“How are you getting along without…without Vane, dear?” her mother asked softly.
“As well as can be expected,” Alexa replied noncommittally. If they only knew…
“He helped us so much… I’m sure you’ll miss him a lot. We will. Are you sure you wouldn’t like us to come for a visit to help you? Or you still could come here.”
“No, I just need to be alone for a while,” Alexa said. “And I need to keep the Hideaway going.” She hesitated, but she still worried about them. “Is everything there all right?”
“Of course, honey,” her mother said.
But her father said, “Pretty much so, although a strange thing happened here just yesterday.”
Alexa held her breath. “What’s that?”
“You know our concessionaire, Marty? The one who runs the gift shop in our lobby? The police arrested him. They accused him of dealing drugs. Can you believe it?”
Alexa had met their octogenarian employee, Marty. The man had sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue. She couldn’t believe he was the one who’d had her parents under surveillance.
But the timing fit. Alexa blessed Cole for coming through with protection for her parents. And she knew she could rely on him to vouch for them, make sure Vane’s damnable file was found, that its forged contents would not be used to hurt her family.
“I suppose the police wouldn’t arrest Marty without evidence,” she said noncommittally.
“I suppose,” her father agreed. “Except that with us—”
“I love you both,” Alexa blurted. “I’ll call again soon.” And then she hung up, feeling both happy that her parents were okay and apparently under Cole’s protection, and sad because she was alone.
With difficulty, she shook off the feeling. She hurried upstairs to the desk in her room. She had some ads to place, travel agents to invite for a visit…an inn to get up and running again.
FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS, Alexa kept herself busy scrubbing the inn, particularly the room in which agent Maygran had died, and the kitchen, where Cole had killed Vane to save Alexa’s life and his own.
She also found black, sticky fingerprint dust all over the place, although it appeared someone had at least made an effort to clean it.
Could the authorities identify who the guests really were? Did they know where each of them had been sent? Had they all been captured?
Alexa would never know.
Then there was her engagement ring. She’d almost wished it had been stolen at the hospital, but Cole had taken it for her, brought it to the inn when he’d come to make arrangements for Phantom. Now, it was in a box at the bottom of her dresser drawer. Someday, when she felt strong enough to deal with it, she would sell it, give the proceeds to charity.
There were agencies that helped victims of terrorist attacks. They would be the appropriate recipients.
Although Alexa watched the television news and read the Los Angeles Times carefully each day, there was no mention of the wide-ranging and, hopefully thwarted, terrorist plot. That probably was good. Hopefully, that meant that everything was being carried on in secret, and if capture of the infiltrators and the terrorists ready to overrun Washington was done surreptitiously, then national security remained intact.
Huge, ugly, bloody raids would have been difficult to keep out of the news.
She heard nothing from Cole—other than one brief, businesslike e-mail telling her to expect a team of agents from his unit.
Not that she expected deep expressions of affection over the Internet, but his abruptness still hurt.
On her third day at home, a young man rang the inn’s bell. His credentials identified him as Tom Carville, an army lieutenant. He looked as young as if he had just graduated from college. With him were half a dozen others, all in uniform.
Alexa showed them to the rooms where the terrorist agents had stayed. Though the police had apparently been through the place to investigate while she was in the hospital, these guys started right in to check for more evidence. The crimes they investigated were much more extensive than the four murders.
“Do you know Cole Rappaport?” Alexa asked impulsively as she watched Lieutenant Carville unhook the cables from Vane’s computer.
“I sure do, ma’am.” The young man’s eyes glowed. “He’s about the smartest, bravest man… But I’m saying too much. Our unit is…well, it’s classified. But General Rappaport sent me here, and he said you know what’s happening, that you helped us to stop it.”
“Yes,” said Alexa, “I suppose I did.” General Rappaport? Alexa had not asked about his military rank, but she’d supposed he was still a colonel, as he had been two years ago. She enquired impulsively, not expecting an answer, “Was the general just promoted?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The young man sounded as proud as if Cole were his older brother. “I wouldn’t tell just anyone this, but after what happened with our prior commanding officer…well, I guess I can tell you that there was a gap, and General Rappaport is filling it.”
Eventually, Lieutenant Carville thanked Alexa, and he and his team left the inn. Along with the other evidence they had gathered, they took Vane’s computer.
As well as all of Alexa’s few remaining, but futile, hopes.
Cole had apparently stepped into the shoes of Forbes Bowman and undoubtedly filled them with much more skill, courage and commitment. He was now the commanding officer of the elite counterterrorist Special Forces Unit.
He would hold that position even when he and his allies had rounded up every last person involved with the current horrific plot.
He would never have any interest in coming back to Skytop Lake, except perhaps for an occasional visit—just another guest at the inn. He wouldn’t want her to follow him, even if she considered it, for he would always worry that he would somehow endanger her through his work.
She had to stop thinking about Cole Rappaport. This time, he was out of her life forever.
MONTHS LATER, Alexa parked in front of a snowbank in the Skytop Lake Village parking lot.
In the wintertime, the San Bernardino Mountains received snow each time it rained in Los Angeles. Skytop Lake was particularly picturesque this time of year, she thought, staring between buildings toward the water’s partially frozen surface.
Zipping up her parka and pulling its hood over her head, she got out of her SUV. Phantom barked and tried to jump out, too. “You stay here,” she commanded. “I won’t be inside long enough for you to get cold.”
