles. He carried her through the narrow corridors to the tiny cabin, kicking the door open and setting her down on the narrow berth. She tried to sit up, but he simply shoved her back down with a bit too much enthusiasm, and she stayed put. �śYeah, I know,” he said in a rough voice. �śWhat you need most is not to have to look at me. Dylan and I have the room next door, and if you need anything just knock on the wall. We’re sailing at midnight, and I can bring you food if you want . . .” �śBathroom,” she said in a hoarse voice. He hadn’t even thought of it. �śYou’re in luck sweetheart. You have the one and only en suite on the entire ship. Even the captain has to share.” She was off the bunk before he’d finished speaking, and a moment later the door was slammed shut in his face. He didn’t wait to hear her start retching. He closed the door quietly behind him, then paused, leaning his forehead against the door for a long, empty moment, before going in search of Dylan. Beth sank down on the bathroom floor. It was tiny – there as barely enough room for her, but she didn’t care if she had to wrap herself around the toilet. She couldn’t stand any longer. Couldn’t be around MacGowan any longer. She was filled with shame, horror and disgust, mostly with herself. It wasn’t so much a traditional bathroom as a wet room, and she turned on the shower spray, yanking off her clothes. Her underwear was stiff, and she remembered why as heat flushed her body and she began to shake again. She could put everything in order, mentally, when she had time to breathe again. She’d shower, put on clean clothes and lie down on the bed. It would take time, but eventually her jumbled, insane reactions would make sense to her. She showered quickly, knowing the water supply on a ship like this wouldn’t be endless. The towel was threadbare but clean, and the one small suitcase Finn had allowed her was sitting in the tiny room. She dressed quickly, certain her familiar clothes would bring a measure of security back to her. She was wrong. She had no strength. Her legs were shaking, barely able to hold her up, and her hands could barely manage the zipper to her baggy jeans. Baggier now, after the days of erratic provisions. Which didn’t matter; there wasn’t a woman alive who wasn’t happier ten pounds lighter. She just managed to crawl into the bunk, closing her eyes as she felt the slight rocking of the boat. She should have warned him about her seasickness, but there hadn’t really been time. At least she had a room of her own to be sick in. What was another five or six days with an empty stomach? She’d look like a fashion model when she arrived in Spain. She needed to concentrate on that, not on all the blank, staring eyes she’d seen this day. All the men MacGowan had killed. It was too dark a horror to face, and she’d rather sleep and avoid it, avoid everything. And she did, drifting in and out, glad of at least a few hours before they set out on the ocean. The cabin was stuffy, but she couldn’t stop shivering, and she burrowed under the blankets. What in God’s name was wrong with her? She could blame it on the violence, the death, the blood, the stink and sweat of it all. But that had nothing to do with the fierce rush of heat that had taken her when Finn was . . . She shouldn’t be thinking about it. But pushing it away wasn’t working; she needed to put it all in perspective. It had to be the desperate nature of the situation. Death had been so close, and it was no wonder that some kind of life-affirming emotion had swept through her. That was all sex was, after all. The most elemental creation of life. She was lying to herself and she knew it. It hadn’t been anything that pure or intellectual. It had been raw need. Maybe this was simply the female variant of the male’s need for sexual conquest in the face of death. Maybe a female needed to be taken. She moaned, burying her face in the pillow. She was full of shit. Temporary insanity, brought about by stress. Temporary insanity that was lingering. She was shivering, but her skin felt hot inside her clothes, and she wanted his hands on her. She, who had never really wanted anyone in her life, wanted MacGowan to finish what he started. It would pass. That was the definition of the disease – it was temporary, and it would be over. In the meantime, seasickness seemed an almost welcome diversion, and she looked forward to it. Six hours later she’d changed her mind. Six hours later she would have put up with the tender attentions of the real Alcista rather than the dry heaves that were plaguing her. She could hear the rain beating against the porthole, feel the rough seas bounce beneath them, and she stifled the moan that was a far cry from what she’d been feeling earlier. She’d managed to drag herself to and from the bathroom at regular intervals, using the wastebasket as a substitute in between, but she wasn’t sure she could manage the crawl back into the berth. She lay on the floor, panting, hating the ocean, hating MacGowan, hating everything under the sun. She heard the soft knock at the door, not for the first time, and she ignored it as the ship took a sudden lurch. �śSister Beth,” came Finn’s laid-back voice. �śWe’re going to have to talk about it.” �śGo away!” She kept her voice steady. At least she’d had the sense to lock the door. MacGowan was not the epitome of sensitivity, and she doubted he’d listen to polite excuses. The locked door would take care of it. �śNow, darlin’,” he said in a deliberately beguiling voice that she didn’t believe for a minute. �śYou can’t just keep ignoring it. Let me in, we’ll talk about it, and then we never have to think about it again.” Fat chance, she thought, curling in on herself, her arms clasped to her stomach. Talking would only make it worse. She was perfectly capable of ignoring those moments in the horrible apartment, pretending it never happened. At least she would be once she was on solid land again, once she was able to even contemplate eating something, once she’d gotten away from the ridiculous temptation that was Finn MacGowan. In the meantime she was going to suffer in private. As long as she could flush the toilet and splash her face and mouth with cold water she’d survive. Seasickness never killed anyone. �śLet me in,” MacGowan said again, his voice no longer so beguiling. She didn’t bother answering. Let him see what it was like to be ignored. He shook the door knob. �śAre you going to open it?” There was no missing the threat in his voice. �śGo fuck yourself,” she said, burying her face against the scrubbed wooden floor. �śSuit yourself,” he said, and she breathed a sigh of relief. One that she choked on, when he proceeded to slam his body against the door, breaking the flimsy lock so that the door was flung open. �śJesus H. Christ, Beth,” he muttered, kneeling down beside her. He scooped her up in his arms, and the sudden move only made her dizziness worse. Lucky for him her stomach was empty, or she would have proceeded to decorate him with its contents. He sat down on the bed, still holding her, and she was too sick and weary to fight it. She simply sank against him, her bones melting as every last bit of energy left her. �śWhy didn’t you say something, you idiot?” he whispered in her ear. �śWouldn’t do any good,” she muttered. He smelled good. Better than she did, at least, and she breathed in his scent. Sun-warmed skin, clean male sweat, something that was indefinably Finn MacGowan. She felt rather than heard someone else enter the room, and for a moment she stiffened, suddenly back in that filthy apartment, until she heard Dylan’s voice. �śDude, is she okay?” �śJust seasick. It’ll pass.” �śNo, it won’t,” she moaned. �śShe’s not gonna die, is she?” �śYes,” she said. �śNo.” Heartless bastard. �śOnce we get some food in her she’ll feel a thousand times better.” �śI hate you,” she said weakly. �śOf course you do, baby,” he said with disgusting cheer. �śGo see if you can get me some chicken soup, some crackers, and a bottle of whiskey.” �śShould she have whiskey on a bad stomach?” �śThe whiskey’s for me, mate.” She was too tired and sick to fight him. She settled back against him, closing her eyes, as she felt him stroke her hair, her back, murmuring incomprehensible things that somehow managed to soothe her. She even let him pour some soup down her throat, a little bit at a time, followed by dry crackers. �śEnough,” she muttered, and he leaned over, placing the food on the table. �śNow you need sleep, love,” he said. She was past fighting him. He shifted, and she expected him to set her down on the narrow bed. Instead he simply lay down beside her, keeping her firmly in his arms, his hands still stroking her. She knew she should tell him to get the hell away from her, but for some reason she couldn’t loosen the grip she had on his shirt, and she gave in. Some things were just too hard to fight. She woke once in the middle of the night, certain she was going to lose the small amount of food he’d managed to get in her. But he held her, whispering to her, calming her, and she was able to fall back asleep, safe in his arms. And when she awoke next the sun was shining, her stomach was calm, and he was gone. Barringer was playing solitaire. With real cards, not on the computer. You couldn’t cheat on a computer, and he intended to win at any cost, even when he played against himself, even when there were no stakes at all but his knowledge that he was in control. He felt the rumble in his chest pocket and he jumped. It was that cell phone they insisted he carry. He did his best to keep from giving out the number. He didn’t like it, and not even the knowledge that it could keep his operatives tethered to him was enough to make him comfortable with it. He reached into his chest pocket and pulled it out. Even worse, it wasn’t a phone call but a text message, one he couldn’t read without his glasses. He grumbled beneath his breath, fished out the glasses and read. It was from his man in Callavera. �śSully dead. Target escaped. Any orders?” He didn’t know how to delete messages, so he simply put it back in his pocket, resisting the strange impulse to throw the phone. He never cursed, never lost his temper. It was a set-back, he told himself, but nothing was ever out of reach if you were patient enough. Not even Thomas Killian. He’d need to make sure they’d gotten on the freighter. It was due to land in Spain in six days. Plenty of time to come up with a new plan. MacGowan was instructing Dylan in some of the finer points of playing poker when Sister Beth emerged from her cabin, pale but stalwart. It looked as if the worst of her seasickness had passed, and she was nibbling on one of the hard biscuits he’d left in her room. They were sitting on a small section of the deck that the captain had grudgingly cleared for them, and he had his sunglasses on, hiding his gaze from her. She didn’t need to see his eyes. If she did she’d know he was just a hair’s breadth from throwing her down on the deck and shagging the hell out of her, and she was in no shape for even the suggestion of his animal lusts. Maybe it would have been better if he’d been able to spend a couple of hours with a cheerful professional, but La Luz had put paid to that idea. He’d been planning to go out once he’d gotten the paperwork done . . . Who the fuck was he trying to fool? Himself? If he’d wanted to get fucked so badly he would have gone straight for that and not bothered with the steak. He may as well admit the truth. He hadn’t wanted just anyone to take care of the raging need that drove him. He’d wanted Beth. He could have had her. He could have told her the men were watching too closely – he could have brought them into the room. He could have had her any way he could, with or without an audience. But some stupid-ass strain of decency, that he would have thought was long-banished, had reared its ugly head, just as his cock had, and he couldn’t do it to her. So instead he’d lost it and come all over her, no doubt completing her disgust of the male sex in general and him in particular. He’d felt her shudder in his arms, and while he would have loved to think it was nascent desire, he was probably wrong. �śYou look like you’re feeling more human,” he observed in an even voice. He hadn’t dared stay with her, not after she’d rubbed up against him in her sleep like a hungry kitten looking for its mother. She ignored him, as he’d expected, but to his surprise she went over to Dylan and put her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Dylan turned beet red. �śDude!” he protested. She released him, giving him the warm, open smile she’d never given MacGowan and probably never would, and he wanted to take the kid and pitch him over the side of the ship. �śI’m just glad you’re alive,” she said. She finally looked at MacGowan, her blue eyes revealing nothing. �śIs this a private game or can anyone play?” He raised an eyebrow. �śYou think you’re up to it, Sister Beth? I’m already dealing with one rank amateur and I don’t usually make allowances for beginners.” �śDude!” Dylan began. �śShut up.” �śNo quarter given?” Beth was unfazed. �śFine with me. You want to waive the reward you’re demanding for getting me out of that hellhole?” �śHell, no. You may cheat. We’ll play for something a little less crucial to my future comfort. Strip poker?” �śDude!” �śNot you,” MacGowan reassured Dylan. �śYour scrawny ass holds no interest for me.” �śGood thing, since we’re sharing a cabin,” Dylan grumbled. MacGowan hid his smile. �śWhat do you say, Sister Beth?” Her gaze was cool and unpromising. �śI think I’d rather win something that interested me, and I’ve already seen you naked.” �śYou have?” Dylan was clearly horrified. MacGowan didn’t bother to hide his irritation. Dylan hadn’t needed to hear the down and dirty details of Beth’s rescue. �śDon’t worry, kid. She’s still a virgin.” �śI am not!” she snapped, effectively goaded. �śClose enough.” He kicked the extra chair out for her. �śHave a seat. When you come up with stakes that interest me I’ll deal you in.” �śWhy can’t we bargain with food the way we were doing?” Dylan said. �śYou just won my dinner.” �śBecause I want her to eat. She’s so thin a stiff breeze could blow her away,” he drawled, mentally cursing himself for using the word �śstiff” in conjunction with Beth. He was having a hard enough time already. �śYou’re assuming you’ll win,” she said in a dulcet tone. �śI cheat.” �śSo do I.” �śDude!” CHAPTER SEVENTEEN The Porsche slid smoothly through the city streets, the headlights bouncing off the wet pavement. Peter loved this car. Genny insisted it was his treat for the long commute every day, but in his heart he knew it was impractical. He really should give it up. It was too small for his growing family – using car seats in a two-door was better suited to the Cirque de Soleil – and Mahmoud had been eyeing it hungrily. Since Peter had no intention of letting a seventeen-year-old boy out with such a powerful piece of machinery, and because he didn’t trust Mahmoud not to give in to temptation and simply help himself, he was better off without the damned car, even if it made commuting into London less tedious. Maybe something nice and stodgy like a Vauxhall would put Mahmoud off. After all, he had a reputation to uphold with his mates. He was heading toward the M3 when his mobile rang, and he punched the button on the steering wheel, and Genny’s sweetly American voice came over the speaker. �śAre you still at the office?” �śJust left, Miss Spenser,” he said in a sinuous voice he kept just for her. She laughed, the sound rich and warm. �śDon’t mess with me, you wretch. I’m bogged down with infants. Mahmoud just called. He was in town with some of his mates and needs a ride home. Can you pick him up?” �śOf course. Where is he?” �śI told him to go to the office.” Peter made an unhappy noise. The security at the office was particularly lethal, something Mahmoud, with the blithe disregard of all teenagers, chose to ignore, having outwitted it on only his third try. He ignored all of Peter’s threats, warnings, and bribes, and he had complete faith that when he returned to the office Mahmoud would be sitting behind his desk, hacking into some of the world’s most secret files. �śI’m going to kill him.” �śPlease don’t, darling. My children need their father and I don’t fancy visiting you in prison. Speaking of which, have you heard anything more from MacGowan? Is he still planning to gut you?” Again, he could thank Mahmoud for spilling the beans about that particular threat. �śNothing yet. I had another message from Isobel. She says she’s had word that he’s crossing the Atlantic on a freighter, so I imagine he’ll show up sooner or later.” �śAnd Isobel? Is she staying on Mars or wherever she and Killian have hidden themselves?” He pulled into the underground parking garage. �śNo reason not to.” �śIf you promise not to kill Mahmoud I’ll put the babies down early and have my wicked way with you.” �śPromises, promises,” he said lightly. �śYou want me to pick up anything for tea?” �śNot a thing. See you in an hour?” �śDepending on traffic.” The building that housed the new Committee offices was small, sleek and modern. They owned the top two floors, and the first two were leased by a cover organization. It was after six, and everyone had left, though he’d noticed the light in his office as he’d driven in. Bugger Mahmoud, he thought grumpily, riding up in the elevator. The outer hallway was dark, not even a security light breaking through the gloom, and for a moment he wondered if he’d been wrong, if he’d simply forgotten to turn off his own lights. He dismissed the idea – he was a careful man, and that care and attention to details had kept him alive in a very dangerous business. No, Mahmoud had definitely managed to break in, and he knew which parts of the walls had electric current running through them. He opened the first door and froze. There was no mistaking the stink of sudden, violent death, and he slammed the door open to his office as rage and grief washed over him. A tall, slender form stood in the middle of the room, looking down at the body on the floor, but his head jerked up at Peter’s precipitous entrance. �śThere you are,” Mahmoud said in his lightly-accented English. �śYou’ve got a dead man in your office.” It took Peter only a moment to keep from grabbing the boy, shaking him thoroughly, and then hugging him. Genny had done wonders at teaching her husband to drop his Englishman’s inhibitions, but Mahmoud would likely gut him if he tried. He pulled his vaunted imperturbability back around him. �śSo I see. Did you kill him?” Mahmoud shook his head. �śHe was already dead when I broke in. I would have killed him for you if he’d still been rooting around, but one of your traps got him.” Peter moved around the side of the desk. The man was lying face down on the carpet. He nudged him with his foot, then rolled him over onto his back. �śFuck.” �śKnow him?” Mahmoud said. �śThought so. Who is he?” �śCIA,” Peter said succinctly. �śWhat did you do to piss them off?” �śNothing. It’s not me they’re mad at.” He rose, making a few swift calculations. �śYou up to helping me get rid of the body?” �śAren’t there child labor laws?” Mahmoud said with a callous grin. �śDon’t give me that. You find the peaceful life dead boring. Just don’t tell Genny.” He needn’t have bothered to ask. The two of them had an unspoken pact to spare Genevieve from the more violent aspects of his current life and Mahmoud’s former one. �śIf they’re not mad at you then who are they after?” �śKillian,” said Peter. �śAnd Isobel.” Mahmoud gave the dead body a hard kick. �śAfter all these years? Why now?” �śI’d say it’s because MacGowan finally surfaced. I think they’re hoping they can trace the two of them through MacGowan.” �śCan they?” �śIsobel has never been a fool.” Mahmoud just looked at him. �śIs that an answer?” �śGod, I hope so.” MacGowan was better at cheating than she was, Beth realized in no time at all. All her machinations got her exactly nowhere. If the poker stakes were food he’d make sure she won, if they were anything else she was shit out of luck. By the time they were four days out she owed him three hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars and her first three children. They were sitting in the small room that served as dining hall and meeting room, and it was close to midnight. Dylan had dragged himself off to bed hours ago, disgruntled at being ignored, and Beth knew she should go as well. She couldn’t tear herself away from him. He hadn’t touched her once in the last few days. He might never have kissed her in the dingy hall outside their hotel room, might never have held her as she wept and shivered. He treated her as he treated Dylan, a combination of brotherly teasing and impatience, and as her wariness faded her own complicated feelings worsened. She couldn’t begin to understand what she wanted from him. They’d been through too much together for anything as innocent as a flirtation, and he was much too big and scary a creature when he wasn’t mocking her. There were times when she was honestly afraid of him. He could kill, had killed for her on a number of occasions, seemingly without a moment’s hesitation or an ounce of regret. He was mercenary, brutal, charming, devious, and yes, any other woman would think he was sexy as hell. Not her. Not her. Oh hell, yes, her. The way he moved, as if he understood his body better than any man had a right to and knew just how to use it for a woman’s maximum pleasure. The way his gray eyes slid over her, coolly caressing. It meant nothing, it was part of his stock in trade, and yet she felt it slide over her skin like a physical touch. They were alone now, and he was dealing the greasy deck of cards with the practiced ease of a professional gambler. She’d always prided herself on her skills – she’d been taught by the bodyguards who’d dogged her every step, and she was used to crushing other players with her innocent demeanor and ruthless guile. But MacGowan was more than a match for her. In fact, they had quickly fallen into a rhythm, matching each other. He knew her strengths and weaknesses, she knew his. �śAnother hand?” he suggested. �śI should go to bed.” �śFor what? You’ll just wake up in the morning and we’ll play more poker. May as well keep going.” �śI already owe you too much money.” �śDouble or nothing?” His voice was low, almost sexual, and she wanted to slap him. �śCan’t afford it.” �śYou might always win.” �śOnly if you let me.” �śThen we can wager for more traditional stakes.” She raised an eyebrow. �śSuch as what?” �śI’d start with your underwear.” Okay, that wasn’t what she was expecting. She felt her reaction down low, shocking herself. �śI don’t think they’re your style.” His smile was slow and sensual. �śNo, they’re not. That’s why I want you out of them.” For a moment she said nothing. �śClearly you’re bored. You’re forgetting I’ve gotten pretty good at calling your bluff. If you’re trying to make me squirm it won’t work.” �śIt looked to me as if you just squirmed quite nicely.” She could feel her face heat. �śThen you’re imagining things. I’m sorry you don’t have some suitable female around to practice on, but we’ll be in Spain in another couple of days and I’m sure you can find someone more appealing.” �śStop it.” Her eyes widened. There was no humor, no teasing in his voice now, but an undercurrent of real anger. Don’t pull the tiger’s tail, she thought absently. And did so anyway. �śStop what?” �śGuilelessness doesn’t become you.” �śYou think I’m guileful?” �śI think you know exactly what’s between us, and you know that sooner or later you’re going to have to face it.” �śI don’t have to face anything I don’t want to.” �śYes, you do.” He dealt the cards with brisk, elegant efficiency. �śPick up your hand.” �śI want to go to bed.” �śWe can do that instead.” She couldn’t help her reaction, and he raised his eyes. �śDon’t flinch. You know damned well I’m not going to hurt you.” She didn’t know any such thing. He might not inflict physical pain on her body, but he could destroy any last hope of equanimity she had left. �śI came to Callivera for peace,” she said, seemingly a non-sequitur. �śIf I were interested in a relationship I would have stayed home, not gone to live with a priest.” �śFirst off, Sister Beth, if you were looking for peace you made a big mistake in choosing a country like Callivera. Second, I’m not offering you a relationship. They don’t work for me.” �śThen what are you offering me?” �śThe best sex of your life.” It was out there now, what she’d been trying to pretend didn’t exist. �śThat’s not saying much.” The words were out before she had a chance to think better of it. �śI know.” He picked up his own hand, then gave her an evil smile. �śOne hundred thousand dollars against your bra, Sister Beth. Surely it’s worth the risk.” She looked down at her hand. Two threes. She gave him a dulcet smile. �śYou’re on.” He lay down his hand. Two jacks. �śPay up,” he said. �śI’m not wearing a bra.” She didn’t bother to hide her smirk �śI know.” Okay, point to him. She resisted the impulse to wrap her arms around her body. It would only draw more attention to her breasts beneath the loose cotton shirt. He picked up the cards, shuffled, and dealt again. �śYou are wearing knickers. I’ll up the ante. Two hundred thousand against the knickers, and I won’t even look at my hand.” �śYou don’t need to – you cheat.” His smile was cool. �śLive dangerously, Sister Beth. I’ll tell you what – you take my hand, I’ll take yours.” He pushed the cards across the table towards her. She should get the hell away from him, now while she still could. �śI don’t think �Ś” �śCoward,” he said. She picked up his hand. Three nines. She bit her lip, looking distressed. �śThis isn’t a good idea.” She couldn’t read his face, whether she’d managed to fool him or not. �śCall,” he said. She put the hand down, allowing a triumphant smile to curve her mouth. �śYou shouldn’t have offered to switch hands. There’s such a thing as being too cocky.” �śI