Countdown

by Iris Johansen

  “You don’t know it. And the gold is too important to stopping those bastards for us to gamble on instinct.” Eve started toward the door. “This could stop us cold. The gold was never a sure thing. I wish to hell it was. But we’d better start looking for another solution to pull out of the hat.”

  The marina,” Trevor murmured as they watched Eve’s plane take off. “Even if it’s there, it will be difficult as hell to find and get to it. We’d be a lot luckier if it’s in Julius’s tunnel.”

  “But we know she was trying to get the gold out of the tunnel. Perhaps she managed to do it.”

  “And took it to the marina? Maybe that was just an escape attempt. Maybe she grabbed a pouch from wherever she hid it and ran toward the sea.”

  “What was she doing at the marina? Julius would have kept watch on her. It wouldn’t have been safe for her to—”

  “You’re talking as if that was Cira.” He was silent a moment. “You have to admit the chances are pretty strong it might be. Eve was right. Those statues could have been meant to flatter either her or Julius’s taste in women.”

  “I admit it.” Her lips tightened. “I can’t do anything else.” She turned and headed toward the access for private aircraft. “Until Mario gets that scroll deciphered and we learn what Cira has to say. And what if there’s no concrete clue to where she hid the gold or meant to hide it? Eve’s right, we can’t count on the gold. The chances look slimmer than ever of finding it. And that scares the hell out of me.” Her lips tightened. “Let’s get back to the Run.”

  “I’ve been in contact with Bartlett. He said that everything is status quo. No great urgency.”

  “Every minute is urgent right now and every possibility is important.” She glanced back at the sky where Eve’s plane had disappeared into the clouds. “Eve realized that or she wouldn’t have flown here to see me. It wasn’t easy for her.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not more upset with her. She lied to you.”

  “She did it because she cared about me. How could I be angry with her when she was whipping herself?” She paused. “And I love her. That’s the bottom line. Whatever she did, I’d forgive her.”

  “That’s an impressive blanket statement.” He opened the door. “It makes me wonder what it would take to be enfolded in that blanket.”

  “Years of trust, of give and take, of knowing that no matter what happened she’d be there for me.” She glanced at him. “Have you ever had someone in your life like that?”

  He was silent a moment. “My father. We were . . . friends. When I was a kid, I didn’t want anything more than to live on our farm and tend the fields and be just like him.”

  “A farmer? I can’t picture that.”

  “I liked growing things. I guess all children do.”

  “And not now?”

  He shook his head. “You put your heart and soul into the earth and it can be destroyed in a moment.”

  She looked at him. The sentence had been spoken almost casually, but his expression was shuttered. “Is that what happened?” She added quickly, “Don’t answer. It’s none of my business.”

  “I don’t mind talking about it. It was a long time ago.” His pace quickened as they crossed the tarmac. “There was a local racist gang who hated my father because he treated his workers well. One night they raided the farm and burned our home and fields. They killed sixteen workers who tried to fight them off. Then they raped and killed my mother and pinned my father to a tree with a pitchfork. He died very slowly.”

  “My God. But you survived.”

  “Oh, yes. I annoyed the gang’s leader by trying to stab him, and he had me tied up to watch the slaughter. I’m sure he was planning on killing me later but he was interrupted by the soldiers. Our neighbors had seen the fire and smoke and called them out.” He stepped aside for her to climb the stairs of the plane. “They said I was lucky. I’ll always remember that as a poor choice of words. I didn’t feel lucky.”

  “Jesus.” Jane could almost feel the agony, see the horror of that scene and that boy tied up and forced to watch his parents’ murder. “Did they catch them?”

  He shook his head. “They disappeared into the bush and the government let them go. They didn’t want the bad press a trial would have caused. Understandable.”

  “I don’t think it’s understandable.”

  “Neither did I at the time. It was one of the reasons that I was considered incorrigible during the first year I was in the orphanage. But then I adjusted and learned patience. My father always said that patience won the day.”

  “Not if that murderer went unpunished.”

  “I didn’t say he went unpunished. Right before I went to Colombia the gang leader came to a nasty end. Someone tied him down, castrated him, and let him bleed to death.” He smiled. “Isn’t it wonderful how fate has a way of taking a hand?”

  “Wonderful,” she echoed as she gazed at him. She had never been more aware of how lethal Trevor could be. On the surface he was urbane and sophisticated, and it made her tend to forget the violent experiences in his background. “And they never found out who did it?”

  “Some old enemy, they presumed. They didn’t look too hard. Considering the delicate balance of the politics at the time, they didn’t want to stir up trouble.” He shut the cabin door. “Better sit down and buckle up. We’ll get this show on the road.”

  She watched him head toward the cockpit. In the last few moments she had found out more about Trevor than ever before. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Now that she could picture the boy he had been, she wasn’t sure she would be able to look at him without remembering. It made her heart ache for him.

  “No.” Trevor was looking over his shoulder, reading her expression. “That’s not what I want from you. Sex, maybe even friendship. But not pity. I’m no Mike, who you had to nurture and protect. You asked a question and I answered because it’s not fair that I know more about you than you do about me. Now we’re even.” He disappeared into the cockpit.

