by Debra Webb
But it was too late for regrets now.
The game had already started.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"I've had visual contact."
Heath had waited until dawn to contact Danes. He'd hoped his anger would have diminished to some extent by morning but it hadn't. His attention remained fixed on the monitor's image of a sleeping Jayne as he paced his small room. He wanted to reach across this telephone line and punch Danes for setting this stage.
"Excellent. I knew he would be close."
Heath held his breath in an effort to slow the avalanche of fury rushing through him, but the move was futile.
"Tell me why it had to be this way."
His words were bitter, cold, filled with animosity for the man in charge. He didn't need to spell it out. Danes would understand. "It's the only way."
Heath shook his head, his fingers clutching the cell phone with white-knuckled intensity. "I won't accept that."
An unexpected silence followed.
When it dragged on Heath was suddenly certain he'd crossed some unseen line with Danes. His new career might very well be over before it had much of a chance to get started…but he didn't care. This was wrong. He couldn't imagine Cole Danes having any kind of explanation that would make it right.
"The information that would clarify the situation for you is highly classified."
Heath rolled his eyes. "Screw that crap. I'm not buying it."
Another prolonged silence.
"Since this mission depends solely upon your complete focus and cooperation I'll make a judgment call and take the position that you need to know."
Anticipation surged, momentarily slowing Heath's mounting fury. "Don't yank my chain, Danes," he warned. He'd had enough of this guy's games. If he knew more about Stephens he should have told Heath up front. He didn't like going in blind on any level. He damned sure didn't want any half truths now.
"I will give you the justification your conscience needs," Danes allowed, "but know this, Mr. Murphy, I find insubordination on any level unacceptable."
Heath choked out a laugh. "If you think a threat is going to do the trick, Danes, you're sadly mistaken. I didn't sign on for these head games. You tell me why this is going down this way. Tell me now or I'll take charge of the situation myself."
"You mean," Danes suggested, "the way you took charge of the situation when your partner used your distraction to get away with murder?"
The words had the desired effect. The rug jerked right out from under Heath's feet.
"Or perhaps you mean the way you took charge of the situation when your girlfriend found herself on a slippery ledge and fell to her death."
"You son of a bitch." Heath slammed his cell phone closed. His fingers curled around it as if he could somehow prevent more of the truth from spilling out of it. He closed his eyes and shook with the effort of holding his emotions together. A part of him wanted to beat the hell out of Danes. But another part of him, the part that recognized the truth in the bastard's words, wanted to cry out with the agony that still lived in the furthest recesses of his brain. Never completely going away.
He'd left a vital piece of himself on that damned ledge three years ago and nothing was ever going to bring it back. He'd screwed up and she had paid. His in ability to pull himself back together had allowed his new partner to hurt innocent people…and almost get away with it.
But, by God, he wouldn't screw up this time. Jayne's safety depended upon him. She might never forgive him for his part in all this, but he had to protect her.
Heath flipped open his phone and stabbed the necessary numbers. He didn't wait for a hello. "Tell me what you know," he demanded. He could imagine the look of satisfaction on Danes's face.
"Twenty years ago Howard Stephens was more or less a two-bit hood for hire. It's true he spent a couple of years on the military's payroll in a capacity much like a Central Intelligence asset under the curiously vague network of Special Forces shadow operations. But his value was greatly reduced when his superiors discovered his fetish for selling secrets."
"I'm not interested in ancient history, Danes. Save it for the textbooks."
A hum of amusement vibrated across the line. "Where is your patience, Mr. Murphy?"
Heath opted not to answer what he presumed to be a rhetorical question.
"Our Mr. Stephens joined forces with a man named Errol Leberman, the arch nemesis of James Colby."
James Colby was Victoria's first husband. Heath was aware that the Colby Agency had been plagued by an enemy named Leberman who was responsible for the kidnapping of Victoria's son, Jim Colby. But Jim was back now, after years of brutal persecution by Leberman.
"And you think Stephens is the one who kept the information flow between someone at the Colby Agency and Leberman," Heath finished for Danes. "I've heard all that before. And as sorry as I am for what happened to the Colby family, what does this have to do with Jayne Stephens? Why does she have to suffer for her father's sins?"
"Relax, Murphy, we're only now getting to the good part."
His condescending tone set Heath on edge all over again.
"Leberman was so preoccupied with revenge he more or less allowed Stephens to do as he pleased with the little mercenary operation he'd started. A grievous error in judgment. Stephens decided that the occasional foray into third world countries to murder and steal weren't lucrative enough. So he started another kind of service right here in this country."
Dread twisted in Heath's gut.
"His team specialized in assassinating those most killers for hire preferred to avoid. Cops, members of the military, even the occasional politician, always making the murder look like an accident. A shoot-out with a drug dealer, a helicopter crash or simple car accident. Most of his clients are foreigners. Persons from countries who, shall we say, have a distaste for our way of life. Few things happen by accident, Murphy. A man like Stephens could, for example, perpetrate an uprising of Iraqi rebels against American peacekeeping troops and it would be blamed on the terrorists or the fallen regime. People believe what they want to. They need an explanation for why things happen. Men like Stephens prey upon that need. He has no conscience, is loyal only to himself."
