"I have the other one," he said. When Acasia stood silent, staring at it, he lifted it from the box and fitted it to the door. "I did a little work up here while you were gone, added locks and alarms, put it on a separate security monitor…. If you try to pick this lock, an alarm goes off down below. There’s also an alarm box—" he pushed the door open and drew her inside "—in the kitchen wall." He opened a spring–locked panel and punched in the code.
"This is just like the house—you get fifteen seconds before it goes off." He came back to Acasia, who was staring at the black potbellied stove that sat in its corner niche, sporting a big red bow. Sections of chimney sat on the floor next to it. "I haven’t had time to finish the chimney yet, but I will, and we’ve never talked about furniture, so I didn’t bring any up. I don’t know what you like."
She blinked full, tearless eyes at him. At the same time that he stole the last of her independence, he strengthened it. What was she going to do?
"I—" she began, and gestured inadequately.
Cameron took her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm before placing the key there and folding her fingers over it. "The drafting table is perfect," he said softly. "Thank you."
The first time she’d known she wanted him as more than a friend had been something like this. He’d thrown pebbles at her window and taken her out in his father’s sailboat in the middle of the night to watch a meteor shower. They’d known one another for two months, and he’d already stolen her heart, but that was the first time she remembered noticing silly, disconnected things about him—like how big his hands were and how he held things. The way his smile always started in the tension line in his left cheek and drifted right.
The way he looked at her when she talked, giving her his full attention, as though there were nothing more important in his life. It was the same way he was looking at her now, as though he wanted to fill himself with her. She felt the same way she had then, too: lost and found; frightened. There were so many things she’d left unsaid, so many things she might not get the chance to say.
"Cam, I don’t think you should—"
He put a finger to her lips. "Take this at face value, Casie. I’m not asking for anything I can’t offer in return."
Acasia closed the distance between them to throw her arms around him and bury her face in his neck. "Oh, Cam."
His arms tightened around her more slowly, as if savoring the journey and anticipating the result. Acasia warmed him, fitted him, enticed him. The hug grew fierce. "I missed you."
"I missed you, too." Her lips moved against his skin without sound. With a sense of dread, she eased herself out of his arms. Time to play truth and consequences. Do it fast. Get it over with.
"Dom’s officially been linked to your car bombing." She talked quickly, without stopping for breath. "The FBI captured three members of what appears to be a six–man squad yesterday in Virginia, just before I got in. They sent pictures and résumés over to see if I recognized any of them. I’ve had dealings with two of the men they didn’t catch, and can name the third. They’ve apparently separated and gone underground, which could make them hard to get at."
She scrubbed her hands over her hips and moistened her lips. "They’re being paid for you, Cam. Half in advance, half on delivery. They’re not going to quit."
There. She’d taken half of Julianna’s advice. Now what?
She looked at the floor, waiting for his response. Cameron lifted her chin.
"I wondered if you’d tell me," he said. "I got my own call yesterday. The way I heard it, though, I’m not the only one they’re being paid for. You’re on the list, too." He watched her swallow. She wasn’t the only one hand–delivering truths. He released her chin. "I’ve also been advised that my best avenue of defense may be to cancel the contracts at the sources—plural. Meaning Sanchez and Mansour." His mouth twisted. "I’m wealthy enough to do that, Casie."
"No." Her denial was immediate and involuntary. "Byrd’s not worth—"
"Byrd? I stopped caring whether or not I ‘avenged’ Byrd yesterday." He traced the line of her jaw. "But you? You’re worth that much to me."
Oh, God, just what every woman wanted, right? A man who’d kill for her…
"If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not be."
"Too late."
Acasia’s stomach knotted. He wouldn’t. No, of course not. He was too honorable. Too reasonable. Too gentle. A gentle man. A very wealthy gentleman. Who hadn’t fallen off the turnip truck yesterday. Who’d become a billionaire in his own right before he was thirty–five. Who couldn’t have gotten where he was without playing a little hardball. Or possibly a lot. What did she know?
She looked at him and read the truth in his eyes. He would. For her. "You haven’t—"
"Not yet."