  Not exactly even, she thought. He knew a lot about her, but she had never confided anything as intimate and hurtful as the story he had just told her.

  Stop it. He didn’t want pity, and she would have hated it herself. As Trevor had said, that was a long time ago and that boy had grown up and grown armor and fangs.

  MacDuff met them at the helicopter when it landed at the Run. “A successful trip?”

  “Yes and no,” Jane said. “We may have found Cira.”

  He stiffened. “What?”

  “There’s a reconstruction in a museum in Naples that resembles her. Her skeleton was found at the marina. Along with a pouch of gold coins.”

  “Interesting.”

  Interested wasn’t the description she’d give for his expression, Jane thought. He appeared wary, intent, and she could almost hear the thought processes clicking behind that face.

  “How close a resemblance?” he asked.

  “Close enough to mistake for Cira at first glance,” Trevor said. “Or so Jane said. I wasn’t privy to the viewing. The reconstruction on exhibition was the counterfeit done by Eve four years ago.”

  “But according to the news stories and the photo taken of that reconstruction, it looked nothing like—” He stopped. “She faked it?”

  “She thought it was for my own good,” Jane said defensively. “She would never have— Why am I explaining anything to you?”

  “I have no idea,” MacDuff said. “I’m sure she had good reasons for what she did.” He paused. “How close a resemblance?”

  “As Trevor said, at first glance . . .” She shrugged. “But the features are cruder; there are subtle differences. I’m not going to believe it’s Cira. Not yet.”

  “It’s always best to take every new fact with a grain of salt,” MacDuff said. “Don’t just jump in with both feet until you’ve explored all possibilities.”

  “And if the chest of gold was hidden in the marina, it’s going to make retrieval to
ugh,” Trevor said.

  MacDuff nodded. “Almost impossible, considering the time factor.” His gaze shifted back to Jane. “And you believe the gold might be there?”

  “I don’t know. The gold coins . . . I don’t want to believe it, but I’m afraid not to. As you said, the time factor.

  “How is Jock?” Jane asked.

  “The same. Not good. But not worse.” He hesitated. “Or maybe not the same. I have a feeling something weird’s going on in his head.” He turned and headed for the stable. “At any rate, I’m keeping an eye on him.”

  “He seems distinctly skeptical,” Jane said to Trevor as she started for the front door. “Since it’s the first solid clue we have to Cira, I’m a little surprised.”

  “It’s probably not solid enough for him. He doesn’t want us to waste time on long shots. He wants Reilly.”

  “No more than we do.” She opened the door. “I’m going to go up and check on Mario. I’ll see you later.”

  “Where?”

  She looked at him.

  “Your bed or mine?”

  “Pushy.”

  “I’ve learned you never take a step back if you’ve made a successful advance. And last night was damn successful.”

  Successful wasn’t the word. And just looking at him brought back the eroticism of those hours. “Maybe we should slow down.”

  He shook his head.

  Why was she being so hesitant? It wasn’t like her. She was usually bold and decisive.

  Because it had been too good. There had been times when she had lost control, and that had frightened her. Get over it. She had slept with him because she had realized how fragile life could be and she didn’t want to miss one instant of it. She had reached out and grabbed the brass ring and it had not disappointed her. She wanted him just as much now as she had last night. More. Because she knew what waited for her now. And, God knew, tonight she needed a distraction as strong as the one Trevor was offering.

  “Your bed.” She started up the staircase. “But I don’t know how long I’ll be with Mario.”

  “I’ll wait.” He headed down the hall. “And I have a few things to check out myself.”

  “What?”

  “Brenner, to see if he’s managed to find out anything more.” He smiled back at her. “Then Demonidas. We didn’t get a chance to do any research this morning before Eve called.”

  “He probably doesn’t exist,” she said wearily. “It was only a dream. And this Giulia from the marina is more than likely Cira.”

  He shook his head. “You’re tired or you wouldn’t be this negative. We’re going to give old Demonidas his shot.” The door of the library closed behind him.

  She was tired. And discouraged. She didn’t want that poor girl in the museum to be Cira. Yet the coincidence was overwhelming, and she couldn’t deny the truth that it might be.

  But that girl wasn’t her Cira, dammit. Not the woman who had lived in her mind and imagination for the last four years.

  Then find out the truth. Forget about dreams and give Mario a little more time to give her the reality she needed.

  Any progress?” Mario asked when she came in to the study after knocking.

  “A skeleton found in the marina that looked like Cira.” She walked over to stare at the statue by the window. The determination, the humor, the strength in that face was the Cira she knew. “I suppose it could be her. But what was she doing in the marina if she was in that tunnel on Julius’s estate when she wrote those scrolls?” She turned back to him. “How much longer is it going to take you to finish?”

  “Not long.” He leaned back and rubbed his eyes. “I’ve been able to piece in most of the missing words. Some of it was guesswork, but I’ve got the hang of it now.”

  “When?”

  “Don’t push me, Jane. I’ve already stopped training with Trevor and MacDuff to work full-time on it. It will get done as quickly as I can do it.”

