The Makeover Mission

by Mary Buckham

  He stepped forward.

  She stepped back.

  "I'm no threat to anyone here. Who's going to believe a librarian from Sioux Falls? If I say anything I'll be locked away in a mental hospital for years."

  He stepped again.

  The couch stopped her retreat.

  "Lucius, think this through."

  "I have."

  She swallowed. "You can't kill me. I love you."

  She saw the flicker of shock, or denial, in his eyes, the briefest darkening of their color, the tightening of his jaw before he stepped closer.

  "I warned you to trust no one."

  "Didn't you hear me?" She wanted to shout it. To hit him over the head with it. Anything to break through to him. "I love you. Don't do this. Don't do this to me. To yourself."

  Instead of responding he reached into his pocket and pulled out a palm-sized radio. They all heard his tense words. "Elderman, bring Gomez and the package. Now."

  Jane gulped air into her lungs. It must be a code word. Any second now the long-lashed young man assigned to guard her and another would break into the room and stop the insanity. Then Lucius would take her into his arms, tell her it had all been a lie and make everything better.

  She spared a quick glance toward Elena, the concern on her face indicating she was obviously thinking along the same lines.

  "Eustace?" Elena combined a question and command in one word, but it was unnecessary. Before the dead king's brother could move, the door swung open and two men stood poised in the threshold.

  "Thank heavens," the words escaped Jane before she knew it. Relief made her tremble, clutching the back of the couch for support now that the nightmare was over.

  But Lucius didn't look relieved. If anything he looked tenser, as if preparing himself for battle instead of celebrating a win.

  "Close the door behind you." He barked the orders, reaching his hand toward the black nylon bag Elderman cradled in his. "Give it to me."

  What did he need with a bag? Why didn't he tell his men to disarm Elena, the other Elena? To bring further reinforcements in case Eustace decided to make a move?

  She glanced from the two young soldiers to Lucius who was unzipping the bag.

  "What are you doing?" It was Elena who spoke first.

  "I told you I'd take care of the problem." Lucius extracted a small vial and then what looked like a plastic tube. No, not a tube, a syringe.

  "No." The guttural cry tore from Jane's throat. "No. Lucius, you can't."

  "I must." The statement sounded so calm next to her own outburst that it stopped her from reacting for a split second. Long enough for Lucius's two men to flank her, one on either side.

  She never looked at them. Not when they stepped closer. Not when they banded her arms with their hands. Not when they held her immobile. Her whole attention was focused on Lucius. On the precise, controlled movements of his hands as he assembled the syringe, slid the gleaming needle into the vial, pumped liquid through it until it beaded and bled from its tip.

  "No, Lucius." The words came as a whimper as he turned toward her, his gaze as bleak as she'd ever seen.

  "It has to be this way, Jane. It's the only way."

  He walked forward until he stood directly in front of her, his size blocking her view of the other two in the room, his attention was focused on hers as hers was on him.

  She looked deep into his eyes and saw his resolve. He believed he was doing the right thing. She read it there. Read his regret, his grief, but foremost his intent to see his mission through.

  As if something broke within her she screamed. Not a wounded sound this time but a cry of rage. Of an anger so deep and so bitter it slashed through her.

  She pulled her arms from her captors, surprising them with her move, surprising herself. But there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. It was the same scenario all over again. The one she'd woken to only weeks ago. She was the hunted and Lucius the hunter. But she was not about to be a victim.

  She'd changed between then and now. She would no longer go along meekly with another's plans for her. Not even Lucius's plans. Lucius, who she trusted with her life, with her heart.

  And he'd betrayed them both.

  "Jane." He made it sound so soothing, so cajoling, as if pleading with her to understand. But she wasn't going to make it easy for him. He could reject her. Reject the love that she'd offered to him with no strings attached. But she wasn't going to make it easy for him.

