by Jackson, Pam
Her anger was subsiding. She knew that she should have been more outraged by the surveillance situation, but as she listened to him, something inside told her to trust him. “I’m as stubborn as a mule. I would’ve found some way to that cave—but your uncle’s map was the key.” She shrugged, still curious how he had managed to get his hands on a rare map. “Clay, how did your uncle get that map of Claudius’s Den?”
He turned to face her, his arms still folded and his flawless face lit with excitement. “My uncle won it in a poker game from an old mountain man named Dawes. The mountain man had owned it for many, many years and told my uncle that it belonged to one of Claudius’s most trusted men.”
“Who? Who was the man that gave Dawes the map?” Her itch for historical lore needed to be scratched—she just couldn’t help herself.
A wry and teasing grin crossed his face, but he gave it up immediately. “His name was Jhan. He was a Mohawk Indian who met Claudius during the French and Indian War. He showed Claudius all of the secret hollows and hidden shelters here in the mountains. They were perfect hiding places for his cattle-thieving ring. And legend has it, when Jhan was on his deathbed, his final wish was to have a cartographer create the map so that the memory of his good friend Claudius would live on. I’m sure Jhan knew the map would create a fantastic legend that would’ve satisfied Claudius’s ego, even in the afterlife. Jhan was well over 100 years old when he died—and they said that at the exact time of his death, a terrible cry from a red-tailed hawk echoed throughout the valley. My uncle always liked to think it was the spirit of Claudius welcoming his old friend to the heavens.”
“Oh, my God! Clay, this means that the map is really authentic. Jhan knew where the cave was. He was the one who kidnapped Katherine to meet Claudius.” She stood up with the energy of a racehorse at the gate, her nausea replaced by sheer excitement.
“Whoa! I know Jhan was mentioned in Katherine’s diary as the man who abducted her, but this is exactly what made Claudius a legend. Fantastic lies and stories were conjured up by old miners and mountain people for entertainment. Trust me, there’s not much excitement going on up here after the sun goes down. Dawes probably told my uncle that story so the map would cover his poker debt.”
“I need to go—we were close. Don’t you understand? We’re so close.” She grabbed the map and had barely put on her ski jacket before she headed for the door.
Clay’s strong hand reached for her shoulder, and he turned her swiftly to face him. He pulled her close, his chest pressing against hers. His eyes were narrow slits as he stared at her with disbelief. “Over my dead body are you going out there! It’s over, Andie—end of the line. I’m calling Paul for an extraction helicopter, and you’re going into protective custody. You’ll testify against Tivoli, and he’ll roll on Ospina. We don’t need that damn book or whatever crazy mojo it might do. I’m gonna get you somewhere safe, and that’s final.”
She glared right back at him and said, “I don’t take orders from you. This is my life, I need to do this for me. This was my responsibility, my charge. I made a promise to myself to do something righteous and good for a change.” A newfound strength ran red-hot through her veins, and she couldn’t wait to move. “If someone finds that book before I do, God only knows where it will end up. I’ll testify for you, don’t worry. I won’t mess up your precious case. But I’m going out there, and you’ll have to shoot me in the back if you want to stop me. Now let me go!”
She pulled away from him, but he grabbed both her arms and pushed her against the clapboard wall. He held her wrists tightly, an amber hue, sparked in his brown eyes, igniting an unquenchable fire deep within his irises. His body was strong, with every muscle flexing under the soft cotton T-shirt. She could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he stood against her small frame. He was powerful and overwhelming, not just in sheer size; his masculine presence was sucking the breathable air from Andie’s lungs. Even in this powerless position, she felt protected and shielded from all who would want to see her hurt. And damn it all, she might never forgive herself for it, but at this moment she felt loved.
“You are killing me,” he murmured. His head hung low next to her ear, his dark hair brushing against her heated skin. “Luca Eberstark might still be out there, he might not have drowned back at the swamp. You need to listen to me—trust me—so that I can get you to a safe place. The cave, the book—none of that matters.” His lips were close, his warm breath heating her cheek. He closed his eyes as he spoke. “Do you know how hard it is for me to be near you? I can’t protect you if you have meaning in my life. I’m trying like hell not to feel anything for you, but even when you were just my surveillance detail, all I wanted to do was ...” His words fell silent. The words Andie wanted so badly to hear never came. “I know you don’t understand, but that is why I can’t let you go out there, not when the wolf is at the door, darlin’.”
Did he love her? He didn’t say it—couldn’t say the words that might make her stay. But she was guilty herself of holding back. She fought every emotion and every urge to kiss him again. She remembered the strong feel of his lips back at the grove, before she had sprinted to the snowmobile. There was something so familiar about him; that sweet, small kiss moved her soul. His lips, his touch, the way he looked at her—she wanted him to kiss her now, but he didn’t. Even as they stood here, so very close, she could feel the warmth of his body through their clothes and the stiff bulge of his growing erection nudging against her hip. He didn’t move in closer to kiss her—and this was how her heart would break.
