Anne Stuart's Out-of-Print Gems

by Anne Stuart

  Armstead cocked the gun and pointed it, not at Suzanna’s knee, but directly toward her belly. Slaughter was already struggling upward, and Daniel had less than a second to decide.

  He didn’t decide. He acted. Armstead fired the gun, Daniel shoved Suzanna to the floor, and in the millisecond before Armstead could fire again, he was a human torch.

  He didn’t even have time to scream.

  Suzanna was in his arms, her face hidden against his chest, before the ash and cinder collapsed in a heap on the floor, the charcoaled remains of General Jack Armstead.

  “Oh, my God,” Slaughter moaned in horror. He’d managed to struggle to his feet, but his color was still white from pain and shock. “I’m outta here,” he muttered. And he took off at a dead run, before Daniel could move.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, keeping her face turned away from what little was left of Armstead. He steered her out the door, and she went, shaking slightly, quiet, as docile as he’d ever seen her.

  By the time they reached the front lobby there was no sign of Slaughter, and Daniel had no doubt he was gone for good. “Damn,” he said, and Suzanna raised her head, following his gaze.

  Bright white headlights were spearing their way across the darkened parking lot, pulling to a stop inches away from the abandoned Jaguar. She could see the shape of the familiar white Cadillac, and she knew with crushing certainty just who had arrived to rescue her.

  “It’s Uncle Vinnie,” she said, watching as he approached the front entrance, flanked by Guido and Vito, his two huge nephews who were probably no more his nephews that she was his niece.

  Daniel released her. “Go talk to him,” he said smoothly. “Get him away from here.”

  She started to move, then halted, turning back to stare at him. “What about you?”

  “I have to see to a few things.”

  “You’re not going after Slaughter, are you?”

  “No. He’s lost Armstead, and he has to live with his own panic. That’s the worst punishment for a killing machine like him. He’s ruined.”

  “Then what are you going back for?”

  “I have to make sure the research is destroyed. I don’t want any trace of bi-level molecular transfer left.”

  “Why?” she protested. “After all your work…”

  “It’s too dangerous. There are too many men like Osborn and Armstead. Men who wouldn’t think of using me, of using you to get to me. You won’t be safe—hell, the world won’t be safe—until it’s gone.”

  She didn’t move. Guido was holding the door for Uncle Vinnie, but she didn’t even glance their way. “You can’t,” she said. “You can’t get rid of all of it. Part of it’s in your brain. You can’t…”

  “Yes,” he said, very gently. “I can. Take her with you, Uncle Vinnie. Don’t let her back in this place.”

  “No!” Suzanna shrieked, but Vinnie was quick to move. Vito caught her up in his burly arms, and she was no match for him. He carried her out of the building, Guido following, as she screamed and cried, shouting curses at his head.

  Vinnie looked up at Daniel. “You must be Dr. Crompton,” he said.

  “And you’re Uncle Vinnie.”

  Vinnie smiled faintly. “She loves you.”

  “I know. You’ll see to her, won’t you? This won’t be easy for her.”

  “You have no choice?” he asked delicately.

  Daniel simply shook his head, a cynical smile on his face. “I’m America’s secret weapon, remember? No one knows better than me that there’s no choice. As long as the information in my brain survives, she won’t be safe. And I can think of only one way to get rid of this place, and my memory. It won’t take long.”

  Vinnie’s eyes were huge and sad. “I’ll go to her.”

  Daniel watched him turn and head toward the door. In the distance he could see Suzanna still struggling as the nephews tried to strong-arm her into the waiting Cadillac. “Tell her—” he said, and then stopped himself.

  “Tell her what?” Vinnie asked.

  Daniel shook his head. “Never mind. She’ll know.”

  SHE COULD NO LONGER scream. Her voice was gone, silenced. She could no longer cry. Her tears had dried up. She could only sit there, trapped in the back seat of Vinnie’s Cadillac, and shake.

  “I’m sorry it had to be this way,” Vinnie said from the front seat as Guido started the car. Vito sat beside her, his hamlike hand a manacle across her wrist, but she was beyond struggling. She accepted defeat, and loss, and despair.

  She looked up, and a shaft of flame shot through the roof, spearing toward the sky. Another followed, a bright white fireball, and within seconds the huge building was in flames.

  Guido stopped the car, staring in amazement at the conflagration, and even Vinnie was awed. “What in God’s name did he do?” he gasped.

  Suzanna watched, dry-eyed, empty-hearted. And then she heard him. Heard the words, clear and true, through the heat and smoke of the fiery inferno. I love you, Molloy.

  She could make a sound after all. It was a low, keening whimper, like an animal in pain, as she felt her heart torn out and incinerated. They sat in the car and watched as the building collapsed in a pile of blazing ash.

  “That couldn’t have happened,” Vinnie muttered. “Things can’t burn that quickly. A bomb, maybe, but the fire should have lasted….”

  Guido was murmuring, and it took Suzanna a moment to realize it was the Latin prayers he’d learned in his youth, as he stared up at the remnants of the huge building with superstitious horror.

