by Rebecca York
He held his hands palms outward. “Okay, Blake thinks there was a passenger hidden in your trunk. He found fingerprints that belong to the father of another one of the men. A guy who’s been in jail for assault.”
When she sucked in a strangled breath, he was immediately sorry he’d given her more information than either one of them was equipped to handle. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.” He sighed. “If you look at the pictures, maybe you’ll remember your past. Then you can tell me what you know—if you still want to.”
“Stop it!” she cried. “Stop casting my motives in the worst possible light” After giving him one long look, she turned, marched toward the dining-room table, and flipped the folder open.
He wanted to withdraw to another room and give her some privacy. But he found he was unable to move, unable to do more than stand frozen in an airless bubble where it was impossible to draw oxygen into his lungs.
He watched her brow wrinkle as she read about Tommy Faulkner’s background.
She glanced at him, her face stony. “Sorry. This doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Look at the pictures,” he suggested, marveling that he could speak around the golf ball blocking his windpipe.
Lips pressed together, she shuffled through the papers and picked up the photo of the brother and sister at the picnic table.
He watched her body go rigid, and he knew to the instant when memory came slamming back to her.
She gasped as if she’d been pierced by a sword, the blood draining from her face as her eyes shot to him and filled with a look of such horror that his throat felt suddenly full of acid, his belly with fire. When she swayed on her feet, he wanted to go to her and help her. But the panic on her face stopped him.
“Meg, sit down,” he said, his tone low and flat because putting out more volume was impossible. Pride and determination kept him standing there, facing her. “Sit down before you fall down.”
The sound of his voice made her flinch, and perhaps that was the worst of all. A few minutes ago she’d been warm and pliant in his arms. Now she was like a robot as she put her hand on the chair back and pulled it away from the table. Melting onto the seat, she cradled her head in her hands.
Stiff-legged, he crossed the room to the sink, filled a tumbler with water and set it on the table in front of her.
“Drink.”
Again she followed directions, then gagged and began to cough. The agonized sound released him. But when he rushed to her side and rubbed his hand across her shoulders, her whole body stiffened and he snatched his hand back.
“It’s okay. I won’t…won’t touch you again.” God, what was wrong with him? All the evidence showed that she’d come here to spy on him—probably even steal from him. And he’d do well to keep that fact in mind.
Moving to the counter, he leaned his hips against the solid support and braced his legs to keep himself steady. He should haul her down to the security center. But he wasn’t going to put himself through that. They could keep this private, between the two of them.
His hands clenched and unclenched as his traitorous mind served him up images of the way she’d clung to him, pulled him down the hall toward the bedroom.
“I guess you’ve been sleeping with the enemy,” he accused, then wondered why he’d needed to say it. One last chance. One last hope against hope that he’d hear a denial. None came.
“Was it the Jackal who got to you?” he demanded.
“Who?”
“The millionaire arms dealer Jerome Johnson,” he clarified. “Or did you and your friend Leroy Enders hatch this plot?”
“It was Johnson,” she whispered. “Is he an arms dealer?”
“What did he tell you about himself? That he worked for the International Red Cross or something? Did he tell you I was a moneygrubbing bastard who sent men to their deaths? Was that why you were willing to do it?”
Her shoulders hunched, and she kept her eyes trained on her hands. “Something like that.”
He heard himself make a derisive noise. “Yeah, well, he’s not a very nice guy. He’ll do anything it takes to get his hands on a laboratory-pure sample of the K-007 virus. He wants to sell it back to the country where the Operation Clean Sweep team wiped out production. And to anybody else who has the money for weapons of mass destruction. Of course, I don’t expect you to take my word for any of that now. Except that maybe you’re wondering why good old Enders tried to kill you.”
She didn’t answer, didn’t move. As he watched her, a chilling thought struck him like a sucker punch, and he cursed under his breath as the full impact hit. Wondering why he cared, he said, “I was going to hustle your butt out of here, since you’re a serious security risk to me. Now…I’m afraid that could be writing your death sentence.”
MEG HUDDLED ON THE CHAIR, fighting the sick feeling rising in her throat, struggling to string one coherent thought together with the next one.
Meg Faulkner. Meg Wexler. Fraud. Liar. Cheat.
The realization brought shame, sadness, a sense of utter desolation. No wonder she’d fought so hard against regaining her memory. She’d made a pact with the devil, and no matter how hard she’d tried to convince herself she was doing the right thing, she’d regretted her decision to the bottom of her soul. Her unconscious mind had understood that and had taken the only course available. When she’d awakened in Glenn Bridgman’s emergency room, she’d forgotten all about her secret mission.
“I can’t stay,” she whispered.
“It’s not going to be too good for Tommy if Johnson kills you.”
An image of her poor, sick brother zinged into her mind. Glenn was right—Tommy needed her. If she got herself killed, he’d have no one—except Glenn Bridgman. The man she’d thought was a monster. The man she’d fallen in love with. The monster image had been so compelling. She had bought into it so strongly that it still flickered at the edges of her mind; like the shadows in Plato’s cave, it had taken on the shape of reality, yet now she knew it had no foundation in truth.
