by Karin Story
Tom pulled her into his embrace and held her against him, feeling every soft curve of her body, and every beat of her heart. He couldn't seem to stop his own body from shaking. Tears burned in his eyes.
"My God, you're alive. I can't believe you're alive," he mumbled, as his lips pressed kisses against her hair.
She pulled away and gazed at him. Her dirt-smudged face had a ragged scrape along one cheek, and another at her hairline. Damp ringlets curled around her face…and she was the most consummately beautiful being he'd ever seen.
"I told you that you could trust me," she whispered.
"I know, baby. But God, I thought I'd lost you. I thought I'd never see you again." Deep sobs built in his chest.
"Hey, it's me, remember?" Then she gave him a wavering smile, which dissolved as quickly as it had appeared. Collapsing against him, her body shook with sobs of her own. He held her, afraid to squeeze too hard and hurt her, yet afraid to let her go.
He didn't know what he'd done to receive this precious gift of her life, but he would never take it for granted.
Some time later, Juan leaned down and spoke near his ear. "Come my friend. It is best if we take our leave of this place before the authorities get wind of what's happened. We don't want to have to make any explanations that would put us in an awkward position. It is best if we are long gone by that time."
Tom nodded, knowing he was right. He rose to his feet, still holding Maris in his arms. She'd almost dozed off as he snuggled her against him, but now her eyes flew open. "What is it? What's the matter?" she whispered.
"Nothing's the matter. We're getting out of here."
Refusing any assistance in spite of his own aching injuries, loathe to trust Maris's precious life to anyone else for even a moment, he carried her to the waiting helicopter, and placed her gently on the seat. Stiffly, he climbed in behind her. Juan sat across from them, and as soon as they were aboard, he gave the signal to take off. All his men but the one flying the chopper, were in another helicopter which followed them into the air.
Tom leaned back in the seat, stretched his legs out, and nestled Maris against him.
"You okay?" he whispered against her cheek.
"You're alive, I'm alive, and that bastard's dead. Yeah, I'm okay," she whispered back. She spoke as if she had no doubts at all that Trent really was dead. She'd done her job and she never doubted for a moment that he'd done his. Her faith was amazing.
"Where're we going?" she asked.
"Home. We're going home, Mare."
She smiled and promptly dropped back off to sleep.
"She is quite a woman, my friend," Juan said softly. "Javier said she'd actually been climbing up the stone face of that cliff when he got there. I do believe she would have made it to the top with or without our help."
Tom looked at her again, and marveled at her fortitude. His Maris. He'd forgotten that she was a skilled climber. Yet to be doing it with no ropes or harness, under those conditions, was a feat he could barely fathom.
"When we arrived this morning to find all but a handful of Montgomery's soldiers dead, I could not believe it. I knew that it was just you and her out there. Are you quite sure she's not one of us?" Juan asked.
Tom smiled, yet felt the hot sting of emotion in his eyes. "I'm sure. She's a civilian." He ran his fingers through her tousled curls, loving each and every strand. "Just one with enormous courage and an undaunted spirit."
"You should be proud."
"I am."
Juan dropped them off a few miles from Veracruz, leaving them in an open clearing with the promise that the proper authorities would be on their way.
Maris, still asleep, rested comfortably in the shade of an enormous tree, her battered body finding the relief it fully deserved.
Tom shook hands with Cardoza. "Thank you. For everything."
"I'm sorry I was unable to do more, my friend. As I told you, I fear that your own personal loss in this assignment was greater than anyone should have had to endure. The agency asked far too much of you."
Tom sighed, but looked the man straight in the eyes. "I knew the risks when I agreed to infiltrate Montgomery's operation. Neither of us had any way of knowing what a truly demented man he was."