  “Sorry.” She glanced back at the statue. “Have you gotten far enough along to tell if it’s going to help us?”

  “I can tell you it was written in haste and she was planning to leave the tunnel that day.”

  “The day of the eruption—”

  “We don’t know that. There’s no date on this scroll. It could have been written days before the eruption. She could have left the tunnel and been at the marina that day.”

  “I guess you’re right.” Because she’d dreamed Cira was in that tunnel during the catastrophe didn’t mean it was true. “And the mention of the gold?”

  “Nothing definite.”

  “Or a ship?”

  He gazed at her curiously. “No. Why?”

  She wasn’t about to confide in Mario about those dreams that were taking on less and less substance. “If she was at the marina, there must have been a reason.”

  “Survival. She was at the theater and ran for her life.”

  The logical answer. She should accept it instead of fighting and searching for an alternate solution. Admit that woman in the marina was the dead end Eve had claimed. “Will you have it done by tomorrow?”

  “There’s a good chance. If I don’t sleep.” He smiled faintly. “No kindly protest at my sacrifice?”

  “It’s your decision. I’m selfish enough to want to know right away. It’s not going to hurt you to sleep after you finish it.” She added soberly, “In my heart I believe I always thought we’d find the gold, and now I’m out to sea and looking for a life raft. I don’t know which way to go and I feel helpless. We have to stop this, Mario.”

  “I’m working as fast as I can.”

  “I know you are.” She headed for the door. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure you will.” He looked back at the scroll. “Good night, Jane. Sleep well.”

  She didn’t miss the faint sarcasm in his tone. She couldn’t blame him, but it wasn’t characteristic of the Mario she had met when she’d first come here. But then, Mario had changed, forged in the fire of tragedy and loss. He had lost all boyishness and softness, and she wasn’t sure she’d recognize the Mario who’d emerge after this was over.

  Had she changed too? Probably. Mike’s death and this horror hanging over them had shaken her to her marrow. And she’d never had a sexual experience as intense as the one she’d shared with Trevor.

  Trevor.

  Intense wasn’t the word for what was between them. Even thinking about him was causing her body to ready. To hell with worrying about how much she or anyone else was changing. Who knew what was going to happen tomorrow. They had to live every moment while they had the chance.

  His bedroom. He’d be waiting, he said.

  But she’d been with Mario less than ten minutes, and Trevor was probably not finished with the things he had to do. She’d go to her own room and shower and then go to him.

  Go to him. Go to his bed. Her pace quickened as she walked down the hall. Electric torches gleamed on the stone walls, casting triangular shadows upward on the arched wooden ceiling and on still another of the many faded tapestries that graced the hall. The MacDuffs certainly liked their tapestries. . . .

  It would be strange going to an assignation in this ancient castle. Jesus, she almost felt like the mistress of old Angus MacDuff. If he’d had a mistress. Most of the nobility did, but maybe Angus was the exception. She’d have to ask MacDuff tomorrow.

  Her bedroom was dark and she tossed her purse on the chair by the door before reaching for the light switch.

  “Don’t turn it on.”

  She froze.

  “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Jock.

  Her heart was pounding, but she drew a deep breath and turned to the corner of the room from where he’d spoken. The moonlight pouring in the window was faint and it was a moment before she could make him out. He was sitting on the floor, his arms linked about his knees. “What are you doing here, Jock?”

  “I wanted to talk to you.” She could see
his hands clench into fists. “I had to talk to you.”

  “And it couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?”

  “No.” He was silent a moment. “I was angry with you. I didn’t like what you said. For a little while I wanted to hurt you. I didn’t tell the laird that. He’d get upset with me if I hurt you.”

  “Not nearly as much as I would.”

  “But you couldn’t get upset; you’d be dead.”

  Was there a touch of black humor in those words? It was impossible to tell since she couldn’t see his expression. “Does hurt automatically mean killing, Jock?”

  “It turns out that way. It happens so fast. . . .”

  “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Rei—Reilly.” He stopped and then said again, “Reilly. It’s hard for me to talk about him. He—doesn’t—want me—to do it.”

  “But you’re doing it anyway. That makes you stronger than he is.”

  “Not yet. Someday.”

  “When?”

  “When he’s dead. When I kill him.” The words were spoken with utmost simplicity.

  “You don’t have to kill him, Jock. Just tell us where he is and we’ll let the authorities take care of it.”

  He shook his head. “I have to do it. It has to be me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I don’t, the laird will try to do it for me. He won’t wait for anyone else. He’s . . . angry with him.”

  “Because he’s an evil man.”

  “Satan. If there’s a Satan, it’s—Reilly.”

  “Just tell us where he is.”

  “I—don’t know.”

  “You have to know.”

  “Whenever I try to think of it—my head—it hurts so bad I think it’s going to explode.”

  “Try.”

  “I tried last night.” He was silent. “I got—pictures. Flashes. Nothing else.” He paused. “But maybe—if I went back I might remember.”

  “Back to Colorado?”

  “Not Colorado.”

  “That’s where they found you.”