The whirlwind of emotions Heath had tangled with all night gave way to astonishment. "Why hasn't someone stopped him before now?" He shook his head in disbelief.
"No one knew who he was until recently. You see, ac cording to the military's records, Howard Stephens died eighteen years ago, about the same time the Colby child went missing."
That didn't make sense. "But he's kept in touch with his daughter."
"A daughter who protects him, does she not? What did she tell you about her father?"
A chill leeched into Heath's bones. There's no one but me.
"But he's made contact with her," Heath argued. "Has surfaced more than once?"
Danes hissed a breath of impatience. "No one knew to look for him. There was no reason. He was dead. He has operated under a number of aliases all these years. It was only discovered recently that he was still alive."
An epiphany struck Heath fast and furiously. "You found him," he said, almost to himself. He could see that. Cole Danes would find the truth when no one else could. He was relentless like that.
"Lucas Camp hired me to look into this case. I traced the connection to Stephens."
Heath felt stunned all over again. This was entirely too much to digest.
"We have to stop him, Murphy. He knows we've done what no one else ever could. We're on to him. And we've locked on to the one person who can prove he's still alive."
Jayne.
"There has to be another way." A sinking sensation dragged at Heath's conviction that he could make this right somehow. This was way over his head.
"There is no other way. If you fail, finding him again will likely be impossible."
"Why me? Why don't you send a whole team of government agents down here if all you say is true?" How the hell was he s
upposed to stop a guy like that? How could he protect Jayne if Stephens brought in his team of mercenaries? Heath didn't have that kind of training. He was no secret agent. He was just an ex-cop.
"If Stephens suspects for one moment that I'm involved or that any government agency is aware of his existence, he'll bolt. He has to think this is low level, revenge for his involvement with Leberman. If he believes that he's only going up against a P.I., one who doesn't even have a proven track record, he'll feel free to expose himself. It's the only way."
Heath had known there was more to his selection for this case than his climbing skill and lack of involvement in the agency's past. "But what makes you so certain he won't bring a half-dozen mercenaries with him?"
"He won't take the risk. For nearly twenty years he's kept his daughter out of what he does, anonymity protected him as well as her. A group of mercenaries wreaking havoc in Aspen, Colorado, would draw far too much unwanted attention. Stephens's dirty little world depends upon complete secrecy. He needs it. He plans to keep it by taking care of this business personally and quietly."
"How can you be so damned sure?" Heath wasn't afraid for himself, his concern was for Jayne's welfare. She was totally innocent in all this.
"Trust me, Murphy. I am dead certain and I'm relying on you not to let me down. If you fail, there will be no hope for Jayne. There's no turning back now. The damage is already done."
Heath's gaze settled on the monitor as the call ended.
That was the one thing he and Danes agreed upon without reservation. The damage was already done.
* * *
THE SOUND OF THE telephone ringing crashed into Jayne's skull.
She groaned and rolled over.
She didn't dare open her eyes. The throb in her skull warned that it would not be a good thing.
Another ring and her head exploded once more.
She groped blindly over the bedside table, desperate to put an end to the torture. She gripped the receiver and dragged it to her ear with her eyes squeezed shut in hopes of warding off additional pain.
"Hello," she muttered, then licked her lips. Her mouth felt like cotton. If she ever even thought about drinking again she wanted someone to shoot her and put her out of her misery in advance.
"Jayne, you up yet?"
Walt.
She suffered a twinge of disappointment that it wasn't her father calling to wish her a happy birthday.
"Jayne?"
What did Walt want this early in the morning? She popped one eye open and was shocked to discover that it was seven o'clock already. Not so early by her usual standards.
"Yeah, sure…I'm up." She pushed the hair out of her face and considered sitting up but wasn't sure she could trust herself not to howl with the pain that would surely accompany the move.
"Good. I was afraid after the party last night you might forget that the avalanche advisory had been lifted so today's schedule is good to go."
Today's schedule? Oh, no. Ten o'clock prep class and then a three-and-a-half-mile jaunt on snowshoes at one. It was a beginner-level trek. But that gave her no comfort. She groaned again, certain she would not survive rolling out of the bed much less a dozen enthusiastic tourists.
"That didn't sound too good, Jayne," Walt commented, worry tingeing his tone. "Should I try and find a replacement guide?"
"No, no." She pushed up from the pillows, biting her lip to hold back another groan. This wasn't her usual fare. She led the more difficult ventures into the mountains and backcountry. But she'd promised one of her friends she'd cover this one for her. "I'll be there. Just let me get in the shower and make a pot of coffee."
"All rightie then. See you at ten."
His chipper voice echoed in her ears for a full minute after she'd hung up the phone. How could anyone feel that good after last night?
Jayne scrubbed a hand over her face and dropped it to her lap. Confused, she looked down at herself. To her surprise she still wore the jeans and T-shirt from the party. Why hadn't she changed?
And then she remembered.
