by Donna Fasano
He reached under his sweater and put his hand on his gun. Despite the warmth of his body beneath the knit, a cold feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. How could he draw a weapon on Michael? Was the man so corrupt that Cameron had reason to fear deadly force—or to use it?
His fingers curled over his service revolver. Every ounce of his training told him not to walk into this unarmed. Every fiber of his being told him not to go against his friend with a gun drawn. He held his breath. How could Michael have come so far as to take a child hostage, to rough up and try to kidnap an innocent woman?
Cameron alone could fully understand the man’s obsession. It was the other side of the coin to his own feelings about the gold, the legend, and family responsibility. Just as he would do anything to return the stolen treasure, Michael would go as far to claim the gold for family, honor, and justice. Knowing this, Cameron drew his weapon and inched out of the car.
From behind the fender, he studied the opening to the alley. He’d noted before that these alleys were all blocked by chain- link fencing. He knew that if Michael had gone in, then he was still there. Moonlight glinted off the chrome bumper, and Cameron glared upward, wishing for clouds.
Wishing is not going to get the job done, he reminded himself. In a burst of speed, he ran from the protection of his car to the side of the building, without crossing the alley opening. Unless Michael was watching from the shadows, he would not have a clue that Cameron was stalking him.
Cameron counted on that advantage, but he did not preclude other situations. He held his gun up, pointing toward the moon that mocked him by making the black barrel gleam like calm water. His heart thudded faster and faster in his chest. He’d faced worse situations tactically but never one with so much personal emotional involvement. What if Devin were in the car? What if Michael tried to use the boy as a shield? What if he had to look deep into the eyes of his childhood friend and pull that trigger?
It ripped away at his being even to imagine it but knew he would do what he had to do. He swallowed hard, drew a deep breath, and entered the alley
The white car sat at the end of the narrow passage. No movement betrayed the occupants. No sounds. No lights. Cameron edged along the side of the alley, his back pressed to the damp, cold bricks.
Nothing.
What was Michael waiting for? For Cameron to draw so close he could take him out in one swift ambush?
Every muscle in Cameron’s body tensed, ready to pounce. His pulse throbbed in his ears. Moving slowly, he decided, was only making him an easier mark. He had to move and move now. His boots hit the ground with such force that it jarred him to his teeth, but he charged on. Rounding the bumper, he drew a bead on the driver’s window.
Empty.
The car was empty. His shoulder slumped as he peered in again, his gaze sweeping the seats and floorboards. The car had been abandoned.
He glanced at the chain-link fence and judged that Michael could have scaled it easily. He sighed and reholstered his gun. The release of all his built-up adrenaline flowed through his body with a tingling force. At least, he reasoned, it wasn’t hopeless. He could call in a police unit to impound the car so Michael could not retrieve it. And he could still use the tracking device to zero in on Michael. Since the man was now on foot, that give Cameron a definite advantage.
He propped one arm against the roof of the car, which put him at just the right angle to see a tell-tale beam of moonlight falling on something golden in the car. He popped open the door and ducked inside.
If he had been a cursing man, he’d have let loose a string of words just then that would have curdled the milk in Mrs. Murphy’s cows. The light of the big, lopsided moon flashed off the gold cast of the tracking pin.
He stuffed the pin in his jeans pocket and turned to shut the door when a draft caused a small piece of paper on the floor to rustle. Curious, Cameron reached inside and withdrew the small notebook page that had been folded in quarters. His own handwriting glared back at him from the crumpled page.
GOLD. Wait him out. Moonbow. Cumberland Falls, Kentucky. Full moon.
The tension that had been mounting in him since he’d first heard of the break-in finally wrenched free, issuing forth in a deep, resonant belly laugh.
He refolded the paper, obviously pilfered from Julia’s desk tonight. He now had something far better than any Interpol techno-gizmo. Michael Shaughnessy’s greed and impatience had made him slip. Cameron now knew exactly where the man would be and when he would be there—and he would be waiting for him.
Chapter 9
Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, Miss Julia Reed. Tis a bright fine day for a treasure hunt, wouldn’t you be saying?”
Julia gasped at the sight of Cameron O’Dea—dressed in a long-sleeved red T-shirt, the collar’s top button casually open, and faded blue jeans—on her doorstep so early in the morning. But unlike the last time he had pulled this stunt, she was happy—no, make that overwhelmingly relieved—to see him. She couldn’t really say she felt happy because she knew he had come to say good-bye.
She burrowed her hands into the pockets of her thick, nubby flannel robe. “I guess the tracking device worked?”
He cocked his head. “It did indeed.”
“So...?” She crossed her arms, trying to act more confident and brave about this parting than she felt.
“So?” He mimicked her posture, folding his muscular arms over his broad chest. “So, what?”
He wasn’t making this easy. She curled her bare toes against the cold floor of the entryway Part of her wanted to ask him in for coffee, but another part knew that postponing the goodbyes would only make them hurt all the more.