  She swung around. One foot connecting with a shin, another snagging a leg from behind. She used her elbows, her knees and found space before her. She lunged forward. An arm encircled her waist, lifting her from the floor in the same move, slamming her against a rock-hard chest.

  Lucius's chest. She knew from his scent. From the words uttered against her hair.

  "Don't fight this, Jane. You'll only make it worse."

  Worse? The man was going to kill her and she was supposed to go along meekly?

  She didn't think so.

  She bucked against him, slamming her head back and forth, clipping his chin, using her feet against his legs, her fingers against anything she could reach.

  "Enough." He grunted the word, squeezing her tighter, one arm securely about her waist, pinning both arms, the other across her upper chest, his leg scissoring hers between them.

  But she wasn't about to give up. Not yet.

  She fought.

  He held her tighter.

  He uttered words to her, breathless words that meant nothing. She was tiring and they both could sense it.

  Tears wet her skin. She could feel them, feel the pain welling up with them. He'd lied to her. He'd lied to her.

  The refrain echoed in her head, drowning out his voice, feeding the struggles she refused to cease.

  "Elderman. Now."

  He held her tighter until the room started to darken. She couldn't breathe. There was nothing left to fight with. He'd lied to her.

  "Hold still. It will be over in a minute."

  It was over before it started, she thought, feeling the prick of the needle against her skin, aware of Lucius's arms wrapped around her.

  "You lied." The words were spoken aloud this time. It no longer matter who heard them. Who knew what a fool she'd been. "I loved you and you lied."

  Elderman stepped back, but Lucius's grip did not lessen. If anything it intensified until she could feel the numbing sensation begin—in her hands and feet first, then up her legs and arms.

  "You lied." The words mingled with her tears, but it no longer mattered. "How could you lie?"

  His hold released, or maybe she no longer could feel it as the coldness seeped through her. She could feel herself slipping, realized it was Lucius moving, kneeling down, her weight still cradled in his arms.

  The image of the dead king flashed before her. Soon she'd be laid out beside him, as cold, as still.

  She struggled, but it was useless.

  "Shhh." It was Lucius's voice, as it had been once before, saying nonsense words as she faded. She thought he'd been kind then. How she could have been such a fool?

  "Why wasn't I enough?" Her words sounded slurred, her sight dimming. But she could still make out Lucius's face bending over her, his eyes agonized. Hadn't she thought they were cold before? There was nothing cold in them now. Now she could see emotions so deep and anguished she wanted to weep for him.

  But he'd made his choice. And it hadn't been her.

  "Don't fight it, Jane. Damn it, don't fight it."

  He almost sounded as if he was trying to reassure her. His hands brushed her hair from her face, dried the tears still fresh there. She wanted to smile at that. Tell him it didn't matter anymore if he killed her, not after he'd broken her heart. But the words wouldn't come. Not those at least.

  "I loved you. You lied and I loved…" the last word faded away, the cold almost complete, the room almost dark. She could no longer see his face, nor feel his arms around her, but she could still hear.


  It was Elena's voice demanding, "Is it over?"

  "It's all over."

  They were the last words she heard before the darkness came.

  Chapter 14

  « ^

  Five weeks, ten days and fourteen hours. Jane glanced up at the institutional clock in the library's basement break room. Fifteen hours. It was a good sign that she'd stopped counting the minutes. It was, wasn't it?

  Five weeks, ten days and fifteen hours and no word. Nothing. Not an e-mail, or a letter, or an archaic telegram. Nothing. The sooner she accepted that he had never really cared, the better. The other alternative? He was dead. And as painful as the first realization was, she knew it was nothing to accepting the second.

  Her throat closed and the piece of whole wheat bread in her hands crumbled. She glanced at the clock again. Fifteen hours and four minutes.

  The TV made a small hum in the background of the break room. Jane hadn't even realized it was on until Sue Dobson, the children's librarian, spoke.

  "There, Jane. That's you."

  Jane glanced at the small screen and froze.