  “We have to get out of here. The fire department’s gonna show up, and we don’t want to be here when they start asking their questions,” Vinnie announced, his voice still shaken. “Get moving, Guido.”

  Guido just stared, unable to move. Vito was equally shocked, craning his neck to peer out the window, releasing his grip on Suzanna. She stared out the smoked window, into the conflagration.

  And then she saw movement.

  “Stop the car,” she screamed, her voice a raw travesty.

  “Keep driving,” Vinnie ordered. “I can hear the sirens already.”

  Guido kept driving. Suzanna twisted the door handle and rolled out, moving too fast for Vito to stop her.

  She hit the ground running, racing across the deserted parking lot toward the glowing remains of the huge building. Osborn’s Jaguar had disappeared in the flames, and nothing was left standing of Daniel’s funeral pyre.

  And then she saw movement again. She heard the fire-engine sirens and saw the reflection of the flashing lights in the distance as they raced toward the ruins, but she ignored them, focusing instead on the smoldering debris. The white Cadillac started to drive off, leaving her in the predawn darkness.

  The charred remains shifted, moving once more, and the shadow grew. She stood there alone, sobbing, as his shape took form, and Daniel Crompton walked out of the fire, and into her arms.

  The Cadillac screeched up beside them, the door opened, and Vinnie pulled them in. “For God’s sake, let’s go,” he yelled, and this time Guido drove as he’d been trained to do, out of sight before the first fire engine pulled up to the charred remains of Beebe Control Systems International.

  Vito kept out of her way as she held Daniel tightly in her arms. His eyes were closed, his breathing hoarse, and she clutched him, murmuring over and over again, soothing words, crazy words, telling him she hated him, she’d kill him, she loved him, she’d kill him.

  He smiled against her face, not opening his eyes, and her tears washed some of the soot from his face. “Hush,” he said finally, pulling her tight against him. “It’s over.”

  “No, it’s not,” she wept in a raw voice, rocking him back and forth. “It will never be over. I hate you, I hate you…”

  “It’s over,” he said again, and she pressed her face against his cool skin, trembling.

  “Where do you want me to drive, Uncle Vinnie?” Guido asked. “You want to go home now?”


  “What time is it?” Vinnie asked absently.

  “A little after seven. We could stop for breakfast at Mama Lucia’s. A nice omelet, some cafe latte. We can bring some out for the doc and Ms. Molloy.”

  Suzanna held herself very still. “What time did you say it was?”

  “After seven. It’s been a long night, cara,” Vinnie murmured. “But it’s morning now. A new day. A new beginning.” The car pulled up in front of a cheery-looking trattoria on the outskirts of Santa Cristina. “You want anything to eat?”

  “She always does,” Daniel murmured faintly. “Just bring her out something with cholesterol.”

  “And you, my boy?”

  “Something hot. I’ve got a chill.”

  She waited until they were alone in the back seat. “Your skin is cool,” she said.

  “And I feel weak as a kitten,” he added. “And best of all, I can’t remember what I’ve been working on for the past two years.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that. My notes were wiped out in the fire, and I can’t even begin to remember where I started. I guess I’ll have to find something new to work on. Maybe cold fusion.”

  She held herself very still. “Sure, try something easy for a change.”

  He smiled up at her, then shifted until he lay with his head in her lap. “You’d better marry me,” he said, closing his eyes again.

  “Another one of your romantic overtures, Dr. Crompton?”

  “Just trying to tell you what to do, Molloy. I need help rebuilding the place in Oregon. Though this time maybe we’ll make it a little larger. I want a bigger lab if I’m going to work there full-time, and you’ll probably want an office of your own.”

  “Not to mention a better kitchen. And a television, and a satellite dish. And while you’re at it, why don’t you tell me what I’m supposed to do out there at the back of beyond?” she demanded in the raw travesty that once was her voice.

  He eyed her. “I thought you liked it there. Don’t you have any ideas?”

  “A number of them. I think I’ll write science fiction. I take it money isn’t a problem?”

  “The late Beebe Control Systems International paid me huge amounts of their ill-gotten gains. We’ll be more than comfortable.”

  “Then I think I’ll write a series of novels about the Invisible Man.”

  He groaned, reached up, pulled her head down and kissed her. His mouth was cool and delicious. “I love you,” he said.

  “I know. I heard.”

  He kissed her again, a little more lingering, a little deeper. “It’s gone, you know. Everything vanished in that inferno. Cinderman died in the fire.”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all. Though it’s going to give you an unfair advantage.”

  “Hey, I’ll need all the advantages I can get to keep up with you and whatever little geniuses you happen to beget.” She looked down at him, love in her eyes, in her heart, in her ruined voice.

  “We’ll have to make the place even bigger.”

  “We’ll have time.”

  He looked up at her, for a moment sweetly vulnerable. “I really did forget everything,” he murmured.

  “Of course you did,” she said, looking into his mind, understanding him very well. “And you’re going to have lots of fun playing with that green slime you brought out of the fire.”

  He stared at her for a moment, and then a wry smile lit his face. “I’m never going to be able to lie to you.”