She angled her chin up, determined to get this over with. “So, aren’t you going to thank me for my quick thinking and swift action in planting the pin on Shaughnessy?”
“Thank you.” He bowed his head in a fleeting show of gratitude. “But I can’t give you all the credit.”
You could, she thought, if you weren’t so stubborn. She smiled and leaned against the door frame. “Well, of course not. After all, you insisted I wear the device in the first place.”
“Actually, I didn't mean I should share the credit.” He shifted into a more comfortable stance. “I meant that even your actions, sweet Julia, benefited from a wee bit of… let’s call it luck.”
She blinked at him. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
He shrugged and chuckled under his breath. “I didn’t expect you to.”
She narrowed her eyes as if bringing him into sharper focus would suddenly help her to comprehend the man. “Maybe it’s too early in the morning for this conversation.”
“I agree. It’s a bit of a complicated story anyway, lass.” He brushed his knuckle under her chin. “Best we save it for the trip.”
“Trip?” She pulled her face away from his teasing touch. “What trip?”
“Our trip,” he said, as if reminding her of a long-planned arrangement between them.
“Our?” She shook her head. “Now you’ve completely lost me. Didn’t you come here this morning to say good-bye?”
“No, sweet Julia. I came here this morning to say ‘bon voyage’.” He over pronounced each syllable, grinning as he did.
So that’s all it is to you, she thought, a peculiar strangling sensation closing off her throat. A joke. Another cause for clever repartee. That’s all the more she meant to him. They’d had their
fun, helped one another out, and now—bon voyage.
She pressed her lips together until they burned. The crisp morning air nipped at her fingers and toes but that was nothing compared to the chill as she aimed her gaze into his. Thank goodness he hadn’t completed that kiss! She stood on the very porch where just last night he had taken her in his arms. How much more painful his jests would seem had he done so.
“Please, Cameron, won’t you come in so we can discuss this?” he said in a poor excuse for an American accent. He stepped forward.
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Julia had two choices. She could attempt to bar his way, which would result in an argument and quite a show for her neighbors, or she could let him into her house.
He took another small step.
Now he stood so close she could see the darkened circles beneath his ever-bright green eyes. She could feel the heat from his body and smell the stuffy air from Norman’s RV clinging to his clothes and hair.
She threw her shoulders back, but the fight was not in her. She could plainly see that the events of this last week had taken their toll on the indestructible Irishman, and it troubled her. Still, she reasoned, weary or not, he had no right to barge into her home—especially babbling about trips, insinuating she was somehow involved in a scheme she knew nothing about, and trying to turn their farewell into a hearty joke.
His whole cavalier attitude just made her mad. No, hurt, she corrected. No, confused. Confused and unsettled, she decided. And mad.
Her fists knotted tighter.
He motioned toward the door with both hands, as if to encourage her to move back.
Her bare feet did not move an inch on the cold old floor.
“You can let me inside, my dear, or keep me out like a stray dog come a-beggin’.” He cocked his head. The softness in his gaze made his green eyes glitter. “It makes no nevermind to me where we talk, but we will talk.”
She set her jaw.
He focused those amazing eyes on her and said no more.
She swallowed hard.
Then Cameron grinned.
Something broke loose in Julia’s hardened attitude. That grin, she surmised, and those eyes, should be registered as lethal weapons.
She grudgingly retreated just enough to allow him to slip through the door.
Once he stood inside her home, she gave the front door a Herculean swing, letting its thunderous wham herald her displeasure at having been the one to give in.
“Cameron O’Dea, you are not one bit funny. This.. . this… situation is not one bit funny. And I deeply resent my emotions being made fodder for your twisted sense of humor.”
He looked around himself then at Julia, his hands open in a gesture of befuddlement. “Excuse me, my dear, but I seem to be missing a piece of the conversation. I came here to talk to you about taking a trip and suddenly find myself attacked as a bad comedian.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean.” She marched into the living room. “You’re not going to blarney your way out of this one, pal. Bon voyage, indeed. And to think I almost kissed you.”
“And I you, as I recall.” He folded his arms again, the red shirt outlining the taut muscles of his arms and shoulders. “But for the life of me, right now I can’t imagine why I thought that was a good idea.”
“Oh, ha-ha.” She spun on her bare heel and began to pace. Her heart hammered in her chest and her temples throbbed. She knew she was out of line, but the man brought it out in her. He chafed raw nerves with his carefree approach to something she had thought so personal and significant. And then he had the gall to pretend he didn’t know why she would take offense.
Well, she wasn’t going to let him skate by this time. He had to know that Julia Reed was not a woman to be trifled with and then mocked. She would not let his parting words to her imply that the interest they shared had been one-sided.
Her voice rose as she dared him to keep up the pretense. “You wanted to kiss me, don’t deny it.”
“I did,” he declared softly through a hint of a smile.
“I knew it. You’ve probably wanted to kiss me for a long time.”
“Tis also true, lass.”
“Ah-ha!” What was meant to make her feel smug and superior had much the opposite effect. Cameron^ confessions sent a quiet quaking through her body and fueled the aching in her heart. Only her bravado could keep him from seeing as much. She drew in her breath and tilted up her chin. “So, you admit it?”
