by Cindy Dees
“Mm-hmm.” Her mouth curved into a lazy smile.
His thumb traced the soft fullness of her lower lip. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. His blue eyes were almost black with an emotion she’d never seen in them before. He was serious, intense, his concentration on her total. He lowered his head toward hers.
His mouth stopped only inches away from hers. “May I?” His voice was a husky half whisper.
Her whispered reply came, unbidden, from the bottom of her soul. “But of course.”
Eleven
It was a reunion of souls. Warmth and wine, friend and colleague. They blended and became simply man and woman. The kiss deepened and they drank of one another, feasting upon the joy of their discovery. Eventually Amanda took a breath as Taylor lifted his mouth from hers.
He lifted her in his arms and she felt as light as dandelion fluff. The room spun slowly in a kaleidoscope of passion-tinted hues. Mouths and tongues fused again in a heated dance that spiraled ever faster around them, leaving her dizzy and gasping for breath. Taylor strode to the sofa and carried her down to it, following after her. She sank into the soft cushions, covered by his big, warm body.
Amanda gripped his shoulders with desperate intensity as the limits of her universe stretched and expanded to encompass this realm of sensation. To hell with living like a machine. It was a stupid idea, anyway. And then the second part of her father’s axiom popped into her head. She tensed.
Taylor lifted his head immediately. “What is it?”
She shook her head. “Something my father used to say. He used to tell me that to stay alive I had to become a machine. I had to live without feeling or else my emotions would be used against me as a weapon.”
Taylor sighed. He pressed up and away from her and shifted to sitting on the couch beside her. His arm came around her shoulders and he tucked her against his side. He was silent for a moment and then asked, “What happened to your mother? Was she really killed in a car accident?”
Amanda blinked at the shift of topic. “As far as I know.”
A pause. “Not to be insensitive to your loss, but based on your father’s opinion of the danger of emotions, is there any chance it wasn’t an accident and your mother was actually murdered? He was a spy, after all. What if he was discovered and somebody took out your mother to get at him? Maybe your father wasn’t so paranoid, after all.”
She blinked, stunned at Taylor’s logic.
“Is the loss of his beloved wife what sent him over the edge into madness?”
She nodded.
He said slowly, “So somewhere deep in your mind, you believe that your parents’ love for each other cost you both of them. No wonder you want nothing to do with love.”
His words shocked her into utter stillness. No. She shunned love because her work required total concentration. Because emotions distracted a person. Because she traveled constantly and had no stability in her life. Because she was afraid of it.
Taylor remarked into the vacuum of her dismay, “There’s nothing wrong with you bottling up emotions you perceived as dangerous. It was a perfectly logical response to your loss.”
She frowned. “But if I can’t love, I’m broken.”
Taylor sighed. “Amanda, Amanda. You’re not broken. Rejecting emotion was a predictable, normal self-defense mechanism. You just didn’t give it up when it outgrew its usefulness.”
“I don’t know. This past week I’ve gotten the feeling I’m outgrowing the notion pretty fast.”
He grinned and said lightly, “I’m a pretty lovable guy, huh?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you go and cop a big, macho attitude on me, Romeo.”
Taylor laughed. “Not a chance. You’d kick my butt and hand it to me on a platter.”
She pushed up against his chest. “Speaking of platters, your dinner’s getting cold.”
He dropped a kiss on the end of her nose and stood up, escorting her to the table. She lifted the lids off the plates while he poured wine. Moonlight streamed in the window and a warm breeze fluttered the gauze curtains. A soul-deep relaxation came over Amanda, the sort of unwinding she hadn’t experienced in years. Taylor sat down across from her. He took a bite of supper and sighed in pleasure. “This is delicious. What kind of fish is it?”
She smiled. “It’s sea bass. They call it corvina down here.” She joined him in consuming the delicately flavored fish.
They were lingering over a desert of sumptuous mocha mousse when she finally asked, “So, Taylor. Why did you come down here?”
He paused, no doubt considering the multiple layers within her question. “First, if you needed me, I wasn’t going to let you down.”
The glow that had been building through supper expanded even more within her.
He continued, “Second, we got tangled up in the middle of something huge, and Devereaux got bullied into pulling us out of it. That makes me real curious. I hate not knowing what’s happening or why. Third and most important, someone tried to kill you and we don’t know who it was. That person is still out there. I’m worried about you.”
She savored the idea that he was worried about her. “What do you propose we do about all of the above?” she asked.
He responded with a question of his own. “What are the options?”
“Well, we could bag it all, take my pension from Devereaux and go live somewhere comfortable and remote for the rest of our days.”
He shook his head in the negative. “I don’t like the idea of leaving someone out there on the loose who’s gunning for you.”
She continued, “Well, we could drop the case like everyone wants us to and go on to the next project Devereaux has for us. Or we can ignore what everyone’s telling us and press on with this investigation. The downside of that is we’ll be on our own. We’ll likely get little or no assistance from Devereaux and no protection from our government.”
