by Nora Roberts
"No."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I appreciate the offer, Captain, but I'm staying with Agent O'Hurley."
Addison put his arms on either side of his cup and linked his hands. "Dr. Fitzpatrick, for your own safety, and for the security of this operation, I must insist you come under ISS protection."
"My brother and my niece are in the mountains east of here. I won't sit in Madrid and wait. I'm quite confident that Agent O'Hurley can protect me, if you feel protection is warranted. As to the operation's security, I was involved long before you or the ISS, Captain. I'm sure my clearance can be upgraded if necessary."
"My orders are to take you to Madrid."
"Your orders are of no concern to me, Captain." It was that tone of voice, used rarely but effectively, that had helped secure her a top position at the institute. "I have no ties to the ISS, or to anyone but my family. General Husad wants me, as well. As long as there's a chance that that can be used to get Flynn out, I'm willing to take the risk."
"Dr. Fitzpatrick, I understand and appreciate your emotional involvement, but it's simply not possible—"
"It is possible, unless the ISS also indulges in kidnapping private citizens."
Addison sat back to collect his thoughts, then tried another tactic. "Agent O'Hurley is highly trained, certainly one of our best." Trace merely lifted a brow, knowing that had stuck in Addison's throat. "However, his energies will be centered on the operation."
"And so will mine, as long as I can be useful."
"Agent O'Hurley will tell you himself that it's against policy to use a civilian."
"Go to Madrid, Gillian." Trace said it quietly, and broke a promise to himself by putting a hand over hers. It wasn't a matter of policy. He'd already said to hell with policy. But it was a matter of what would be best, and safest, for her.
"I'm going with you." She turned her hand over so that their palms met. "That was the deal."
"Don't be stupid. It could get ugly from here."
"That doesn't matter."
Because he thought he understood, he drew his hand away again. Rising, he walked to the window and lit a cigarette. What the hell had he done to earn that kind of trust? He didn't know the answer to that any more than he knew how to make her see reason. "I told you before, I don't have tune to baby-sit."
"And I told you, I can take care of myself." She put the hand, still warm from his, in her lap as she turned back to Addison. "I've established myself as Cabot's woman. There wouldn't be any reason to question my traveling with him as far as Sefrou. If I have to wait there, I'll wait. Unless you intend to forcibly detain me, which I assure you would cause some nasty publicity, I'm going."
Addison hadn't expected resistance. His files on Gillian had indicated that she was a dedicated scientist, a woman who lived quietly and followed the rules. "I have no intention of forcibly detaining you, Dr. Fitzpatrick, but let me ask you this—what would happen if you were discovered and taken to Husad?"
"Then I'd try to find a way to kill him." She said it passionlessly. It was a decision she'd come to at dawn, after spending the night searching her soul. And it was because of the lack of passion, because of the simplicity, that Trace turned from the window to stare at her. "I would never allow him to use my knowledge or the skill I've worked all my life to attain against me. The Horizon project was never intended for a man like him. One of us would die before he got it."
Addison pulled off his glasses and began polishing them with a white handkerchief. "I admire your dedication, Doctor, and I appreciate your feelings. However, Agent O'Hurley will have his hands full over the next few days."
"She holds her own," Trace said from the window.
Addison pushed his glasses back on. "She's a civilian, and a target."
"She holds her own," Trace repeated as he and Gillian looked at each other. "I can use her. Cabot's been traveling with a woman. He always does."
"Then we'll assign another agent."
"Gillian's already established. She'll go with or without ISS sanction, so we might as well make the best of it."
It wasn't the fact that he was outnumbered. Addison had been outnumbered before. There was, however, the fact that any change of routine at this point could endanger the operation. Gillian Fitzpatrick wasn't one of his people, but if she insisted on risking her life, the ISS would use her.
"Very well. I can't stop you, but I can't approve. I hope you won't live to regret this decision, Doctor."
"I won't regret it."
"The notes. Since you refuse to come to Madrid with me, I must insist you give me your notes on Horizon so that I can secure them."
"Of course. I wrote them—"
"She wrote them in technical terms," Trace said, interrupting her. He aimed a long, cool glance at her that had her subsiding. "You probably won't be able to make much out of them."
"I'm sure our scientists will be able to interpret them. If you'll get them for me?"
"Of course."
"She's your responsibility," Addison said in an undertone when Gillian left the room. "I don't want any civilian casualties."
"I'll take care of her."
"See that you do." Addison rose and brushed back what was left of his hair. "At least without the notes she won't be able to make things worse than they are."
Gillian came back with her neatly folded papers. "This is all I have on the area I worked on."
