Only A Whisper

by Gayle Wilson

  She stood and began gathering up newspapers, dirty dishes, and stray garments. She had made a dent in the mess when the doorbell rang.

  She found herself looking at Paul Hardesty across the short length of her security chain. She tried to close the door, but he had already put his foot in place.

  “You damn well know better than to open your door without asking who’s out here,” he said. “It’s dangerous, and you know it.”

  She didn’t understand his anger. Unless he was embarrassed about showing up here after what had happened in his office. Unless he was trying to give her something to think about besides his lies and deceptions.

  “Maybe I like living dangerously,” she said. She turned to walk across the room. “Let me know when you get tired of standing there.”

  “We have somewhere to go,” he said, “and you really don’t have a choice, Rae. Your presence has been requested at the Colombian Embassy reception tonight. I gave your regrets to State, and they were very annoyed. If you don’t show up to receive the grateful response of the Colombian government for your role in exposing the money-laundering operation and in Kyle’s death, then it’s a slap in the face to those people who are trying very hard to control the trafficking, against odds we can’t comprehend. Murder of Supreme Court justices, ministers of justice—anybody who gets in the cartel’s way is brutally killed and still there are people willing to fight them.

  “So, get off your butt, Rae, and unlock this door. You just smile and receive their thanks, and then I’ll bring you back. They didn’t do anything to you. Hate me if you want to, but do this, because it’s right.”

  She was halfway across the room before she realized what argument he had used. “I always do what’s right,” she said bitterly, but she closed the door and undid the chain so he could come in.

  “How long do I have?” she asked, looking at his tux.

  “How about thirty minutes?”

  Thirty minutes later she was standing in her bedroom with her evening gowns spread across the bed. One was strapless and the other had narrow straps that crossed behind her neck.

  “What’s wrong?” Paul asked from the doorway. She was glad she had taken time to throw a robe on over her underwear.

  “Come right in,” she said sarcastically. “Don’t mind that I’m not dressed.”

  “That’s what I’m concerned about. What’s the holdup?”

  “I don’t have anything to wear,” she explained and saw the disbelief on his face.

  “Is that a joke? Put something the hell on and let’s go.”

  “I can’t wear these because they don’t hide this.” She pulled her robe off her shoulder to expose the scar Kyle’s bullet had left. “State Department or not, I am not going around looking like Frankenstein’s monster at this party. You can forget it.”

  “The scar’s not that bad. Hell, flaunt it,” he said. “Let them see—”

  “Like you said, Paul, it’s not these guys.”

  He took a deep breath. “What about a coat, a jacket?”

  In spite of herself, she laughed. “Over an evening gown? Give me a break. God, if that’s not just like a man.”

  He ignored her mockery and began systematically going through her closet.

  “This is it, Paul. These are all the evening dresses I have.”

  Her words didn’t slow his methodical examination, and finally he pulled from the back of the closet a black velvet dinner dress. It was old, but cut on classic lines, with long sleeves and a high neck.

  “That’s not an evening gown,” she began.

  “Look, they won’t care if you wear a uniform. Put it on, Rae, and let’s get this over with.”

  The dress worked. The black was a contrast to her ivory skin and dark red hair. She wore no jewelry, except the diamond studs her dad had given her when she’d graduated from college. She had expected a new rifle.

  When she walked into the living room, Paul’s eyes were reassurance that the black velvet would do. She had good legs. Maybe if they were the only ones exposed at the party, people would think she was just trying to attract attention. She didn’t really care what they thought. Like Paul, she just wanted to get this behind her.

  AT THE EMBASSY Rae stood beside Paul with a barely touched drink in her hand, the noise and the color, the mingled scents of expensive perfume and good cigars, swirling around her. Since nobody had paid her the slightest attention, she had begun to wonder about all this gratefulgovernment crap Hardesty had used to get her here.

  It was at least a couple of hours after they arrived before Paul touched her arm, whispering, “The ambassador wants to see you in private. Come on.”

  She wasn’t even nervous by this time, just ready to get it over so she could go home. Maybe really go home. She wondered if she could still get a flight out in the Christmas rush.

  HIS EYES TRACKED the movements of the woman in the black velvet dress. Her hair alone was enough to mark Rae Phillips’s passage through the throng, but Paul Hardesty’s equally unmistakable coloring and military bearing made the two people walking toward the ambassador’s private library even more distinctive.

  There appeared to be no lingering effects from the bullet she’d taken last summer. At least no physical ones. It was surprising that she had come here, surprising she would respond to any invitation issued by this government. It had seemed she would want to put it all behind her.

  The lips of the man hidden in a curtained alcove of the balcony lifted in a slight smile. Rae Phillips apparently hadn’t learned the true meaning of fear, despite what had happened to her. She was a woman of courage; and everyone admired real courage, except that sometimes being so brave could lead to disaster. The smile faded as the couple disappeared behind the closing door. A private conversation with the ambassador.

