The Haviland Touch

by Kay Hooper

  chapter ten

  ALL THE WAY back to Innsbruck Spencer could feel herself smiling. She couldn’t seem to help herself, and whenever her glance caught and held Drew’s he smiled as well. They were able to ride abreast occasionally as they made their way toward the city, and each time he reached for her hand as if touching her was a compulsion.

  She felt oddly serene, the frantic, primitive mating having given her something she couldn’t even define. All she was certain of was that, for the first time in her life, she felt entirely comfortable with herself. Comfortable enough to tease Drew, predicting that he would indeed be sunburned, and laughing when he reminded her that, as easily as she bruised, she’d probably have a black-and-blue rear end by morning.

  “Then we’ll both sit on pillows,” she said, unworried by the prospect.

  He glanced at her again, unable to stop looking at her. She had laughed a moment ago, the sound as clear and sweet as the mountain breeze, and it was only when he felt the shock of it that he realized he’d never heard her laugh. Not really, not like that, her lovely face alight with amusement, her eyes bright with simple enjoyment.

  For the first time, she was utterly tranquil in his company, the little smile curving her lips so secret and feminine, her glances warm with an intimacy that was without obvious sensuality and yet held the glowing embers of passion. The promise of what he’d seen in her all those years ago was realized now: beauty, grace, intelligence, humor, an inner poise, strength she had no awareness of—and a depth of passion he had never expected to find.

  He reached for her hand as they came abreast again, and as her fingers twined with his, his curious instinct for detecting the genuine sounded inside him. Over the past days, the tone of that inner intuition had grown clearer and clearer with each touch, and now the single note was so perfect in its distinct, sweet sound that it was haunting.

  The real thing.

  This was Spencer. This was the woman she was meant to be.

  His instinct only confirmed what other feelings had told him, and after that compulsive joining on a patch of sunny grass he could no longer avoid facing another truth. He loved her. He had loved her since she was sixteen years old.

  He should have known from the moment he came back into her life, because it had been the uneasy suspicion that she was in trouble that had drawn him back to her. Even then, even believing he no longer felt anything for her, he had acted almost instinctively by going to her despite everything that had happened between them. The shock of realizing he still wanted her had collided with all the gnawing, unresolved emotions he’d thought long dead—and that was when he’d begun reaching for excuses, for rationalizations, even for lies he could tell himself, to avoid the truth.

  Not love, lust. That was all it was, he’d told himself. He couldn’t love her—she was a greedy little gold digger. He just wanted her, that was all, wanted to purge himself of the bitter desire. He’d be a fool to trust her, a fool to let her get to him a second time, he’d reminded himself harshly. Besides that, he couldn’t love her again, it wasn’t even possible; he’d learned his lesson too well, and would never again leave himself so vulnerable to her that she could destroy him.

  Lies. All lies. It was love, and it had always been love. He had been able to lie to himself about it only because it was possible to grow accustomed to anything, even pain, until it was so familiar it went almost without notice. But now she was here, with him, tranquil by his side, eager in his arms, and what he felt for her was an emotion so vast it filled his entire being. This time the roots of love were sunk so deeply inside him that tearing them out would cost him his soul.

  It was terrifying to love so much, to know without doubt or question that his life would be hollow and unbearable without her. He wasn’t a man who had known much uncertainty in his life, but it was tormenting him now. She had loved him once, but that had been a girl in awe of a man she saw as something larger than life. She knew better now. She’d seen him at his worst, knew how anger and bitter hostility could make him cruel, how scornful and cutting and implacable he could be.

  Could she love that very human and flawed man? He was afraid to ask. They’d been together for such a short time and so much had happened. Though she seemed happy now, he couldn’t forget the stresses and strains she had withstood during the past months, and he was afraid that her peace was a fragile thing. He couldn’t put more pressure on her, demand a commitment when she’d barely had time to think. All he could do was love her and try to be patient, try not to hold on to her too hard out of his own terror of losing her.