Heath had practically carried her to her room. She'd had way too much to drink.
Jayne dropped her head in her hands and wished she could crawl into a hole somewhere.
She sat up suddenly. The idea that he'd put her to bed without undressing her, other than tugging off her boots, didn't bode well. What guy wouldn't have used the opportunity to get a look at her hidden assets?
She groaned again. The answer was simple. The kind of guy who had a job to do, a story to write. One who wasn't really interested in pursuing a relationship. Oh, she almost forgot, and one who wouldn't compromise his principles.
But he'd kissed her. On the cheek, but it was a kiss just the same. She'd felt the pull of desire, the heat simmering between them.
Obviously she'd been the only one feeling it. She'd noticed the way he'd studiously avoided her last night at the party. Whenever she'd looked he'd been across the room or talking to someone else. Her every dance had been with someone else.
Dammit.
She pushed to her feet and trudged to the bathroom. She'd known better than to fall for the guy. At least it was only a superficial prick to her ego. She liked him well enough, but that was all. It wasn't like she'd really gotten attached to him.
She turned on the shower and stared at her reflection in the mirror. That haunted look that always lurked just beneath the surface, the one that had seen too much on the job, was there as always. But there was another emotion, an unfamiliar one, hiding behind the mask of contentment she always wore as well. This one was hope.
For the first time in a very long time she'd hoped for something more. Verged on the point of real trust. Thank God reality had opened her eyes before she'd made that mistake.
Jayne took a deep breath and prayed today's class and winter outing would be enough for Heath. Maybe he'd write his story and move on. Surely he wouldn't wait out a rescue?
One silly little detail that had been nagging at her from the beginning surfaced once more. Why did she never see him taking notes? Or taping interviews with her? For that matter, they hadn't actually had what she would call an official interview. Every reporter she'd ever met took notes. Maybe she'd asked him.
Or maybe she'd just let it go and hope he left soon. The longer he stayed the more likely she was to really get hurt.
And she'd have no one to blame but herself.
* * *
TWELVE EXPECTANT gazes watched Jayne's every move as she demonstrated the proper way to prepare for a cross-country snowshoe trek during winter weather.
There were actually only eleven students; the twelfth person present in the Happy Trails orientation room was Heath. He sat at the rear of the classroom, those dark eyes never leaving her.
At least the blush on her cheeks at the idea that she'd practically passed out on him last night gave her some color. Then there was that kiss. How could she be in the same room with him without thinking about that simple kiss on the cheek or the way he'd pinned her against the counter that first night in Rafe's kitchen. Those foolish thoughts inspired a warmth inside her over which she had no control, thus the blush.
Admittedly, she could use all the help she could get this morning since she looked and felt like death warmed over. She had elected not to bother with a morning run since she would need every ounce of energy she could summon for this outing.
Each class participant had received a list of appropriate clothing for the trip as well as the necessary supplies for unforeseen occurrences. All appeared to be prepared. The forecast called for a sunny day with temperatures hovering in the midtwenties. The snow in the area had been groomed ensuring undemanding mobility. This was a level one trip; it didn't get any easier.
"Careful packing is essential," she told the attentive class of mostly older men and women. One couple looked to be in their forties, but most appeared more in the fifty to sixty range.
She covered the proper way to organize a backpack in a
few simple steps. As she glanced around the class room to see if everyone was listening her gaze unexpectedly tangled with Heath's. Something about the way he looked at her made the bottom drop out of her stomach and she totally lost her train of thought.
"Where's the nearest bathroom?"
Jayne blinked. "Excuse me?"
"The bathroom?" the woman repeated.
"Down the hall and to the left," Jayne explained, dredging up a patient smile.
"Not the bathroom here," the lady smirked, "the one on the trail."
The whole group burst into laughter. Jayne couldn't help but laugh as well. The sole person in the room not laughing out loud was Heath, but the amusement in that relentless gaze told her he'd gotten a kick out of the old lady as well. But there was an underlying seriousness in his expression that made Jayne uneasy. Today's schedule afforded little time to consider his odd behavior. Maybe tonight they would have time to talk.
He'd said he had more questions for her…but that had been a ruse to get her to the surprise party. Still, how much of a story could he write when he knew so little about her?
* * *
HEATH WATCHED JAYNE chat over lunch with the group of novice snowshoers. He'd selected a table at the rear of the nostalgic restaurant so that he could keep an eye on her as well as the main entrance and the kitchen door.
He wondered about her work at Happy Trails. The variety of trip offerings ranged from easy hikes, like today's, to difficult cross-country routes, backpacking and various degrees of climbing. He couldn't help thinking how boring an itinerary such as this one must be. Such a monumental waste of her extensive talent.
But she didn't appear bored at all. In fact, she seemed to enjoy the group's flamboyance and humor, all of which was so unlike her usual demeanor. Quiet, reserved. A loner to a large degree. Yet there was an energy about her that drew him. What made a vibrant young woman content with the status quo? Why not grab all the gusto while she was young? She certainly was fearless enough. It didn't add up.
There's no one but me. Self-protection. Survival.