don’t think you want to be talking about my cock now, do you?” He laid out his hand. A flush – all hearts. �śPay up.” �śNo.” �śYou don’t welsh on a debt of honor, Sister Beth.” �śI’ll pay you the extra two hundred thousand.” �śWe’re up to three if you count the bra you’re going to have to hand over when I take you back to your room. And no deal. Some things are worth more than money.” �śYou’re a degenerate.” �śTrue enough, but we’ll get to that later. In the meantime strip off those jeans and hand over the panties.” She didn’t move. He seemed lazy, relaxed, but there was no humor in his hard eyes. They were dark, intent, and predatory and she knew he wasn’t going to back down. And then he smiled at her, like a Bengal tiger sizing up a stray lamb. �śI’ll tell you what, my angel. All or nothing.” �śWhat do you mean?” �śYou can deal. You’ve told me you know how to cheat, though I have yet to see any proof. I won’t even look in case you fumble. You win, you get all your money back, including the reward for delivering you out of the jungle, and you get to keep your underwear to yourself.” �śAnd if you win?” �śYou know the answer to that. Time’s up. We have unfinished business no matter how much you want to deny it. Time to stop running away. Deal.” She picked up the hand and began to shuffle. MacGowan leaned back, watching her fiddle with the cards. She did so obsessively, stopping at one point to examine the deck, front and back, looking for anomalies. There were none – his ability to cheat more devious than that. He had no idea why he would win this particular hand, a hand he wouldn’t even touch. A bloody fortune was riding on it, a large enough amount to ensure a comfortable stretch of time, though with his tastes nothing would last forever. Money came and money went. The Committee, for all its abandoning him like flotsam, paid him obscenely well. He had twice the amount he was wagering in a bank in the Cayman Islands. And he was going to make damned sure he was compensated for those years in captivity. Though killing Peter Madsen might make collecting that back pay a little difficult. He looked at her. He’d been hoping the memory of that wretched time in the foul apartment might have dissipated some of his roaring lust. Instead he couldn’t stop thinking about her, couldn’t stop remembering the feel of her beneath him. Her hands, clutching at him as he rocked against her, her mouth underneath his, the feel of her, the smell of her skin, the taste �Ś She’d been doing her absolute best to keep him at a distance. Her devotion to that told him all he needed to know, even without catching her staring at him when she thought he wouldn’t notice. She refused to flirt, refused to let him anywhere inside the walls she’d erected around herself. They might never have shared that desperate trip out of the jungle, the narrow cot in the cabin, the bone-shaking kiss in the hotel hallway. He understood – he had the same walls around him and no one was getting inside them. �śDon’t look so worried, Sister Beth,” he said, lightly mocking. �śI’m only talking about a good, nasty fuck. We’ll both be the better for it.” He expected an argument, but she ignored him. Shuffling. Shuffling. He knew she’d take the wager. She might even try to cheat. He’d watched her deal from the bottom of the deck before and she wasn’t that bad. No match for him, of course, but not bad. It wouldn’t do her any good, and neither would dithering. He was going to have her tonight, and she knew it. Wanted it, against her better judgment. He stopped for a moment, considering whether his overwhelming need for her was clouding his perceptions. Maybe he was fooling himself into thinking she wanted him as much as he wanted her. No. There were some things he knew. What lay between them was unstoppable, unbreakable, and there’d be no peace for either of them until it was done. She glanced up at him, and he looked into her deceptively calm eyes. The pull, the demand was there like a dark, living thing between them, and she didn’t even seem to recognize it. That, or she chose to ignore it. �śYou’re going to have to face the fact that you want this, you know,” he said suddenly, his patience beginning to wear thin. �śWant what?” The riffling sound of the cards was loud in the charged silence. �śSex. With me.” She slapped the cards down. �śThis game is over.” �śNo, it isn’t.” She picked them up again, and began to shuffle, ignoring him, and something snapped. �śIf you shuffle those fucking cards one more time I’m going to throw them overboard,” he snarled. �śFine.” �śDeal.” He saw the flash of uncertainty in her eyes, and then her mouth thinned. �śFine,” she said again. And she dealt the cards, fast, neat, no attempt at stacking the deck. �śWe’re agreed on the stakes?” he said, looking at the cards that lay face down on the scarred old table. She was afraid, he realized with sudden shock. It should have made him back off. But he was like a wolf who’d found his mate, and he wasn’t about to let her go so easily. Not when her fear was irrational and misplaced. He wasn’t going to hurt her, and deep inside she had to know it. �śYes.” Her voice didn’t shake. Her hand did. �śYou first.” She picked up the cards, looked at them, then spread them out on the table. A full house, eights and jacks. She didn’t bother to hide her relief, and the look she gave him was triumphant. �śToo bad,” she said lightly. �śDon’t you want to look at my hand?” �śEven you aren’t that lucky.” She flipped the cards over, one at a time. Ten of spades, jack of spades, queen of spades, the bitch goddess of the card deck and his personal favorite. He relaxed, knowing he had her. Her hand stilled and her fear was back, running neck and neck with his anticipation. King of spades. Ace of spades. �śRoyal flush,” she said bleakly. �śYes.” It would be spades, he thought, not the juicy red hearts. What lay between them was darkness and pain, not valentine’s day. He rose, and held out his hand to her. If she refused, tried to bargain, he told himself he’d walk away. She was way too much trouble. The sex would be lousy with a semi-virgin like Sister Beth, and he just wasn’t interested in a challenge at the moment. Fuck that. He couldn’t walk away. Sane or not, he wanted her too badly. He waited, not saying anything. She looked up at him, trying to hide the fear that danced in the back of her eyes. She put her hand in his and rose from the table. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN He hadn’t been in her cabin since he’d first brought her there. The bunk was small, the size of a twin bed, but it would do. It was neatly made, her extra clothes folded on a chair. �śDo you want the underwear I’m currently wearing or could I talk you into taking a fresh pair?” �śTell you what,” he said in a deliberately relaxed voice. �śSince in effect I beat the pants off you, you can keep your underwear. I’m much more interested in what’s inside.” He saw the sudden flare of anger in her eyes. �śSince when? I haven’t seen any sign of it since we’ve been on this wretched boat.” �śShip,” he corrected her. �śHave you felt neglected, sweetheart? I was giving you time to recover from my over-enthusiastic play-acting.” �śI’m not an innocent,” she said. �śI understand male bodies, and despite what you say, I’m far from a virgin. As you’ve reminded me so often, it’s been three years since you’ve �Ś since you’ve made love, and one can’t help how one’s body reacts on occasion.” �śNo, one can’t, can one?” he mocked her gently. �śHow far?” �śI beg your pardon?” This was ridiculous. They were standing in her cabin, when he’d much rather be horizontal. �śHow far from a virgin?” �śYou want names, occasions, duration of relationships?” she shot back. �śI’d like to know what I’m dealing with when I get you on your back. You’re so fucking skittish I’m wondering if the Guiding Light got to you after all.” �śNo.” �śWere you sexually abused as a child?” Her face paled, but her response was immediate, and he suspected, truthful. �śGod, no.” �śThen what? You’ve been kidnapped, twice, you’ve fallen off a cliff, had a knife held to your throat, fought off drugged-out rapists, watched god knows how many men die, and yet you’re looking at me like I’m the big bad wolf.” �śClose enough.” �śYou think I’m going to eat you, little girl?” he said softly. �śI think you’re going to �Ś upset me.” �śNow that’s a euphemism I’ve never heard before. Look at it this way – you came down to Callivera to minister to the needy and the disadvantaged. Consider this an act of charity.” �śYou’re not disadvantaged.” �śThree years.” This wasn’t going the way he’d planned. He wanted her to loosen up, but she was just getting tighter and tighter. �śJust answer me one question, and then I’ll leave you alone.” �śYou will?” He heard the relief in her voice. Did he also hear disappointment? �śThis thing between us. This pull. Is it my imagination?” She looked at him and lied. Flat out lied. �śYes.” He moved past her, opened the door, and walked out. The night air was cool on his heated skin, and he stood on the deserted deck, staring out at the inky-black ocean. He’d had enough. He wanted to get roaring, stinking drunk, and then pass out for the rest of the voyage rather than breathe in the infuriatingly tantalizing scent of Sister Beth, the purported non-virgin of the year. There were a number of problems with that plan. First, he had no alcohol. Second, even if he did he was incapable of passing out, which he figured was his father’s legacy to him. He knew how to drink, hard, and he knew how to pass it by without a second thought. He just didn’t know how to pass out. Third, he was sharing his room with a teenage boy, rendering dedicated drunkenness difficult to achieve. As for Sister Beth �Ś he’d never forced a woman in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now. But one thing was abundantly clear. He couldn’t be around her, not right now, without putting his hands on her. He’d keep his distance, and once they got to Spain he’d put her on a plane and out of his life. He breathed in the fresh salt air, trying to relax his shoulders. His entire body felt wound as tightly as a clock spring, and he knew if anyone made the mistake of coming up to him he’d either snap his head off or hit him. No one would make the mistake of approaching him. People steered clear of him when he was in this kind of mood, instinctively recognizing danger. He could clear a sidewalk or a room when he was like this. He lifted his head, staring into the bleak night. How far was Spain? One day away? Two? He’d waited as long as he could, and he knew why. He didn’t want the temptation of having too much time with her. One night, two at the most, and then adios. Served him right. In the end it was for the best – he was going to get through life very well without ever having a taste of Sister Beth. After all, the most tempting things were usually the most dangerous. At this point he could dump her and forget her, quite easily, thank you very much. After sex it might be harder to walk away. What would she do if he stormed back down the gangway, shoved open her door and took her? He’d be like his da, without the hitting. No, she was going to have to accept that she wanted it too. At this point he was done asking. She would have to come to him, and that wasn’t going to happen. He took in another deep breath. He was calm now. No longer shaking with frustration. He was under control. He turned, and slammed his fist into the bulkhead, hard. He looked down. He hadn’t broken anything, but the skin had split across his knuckles and he was bleeding. And an idiot. And then he saw her, standing still and quiet in the moonlight, and as swiftly as it had come the rage left him. �śWhat are you doing?” Her voice was low, husky. He considered it. �śBeing a bloody fool.” �śI should bandage that.” �śNo.” He didn’t want to look at her, all silver in the moonlight. �śYou’ve done enough.” �śI haven’t even checked your knife wound.” �śIt’s fine. Go back to bed.” �śYour hand is bleeding.” He wheeled around, the anger rising again. �śFor fuck’s sake leave me alone! I’ve had as much of you tonight as I can take.” She didn’t flinch from his anger. �śI thought you wanted more,” she said. She crossed the few feet of the deck, put her cool hand on the side of his neck, and kissed him, a soft, lingering kiss. And then she turned and walked away. Beth could barely breathe. She had sat in her cabin, telling herself she’d done the right thing, she was glad he’d left, she didn’t want or need what little he could give her. She didn’t need anything. She would make it even. She would give him the money, all the money. She could go out and buy some silly bra and panties and send them to him, gift-wrapped, and he’d laugh and think of her with less anger. She could do it. She could hide. She was afraid of him, afraid of his big, strong body, afraid of his hands on her, afraid of losing herself so completely she’d never come back. She’d learned early on that the world took away the things, the people that she cared about. She was terrified to risk it again. But what was the risk? He would go anyway. He wasn’t offering her a relationship, he told her. Just the best sex of her life. Wasn’t it past time she experienced it? She knew he hadn’t gone back to his cabin, but the dining hall was empty. Which left the deck. She’d climbed up, into the cool night air, and seen him smash his fist into the iron bulk-head, and she almost turned and ran from the ever-present violence that was a part of him. But he’d seen her, and his expression had been unpromising. I can do this, she told herself, hoping he wouldn’t see how nervous she was. �śI thought you wanted more,” she said. And she put her mouth against his, a soft, trembling kiss, feeling the hard line of his lips, before walking away. He caught up with her outside her doorway, when she almost gave up. He said nothing, simply pulled her into his arms, against his strong, hard body, and his hand slid beneath her hair, tilting her face up to his. �śNo more running away?” His voice was rough. His eyes glittered down into hers, and if she wanted tenderness it wasn’t there. Simply a dark, naked heat sparking between them. �śNo more running away,” she said. His kiss was far different from hers. He used his tongue, kissing her hard, and she felt her initial panic begin, and then fade. He wouldn’t hurt her, she understood that instinctively. She let herself relax into his kiss, and it softened, so that he was exploring her mouth, with slow, sensuous need, and her own need flared. He reached behind her and opened the door to her cabin, and then he broke his possessive kiss to lift her in his arms, carrying her into the cabin and kicking the door shut behind him. He set her down on the bunk. She’d turned off the light when she’d left to follow him, an ingrained habit, and he didn’t bother to switch it on. The small cabin was lit by moonlight and the reflection of the ship’s lights, and it was a place of shifting shadows. She liked the shadows. She wanted to hide from him, pretend she was somewhere else, pretend�Ś �śDon’t do that,” he said, pushing the cotton shirt off her shoulders. �śDo what?” She shivered at the touch of his hard hands against her skin. She was hot, she was cold, and he tugged at the hem of her tank top. �śYou said you wouldn’t run away. That means you look at me, acknowledge me, not pretend you’re in some fairy tale. I’m no magic prince who’s going to wake you with a goddamned kiss.” She didn’t even want to consider how he knew what she was thinking. He knew her too well, only one of the many scary things about him. He stripped the shirt over her head, and she was wearing nothing but the baggy jeans. She instinctively tried to cover her breasts, but he caught her wrists and held them down on the bed, leaning over her. Her voice caught. �śThen who are you?” He was looking into her eyes, not at her breasts, and his gaze was intent. His mouth, the mouth she wanted, curved in a slight smile. �śYour worst nightmare?” She shook her head. �śLet go of my hands.” He did, and she lifted them, cradling his face, pushing his long, multi-colored hair away from the planes and angles of him. �śFate,” she said. �śYou can’t run away from fate.” �śAre you trying to scare me off, Sister Beth? This is a blip on the horizon, not a relationship.” �śYou already said that. Several times, in fact. Who are you trying to convince?” He laughed softly, and the sound curled in her belly, warming her. �śYou’re evil, Sister Beth. I like that in a woman.” He put his hands on her shoulders, big, strong, rough hands on her, his thumbs beginning to knead the tension, the fear, out of her. They moved down her arms, slowly, so that she could stop him, and then he pushed her back on the bunk, and she felt the mattress against her back, the cool sheets, the soft pillow beneath her head.He let his slow, carnal gaze slide down to her breasts then, and he breathed in a ragged sigh. She waited for him to say something crass, to try to break the strange, erotic lassitude she was sliding into, but he was silent, watching her breathe. He moved then, onto the bunk, over her, straddling her, and he was dark and hot and everything she wanted. He put his hands on her waist, letting them slide up to brush against her breasts, barely touching them, and she could feel her nipples contract almost painfully. She jerked, wanting more. �śSmall,” he said in a rough voice. �śAnd perfect.” He leaned down, and she could fee his tongue against her, brushing across her nipple, and she felt her womb contract in fear and anticipation �śYou’re going to let me suck them, aren’t you, Sister Beth?” He waited for permission, but her throat closed, unable to say the words, terrified that he’d leave her. His eyes darkened, and he ran his thumbs across the swollen nubs. �śThat’s all right, sweetheart. You’ll tell me. Eventually. You’re going to say everything I want you to say. You’re going to cry it, and whisper it, and scream it.” The heat between her legs grew hotter even as fear danced across her nerve endings. �śWe can take this slow, can’t we?” she managed to ask. �śYou won’t push me?” �śOh, my precious one.” He was sounding more Irish, an instinctive croon that made her melt. �śI’m going to push you so far you won’t know where you end and I begin. I’m not going to approach you on my knees. I don’t worship virgin queens. I fuck them.” �śDon’t.” �śAnd you’re going to tell me you want me to fuck you. Hard.” Her nipples felt so tight and hard they were almost painful, and the soft brush of his rough thumbs against them was a glorious kind of torture. �śNo fairy tales. Just you and me. And sex.” He leaned over her, his mouth catching her nipple, drawing it in, sucking, his tongue swirling, and she arched off the bed, burning. She heard the sound she made, a soft moan of need. Her hands came up, almost of their own accord, and threaded through the long hair that fell around his face, sifting her fingers through it, dancing across his hot skin. Lifting his head, he blew on her breast, and she cried out as sensations danced through her, and before they died down he moved to her other breast, sucking, licking. She felt his teeth rasp against her, and she shivered in response. He moved down, and his hands were at the fastening to her jeans, unzipping them. How many hands did the man have, she thought dazedly, awash in sensation. The tug of his mouth at her breast was like nothing she’d ever felt before, hot and hard and needy. She felt his hand between her legs, against the heavy seams of denim, pushing, stroking through all those layers of cloth, and she arched up again, pushing back, wanting more. He lifted his head, looking down at her. �śTell me to take your pants off.” The demand was husky but clear. She swallowed, fighting it, fighting the desire, fighting herself. �śAre you wearing my pants?” His laugh was shaky. She liked that. �śSaucy, aren’t you?” he said. And then she felt his hands on her hips, shoving the jeans down, moving back and stripping them off her legs so fast she didn’t have time to react before he was straddling her again, holding her in place with his hard thighs. �śThere, that was painless, wasn’t it?” It took her a moment to catch her breath. �śYou left my underwear on.” �śWell, getting your knickers off is half the fun, isn’t it?” �śHalf the fun?” He was unbuttoning his shirt, slowly, and his eyes glittered in the moonlight. �śWell, no. Just one of the many bits of fun to be had.” Fun. This didn’t feel like fun. If felt dark and torturous and powerful, this strangling need that was rushing through her body, but it didn’t feel like fun. He tossed the shirt away, and he’d removed the bandage from the knife wound. She tried to angle her head, to look at him, but he pushed her back down. �śYou can play doctor later, sweetheart,” he said, reading her again. �śWe’ve got better things to do.” �śI just want to make sure �Ś” �śIf you make me bleed you can patch me up again. You sure I’m not going to make you bleed?” She was glad the moonlight didn’t show her flush. �śHow many times do I have to tell you that I’m not a virgin? Why don’t you hurry up and get this over with and then you’ll know for sure.” �śOh, I’m in no hurry. What’s another hour when you’ve waited three years?” �śHour?” her voice rose in a little shriek. �śWell, perhaps not an hour,” he amended, a dark light in his eyes that shone even in the moonlight. �śI have excellent control but I don’t think even I could hold out that long. Not since I’ve spent almost every second of the last six days thinking about doing this.” She frowned, trying rapid calculations. �śSix days.” �śI’d say since the first moment I laid eyes on you, but I didn’t even need to see you to want you. I just had to hear your voice in the darkness of that shack where they kept me and I was off.” She swallowed. �śNonsense. It was simply because I was female.” �śNonsense,” he mimicked. �śThere were any number of females I could have had in Puerto Claro. There’ll be women everywhere when we get to Spain, and I have a fondness for Latin women. They’re comfortable with their bodies, they’re comfortable with sex.” For some reason she felt hurt. �śI’m not,” she said flatly. �śThere’s a news flash.” �śThen why are you here? Apart from the obvious, being that I’m the only female available?” Shit. She was being vulnerable again, when she wanted to be strong and sure. �śYou can stop that right now,” he said. �śSometimes I like a challenge.” She hadn’t realized she was clenching the sheets in her hands. He pried them loose, easily enough, and put them on his chest, sliding them up his warm, smooth skin. �śDon’t worry about it, sweetheart. By the time I finish with you you’ll be speaking Spanish like a native.” CHAPTER NINETEEN She tasted like fear and need and a thousand other things too complicated, and MacGowan didn’t care. He needed to be inside her, holding her, fucking her. But it took more self-control than he would have thought he possessed to keep moving at this pace when he wanted to do nothing more than yank down his jeans and thrust inside her, over and over again until he was lost in the bone-shaking orgasm her reluctant flesh promised. That accident in the apartment only made the need more powerful. He felt an almost atavistic need to claim her. As if, having gotten through the desperate measures of the last few days she was now his trophy of war, to wallow in, to take, over and over again, until he could finally slake his overwhelming hunger. He wanted her hands on him, he wanted her mouth on him, he wanted to take her from behind, leaning over the bunk, he wanted her to go down on him, he wanted everything he could possibly think of and more. He wanted it hard and nasty, gentle and sweet. But most of all he wanted it now. He moved off her, stripping off his jeans and kicking them off the berth. He would have thought she would be closing her eyes and trying to run away again, but instead she looked at him, and impossibly he could feel his cock swell at her calm regard. �śThat’s not going to fit,” she said. He laughed. God, how could she keep making him laugh when things were so intense? How could the laughter not lighten the darkness between them, around them? �śBet you another hundred thousand,” he said. He would have liked to linger on the elegant offering of her body, a little bruised but still lithe and beautiful, but his patience was wearing thin, and he knew how to get her ready, fast. He nudged her legs apart, and she let him, which surprised him. The underwear was more delicate then he would have expected, and it was easy enough to slide his hands beneath the lace bands on her hips and rip, pulling it off. Shocking her with the sudden violence of the move. But she didn’t pull away. �śShow time, Sister Beth,” he said, pushing her legs apart. He put his mouth on her. She bucked in surprise, but he’d taken the precaution of holding her hips steady as he slid his tongue down, tasting the sweetness of her, the need of her. �śDon’t,” she said in a choked cry. �śI don’t like this.” He didn’t lift his head. He was very good at this – he loved women, loved the taste and the touch and the smell of them, and he knew how to bring exquisite pleasure to the shyest of flesh. If she really didn’t want this she wouldn’t be threading her fingers into his hair, mindlessly stroking him, her hips arching toward him. He brought her up slowly, teasing her, feeling the first reluctant tremors of response, the shiver as he slid his fingers inside her, the wetness of her that called to him. Her fingers tightened on his hair, and then released him as she clutched the sheet, but this time she wasn’t searching for control, this time she was simply trying to hold on as he tongued her, kissed her, bit her. And her body went rigid as an orgasm riveted through her, making her tight as a bowstring before she flung herself free, dissolving into shocked, choking cries. He had moved up between her legs, resting against her, his arms on either side of her, shaking at