  “Drew?”

  He looked at her, his throat aching, knowing that his patience was threadbare with anxiety, and that he wouldn’t be able to be civilized about it if she left him again. Not this time. This time he’d kill any man who dared try to take her away from him. And if there was no other man, if she just left him, he’d go after her and he’d spend the rest of his life trying to convince her that they belonged together.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, reining her horse a bit closer and studying him with a slight frown.

  It was easy to smile at her even though what he felt was savage. It was even easy to find a mild, wry voice when he answered her, because he would have cut his throat rather than disturb her happy serenity. “Sunburned and exhausted, but otherwise flourishing.”

  She lifted an eyebrow at him in a quizzical expression that was adorable. “Exhausted? I haven’t noticed you having problems with energy so far.”

  “You may notice tonight,” he murmured, knowing she wouldn’t but enjoying the way her eyes widened slightly and her secret little feminine smile returned.

  “Are we going to stay in Innsbruck tonight?” The question was casual, and Drew answered in the same tone.

  “That depends on Stanton.” He wished it didn’t, wished that very dangerous man was on the other side of the world or, better yet, in hell where he belonged. Where he would have been, Drew thought viciously, if only his own aim had been better.

  She glanced at him again, not upset by his return to silence but wondering at the cause. She thought it was Stanton, thought that the man’s very name had the power to disturb Drew. She acknowledged that, thought about it, but it didn’t break her serene mood. She felt incredibly optimistic about everything. As long as she stayed with Drew he was safe, and she had faith that they’d get the cross eventually. She was also certain that it would be in time, that her father would wait for them.

  Still casual, she said, “I wish I could figure out what bothered me about the statue. It’s the most peculiar feeling, like hearing a song and knowing the words are in your head somewhere.”

  “It’ll come to you.”

  “I guess.” She pushed the question out of her mind, knowing that if she tried to remember it would only be more elusive. They reached the outskirts of Innsbruck about then, anyway, and by the time they’d returned the horses to the stable and taken a taxi back to the inn she’d forgotten the matter completely.

  They were crossing the lobby when Spencer became aware of a great deal of noise coming from the veranda at the rear of the building. It sounded like a roar from a wounded bear, followed immediately by other, less identifiable sounds a bit lower in volume but still impressive.

  “What on earth?” she murmured, halting when Drew did.

  He cocked his head to one side briefly, then smiled and squeezed her hand. “I had a feeling they’d be showing up.”

  “Who?”

  “Kane and Tyler Pendleton.”

  Spencer glanced up at him as they headed toward the wide hallway that led to the veranda. “Your friends from Madrid? They sound as if they’re about to murder each other.”

  “They’ve sounded that way for years,” he explained a bit dryly. “In countless places all over the world. I’ve seen them fight with each other when most people would have been making peace with their Creator.”

  She felt a spurt of amusement, and the feeling grew when
they stepped out onto the veranda. The wide, tiled porch boasted a splendid view of the Alps, with scattered groupings of chairs and tables placed so that guests could take advantage of the scenery. All the chairs tended to be occupied at this time in the late afternoon but, even as Spencer watched, one couple retreated into the inn and another opted for the relative peace of the garden off to one side.

  Only a lone man, casually dressed and seemingly either tired or just a little sleepy, remained near the combatants. He was slouched back in his chair with a drink on the table before him, watching them with an air of lazy interest.

  Spencer heard Drew chuckle softly, but most of her fascinated attention was fixed on the man and woman who stood a few feet away near the low balustrade.

  The man was about Drew’s height, but he was heavier through the shoulders and a great deal more rugged looking, especially wearing jeans and a black sweatshirt that emphasized the sheer, raw strength of his large body. He had shaggy black hair and vivid green eyes that were almost literally shooting sparks at the woman who was confronting him. She was a tall and strikingly beautiful redhead with a figure, Spencer noted enviously, that no doubt caused traffic jams whenever she walked down the street and that was obvious even beneath the khaki slacks and loose blouse she wore. Her voice was as fiery as his, and since they were both yelling at the same time it was impossible to understand what the blistering argument was even about.