"Then don’t. For me. For Fred. For the hostages I might have to—"
She bit her tongue, but not in time. Cameron caught her arm. "The hostages you might have to what?"
Despite her best intentions, the truth didn’t come easily when every instinct she possessed told her to lie. "Locate."
Cameron dropped her arm and went still. "You’re going after them."
"The subject came up."
"And?"
"I’m here, aren’t I?"
He went tight. Every muscle, every nerve, yanked beyond control. She had a habit of straining his resolve whenever he thought it was strongest. He didn’t want to do what he found himself doing, but it was as if someone had suddenly overloaded all the connections between his brain and his heart, short–circuiting his commands. "You’re here. What the hell kind of answer is that? Be straight with me for once, Casie. I’ve earned the right to expect that much from you."
"And what have I earned the right to expect from you?" Acasia faced him squarely. He had always known exactly how to push the button on her temper. "A little more angst every time I walk through your door? A little trust? Maybe some respect? A handful of consistency? What do you want to do, pat me on the head and send me out to play in your rose garden for the rest of my life?"
He was halfway across the room, headed for the exit, but she couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t.
"There are thorns in that garden, Cam. What are you going to do when I prick my finger? Tear out all the roses, or shut me in a sterile room and feed me tea and cookies off a tray? That’s not what you promised me when I agreed to this."
He didn’t even look at her when he reached the door and opened it.
"Don’t you run away from me, damn you! Don’t—"
The tremors from the impact of the solid door hitting its solid frame receded at about the same time reaction melted the muscles in Acasia’s legs. She sat down on the window seat and tucked her knees tight to her chest, wrapping her arms around them to stop their quivering. She’d done it again, shoved him away at the very moment when she most wanted to share the truth, to compromise. But he’d been shoving, too.
She glared at the door. Paolo had been right. Her own initial instincts had been right. She didn’t belong in Cameron’s world any more than he belonged in hers. But Jules said to stick with it. And Acasia’s heart said, "Like glue."
She left the cabin and started down the mountain after Cameron. He was well ahead of her, crossing the field toward the walled garden behind the house, a lone dark figure against the green and gold meadow, easy for any of the three men whose pictures she had in her file to pick off. She picked up speed. He shouldn’t be out here alone. He shouldn’t be out here at all.
"Cam!" She caught up with him as he entered the garden. "Cam…"
"I swear to you, Casie, I thought I had a handle on this, but I don’t." He shook his head. "Yesterday… this morning… less than an hour ago… I knew I could live with it, no matter what you told me you might have to do, even if the only way you had to help someone was to go into Zaragoza for him. I told myself I could handle it. But I can’t."
"It takes time to—"
"What comes next with you? A face–to–face between you and Sanchez? A heart–to–heart between you and Dom? Because I know you. If you think that’s the only way to resolve this, that’s what you’ll do. And not knowing… I couldn’t even send people to help you, because there would be too much risk of them missing Mansour and hitting you."
What could she say? "I thought we dealt with this the other morning."
"Yeah, we did. But that was before I knew Mansour’s crew has a hit list, before someone else got killed for going hands–on on one of your
cases
. Now I have to deal with both those things, along with the reality of your best intentions."
For a moment Acasia listened to a pair of birds chirping beyond a hedge. Then she spoke. "I told you last night, what comes next is a real waiting game. Right now, I’m waiting for a call. After that, maybe—maybe—I go sit in a hotel room someplace where no one will see me unless I want to be seen, drink lots of coffee, order plenty of room service, get stiff from inactivity, do isometrics to relieve the tension and keep one hand on the phone at all times." She rubbed his arm. "Then maybe I go to Zaragoza—or not. I don’t know."
"I know you, Casie. No risk is too great, no promise unbreakable, if it interferes with your sense of duty. All you need is an excuse. I don’t like living with the fear that if something happened to you, my whole world will be shattered. I need more from us than hello and goodbye. I want more of us than what we share in bed."
"So do I, Cam."
The admission was simple but eloquent. Cameron reached out to stroke her face, then crooked an arm around her neck and gathered her close. "If you were business," he said, "there wouldn’t be any problem. I’d gamble on you all the way—and make a mint. But you’re not. I don’t want to risk you and lose."