“Yes.”
“You wanted to kiss me?”
“Yes.”
“Despite your bon voyage’ remark and that crack about not knowing why you ever tried to kiss me in the first place.” The momentum of her words seemed to carry her up to him until she stood close enough to jab her finger into his chest. “I’ll bet you’d still like to take me in your arms and kiss me till we both go weak in the knees.”
“Yes,” he admitted softly, leaning down so that his nose almost touched hers. “I would.”
“You would?” She said the words. At least, she felt her lips move. She heard nothing. Saw nothing. Felt—everything.
~*~
He was only kissing her to shut her up, Cameron told himself.
He could make no sense of her rantings. He did not have the time to try to unjumble the tangled path of her thought process. And—as Julia had so aptly pointed out herself—he wanted to kiss her.
Not a long and passionate kiss, but rather a quiet, calming kiss. A kiss that promised more than it demanded, comforted and reassured and asked in turn only that she trust him enough to listen to what he had to say.
As their lips drew apart, their eyes locked.
“Well,” he said, his voice deep and husky. He pulled the scent of vanilla from her skin into his lungs. “My knees are wobblin’, sweet Julia. How about yours?”
“Like Jell-O.”
“Then perhaps it would be best if we sat down.”
She nodded, the bounty of her dark hair spilling over her slender shoulders and down her straight back.
They moved in silence to the comfortable but worn brown couch.
Julia’s surroundings, Cameron noted, like everything else about her, reflected pure practicality and economy. Her furnishings were not as shabby as the conditions in the shelter, but nothing looked new or expensive. She was not one of those directors of a charity who lived in luxury while others went without.
Cameron had to admire that about her. In fact, he had to admire many things about this woman. As she settled herself into the farthest comer of the couch, he watched her tuck her feet beneath her, arranging that raggedy but clean robe of hers over her green sweatpants. Think, he told himself as she brushed the stray curls from her soft pink cheek. She kept her eyes averted, and without appearing to know it, swept one fingertip across her lips where only moments ago his own lips had been.
He ran one hand back through his hair. He cleared his throat. “I think we’ve had our wires crossed, Julia. About the trip, that is.”
She raised her face and shook her head. “What trip? One minute you’re telling me you’ve captured Shaughnessy and rescued Devin and the next—”
“Hold your horses right there, my dear.” He held his hand up. “I never said anything about capturing Shaughnessy or rescuing Devin.”
“You said the tracking device had worked,” she protested.
“It worked, all right.” He kicked his boot up to rest his foot on his knee and leaned back, chuckling. “It lead me straight to an abandoned car.”
Her expression fell. “He found it.”
“And so did I, lying on the front seat pretty as you please.”
“Oh, Cameron, I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “Couldn’t be helped, lass.”
They sat in silence for a moment. He read in her eyes that she felt somewhat responsible for the delay that may have cost him his objective. He wanted to tell her it was all right, but he knew that he would need her cooperation, and her present sympathetic frame of mind might be just the thing that ensured he got it.
Finally, she sighed and hugged her knees to her chest. “How are you going to find them now?”
He reined in his urge to smile. “With your help, lass. With your help.”
~*~
“I still don’t see why I have to tag along on your search for the pot of gold at the end of a moonbow.” Julia wrestled her suitcase, stuffed with everything she could imagine needing for the next few days and then some, up the steps and into Norman’s RV. Of course she had refused to allow Ca
meron to carry it for her. And, yes, she’d regretted that almost instantly but did she ask for his help?
The moment she crossed the threshold into the space he had claimed, even temporarily, as his own, he reached out to snag the handle from her, no arguments allowed. “There is no pot of gold at the end of that moonbow, my dear,” he reminded her. “But as long as Michael thinks there is, that’s where he’s going to go. And so must we.”
“You.” She plopped onto the U-shaped seat behind a small table. Everything about him said he wasn’t taking any of her attitude and that small voice of reason in the back of her head said she was kind of being a jerk but she wasn’t in any mood to listen to anyone, not even her jerky self. “You must go. That’s your job. I, on the other hand, should stay right here. That’s my job.”
He hefted her suitcase into an overhead storage compartment. “They can spare you at the shelter for a few days.”
She shot up out of her seat so fast that the entire vehicle rocked gently. “That’s for me to decide, not you.”
“Craig said that he’s perfectly capable of handling it.” He shut the compartment door firmly, the click of the latch the perfect punctuation to the matter. “He said you’re long overdue for some time off, and that with the new influx of volunteers, many of them trained workers coming back, they have ample manpower.”
She opened her mouth to counter that claim.
Cameron held up both hands in a sign of surrender to still her complaint. “Craig also said that he knew all the manpower in the world would not make up for one measure of woman power, if that woman were you, but that they’d survive without you for a few days.”
She slumped back down and slouched against the autumn-toned floral of the seat cushion. “Yeah, well, Craig says too much.”
