TO HOLD AN EAGLE

by Justine Davis

  Linc leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest once more. When he spoke, his voice was pleasantly conversational, but there was an undertone of implacability that he knew she couldn't miss.

  "All right, we'll do this hard way, if you insist. Let's see, I could just tell you you'll never get off this boat until you tell me, but that might be too much to your advantage. So, I could just badger you until you tell me the truth. I've kept inquisitions going for days before, you'd never outlast me."

  She stared at him. "Days?" she whispered, shaken. "Inquisitions?"

  "Or," he said, his voice suddenly gentle as he knelt down in front of her, "I could just tell you to tell me because you need to tell someone, because you need to trust someone, because you need help."

  She drew back as if she were frightened, but only with her shoulders, as if she couldn't move the rest of her body. Her eyes were wide, the blue made even more brilliant by the shimmer of the tears she was fighting. Another difference, Linc thought; his mother had cried easily and often, whenever she thought it would be to her advantage; this woman fought against the release of every tear.

  "Trust me, Channie," he said softly. "If for no other reason than I may be the only one who doesn't believe that suicide story."

  The stiffness left her body in a rush, as a shuddering sigh left her lungs.

  "Why do you care?" she asked dully. "After what your sister said, I would have thought—"

  "Shiloh is basing her judgment on what she knows. She doesn't know you, hasn't spent the last twenty-four hours with you. And as you may have noticed, neither of us is quite rational about the subject of our mother."

  "She's right, you know. I'm just like your mother. A whiner. Daniel always said so."

  "I haven't heard you whine once. And Lord knows you've had reason enough."

  "I've been too scared." She shrugged, letting out a disgusted little sound. "But then, I'm always scared."

  Instinctively Linc reached out, covering her hand with his. Her fingers were cold, and he clasped them in his own warmth. And was startled by the little leap of sensation that made his skin tingle. He tried to ignore it.

  "Talk to me, Channie," he urged. "Tell me what happened."

  She sighed, he felt her quiver beneath his hand. And then she drew in a long, deep breath, and he knew he had won.

  "Part of it—" she nodded toward the newspaper "—is true. I was on the yacht, headed for Mexico. My husband was supposed to meet me there."

  Linc recoiled inwardly from her last words. Only the repugnance in her voice as she said "husband" enabled him to hide his reaction.

  "He said he wanted me to reconsider."

  "Reconsider?"

  "I served him with divorce papers last week."

  "Oh." Feeling a fool, Linc smothered his urge to grin.

  "He said he wanted me to give him another chance to save our marriage. He said that after he flew down to meet the boat in Cabo San Lucas, we would cruise on to Mazatlan, take a nice vacation, like he hadn't in years, and work things out."

  "So you went."

  "I didn't want to. Nothing he could say or do would change my mind."

  "You sound awfully certain."

  "I was. It's been over for me for a very long time. Since before I asked for a divorce the first time."

  "The first time?"

  "A few months ago. He had a fit. He bullied me out of it, and I let him. Like your sister said, I'm weak."

  She smiled, a sad little smile that made Linc want to pull her into his arms and comfort her. He didn't, sensing that if she didn't get it all out now, she might freeze up on him again.

  "Never mind that. What happened?"

  "Oh, he was wonderful for a while after that. Attentive, thoughtful… He kept saying he never meant to be cool, or cruel, that he was just preoccupied with his business. He needed me, he kept telling me. I was an excellent hostess, I presented the right image, I was an asset to him and the company."

  Linc winced at the emotionless terminology. His picture of Daniel Lansing, begun by the too noble image presented in the article, began to expand. He saw a man who wanted a beautiful, ornamental wife, one who would put up with being ignored most of the time, then trotted out as an enchanting exhibit when the occasion warranted. A man who had apparently succeeded in convincing Chandra that this was all she was good for.

  "Romantic guy, isn't he?" he muttered under his breath.

  She shrugged again, a tired little movement this time. "I thought he meant to be."