  “Accept it. I’m your destiny, Cinderman, your ball and chain. There’s no way you’ll escape me.”

  “Dear girl,” he said faintly, “I wouldn’t think of it.”

  “Don’t,” she said, “call me girl.” And she leaned down to kiss him again, as his hand twined in her hair, and there was no more need for words.

  Epilogue

  The house perched on the edge of the cliff was a magical house, filled with light and laughter, love and warmth. Suzanna sat barefoot in the garden, hands folded neatly on her pregnant belly, wearing a T-shirt that read She Who Rocks the Cradle Rules the World—Watch Out! She watched the twins argue amicably enough, used to it by now. Albert Einstein Molloy Crompton had decided that Charles Dickens was a sexist pig, albeit a good storyteller, but he much preferred Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer, like his father. His sister, Marie Curie Molloy Crompton, insisted that he ought to be paying more attention to the writings of his namesake than to stories, even if their mother made a fairly good living writing them.

  They were both five years old.

  She smiled fondly. This was an old battle, without any particular rancor, and it had been going on since they were three. “Where’s your father, Marie?” she asked, feeling the baby kick. At least there was only one this time. Two, even with Daniel’s fascinated assistance, was a little more challenge than she felt like facing again.

  “Can’t you listen for him?” Albert asked, used to her odd powers.

  “He’s keeping me out,” Suzanna said. “Singing those stupid songs so I can’t eavesdrop.”

  “He says you’re a voyeur,” Marie said cheerfully.

  “I’m just curious—Oh, my God!” The explosion rocked the ground, glass shattered, and a billow of pure white smoke shot out the broken window of the lab. She struggled awkwardly to her feet, holding her belly, and ran toward the house.

  She barreled straight into something, and strong arms reached out to catch her.

  “You’ll never guess what I’ve discovered,” Daniel’s disembodied voice announced with disgusting cheer.

  The Soldier and the Baby

  By Anne Stuart

  Anne Stuart writes:

  This was originally entitled The Soldier, The Nun And The Baby but that was just a little too much to handle. I’d written several Rambo romances—hero and heroine running through the jungle and falling in love—and I’d always had a sneaking fondness for nuns, mercenaries, and babies. I simply put them all together, calling the blond-haired infant Timothy in honor of my own blond-haired son.

  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

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  She moved through the empty hallways, her sandaled feet silent beneath the heavy swish of her long skirts. It was a quiet afternoon—the jungle surrounding the decaying remains of the Convent of Our Lady of Repose was thick and heavy with heat and somnolence. Even the birds and the monkeys had lapsed into a drowsy trance.

  Every living creature with sense napped during the hottest part of the day in the tiny Central American country of San Pablo. Every living creature, that is, except for Carlie Forrest, better known as Sister Maria Carlos, novice of the order of the Sisters of Benevolence. She was the only member of the religious community still trapped in that revolution-torn place.

  The others had left, swiftly, safely. Most of them would be in Spain by now, Mother Superior had said, though a few would head down to Brazil, where there was a large and thriving sister house. Only Carlie had remained behind. Carlie and her patients.

  “I don’t like leaving you behind in this situation,” Reverend Mother Ignacia had said, her wrinkled face creased with worry. “I don’t like leaving anyone behind, but Sister Mary Agnes is too old and sick to travel, and Caterina’s baby is already a week overdue. I don’t dare risk taking either of them, and you’re the only one with midwifery skills as well as medical knowledge.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Carlie had answered with deceptive serenity. “I doubt you could make me leave.”

  “I haven�
��t forgotten what brought you here to us, my child,” Mother Ignacia had said gently. “I would give anything not to put you in the way of that kind of situation again.”

  “I survived when I was seventeen,” Carlie had replied, pleating the folds of her habit. “I’m stronger now.”

  “I know you are,” Mother Ignacia had said. “But I still would spare you if I could. I suppose I shouldn’t worry—this might be just what you need. It might give you time to think a few things through. You’ll be safe enough here—neither the soldiers nor the rebels would dare interfere with a convent. I’m afraid that Sister Mary Agnes hasn’t long, poor old lady, but Caterina is young and strong. Once she delivers her baby her family will see to her, and you can follow us to Brazil if things haven’t stabilized. And if it’s still what you want. Matteo will arrange safe transport.”

  “It’s what I want,” Carlie had said quietly. “There’s nothing I need to think through. I’ve been with the Sisters of Benevolence for nine years now, and all I’ve ever wanted was to take my final vows.”

  It was an old argument, one Mother Ignacia was skilled at countering. “When you join us in Brazil we will talk about it again.”

  “I’m ready, Mother,” Carlie had said, allowing the note of desperation to creep in.

  “I’m sure you feel that way, my child. I just can’t rid myself of the notion that you are running away from life, rather than running to us.”

  Even now, on that still and silent afternoon, Mother Ignacia’s words rang in her head. Carlie prided herself on her self-knowledge, and the fear that Reverend Mother might be right terrified her more than any human or wild beast that might roam the jungle outside the abandoned convent.