  He could have arranged, had he desired, to listen in on that conversation, but then there was always the chance he might be discovered. Besides, he already knew what would be said. And more important, what would not. It was better this way. Better only to watch.

  PAUL ESCORTED HER into a small library. The ambassador—dark, slightly overweight and nearing middle agerose from one of a pair of ivory couches arranged before the welcoming fire. He kissed Rae’s hand and led her to sit on the opposite sofa. Paul had discreetly disappeared.

  The ambassador said nothing until he was again seated, and then he smiled at her.

  “Ms. Phillips, I am Carlos Ramirez, and on behalf of my government, I wish to thank you for your role in the last round of what has been a very discouraging war with the criminals who are trying to control our country.”

  “I really think my part in those operations has been highly exaggerated. I did my job, or at least I tried to. That’s all.”

  “I understood from Mr. Hardesty that you would feel this way, but I wanted you to know how much we appreciate your efforts. So many people assume that all Colombians have their hands out for the money the cartels generate. That is not true. Many have fought and continue to fight against what is happening in Colombia. My own brother was murdered by the cartel. He was one of those who was determined to destroy them, and it cost him his life.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Do you have brothers or sisters, Ms. Phillips?”

  “No,” Rae said, “but my father was a police officer who was killed on duty. I do understand.”

  He nodded, and then went on, almost as though lost in the past, working through his own emotional response to the story he was telling.

  “I had two brothers. One I told you about. Always it was duty, responsibility. But the other,” he said softly, shaking his head. “He was the beauty, the light of my mother’s life. She spoiled him because he was charming. He always got what he wanted. Always.”

  Rae waited, wondering where this was all leading, wondering where Paul was and how she was going to get out of here. She wasn’t good at social chitchat, and she had lost the point of this conversation. Come on, P
aul, she pleaded silently. Get me out of here.

  “Fast cars and expensive polo ponies, beautiful women. Too much money. Everything came too easily. We didn’t understand, until it was too late….”

  The ambassador’s soft, accented voice faded. His eyes were lowered, as if examining his hands, which were clasped tightly together in his lap, their paler skin a contrast to the fine black wool of his evening dress.

  What am I supposed to say about his playboy brother? Rae wondered. She didn’t understand what this family history had to do with the cocaine wars or with the Colombian government’s appreciation of the Americans who had been involved in this phase.

  “I’m afraid, Ambassador Ramirez, that I don’t understand exactly what—”

  His eyes lifted to her face.

  “No, of course, you don’t. I apologize. Sometimes when one feels strongly about something…” Again he paused, and then he smiled at her. “I wanted to meet you, Ms. Phillips, and I’m glad I have. We truly appreciate all that you’ve done for our country. And now, Mr. Hardesty tells me, you’re thinking about going home.”

  “To finish my law degree. I think maybe that’s best.”

  “Why? Why is it best to give up a job you do so well?” he asked, smiling at her again.

  “Because…” She couldn’t explain to this stranger why she could no longer do that job, could no longer work for Paul Hardesty. Carlos Ramirez was a man who still believed in the values she had been taught, the same values her father had held.

  “Because going home seems to be the right thing to do,” she said finally. Even to her own ears, it sounded as ridiculous as the excuse with which Paul had answered her questions. “When there’s nothing left, you just go on. You just keep doing the things you hope are right.”

  “That sounds like something my brother might have said,” the ambassador replied softly, with feeling too deep for those simple words.

  She smiled at him because she didn’t have any response to his comment and then was immensely grateful to feel Paul’s hand on her shoulder. She made polite noises of goodbye and did all the things she was supposed to do.

  As Paul was putting her coat over her shoulders in the embassy foyer, she saw the ambassador standing in the doorway of the room where they had met. She understood then the almost-eerie feeling she’d had of being watched. His dark eyes were on her, and he smiled as he saw her notice him.

  All the way home, Rae tried to decide what had been wrong about the meeting. She knew instinctively that she had missed something. There had been far more going on in that small library than she’d picked up on.

  Paul insisted on checking her apartment for her. He did it methodically and thoroughly, opening every closet and even peering under the bed.

  “Looking for the bad guys?” she asked sardonically, watching the practiced routine. Whatever else Hardesty was, he was professional.

  “You never know,” he said, ignoring her sarcasm. “And lock the door behind me,” he ordered.

  “If you arrested all the crooks instead of letting them go, we wouldn’t have to be so careful.”

  “Don’t start, Rae. Just lock the damn door.”

  Out of habit she obeyed.

  It wasn’t until after Paul had gone, and she had begun to take off the black velvet, that it hit her—what she had missed tonight. Maybe if she hadn’t been so concerned with her own problems, she might really have listened to what the ambassador had told her. She would have put it all together then.

  The man in Virginia, the courier, had been the ambassador’s brother. She had always known the original contact had been made through diplomatic channels. Ambassador Ramirez had told her that the cartel had murdered his brother, but in her hurry to get past his gratitude, she hadn’t realized the significance. And that was why he had wanted to meet her. She was the one who had been with his brother at the last.