  "But it didn't last, did it?" he asked gently.

  "No. He was right back to his old ways within a couple of months. So I didn't ask this time, I just filed."

  "But you still went on the boat."

  "He demanded it. He even sent two of the crew to escort me to the harbor. He wasn't going to take no for an answer." She sighed. "I couldn't see any way out, so I decided to go along with it. I thought the time alone on the trip south would give me time to work up my nerve, to confront Daniel and tell him once and for all that it was over." Her mouth quirked as she looked at Linc; bitterness shadowed the clear blue of her eyes. "I have no stomach for confrontation, either."

  Daniel Lansing, Linc thought, had really done a job in destroying his wife's self-esteem. "So you boarded the yacht. And you made it from Marina del Rey in Los Angeles to Dana Point. Then what?"

  "I already told you."

  "Told me what?"

  "I jumped."

  Linc's brow furrowed. Any trace of sarcasm was missing from her voice, and his every instinct told him she was telling the truth. She had, after the yacht had been long at sea, and was far off the coast, jumped overboard. Which left him with the one question that would make sense of it all, the question he'd instinctively asked her long ago. He held her gaze, tightened the clasp of his hand over hers, and asked it again.

  "Why?"

  She lifted her head and looked at him, steadily this time. "Because," she said flatly, "I found out that Daniel had ordered them to kill me."

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  « ^ »

  "Why?"

  Chandra stared at Linc. She'd expected him to ask her what had given her such a ridiculous idea. She'd expected him to tell her not to be absurd. At the least she'd expected him to give her that look, the same look that Daniel's friends gave her after he'd been spreading some story about what he called her silliness; he'd always followed it up with a loyal assurance that it didn't bother him, that he loved her in spite of her little quirks, but that look had remained to haunt her.

  But Linc didn't do any of those things. He had been taken aback, she had seen that in his eyes. But his expression never really changed, and after a moment he had just asked that so simple, so complex question. Why?

  "I … I don't know, not really." Oh, that sounded convincing, she told herself caustically.

  "How did you find out?"

  Why wasn't he discounting this? He'd read the newspaper story, he knew they thought she was crazy, or delusional at best. But all he did was sit there across the table from her, where he'd moved after her shocking announcement, and look at her as if he believed every insane word of what she was saying.

  "Why are you asking? Didn't you read this?"

  Linc reached over and shoved the newspaper aside. "I don't believe for an instant that you're crazy, if that's what you're asking."

  "Why?" she asked, gaping at him.

  "Maybe because I am," he said dryly. "So tell me. How did you find out?"

  She took a shaky breath. Tell him, she ordered herself. You've gone this far, he won't let you stop now.

  "I … those two crewmen? The ones who came and picked me up?" Linc nodded. "I … heard them talking."

  "Talking?"

  She nodded in turn. "I … had been wondering about them. I mean, they were dressed like the rest of the crew, but the others didn't know them very well. And they didn't seem to do anything. They didn't work on anything, just sat around and pla
yed video games, or watched TV. And watched me."

  "You?"

  "I thought I was imagining it at first, but I wasn't. At least one of them was always around. If I thought I was alone on deck, I'd find one of them had been watching me from inside. If I went into one of the other staterooms, one of them was in the hallway when I came out. I even tried going for a walk on deck that first night, twice, at odd hours. Victor, the older one, was always there within seconds, saying he couldn't sleep either."

  "Chandra," Linc began.

  "All right," she said, hearing the impatience in his voice. "It was really starting to bother me. So the second day out I told them I was going to take a shower. I went into the master cabin and turned on the water. Then I waited a few minutes, and snuck back to the main cabin. They were there, playing that video game with the falling blocks, I forget what it's called."

  "And?" Linc prompted.

  Chandra braced herself, then went on. "I couldn't hear everything, because of the noise of the game. But they were talking about when to do it."

  "It?"

  She nodded. "I didn't know what they meant until Norm—he's the younger one—asked what the boss wanted them to do if I fought them."

