by Nora Roberts
"You need to eat, darling." But she shook her head as she lifted the tray. "It helps keep up your strength." Gillian dumped the contents of both plates under the bed. "And you need to sleep, as well." Looking around for a likely place, she poured the milk on a pile of dirty linen in the corner. Caitlin watched her with wide eyes. "Come on, baby, try to eat a little more."
When Caitlin pressed a hand to her mouth and giggled, Gillian nearly wept from the sight of it.
"That's it. Now drink your milk." Grinning with her, Gillian climbed into bed again.
A trace of mischief lit Caitlin's eyes. "I don't like milk."
"It's good for your bones. You wouldn't want soft bones, would you?" Gillian cuddled with her. Putting her mouth against the child's ear, she whispered. "They put something in the food to make you sleep. You have to pretend to sleep so they don't find out we didn't eat it. Do just what I say. If one of the men comes back, lie very still so they don't know we've fooled them."
Caitlin nodded. "Don't go away, Aunt Gillian."
"No, I won't go away."
Gillian cradled the child in her arms. In the dark, she stared at the ceiling and planned.
Sunset came with brilliance. The mountains went pink with it, and the sand gold. In the last of the light, Breintz changed into the driver's clothes after fixing the tire while Trace loaded weapons on the floor of the car.
They worked in silence now. Everything had been said. As the sun dipped below the high peaks, Trace stretched out on the floor in the back and Bieintz climbed behind the wheel. They headed east for the last time.
Breintz began to whistle tunelessly as they approached. As Trace had, he noted the sentries on the ridges above the building. Following Trace's directions, he punched out the code and waited for the door to lift up.
As he stopped the car inside, he lowered his head to conceal as much of his face as possible. A guard approached as the door closed behind him.
"You made good time," he said, just before Breintz brought an elbow to his throat. Trace was out of the car and leading the way to the lab.
They pulled up short some twenty feet later. Two more guards were dealt with in utter silence. Trace knew they would have to move quickly once they broke into the lab. There the cameras would give them away. Trace shrank back out of sight as Breintz moved forward, weaving slightly.
"A cigarette," he demanded in Arabic, keeping his voice a bit slurred. "What good is wine without tobacco?"
As one of the guards broke into a grin, Trace and Breintz moved quickly. Not a shot was fired.
"You still have a light touch," Breintz commented as Trace slipped the key into the lock.
"And yours has improved." Taking a deep breath, Trace opened the door. "Keep working," he said in a low voice to Flynn the moment he spotted him. "Keep as much of your back as possible to the cameras."
Despite the order, Flynn set down his tongs and test tube. "You." There was a look in his eyes that told Trace he'd been pushed almost to his limit.
"For God's sake, if you want to get your daughter out, keep working. I don't want surveillance to see anything unusual until the last minute."
"Push it along," Breintz said mildly as he kept a lookout.
"Pick up the damn test tube, do something scientific. I'm ISS."
Flynn picked up the tube, but in a grip that threatened to shatter it. "You're a pig."
"Maybe, but I'm here to get you and the kid—and your idiot sister—out of here. Keep working. Do you want to see a goddamn badge?" Trace cast a look at the first camera. "Just do what I say, do it slow, and do it right."
Something in his tone made Flynn obey, but the strain was still evident. "I thought you were French."
"I'm as Irish as you are, Fitzpatrick," Trace said reassuringly, and grinned. "And, by the saints," he said, dropping into the easy brogue of his alter ego, Colin, "we'll be gettin' out and blowin' this place to hell."
Maybe it was simple desperation, but Flynn responded. "When we do, the first bottle's on me."
"You're on. Now move as far as you can to the left, the edge of camera range. Go after those papers."
Flynn set down the tube and obeyed. With his back to the cameras, he looked over the papers as if he were checking his equations. "How did you find us?"
"Your sister had a lot to do with it. If you've got half the guts she does, we're going to make it. Now keep reading. Something doesn't check out. Take out your pencil like you're going to make notes. I'm going to blow the camera out. When I do, you run. Breintz'll take you out while I go up for the kid and Gillian. Now!"
Trace blew the camera out with a single blast. When Flynn passed through the door, both agents had their weapons ready. "Give me twenty minutes," Trace said to Breintz.