the effort. �śHell, Sister Beth, haven’t you ever used a vibrator?” he asked with a soft laugh. �śThat �Ś that was better.” He let the head of his cock press against her, sliding against the wetness, teasing her, teasing himself until he thought he’d explode. �śDouble or nothing?” She was still having trouble catching her breath, and the hard intensity of her response was another bolt of pleasure shooting through him. He pushed, just a bit, feeling her body open to accommodate him, and he froze for a moment, to bring himself back under control. He couldn’t lose it now. Not until he was deep inside her, not until she came again, could he let loose and have her as hard and as fast as his body demanded. She deserved a gentle lover. Tonight she was going to have to make do with him. She groaned, shifting, taking him inside. Her eyes were half-closed, but he didn’t chide her. She knew exactly who was between her legs, who was inside her, and he didn’t need to play games to prove it. He paused, his muscles so tight they might snap. �śAre you all right?” His voice was raw, and he cursed. She couldn’t know how much it cost him to ask. If she said no he’d have to pull out, and it would kill him. But he’d do it. �śYes.” It was the merest breath of a word. He pushed in more, and she moved again, and he was afraid he was hurting her. She looked beautiful in the moonlight, her white silk hair, unwrapped finally and spread over the pillow. Out of the blue he remembered the old joke, that a Dublin man’s idea of foreplay was �śBrace yerself, Bridget.” He was shaking, sweating, determined not to hurt her, keeping his weight on his elbows, slow, slow, careful not to hurt her, gentle, easy now �Ś He felt her hands on his face, gentle, cool hands, and he opened his eyes to look down at her, and she was in the grip of the same blinding need He was wrong, she didn’t need easy, she didn’t need gentle. She needed hard, and she needed now. �śFinn,” she said in a hoarse voice, a plea, but not for mercy. �śDo it. For God’s sake, do it.” He stared into her eyes, not breaking the connection, and then flexing his hips, he thrust home, deep and hard, so sweet, so tight, and she cried out. He froze, certain he’d hurt her, and he started to pull away, but she clutched him, her fingers digging in with the same desperation he felt. �śNo,” she said. �śDon’t stop. God, don’t stop.” It broke the last of his self-control. He pulled her under him, tighter, and she shifted, taking him, and he was lost. There was no way he could make it slow, make it build, he needed to lose himself in her sweetness, in her mouth, in her cunt, he needed to die there, and he thrust, hard, again and again, into the clinging warmth of her, feeling her rise to meet him, her breath strangled. He wanted to make her come, fast, so he could let go and finish this thing that had held him prisoner for so long, but he didn’t want it to end, he wanted to stay inside her forever, deep, hard. He could feel the last remnants of his control begin to shred. She was trembling, her body arching, convulsing, and finally he let go, the semen bursting from him as her body clamped tight around his cock, and she sank her teeth onto his shoulder to muffle her scream of pleasure. She was crying. It took him a while to realize it, a while to come back from that blissful nirvana that was better than anything he’d ever felt before. If three years’ abstinence gave him that kind of orgasm he might almost consider making a practice of it. But he didn’t lie to himself. It wasn’t the three years. He could have found relief with anyone. It was Beth. Sister Beth. No virgin, but close to it. He was heavy on her, but he didn’t want to release her. He rolled onto his side, taking her with him, still inside her, simply because he was still hard. Impossible as it seemed, he was ready for more. He stroked the silken hair away from her face. Holding her seemed to break the last bit of serenity she had, and she was hiccupping, shaking, crying in his arms, and all he could do was hold her, helpless. Had he hurt her? He’d felt her orgasm through the haze of his own powerful release. He tried to lift her face to look at her, but she simply buried her head against his shoulder. He realized absently that she’d bitten him, and he almost grinned at the memory, his cock getting even harder inside her. He couldn’t do anything until she calmed down, but right now she needed to cry, though he wasn’t sure why. He knew women well enough that he accepted sometimes they needed to cry. The sobs were lessening, falling into silence, then a hiccup, then a short burst of tears, then a longer stretch of calm. She was pulling herself together, or trying to, and she hadn’t seemed to notice that he still wanted, still needed her. He kept stroking her, his hands gentle, soothing, as he murmured words he thought he’d forgotten, words his mother had used, in the Gaelic, calling her his darling, his sweetness, his love. When he realized what he was doing he couldn’t stop – it was calming her, soothing her. She wouldn’t know what he was saying. He could even mean it. Her voice was so low he could barely hear it. �śThree times,” she said. �śThree times?” He had no idea what she was talking about. Had he managed to make her come three times? In fact, it had felt like more than that, but who was counting? Apparently she was. �śI’ve had sex three times before,” she said in a choked voice. �śAnd I hated it.” �śFar from a virgin,” he said, hating the tenderness in his voice. She was seducing him far more effectively than he’d seduced her. �śSo have I ruined you?” God, yes, he’d ruined her, Beth thought, struggling to keep her tenuous self-control. Ruined her for any other man, she expected. How could something be so different? Was it simply because he was good in bed? The aphrodisiac of facing death and surviving? The fact that he’d kept her safe, protected her, and for all his talk, had never made demands she hadn’t wanted to meet. If she were young and impressionable she might think she’d fallen in love with him, but she was too mature to fall into that kind of absurd fantasy. It was �Ś the intensity of the last few days that made her confuse gratitude with something more long-lasting. She should pull away from him, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to leave him. He was hot and hard and warm against her skin, and her entire world seemed filled with him. The world that was encompassed by the narrow berth and his body still wrapped tightly around hers as his voice murmured soft, incomprehensible things in her ear. She should try to pull herself together, but she couldn’t. She still felt shaken by the aftermath of her release, and yet, strangely enough, there was still a low thrum of desire pulsing through her. How could there be? And then she realized he was still hard inside her. He’d pulled her into his arms, holding her against his body, and he’d pulled one of her legs around his hip, keeping the connection tight. She looked up, startled, and he must have read the knowledge in her eyes. �śYeah, I’m hard again,” he said ruefully. �śYou don’t want �Ś” He was starting to pull away from her, but she quickly tightened her hold. �śI do.” Without another word he rolled onto his back, taking her with him, so that she was on top, straddling him, his cock lodged so deep inside her that she felt a frisson of shock. A shaft of moonlit lay across his face, and she could see him clearly, the hooded eyes, the remote expression on his face as he slid his hands down her body to hold her hips. �śHave you done this before?” She shook her head, her hair falling down around her face, hiding the heat that suffused her. She felt vulnerable, awkward, and yet �Ś and yet �Ś �śI’ll show you.” With gentle pressure he rocked her, up slightly, then back down. �śLike that. There’s no hurry. Just do what feels good.” What felt good was to lie beneath him and let him take charge, she wanted to cry, but she kept her face hidden, letting him guide the slow movements, obedient, wanting to please him, feeling the hard push of him deep within her, rocking, moving. And then it changed, as if slumbering coals had finally blazed into a conflagration, and she moved, sliding on him, feeling his hard cock rub against places she wouldn’t have thought mattered, and she shivered, arching, throwing her head back as sensation rocked through her. She could feel her hair ripple down her back, his hands hard on her hips. She wanted more of him, more of that blissful, wicked, startling feeling, and she rocked, finding a rhythm that burned through her, made her tremble. His hands slid up her body to cup her breasts and she moved her hips, taking him, reveling in the power of it, of using him for her pleasure. All of his strength was at the command of her body. The crazy, mad explosion of heat and strength, vulnerability and wicked control finally flared into mindless acceptance, as he caught her hips once more, his fingers digging into them, his body arching up into hers, and she was shivering, struggling, fighting. �śI can’t �Ś” she gasped, wanting to weep. �śIt’s too much. I can’t.” �śYou can,” he whispered, his voice dark and insistent, and she moved faster then, searching for something she knew she couldn’t find, something that eluded her. He moved his hand and touched her between her legs, and her reaction was so abrupt it shocked her. She was catapulted into a spasm of such unrelenting power that she was barely aware of him spilling inside her, and she climaxed, open and vulnerable, no place to hide as the powerful contractions clamped around her body. She collapsed against him, feeling his arms come around her, and she wanted to weep, but she’d already shed all her tears. She felt boneless, lost, empty now that he’d finally left her, and she wanted to hold him, to kiss him, to beg him to love her, to �Ś But all the things she wanted vanished, and like any selfish lover, she felt into a deep, endless sleep, sprawled on top of him like a limp doll. MacGowan waited until he was sure she was deeply asleep. He liked her spread over him like a lazy cat – she was light enough that he could barely feel her except along his knife wound, and even that he didn’t mind, but he moved her anyway, rolling onto his side again and tucking her against him. He saw the blood on her pale skin, and he froze, then realized it was from his hand. It was a mess – he was lucky he hadn’t broken it, but he’d still managed to bleed all over her. He touched his shoulder with tentative fingers, and felt wetness there as well. She’d bitten him hard enough to draw blood, and to his amazement he could feel his cock stir again. Damnable piece of male equipment – it never did what he told it to. She needed sleep, and he could do with a few hours himself. Not with her, of course. He didn’t sleep with the woman he fucked, no matter what. Of course, he’d already slept with her, in that hut in the mountains, on this very cot when she’d been sick. And at the moment he’d wanted to curl around her, keeping her against him , and stay that way. But that would bring nothing but trouble, and pain when he left her, and if he had any sense of self-preservation he would pull away. He’d told her it was a one-night stand, an event, not a relationship. They were done. It was over, and he needed to go back to his room. As soon as he could muster the energy. As soon as he was certain she was deeply asleep. For now just holding her seemed the wisest thing to do. And so he did. CHAPTER TWENTY Vincent Barringer was not happy. His people had failed him, time and again. How was it possible that Sully could have screwed up so badly, not once, but twice? The Guiding Light was a bunch of drugged-out fools who’d lost their vision years ago, more interested in money than idealism, but they should have still have the killer instinct. He had no authorization for this particular mission, and he had to admit it chafed him. That after all these years he suddenly had to get an okay from the higher ups. It was the liberals, he’d decided long ago. They destroyed the economy and then wanted to strip the country of its defenses. He had no choice but to go rogue. Which troubled him. He had been a man who followed the rules scrupulously, and yet, at the very end of his career, he had to throw everything out the window to get this last, most important mission of his career accomplished. If they were ever able to put details in his epitaph he hoped they would mention that. In fact, he’d been writing his own. Not that he had any intention of using it any time soon. He came from a long-lived family, and he had every intention of reaching the century mark. But he liked to keep his life tidy and organized, and he couldn’t rely on anyone else to cover the points that needed to be covered. One version, the official obituary, listed his impressive accomplishments, his life of service to his country, his charity work and various accolades. The second added his tenaciousness in finding Thomas Killian, though of course names could never be mentioned. Particularly in Killian’s case, since he had never existed in anyone’s data bank. He would work on that version, tweaking it slightly. This was proving more difficult than he expected. Despite the Committee’s impressive success rate he’d always viewed them with disdain. They didn’t have to worry about congressional oversight or tightening budgets. They didn’t need to worry about a squeamish constituency. They were always a thorn in his side, and they were proving an unacceptable one. They’d corrupted Killian in the first place, and now they were making it extremely difficult to lure him out of hiding. He had one more ace up his sleeve, so to speak. The Gargonne brothers had been very useful in the past, and they were just the ticket. If they couldn’t handle the matter then he was ready to give up and see to it himself. The bed was empty when Beth awoke. Of course, she thought, burying her face in the sheets. They smelled like sex. They smelled like MacGowan and they smelled like her and she should jump up and strip the bed. She lay very still, letting the odd feelings surround her. Her body felt �Ś glorious. Strong and beautiful and capable of anything. Was that what good sex did? Make you feel like Superwoman? No wonder women liked it. Apart, of course, from the shattering, mind-numbing pleasure of the actual event, the lingering benefits were impressive. She should have sex more often. Unfortunately there was at least one other side effect. She could remember precisely what she said, what she did. If she concentrated she could remember how he felt inside her, his hard body above her. She could remember her tears. She was a weak, stupid woman. But she could remember him holding her, comforting her. As he had in the kitchen at the mission, when reality had finally hit her. Why? He wasn’t the type to deal with weeping women, he was practical and hard-hearted. And deeply, intrinsically sexual. She’d always known it, whether she’d wanted to admit it or not. Even after three years of abstinence he still moved like a man who knew how to use his body any way he wanted to. The way he had touched her, the way he had kissed her, the way he had come inside her. She wanted to hold onto that feeling, hug it to herself. Because she knew damned well it wasn’t going to last. She’d bet another hundred thousand dollars that he was going to be distant, polite, as if he hadn’t performed the most intimate acts on her body. As if she hadn’t lost herself to the way he touched her. Fucked her, she reminded herself morosely. He’d told her that was what it was, and she needed to remember it. Sex, plain and simple, with no emotions, no strings, no relationship. Just sex. A one-night stand, and it was finished. She rolled over and sat up. She needed a shower, she supposed, though at that moment she didn’t want to move. She would have to though, wash him away, physically and metaphorically. Because it was over. She looked down and knew a moment’s shock. There was dried blood on the sheets, dried blood on her body, as well as other marks she didn’t want to think about. He’d hurt his hand, she remembered, wincing. And yet he hadn’t even seemed to notice when they were in bed together. She should look at, make sure it wasn’t broken, make sure it was properly cleaned and bandaged. She was fooling herself. He was adept at field dressings, and his hand would be easy enough to tend to. He wouldn’t need, wouldn’t want her help. God, how was she going to look him in the eye and not think about him inside her? It was already late morning, and she’d tried very hard never to be a coward. The longer she put off facing him the worse it was going to be. With a final surge she pushed out of bed and headed for the shower. It was probably the oddest shower of her life, she thought afterward. Some parts of her were sore – her thigh muscles, for example. Other parts were still exquisitely sensitive – if she brushed the washcloth against her skin it set off a rush of heat and excitement. She turned the water colder and finished quickly, using the towel to pat rather than rub her skin. It wasn’t until she was dressed in her baggiest jeans, now baggier from her infrequent meals, and an oversize t-shirt proclaiming �śGo ahead, make my day,” that she realized the boat wasn’t moving. At all. She ran over to the porthole and let out an involuntary shriek of joy. They’d docked. She raced out of her cabin, taking the gangway at record speed, emerging on the deck flushed with pleasure, momentarily forgetting her embarrassment over the night before. MacGowan and Dylan were standing at one end, watching the unloading, and it took all her effort not to run towards them, bouncing up and down with joy. After the first few days she’d managed, but eating still hadn’t been a pleasure. But now they were on dry land, in a world of olives and tapas and heavenly spices. Some of the very best food in the world. They saw her, and Dylan waved enthusiastically, signaling her to join them. MacGowan was watching her with perfect indifference, and she knew her fears had been right. He wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened. She should want the same thing. It would be much too embarrassing to deal with such a momentous happening in public, particularly since it wasn’t going to be repeated. It was much better if it were relegated to the level of unimportant events, easily forgotten. �śWe’ve landed,” she said with a cheery smile when she joined them. MacGowan didn’t look her way - he was watching the horizon with what she thought of as his hawk-gaze. Always looking for trouble, when he didn’t realize trouble had just walked up to him. What would he do if she just went up and kissed him? The thought amused her enough to lighten her dark mood. He’d probably react like she had earlier when he’d come near her. Oh, it was tempting, just to watch him squirm. But he was right. Least said, soonest mended and all that. Except that she didn’t particularly hold with that philosophy. If there was something that needed to be dealt with then she would much rather talk it out instead of letting it fester beneath the surface. And come to think of it, she didn’t particularly want to forget about it. Not when she looked at MacGowan’s tall, spare figure, his averted face, the long strands of multi-color hair glistening in the sunlight. �śWe can get off in another hour, once the first bit of cargo is off-loaded,” he said, his eyes still trained on the milling crowd. �śI’m meeting someone at a middle-eastern restaurant in the western section of town. From then on you won’t need me any more.” It was going to be like that, was it? �śWhat about the money we owe you?” At that he did glance her way, his gray eyes flinty. �śYou and I are even. Dylan’s family doesn’t want him anywhere near them, so I’m guessing they’re not going to reward me for bringing him down off the mountain. It’s up to you, but I would think you’d be ready to get away from me.” There wasn’t anything she could say to that. He was right, whether she liked it or not. �śFine,” she said, not bothering to hide her irritation, and she turned on her heel and stomped away as best she could in flip flops. She only hoped he’d broken his goddamned hand, she thought furiously, throwing the small amount of clothes she’d brought with her into the small carryall. She didn’t need him, not any more. He hadn’t bothered to ask her, but she had money and credit cards stashed inside her mattress, and she’d been carrying it with her since they left the mission. She could take Dylan with her and he could go fuck himself. �śWe need to talk.” �śFuck!” Beth said, jumping back. �śWhat are you doing here? And don’t sneak up on me – I don’t like it.” He was looking sober, distant, but there was just a trace of amusement in his eyes. �śI don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before, Sister Beth.” �śIf you call me Sister Beth one more time you’ll get more than cursing from me,” she said in a dangerous tone. �śWhat do you want?” �śI didn’t use a condom. I don’t suppose you’re on birth control pills.” Oh, God. Not only was she going to have to talk about it, she was going to have to discuss embarrassing details. �śNo,” she said shortly, resisting the impulse to say �śwhat do you think, asshole?” �śAm I going to die from some horrible disease?” �śI wouldn’t know, but if you do you won’t have gotten it from me. I’m always very careful, and it’s been three �Ś” �śYears, yes, I know.” She finished the sentence for him. �śThen we don’t need to worry.” �śThere’s always the off-chance you might get pregnant.” His words hit her like a sledgehammer, and she turned away from him, rather than let him see her expression. �śI would have thought you’d have had a vasectomy.” His surprise didn’t improve matters. �śWhy should I? I haven’t made up my mind yet.” So he might want children some time in his life. Just not with her. She had years of practice perfecting her calm expression, and it was in place when she turned back to him. Looking him in the eyes, so he’d believe her. �śIt’s highly unlikely. It’s at completely the wrong time in my cycle, but if by any chance it happens I’ll be sure to get in touch with you. Assuming you can be found.” She would do no such thing. If she happened to get pregnant, and right then she had absolutely no idea where she was in her cycle or how fertile she might be, then he was the very last person she’d inform. �śI can be found,” he said. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, and she waited, patient and calm. It was no wonder he called her Sister Beth, she thought. She was a goddamned nun. That was probably part of the problem. He’d already told her he liked experienced sex, hadn’t he? And she’d been shy and uninventive and just let him do what he wanted. He’d been bored by her. If he’d liked it he wouldn’t have been so quick to get rid of her. Strange, that the most powerful experience of her life meant so little to him, like scratching an itch. Strange, and so hurtful she didn’t even want to think about it. It was no more than she’d expected. If he’d give her a chance she could do better. Now that she knew she could actually enjoy it she could relax enough to �Ś No. She was never having sex again in her life. Not if it made her feel as awful as she did right now, hating him, her body longing for him, her nipples tightening. �śGo away, MacGowan,” she said calmly. �śI have things to do.” He wasn’t used to being dismissed. Suck it up, she thought, furious. �śBe on the deck in fifteen minutes.” �śAye, aye, sir.” Getting through customs on her fake passport was surprisingly easy. Whoever did the forgery was very good, though she wasn’t crazy about coming into France as Mrs. Finn MacAllister. Her lawyers would be able to handle any issues with the fake passports, both for her and for Dylan. They didn’t need MacGowan. They were going to be just fine, thank you very much. Just fine. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE All right, so he couldn’t stop thinking about her, MacGowan told himself savagely. Nothing wrong with that. It was the first pussy he’d had in god knew how long, and it was no wonder he kept hearing her, seeing her, tasting her. The sex should have been lousy – she really was not much than a virgin, and he’d outgrown adolescent fumbling a long time ago. But there’d been something irresistible about her shyness. Her surprise at her own reactions, and the way she’d held nothing back. Who the hell had she slept with, that they’d left her so cold and uncertain? Women were worth the trouble, Beth was worth the trouble, that and more. She deserved someone who’d take the time with her, who knew when to be rough and when to be gentle, to be hard and tender. For some reason the two of them had been in odd accord – she hadn’t flinched from anything he’d done. That responsiveness had fired his own, and he kept getting hard at the worst moments, thinking of her, confronting her in her room, talking with Dylan. God, he needed to get rid of her, fast. He could look after Dylan. But Sister Beth �Ś Beth �Ś needed to be out of sight and out of mind. The question was, how long would it take to get her out of his mind? �śDude,” Dylan inquired with the sex-sniffing acuity of all randy teenage boys, �śdid you two fuck?” They were already off the freighter, moving through the crowded docks at a steady pace, and he kept his expression impassive. One swift glance told him Beth was blushing, so he did his best to distract the little shit. �śNone of your business, kid.” �śIt’s my business if that’s why you’re dumping us.” He heard the note of strain in the kid’s voice, and realized he’d missed Dylan’s neediness. MacGowan had been on his own for years when he was Dylan’s age, in a much rougher world than Dylan had ever had to deal with. Dylan had always been cocooned by his parents’ money, even if they themselves had been missing. It was a far cry from his own teenage years in the slums of Belfast, trying to avoid his father’s martyrdom. But the kid needed a reassurance that was simple to give. �śI’m not dumping you. Beth has got money coming out her ass, and she doesn’t need us any more. All she has to do is make a phone call and she can be back in her mink-lined womb. You can hang with me if you want, until we figure out what you want to do.” He knew from the time they’d shared in captivity that the kid’s parents had abandoned him. MacGowan knew something about that. He was damned if he was going to dump the kid as well. �śYeah,” Dylan said, his voice a little rough. He cleared his throat, gathering his bravado back around him. �śYeah, sounds like a plan.” �śGood.” He glanced at Beth. The color that had stained her cheekbones was gone now, leaving her pale and still, and he suddenly remembered her beneath him, that coolness vanished in heat and passion and blistering completion. Stop thinking about it, he ordered himself, and his wayward cock. Not that his cock could think. Obviously, given that letting his cock take the lead only ended up with him getting screwed. �śWhat are you laughing at?” Dylan asked. �śThe stupid-ass things I do,” he replied, not loud enough that Beth could hear him. She was trailing behind them, and he knew a sudden uneasiness. With any luck they’d left their trouble behind in Callivera. The Guiding Light was too disorganized to have connections in Europe, and Sully had been alone. He’d been careful about covering up their escape, but the CIA could alternate between being laughingly incompetent and almost as good as he was. There was always the chance they’d tracked them to the Martha Rose, though he was comfortably certain no one had been there when they docked. The last time he was going to lead his little chicks to safety, he thought, steering them through the alleyways and side streets near the docks. He was reasonably sure they weren’t being followed, but he wasn’t a man to take unnecessary chances, and once they reached Mazza he could concentrate on his own plans. The Middle Eastern restaurant was small and unprepossessing, but the place was a safe haven for any Committee operatives in need of a quick exit or entrance into Europe. The day was cold and overcast, winter closing down around Europe. He was relatively impervious to the weather after living through the night time chill and day-time steam bath with La Luz, and he barely noticed the cold, but Beth looked pinched, miserable, and he realized she was shivering. She was wearing a t-shirt and she still had on those damned flip flops. Without thinking he stripped off his heavy shirt and dumped it on her shoulders. She just as quickly shrugged it off, tossing it back at him. �śI don’t need it. I’m fine.” Damn, she sounded so cool and impersonal. If it wasn’t so annoying he’d be impressed. �śYou’ll wear it,” he growled, throwing it back to her. She caught it by instinct, then shoved it back at him. �śNo.” He’d been looking for the excuse to put his hands on her, he realized. It was fast and it wasn’t pretty, but he was much stronger than she was. A moment later she was wearing the shirt, and he was fastening the buttons on the front, ignoring her glare as his hands brushed against her breasts. He shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t had enough of her the night before. It should have been, but it wasn’t. He gave her a surreptitious glance. Beth wasn’t a one-night stand kind of woman, and he wasn’t a relationship kind of man. His need for autonomy was stronger than his lust, or so he’d thought. Now that it was too late he was rethinking things, wondering if there was any way to get one last taste of her. Put it out of your mind, boy-o, he told himself. Pissing her off and rejecting her was probably the smartest thing he’d ever done. There was no coming back from that. Mazza was perfectly situated, seemingly at the end of a blind alley, with hidden tunnels underneath leading to the ancient sewers and the rest of the city. It hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d been there. A little older, a little shabbier, the three-story building looked as if it were leaning against the other equally-decrepit buildings on the right side of the alley. It probably was. � The place was dark and shuttered, metal gates across the front, but he knew someone would be there. By the time they reached the entrance a man was already pushing the gates open. �śMacGowan,” the stranger greeted him. �śWe’ve been expecting you.” The unease blossomed, and he could have kicked himself. He’d been so distracted by Beth Pennington that he hadn’t been paying enough attention to his instincts, which were now on high alert. �śWho are you? Where’s Castalbo?” The man was French, not Spanish, an anomaly, and he didn’t like anomalies. �śI’m Leon,” the man said succinctly. �śAnd Castalbo’s dead. This place has been shuttered for more than a year. They sent me to intercept you.” Christ, why the hell did he have to be saddled with two civilians? If he’d been with Bastien, or even Peter Madsen, they’d know enough to edge into the shadows. Beth and Dylan were standing in the middle of the alley, sitting ducks for anyone who happened to be training a sniper’s sight on them. He glanced up to the third story of the old building, and saw a shadow move past. �śWho’s here?” he said casually. �śJust me and my brother, Remy. He’s in the kitchen, making you something to eat. You don’t want to be standing around in plain sight. Come in out of the cold.” Shit, he’d caught them in a lie already. Which meant they weren’t that good, but he could get little comfort from that. Sometimes bad operatives were more dangerous than the good ones. There was no way he could tell Beth and Dylan to get the hell out of there. If he tried, they’d be cut down as they ran. If they ran. Knowing Beth, she’d probably stay right there just to spite him. �śSure,” he said. �śWhat happened to Perrin? He was a great chef.” Perrin was Castalbo’s dog, a mutt of indeterminate parentage who kept the place free of rats. �śHe took a job in Marseilles. You need to get in out of sight,” the man said again. �śGood idea,” MacGowan said, an easy grin on his face, moving toward the man so that he blocked access to his companions. He almost had his gun out when he heard Beth scream, and he started to turn, just as something came crashing down on the back of his head. He had a hard head. He went down, but he could see two men as well as the first. They had guns trained on Dylan and Beth, and they were already shoving them toward the door to the restaurant, past his prone body. He let them haul him up, keeping his body a dead weight as they dragged him into the dank interior of the restaurant. They were arguing in guttural French, so thick it took him a moment to understand it, no thanks to the bump on his head. �śTake them upstairs and tie them up,” the one who’d answered the door, presumably the leader, said. �śBarringer said he only wants MacGowan and we can do what we want with the others, but there’s no hurry. He may change his mind. The best way to break a man is to hurt a pretty woman.” It was all he could do not to leap up and plant his fist in the man’s mouth. Talk about stupid. If he hadn’t turned at Beth’s scream this might be a different situation. He’d dropped his gun when he’d fallen, and through the blaze of pain he’d heard them kick it away. That didn’t account for the knives he carried, or the smaller gun in his boot, but he’d have to time his retaliation very carefully. � The ancient smell of lamb and garlic still lingered on the air. Too bad – he’d been looking forward to some of Castalbo’s stuffed dolmas. If they’d killed him MacGowan was going to be extremely annoyed. You don’t kill an artist like Castalbo and get away with it. They were shoving Dylan and Beth up the narrow stairs, and he heard Beth’s muffled cry of pain as someone hit her. Oh, the Frenchmen were most definitely dead meat, he thought grimly as they banged his limp body against the steps. A moment later he was sent sprawling on a hard wood floor. The idiots left him alone – why they thought a simple bash on the head would keep him immobile for long was beyond him. They wouldn’t have much of a career if they made mistakes like this. There were times when the incompetence of the enemy was simply an insult. Though he was the fool who’d walked into this mess. Dylan was glaring at their captors, full of bravado as always. �śYou can’t get away with this, dude,” he said, sounding oddly like his father in a save-the-world-action-hero mold. �śMacGowan’s gonna kick your ass so badly �Ś” MacGowan was gonna kick Dylan’s ass first, he thought. They needed to think he wasn’t much of a threat. Fortunately they slapped duct tape on Dylan’s big mouth as they tied him to a chair before they turned on Beth. It was all he could do not to move. They shoved her into one of the flimsy chairs, tying her wrists in front of her before threading the rope through the rungs of the chair. Another mistake, though whether Beth would be able to undo the knots with her teeth was another matter. One of them slapped a piece of duct tape across her mouth, their first smart move of the day, while the other moved over to her, blocking his view. He couldn’t see what they did, but her heard her muffled cry, and fury shot through him. He controlled his instinctive jerk, but it was too late, as the men turned on him. His reactions were delayed, probably because of the damned blow on his head, and he was fumbling for the pistol in his boot when they caught his arms, slamming him back against the floor, and this time he passed out, cursing himself as the blackness closed in. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Peter Madsen drove down the M2, headed for Folkestone, his foot hard on the accelerator of his Porsche. He had a crossing reservation at the Chunnel which he had no intention of missing, and if the police tried to stop him for speeding he could easily outrun them. Right then his mood was dark enough that he’d look forward to the challenge. The battle last night had been epic, worse than he’d ever remembered. Since their tumultuous �Ś you couldn’t really call what brought them together a courtship, but since they’d been together, really together, he and Genny hadn’t had a knock-down dragged-out fight. He’d had the vain hope that they’d gotten rid of the bad stuff up front, and nothing could ever come between them again. Nothing but his job. He’d promised her he wouldn’t get involved in any of the operations, and he’d kept his word as best he could. But he was damned if he was going to stay in England, a sitting duck, and wait for MacGowan to pick him off. Not when CIA operatives showed up dead in his office, and the only connection he could find was MacGowan. He was a stubborn Irishman, and he wasn’t going to listen to anyone. The way Peter saw it, his only choice was to confront the bear in his den. A den Peter arranged and paid for, but that wouldn’t stop MacGowan when he had a score to settle. And three years was a fuck of a long time. It didn’t help that Peter felt guilty. He should have known, but it had seemed so clear that MacGowan was dead, and he’d been juggling so many other things, that he hadn’t followed through the way he should have and MacGowan had been left to rot in the jungles of South America. If their roles were reversed he’d be planning on killing him too. The battle had raged for hours, with Genny accusing him of abandoning their children, abandoning her, being an adrenaline junkie, that he resented her for his promise, resented her for holding him back, hated his life. All of which was ridiculous. He’d seen enough, done enough, that he had no interest in going out in the field again. In fact, she hadn’t asked him to make that promise in the first place, he had volunteered. But she wouldn’t listen. Genevieve Spencer Madsen was a tough woman, a lawyer, an angry lioness when it came to defending her home and her life, and he’d suddenly become the enemy. He could go court death, she told him. He just couldn’t do it from her bed. She’d locked the door, and if it weren’t for the children and Mahmoud he would have splintered it, grabbed Genevieve and taken her long and hard, so that she’d have no doubt as to his commitment to her. But that was difficult with an audience, so instead he’d bedded down on the couch, avoiding Mahmoud’s disapproving questions, and left at first light. No matter what decision he made it would be wrong. He would either betray Genny’s trust or put the coup de grace on MacGowan’s revenge. He owed them both, but right now his debt to MacGowan was greater, and he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t face him. He could tell himself he was doing it for her, that a rogue operative seeking vengeance could put his family in danger, but he knew that was bullshit. MacGowan might be a stone-cold killer when he needed to be, but he wouldn’t put innocents at risk. Ever. It had been a problem in the past, he remembered. Thomason had always hated him for his refusal to obey certain orders. So no, if MacGowan was going to take him out it would be in London. But he was damned if he’d sit there waiting. Particularly not when the CIA had unexpectedly come into play. His Porsche raced through the countryside like the beautiful machine it was, and he once more marveled at the clutchless manual transmission. He’d been afraid he’d be stuck with some stodgy automatic for the rest of his life. With the Cayenne he could work off some of his frustration. He couldn’t stop thinking about the look on her face when he told her he was going to face MacGowan. It was something he’d hoped he’d never have to see again, and it was his fault. At least Mahmoud would keep her mind off things. He took sides, and at seventeen was as devoted to Genny as he was to his mentor, Reno. Peter he could take or leave, the little shit. But at least Genny could pour out her anger and frustration and Mahmoud would distract her. The crossing was ridiculously easy – they wouldn’t check for weapons or smuggling heading into France, though coming back was another matter. Apparently everyone wanted to get out of France and come to England, which he could understand. He personally found France a pain in the butt, and the last operation he’d been involved in there had ended in disaster. He would have been happy never to set foot in France again. He could only hope this mission would have a better ending. He had to warn MacGowan about the CIA, fill him in on what was happening with Isobel and Killian. And convince him not to kill him. It was going to be an entertaining time. He had no idea how long he was out this time, but when MacGowan came to the pain in his head was like a jackhammer. They’d trussed him up like a chicken, his hands tight behind his back, but they hadn’t bothered with a gag. He tried to move his legs, but they’d tied his ankles as well, and he began to curse, quietly and colorfully. The pistol in his boot was gone, as was the knife in his sleeve. The only thing left was the switchblade he carried in a special pocket near his zipper, the one place most men wouldn’t be checking. He was furious with himself. He’d acted like a rank amateur, first spinning around when Beth screamed, then reacting when they’d hurt her. What the hell was his problem? These were simple enough things he’d learned a decade and a half ago. You don’t react, no matter who’s getting hurt and why. It showed your weakness. Now the boys downstairs would be fairly certain he wouldn’t sit by and let them hurt Beth. He could prove them wrong, of course, but because of his slip she could end up dead. It was early afternoon if he could tell by the shadows, and he inched his way around so he could see Dylan and Beth. Dylan was looking dazed, Beth’s eyes were closed, and there was a bruise on her cheek. He was going to enjoy making someone pay for that. �śBeth?” He kept his voice low, and her eyes flew open, staring at him above the swath of silver tape. They hadn’t done a very good job of it – one corner was loose. Maybe they’d made other mistakes. He couldn’t get out of this alone. He was going to need help, and Beth was cool enough to manage. �śCome here.” Her expression might have been comical if he could have seen more of it. Instead she tilted her head as if to say �śWhat the fuck?” �śThe chair’s flimsy,” he said patiently. �śSee if you can rock it so that it falls over. It might splinter.” No, she didn’t like that idea much. She looked over at Dylan, but they’d done a better job of tying him, and if MacGowan was going to get comfortable with someone he preferred it to be Beth. Sister Beth. Odd, he hadn’t thought of her that way since he’d fucked her. Maybe he needed to reorder his thinking. He was better off with a crabby nun than a vulnerable woman. �śI don’t know what the hell else you think we can do?” he said irritably. �śI need you down here, and I’m a little indisposed.” They’d looped the rope between his ankles and his arms, keeping him in an incredibly awkward position. He couldn’t sit up to try to work on Beth’s ropes with his teeth, he couldn’t manage to get his body up the two steps to the dais where they’d dumped his charges. Beth’s ankles were tied to the chair legs, her feet touching the floor. He expected she’d need to rock in order to get the chair to move, but instead she simply pushed off with her toes and both chair and female moved, tumbling down the two steps to land half on top of him with the blessed sound of splintering wood. �śOoof.” She hadn’t hurt him, but he figured complaining might keep her calm. She was scrambling to get off him, pushing away with her bound hands, pieces of chair attached to her back and ankles, but it gave her more flexibility than she would have had in the chair. �śHold still,” he growled, waiting to see if the men downstairs had heard her fall. No pounding on the stairs, but he didn’t allow himself the luxury of relief. He moved his head toward her face and she tried to duck away, her head banging on his chin and making his headache worse. �śHold still, damn you,” he said again in the voice he used to terrorize small children. �śI’m just getting your gag off.” Her deep blue eyes looked at him questioningly, and he could feel her instinctive flinch when he moved closer, but this time she held still, like someone trying not to alarm a tarantula crawling on her arm. His teeth caught the small edge of the duct tape. He froze for a moment. He could smell her skin, smell her fear, and if his arms were free he would have put them around her, comforting her. Like the crazy man he suddenly seemed to have become, he reminded himself. That blow on the head must have been worse than he thought. He bit again, the tape held and he started to pull it off her mouth. �śSon of a bitch,” she whispered when he finally yanked it off completely. �śYou talking to me?” he inquired politely. Beth was a tough woman, but she wasn’t in the mood for banter. �śWho are these people, and what do they want with us?” �śThey work for the CIA.” Relief washed over her face. �śThen that’s no problem. Dylan and I are Americans. They wouldn’t want to hurt us.” �śDon’t count on it. They’re subcontractors, and they’ll kill anyone they want. As far as I can tell it’s me they’re interested in, and the two of you are expendable.” �śGreat. Another thing to thank you for,” she snapped. �śSo how do we get out of this?” �śI have a knife. If you can get to it you can cut my ropes and then I’ll take care of you and Dylan. I’ll need to canvass the place before I know how we’re getting out, but trust me, we’ll do it.” She didn’t move. �śOddly enough, I do. Where’s the knife?” He shouldn’t have grinned. �śFront of my jeans.” Her icy stare would have flash frozen an ocean. �śYeah, right.” �śSorry, babe, but that’s where I keep my spare. If anyone checks they just think I have a hard-on.” �śWhich you probably do.” �śNot yet. You have to get closer.” �śYou asshole,” she said in a fierce whisper. �śYou did this on purpose.” �śI don’t think so. It’s always been a smart place to hide something. That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy having you get to it. But be careful. It’s a switchblade.” �śYou mean if I grab it the wrong way I get to castrate you?” He winced, then laughed. �śNo, probably just circumcise me.” She looked startled, and he realized she didn’t know he wasn’t circumcised. That’s what came of innocence debauched and fucking in the dark. �śDidn’t notice, did you?” he said softly, so the curious Dylan couldn’t overhear. �śYou can check it out later.” She tried to jerk away, and the only way he could stop her was to slam his legs over her, keeping her still. �śCome on, Sister Beth,” he chided. �śWe know you aren’t really a nun. Just chill and do what I tell you and we’ll get our asses out of this mess.” She wriggled back toward him. �śDo you know how much I despise you?” she said in a calm voice. She moved her bound hands toward the front of his pants, and he managed to keep the smile from his face. �śI know,” he said. Right now her fury with him was keeping her alive. Tenderness would have made her crumble, anger made her strong. �śGo ahead, sweetheart. Make my day.” Of course he was hard, had been since they’d started talking about it. Her hands brushed against him, for a moment mistaking his cock for the knife. �śNo, baby,” he whispered. �śNice as that feels, the knife is over to the side. I dressed left today.” He could feel her fury radiating from her body. The jeans were loose, as all his clothing was, and she moved her hands inside the waistband, finally finding the small pouch he carried the switchblade in, yanking it free with brutal haste. �śI don’t suppose you’d consider adjusting �Ś?” �śShut up, MacGowan,” she snarled. �śYou’re on thin ice already. How do I open this thing?” �śFirst, you move it away from my genitals,” he said gently. �śThen you press the button on the side, and keep your hands away from the blade. That’s a Microtech Hawk and a very lethal piece of machinery.” She grunted, not a promising sound, but the blade sprang free in her bound hands. �śDo I get to cut your throat with it?” �śMaybe later. For now you need to cut the ropes around my wrists, and I’ll take care of the rest. Can you get behind me? I’m having a hard time moving trussed up like this, and in my current condition �Ś” �śShut up, MacGowan.” She wriggled around him, a sight he found a little too stimulating, and then he heard her curse. �śWhat?” �śNothing,” she snapped, and he felt her bound hands brush his. �śHold still or you’ll lose a finger.” �śCan’t have that. I’ve had a lot of good times with my fingers.” Something felt warm and wet, and he wondered if she’d managed to slice one of his body parts off and he was too numb to feel it. A moment later the rope gave way and he pulled his arms free with relief, shaking them. Blood on his hand – she must have nicked him, and he swiveled around for the knife. She was sitting there, the knife on the floor, holding her wrist against her chest in a seemingly casual gesture. Totally ignoring the blood that was spreading onto her plain white t-shirt. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE �śIt’s not as bad as it looks,” Beth said, trying to scuttle away from him. MacGowan was cursing, yanking off his shirt and t-shirt so that he sat there, his ankles still bound, bare-chested and furious. �śMove your hand down so I can look at it.” �śI don’t think so.” She kept her hands cradled against her chest. �śIt’ll stop bleeding in a moment. And if you’re trying to distract me by your magnificent physique you can put your shirt back on. You’re not my type.” They both knew that was lie, but he didn’t call her on it. �śI’m going to use my t-shirt for a bandage.” �śNow that’s just stupid. Mine is already stained.” Dumb, dumb, dumb, she thought the moment the words were out of her mouth. �śYou’re right. Now put out your goddamned hands and show me how badly you stabbed yourself. I warned you!” �śYes, you did. I can’t help it if my fingers were numb.” She held out her wrists, looking at the slash across her palm. It looked as if the blood was slowing, though she couldn’t be sure. He cut the rope deftly, and her arms fell apart. Her muscles were burning, so painful she barely managed to stifle her cry. �śIt’ll pass in a moment,” he said, and to her astonishment he put his hands on her shoulders, kneading them, moving down her arms with gentle, circular motions, moving the blood back through her starved muscles. �śThe cut doesn’t look too bad, but we’ll need to bandage it to keep from leaving a trail.” He glanced over at Dylan, who was watching all this with his eyes bugging out. �śWe’ll use your t-shirt,” he said, and before she realized what he was doing he’d taken the knife and sliced it open, leaving her sitting there in her pale pink bra. And thank God for that, she thought. She tried to pull the remnants of the shirt off her body, but he stopped her, forcing her to wait while he slowly peeled it down her arms. It looked as if the bleeding had almost stopped, but he carefully avoided the gash, pulling the ripped shirt from her body. She watched him, bemused, as he tore the white knit, and within a few short minutes she had a very serviceable white bandage over her hand. He tossed her his own shirt. �śPut this on.” She didn’t want to. It no longer held his body heat, thank God, but she knew it would smell like his skin. Touching her, surrounding her, embracing her. She had no choice. He helped her pull it over her head, his hand brushing her breast, but he said nothing and neither did she. Dylan astonished her when MacGowan ripped off the duct tape. She’d been so certain his first word would be �śdude” that she would have put good money on it. She was wrong. �śWhat the hell?” he said hoarsely. �śBe quiet.” MacGowan made quick work of the ropes that bound him, then leaned over to look out the window. �śThere are people down there. Tourists, it looks like, and the guy who met us is trying to argue with them. We could climb out the window if they weren’t standing there �Ś” He pushed the window open a crack, and then moved back, and she sensed a subtle change in the way he held himself. �śWe’re good. They’re going to go into the restaurant. We’ll climb down the porch roof and get the hell out of here before they even know we’re gone.” Beth leaned over to peer out, brushing against him. Down in the alleyway the man was arguing with two surprisingly tall Asian tourists, businessmen in matching dark suits, carrying cameras, speaking in Japanese and gesturing excitedly. One of them had odd, crimson hair, but apart from that they looked almost boringly normal. �śYou don’t know those men, do you?” she asked doubtfully. �śI recognize Taka, though I don’t know who the other one is. They could help me take Leon and his pals, but I don’t want to risk any of you getting hurt again.” He hauled Dylan up from the chair. �śCome on, cowboy. You first.” He was right – the red-haired man had moved into the restaurant, refusing to understand Leon’s protests, and the other man followed, pushing Leon in front of him. �śNow,” MacGowan said, and shoved Dylan out onto the narrow porch roof. �śYou next, Beth.” He’d stopped calling her Sister Beth. She wasn’t sure why. After their night together he knew better than anyone how close to celibate she was, and if anything she’d been afraid he’d mock her even more. He’d said nothing in front of Dylan, thank God, and with luck he wouldn’t. It was always possible the man had some sense of decency and discretion. Possible, but not likely. The tiles felt loose beneath her feet when she followed Dylan, but she moved carefully, even as her flip-flops slid around her feet. When she got home she was going to spend thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars on shoes, and never look at a damned flip-flop again. Dylan was waiting for her at the far end by the leaning wall and Beth followed him, with MacGowan close on her trail. The drop was about twelve feet to the pavement, and she’d probably break an ankle if he made her jump. There were discarded cardboard boxes nearby, and it was always possible she could hit them if she leapt far enough. She looked at MacGowan but he’d already moved past her, and before she realized what he was doing he’d jumped down, as light as a cat, landing on his feet like a gymnast performing a perfect dismount. �śHow the hell did you do that?” she whispered. �śPractice.” He held out his arms. �śJump.” She didn’t move. Throwing herself into his arms was the last thing on her agenda, probably because it was exactly what she wanted to do so badly. �śIf you can make it I can.” Dylan was already sitting on the edge of the roof, his long legs dangling, and in the next moment he was over, landing with a graceless sprawl next to MacGowan, but a moment later he was on his feet, trying to regain his teenaged dignity. �śYou’ve got a bad hand.” MacGowan was managing to control his temper, but just barely. �śGet the fuck down here. I’ll catch you.” She ignored him, sitting on the roof where Dylan had, preparing to leap, but she’d underestimated MacGowan’s determination and his height. His hands clamped around her ankles and he yanked, pulling her off and into his arms. He staggered beneath her weight but didn’t go down, which annoyed her. He held her for just a second longer than he needed to, though she wasn’t sure whether it was as a punishment or relief, and then he dumped her on her feet. The tourists were blocking the door and any sight of the escapees, both of them arguing in very bad French spoken with heavy Japanese accents. Beth couldn’t understand a word they were saying, but MacGowan paused, listening intently, then gave a little nod. �śThe two of you,” he said. �śGet in there.” �śThere” was a narrow space between the building looming overhead and the restaurant, with barely enough room to stand up. �śWhy?” �śSo I can help Taka and his friend deal with this little problem and find out exactly what they wanted.” He gave her a shove toward the narrow passageway, but she dug in her heels. �śAnd what if you don’t happen to succeed? Dylan and I will be perfect targets for them. I think we should get the hell out of here. You’ve done your duty, gotten us to Europe, and �Ś” He paid no attention, shoving her into the narrow passageway. �śMy job’s not done yet, and I’m not letting you run out without paying the bounty,” he said. �śBesides, it’s too fucking dangerous. Dylan, keep her quiet.” Dylan sidled into the alleyway in front of her obediently enough. �śDude,” he said. �śYou sure we’re going to be all right?” MacGowan actually grinned, the heartless bastard. He was enjoying this, though she wasn’t sure why. Whether it was the chance to push her around, or the adrenaline rush of facing down his captors, but either way she didn’t give a damn. She turned her face away from him, looking down to the end of the passageway, wondering if that small movement was a rat. If he failed he was dead and they’d follow suit, but he wasn’t listening and she was tired of fighting. �śGo kill yourself then,” she snapped. But he was already gone. She could hear the voices from within the crumbling brick wall, the French unintelligible given the various accents. And then the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle, furniture crashing, and she shivered. �śWhat’s up with you two?” Dylan asked suddenly. She’d be so busy concentrating on what was going on beyond the blank wall that it took her a moment to focus. �śWhat?” �śI said what’s up between you and MacGowan? You been bumping uglies?” �śEwww,” Beth said at the really horrid picture it evoked. �śAbsolutely not.” At least, not the way Dylan had phrased it. �śSure looks like it. He looks at you like he’s starving and you’re a six-course banquet. Dude, he wants you bad. Don’t you know that?” �śNo, I don’t.” Did he? After the debacle of last night? �śAnd you’re just as bad. Like you want to jump his bones if you could only figure out how to do it. Trust me, all you have to do is ask.” �śThanks for the advice,” she said wryly. �śIn the meantime �Ś” She heard the shots, a volley of them, and she froze. Beyond the thick wall she heard the muffled cry. MacGowan’s name, shouted in a voice filled with shock. She knew. There was no other explanation. MacGowan didn’t have a gun and they did. He was dead. Sun was beating down overhead, slicing through the narrow pocket, which meant it must be around noon. He died at noon, she thought numbly. And she and Dylan would be soon to follow. It wasn’t as if she cared. She was sorry about Dylan – he was too young to die. But all she could think of was MacGowan, separated from her by the thick, unfeeling wall, bleeding out on the floor of that filthy café. He was dead, and she didn’t want to live. It was that simple. Surely she was way too smart to have fallen in love with him. It was gratitude that he’d rescued her, a normal reaction to his strength. And god, without the beard he was freaking gorgeous, which didn’t help. It was no wonder that she’d been crushing on him. No wonder she’d grieve his death. All reasonable. It didn’t explain the aching despair, the blank emptiness that filled her. She could feel the hot tears pouring down her face, and she pressed it against the stone. MacGowan, you stupid bastard, she thought. Why did you have to go and get yourself killed? I care about you. Care about you. Stupid phrase. She knew the truth, and right then the least she could do for the man who’d died protecting her was to admit it. She was stupidly, idiotically in love with him. He didn’t deserve it, she was smart enough to know better, but all the rationalization in the world didn’t help. It simply was. The low murmur of voices was getting louder, but it was just background noise to the despair that filled her. The stone wall was rough beneath her cheek, and she realized she had her hands up against it, trying to scratch her way through. Her hand was bleeding again, but she didn’t care. She heard Dylan’s voice, asking her a question, but it didn’t sink in. If she stayed in this strange, despairing fugue state she’d be all right. If she had to emerge it would be unbearable. She couldn’t face the pain that reality would bring. He was dead, and there was nothing left. She was vaguely aware of Dylan moving, more light coming in the narrow passageway. And then it darkened again, as someone took Dylan’s place, and a hand clamped down on her arm. She tried to pull away, filled with panic as the truth started to sink in, hitting at the inexorable hands, hitting at the voice that tried to break through. He caught her again, pulling her, and her hands scraped against the wall as she was hauled out into the sunlight to die. �śJesus, MacGowan, what did you do to her?” A voice came from a distance, elegant and coolly formal. �śI thought you were supposed to be so good with women.” �śBack off, Taka,” a familiar voice snarled from beside her. �śShe’s had a tough few days.” She turned in disbelief. It was MacGowan all right, in one piece, blood streaming from his forehead. She didn’t throw herself in his arms, weeping. She was stronger than that. She straightened, reaching out for the cut. �śYou’re not dead.” Even her voice sounded reasonably calm, despite the pained rasp in it. �śWere you shot?” He shook his head. The blood had matted in his long hair, adding one more color to the black and silver, brown and sun-bleached. �śPiece of the stone wall ricocheted when a bullet hit. What’s wrong with you?” He was looking at her too closely, and she averted her face, hoping he wouldn’t see the tears on her face. �śNothing,” she said firmly. She looked at the door to the café, now closed, and she didn’t want to ask. �śWho are your friends?” �śYou don’t need to know,” he said, looking at her oddly out of those flint-gray eyes. �śWhy were you crying?” Shit, of course he’d noticed. He noticed everything. She straightened her back. �śI thought I was going to die.” That was a reasonable cause for crying, wasn’t it? �śYou aren’t usually such a pussy.” It startled a laugh out of her, the anguish that had been strangling her slowly loosening its hold. He was all right, nothing would kill him. �śShut up, MacGowan,” she snapped. �śEveryone’s allowed a moment of weakness.” A car was coming down the narrow alleyway, moving slowly, and she glanced up to see the flame-haired young tourist pulling up in the sedan, climbing out with indecent energy. �śGPS coordinates are set,” he said in perfect if formal English. �śFood in the backseat, blankets, change of clothing.”( �śWe’ll see these two back to their homes,” the more conventional-looking man said. �śYou’re better off alone.” �śNo,” MacGowan said abruptly. Then he laughed. �śAt least, it’s up to them. You ready to go back home, kid?” Dylan shook his head. �śDon’t have a home to go to. I’ll stick with you and Sister Beth.” MacGowan glanced at Beth, a question in his eyes, and she knew she should say no, jump for safety with the two faux-tourists who’d doubtless take excellent care of her. Why did MacGowan even give her the choice? Didn’t he want to get rid of her?(Dylan’s words came back to her. �śHe looks at you like he’s a starving man and you’re a six-course meal.” Her heart, already shredding, was going to get destroyed if she stayed with him. But she’d played it safe most of her life. �śI’m with you, MacGowan.” She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her unbandaged hand. �śJust try not to get us killed.” He grinned at her, and there was a sudden, odd lightness between them. �śI’ll do my best.” CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR The chunnel crossing was effortless. It was easy enough to jump the line with his kind of clearances, and while the speed limit tested Peter’s patience at the very least he was alone with his thoughts. He kept coming up with arguments, writing mental letters to Genevieve, then discarding them as stupid or maudlin. What was she going to do when he got back? Kick him out? Have one of those civil relationships that would rip him in two? Or would she understand? Forgive him? The moment he hit France he had to stop thinking about her. His job was to meet up with MacGowan at the farmhouse he’d rented for him, face up to the threat and deal with the repercussions. He didn’t want to kill him, not after three years of hellish captivity. But he wasn’t going to let MacGowan kill him – there was a limit to guilt and nobility. He stared straight ahead, grinding his teeth. He wasn’t a man who made many mistakes but when he did they were spectacular. The only way to ensure that Isobel and Killian didn’t leave their safe refuge was to deal with MacGowan directly, and she’d gotten that message loud and clear. He breezed through customs, then set out inland, quickly becoming accustomed to right-side drive on left side roads. He’d been driving since he’d been a twelve-year old delinquent, and there was nothing he couldn’t handle, and he flew through the narrow back roads, avoiding major highways. It was probably an unnecessary precaution, but that was the reason he was still alive. Not that he would be once he got home. Genny was going to kill him, and he didn’t blame her. He switched on the satellite radio, turned to French punk and shifted into a higher gear, when he heard something that froze his blood. He slammed on the brakes, fish-tailing on the narrow country lane, finally coming to a stop up against a hedgerow. Grabbing his gun, he slid out of the car and headed straight for the back. �śI would suggest you stay very still back there while I open the boot.” His voice dripped ice. After the fight with Genny he very much wanted to shoot someone. �śI’ve got my gun and I’m going to shoot first and ask questions later if you so much as move.” He heard the muffled voice, a distinct, Arabic curse, and he swore himself, tucking his gun away before opening the boot. Mahmoud’s lanky body was curled up back there, his iPod still attached to his ears, looking up at him with lazy defiance. �śWhat the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded, hauling his by-default stepson out of the car. Mahmoud shook himself free, brushing invisible dust off his shirt. �śKeeping an eye on you. Genevieve says you won’t kill yourself if I’m along.” He stared at the boy in astonishment. �śShe sent you?” Mahmoud shook his head, his long hair dancing around his narrow face. �śHow stupid are you?” he asked with his usual lack of respect, a look that in better times amused Peter. Not today. �śShe had no idea I decided to tag along. I called her when we got to France to tell her where I was. Look at it this way, mate. Now she’s more pissed off at me than at you. As long as you don’t get both of us killed.” �śWhat do you mean?” Mahmoud pulled out his phone, pushed a few buttons and tossed it to Peter, who caught it easily. The text message was clear. �śTell Peter he’s an asshole who better come home safe or I’ll never forgive him. And tell him I love him.” �śLooks like she forgives you,” Mahmoud said. �śNot sure if I do – I don’t like it when something upsets her.” �śI’m her husband; I’m bound to upset her.” �śI don’t give a flying fuck,” Mahmoud said. �śDon’t do it again or I’ll kill you.” �śYou and what army?” Mahmoud was all talk. There was no denying that he’d been a child soldier, and seen things no adult should have to see. No question that he’d kill for Genny and the children. But he’d kill for Peter too, he suspected, despite their cantankerous relationship. Peter handed him back his phone, reluctantly. He couldn’t believe how his mood had lightened. Right now he felt as if he could conquer the world. That was the problem with falling in love, something he’d managed to avoid for decades before he fell afoul of Miss Genevieve Spencer. It left you far too vulnerable for this kind of work. She was right, he wasn’t fit for field work anymore. This was the last one. It happened on his watch, and it was his mistake. He needed to fix it. �śWe’ve got a few more hours,” he said. �śYou want to ride in the trunk or in the passenger seat?” �śFunny.” Mahmoud stretched. He was getting taller, brushing six feet and hadn’t stopped growing. Probably because he hadn’t stopped eating. Mahmoud reached into the trunk and pulled out a bag of crisps and three cans of soda, and wrappers littered the back of the previously spotless car. Peter sighed. �śYou little shit. You’re cleaning this car when we get home.” Mahmoud just grinned at him, strolling around to the passenger seat. �śSo, why don’t you tell me what our mission is?” Peter sighed as he slid behind the wheel. �śYou’re staying out of it. Next thing I know you’ll be asking for a gun.” Mahmoud gave him a pitying look. �śDude,” he said, �śI brought my own.” MacGowan checked the GPS. Probably a good seven hours until they reached the tiny village of Merrais-sur-le-pont and the old farmhouse that had served as a safe house off and on for the last decade. He didn’t need the GPS – he had a photographic memory. Once he travelled to a place he never forgot how to get there, and those five days holed up with Bastien, Peter, and Taka had been burned into his brain. Bastien had been bleeding, Peter had been his usual cold, bloody English self, and Taka had ignored their squabbles. In the end he hadn’t hated Madsen quite as much, but right now he was really looking forward to cutting out his liver and serving it to him. He glanced over his shoulder. Beth was asleep on the back seat. She’d flat out refused to take the front seat and he wasn’t into arguing. He was better off without the distraction. He had a lot to think about. What the hell had happened to him today? Twice he’d almost gotten them killed because of her. He’d taken one look at her bruised face streaked with tears and wished he’d killed the man who hit her twice over. Taka had given him a long, assessing look when he did it. He could have left the son of a bitch for Barringer to find. But he’d heard what the man had planned to do to Beth, what he’d done to other women, and that had pretty much sealed his fate, even if he hadn’t hit Beth. This was no life for someone like her, and he knew it. He should have insisted she go with Taka. Taka and his cousin would have made sure she got on a plane back to America, to the nice cocoon of all that money. Once away from him she probably wouldn’t think about him again. Which was why he couldn’t let her go. He wasn’t finished with her. He didn’t know why, or what was left, but it sat between them like the proverbial elephant in the living room. He needed to get it settled, make peace with it, before he said good-bye to her. Not that saying good-bye was in the cards. He was a man who simply vanished when it was time to go, no note, no farewell. He was just gone. But he wasn’t quite ready to leave. He drove through the night, while Dylan slept beside him, sprawled out like the gangly teenager he really was. Beth made no sound from the back seat, but he knew when she was awake and when she slept, even if she pretended otherwise. The old stone farmhouse was a sprawling old building, with half a dozen bedrooms behind the crumbling fa�żade. He could put her in the one on the first floor behind the kitchen, out of reach in case he decided to wander. The only problem with that was she’d be alone down there if anyone decided to come calling. In all the years no one had ever breached the farmhouse. It was far too badly maintained, deliberately so, with overgrown shrubbery and a road that looked barely passable. The roof looked as if it were about to cave in, though underneath its ravaged surface was a new and solid one. He could put her on the second floor in one of the five bedrooms. Most of the rooms were utilitarian, made for soldiers in hiding, but one was elegantly decorated. Madame Lambert had insisted she wasn’t going to camp out in a barracks if she had to stay there, and her room had pale colors and florals. Putting her there was the obvious choice, but it had an adjoining door to the room he habitually used. Not that he’d ever touched Madame Lambert. The Ice Queen had frankly scared the shit out of him, and he still couldn’t imagine her running off with any man, even Serafin the Butcher. He could go downstairs. In fact, that would make more sense – he’d be the first line of defense down there. Yes, that was the smart thing to do. And he wasn’t going to do it. He was going to put Dylan in the room under the eaves, at the far end of the house, and maybe even lock him in. And then he was going to turn his attention to the woman in the back seat who was pretending she wasn’t awake. �śYou should go back to sleep,” he said in a soft voice, not wanting to wake Dylan. For a moment there was silence, and he wondered if she’d keep faking it. �śI’m trying,” she said finally. �śI keep seeing �Ś there’s been too much blood.” �śThen why did you come with me? Taka would have taken you straight to the airport.” She said nothing, and he could have kicked himself. Putting her on the spot was no way to keep her talking to him, and he wanted to hear her voice. It seemed as if it had been weeks since he’d slept. The nights he’d been alone on the ship he’d tossed and turned, unable to get used to the feel of the ship beneath him. Or maybe unable to get used to Beth being so far away. �śYou’ll like the farmhouse,” he said. �śIt’s a safe place – no one ever comes there.” �śWhy are we heading there?” �śI need to figure out what I’m going to do now that I’m back in civilization. There were people who shouldn’t have left me to rot in the jungle, and they’re going to answer for it. And there’s the future. The man who was responsible has taken over. If I kill him I’ll probably lose my job.” �śYou think?” He laughed. �śThen again, I’ve got enough money to last me a good long time, maybe forever, stashed away. Plus they owe me for the three years in captivity.” �śAgain, that might be hard to collect if you kill your boss.” �śNot my boss,” he said swiftly, instinctively. He controlled his anger with an effort. �śNo, maybe he is. The woman I answered to retired, leaving Madsen in charge. So yes, I think it’s time I found another line of work, even if I don’t gut him.” �śAren’t you tired of killing people?” The words hung in the air, a slap in the face, and he responded instinctively. �śOh, hell, no, I get a real kick out of it. Didn’t have nearly enough scope for my genius while my ass was being held hostage in the Andes.” �śI’m sorry �Ś” �śTell you what, Sister Beth.” His words were like knives. �śNext time someone holds a machete to your throat I’ll just let him cut. Or rape. Or do whatever the hell he wants to. I’d hate to upset your tender sensibilities.” �śI didn’t mean �Ś” �śSure you did. I get the job done, as quickly and efficiently as I can, and I don’t worry about niceties or whether someone is a very bad man or just a slightly bad man. If he’s a threat I kill him. It’s that simple.” She wasn’t going to say anything else, he knew it. He’d offended her, pissed her off, hurt her fucking feelings, and she was going to retreat into a huffy silence. He leaned forward to switch on the radio when he heard her voice, so soft he couldn’t believe what she was saying. �śWhat?” �śI said thank you.” Her voice was still low. �śThank you for saving my life, again and again. Thank you for killing for me. I’m just sorry I made it necessary.” He took a deep breath. �śIt had nothing to do with you. Anyone who’s dead because of me had it coming a long time over. I don’t feel guilty and neither should you.” Each man’s death diminishes me, he thought, cursing his memory for useless poetry. He did what he had to do. He needed to remember that. �śAre we going to get there soon?” MacGowan glanced at the clock on the dashboard. �śNo. I figure another five hours, maybe a little more.” �śBut you’ve been driving for hours already.” �śDon’t worry – I don’t need much sleep.” �śDo you want me to drive?” This time his laugh was genuine. �śI don’t think so. There are some twisty mountain roads up ahead, not to mention the fact that I have control issues. I don’t like being a passenger. People in my life have to learn to get used to it.” Now why the hell had he said that? What business was it of hers? It wasn’t as if he was wanting her to be part of his life. She said nothing for a moment. �śI think there’s another can of Red Bull back here if you need it.” �śHell, no.” He was about to say he was shaky enough from all the ones he’d been drinking, but thought better of it. She didn’t need more to worry about. The night was dark and still as the Audi shot through the countryside, and he stared at the winding road ahead of him. He wanted to tell her he was sorry. Hell, he wanted to tell her she was best lay of his life, but he didn’t think that would go over too well. �śWhat’s funny?” He must have laughed out loud. �śMe,” he said. �śAnd you. Go back to sleep, baby.” The endearment slipped out, an accident, but there was nothing else he could say. He heard her sigh. �śOkay.” Yeah, now she decided to be obedient, he thought grimly, as he heard her slide down on the leather seat. He could picture her, her long legs curled up, her hands tucked under her chin. He’d watched over her often enough to know that’s how she slept. Not just the night he spent in her bed, but all the other nights, climbing down that fucking mountain, ducking the Guiding Light and anyone else who seemed to want to take a shot at him. At least they were out of reach of La Luz. They were too badly funded to have overseas operations, and the entire revolucion was falling apart. The CIA, however, was a different matter, and they seemed to want his ass something fierce. He just needed a few days’ respite at the farmhouse, to figure out exactly how he was going to deal with Vincent Barringer and his crazy-ass scheme, and how the hell he was going to kill him. But first, whenever the hell they got there, he was going to rest. And not have to kill anyone at all. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Vincent Barringer enjoyed the comforts that money brought him, without a trace of guilt from his Puritan ancestry. After all, he worked hard in the service of his country, he’d devoted his entire life to his work, eschewing the distractions of family and friends. He deserved every penny he had amassed over the years. He wasn’t enjoying flying first class. After years of hitching a ride on military jets, the almost lavish comforts of first class travel seemed almost obscenely indulgent, and he had to remind himself that he more than earned it. He still couldn’t believe that the Gargonne brothers had failed. They were notoriously brutal, with a higher kill-rate than anyone else in Europe, with the possible exception of the Committee under Harry Thomason’s heyday. The Committee had never had to deal with Congressional oversight and budget cuts. Barringer could pride himself on the spectacular success of his sub-branch, given his handicaps. It was a legacy to be proud of. Too bad that legacy was buried in secrecy. Few people would know the hard decisions Vincent Barringer had made for the good of the Western World. He folded the damask napkin, having made an excellent dinner of braised lamb and tiny peas. He’d refused the wine, of course. He never touched spirits – too many mistakes were made under the influence of alcohol. They would arrive at DeGaulle airport in another three hours, and he planned to sleep until then. He had enough of delegating the business of MacGowan. If he wanted the job done right he’d do it himself. In fact, he’d lost his patience. It was a rare thing. He was used to unexpected glitches getting in the way of his plans, but he was steady, determined, and in the end had always triumphed. But the house on Chesapeake Bay was calling to him, and by now he no longer cared about getting Thomas Killian back. Finn MacGowan had become the enemy, with his cocky disregard of anything Barringer had sent his way. He wanted MacGowan dead, even if it put paid to the idea of finally returning Killian. It had become an obsession. LeFevre would meet him at the airport, with a comfortable car and the weapons he’d requested. Once, long ago Barringer had been a sniper, one of the best in the business. He’d always been vigilant about keeping his skills, and he had no doubt he’d be able to blow MacGowan’s head apart from a distance of fifteen hundred feet if necessary. It was unfortunate that he needed to take out his companions as well, but the Pennington woman and the movie star’s son had been on borrowed time the moment they set foot in South America. He would get the job done and be back in Washington in forty-eight hours. And that very day he would announce his retirement. Enough was enough. His pulse was racing, just slightly, and he frowned. There was nothing wrong with looking forward to being in the field again, but he frowned on emotional reactions. He needed to get himself back under control. According to LeFevre’s intel, once MacGowan landed at the Committee safe house, the one they thought no one knew about, he intended to stay put for a few days. There would be no hurry. In fact a day or two of downtime would be useful to lower his defenses. He thought he was safe at Merrais-sur-le-Pont. Big mistake. No one was safe from the reach of the CIA. At least, not from Barringer’s small, secret branch of it. Someone always had to do the ugly work. The wet work, ridding the world of evil. And there were times when it wasn’t just evil that had to go. Complicity, whether innocent or deliberate, had to be rooted out as well. The Committee understood that. His replacement wouldn’t have too much trouble with the Committee – even without Thomason the organization understood and accepted the needs of its allies. There would be a few heated conversations but in the end this would all settle like dust. Peter Madsen was too much of a pragmatist to do anything about it, and besides, MacGowan was gunning for Madsen. He was doing the man a favor. The stewardess took his tray, offered him an aperitif, and moved away. No, they didn’t call them stewardesses anymore, did they? He preferred the no-nonsense care of the enlisted men who looked after VIPs on the transatlantic military flights. Clean young men who understood the value of discipline. He moved his seat back. It turned into a pod-like bed, but he decided that was ridiculous. Perhaps he’d try out that configuration on his way home. For now, like a child on Christmas morning, he was too excited to sleep. In ten years the farmhouse hadn’t changed much. The greenery was a little taller, a little more tangled, and they’d installed a sensor device hidden under the dirt road that led to it. If MacGowan hadn’t been driving a car equipped with the right piece of technology the road would have blown up beneath them, sending them all to hell. Good thing he’d been in touch with Bastien instead of trying to make it here on his own. Then again, on his own he wouldn’t have driven up even the well-hidden driveway, he would have approached on foot, and he doubted they’d mined the place. It was too easy for a stray animal to wander by, and once an explosion marred the stillness of the area there’d be no using it again. It was almost light when he finally pulled up to the remote old farmhouse, staring up at the shuttered windows. He hadn’t had time to have more than a brief conversation with Taka, so he had no idea what kind of shape the place was in. In the past they had someone on payroll who kept it ready at all times, but for all he knew Isobel might have changed it. Now it was up to that sodding bastard Peter Madsen. Hell, he might even be walking into a trap. It was something he’d be capable of doing to a man who wanted to kill him. Madsen was just as ruthless as he’d ever been. Maybe more so. He would never have left someone to rot in the jungle of South America, no matter what the cost. But Taka wouldn’t stand by and let him walk into a trap. No, he could be relatively sure they were safe for at least a few days, long enough for him to figure out what to do next. Whether he needed to kill Peter Madsen or Vincent Barringer first. He pulled the car up in front of the stone house and put it in park. He could hide it in the cul-de-sac later – right now he just needed to get his charges indoors. Funny, that he’d kept them with him. Funny, that Beth had chosen to come. That was something he could think about in the next few days, after he’d managed to get some sleep. Assuming he even could sleep. She was right – he’d killed too many men. There were some things you couldn’t walk away from, and that was one of them. He opened the back door and scooped Beth up. She was too thin – she’d lost weight in the last week, which was no surprise, and despite her height she was an easy burden. She woke for a moment, and he half expected her to start fighting him, but she simply looked at him, closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. The farmhouse even smelled the same. Lemon polish and centuries-old French cooking. Nothing had changed, though he saw they’d put a new cover on the sofa. A good thing – Bastien had bled all over that sofa while MacGowan had removed a bullet from his leg. Good times. In the end he didn’t really think about it. He carried her up to the pretty room on the second floor, holding her as he tried to pull down the covers. That was when she reacted. �śNo,” she mumbled. �śToo dirty. Just put me on top of the covers.” He didn’t bother arguing. She was covered with dust and dirt, and he could see the streaks her tears had left on her face. She’d faced death before without crying. Had she finally reached overload, or had she been crying for something else? �śYou’re not dead,” she’d said dazedly when he’d hauled her back out into the sunshine. Had she been crying for him? He found a throw and tossed it over her. She was sound asleep again, and he stood over her in the stillness of the morning air. The closed shutters let in only a trace of sunlight, but he could see her quite clearly, and he reached out and pushed a strand of her silver-blond hair away from her grubby face. He wanted to climb into bed with her, hold her in his arms. He wanted her arms around him, he wanted to press his face against her breasts and god help him, he wanted to weep. He really had reached the end of his tether. Time to give it up. He hadn’t cried since his bastard of a father had starved himself to death. Why would he want to cry now? He closed the door quietly behind him and went back down to find Dylan stumbling sleepily through the kitchen. �śHey, dude, there’s a bedroom down here. Mind if I take it?” It was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Privacy with Beth? Or the last thing he needed, temptation? It didn’t matter. �śYou can stay in any room you want, though Beth is already asleep in one on the first floor.” �śFirst floor? Or second floor? I can never get used to that,” Dylan said sleepily, opening the refrigerator and peering inside. From his vantage point MacGowan could see that it was well-stocked, including his favorite Guinness. �śYour second floor, my first,” he clarified. �śYou’re on the ground floor now, brat.” �śNo, man, I’m in bed,” Dylan said sleepily, grabbing a Coke and heading back in the direction of the room he’d chosen. MacGowan hid the car, then slipped back into the house, making sure all the doors were unlocked. A lock wouldn’t slow anyone down, but it could make the difference between life and death if they needed a quick escape. He grabbed a Guinness, pried it open, and then headed up the narrow stone steps to temptation. She was sound asleep. Of course she was. And he could take the bedroom he’d been planning to give Dylan, at the end of the hall and around a corner, down two steps and up three. Enough distance that he’d have to think long and hard about going to her, with plenty of things to slow him down and help him change his mind. He could take the room three doors down, close enough to save her ass if someone managed to find them, far enough way that he could maybe shut her out of his mind. He opened the door to the adjoining room and closed it behind him, going to sit on the double bed with its utilitarian cover. He’d never run from anything in his life and he wasn’t about to run from Beth Pendleton. He’d already ensured she wouldn’t let him anywhere near him. If he decided to change her mind, and he’d have to be incredibly stupid to do that, then it wouldn’t matter where he slept, and this was closest to the bathroom. He took a quick shower, finishing the Guinness when he emerged. Hot water was still the most wonderful of all the pleasures of civilization, and he could have stayed under there forever if part of him didn’t feel he was still on the job. He should have sent them away with Taka, he thought again. If he had, he’d be alone in this rambling old house, alone with his memories, and it wouldn’t matter how much hot water he hogged, how much time he spent there, or who was sleeping in the next room. He should have said no. He had nothing to sleep in. Taka had provided him with old men’s boxers, a joke on his part, and MacGowan was tempted to throw them out the window. Instead he put the ridiculous things on, just in case Beth woke in a panic. He took one last look out the shuttered window, into the broad light of early morning, climbed beneath the cool sheets of the double bed and fell asleep. �śSo who the hell doesn’t carry a spare tire?” Mahmoud demanded, leaning against the side of the Porsche. It was cold, with the promise of winter on the air, and not only did Peter not have an extra spare, he didn’t have gloves, a hat, or an extra coat. He’d forgotten how infernally cold it could be in this part of France. Mahmoud was bundled up in the windbreaker he carried in the trunk, but he didn’t look any too happy. �śI have a spare tire,” Peter said in an acid voice. �śI just don’t have two. You’ll note that we have two flat tires?” Mahmoud gave him a snarky smile. �śI noted,” he said, his voice a perfect mockery of Peter’s icy tones. �śSo you want to tell me why we’re out in the middle of nowhere, with no mobile service, no highways, no towns? I don’t think I remembered that the sky could be this dark. Reminds me of home. Without the bombs and ruins and terrorists, of course,” he added fairly. Peter gave him a sour look. �śI don’t think I need to justify my decisions to you.” �śDon’t need to,” Mahmoud said cheerfully, �śbut Genny will give you shit. It’s good to see you’re pussy-whipped.” �śI am not pussy-whipped.” �śIt’s not a bad thing if Genny is the p �Ś.” He stopped at Peter’s quelling expression and grinned. �śYeah, I know, she’d kill me if she heard me talking like that. What I meant to say was, if you’ve got someone like Genny you need to listen to her.” �śIn case you hadn’t noticed in the last three years since your ungrateful carcass was dumped on me, I do listen to her. And I’d tell you this was simply the first time she was wrong, but I can’t even say that. She’s right, I shouldn’t be here, I can’t fix things. But irrational or not, I needed to come.” �śSee,” Mahmoud said. �śThat wasn’t so hard.” Peter growled low in his throat. Mahmoud drove him mad. Like all teenagers he was obstreperous, confrontational, superior and obnoxious. Peter had had no choice in accepting him into his household, and he’d kill anyone who tried to take him away. Mahmoud might have little use for Genevieve’s husband but Peter had long ago accepted the little monster as his son. Even if Mahmoud disagreed. He sighed. �śWe were going on back roads so we couldn’t be traced. I told you, the CIA is watching for signs of Killian and Isobel, and we need to be careful.” �śThey’re coming back?” Mahmoud kept his voice neutral, but Peter knew what he was thinking. Killian had been the first reliable male in the young Mahmoud’s life. It didn’t matter that Mahmoud had pledged to kill him as soon as he was old enough – in Mahmoud’s world that constituted a solid bond. Besides, he’d passed that pledge on to Reno when he’d first arrived in England, and as far as Peter knew Killian was in no danger from anyone but the CIA. And of course any country where he worked undercover and managed to bugger up most of their operations. Peter took a deep breath. The countryside smelled different in France, even in a winter-dead season. It smelled like fresh herbs and grapes and the hint of salt breeze from the sea over sixty miles away. �śI hope he’s not coming back. I told them to stay away – too many people still want him dead, and they’re willing to pay good money for his murder. In particular the CIA have a jones for him, and they’d go through anyone to kill him. Innocent or guilty, young or old, they’ll kill to get him. I warned him, and for our sake I think they’ll stay away. If he does show up you keep your distance.” Mahmoud grinned. �śYes, abouya.” Peter didn’t bother to ask him what that meant. He’d used it a number of times, and he had little doubt it was Mahmoud’s way of insulting him. �śWe’re going to have to walk, pal,” he said. �śYou walk. I’ll stay in the car.” Mahmoud reached to the passenger door, but Peter grabbed his arm and hauled him back. �śYou signed on for this, kiddo. You get to suffer along with me. What do you think, head back the way we came or go forward?” �śThe last village we passed was too small for a mechanic. The last one with a gas station was more than 25 miles back. And don’t tell me someone will give us a ride. If you wanted seclusion you chose wisely. I haven’t seen another car in at least an hour.” �śGood,” Peter said. �śThat gives us time to bond.” And he didn’t need a dictionary to translate Mahmoud’s surge of profanity. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX It was dark when Beth awoke and for a moment she was swamped with panic, disoriented, a scream rising in her throat. She managed to stop it as memory came back. They were no longer on the miserable roll of the ship or in the constant movement of the car. They weren’t tied up, awaiting death. They had gotten away. A farmhouse in France, he said. She vaguely remembered him carrying her, and she could feel her face heat. She had just let him. In fact, she’d curled up against him, putting her arms around his neck, seeking his heat, seeking his strength. God, she couldn’t allow that to happen again. In retrospect, she couldn’t believe he’d let her come with him. Why? The sooner she got home the sooner he’d get his goddamned money. It didn’t matter that during their poker game he’d lost all his winnings for the simple chance of spending the night with her. One would hardly think her pathetic skills were worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, and she had every intention of paying him that money, and more. So why was she here? Or to be more exact, why had he kept her here? She knew perfectly well why she had chosen to come. She had realized it when she was trapped in that narrow alleyway, and it was like Pandora’s box. Once opened, you couldn’t stuff the secrets back in. She thought she was in love with him. There were hundreds of reasons for her delusion, she reminded herself, sitting up and finding the small lamp on a table by the bed. He’d saved her life countless times, he’d fed her, bound her wounds, protected her, delivered her out of danger. Time and again he’d come to her rescue, and then he’d ended up making it abundantly clear that despite her lack of experience, she was most definitely not frigid. He’d given her something she had refused to believe existed. It was only reasonable that she’d want more, and she’d want it wrapped up in fantasies of love. She was a practical, sensible woman. She could see her weakness quite clearly, understand how she could imagine herself to be in love with him. She’d get over it, once she was back in civilization, once she was away from him, she’d return to her normal, unbesotted self. Fuck that. She was tired of being reasonable, being sensible, doing the smart thing, the wise thing, the safe thing. She saw MacGowan quite clearly – his sweetness and his savagery, his avarice and his generosity. The first thing he’d done when she’d met him was untie her and give her his precious bar of pure Colombian chocolate. He was a bundle of contradictions, and he knew as much about love as she did. Which was absolutely nothing. She wasn’t such an idiot that she thought he loved her. He wasn’t the kind of man, didn’t live the kind of life where he could fall in love. The best she could hope for from him was �Ś what? To be with him as long as he’d have her? Check. He’d brought her with him. To sleep with her? He’d done that literally countless times, curling his body around hers while she’d pretended she didn’t like it. To make love to her? Men were supposedly simple creatures, her friend Jenny had told her. All you have to do is show up naked and they’re yours. She wasn’t sure if MacGowan was that predictable, but then again, one night probably didn’t even put a dent in three years’ abstinence. She looked around her. The room was pretty, almost feminine, with soft colors and pretty country furniture. Her small duffle was sitting on a chair, and she realized she felt gritty, filthy, and she needed a bathroom quite desperately. If she had to run into MacGowan before she got cleaned up then so be it. He’d seen her looking worse, and she was still the only game in town. She pushed out of bed and winced. She still had her t-shirt bandage wrapped around her hand, another sign of Finn’s seemingly reluctant care. She unwound it, then breathed a sigh of relief. The cut was looking remarkably healthy, needing nothing more than a solid band-aid when she was finished. Thank god the huge bathroom was just across the hall. The toilet was in a separate compartment, and the room had clearly once been one of the bedrooms. There was an old-fashioned bathtub and a space age shower, and when she turned it on it was instantly the perfect temperature. With a sigh of pure bliss she stripped off her clothes and climbed under the water. Someone had already used the shower – there was an open bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap. MacGowan most likely – Dylan had casual notions about cleanliness. She took the bar of soap and ran it across her stomach, watching the lather build up. That soap had slid across Finn’s stomach, his chest, all over him. She moved it up to her breasts, and she closed her eyes, imagining the soap in his strong hands, touching her, caressing her, sliding it down between her legs. She covered every inch of her body, slowly, languorously, picturing his dark, intent gaze, the way he looked as he held himself above her, his eyes when he was inside her, and by the time she’d finished she was trembling. She washed her hair, the grit and dirt from her face. Her cheek was tender, and she remembered the fists of that man, the rough fingers poking her roughly between the legs. She remembered MacGowan, his face against hers, his strong teeth taking hold of the duct tape that covered her mouth and ripping it off, a look of unholy amusement in his eyes. He’d known she was going to have to go for the switchblade knife, and he’d been enjoying himself. He’d be laughing in the face of death when it finally caught up with him. And she didn’t want to miss a minute that she could possibly spend with him. Okay, she may as well face the uncomfortable truth. It was no delusion, no fantasy. She was in love with him, because he was tough and brave and sweet and mean, tender and ruthless, a warrior when she’d spent her life a pacifist. It was inconvenient and doomed, but she loved him, and the least she could do was face it. She pulled on her underwear, then reached for her jeans. They were dirty, and she shook them, then coughed as the dust flew from them. She hated having to put them on her clean body. She just had to hope she didn’t run into MacGowan when she dashed back into the hall wearing only her underwear and a towel. But the hallway was dark and silent when she emerged, with no sign of MacGowan anywhere. She glanced at the long, narrow hallway. The door next to hers was closed, the rest of them open. As usual he must have decided sleep was a luxury, not a necessity. She’d probably find him downstairs somewhere, planning something bloody. She closed her door, then looked over at her satchel. She really couldn’t stand the feel of her jeans anymore, and if worse came to worst she’d wash them in that claw-footed bathtub. In the meantime she’d have to find something else to wear. The satchel was too small to hold another pair of jeans, but there was a pair of shorts and a sundress. Her room was cool, though heat was coming from somewhere, and November in France was hardly the place for sundresses, but she could borrow a sweatshirt from Dylan for added warmth. She pulled the dress over her head, then shivered. She had no shoes – maybe Dylan had a warm pair of socks she could use as well. It would help if she were at least physically comfortable before she faced MacGowan again. Belatedly she realized there was a second door in her room, and it was ajar. She went over to it, her toes curling on the bare floor, and tapped softly. �śDylan?” There was a sleepy mmph which she took as an invitation, and she pushed it open, stepping into the darkness. The warm light from her room barely penetrated into the shadows, and she could see the outline of a bed, rumpled, and the shadow of a man standing beside it. �śI didn’t wake you, did I?” she said in a quiet voice. �śI need a sweatshirt and a pair of socks. I’m freezing.” He didn’t move. She came into the room, impatient. �śI don’t want to bother MacGowan – I’m hoping he’s asleep somewhere and he needs all the rest he can get.” He moved then. A shaft of moonlight came in the closed shutters, and she realized her mistake. No one moved the way MacGowan moved. �śYou’re not bothering me.” His voice was low, and she could feel it vibrating through her body, between her legs. Oh, shit. �śYou could get back in bed.” �śWhat?” Okay, was it really necessary that her voice squeak like that? �śWhile I build you a fire in your room,” he clarified. �śThere’s no fireplace.” �śOkay,” he said agreeably. �śGet in my bed and warm up while I start one here.” Grandma, what big eyes you have, she thought. She was doing this, she thought. No more panic. And without another word she walked over and climbed into his rumpled bed. More trouble. It smelled like his skin, combined with the same soap and water she had used. It was still warm – he must have gotten up when he heard her moving toward the door. Warm with his heat. She curled up, snuggling under the covers, unable to help herself. �śThat better?” he said in a pleasant voice, moving toward what she could now see was an old-fashioned fireplace. �śYes.” He was wearing jeans and nothing else, and as he squatted down to load wood and kindling into the fireplace she could see the strong, beautiful line of his back. Even in the shadows she could see the scars. He wore his choice of work on his skin like a uniform. She wanted to touch him, wanted to kiss each of those scars, the bullet wounds, the knife wounds. She swallowed. He worked quickly, efficiently. She lay on her side, watching, not wanting to put her wet hair on his pillow, and when the blaze was bright he turned back to her and frowned. �śYour hair’s wet. It’s no wonder you’re cold. You could catch your death,” he said severely. What a strange phrase, catch your death. She wasn’t going to die with him around. �śI couldn’t find a blow dryer.” He opened his own door to the hallway, then returned a few moment later with a fresh towel. �śNo hair dryer,” he said. �śMostly men come here, and when they do they don’t care about their hair. Sit up.” Before she realized what he’d decided to do he sat down on the bed, holding out the towel. She tried to take it, but he kept hold of it. �śJust lean over,” he said, and she was in no mood to argue. He wrapped the towel around her head, and she could feel his long fingers on her scalp, rubbing slowly. She made a strangled noise. Good god, she’d fuck Attila the Hun for a head