  Linc's brows lowered. "He used your name?"

  "No. He said, 'What are we supposed to do if she fights?' I was the only she on board."

  "What did the other one say?"

  Chandra bit her lip, trying not to shake too visibly as she remembered the older man's cool, unconcerned answer. "He said, 'As long as we don't leave any suspicious marks, we do what we have to do. The federales won't look too close, if the body even shows up in the first place.'" She suppressed a shudder. "I … they argued a little then. I couldn't hear it all, but I guess Norm wanted to … do it sooner, as soon as we passed the border. But Victor insisted they had to follow 'Mr. Lansing's orders,' and not do it until they were well away from the border. I don't know why."

  "Less populated area," Linc said with a vague wave of one hand, as if he were concentrating on something else. "A body could wash up on the beach there and not be found for days."

  "Oh." She knew her voice sounded tiny, scared, but she couldn't help it. "Anyway, when I figured out what they were planning, I knew I was too much of a coward to face it. I'm no fighter—but then you know that. I didn't know what else to do, so I jumped."

  "Knowing you were miles offshore? Lord, woman, what the hell do you think courage is?" Chandra blinked at his intensity, but before she could speak he leaned forward intently. "Why, Channie? Why would he want you dead?"

  "I told you, I don't know. Not for sure. But that last night I saw him, he said…" Her voice trailed off, it sounded too ridiculous.

  "He said what?"

  "He said he couldn't allow me to leave him. I thought then that it was his strange way of saying … he loved me. I never thought he meant it … literally."

  Linc sat back, studying her. "You mean you think he loved you so much he'd rather kill you than let you leave him?"

  Chandra nearly laughed. "God, no. Daniel could never care about anyone that much. And I'm hardly the type to inspire that kind of love, anyway."

  "We'll deal with that little misconception of yours later," Linc said harshly. "Why do you think he did it, then?"

  Taken aback by his first words, it took her a moment to answer. "I think he just couldn't stand to lose a prized possession. The decorative, well-trained wife. He owned me, and Daniel Lansing keeps what he owns. Losing embarrasses him. And he doesn't like being embarrassed."

  "You mean he ordered you killed so he wouldn't lose you? So you wouldn't embarrass him by divorcing him?"

  "I know it sounds crazy, but—"

  "Channie, it sounds perfectly sane compared to some of the lunacy I've seen in the world. Obsession is common, and you're certainly beautiful enough to bring it on."

  "Obsession," Channie repeated bitterly. That I can inspire, she added silently. Obsession. But not love. It hurt, so much that it overshadowed the spark of warmth that had flickered inside her as he'd so casually called her beautiful, as if it were the thing about her least important to him. And the shock that he had, apparently, believed her.

  "In some twisted kind of way, maybe it is love," Linc said. "Maybe it's the only kind he's capable of."

  Or the only kind she was doomed to receive, she thought. "Maybe I just should have let them do it," she muttered.

  "Now you are whining," Linc said, gently chiding.

  She flushed. "I know. I'm sorry. I just feel so helpless. And empty inside, because I … matter so little to the man I thought loved me."

  "I've seen too damned much ugly, meaningless death, Chandra. It makes me sick, too, to think of someone trying to murder you. But he didn't succeed. You cheated him. And now you can't let him get away with it."

  Chandra shook her head. He didn't understand, she thought. "There's nothing I can do. Daniel is an important man. Lansing Pharmaceutical is a major firm, and he's the owner and CEO. He's respected. And rich."

  "There's been a few of those who've had to pay the piper lately. They're not immune."

  "But he's got everyone we know convinced I'm … crazy. Or unstable at best. He's been saying it for months. He's—"

  She broke off, a shocking realization hitting her. Then she felt foolish for not having realized it before.