"Thank you." Addison took them and slipped them into his briefcase. He turned the combination lock before straightening again. "If you change your mind, you have only to ask O'Hurley to contact us."
"I won't change my mind."
"Then goodbye, Doctor." He shook his head. "I hope that when this is over you and your brother can work on Horizon in peace." He gave a brief nod to Trace. "Report at six-hour intervals."
Gillian waited until the door had closed before she sat on the edge of the bed. "What an unfortunate man to work for. Do you deal with him often?"
"No, thank God." He went back to the coffee, but it was only lukewarm. "Not all ISS brass are like him."
"That's good news for the free world." She waited until he'd paced the room twice before speaking again. "I have some questions."
"Am I supposed to be surprised?"
"Could you sit?" In a gesture that might have been of annoyance or amusement, she waved toward a chair. "Over there. There's no danger of you touching me accidentally from that distance."
He paused long enough to give her a level look. "I don't touch accidentally."
"Well, that clears that up." She waited. Restless and edgy, he took the chair. "Why did you change your mind?"
"About what?"
"About taking me with you."
"Agreeing with Addison went against the grain."
Gillian folded her hand and spoke with the patience of a Sunday-school teacher. "I think I'm entitled to a genuine answer."
"That's genuine enough." He lit a cigarette. "And I meant what I said. I think you'll do okay."
"Your flattery leaves me speechless."
"Look, I figure you've got the biggest stake in this. Maybe you've got a right to stick around." He watched her through a haze of smoke. "That's all there is."
Or all she'd get, Gillian thought. She opted to accept it. For now. "All right. Now tell me why you didn't want me to tell Addison the notes had been doctored."
"Because the real ones are in your head. I figure that's where they belong."
"He's your superior. Don't you have an obligation to be straight with him?"
"First I go with the gut, then I go with regulations."
Gillian said nothing for a moment. She respected what he'd said, admired him because she knew he meant it. Hadn't that been the reason she'd chosen to trust him? "Once before you told me you thought you understood why Mr. Forrester didn't go directly to the ISS. I think it's time you tell me."
Trace tapped the ashes of his cigarette. The sun was dropping lower in the sky. Twi
light was nearly on them. He remembered he'd been watching another sunset just before he'd seen her the first time. Perhaps he was doomed to think of her whenever night approached.
"Why don't you want Hammer to have the formula?"
"That's a ridiculous question. They're a group of terrorists headed by a madman. If they had the serum, nuclear war would be almost inevitable." She fell silent as he simply sat and looked at her. "Surely you're not comparing the ISS with one of the most radical organizations on the globe? The ISS is dedicated to ensuring international law and order, to saving lives, to protecting democracy." This time it was she who rose to pace. "I don't have to tell you what they represent. You're one of them."
"Yeah, I'm one of them. Weren't you the one who said it was an organization run by men, some good, some bad?"
"Yes." She couldn't have said why her nerves were beginning to fray. The room was dimmer, the light soft and pleasant. "And I still believe that if I had gone to them in the beginning, the project would have come first, my brother and my niece second. Meeting Captain Addison did nothing to change my mind. Still, the project was done under their auspices, and it was always intended to be handed over when completed. My father believed in the system."
Trace took one last long drag. "And you?"
"My family comes first. When they're safe, we'll go from there."
"Complete the project and hand it over to the ISS?"
"Yes, of course." A little paler, she turned back to him. "That was what my father was working toward. What are you saying, Trace?"
"Just that I figure the intent of the ISS is one thing and possible results another. Think about it, Gillian, a serum that protects you from the effects of nuclear fallout. A miracle, a shield, a scientific breakthrough, whatever you want to call it. Once it's proven, how much easier is it going to be for someone to decide to push the button?"
"No." She hugged her chest and turned away again. "Horizon is a defense, only a defense, one that could save millions of lives. My father—None of us who have worked on it ever intended for it to be used destructively."
"Do you figure the scientists involved in the Manhattan Project ever expected Hiroshima? Or maybe they did. They had to know they were busy creating a bomb in the name of a scientific breakthrough."
"We're creating a defense, not a weapon."
"Yeah, a defense. And some German physicists were just fooling around with experiments fifty years ago. I wonder if they'd have gone on with it if they'd known they were forming the basis of a weapon that has the power to wipe life off the planet."
"But the weapon's there, Trace. We can't go back and prevent its creation." She'd turned back to him now. The light coming through the window behind her had gone a pure rose. "Horizon's meant to balance that, to ensure that life will go on if that final button is pushed. Horizon is a promise of life, not a threat."