He said dryly, “I don’t think our government was planning on protecting us much, anyway. From what Harry said, I gather Uncle Sam was prepared to let us rot in Mexico for a good long time before they came to the rescue. I say we press on.”
She looked at him intently. “Are you sure about this? It could get dangerous.”
He shrugged. “We’ve already been followed, shot at, and kidnapped. How much more dangerous could it get?”
She answered with the voice of long experience. “A lot more dangerous. If I’ve learned one thing in this business, it’s that just when you think things have gotten as bad as they can possibly get, they can always get worse.”
“Fair enough. But I’m still game. I still want answers to my questions.”
“Like what?” she asked.
“Well, obviously, I want to know what the deal with the diamonds is. Why’s the U.S. government protecting Four Eyes, whom we know to be a diamond smuggler and arms dealer? Who’s he working for? And who’s trying to kill you? Are the two related? Why did Devereaux drop your father’s journal into the mix, and what’s the connection with it to everything? Why did he go to so much trouble to get me on this case, when you and I both know I’m not even the slightest bit qualified to be out here in the field?”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Taylor. You’ve done remarkably well given how little experience you have. But you are right. We do have to rectify your lack of preparation for this before we go any further. I refuse to endanger your life needlessly. I’d like to beef up your basic skills a bit more. Get you comfortable with sharpshooting and make sure you’re well versed in infiltration and escape. The training course Devereaux puts his people through is good, but I have a suspicion this case is going to demand more of both of us than a basic black-ops course covers.”
In point of fact, it was his mind-set she was most concerned about and not his technical skills. She needed him ready, willing, and able to commit violence at the drop of a hat if it was required.
He frowned. “It’s not like we’ve got a world of time on our hands, here, or the faci
lities to practice black-ops work.”
She shrugged. “I’ve already covered the facilities bit. As for time, tomorrow is soon enough to get started on your advanced training.”
He pushed back from the table. “Care to step outside and enjoy the evening air?”
She smiled and rose to join him. “I’d love to.”
They strolled outside and went to lean on the rail at the far edge of the terrace. The view at their feet was spectacular, and the sweet scent of honeysuckle perfumed the air. She murmured, “In a setting like this, it seems ridiculous to consider going back into the trenches and picking up this case.”
He looked down at her earnestly. “Yes, but do you really want to live in a gilded cage, always in fear for your life?”
She sighed. “No. You’re right. We need to put this mess to rest once and for all.”
They stood there for several minutes in silence. Crickets and frogs fought to be loudest in the dark, and she let their chorus wash over her. Taylor broke the silence by asking quietly, “Who is Devereaux, exactly?”
“As far as I know, Devereaux is a private citizen with great wealth and power. After terrorism reared its ugly head in a big way, my guess is he decided that legitimate governments weren’t going to be able to fight fire with fire. He struck out on his own to combat what he perceives as the evils threatening the world today.”
“Is he one of the good guys?”
She shrugged. “It depends on how you’d label meeting force with force. He takes the fight to bad guys, most certainly, but his methods aren’t lily-white and pure by any means. I have no idea what his other operatives are up to. For all I know, they could be out there assassinating world leaders. He keeps his operatives totally separate as a rule. That’s part of why I was so surprised when you were brought onto this case with me.”
“What do you know about Devereaux personally?”
“Nothing. The few folks I know who’ve ever spoken to Devereaux use the term ‘he’. He shrouds himself in mystery. Probably is so rich he has to be invisible—otherwise he’d be the target of every tabloid, political cause, business venture, and quack out there.”
“Will he come after us if we pursue this case on our own?”
She shook her head. “He put us on it in the first place. I’m sure he’ll help us as much as he’s able to, depending on how closely the U.S. government is watching him.”
“So all we have to worry about is whoever’s trying to kill you and whoever’s going to want to stop us from finding the source of Four Eyes’s diamonds.”
She replied, “I’d agree with that assessment.”
“Just out of curiosity,” Taylor asked, “why did you come down here? What’s your motive in pursuing this investigation?”
“You mean besides wanting to know why in the bloody hell Devereaux dropped my father’s diary in my lap?” she asked dryly.
“There is that,” he replied equally dryly.
“After this case, Devereaux was going to stand me down. He thought I was losing the edge. I suppose I’m out to prove that I’m not crazy and I can still get the job done.”
“Are you crazy?” Taylor asked matter-of-factly.
Her gaze snapped to his. “You’re the shrink. You tell me.”
He was silent a long time, and her heart pounded as she waited for his answer. Suddenly, it was important to her to know what he thought. More to the point, to know that he thought she was okay. Why did his opinion matter so much to her? It shouldn’t.
Finally, he turned his head and gazed at her steadily, his expression giving away nothing. “It doesn’t matter what I think. You’re determined to see this case through or you’d never have passed me that phone number.”
Her expectations deflated. Psychobabble double-talk. He wasn’t going to give her a straight answer. Damn him. “Tell me something, Taylor. Do you think you have it in you to kill someone in cold blood?”
He jerked. “Why would you ask me something like that?”