  "He was planning this even then, wasn't he? Ever since I asked for a divorce the first time," she whispered, staring at Linc and seeing the truth of her words in his eyes. "That's why he kept saying that stuff, why he kept telling me I'd said things I hadn't, and hadn't told him things I had. He even used to move things, and tell me I'd done it and just forgotten. Usually in front of other people, so they gave me that look, that pitiful isn't-it-sad look—I thought, sometimes, that maybe I really was going crazy."

  "God, Channie, I'm sorry."

  "Do you see now, why there's nothing I can do?" she asked. "No one would believe me."

  "I did."

  "But you're…" Chandra stared at him, wondering which of the list of adjectives that had sprung to her mind to use. Different? Special? Extraordinary? They all seemed to fit.

  "I'm what?"

  "I don't know," she said slowly, realizing it was literally true. "I don't know what you are."

  "Right now," Linc said, "I'm the only guy on your side."

  "You really believe me?"

  He reached out then, and when he took her hand in his again, Chandra felt the same spurt of amazing warmth that she'd felt the first time, as if some kind of connection had sprung up between them the moment he'd touched her.

  "I believe you," he said. "And I'll help you. We can take him down, Channie."

  "Take him down?" She stared at him. "You sound like a cop, or something."

  "Or something," he agreed.

  He looked at her for a long moment, and Chandra had the feeling of being assessed somehow, but in a different way than she was used to. She was familiar with the leering judgments of Daniel's friends and associates, as they looked at her body, her hair, her face, and rated her according to their own warped scale. Daniel had even told her on occasion—with a pride that had made her sick to her stomach—that someone had asked if she was part of a deal he was considering. In a strange sort of way she was fortunate, she supposed, that Daniel was so possessive. He didn't share his property, and she definitely fell into that category.

  She shook off the ugly memory. This was different. Linc was looking at her carefully, not leeringly, as if judging how much he could safely tell her. As she had been looking at him, she realized, trying to decide if she dared trust him.

  "Why do I get the feeling it's my turn to say 'Trust me?'" she asked quietly.

  He blinked, as if she'd caught him off guard. Then he smiled, lighting up his hazel eyes, and her heart took the racing little leap she was almost getting used to.

  "You give up your secrets, I give up mine?" His referral to their earlier discussion made her smile back at
him.

  "Something like that." She repeated the words she'd said then.

  His smiled widened for an instant. He took in a long breath, released her hand, then nodded at the Annapolis photograph. "About two minutes after the ceremony that day, I was cornered by two captains from NIS."

  "NIS?"

  "Naval Investigative Services."

  "Which is?"

  "Basically, the criminal investigative and intelligence agency for the navy."

  "Oh." Lord, he was a cop. Of sorts, anyway. "Cornered?"

  He nodded. "They were recruiting."

  "You? Specifically?"

  He nodded again. "Because of my father."

  She looked at the silver-haired man in the photograph again. "Why?"

  "He's … sort of a legend in NIS files."

  "A legend? He worked for them?"

  "Yes. That's why they came after me. I guess they must have decided a talent for the work could be in the genes."

  "It must have been hard. Living up to a legend, I mean."

  He looked surprised, as if not many people guessed that. "It had its moments," he said, his expression wry. "People expected both more of me and less, depending on their opinion of my chances to ever match Dad's record. If I hadn't loved him so much, it would have driven me crazy. It was a long time before I was ever referred to as anything more than 'Commodore Reese's son.'"

  The pure honesty in his voice when he spoke of loving his father made her throat tighten. Whatever their mother had done or been, whatever she had lacked, their father had obviously more than made up for. She fought down a rush of sad envy and asked softly, "What did your father expect?"

  "That I stay alive."

  His blunt words brought her back to reality with a thud. An ugly, brutal reality. A reality that made her shudder inwardly. Just the thought of the things he'd probably done, of the things he'd probably been through, made her queasy.

  She truly couldn't deal with the reality of what his life must be. God, she thought despairingly, she was just like the mother that had caused him so much pain. Was that why he was helping her? Was it just habit, something he did naturally when confronted with such a female?