  Elena Rostov. Or was it Elena Tarkioff now?

  Sue's voice droned on. "That's the woman I was telling you about that looks just like you."

  Several gazes turned toward Jane. Marion White from circulation. Ted Peters from the bookmobile.

  Marion's voice chimed in, "You're right, Sue. Isn't that the woman who's been on the news these last weeks?"

  "Almost every night. She's some princess in some east European country. It all sounded so romantic at first."

  More like a nightmare.

  Sue continued her litany. "Seems like she was going to marry the king. Only he was assassinated."

  Murdered.

  "Then his brother stepped up and was willing to both become king and marry her."

  More than willing.

  "Only they found out the brother was behind the king's death."

  "What?" That snagged Jane's attention.

  "Honey, haven't you been listening to the news lately? Or reading the papers?"

  "Go easy, Sue." Marion interjected with a shake of her head. "Can't you see Jane's still mourning her aunt? It was your aunt who passed away wasn't it?"

  "Yes. My aunt." The words rasped against her throat.

  "Hard to lose someone you love and pay attention to the everyday things at the same time. It's no wonder you don't know what's happening halfway around the world."

  "What is happening?" Jane asked. Not wanting to know anything, unable to let it go. A moth to the flame.

  Sue spoke up. "They feared there was going to be a revolution."

  "But?"

  "But when all the dirty details came out, both the brother to the king and the woman who looks like Jane were exposed as murderers."

  "They were? But what happened?"

  Was he alive?

  "It's been quite the soap opera." It was Ted Peters nodding. "It seems the U.S. was involved with the king. The murdered one. Some then wondered if we were behind the king's death."

  No. Not the king's.

  "But now there's some second cousin on the throne and things finally look like they're going to even out."

  "Without bloodshed?" Jane asked, aware she held her breath.

  Sue looked at Marion who looked at Ted.

  "I didn't hear of any deaths," Ted said. "Though there usually are a few causalities in this type of thing. Innocents who get in the way."

  Didn't she know it?

  "So that's it?" Her voice shook but she steadied it. "What about the U.S. involvement? Aren't there advisors and such?"

  Gray eyes. Wary, lonely, deceiving gray eyes.

  "Doesn't anybody know what happened to them?"

  Ted stood, carefully folding and refolding his paper napkin. "Probably were. Probably still are. Us small fish are the last to know what's happening with the big fish."

  So true.

  Marion rose, too. Just as the intercom buzzed and Doreen Bellows's voice crackled over it. "Jane? Jane Richards? There's a patron in research who insists on speaking to you."

  Jane looked at her barely eaten meal but it was Marion who answered. "Doreen, can't someone else handle it? Jane just started her break."

  "He's very insistent."

  Marion's brows arched as she glanced at Jane. "He?"

  "Probably Mr. Witherspoon." Jane stuffed her sandwich back into her paper sack. "He's researching Sumerian tablets and—"

  "He has a bouquet of yellow roses." Doreen's voice cackled again.

  "No researcher ever brought me roses." Marion grinned and winked.

  "Me neither," chimed in Sue.

  "Don't look at me." Ted grabbed his archeological magazine. "But if I had someone waiting for me with roses I wouldn't be lagging."

  She wasn't lagging. Catching one's breath wasn't lagging. Surely there was a mistake. There were any number of reasons a man with roses was asking for her. Any number.

  She was still reassuring herself when she walked around the corner and froze.

  Any number of reasons except this one.

  "Are you all right?" Lucius stood less than three feet away, his face looking drawn and wary, a bouquet of vibrant sunny roses clenched in his hands.

  This was not happening to her.

  "You're alive?"

  "Of course I am." He sounded surprised that she'd even asked.

  "Why are you here?" She was barely aware she asked the question. There were so many questions crowding through her thoughts.

  She watched him flinch before he stepped forward. "I needed to see you. To make sure you were all right."