Why would she, indeed? Maybe she had an impulse to hurt him, to punish him for withholding his opinion of her state of mind. “It may come down to that in this investigation. I need to know if you’ll have what it takes when the chips are down.”
“Killing in self-defense is one thing. I did that back at the hacienda without thinking twice about it. The bastards were shooting at us and it was kill or be killed. Not a hard choice. But cutting someone down in cold blood—I don’t see us needing to do that.”
She replied quietly, “I’m warning you, it’s a choice you’re going to end up having to face. Sooner or later, you’re going to come up against a pro who’s out to kill you, and you’re going to have to make a preemptive strike. If you hesitate in that moment, you’re a dead man. Mark my words.”
“So noted,” he bit out.
A tense silence settled around them.
Amanda sighed. “Promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“If you discover you don’t have the stomach for this kind of work, you’ll quit. Be honest with yourself and with me and walk away before you get us both killed.”
He nodded decisively. “Deal. So, what do we do first?”
Amanda laughed with scant humor. “Relax. Getting you up to speed isn’t going to happen overnight. I’ll see you tomorrow at, say, one o’clock? I’ve got a few errands to take care of in the morning.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Until tomorrow, then.” She went into the second bedroom, and closed the door.
At one o’clock sharp the next afternoon, Amanda returned to their suite. At her orders, Taylor picked out a half-dozen different shirts and followed her to the parking lot with them. They rode in a bright green Jeep to a high-rise apartment building in an affluent district of Acapulco. A short, dapper man answered the door when she rang, his aging face lighting up with a grin for her. “Come in. Come in. It has been a long time, querida.” After a hug for her, the man led them into his living room and served them glasses of iced tea damp with condensation.
She chatted with the man for a few moments about his family and the current number of grandchildren, and then she got down to business. “Xavier, I need not one, but two favors from you today.”
“Anything for the daughter of the man who saved my life many times.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out an eight-by-ten photograph of Four Eyes. “We need to know everything you can find out about this man. His name, who he works for, what he’s involved in, where he is now, what brand of cigarette he smokes…everything.”
Xavier took the photo and studied it closely. “I shall digitally enhance it somewhat to remove the graininess from being enlarged, and then I shall see what I can learn. And what is your second request, my dear?”
She smiled. “This one is much easier. My friend Taylor, here, has urgent business abroad of a delicate nature. He needs to be able to travel discreetly. Can you help him with some identification?”
“When were you planning on leaving?” Xavier asked.
“Not for several weeks. Even though our business is urgent, we have about a year’s worth of training to do first, and three to four weeks is about as little time as I can condense it into.”
An hour later Xavier had photographed Taylor in a variety of wigs, makeup and prosthetics to alter his appearance. The lime Jeep was waiting for them when they emerged into the bright afternoon, this time with all their luggage stowed in the back of it. She gave the driver an address, and in ten minutes, they pulled up beside a used but solid Land Rover in a parking garage. A quick exchange of suitcases into the new car, a hefty tip to the Jeep driver and she and Taylor were on their way.
It was after midnight when Amanda turned off the marginally improved dirt road onto an even smaller dirt track. Tall grass rubbed the bottom of their vehicle, and deep potholes made for slow, bone-jarring progress.
Taylor peered ahead dubiously. “This looks pretty deserted. Are you sure you know where you’r
e going?”
She grinned at him. “Yes. And that’s the idea. We’ll have plenty of privacy.”
The track made several switchbacks as it climbed the side of a steep hill. They rounded a last turn and the track petered out in a small meadow at the summit of the mountain. A sprawling structure that had once been white stood in the center of the grassy expanse. The walls of a long building faced them. Neatly centered in its side was a rusty iron gate.
Amanda angled the Land Rover through the partially open gate and stopped inside a square area overgrown with tall weeds. The courtyard was surrounded by a continuous one-story structure. Directly opposite the gate they had driven through, a two-storied facade belonging to a small chapel broke the tiled roofline of the place. They drove to the left side of the enclosure and pulled up beside the covered walkway that lined the entire courtyard.
Taylor commented, “This place looks like a convent.”
Amanda smiled as she climbed out of the vehicle. “Good guess. It was a monastery. The local Catholic parish still owns it, but it’s been deserted for years. It didn’t take much persuading to get the local priest to lease it to a couple artists for the summer. What’s better, the locals think it’s haunted. A bandito and his gang raided here something like sixty years ago and massacred all the monks for a supposed treasure horde. Nobody ever comes near the place, according to the padre.”
“No kidding?” he remarked. “I always wanted to sleep with a ghost.”
Amanda led him to a heavy wooden door under the walkway and unlocked a shiny new padlock, which looked wildly out of place on the ancient cast-iron hasp. The door squeaked open and they stepped a few feet into the room. She lit a kerosene lamp the padre had told her would be waiting on a table just inside the door. The man had been as good as his word.
Taylor made a face as he looked around. “Let me guess. No electricity.”
“No running water, either,” Amanda announced cheerfully.