massage. This wasn’t going to help her stay cheerfully distant from him. From beneath the covering of the towel she could see nothing but his flat stomach and his lap. And there was no missing the fact that he was finding the massage equally �Ś stimulating. �śThat’s enough,” she said in a hoarse voice, pulling away to slide into the middle of the bed. It felt huge after all the narrow bunks she’d been in. Way too big for one person. He sat back, dropping the towel on the floor, but he didn’t get up. It was too dark to read his expression, and besides, she was afraid to. He was too close, she was too vulnerable. Tomorrow, when she’d finally managed a full night’s sleep, she’d be able to figure out what she wanted and how she was going to take it without getting hurt too badly. All she needed to do was hold herself together for as long as she was with him. She could fall apart when she was alone. But he didn’t move, and the warmth of the bed and the room was melting away resistance and self-preservation. �śSo,” he said finally, and she could hear the distant trace of Ireland in his voice. �śWe’re doing this.” It wasn’t a question, and yet she thought he wanted an answer. She gave him the wrong one. �śDoing what?” He laughed. �śDon’t play games, Sister Beth. I’m talking about sex. Fucking. You’re in my bed, all drowsy-eyed and ready, and I’ve got a hard-on that’s going to kill me from those soft sounds you were making. What do you think I’m talking about?” She felt a moment’s flash of irritation. �śYour condition isn’t my fault, so don’t blame any noises I make for it. And I got in your bed to get warm.” �śSure you did.” He put a hand on either side of her, imprisoning her there as he looked down at her. �śWould you have climbed into Dylan’s bed just as easily?” �śEw.” �śExactly.” She expected a triumphant smile, but he still looked cool, intent. �śYou didn’t answer my question.” �śYou didn’t ask me.” �śAre we doing this?” Fuck. She wanted to be seduced, overwhelmed, have all choice swept away. But that wasn’t MacGowan’s style. He wanted full cooperation. Well, this time he was going to get it. �śYes.” He simply nodded, thoughtful. He cupped her face with one hand, his fingers gentle against her tender flesh. �śHow much does this hurt you?” �śIt looks like hell, doesn’t it?” she said. �śIt’s not too bad. Wait a few days until it turns yellow.” Wrong thing to say, she thought. He probably wasn’t going to be around in a few days. �śIt’ll look very pretty on you.” He leaned forward, and his lips feathered her cheekbone, his long hair brushing her skin, and she wanted to cry. She’d have more than enough time to cry later. He moved back just a bit, his hair still around them, and she put her own hands up to cup his face. �śCome to bed.” CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN He rose, and Beth watched him, wondering for a brief moment whether this was some new game he was playing, whether he was going to walk away. He went to one door and locked it, then closed the adjoining door and locked that one as well. Then he turned and leaned against it, watching her. Suddenly she was nervous. �śI’m really surprised you still want me, considering how bad I was the other night.” �śYou thought you were bad the other night?” His voice was mild. �śYou didn’t enjoy yourself? I didn’t realize you were that good an actress.” �śDon’t be ridiculous. It was �Ś a revelation. It just couldn’t have been much fun for you. I’m not really used to sex.” �śI know.” His slight smile took the sting out of the words. �śIt’s not performance art, Beth. It’s just bodies. Touching.” He reached for the snap on his jeans, and she forced herself not to look away. She needed to say this, to get it out in the open. �śYes, but some people are better at touching than others. Like you. And some people aren’t comfortable �Ś” she swallowed as he shoved his jeans down his legs and kicked them away. �ś�Ś aren’t comfortable with other people’s bodies.” �śCome on, Beth. The worst is over. You’ve already had me and you liked it. Stop worrying.” He lifted the covers and she scooted over quickly as he climbed into the bed. It was no longer nearly as wide as she’d thought it was, and he lay on his side, watching her out of eyes that would haunt her until she was an old, old woman. �śI want to give you pleasure,” she said in a whisper. �śI know I can’t give you as much pleasure as you gave me, but I want to �Ś” He stopped her mouth with his, a slow, leisurely kiss, his lips soft, warm, touching hers lightly, and then harder, so that her mouth opened, and she took his tongue inside her. She could feel the last of her fears and doubt slip away beneath the slide of his tongue, and he was seducing her, teasing her with his kiss. She felt as if she were melting into the bed, and she kissed him back, letting him taste her, losing track of where and who she was, all that existed was their mouths. When he lifted his head she was on her back in the bed, and he was over her. �śDid anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” he whispered. �śYou have. Many times.” He smiled at her, and she felt something inside her lurch. There was no darkness in his smile, no hidden thoughts, no danger. He was looking at her the way he would look at someone he cared about, someone he loved, and she wanted to cry. �śYou can talk all you want when I’m inside you,” he said against her ear, only a breath of sound. �śIn the meantime, stop trying to talk me out of this. You couldn’t.” He moved off her then, and she realized she’d been holding her breath. She felt his eyes run over her. �śAre you going to take off all those clothes, or am I going to have to?” She hadn’t even thought about it. She stripped the sundress over her head, threw it on the floor, and then her bra and panties followed. She needed to be naked, in every way. Except then she didn’t know what to do. He lay on the pillow, all delicious skin and muscle, the firelight illuminating each scar, each wound, flickering in his eyes. She realized with shock that she’d barely seen him, barely touched him the other night. She forgot he had the inconvenient habit of reading her mind. �śYou can do anything you want, darlin’,” he whispered. �śIt’s up to you.” For a moment she didn’t move, uncertain. And then she put out her hand to touch his arm, getting used to the warmth of him, the feel of his skin, the muscle and bone beneath it. She could see the healing wound of the knife cut, and on instinct she leaned over and let her lips touch it. He lifted his arm to let her move closer, and she let go of the last of her fears. She moved over him, kissing each scar, each terrible wound, her lips soft and gentle, as if she were bestowing some kind of healing touch. His heart was sure and steady beneath her mouth, and she pressed her forehead against its reassuring beat as she let her hand move across his stomach. He made a soft sound of approval, and she smiled against him. She lifted her head, and brushed her tongue across his nipple. He jerked, and for a moment she thought she’d made a mistake. �śJesus, Beth,” he whispered. �śDo that again.” She did, watching with fascination as his nipple hardened just as hers did. She touched the other one, lightly, liking the way his body moved when she did, and then she fastened her mouth on him and sucked, the way he had sucked at her. She’d been letting her hand brush his stomach, but his body arched at that, and she felt his cock push against her hand, insistent. She lifted her head to look into his eyes for a moment, and then moved down, kissing his stomach as her hand wrapped around him. He swore again, and she wanted to laugh. She never would have thought touching him would give her such pleasure. Not just in the obvious pleasure of giving. But a deep, sexual response in concert with his, that was making her wet, making her tremble, making her want the darkness. She slid her hand down to cup his balls, watching his cock jerk in response. It really was beautiful, the soft, silken skin over such astonishing hardness, the blue veins that danced across it, the head of it, suddenly looking like something she had to taste. She leaned forward and licked him, just a taste, to see if she liked it. She did. She looked up at his face. He almost looked as if he were being tortured. His hands were fisted beside him, and his eyes were glowing. �śHow do I do this?” she whispered. �śYou don’t have to.” �śYes, I do. I want to. So tell me.” He lifted a hand to sift through her still damp hair. �śDo anything you like,” he said. �śJust don’t bite.” She laughed. �śYou’re no fun.” And she moved back, letting her tongue run up the side of it, like licking an ice cream cone, tracing the heavy vein. She moved around it, licking, touching, until he finally broke. �śAnd you can’t kill me by teasing me to death,” he said in a rough voice. �śI need you to suck me.” Another shiver of response, and she didn’t wait any longer, closing her mouth over him, drawing him in deep. It was .. astonishing. Wonderful. Like taking him inside her body, and yet she could focus on his reactions, how she was making him feel, what she was doing to him, and it was electrifying. She wanted more, sinking her mouth down, taking as much as she could, but there was too much of him, and she wanted that too. She wanted it, she wanted him to fill her mouth, to give her everything. She was lost in the taste, the scent of him, and she wanted nothing more than to take it all, have him lose control and give himself to her. She felt him shudder, felt his control start to give as his hands came up to hold her head, to guide her, up and down, and then, just as she felt him about to come he pulled her away. �śNo,” she cried, fighting against him, but he pulled her under him, stilling her. �śYou were ready �Ś I wanted it �Ś” �śThe trick, sweetheart, is to get to that place over and over again, pulling back just in time, so that when you get there it knocks you to your knees. I want to be inside you when I come. I want you coming around me, squeezing me, holding me while I fill you. Your mouth is just the beginning. So is mine.” Before she knew what he planned he’d moved down, between her legs, kissing her, open-mouth, sucking at her, and she climaxed immediately, a fierce response that racked her body. She felt his mouth against her belly, his laugh. �śYou’re too easy.” She tried to fight the wave of sensual lassitude that was sweeping over her. �śDid I ruin it? You said we should wait �Ś” He laughed again. �śYou didn’t ruin it. I’ll show you.” He moved away from her, and she reached for him, needing the anchor of his body, but his hard, strong hands were on her, and a moment later he’d turned her over on her stomach, pulling her up on her hands and knees He positioned himself behind her, his hands between her legs, touching the wetness, opening her, so that she pushed back against him, and then it wasn’t his fingers, it was the head of his cock, the head that she’d sucked on, and it was sliding into her, spreading the wetness around, pushing, deeper and deeper, and this time she knew she could have all of it, deep inside her. She sank her head down on the bed with a pleasured moan as his hands caught her hips, and he began to move, sliding deep, moving back out, and each time he pushed he went deeper still, and each time she took him, when she thought she could take no more. She was shaking, clutching the sheets, letting the sensations wash over her. She could do nothing but let him have her, thrusting again and again, each push making her go deeper into the dark, wonderful place, and she couldn’t get enough. �śAm I hurting you?” he whispered against the back of her neck. �śMore,” she said dreamily. He bit her then, gently, and her response rippled through her body. �śMore,” she said again. �śBite me harder.” He did, his hips moving, thrusting into her, holding her, and she could feel something open up, something beyond sex and pleasure, a dark, wicked place that frightened her, but she wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t stop him, pushing her face into the sheets as he took her. His hand slid down her stomach, between her curls, touching her clitoris, pushing her over the edge, and it was too much. She shattered, and she screamed her response, shuddering, as he exploded inside her, holding her against him as he climaxed. She didn’t want him to withdraw, but he did, pulling her down beside him, cradling her against him, his mouth at her ear, kissing her neck, biting her earlobe gently. His heart was pounding against her back, and he whispered in her ear. �śAnd then, when you get carried away and come sooner than you planned, you just wait a little while and then start again.” She was still shaking from the aftermath, her body covered with sweat. She caught his arms and drew them tight around her, keeping herself snug in the safety of his hard, hot body. �śAgain?” she murmured sleepily, her body still tingling. �śAnd again and again and again.” He woke her three times that night, trying to work off the insatiable longing she seemed to bring out in him. She was as aroused as he was, as hungry, and each time she drove him further, until the last, at dawn, when they’d made love almost sweetly, a slow, tender mating as the first light came through the closed shutters and danced across the bed. It was cold then, and he hadn’t wanted to get up and stoke the fire, but she decided she needed to, and he caught her halfway across the room and tossed her back on the bed, covering her, the two of them laughing. When had he laughed in bed? He couldn’t remember. When had he been with a woman, slept with a woman, fucked a woman who felt so perfectly right for him? When in his entire goddamned life had he ever made love before? He looked at her, curled up in his arms, her hand beneath her chin as always. The bruise on her face stood out, and he wished there were some way to make it disappear. There wasn’t. All he could do was hold her, all he could do was love her. For now. �śHungry now,” Dylan announced. He was sprawled on one of the sofas in the great room of the farmhouse, watching a movie on the portable DVD player he’d managed to find. He had the earphones on, so his voice came out as a gentle shout, and Beth didn’t bother answering. She was already in the kitchen, cutting up leeks. She’d found some frozen chicken and defrosted it in the microwave, and she was busy sautéing it, drinking a glass of the wine that MacGowan had brought her, his hand brushing against her when Dylan wasn’t looking. She’d smiled at him, and he’d started to move closer, then glanced at their chaperone and laughed. Later, his eyes said. Soon. They hadn’t gotten out of bed until midday, and it was now getting dark, the night closing in around the old farmhouse. MacGowan had a fire roaring in the huge old fireplace, and she was dressed in his clothes, warm socks and sweatpants and sweatshirt. She liked them. She liked wearing his clothes, wearing him around her. When he sent her away she wasn’t going to give them back. The kitchen was open to the great room, and MacGowan slid back in, rubbing up against her, moving her long hair out of the way so that he could kiss her on the back of the neck, the same place where he’d bitten her, and she felt a shimmer run through her body. She started to lean back, when she felt him freeze. There were three sets of doors leading out from the great room. One of them opened, and a tall, blonde man walked in, the faintest trace of a limp barely slowing him, and his gaze went directly to MacGowan. She knew who he was. He had the same, deadly look to his eyes that MacGowan had, carried himself the same way, but he came in without a gun. This could only be Finn’s boss, the man he’d sworn to kill. �śMacGowan,” the man said in a cultured British accent. �śMadsen,” Finn acknowledged. And a second later one of the kitchen knives was hurtling through the air toward the newcomer with deadly accuracy. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT The knife ended up embedded in the old wood cupboard, sinking deep. The newcomer didn’t look ruffled, though he’d ducked. �śLosing your touch in your old age, MacGowan?” Another knife went flying, and this time the man didn’t move in time, the knife slicing the arm of his coat. He looked down at it meditatively. �śI happen to like this jacket.” �śYou won’t need it when you’re dead,” MacGowan snarled. Beth stood frozen in the kitchen, uncertain what to do, and MacGowan reached for another of the butcher knives. She hit him, hard, with the leeks, so that vegetation went all over the kitchen. �śLeave my knives alone,” she snapped, hoping it hid her terror. �śIf you’re going to kill him do it hand to hand.” The look MacGowan gave her made her blood freeze. And then with a roar he launched himself at the newcomer. �śDude!” Dylan protested, grabbing the DVD player and jumping out of the way as the two men went down in a tangle of furious, thrashing limbs. Someone else had appeared in the door, and Beth looked up, prepared to launch herself at the newcomer if he came armed. To her surprise it was a young man, maybe Dylan’s age, clearly of middle-eastern origin, watching the ensuing melee with resignation. His eyes met Beth’s. �śHey,” he said in greeting. �śHey.” Her voice was weak. Dylan had set down the DVD player, eyeing the newcomer like a junkyard dog surveys someone who’s invaded his turf. At least, that’s what she guessed he looked like, since she’d never seen a junkyard dog, or a junkyard, in her life. Dylan circled around the two of them, coming up to the newcomer. They were about the same height, though Dylan was younger, and the unknown boy was slim and elegant and cynically amused by the battle. �śWho are you?” Dylan wasn’t charmed. �śWho are you?” He had to raise his voice to be heard above the grunts and breaking furniture. �śMahmoud.” He jerked his head toward the battle. �śThat’s my father.” The words must have penetrated the haze of battle. For a moment the man named Madsen lifted his head to stare at the boy in astonishment, long enough for MacGowan to get in a blow hard enough to knock him away from him. For a moment Madsen didn’t move, then shook his head. That’s was all MacGowan needed. He launched himself again, and Beth had had enough. �śStop it!” she shrieked. They paid no attention. Oh, sure, they could react when the kid said something in a normal tone of voice, but her screams were nothing. �śTry a jug of water,” Mahmoud suggested. �śEither that or a frying pan.” �śA frying pan’s probably a better idea,” she snapped, heading back to the kitchen to fill a saucepan with the coldest water she could find. She stomped back over to the men and flung it. MacGowan rose with a roar, lashing out, catching her on the side of the head, and she went flying, ending up on the floor against the sofa, the breath knocked out of her. For a moment MacGowan simply stared at her with horror. A moment later he was beside her, pulling her into his arms, murmuring endearments. �śBaby, I’m so sorry! Speak to me, Beth, tell me you’re all right. Did I hurt you?” She finally managed a deep intake of breath, coughing, and he hugged her so tightly she almost couldn’t breathe again. �śDarlin’, don’t ever step into the middle of a fight again. I could have killed you.” He was kissing her, and she decided being tossed across the room was worth it. She looked at him and managed a woozy smile. �śDon’t worry about it. I’ve had worse. Are you still going to kill him?” Madsen had pulled himself to a sitting position. His mouth was bleeding, one eye was rapidly swelling shut, but he seemed to be in one piece. The cut on MacGowan’s head had opened up again, he had a bloody nose and a split lip, but he seemed surprisingly cheerful. �śNah. He’s not worth it.” �śYou cocksucker,” Peter snarled. Then glanced at Beth. �śI beg your pardon.” Then looked at the boys. �śJesus,” he muttered. �śI think they’ve all heard the word before,” MacGowan said. �śWhat the fuck are you doing here, besides almost getting yourself killed? And who’s the kid?” Madsen glanced at Mahmoud. �śThe kid, apparently, is my son.” MacGowan raised an eyebrow. �śYou didn’t know?” �śI knew. I just didn’t think he did.” �śAdopted,” Mahmoud clarified. �śI come from a long line of Arab warriors who would make mincemeat out of Madsen. But he’ll do.” He clearly wasn’t endearing himself to Dylan, but that was the least of Beth’s worries. She started to get up, but MacGowan still held her, his strong arms cradling her. �śI’d better get back to dinner,” she said, not really wanting to move. She glanced at the newcomers. �śI assume you’re staying?” �śThey’re staying. This place is hell and gone from civilization.” He didn’t look happy about it. �śThanks for the hospitality,” Madsen said sardonically. �śConsidering it’s me who arranged to have this place ready for you. And you need some ice for that eye.” �śSo you do. Up your arse.” Madsen smiled, a blazingly charming smile. �śPiss off.” �śYou still haven’t told me why you came here.” �śWhy, to discuss the terms of your future employment. I suppose you’re going to want back pay for those three years. I was thinking we might call it vacation time.” �śHow about paid sabbatical, you big stupid git?” �śWe can work out the details. Are you coming back to work with us?” �śI haven’t decided yet.” �śI don’t suppose you have anything decent to drink here?” Madsen asked. �śYou’re in charge of the place – you should know.” �śI just wondered if you’d already managed to drink everything in sight, you Irish sot.” �śFuck you.” This was said in the most genial of tones. �śThere’s Guinness in the refrigerator.” �śThere would be,” he said gloomily, getting to his feet. He walked over to MacGowan and held out a hand. Finn just looked up at him for a long, thoughtful moment before taking it, letting him pull him to his feet. �śSorry, mate,” Madsen said in an undertone. As far as Beth was concerned it was a pretty mild apology for three years of hell, but it seemed to satisfy MacGowan. �śAll right, then.” She never would have thought it possible that she would find herself sitting at a table a few hours later, surrounded by men and boys, a bottle of wine passing between the grown-ups and missing the petulant boys entirely. The chicken and leek dish had ended up respectably, and there was a curious camaraderie around the table, as if two of the them hadn’t been determined to kill each other a short while ago. They’d retired to their respective corners and taken the ice packs she’d made up, all the while Dylan and Mahmoud circled each other. If she carried the dog analogy farther she would have said they were sniffing each others’ butts. Or if they were grown males she would have suggested they pull out a tape measure to compare. They went off to their own corner, and she could hear the occasional term drifting back to her in the kitchen as she cooked. �śPussy,” said Dylan. �śWanker,” said Mahmoud. Beth smiled. The dinner was long gone, every spare speck of food scraped from the plates. At least there had been Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer, a fact that astonished her but kept the four bottomless pits busy as the night wore on. She would have left them to wash up, but MacGowan had reached out a lazy hand and pulled her back down, moving her chair closer to his as he did so. She could feel Peter’s curious eyes on them, but he said nothing, and slowly, gradually Beth began to relax. The candles were burning down, the boys were off in a corner arguing, the fire was putting out heat, and she knew in a little while MacGowan would take her hand and lead her back upstairs to his bed. And she knew she’d follow him, to hell and back. It was after midnight. He turned to her and smiled, and then, to her astonishment, he leaned down and kissed her hand. There was a sudden crack as the window behind his head shattered, and then Madsen jumped him, slamming him against the floor. She sat still, looking down at them in amazement, thinking, �śnot again,” when MacGowan reached up and hauled her down beside him, as Madsen crawled across the floor to where Dylan and Mahmoud were sitting, shoving them down as well. �śSniper,” Madsen said. �śYa think?” MacGowan’s voice was laconic. �śGuiding Light or CIA?” �śI’m guessing CIA. La Luz is falling apart, and by now they would have given up on us and looked for something a little easier. The CIA keeps sending people.” �śWord has it they thought Isobel would come out of hiding to intervene to keep you from killing me and she’d bring Killian with her. As if you could,” he added with a snort. �śI can’t figure out why they’d change their minds and decide to kill you. Apart from the fact that anyone who knows you would want to kill you,” he added. �śFuck you.” MacGowan was just as civil. �śI think they’re a little annoyed that I kept killing the people they sent after me.” �śAll of them?” Beth had had enough. Finn pretended he didn’t give a shit when someone died at his hands, but she knew different. �śGo to hell,” she snapped. �śMost of them needed killing.” �śOnly most of them?” �śDon’t push me, Madsen,” Finn snapped. There was silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire. �śWe’re going to have to go find him, you know,” Madsen said. �śI know.” �śWhy?” Beth said, incensed, panic filling her. �śYou go out there he’ll just shoot you.” �śWe stay here and he’ll shoot me,” MacGowan said. There was that light in his eyes again, that one that thrived on danger. �śDylan, you and Mahmoud stay here and make sure Beth is safe.” �śGo to hell,” she said furiously. �śI’m not some pathetic female to be kept locked up �Ś” �śAnd Beth, keep an eye on the boys and make sure they’re safe,” he continued smoothly, as if she hadn’t interrupted. �śNone of you are professionals, and you’ll only be a liability out there on the hillside.” He was right, but it still angered her. �śWait until morning.” �śIt doesn’t work that way, sweetheart,” he said. �śStay down.” He moved away from her without a backwards glance. �śCan you make it up the hill with that bum leg?” he asked Madsen. �śFuck you and the horse you rode in on,” Madsen snapped. �śI can outrun you any day of the week, you fucking sod.” �śIs that any kind of example to set for your son?” MacGowan chided lightly. She could hear Mahmoud’s chuckle. �śI’ve taught him worse,” the boy said. �śI believe it. The three of you, stay down. Don’t try to leave the room – he’ll have every sniper gadget imaginable, including infrared, up there. The CIA always has too much money for toys and not enough for their people, besides which they treat them like shit. Which is why it’s so easy to steal them. Just stay on the floor and we’ll be back.” She couldn’t let him walk away without saying something. What if he never came back? �śIf you don’t come back I’ll kill you.” Not the most lover-like declaration, but it made him laugh. If she made the mistake of telling him she loved him he’d probably take a bullet rather than deal with it. He’d just damned well better come back. �śI promise,” he said. His mouth was on hers, hard, a promise, not a farewell. � A moment later they were gone. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE Barringer sat on the hillside overlooking the farmhouse and blew on his hands. He hadn’t been this cold in years. Sure, it snowed in DC, but there wasn’t this biting wind sweeping down off the mountains, chilling him to the bone. The only gloves he wore were latex, and he found his hands were sweating, making them even colder. He’d missed his shot. For the first time in his life he’d missed his shot, and people like MacGowan didn’t give you second chances. He could comfort himself with the knowledge that it hadn’t been his fault. He’d had MacGowan’s head in his rifle sights for a good long time, savoring the moment. If only the son-of-a-bitch hadn’t suddenly ducked his head this would all be over with. All he’d have to do is head down to the house and take care of the others. He’d been considering it. He’d be much better off with no witnesses left alive. He’d always made his orders clear to his subordinates. He even joked about it. �śDead men tell no tales,” he’d said, and they’d listened. But times had changed, and people paid closer attention, and needless body-counts had repercussions. He’d pretty much decided to take care of MacGowan and the girl and leave the teenager. He wasn’t heartless, after all, just practical. But once again Finn MacGowan had managed to didge death, and Barringer had been so furious it had taken all his famous self-control not to pick up the sniper gun and march down the hill to take them all out. Of course, the sniper gun wasn’t that portable. And marching in on them wasn’t the smartest thing to do. No, he was a crafty old buzzard, and he’d sit and wait. They wouldn’t dare try to come after him – they’d be sitting ducks with the infrared. He could pick them off one by one, then go down to the house and finish things. Forget the kid and sentiment. Scorched earth policy on this one. Enough was enough. He checked the sniper rifle, making sure it was loaded, then sat back. He hadn’t bothered with camouflage, there was no need. No one would come looking for him. No one would dare. He whistled under his breath, softly, cheerfully, an old hymn his mother had loved. He missed his mother. Few men were lucky enough to have such a strong, wise woman as a mother. He’d always told her she’d spoiled him for any other woman, and it was the truth. Even now he still slept with her picture on his bedside table. He hadn’t brought it with him, but then, he hadn’t planned to spend the night. This safe house was a pain and a half to find, off in the middle of nowhere and as far away from major roads as you could get in a backwards country like France. He’d never liked it here. In fact, he never liked it anywhere but home. Home was the place where you knew where you stood, where people believed in the right things. France was just godless. He was humming, then he stopped, squinting into the darkness. Had he heard something? No, it was his imagination. He was hyper-alert, and he would have been able to hear the rustle of dead leaves underfoot, the snapping of a twig, whether it was caused by man or forest animal. There was nothing. He’d cut the girl’s throat, make it look like a crime of passion. It was a shame he hadn’t brought one of his men with him. If the girl was found raped as well as murdered it would look like a crazy person had gotten to them. But he’d lived a celibate life and not even for the good of a mission could he endanger his immortal soul. And he hadn’t had the operatives he’d once had. They’d retired, or been killed, or reassigned. He’d been lucky to scrape together the help he’d gotten so far, which was why he’d had to turn to soldiers for hire. You get what you paid for. The Gargonne brothers had been well-recommended and cheap, the job had been simple, and he’d had to use his own money. But they’d failed, and Barringer couldn’t wait. He should have come himself at that point, but he still had been hoping he could use MacGowan to lure Killian out of hiding. Now all he wanted to do was kill the bastard. He caught himself. Those were words he didn’t use. Ever. Clearly the stress had been too much for him, to make a slip like that. He wouldn’t let it happen again. He sat back on the hillside, tucking his hands inside his jacket. His shoes were muddy – have to buy new ones before he took the plane home, and get rid of these. It wasn’t as if anyone was going to go to a great deal of trouble to solve these particular executions. MacGowan and all the Committee kept deep cover, but even the French would be able to identify the bodies, including the two newcomers. Once they knew MacGowan’s past they would have a good enough answer and they would drop things. One thing about the French, much as he disliked them. They were practical. The lights were off down at the farmhouse, but that made little difference, not with the infra-red. He’d never used the device before, but it worked well. He couldn’t rid himself of the notion that it was cheating. All this technology took the challenge out of the mission. Then again, he’d missed his first shot. He wouldn’t miss his second. There was no sign of movement down there. It had taken him a minute or two to figure out how to turn the infra-red on, and by that time he’d seen two heat sources at one end of the room and one in the middle. He couldn’t find anyone else, and he had the uneasy feeling that there had been others. Where were they? He didn’t want to wait for daylight, when he could get a clear shot once more. He was cold, and he wanted to get the hell out of �Ś he wanted to get out of France and back home. He was too old for this shit. He stopped in confusion. Where had that word come from? He was getting disoriented, probably from stress and lack of sleep. He’d always done his best to maintain a stress-free life in a high-stress job. He valued his health too much to be prey to all the diseases stress could dump on you. He slid his hands inside his coat, touching the small pistol tucked into his belt. It was an old favorite of his. Maybe he’d been wrong to try for a sniper’s shot. Maybe he could lure MacGowan out, finish him, then go in and take care of the others. A double tap to the back of the neck took care of things neatly and thoroughly. Damn, he was cold. He shook himself, distressed. Darn. He wasn’t a man who cursed, ever. He was a good man, a temperate man. He felt the muzzle of the gun up against the back of his head, cold and deadly. �śFuck,” he said. MacGowan moved around to face the man who had been trying to kill him, keeping the gun trained on his head. It was a cloudless night, and he could see the man quite clearly, and he stared at him in surprise. �śJesus, you’re old,” he said. The man frowned. His face was a network of wrinkles, his bushy eyebrows white over his unreadable eyes. MacGowan knew those eyes. He saw them in the mirror, in his friends. The blank eyes of a man who kills for a living. �śDon’t swear,” the old man said automatically. MacGowan laughed, sinking down onto the earth in front of him. �śYou’re the one who said �Śfuck.’ Who are you, old man?” �śVincent Barringer.” He was waiting for recognition to sink in. It didn’t. �śWho’s Vincent Barringer, then?” He’d pissed the old guy off. �śCIA,” he snapped. �śAnd they send senior citizens out on hits nowadays? You’ll have to come up with a better answer than that. Or is it simply that I’m only worth the dregs of the profession.” �śHow dare you!” The old man was seething. �śI’ll have you know I made this business. The CIA wouldn’t exist in its current state without me.” �śI wouldn’t be bragging about it if I were you.” MacGowan kept his eye on the rifle. Vincent Barringer would have a hard time swinging that around to reach him, but he needed to watch for any fast move. He could see no sign of another weapon, but he wasn’t fool enough to take that for granted. He shouldn’t underestimate the man because of his age. Even old cobras were deadly. �śShow some respect, young man.” �śWhy?” he taunted. He was getting beneath the man’s skin. �śNever mind. Just tell me who sent you to kill me, and why? What have I ever done to the fucking CIA?” Barringer’s expression was disapproving. �śNo one sent me. I sent the others. When they failed so miserably I decided to finish it up myself. If you hadn’t moved at the last minute you’d be dead, your brains splattered on the walls.” All over Beth, he thought, keeping his anger at bay. He’d learned to be icy cold in situations like this, when his rage wanted to blaze white hot. �śAh, but isn’t that always the case, old man? Death is always just around the corner, but as long as you move a fraction of an inch at the right time, you survive. So why is it you want me dead?” Vincent Barringer looked at him with clear dislike. �śIt was never my original intention. I simply wanted Sully to take charge of you. Sooner or later Isobel Lambert would surface to make certain you didn’t terminate Peter Madsen, and Killian would come with her. I know I could convince her to hand him over rather than have you killed.” MacGowan shrugged. �śMaybe so. I never met the man. However, I know Madame Lambert quite well, and if she was capable of falling in love then she wouldn’t give up the man for all the tea in China and all the sorry-ass operatives she’d left behind. So why kill me?” �śBecause you piss �Ś you tick me off,” the man grumbled. MacGowan reached for the sniper rifle, and Barringer did nothing to hold on to it. He knew guns, he was adept at dismantling them in the dark, by feel alone, and he did so, quickly and efficiently, feeling oddly light-hearted. This was over, not with a bang but a whimper. He wouldn’t have to kill anyone. The old man would be sent packing with his tail between his legs, Peter would make a few phone calls, and Barringer would be put out to pasture. He was so tired of death. Tired of killing. Even more important, it would make Beth happy. He could give this life to her, like a present, see her radiant smile, the one that banished the shadows from her beautiful blue eyes. He wanted to see that smile on her bruised, gorgeous face, feel her hands on his skin, wanted to lose himself in her sweet, shy body with its fierce response. He wanted to lose himself forever, he wanted �Ś The old man moved so fast he didn’t have time to react. His hand was out, the gun pointing, and for a brief, motionless second MacGowan knew he was a dead man. And then the old man’s head exploded, his arm jerked convulsively, and his corpse collapsed onto the cold ground, the stink of rapidly emptying bowels on the night air. Peter Madsen appeared from above, looking at the dead man with indifference. His limp was more pronounced now, and it had taken him longer to skirt around to the back of the hillside to get here. A good thing. �śWhat the hell’s wrong with you, MacGowan?” he said. �śWere you just going to sit there till he decided to kill you?” Beth. Beth was what was wrong with him. He’d let himself get distracted, and it had almost killed him. He wasn’t going to answer Madsen’s snarky question. �śLooks like you saved my life.” �śSecond time in an hour, mate.” He wanted to tell him he wasn’t his mate. Old habits died hard. If a man who saved your life wasn’t your mate then who the hell was? He uncoiled, rising to his full height. �śWhat are we going to do about him?” �śBury him, I expect. Easiest thing to do. There should be a couple of shovels in the barn.” MacGowan rubbed the back of his neck and thought of Beth. �śI don’t suppose we can get Mahmoud and Dylan to take care of it.” �śNo!” �śDylan’s seen death before. He’s no pussy.” �śMahmoud’s killed people before. They don’t need to be brought in. Beth will wait for you.” It annoyed him that Madsen could see through him so easily. He nodded, stepping out of the way as Barringer’s blood pooled downhill toward him. �śI’ll get the shovels.” He started down the hill, then paused and turned. �śYou do realize I know perfectly well whose fault it was that I was kept prisoner for three years, don’t you?” There was a wary expression in Madsen’s eyes. The moon had come out, and he could see him quite clearly. And then he nodded. �śYes,” he said. �śI know that now. But from thousands of miles away, over the distance of years, I had no idea what you were thinking.” �śI always knew. It was my fault for getting caught, my responsibility. No one else’s. We all go into this business knowing that in the end it’s up to us and no one else. It was easier to blame you.” Madsen grinned then. �śYou mean I didn’t have to save your life twice in one day? Now you tell me.” �śWanker,” MacGowan said. CHAPTER THIRTY Beth didn’t want to move. She lay curled up on the floor of the great room, lit only by the nearly guttered candles and the fire. She could see Mahmoud and Dylan over in the corner. Neither of them seemed particularly distressed that the cozy dinner party had been broken up by a sniper’s bullet but then, Dylan had seen a lot in his young life. If Mahmoud had seen as much then this was simply business as usual. Would she ever learn to take it in stride? To be able to smile up at MacGowan as he took off after a gunman? She was going to have to learn. She’d figured out something while she’d been curled up on the cold, tiled floor of the farmhouse, Finn’s touch, his kiss still lingering on her skin. She’d thought she’d stay with him as long as he’d let her. Take what she could and mourn later. Fuck that. It was going to take dynamite to dislodge her. He might not have realized it yet, but it came to her clearly and solidly. He was hers. To keep. She wasn’t letting him go easily, not without a damned good reason. She wasn’t going to slink away when dismissed with her tail between her legs. She was going to fight for him, tooth and nail. Even if he was the one she had to fight. At one point she thought she heard the distant sound of a gun, and she felt a moment’s panic. It quickly subsided. Whoever had been shot, it wasn’t MacGowan. She would know if something happened to him. He was bone of her bone, flesh of her flesh. She would know. She lost track of time. She could hear Mahmoud and Dylan quite clearly, the insulting banter that was the precursor to male bonding, and she smiled to herself. They were talking about video games, and it might as well be Russian. She closed her eyes and drifted. She sound of the door opening startled her, and she looked up to see MacGowan’s face reflected in the firelight. He looked grim, and there was blood-spatter on his face and clothes. Of course there was. �śDanger’s over. Go to bed, all of you. Mahmoud, Dylan can show you where a spare bedroom is, or you can bunk with him. Peter and I won’t be back for a few hours.” Mahmoud rose with unhurried grace. �śHe’s okay? Genevieve will kill me if anything happens to him.” �śHe’s fine, kid. He said to tell you to get your ass to bed – you’re heading back first thing in the morning.” �śWhy? I like it here.” �śTake it up with your father.” His eyes swiveled around to Beth, but he didn’t meet her gaze. �śGo to bed, Beth. I’ll see you in the morning.” Well, that was a message if ever she heard one, she thought as the door closed behind him. She’d been dismissed. He was probably thinking he could send her on with Madsen. If he was, he was doomed to disappointment. Her muscles screamed when she rose, and she reached over and turned on one of the lights. The boys didn’t seem to be interested in moving, and it had to be at least one in the morning. �śYou two,” she said. �śYou can help me with the dishes.” Both of them looked far more horrified than a sniper’s bullet had warranted. �śI’m tired,” Dylan said, yawning convincingly. �śMacGowan said �Ś” �śGet your asses in the kitchen, boys.” Clean up went fast, with Dylan and Mahmoud complaining and bantering the entire time, and by the time she headed up the narrow stone stairway they had already demolished the last of the Ben and Jerry’s and were starting on some of the frozen pizza in the chest freezer. They were going to be up all night, she realized with a wry smile. She was about ten years older and a hundred years more ancient. She stripped off her clothes, taking a quick hot shower, then wrapped a towel around her and went straight into MacGowan’s bedroom. I’ll see you in the morning, indeed. After all this time he ought to know better. As she slid between the cool sheets she realized with a shock that it hadn’t been all that time. She’d fallen desperately, irrevocably in love in ten days – how absurd was that? But it was a hell of a ten days, and after all they’d been through she knew him better than she had ever known anyone in her life. It wasn’t going to be easy. He might take some convincing. Some bribing. Threatening. Blackmail. Whatever worked. He wasn’t getting rid of her that easily. She dreamed it was raining, then realized she was hearing the sound of the shower. She needed to stay awake, she told herself. If he came in, saw her there and decided to try another room she needed to be awake enough to go after him. But the sound lulled her back to sleep, and it was the feel of the mattress sinking beneath his weight that woke her the next time. He was sitting at the end of the bed, his hair wet from the shower. She’d glanced down, hoping he’d be naked, but he was wearing sweatpants low on his hips. Almost as tasty, she thought sleepily, holding out her hand to him. He didn’t move. �śI told you to go to bed.” �śI did.” �śYou knew what I meant.” �śI did,” she said again. �śWhatever gave you the idea that I was good at following orders?” She was hoping to get a laugh out of him, but his expression remained bleak. �śPeter’s leaving in the morning and you’re �Ś” �śNo,” she said, before he could say the words. �śI’m staying with you.” She couldn’t read the expression on his face. �śDo you know what I do for a living, Sister Beth?” �śYou stopped calling me that, you know. After we made love the first time.” �śI don’t make love, I fuck.” �śAfter we made love,” she repeated firmly. �śSo don’t start now. It won’t work. You can’t distance me by a stupid name.” He stared at her. �śHow many men do you think I’ve killed since I met you?” It was a horrible question, shocking her, but she didn’t back down. �śI’m sure you haven’t killed anyone you didn’t need to.” �śThe man who hit you.” �śI beg your pardon?” �śI didn’t need to kill the man who hit you. He was talking, Taka was going to tie him up and leave him there for his employer to find.” �śWhy did you kill him?” �śBecause he hit you.” He rose, moving over toward the shuttered window. It was growing light, another day with time turned on its head. �śI almost got my head blown off tonight.” �śI know.” He shook his head. �śI mean later. Up on the hill. I’d caught the sniper, and I was holding him for Madsen. I was thinking I didn’t need to kill him, didn’t have to have anyone else’s blood on my hands tonight, and I thought that would make you happy.” �śAnd?” She wasn’t sure if she was going to like what was coming next. �śAnd I got sloppy. Just as I did at the restaurant. You cried out and I dropped my guard and nearly got us all killed. I started thinking about you tonight and the old man got the drop on me. If it weren’t for Madsen I’d be dead. And he was an old man. Ancient.” She tried to figure out what he was telling her, and it wasn’t sounding good. �śWhat you’re saying is I’m a danger to you, right? That because of me you kill when you don’t need to, you make mistakes that you can’t afford to make.” �śYes.” �śAnd you’re telling me you’re kicking me out rather than end up dead.” He turned then, faint surprise on his grim face. �śNo.” �śThen what are you saying?” �śI’m going to need a new job.” For a moment the words didn’t penetrate, when they did she began to tremble, afraid that he might not mean what she thought he meant. He turned and leaned against the wall, instinctively out of range of the window even when there was no danger left. �śI don’t need your money – I’ve got more than enough to support me for years to come while I decide what I want to do. So you don’t need to worry that I’m marrying you for your money.” Okay, that stopped her heart cold. She struggled to pull her hard-won calm back around her. �śMaybe I’ll marry you for your money then.” Some of the grimness left his face, and she realized he’d been worried. Uncertain. �śYou could do,” he said. �śI don’t care why.” �śDon’t you?” �śThese things tend to work better when people are in love.” He looked at her, his eyes sliding over her bare shoulders, the covers clutched in her suddenly nerveless hands. �śDo you even believe in love?” �śYes. I do.” She sighed. �śFor a brilliant man you can be awfully stupid at times. You know I’m desperately, hopelessly in love with you.” He smiled then, a sweet, heart-breaking smile. �śNo, love. Not hopelessly at all.” CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE Peter Madsen stretched back in his chair, staring at the paper thin computer screen absently. He was tired. The boys had been up half the night playing video games, and he’d been the only one kept awake. Genevieve had welcomed a new lost boy into her heart immediately, and little Isobel was as enchanted with Dylan as she was with Mahmoud. His house, once so big and empty, was now bursting at the seams, and he was going to have to put an addition and at least one more bathroom in at this rate. Sooner or later MacGowan and Beth were going to return from their honeymoon, though he wasn’t in any hurry to have them back. The only true love he was interested in was the light shining from Genevieve’s eyes, even as she tore a strip off his hide for taking off. Her rage had been a joyous relief, rather than the cold rejection he’d been afraid of. And making up had been such delicious fun, even if it meant sneaking around so they wouldn’t be caught by teenage boys or demanding toddlers. No one had ever asked about Barringer. He’d checked his resources – the CIA had taken his disappearance with unflattering haste, the file closed. Agent presumed dead. He wasn’t the only closed file. Killian had been declared dead as well. Officially, he had never existed in the first place, but that case was terminated as well. People might still search for Serafin the Butcher, the paunchy, balding terrorist with the bad teeth and a record of ineptness. No one would be looking for Killian. He was about to switch off his computer and get his car for the long drive home. He liked commuting – it was an hour of peace and quiet where no one could reach him. It was pizza tonight, Genevieve had announced, and even though she made her own crust and sauce he was getting a little tired of the boys insatiable appetite for the stuff. Maybe he’d take Genevieve out to eat while they shoveled pizza in their mouths. Maybe they’d take a detour to his favorite hotel. He reached forward to switch off the screen when a photo came up out of nowhere, a newspaper clipping. Dr. and Mrs. Thomas Kelly of the University of New South Wales, where Dr. Kelly lectured in political science and Mrs. Kelly served on the Board of Overseers attended a fundraiser in Brisbane. Killian looked very much as he’d last seen him, tall, thin, a little tanner, a little older. Isobel was the revelation. For the first time she looked her age, years younger than the perfect dragon she’d always presented to the world. Her hair was long, loose and curly, streaked by the sun, and her smile was blazingly bright. And in her arms was a sleeping baby. Dr. and Mrs. Thomas Kelly and family. The phosphors died away, and Peter Madsen stared at the blank screen for a moment with a bemused smile. And then he switched it off and went home to his loving wife and his menagerie, at peace with the world. ACKNOWLEDGMENTSFirst, I want to thank all the readers who loved the world of ICE, and wanted more just as much as I wanted to write more. I couldn’t leave Finn MacGowan stuck in the wilds of South America.And I want to than my intrepid proof-readers: my goddaughter, Heather Schmidt, who gave me excellent insight, and my ninety-seven year old mother, who caught all my typos during my nasty love scenes and thought there were a few too many �śfucks.” She didn’t know �ścrushing on” and �śhaving a jones for” but she caught all sorts of other stuff, thank heavens. I couldn’t have done it without either of them.And as always thanks to my wonderful agents, Jane Dystel and Miriam Goderich, who perform miracles.Table of ContentsCHAPTER ONECHAPTER TWOCHAPTER THREECHAPTER FOURCHAPTER FIVECHAPTER SIXCHAPTER SEVENCHAPTER EIGHTCHAPTER NINECHAPTER TENCHAPTER ELEVENCHAPTER TWELVECHAPTER THIRTEENCHAPTER FOURTEENCHAPTER FIFTEENCHAPTER SIXTEENCHAPTER SEVENTEENCHAPTER EIGHTEENCHAPTER NINETEENCHAPTER TWENTYCHAPTER TWENTY-ONECHAPTER TWENTY-TWOCHAPTER TWENTY-THREECHAPTER TWENTY-FOURCHAPTER TWENTY-FIVECHAPTER TWENTY-SIXCHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENCHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTCHAPTER TWENTY-NINECHAPTER THIRTYCHAPTER THIRTY-ONEACKNOWLEDGMENTS