"Yes, that is true. But I am also sorry that you will no longer be able to work for the agency. In order to get to you this morning, I had to tell my men that you were working under cover for me, in the guise of a DEA agent, to track down and destroy Montgomery because he was scheming to take over the cartel." He shook his head. "While that is basically the truth, they have no idea who I work for. Unfortunately, in order for them to believe what I told them and keep my identity secure, you will not be able to return to your job."
"Don't worry about it. We both did what had to be done. And I hadn't planned on returning to the agency anyway. I've had enough of that brand of adventure. My life lies along another path now." He glanced over to Maris.
"She is a rare one, my friend. One to hang on to." He smiled. "What will you do now?"
"I don't know. But I won't be making any decisions alone."
Juan pumped his hand one last time. "We will probably never have reason to meet again. But if there is ever anything I can do for you, I owe you a very large debt. Do not hesitate to call upon me. You know where to find me."
"Thanks. There is one more thing before you go?"
"Name it."
"Your man Mateo, who helped me escape on the yacht. I saw his body at the morgue in New York."
Sighing deeply, Juan nodded. "Yes. One of the hired caterers was able to place him near your cabin at the time you escaped. Unbeknownst to me until it was too late, Montgomery tortured him to find out who was behind your release, then killed him. Even at the end, Mateo never gave up my secret. I will always have that on my conscience."
"As will I," Tom said softly.
"The positive side of it is that his death will help straighten out the mess Montgomery made of your life."
"How's that?"
The authorities linked Montgomery to Mateo's murder. They found a bit of skin under Mateo's fingernail that matched the same genetic code as skin found under the woman murder victim's nails."
"How does that help me?"
"Montgomery did a thorough job of switching your identity with his—dental records, fingerprints—but as another very thorough proponent of yours pointed out, you cannot switch a genetic code. The authorities found a bloody sweatshirt in the trashcan outside Maris's house, as well as several drops of blood in the house. After running tests on them, they discovered your genetic code did not match that of the skin found with the murder victims."
"What other proponent of mine are you talking about?"
"Apparently a little computer genius who says she is a friend of yours. She and a doctor in New Haven raised a stink to the authorities until they agreed to do the testing."
A small part of the heaviness in his heart lifted at Juan's words. "And when did this "stink" happen?"
"Four, maybe five days ago."
A smile lit Tom's face. Sarah. It had to be.
"I hope this information helps you in some small way. But now, I must go before the authorities arrive, my friend. Sorry I could not offer more in the way of first aid, but as we agreed, it is better if they think you two walked out of there on your own. And, as far as your Maris is concerned, tell her as much as you trust her with."
"Your secret's safe with us."
Juan nodded and walked toward the helicopter, then he turned back. "I hope so, my friend, because if you told, I would have to kill you!" He chuckled and continued toward the chopper.
Tom smiled grimly, knowing that Juan meant every word.
But Cardoza's secret was safe. He'd tell Maris, yes. But other than the two of them and the director of the DEA, no one in the world would ever know that Juan Cardoza, one of the biggest drug lords in the Mexican heroin trade, was a DEA mole.
Chapter 31
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&nb
sp; Maris stared out the French doors, across the redwood deck and onto the brown, November plains, watching as the wind blew the grass back and forth. A few white clouds scudded through the otherwise blue sky. A crisp, beautiful fall Sunday afternoon in Colorado.
"I'm going for a walk," she announced to no one in particular.
"You want some company?" Carrie asked.
"Thanks, but if you don't mind terribly, I just kind of need to be alone for a little while."
Carrie flipped her long blonde braid over her shoulder, and tossed the dishtowel onto the tile countertop. "Of course I don't mind, silly. Just because I was hoping for an excuse to escape the boring, backbreaking work of drying dishes." Then she grinned. "I'm just teasing. Go ahead and enjoy yourself. It's a nice day today."
Carrie's grin was contagious, and so like Tom's it was almost eerie. Maris smiled back. "Thanks. I'm just…" she shrugged, "I just need to think."