  He made it sound so simple. This man who had upended her life. This man who made her want and ache, cry and beg. Who had woken her heart only to break it clean in half. She could kill him for it.

  "Well? Are you?" he asked, his voice rough.

  "Oh, I'm just peachy keen. Now you can leave."

  She knew they were alone. At least for the moment. But any second a patron could walk past the small desk and filing area. She was not about to have a public scene at her place of work. And no doubt he knew that.

  Her words were bitter, her actions automatic, the numbness she'd come to live with over the last months intensified. The old Jane would have been flustered, pleased that he'd sought her out. The new Jane could only remember how fragile the last weeks had been. And why.

  She heard his sharp intake of breath.

  "Jane—"

  "I mean it, Major. You know where the exit is. Same door as you came in." She didn't dare raise her hand to point the way. She was afraid it'd shake too much.

  "We've got to talk."

  "We're no longer in Vendari, Major. You're no longer calling the shots. I'd like you to leave."

  Where were the words coming from? The hurt? The pain? The betrayal?

  She'd loved him and he hadn't trusted her. Not once.

  Well, she'd been a fool before, but that Jane had disappeared. She might not be wearing designer clothes and silks any longer, but neither was she plain Jane now. Crushed Jane—yes. But only if she let herself be swayed by this man.

  "You're upset," he said.

  "You noticed."

  He ran a hand through his hair. A move not in sync with the calm, controlled man she knew.

  "Look, I know there's a lot to explain and this isn't the best place to do it." He spoke as if she wasn't standing there glaring at him.

  Do not relent. Do not believe his tone. He broke your heart. Remember that. He broke your heart.

  "No explanations are necessary." If only her emotions could feel as cold as her words. But they didn't. They felt shaky and unsure. He'd hurt her—unbearably, but now he was back. And he wanted to talk. As if she'd believe that.

  Why did she care?

  "We will talk, Jane." He made it sound like a promise, and a threat. But before she could protest he moved, with that lethal, quiet grace of his. Closed the space between them. His arm was abo
ut her, pulling her close, his lips claiming hers. Hard. Possessive. Demanding.

  She wanted to fight, to protest. Something. Anything. Except what she did. She stepped toward him instead of away. Met his heat with her own. It was a kiss she knew neither would be able to forget.

  All her resolve to remain aloof crashed with the taste of him.

  Damn the man.

  When he raised his head, his gaze impaling hers, he smiled, a knowing, warrior's smile.

  "My part in this whole mess was inexcusable."

  Understatement.

  "And I made some mistakes."

  Big-time.

  "But I'm not the only one."

  What?

  As if he'd read her unspoken thought, he replied. "You said you loved me, Jane. Love means trust. You should have trusted that I'd never have done anything to hurt you."

  He knew he'd caught her off guard. It was intentional. He'd take any advantage he could get to win her back. He had, too. She was his life. Her kiss gave him hope and he clung to it as he'd clung to his sanity the last weeks. The ones without her. The ones where he didn't know how she was, if she'd forgiven him. Communication had been impossible until Elena and Eustace were both safely behind bars and the new king installed.

  But now he was here and she was in his arms. At last.

  "Jane?"

  "The news said Elena and Eustace were arrested."

  "I didn't come to talk about Vendari." The words sounded blunt, harsh, almost desperate.

  "Well." He could see her trying to emotionally distance herself. Pull away from him. "That doesn't leave much for us to discuss."

  He knew it wasn't going to be easy. Never had he expected it to be this hard. Where was the Jane who put herself out to be kind to total strangers, the one who faced an impossible situation head-on, the one who'd told him she loved him? The woman before him looked like her, but held herself still and distant.

  She was killing him by the second and didn't seem to care. Not that he deserved more. Not after what he'd done to her.

  "If it will make a difference I'll apologize to you." The words felt like sandpaper rasping along his throat.

  "For?" Her arched brow reminded him of the other Elena, then he remembered there was only one Elena. And one Jane.