She needed to move on and forget about him. But how could she when she felt this strange connection binding her to Clay, and to Claudius? She didn’t dare tell him about her visions of being in the cave with Claudius, or about the ghastly nightmares she’d been having for the past several weeks. She could still picture his lifeless body swinging from the gallows as an angry mob shouted and cheered in contempt on that cold January day more than two centuries ago. Why was she so connected to this vision?
Claudius, Clay and the Atros Fallis, they all haunted her. She felt like a trapped animal in a burning forest. Run, Andie. Run. But she couldn’t move, she couldn’t leave.
She pulled a wrist free from his grasp, dropped the delicate map to the floor, and reached up to stroke the curve of his jaw with her splayed fingers. He turned his head into her open hand and placed a warm kiss against her cut and bruised palm. His mouth traveled down to her wrist, where he placed another sweet kiss at the smooth crease where her pulse was strongest. Heaven, she thought. She craved more than just tender kisses at her wrist, but she fought back her selfish needs. Her desire for him was almost unbearable to her body and soul, and her gut wrenched with guilt as she considered what she was about to ask of him.
Clay spoke first. “Did I hurt you? I was just angry, and ...”
She silenced his words with a touch to his lips. He began placing small, erotic kisses on the soft pads of her fingertips. “Shh, you didn’t hurt me,” she said. “I trust you, Clay ... I know that now. That’s why you have to help me.” Her other wrist was set free, and she began pushing her fingers through his thick hair. She watched him close his eyes, enjoying her gentle strokes. “Please. I need to get the Atros Fallis out of here and someplace safe,” she softly pleaded to him. “We can even destroy it, but it can’t stay here. Please, I need you. Help me find it.”
His soft, pleasurable kisses stopped, and he looked at her with wounded eyes. He pulled away, turning his back on her, flexing tight with tension. He placed his hands on his hips, and she heard him hiss with scorn.
“Damn it! You just can’t give it up, can you, Andie? A martyr—is that what you want to be?” He turned on his heel and faced her with a hard look of disdain. “Do you want to bleed for this? Go ahead, it won’t change a fucking thing, you’ll just die for a twisted legend!”
She answered him quickly, and with confidence. “This is my decision, and for the first time in as long as I ca
n remember, I’m doing the right thing. I don’t want to use people anymore for a weak pat on the back and a fat bonus. I’m done with that. I’m doing this because I need to—for me!” It’s haunting me. Claudius is haunting me. You are haunting me! “And by the way, I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it my entire life, and I’m pretty damn good at it, too.”
He laughed loudly and dismissively. He clenched his jaw, and his cheekbones looked like they might shatter under the force of his grinding teeth. He swallowed hard before speaking with a deep, coarse edge. “After I told you about my cousin Sean’s death at the swamp, you said that I couldn’t blame myself for it. It was tragic, and sometimes terrible things happen to people.” He paused, his eyes hot embers filled with anger and pain. “But what I didn’t tell you is that six years ago, I was in charge of protecting a sweet and beautiful woman named Aksana. And she was just like you—stubborn, and full of fierce internal strength. She was my witness in a Ukrainian human trafficking ring, and I failed her, because I let her make the fatal decision of getting involved in my investigation—and getting involved with me.” He looked up at the wooden beams that held the rotting clapboard roof and folded his arms across his chest. She imagined he was taking a moment to squelch the emotions that were surging through his heart and gut. “Yeah, and she, too, thought she could take care of herself. But my enemies tortured her, brutalized her—and when I found her, she was so badly burned and beaten that I ... I had to kill her to end her pain.”
“Oh, Clay, no!” Andie covered her mouth with her hand to keep herself from crying out. Heavy tears welled under her red and exhausted lids, and she didn’t know what to say to comfort his wounded heart. She knew of that anguish firsthand—that type of sorrow would never fade. But Clay’s pain went deep, deeper than anything she could imagine.
Andie had always felt responsible for Roger’s death. The rage and betrayal he must have felt was so terrible that he shot himself because of her lies. She was the culprit who had sent him down that dark death spiral; her devious actions had put that play into motion. She recalled the guilt that was all-consuming, feeding on her soul daily. She shared that pain with Clay, and she wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone. But life continues, and every day that you choose to live your life for the dead, a piece of you dies, too. You become a walking zombie with limitless guilt to feast on.
She was sure he already knew those feelings, and she quickly realized this was the reason he kept himself at a distance from her. If he failed again and didn’t bring her back safely, he would fall deeper into the loss and the pain. He could be forever lost to an unemotional, raw detachment from life.
There was no solace to be found in any gentle words she could say to him, and she wasn’t sure about time healing all wounds. But for her sanity, and for the sake of being forgiven her own selfish sins, she had to finish what she had started. She would keep the promise she had made to herself. No more pain, no more emptiness; she needed a way out from under the heaviness she had felt for far too long—her soul aching to make things right. Clay had called her a martyr, but she didn’t see it that way. She saw it as living with meaning, not dying for a cause.