  Which meant, of course, that the courier had been exactly the kind of man she had thought him to be that night. She had not been mistaken. At least Paul hadn’t lied about that. Somewhere inside, a little of her bitter disillusionment eased.

  She knew then that she would have to see Carlos Ramirez again, to tell him how much she had admired the courier—his courage and endurance. She owed him that. She owed them both. She didn’t know if it would ease the ambassador’s pain, but it would help her to finally express what she had felt about the bravery of the man she’d met that night in Virginia.

  But if she were successful tomorrow in getting a flight out, she wouldn’t have a chance to tell him. The way she felt about Washington and Hardesty, about everything she’d done, she would probably throw what she could fit into her suitcase and leave. Just get away from all that had happened.

  Which meant that if she wanted to tell the ambassador what his brother’s sacrifice had meant to her, she would have to go back tonight. There was time to grab a cab and get back before the party dispersed. She still had the invitation Paul had handed her on their way in. She slipped the zipper of the black velvet back up. This was really the best way. To say what she needed to say to Ambassador Ramirez and then get the hell out of Dodge. Permanently.

  When she arrived, there were a few people waiting under the embassy portico for their cars to be brought around. The staff, however, was politely reluctant to admit her. Most of the guests had departed, and Mrs. Ramirez had already gone upstairs. Rae’s smiling insistence that she needed only a quick, private word with the ambassador eventually paid off, and she was directed to the same library she had visited before.

  The rooms that had earlier been filled with elegant women on the arms of their influential men were now almost deserted. The servants were moving among the few isolated clusters of people, unobtrusively beginning the task of cleaning up, which would probably go on for hours after the last guest had departed.

  Rae debated whether or not to knock on the library door. Finally, she simply turned the handle and eased it open enough to see into the dimly lit room. If the ambassador had already gone upstairs, she would leave. She could always write to him. It really didn’t matter how she conveyed what she felt—as long as she did so.

  Carlos Ramirez was standing beside the fireplace. In his hand was a tumbler of liquid, its contents ambered in the dying firelight. His black tie had been loosened, and she could see the tiredness in his dark, heavy face.

  She opened the door wider and stepped inside.

  “Ambassador Ramirez,” she said.

  He was not alone. Rae wasn’t sure when she became aware in the room’s firelit dimness of the other occupant. Another man. Sitting on the ivory sofa she’d occupied earlier as she had listened to the story of the ambassador’s martyred brother. And this man’s dark eyes were focused on her face as intently now as they had been on the day she had killed Kyle Peters to prevent his being shot, the day she had more than willingly taken the bullet that had been meant for him.

  “Hello, Rae,” he said softly.

  Her heart stopped. And then, of course, it began again in the familiar, unchanging rhythm.

  She heard the ambassador’s startled, inarticulate response to her presence, but it was as if the sound came from a great distance. It had no real connection to what was happening here.

  She had thought she would never see him again. And then, where she should least expect someone like him to be…

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  Her first thought. Not her first reaction. That had been physical. Hot and jolting. Sensuous. Nothing had changed. He still had that power over her senses. The power to make her want him, to want to touch him, to feel his skin moving against hers in the darkness. His mouth over her body, sweet and hot and so achingly tender.

  “I think a fairer question might be, what are you doing here, querida?”

  The beautiful voice hadn’t changed, and in response to its pull, she found herself advancing over the rich Oriental carpet that covered the space between them until she stood, looking down int
o those midnight eyes.

  During the intervening months the scarring she had seen that morning had been surgically repaired. The left side of his face almost matched again the beauty of the right. So damn beautiful, she thought.

  Aloud she said something very different—some thought that had formed in the still-functioning, coldly rational fragment of her brain. In the minute part that was not examining his features, that was not storing every dark, nearperfect detail, every memory.

  “I thought…” she began, realizing how ridiculously wrong she had been. “When the ambassador told me tonight about his brother, I thought he was the courier. The man who died in Virginia.”

  She had returned to sympathize with Señor Ramirez, to tell him how much she had admired his brother, and had caught him entertaining the cartel. And she knew she shouldn’t be surprised, considering the current rumors about corruption at the very top of this government. People think all Colombians have their hands out for the money the cartels generate—the ambassador’s words echoed bitterly.

  “And instead…I find he’s no better than the rest Such honest Colombians,” she mocked.

  Her former captor’s mouth tightened briefly. The ambassador also made some movement, and the dark eyes of the man on the sofa lifted, met and held Ramirez’s. As Rae watched, the ambassador subsided, leaning back against the mantel, the same implacable will that had dominated Diego again directing, ordering—this time, without words.

  “He wasn’t the courier, querida. The brother Carlos told you about was a judge. In Medellin. A judge the cartel couldn’t bribe, couldn’t control, so they killed him with machine guns. Along with his wife and daughter. They were ambushed on the way to mass one Sunday morning. The baby was three years old. An honest Colombian, Rae,” he said.

  She fought against the impact of the story. It didn’t change what was going on here.