She just needed some additional vegetables and condiments for dinner that night. The inn was crowded with skiers and snowboarders, and people who just liked to escape the pounding rain of Los Angeles this time of year for the pristine snow-covered mountains.
Alexa had been working hard to regain the momentum the inn had lost. Although the Hideaway was seldom filled, the number of guests it attracted was growing.
She had nearly caught up on her mortgage payments. If only she could get rid of the additional debt incurred last spring and summer, during the months Vane’s terrorist guests had not paid for their lodging. At least she and Vane had bought the inn jointly, and title had gone to her on Vane’s death.
A few weeks ago, she had received a package in the mail. It contained the spurious file against her parents and a copy of a statement on a Swiss bank account. The latter was accompanied by a note in familiar handwriting stating that the funds were evidence and therefore inaccessible.
Although Alexa could have used more money, she wouldn’t have touched a penny even if the account was handed over to her legally. She wouldn’t even accept help from her parents.
She destroyed the forged documents. And if Vane had other copies, well, she counted on Cole to deal with them for her.
Now, Alexa hurried into the Juarez Gourmet Grocery Store, wiped her boots on the mat in the doorway and pulled her gloves off and the parka’s hood from her head. Her cheeks burned from the cold even though she hadn’t been outside for long.
&
nbsp; She would hurry, for she didn’t want Phantom to freeze.
The store was nearly empty—due to the weather, she supposed. She rolled her cart toward the produce first, where she picked out some bibb lettuce, spinach and radicchio for a salad. Then she headed toward the aisle of ethnic foods. She was cooking several South American dishes that night, for the spicy flavor would help to warm her guests.
She started to roll her cart down the aisle, and stopped. A dark-haired man walked by the end of the aisle. No, strode, with that familiar, confident gait of a man with no doubt about the world’s need for what he would lend it.
Alexa shook her head sharply. She was dreaming.
Except…the man halted and turned toward her.
And smiled.
“Cole,” Alexa whispered. She didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
He came toward her. There were lines of fatigue at the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there before. And those beer-dark eyes had a sad and haunted look in them, as if they had seen unspeakable things in the months he had been away.
But it was Cole. Complete with the cleft in his chin, the dark shadow of a beard visible beneath his skin, the straight line of his hawkish brows. There was even more silver at his temples now, but his hair was shorter.
Cole.
“Hi, Alexa.” He sounded so nonchalant, as if they had seen each other yesterday. Still, his deep voice sent a shiver through her. Was she imagining he was here?
“Hi yourself,” she managed to say. She stood perfectly still, even though what she wanted to do was to hurl herself into his arms, to satisfy herself that he was a real, solid man, and not just a wraith her mind had conjured up.
“I’m back,” he said. He stood only inches from her. He wore a black leather jacket that lent him a dangerous air. Oh, yes, this man was dangerous….
“Yes, I see that.” He’d called now and then over the past few months, hurried calls in which he’d said little. They corresponded more by e-mail, but even at that their messages were short, friendly but impersonal.
“I saw a familiar SUV outside. I’ve already said hello to Phantom.”
She refused to span the gulf between them. She had finally gotten her emotions back under control, and here he was. “Good to see you. I’m finished here. I was just leaving.”
“I’m finished, too, Alexa—” he said softly.
His hand reached out and stroked her cheek. His skin was cold, and yet a bolt of lightning seemed to shoot from his fingers through her body, suffusing her with heat.
“Or, at least, I could be.”
“What do you mean?” she whispered.
“The Unit has accomplished its mission. We’ve rounded up all the terrorists here and the international ringleaders. Even your friends the Fullers were located in the Seattle area and arrested. They weren’t really married, by the way. Your other former guests are all in custody, too. And right now, I’m tired. I’m even thinking of retiring.”
A humming began inside Alexa. What was he implying? “I heard that you’re a general now,” she said. “That you took over Forbes Bowman’s position as head of your unit.”
He nodded. “That’s right. He’ll stand trial in a few months, and the case against him is strong. But now that my mission is over, I think I’d like a partner.”
“A…partner?”
“Yes. See, I’ve been saving my pay for a long time, since a lot of my expenses were paid by the government. There’s a certain inn I’d like to buy into, if the owner is interested.”
Alexa’s pulse quickened. Was she understanding him correctly? Might he actually stay here?
“She would consider a partner,” she said slowly.
Cole’s eyes bored into her. “Not just any partner, though. A lifetime partner.” He stepped forward and took Alexa into his arms.
She didn’t resist. His hard, strong body pressed against hers, warming any vestiges of the cold from outside. He kissed her, long and hard, until she clung to him so her boneless legs would not give way beneath her.
“The thing is,” he whispered into her ear, sending shivers through her. “The woman I want as a partner has a reputation of not setting a wedding date.”
She pulled back, staring at his beloved face.
“Marry me, Alexa. Today, tomorrow, next week—but no longer. I love you. I want to stay here with you at Skytop Lake, be your partner and your husband, forever.”
“No more Phantom?” she teased, though her voice was shaky.
“Only the dog,” he agreed.
“Forever, then,” Alexa said. “I love you, too, Cole.” And melted back into his arms.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-4309-5
OPERATION: REUNITED
Copyright © 2002 by Linda O. Johnston
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