"I know. You frighten me, too. You get so close to me, sometimes I can’t breathe." She tipped her face back. "Would it help at all if I told you that, if I have to go into Zaragoza, I don’t plan to be alone, and that Dominic should be way too busy to bother with me?"
"How?"
Acasia shrugged. "Did I ever tell you about how I delivered Angelo Zamoya’s son?"
"Angelo Za—" Stunned silent, Cameron stared at her. "
Lucifer
? You delivered the devil’s son?"
"Zaragoza is a small country. Everybody knows everybody. He owes me one."
"You keep in touch?" The question was incredulous even though he already knew the answer.
"Oh, you know, we run across one another from time to time…."
"And what does he want from you?"
"Oh, well…" she began, and then her phone buzzed. She started automatically toward the muted sound, then hesitated, glancing back at Cameron.
"Get it," he said quietly. "I’ll keep."
Acasia studied him for a moment longer and caught up the phone, expecting Paolo, finding Jules.
"I’m here in the security room," Julianna said without preamble. "A ham operator out of Kingston picked up a distress call from Fred yesterday. Sounds like Zaragoza’s breaking up. He asked for medical relief, an Evac unit and supplies. They’re getting a huge influx of refugees into the village, and the fighting has shifted north. The ham said contact broke before Fred finished. We tried raising him ourselves, but no luck. Paolo tapped an in–country intelligence source who said Mansour has been visible and active in the area."
Acasia sagged against the desk and reached for Cameron. "Fred’s in trouble." Cameron cupped her shoulders and touched the line of her jaw, and she crumpled the front of his shirt in her hand. Into the phone she said, "When can we leave?"
"Chopper’s down front."
"I’ll be there in fifteen. Where’s Paolo?"
"Handling the kidnapped soccer player negotiations. They’re going sour. He says Godspeed and, as long as we’ll be in the neighborhood, find the journalists and bring them back with us."
"He doesn’t want much."
"No kidding," Julianna muttered and hung up.
Acasia cradled the phone and turned back to Cameron. "Jules is here."
He squeezed her shoulders. "I heard."
She looked up at him. "I have to go. Fred radioed for help yesterday, and no one’s been able to raise him since. I know what I said, but I have to do this. I have to make sure he’s all right. If he is, I can help him—"
"What do you need to take with you? Food, medicine, blankets—what else? Equipment, a radio, clothing, chopper fuel… funds." He pointed at the android cell phone on his desk. "Let me have my phone. I’ve got contacts in Caracas. If you go through there I can have a care package waiting."
"Cam—"
"You’d better get changed."
"About what we were talking about… You could come."
Cameron stroked her cheek, then kissed her hair. "Thanks for the confidence," he said, "but no. Fred’s your brother, and you know the territory. You have to go. I’m good at details and arrangements. I can do more to help you from here."
A volley of emotions—gratitude, worry, hesitation, disbelief—crossed Acasia’s face. Her uneasy inner alarm told her that he had given in too easily, told her, too, that there was nothing she could do about it except pray. "Cam, I—"
Cameron shushed her, smiling grimly. "Stay away from Mansour, Casie."
"That may not be easy."
"Try." He planted a brusque kiss on her mouth and turned to the phone. "Do what you have to do and get out. Fast. And come home."
"You too," she said softly to his back. "You too…"
T
HE HAZE HUNG heavily over Zaragoza, like steam on a windowpane, impairing sight.
From her seat beside Julianna in the big transport helicopter Cameron had made sure was waiting for them in Caracas, Acasia stared moodily ahead, craning her neck to find a better view. Impatient because there was none, she jerked at her headset to reposition it and shoved irritated fingers through her hair. Without activity, she felt worse than useless.
"Is it permanent?" Julianna yelled at her.
Acasia flung a glance in her direction, then resumed trying to see through the haze. "Is what permanent?"
"This Joan of Arc complex of yours."
"What are you talking about, Joan of Arc?" Acasia snapped. "I’m in a remarkably foul mood right now, Jules. Don’t mess with me."