"Thinking's good for the spirit," Jan Eberson commented as she entered the room, and set a huge arrangement of dried flowers on the butcher block in the center of the kitchen. She pulled out one stalk and put it back in a different position. "There, what do you think?" She stood back to survey her handiwork as she wiped her hands on her jeans.
"It looks great," Maris answered.
Carrie nodded in agreement.
"Hmmm…needs something else I think. Something to tie in with the painting over the fireplace." Tom's mother eyed it critically, pushing a length of blonde hair behind her ear. "Maybe some yarrow. I think I have some in my craft room. Maris, be careful on your walk, honey. Hot chocolate when you get back!" she called as she breezed out of the enormous kitchen.
Carrie chuckled. "She gets like this when she's in a crafty mood. By the time you get back she'll have the whole kitchen redecorated."
Maris couldn't help but laugh, too. Tom's family was so comfortable and easy to be around. She already loved them all.
Waving good-bye to Carrie she headed out for her walk. She followed the long driveway out toward the barns, then trekked past them a good long way. Finally, she stopped to pick a stalk of dried weed that still had purple flowers in full bloom on it. It looked like something Jan would like.
She set it on top of the fence, then leaned against the wooden post and contemplated the mountains jutting up in the west.
It was good to be back in Colorado. She'd first felt that tingle of belonging when she and Tom had been in Idaho Springs that night. But it was back again now, full force. For the past week, since she'd been out here at the ranch, she hadn't been able to get enough of the mountain view and the clean brisk air. Tom's family had grown accustomed to her walks. She'd been taking a couple of them a day, sometimes staying out for hours.
She was restless, and walking helped more than anything else.
She didn't remember getting out of the jungle except being on the helicopter with their mysterious benefactor, who had turned out to be Juan Cardoza, himself. Tom had explained the DEA/Cardoza connection to her, but she still hadn't totally sorted out the complexities of it.
The Mexican authorities had flown them to a hospital in Mexico City, where they were treated quickly, then hustled aboard a charter flight to the States.
She'd awakened in The University of New Mexico Hospital in Albuquerque to find Tom at her bedside, leaning over her with a look of sheer terror on his face because she'd been out for so long. He didn't leave her side the rest of the time they were there. The nurses quit arguing and finally one of the doctor's just wrote up the order for them to officially share a double room.
Their families had descended on them—Tom's parents and sister, Genny, and even Dad, who'd flown in from Crete, had come for a couple of days. Jerry called every day to see how she was doing, although—she shook her head at the mysteries of the male ego—he continually refused to speak to Tom.
When they were released, Jess, who still grinned every time he and Maris talked, had driven them up here to Colorado.
When she'd seen Jess Eberson in the hospital, he'd greeted her like a long lost daughter, hugging her close. Then he'd handed her something. She'd looked down to discover he'd given her a piece of paper—one of the Post-it notes with Tom's writing on it that had been in her backpack. That was why Jess had continued to sit there that day after she'd jumped out of the Suburban and run away. When she'd opened her backpack to put away her gun, the note had fallen out and he'd found it.
He'd spent the past year thinking his son was dead, only to be carjacked by a strange woman who had paper in her possession that not only had Tom's handwriting on it, but a recent date scrawled across the top. After he'd put two and two together, he'd tried to follow her, but it was too late. She'd already been picked up by Bob Hope.
Bob Hope. He'd come calling while they were in the hospital. He really was with the DEA, and had been one of the agents assigned to track down Trent Montgomery in New York. According to Tom, Hope wasn't the one who'd shot her in Denver. Trent had done that. He'd told Tom as much when they'd been fighting at the waterfall. But after thinking of Bob Hope as the shooter for so long, and after the way he'd treated Tom at the morgue, it was hard to be friendly to the guy, even though he'd just been doing his job.
One very happy note, however, was that Sarah was alive.