“I know what a terrible burden that awful memory is for you, and to carry that guilt and agony on your shoulders for so long is truly brutal.” She swallowed hard before she spoke again, as she knew her next words would infuriate and agonize him even more. Just say it, Andie. “But I’m not your cousin Sean or Aksana. And this is my cross to bear, not yours. I will take my chances out there with Luca Eberstark.”
He smirked, his upper lip curling with mockery. “Yeah, I know all about your cross to bear,” he snapped. “When your boyfriend, Roger Gleason, committed suicide in your Chicago apartment, your loyalty was on the side of Giovanni Tivoli. Didn’t you think that was a good time to stop using people? Why now, Andie? Why is now the time for you to grow a conscience and do the right thing? I want to protect you, but I can’t do that if you won’t let this madness go.”
She blinked in disbelief at his cruel words, and without thinking, she slapped Clay across his face. Her stinging hand flew to her mouth to conceal her cry. She had never struck a man she deeply cared for before—and never that hard.
She was definitely going to be sick, and her need to escape this place was overwhelming. It was hard to breathe, and all she wanted to do was run. She gathered what little courage and backbone she had left and confronted him. “Very good, Clay. I see you’ve done your homework, and I’m sure there is a hefty personal file on me in your computer to go along with my unauthorized photos. You know my age, my favorite foods, and probably my bra size, too.” She shrugged her coat on and took a step closer to the door. “You’re right. I have to let it go—all of it. And I can, because I’ve finally realized that I don’t need to live with the guilt or pain anymore. But you, Clay—you can wallow in your agony. You think it gives you strength—gives you a reason to do your job, but you’re wrong. There’s no strength drawn from pain, it only brings loneliness.” She fought back the tears. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her look scared and weak. “You could’ve chosen happiness and love ... maybe even with me. But instead, you chose your good ol’ friends, pain and guilt. And soon they will devour you—and that tough-talking, sharp-as-a-razor Brandon Clayton will become a shell of a man.”
He stood there, silent. He was pale, and he wobbled slightly. He squeezed his eyes shut, and the words came out as dry as ash. “Andie, I can’t even begin to tell you just how sorry ...”
She held her hand up to stop him. “Don’t, it’s not necessary. Keep your uncle’s map. I will find the cave by myself; this is my responsibility.” She reached into the side pocket of her ski jacket and pulled out her phone. She pressed the power key, and it chimed on with full battery power. “Remember? I snapped some photos of the map with my phone, so I’ll be all right. Please don’t follow me. Better yet, just forget me.” She turned and ran as fast as her legs could carry her out the door and into the cool night air. Her legs felt like jelly, but she kept pushing them harder and faster in the slushy snow. Even when her limbs became numb, she kept running until she was just a shadow among the whispering pines
# # #
Ah, fuck.
What had he done? His pride and ego had pushed away the only sweet thing to enter his life in a very long time. She was right. He’d been constricted by his anger for so long that he couldn’t see the void inside himself that was separating him from the world. After Aksana’s death, all he lived for was the job. He took on every mission with a ferocity that earned him the utmost respect of his superiors. He was known as one of the most lethal agents in ICE, and he relished that reputation.
Always put the mission first.
A woman was the last thing he needed or wanted. He had learned to repress any feelings for the opposite sex, and better yet, he had learned to shut off his feelings for anyone—male or female. The job—it was only about getting it done.
That all changed when he was assigned to Andie.
He remembered his first glance at her through his Nikon telescopic lens—she was perfect. Every move she made—from buttering her bagel every morning to reading those heavy history books well into the night—made his pulse race. He wanted to touch, taste and smell her—and most of all, he wanted to be inside her. He tried to shake off those needs, but she quickly became an addiction.
When he had received the call from Paul that she was on the move and had been tailed to the commuter parking lot opposite the trailhead, he had grabbed some gear and moved quickly along the hiking trails that were etched into his memory from his childhood. He had searched every road and deer trail, only to curse Paul under his breath for prohibiting him from using the snowmobile for his search. He’d been instructed to keep his cover as a hiker, and he had found the entire front to be total bullshit. All he wanted to do was find Andie and get her out of harm’s way—fuck it if he spooked her and she didn’t testify. His gut knew this
was going to turn into a shit show if he listened to Paul, and he hated lying to her.
And then there was that first encounter when he had found her hanging for dear life from a tree root off the cliff. His heart wrenched and his gut coiled with something more than a raw impulse to protect her. Saving her, and staring into those beautiful eyes, blew a hole through his thick emotional armor. His thoughts for her were reckless and out of control; he couldn’t help imagining her soft skin pressing hard against his rigid muscles as he pounded and bucked at her. He longed for her searing kiss that would quicken his orgasm; he would fill her completely and only stop making love to her when she begged him.
He wouldn’t let this go—he would not let her go. Up until this point, all he had wanted to do was squelch any feelings he had for Andie, but as he watched her run from the hunting cabin, he finally realized his frustration wasn’t with her, but with himself. He was trying to suppress hope and happiness; he hadn’t felt them in so long, he had forgotten how good they could make a man feel. He needed to let Aksana’s memory go and forgive himself for her death. He wanted to live and be free of his torment, and the only way to that place of bliss was through Andie.