Mr. Johnson had handled her like a master manipulator—sketched in a bogus image of the reclusive Glenn Bridgman—because he’d wanted her cooperation. It hadn’t been so difficult, because she’d already blamed the master of Castle Phoenix for all her brother’s troubles.
But that was before she’d found out that no one could paint a more damning picture of Glenn Bridgman than the portrait he carried around in his own head. It was totally wrong, of course. Like the picture of Dorian Gray—only in reverse. She’d learned that well enough for herself when her defenses were down.
Instinctively she’d trusted Glenn. And he’d responded to that trust. She was the one who had lured him into a physical relationship. She was the one who had made him admit that he had the same need for closeness and love as other men. She’d told him she wouldn’t hurt him, but that was exactly what she’d done.
He’d opened himself to her, because she’d pushed hard to make it happen. Now he knew the truth about her. She was a spy who’d come here to do whatever damage she could.
She clenched her hands together until she thought the bones would snap. Now that she understood the depths of her duplicity, knowing how badly she’d betrayed him, she couldn’t look him in the eye. Still, as he pushed himself away from the counter, she risked a quick glance at his face. The pain she saw was like a hot poker stabbing into her vital organs.
Trying not to moan, she squeezed her eyes shut and covered them with the heels of her hands, pressing with such force that she saw flashing lights.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice gritty.
She got out the syllable, “Yes,” hating the lie, hating the hollow feeling in her chest.
Sitting up straighter, she cleared her throat “I can tell you Johnson’s scheme—or at least what he told me I was supposed to be doing. The plant specimens in my trunk were from South America. I was supposed to be posing as a biologist.”
He gave a bark of a laugh. “Kind of inconvenient having Ender
s curled around them.”
“Lee…He told me his name was Lee,” she managed. “He—he reminded me of my father. I always did what my father told me.”
“Yeah.”
“He had some kind of spray that would make any of your guards who looked in the trunk forget they’d seen him.” She shuddered. “I—I guess that’s what happened to your man who was drugged.”
“Did you know he was planning to go after the guard dogs?” Glenn pressed.
“No. Honestly, I didn’t know!” she said, wondering if he believed her; if he’d ever believe her again.
“Did you know he was after the virus that infected your brother?”
She gave a violent shake of her head. “I thought he was here to steal some kind of pharmaceutical—with highly commercial value.”
Glenn’s gaze bored into her. “Lucky for him he didn’t manage to break into the lab.”
“Yes,” she wheezed.
“It looks like Johnson didn’t care who got hurt if it increased the odds of success. The first surprise he had for you was the rockslide—so you’d need my help. He didn’t know the accident would wipe out your memory. Maybe that’s why Enders decided he had to eliminate you. No telling what you’d do if you suddenly got with the program.”
She swallowed hard, then forced herself to look him in the eye. “Maybe you won’t believe me, but I’m sorry I agreed to go along with Johnson.”
“How was all this supposed to help Tommy?”
“Johnson was going to pay me a million dollars—for Tommy’s care.”
Glenn whistled through his teeth. “A lot of money. I can see why you were persuaded.”
“I did it for my brother! He’s falling apart before my eyes. I wanted him to have the best medical care, and he’s not getting that from the army.”
He gave her a tight nod. “I told him you’d call later this evening. I also told him I’d put him in the first group of human trials.”
“You’d do that for him? After what I did to you?”
“The two things aren’t connected. I like Tommy. I know he’s in bad shape. I’m hoping I can turn him around.” He stopped, gave her a direct look. “I’m not trying to win your approval.”
“I know,” she managed. Never that. He was too proud.
She was wondering what to say next, when his phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket. She’d come to hate the way the emergency phone dictated his life. This time she was thankful for the interruption.
After listening for a moment he asked, “How is he?” then answered, “Good.” Again he listened, muttered something under his breath, and hung up. When he raised his head, his eyes bored into hers. “Hal—General Dorsey is okay. He wants to talk to both of us.”
“About what?” she asked, her stomach tightening with apprehension.
“That wasn’t part of the message. I can tell him you aren’t available, if you want.”
She shook her head. She’d face the general the way she’d just faced Glenn.
“Give me a minute to get ready,” she said.
“Don’t take too long.”
HE LISTENED TO HER footsteps recede down the hall, feeling relief as much as anything else. God, why had he asked her to go back to his quarters? Anywhere else would have been better.
Now the scent of her would linger here hours longer. And he didn’t want to be reminded of anything they’d done, anything they’d said. Anything he’d felt.
His nails dug into his palms, and he told himself to unclench his hands. When he was sure she was out of earshot, he smashed his fist against the table—grateful for the jolt of pain.
It was better than the raw burning of acid eating him from the inside out. Ruthlessly, he turned the gnawing pain into anger. At her. At himself.
God, what a jerk he was. He was still trying to protect her. Mr. Nobility. Keeping her here so Johnson wouldn’t kill her.
He snorted. Feeling compassion for her was dangerous. She was dangerous. Not just to him—to everyone at Castle Phoenix.