  Drew led her over to the watching man, who immediately climbed to his feet with a faint grin of welcome on his thin face. “Don’t mind them,” he said over the roar of battle. “They should be winding down any minute now.”

  Spencer was introduced to Burke Corbett and found herself sitting at the table between him and Drew, still conscious of amusement. “Interpol?” she asked, questioning that part of the introduction.

  “For my sins, yes.” He smiled at her, and Spencer acknowledged to herself that she’d never seen a more exotically handsome man. He had eyes of a peculiarly vivid and unusual shade of gray, so pale they looked almost silver, with perfectly shaped bat-wing brows flying above them. His thick black hair grew in a widow’s peak atop his high forehead, his smile was singularly charming and his voice was low and pleasant.

  “Did you just happen to be in Austria,” Drew asked, “or did you tail along with those two?”

  “I came with them,” Burke answered. “I was working on a case involving a smuggling ring in Madrid when they crashed the party. After the dust settled they told me about the cross, and since my usual bailiwick is Italy, Kane thought I might be of some use to you here.”

  Drew lifted an eyebrow. “Did he get confirmation that Stanton crossed the border into Italy?”

  “No, not yet.” Burke shrugged. “He just thinks—like you do, I imagine—that Stanton will aim for the Med and pick the shortest route.”

  Spencer was so interested in the conversation that she only then noticed the abrupt cessation of noise. She turned her head to see the Pendletons glaring at each other in total silence. Then the redhead grinned suddenly and stood on tiptoe to kiss her scowling husband. His fierce expression didn’t change very much, but it was easy to see he kissed her back even as one big hand lifted to gently encircle her throat.

  “One of these days,” he growled warningly.

  “You and what army?” she retorted, grasping his hand and holding it in her own as she turned toward their audience.

  Neither of them was at all self-conscious as more introductions were made and they took their seats at the table. Both seemed to recognize Spencer’s name, or at least appeared to know who she was, either because Drew had mentioned her to them or else because of her father’s reputation.

  Tyler was cheerful, Kane somewhat morose, and only Burke had the temerity to ask dryly, “Who won?”

  “I did, of course,” Tyler said cheerfully.

  “She makes me crazy,” Kane grumbled.

  Her amber eyes laughed at him, and after a moment Kane’s scowl faded and he grinned. “Drew, keep the name of that sheik in mind, will you? Maybe I could get a tasseled saddle or a couple of camels for her.”

  Spencer had realized quickly that the Pendletons were quite deeply and securely in love—it was as openly obvious and without constraint as one of their fights—so she wasn’t very surprised when Tyler’s only response to that was a soft chuckle.

  Drew obviously knew it as well, since he ignored Kane’s request and said, “I expected you to turn up here sooner or later, but not this soon. Why the rush?”

  “Madrid was very hot,” Tyler said solemnly. “And Kane wanted to hunt down that poor donkey.”

  Kane gave her a look, then answered Drew’s question. “We didn’t expect any word from our contacts until tonight anyway, and since Innsbruck was closer to the action we decided to come ahead.”

  “I hope there won’t be any action,” Drew told them. “Not the violent kind, anyway.”

  Burke was looking at Drew very steadily, and his voice was quiet when he said, “In the past five years you haven’t missed a chance to go after Stanton, and the three times that I know of when you caught up with him, you cost him plenty. Do you expect it to be different this time?”

  Somewhat grimly, Drew said, “I thought you were just a bit too casual about why you were here. Come to keep an eye on me, Burke?”

  “I’m just on my way back to Milan,” Burke replied in an unruffled tone. “Stopped by to see an old friend. Are you going to answer the question, or aren’t you?”

  “It’s not Stanton I’m after,” Drew replied. “Not this time. Just the cross.”