"I'm not going without Caitlin."
"I'll get her." Trace shoved Flynn in Breintz's direction. "You're the key. If they get their hands on you again, none of us are going to make it."
"She's my child." Weariness and despair had frozen into icy determination. "I won't leave her behind."
"You're her brother, all right," Trace muttered. And time was running out. He shoved a rifle into Flynn's hands. "Can you use it?"
Flynn felt a ray of hope bloom like a sunrise. "With pleasure."
"Say a prayer to whatever gods work best," Trace told Breintz.
"I already have."
Gillian heard the door open and lay as silent and still as Caitlin. The child had truly fallen asleep, a natural sleep. Gillian gripped the pitiful weapon in her hand. During the hour she'd lain in the dark, she'd tried to accept that Trace was gone. They'd discovered the deception, killed him and kidnapped her.
She wanted to mourn for him, to grieve, to rage. But first she would have her revenge, and her family's freedom.
With her eyes half open, she saw the man bend over her. Gillian held her breath and swung. The edge of the plate caught him full force on the bridge of the nose. She heard the grinding break, saw the spurt of blood. While he was blinded by it, she lifted the other plate and struck again. He staggered but grabbed at her arm as he went. Though her arm twisted painfully, she remembered what her neighbor in New York had told her.
Go for the eyes.
This time he yelped. The butt of his gun slammed into her side as he tried to bring it into place. And then she was fighting for her life.
It was through a red wave of fear and fury that she heard Caitlin begin to whimper. As she had in the nightmare. At the sound of it, Gillian fought like a madwoman. She gripped the rifle. So did he. It exploded with the most terrible sound she'd ever heard.
Then she was standing, holding it, and the man, whose face she had never seen, was at her feet.
"Aunt Gillian!" Caitlin climbed out of bed to grasp Gillian's legs. "Is he dead? The bad man, is he dead?"
"I think—I don't know." She swayed, as though the drug had taken over again. "I don't know. We have to go. We have to go now."
Then she heard the gunfire, close and coming closer. Shoving the child behind her, Gillian lifted the rifle again. Her hands were slick with sweat as she prepared to protect her own.
They'd found the first guard faster than Trace had counted on. The alarm was out, and if it hadn't been for luck and a brutal frontal attack they would have been cornered. They'd reached the second level.
"I'll hold them here." Breintz took his position behind a column at the top of the stairs. "Find the woman and the child."
Trace switched to the grenade launcher and sent three over the rail. "Keep down," he ordered Flynn, and began to move. He broke open a half-dozen doors, then saw the one that was already open. With his back pressed against the wall, he gripped the gun in both hands and took two deep breaths before swinging into the opening, prepared to fire. Gillian's bullet grazed his left shoulder. He was too shocked to feel the sting.
"Good God, woman."
"Trace!" With the gun lowered, she sprang forward. "Oh, Trace, I thought you were dead."
"Damn n
ear." He brushed his fingers over his sleeve, disgusted when they came away red.
"Flynn." With a sob, she fell against him.
"Da!" Caitlin flew across the room and was scooped up by her father.
"Family reunions later," Trace told them. "Let's move. Breintz!" Trace sent another few rounds into the first level to cover the agent. "Get them out. I'll keep everyone busy." He unhooked the Uzi he'd taken off one of the guards. "Fifteen minutes," he said between his teeth. "Send it up in fifteen minutes."
"I would prefer to see you again."
"Yeah." Trace swiped sweat from under his eyes. He dashed back toward the stairs, sending bullets flying, before Gillian realized what he was doing.
"No! No, he can't!"
But he could. Gillian knew that he had to face his destiny, just as she did. "I'm sorry, Flynn." She kissed him quickly. "I have to stay with him. Go quickly." Then she was racing behind Trace.
He set off a series of explosions that not only cleared the stairs but nearly obliterated them. He was halfway down when he heard the noise at his back. For the second time, he turned on Gillian.
"What in the name of God—?"
"You know they have a better chance if we separate. I'm staying with you. That was the deal."
It was too late to send her back. If he'd had even seconds to spare, he would have shouted at her. Instead, he grabbed her arm and hauled her along with him.