Send her away! his anger screamed at him. Before she does something else to damage you—to damage the mission. But he couldn’t do it. Not now. Because if something happened to her, he’d have one more death on his conscience.
MEG WOVE HER WAY INTO the bedroom, her breath coming in painful gasps. There were no bars here. She could be out the window in moments. Across the lawn. Intp the woods. Away from the man she’d hurt so badly.
She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, fighting for control. If she ran, she’d only confirm his worst assumptions about her. If she stayed, maybe she had a chance to…
To what?
Regain what they’d had together?
Impossible.
But perhaps there was some way to earn his respect again.
She didn’t allow herself to hope as she mechanically pulled on fresh clothes.
Going quietly back down the hall, she caught Glenn standing with his hands rigidly at his sides as he stared out the window into the darkness. The tight set of his shoulders made her vision blur. By force of will, she kept herself from crossing the room and slipping her arms around him. He wouldn’t want that. Not now. Not ever.
Instead she only called out softly, “I’m ready.”
His posture changed abruptly. Without looking in her direction, he started for the door. She stayed several paces behind him, unable to meet the inquisitive gaze of the guards who fell into place behind them.
Nobody spoke on the way to the medical wing. Glenn checked a chart, then led her down the hall to a hospital room that was much like the one she’d occupied.
Hal Dorsey was propped up in bed, an IV line attached to his left arm. When they stepped through the door, he pushed himself up straighter, grimacing with the effort. His gaze went from her to Glenn and back again.
“You’ve gotten your memory back,” he said.
She nodded.
“And you’ve found out you were sent here to—”
She swallowed hard. “Help Mr. Johnson—the Jackal, I guess you call him—steal a sample of K-007.”
“How much was he paying you?”
“A million dollars. But it wasn’t for me. It was for medical expenses for my brother, Tommy Faulkner,” she answered, her voice low and flat. Quickly she filled him in on a few of the details she’d already given Glenn.
“And now you’re feeling like hell—wishing you’d had better judgment,” Dorsey muttered. “Well, you were misguided—but honest. That’s more than I can say for myself.”
She stared at him, wondering what he could possibly mean. Before she could ask, he swung his gaze to Glenn. “I’ve let you think you were responsible for giving the okay on Operation Clean Sweep.”
“I was!” Glenn replied.
“Yes. You had the data. You made the decision. But I had the same data. I reviewed it at the same time. I had questions in my mind about the mission, but I made the determination that we needed to get our hands on that virus, and the risk was acceptable. I’m the one who didn’t tell you the entire plan.”
“You? I thought it came from…higher up.”
“I know. I never gave you all the facts.”
They stared at each other for several silent seconds. “Why are you telling me now?” Glenn finally asked.
Dorsey’s gaze turned inward. “Because, at first, I could keep fooling myself that the price we paid was acceptable. We got control of the K-007, and a squad of men suffered for a few years. I thought that if I pumped enough money into your research, you could cure the men. And that would make it come out all right. But some of them have already started dying.” He stopped, as a wheezing sigh trickled out of him. “Even if you get the antidote on-line in the next few weeks, the sickest ones will never regain their health. When I thought Sparks was going to get me killed a few hours ago, I realized I couldn’t go to my grave with that on my conscience.”
“I know you had the final say,” Glenn admitted. “That doesn’t take any
responsibility away from me.”
“You don’t know that General Tallfield tried to scrub the operation. I insisted that we go ahead.”
Glenn shrugged. “Does that really make a difference?”
“I think so.” He turned to Meg. “Tell him what you think.”
“Don’t bother,” Glenn interrupted. “I can’t imagine that I’d get an honest answer.”
She felt her throat close as she struggled to keep her tears from spilling over.
Glenn turned and walked out of the room, and she was left alone with Hal Dorsey. The old man’s eyes were moist, and he seemed to be waging the same struggle as she.
Neither of them spoke for several moments.
She went to the bedside table, grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. When she felt more in control, she turned to the man in the bed. He’d been her enemy. But now…?
“What should I do?” she asked him.
“What do you want?”
Taking a chance, she whispered, “I want him to trust me again. I want him to…love me.”’
“You love him?”
“Yes.”
“Love at first sight, was it?”
“Don’t mock me.”
“I’m not. I’m trying to help you.”
“Why should you?”
“You were good for him. I could see that.” He gave a raspy laugh. “You may not believe it, but secretly I was rooting for you. I still am.” His face contorted. “Glenn doesn’t give his trust lightly. He gave it to you. Now he feels betrayed.”
“Cheated. Used,” she added.
“At the moment. But maybe he’s smart enough to get past that. Don’t give up on him,” Dorsey whispered.
The old man’s vote of confidence meant a lot to her. But she knew it would never be enough. And it was obvious the conversation had worn him out. “I should let you rest.”
When she slipped from the room, two hard-faced guards were waiting for her by the door. She cringed when she recognized one from the group at the garage. He looked just as menacing now, and she supposed the rumors about her were flying again.
But he wouldn’t do anything to her here. Not with so many people around, she told herself, as he and his partner followed her down the hall to the central station where Glenn and Dr. Ryder were discussing Dorsey’s condition. They stopped talking when she approached.