  Spencer, listening silently, was very much alert as she looked between the two men, and a glance showed her that Kane and Tyler were also deadly serious now. There were undercurrents, ripples of meaning in what was being said, and she listened even more intently as she tried to figure it out.

  “How can he know that?” Burke asked, his voice becoming flat and hard. “You’ve always gone after him before. The last time he ventured out of the States you were on his trail within days, and he was damn near killed before he got away.”

  Drew’s expressionless eyes met Spencer’s briefly, then returned to Burke’s face. “Past history.”

  “History he hasn’t forgotten. Drew, I was there, remember? I saw his face. Hate’s a mild word for what he feels for you, and you can’t expect—” The Interpol agent’s voice broke off abruptly as a waiter approached and spoke briefly to Drew in German.

  Drew nodded in acknowledgment to the waiter, then looked at Spencer. “I have a call—it might be news about the cross.”

  “I’ll wait here,” she said quietly. She said nothing more until he left, then looked at Burke. “Why does Stanton hate Drew so much?”

  Burke was frowning a little, and it was Tyler who said softly, “I think she has a right to know, Burke.”

  “Then he should tell her,” the agent snapped.

  “He won’t. You know that.”

  Spencer kept her clear, steady gaze on Burke. “Drew’s after the cross because of me,” she said, and there was a world of emotion in that statement.

  After a long moment Burke sighed explosively. “A few years ago we got word that a gold idol stolen from a museum in Mexico was about to change hands in Central America. Drew was in Colombia on business of his own, but we got in touch and unofficially requested that he try and find out who the buyer was.”

  “Why Drew?” Spencer asked, guessing the answer but wanting it confirmed.

  “Because he knows most of the world like the back of his hand and can get into and out of places where we wouldn’t stand a chance. It wasn’t the first time we’d asked a favor. He’s done work for us off and on since he was in college.”

  She nodded. “I see. So—he went to Central America?” Drew, she thought, hadn’t told her why he was there. She wondered what else he’d left out of his brief retelling.

  “Yeah, he went. It was hell down there. The country was in the middle of a r
evolution, and foreigners were considered fair targets by both sides.” Burke’s pleasant voice became impersonal in the way that some men learn to speak, in order to save their sanity, when they’ve seen too many unendurable things in their lives. “We’d heard rumors about a rabid collector, but we didn’t have a name then. That was all we wanted, just a name. Drew knew that. His instructions were to try and observe the exchange if he could, to try and identify the buyer.

  “He managed to locate the meeting, God knows how. He had to stay well back, out of sight. When Stanton got there the thief decided he wanted more money, or the idol. Stanton grabbed a woman who was there, the thief’s wife, and held a knife to her throat. The thief gave in without hesitating, but Stanton killed his wife. She was several months pregnant.”

  Spencer caught her breath and half closed her eyes briefly. He hadn’t told her that part, she thought, and she wondered suddenly if it had occurred to Drew that she might well have conceived his child. He had said nothing about birth control, and they hadn’t used any kind of protection despite the fact that both of them had had the time to consider that and decide. She had said nothing because, she realized only now, she wanted his baby. But his silence seemed uncharacteristic to her, given his responsible nature, and she wondered about that.

  They’d been lovers so briefly, and so much else was going on around them—perhaps he just hadn’t thought about it. She hadn’t, not until now. And there wasn’t time to consider, to untangle what she was feeling; she had to push the disturbing emotions aside and concentrate on what Burke was saying.

  He had hesitated for a moment, bothered by the fleeting intensity of emotion on her face, then went on in the same remote tone. “Drew didn’t know Stanton then, and he couldn’t believe the man would actually murder that woman. When it happened he blamed himself, because he could probably have taken Stanton out if he hadn’t hesitated. Stanton ran almost immediately and Drew got off one shot. Considering the terrain and the distance, it was remarkable that he hit his target. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a fatal wound. Drew tracked him as far as possible, but in the chaos down there he lost him within a couple of days.”