When Trent had come to her house, she'd hidden in a secret room off her den. She'd had the room installed because her ex-husband came back to antagonize her every now and then. She'd watched Trent as he swept the house, then heard his beeper go off and heard his entire phone conversation with someone about how Maris had been sighted at the DEA office in Denver. He'd left abruptly after that call, but Sarah had been so terrified, she stayed in the room for another full day before she finally emerged, satisfied he wasn't lying in wait for her.
Maris shook head at all the events that had taken place over the past few weeks, and rearranged her position against the fence post.
Her back still ached from the fall she'd taken over the cliff. She'd slowed herself down twice by grabbing at protruding branches that jutted out of the rock, had even managed to stop herself a couple of times, but ultimately, she'd taken a pretty good dive onto the unforgiving rock. Somehow she'd managed to come out of that whole ordeal with nothing more than a strained back and more scrapes and bruises than she could count. Considering where she'd fallen from, and what, by all rights, should have happened, she counted her blessings every day.
Right now, though, she just wanted Tom. Plain and simple.
He'd only spent one night at the ranch, and the next morning, he'd gone to Denver to begin the arduous task of straightening things out with the DEA, and making his report of the Trent Montgomery incident. He knew he'd probably be gone more than one day, but it had now been six.
In all that time, he'd called her only twice, for a few brief minutes, to tell her that he was fine and to ask how she was. He'd told her he loved her, but his voice had been distant, as if he were distracted. That had only fed the gnawing pain in her heart that something was wrong between them.
In spite of their closeness when he'd pulled her up over that cliff, each day that had passed since then, even during the days in the hospital, he'd slowly withdrawn from her. And each day he'd been gone to Denver, the anguish grew inside her.
That's why she walked. Why she had to think. As much as she loved Tom, she feared there still might be no future for them.
For the first time since she'd moved east to care for her grandmother, all the old guilt feelings had disintegrated. Somewhere between the stormy beach in Connecticut, the mountains of Colorado, and the jungles of Mexico, they'd disappeared without a trace. And she was left with a clear heart and conscience. Now the only thing she needed to be truly complete was a commitment from the man she loved that they'd spend their lives together.
But she didn't have that, and didn't know if she ever would.
He'd vowed to her in the jungle that he wouldn't leave her again. But much had happened since then, and sh
e didn't feel she had the right to hold him to his promise. She'd pushed him to the limit of his emotions, his courage, and his very soul when she'd forced him to let go of her at the cliff. She knew she'd had no choice. If he hadn't let her go, Trent would have killed them both because neither of them had been in a position to defend themselves. But that practical issue aside, she'd asked so much of Tom that night. Maybe too much. So now, if he needed space from her, she had no choice but to understand. It might take him a long time to heal emotionally. Or he might never completely heal. Her actions may have saved his life, but lost her his companionship for the rest of her days.
So deal with it, Rhodes. You have to have a plan.
Rubbing her cheek against her bulky fisherman's knit sweater, she tried to focus. She knew she wasn't going back to Connecticut to live. Her heart was here in Colorado. This was where she belonged.
And she knew with a certainty that she could have a job working in Rocky Mountain National Park again if she wanted it. The thought of mounting a pack on her back and hiking off into God's country caused a shiver of goose bumps to spring up on her skin. She did so love it here.
It was time to thank Tom's family for their gracious hospitality and take control of her life once again. And if Tom eventually found his own peace, she'd be here. If not…she swallowed back tears at that thought…if not, she had a job she'd always loved, and Colorado was her home. She'd take solace in that.
She looked out toward the mountains and let her mind wander.
"Mare?"
She heard his voice a split second before his arm went around her. Her heart began to pound.
He drew her back against him and the clean scent of him swirled through her senses. "What were you thinking about so intently?"
"About Pike's Peak," she answered honestly, not daring to look at him. His arm around her felt so good she was almost limp with joy. "I was just thinking that I've always wanted to run the Pike's Peak marathon."
"Why don't you do it next summer then?"
"I might."