They'd caused considerable damage, Trace saw with satisfaction. And more confusion. The general was out, waving and firing the TS-35. As he furthered the damage to his headquarters and added to the casualty toll among his own men, he ordered them to stand and fight the army of invaders. The unexpected attack appeared to have cut the bonds on his last hold on sanity. Trace lifted his gun. The general fell before he pressed the trigger.
"Fool." Kendesa stood over the gold-cloaked body. "Your time has passed." Bending, he retrieved the American-made weapon. "What you have cost us." He whirled to shout at the scattering soldiers. "To the front entrance, idiots!" he ordered. "Bar the front entrance!"
Too late, Trace thought grimly as he stepped out from cover. "You've lost, Kendesa. And the fool is you for believing that the woman duped me when it was I who duped you."
"Cabot."
"When it suits me."
Kendesa's expression changed. "II Gatto, at last."
"Definitely at last. Our business is finished, Kendesa, and this is personal."
Perhaps he would have killed him where he stood. He'd been prepared to. But before it could be put to the test, the general raised his handgun. "Traitor." He wheezed as he fired. Kendesa staggered back, but didn't fall. Again Trace aimed.
This time, heaven interfered.
The ground shook, violently. Trace's first thought was that Breintz had set the charges early. He grabbed Gillian's hand and started to run. Another tremor had them both ramming into the rock wall.
"Earthquake," Trace said as he fought for breath. "A teal one. The whole place is going to go."
"They got out, didn't they?"
"They had time." It was all the hope he could give her.
They raced down one passage, only to have it cave in in front of them. Gillian heard screams as the dust blinded her. Without pausing for breath, Trace pulled her down another. "There's got to be more than one way out. We won't make it to the front." Again he went with instinct and headed for the general's quarters. "He'd have an escape route," he said as he blasted the lock off the door. Pulling Gillian inside, he went for the obvious. "Look for a button, a mechanism," he shouted as he searched the bookcase. He could hear stone falling from great heights. Something was burning, and the fire was close. With both hands, he shoved aside books. Then he found it. The panel slid out.
The corridor beyond was narrow and vibrated from the tremors underground. But it was unguarded. Praying his luck was still holding, he shoved her through. In seconds they were out in the night.
Men ran and shouted, scattering. Behind them the building was splitting apart, huge chucks of rock tumbling down with a noise that seemed impossible. Then the noise grew greater with the first explosion. Without bothering with cover, Trace ran. No one came after them.
It seemed to Gillian that they ran for miles. He never let her stop to rest, and she didn't ask to. Then, like a shadow, Bieintz rose from a rock.
"So we do meet again."
"Looks like." Trace dragged Gillian over the rocks to the makeshift camp.
"The gods made it unnecessary for me to complete our plan." With his usual calm, Breintz handed Trace night-vision glasses. Lifting them, Trace focused in the direction they had come from.
"Not much left."
"And Kendesa?"
"The general took care of him." Trace lowered the glasses again. "If not, your gods did. Hammer's smashed." He handed the glasses back. "Looks like a promotion for you."
"And you."
"I'm finished." He sat with his back to a rock and watched Gillian gather her family to her.
"I owe you." Flynn sat with his daughter curled on his lap and his sister close against his side.
"Just doing a job."
"In any case, I owe you. You have a name?"
Trace accepted the bottle Breintz handed him. The long swig he took had a kick he could have lived on for a week. "O'Hurley."
"Thank you, O'Hurley, for my daughter."
Caitlin reached up to whisper in her father's ear. Then, at his murmur, she rose and walked to Trace. "My da says you saved us."
"Sort of." She was thinner than in the snapshot, and her eyes were too big in her pale face. Unable to resist, Trace reached up and tugged on one of her tangled red locks. "It's all done now."
"Can I hug you?"
Nonplussed, he shifted his shoulders. "Yeah, sure."
She cuddled against him and, with the resilience of childhood, giggled. "You smell," she said, not unkindly. "I guess I smell, too."
"Some."
As she pressed a wet kiss to his cheek, he held her, and his eyes drifted to Gillian.
"Just little pieces," she murmured to him. "All we can change are little pieces. But it's worth it." Because she was afraid she would weep, she rose to walk a little way into the shadows. She heard him come up behind her.
"I know you want to know how I got there and what happened, but I can't talk about it now."
"All right. It's all right." He started to reach for her hair, then dropped his hand again. "We have to get going. There'll be a plane in Sefrou to fly us to Madrid. The ISS will take care of you."
"I thought they'd killed you." It was anger, rather than tears, that sparkled her eyes as she turned. "I thought you were dead, and all you can talk about is planes and the ISS?"
Trace touched the blood drying on his shoulder. "The only hit I took was from you."
"Oh, God, I'd forgotten." She came to him quickly. "I might have killed you."
"Not with that aim."
"You're wrong." She wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. "I killed a man. With my own hands." She looked down at them now and shuddered. "I didn't even see his face, but I killed him."
"And you think you can't live with that." He cupped her chin in his hand so that she would look at him. Her face was filthy, and there was blood on it from a scrape along her cheekbone. "You can, Gillian. You can live with a lot of things. Believe me, I know."
"Trace, would you do something for me? One more thing?"
"Maybe."
Still cautious, she thought, and almost laughed. "If it wouldn't put you out too much, would you hold me? I don't want to cry, and if you hold me I won't."
"Come here," he murmured, and wrapped his arms around her. It was over, he thought, and she was safe. Maybe, just maybe, they had some time. "Cry if you want. It doesn't hurt anything."
He was warm and hard against her, and the night was quiet again. "I don't need to now."
Chapter Twelve
Contents - Prev
“After everyt
hing we've been through, I don't understand how you can be nervous over this."
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not nervous." Trace yanked at the knot of his tie again. As far as he was concerned, Cabot was dead, and the ties should have gone with him. "I don't know why in the hell I let you talk me into this."
Enormously pleased with herself, Gillian sat in the rented car as they drove away from the Los Angeles airport. "You gave me your word we could go anywhere I wanted after things were settled again. And where I wanted to go was your sister's wedding."
"A shabby trick, Doc, after I saved your life."
It was precisely because of that that she was determined to save his, or at least a small part of it. "A man's word is his bond," she said solemnly, then laughed when he swore at her. "Oh, Trace, don't be cranky. It's a beautiful day, and I don't think I've ever been happier in my life. Did you see how wonderful Flynn and Caitlin looked when we left them? I can hardly believe it's all over, really over."
He relented enough to put a hand over hers. "It's over. Your brother and the kid can go back to Ireland and put all this behind them. With Husad and Kendesa gone and Hammer's headquarters destroyed, they've got nothing to worry about."
"Addison wasn't pleased about the Horizon project being destroyed, or Flynn's refusal to try to duplicate it."
Trace gave a short laugh. Maybe he'd been wrong about scientists—or at least some of them. Fitzpatrick had stood toe-to-toe with Addison, turning aside offers, pleas, bribes and threats. Gillian had taken the same stand, saying nothing about her memory and leaving Addison and the ISS with a handful of doctored notes. For better or worse, Horizon was finished.
"Addison wasn't pleased about much. He grumbled for an hour over losing a crate of weapons, including a TS-35."
"I think he was more displeased to be losing one of his best agents."
Trace lifted a brow. "I don't think he'd put it that way."
"But he did, to me." She ran a hand down the skirt of her dress. She'd fallen in love with the rich green silk. It was a bit more elaborate than her usual style, but, after all, this was Chantel O'Hurley's wedding. "He was hoping I could convince you to stay 'on board,' as he put it."
It was hard not to feel a nasty little streak of satisfaction at that. "What did you tell him?"
"That he was mad as a hatter. Oh, look how tall the palms are. In New York it's probably cold and sleeting."
"I guess you miss it?"
"Miss what?" She turned to look at him. "New York? Oh, I haven't really thought about it. I suppose everyone at Random-Frye thinks I've dropped off the edge of the earth." She sighed, content. "In some ways I think I have."
"I guess Arthur Steward wonders."
"Dear old Arthur," Gillian said with a smile. "I suppose he might, at the odd moment." It didn't surprise or even annoy her that he knew about Arthur. After all, she knew about his squashed beetle. "I'll have to send him a postcard."
"You'll be back in a couple of days."