"Who decides who gets the serum, Gillian?"
She moistened dry lips. "I don't know what you mean."
"Do you plan to inoculate everyone? That's not practical, probably not even feasible. Maybe we should only shoot for the countries in the United Nations. Better yet, just the countries whose political beliefs mesh with ours. Do we use it on the very old or the terminally ill? It's bound to be expensive. Who pays for it, anyway? The taxpayers? Well, do the taxpayers want to foot the bill for the inoculation of criminals? Do we go in and give the mass murderers a shot in the arm, or do we get selective?"
"It doesn't have to be that way."
"Doesn't have to, but it usually is, isn't it? The world's not perfect, Doc. It ain't ever going to be."
She wanted to believe it could be, but she'd been fighting off those very same questions and doubts for a long time. "My father devoted most of his life to Horizon. My brother might lose his because of it. What is it you're asking me to do?"
"I'm not asking you to do anything—I'm just theorizing."
She came to him then, knowing he would distance himself, however hard she struggled to close the gap. "What disillusioned you, Trace? What made you stop believing that what you do can make a difference?"
"Because it doesn't. Oh, maybe for a while, maybe here and there, but in the long view, none of it really means a damn." He started to reach for another cigarette but pushed the pack aside instead. "I'm not ashamed of anything I've done, but that doesn't mean I'm proud, either. I'm just tired of it."
She sat across from him, no longer sure of her own thoughts, her own goals. "I'm a scientist, Trace, not a politician. As far as Horizon goes, my input has been minimal. My father didn't share a great many of his hopes with me. I do know that it was his belief, his dream, that his work would bring some lasting good. Perhaps the land of peace we all claim to want but do so little to secure."
"You don't get peace from a serum, Doc."
"No, perhaps not. Some of the questions you've asked I've asked myself, but I haven't gone very far with them. Maybe I haven't done enough with my life to be disillusioned." She closed her eyes a moment, because nothing seemed clear, and especially not her life. "I don't know enough of what you do—or have done—to understand. I have to take it on faith. I believe, in the long view, you have made a difference. If you're tired, if you're dissatisfied, it may be because you're more of a dreamer than you'll admit. You can't change the world—none of us can—only little pieces of it."
She wanted to offer him a hand, but she held back, knowing that rejection now would prevent her from finishing. "These last few days with you have made a difference with me."
He wanted to believe. And wanting, he discovered, could hurt. "You're romanticizing again, Doc."
"No, I'm being as honest as I know how. As logical as the situation permits. You've made a difference in the way I think, the way I feel, the way I act." She pressed her lips together. Did he have any idea how difficult it was for her to strip herself bare this way? She cleared her throat, telling herself it didn't matter. She was going for broke. "I've never thrown myself at a man before."
"Is that what you're doing?" He picked up a cigarette but only ran it through his fingers. He wanted to be casual, even amused, but the ache was spreading.
"It would be obvious to anyone but you." She had to get up, to move. Why did it always seem she had to beg and bargain for affection? "I haven't asked you for a commitment." Though she wanted one. "I haven't asked for a pledge of love or fidelity." But she would give one to him if he asked. "I've only asked you to be honest enough to… to…"
"Sleep with you?" When the cigarette snapped in his fingers, Trace dropped the pieces in the ashtray. "I've already given you the reasons why that's not in the cards."
"You gave me a bunch of foolishness about our differences. I don't want you to be my twin." She had to take a quick, steadying breath. "I want you to be my lover."
Need and longing twined so tightly inside him that he had to make a conscious effort to stand and walk toward her. He would make it quick, he promised himself, he would make it cruel and save both of them. "A fast tussle in the sheets, no strings attached? Some nice uncomplicated sex without the pretty words?"
Color flooded her face, but she kept her eyes steady. "I expect no pretty words from you."
"That's good, because I don't have any." He curled his fingers into the V of her blouse and dragged her closer. She was trembling. Good. Her fear would make it that much easier. "You're out of your league, Doc. A one-night stroll through paradise isn't your style."
She started to back away but made herself stand firm. "What difference does it make? You said you wanted me."
"Sure, and maybe I'd get a kick out of showing you what life's all about. But you're the permanent kind, sweetheart. If I ever start thinking about a house in a nice neighborhood, I'll give you a call. Meanwhile, you're just not my type."
It was, as he'd intended, a solid slap in the face. She backed away, turned and started toward her room. She heard the sound of liquid hitting glass as she grasped the doorknob.
All h
er life, Gillian thought on a sudden wave of fury. All her life she'd taken that kind of casual criticism without a murmur. She'd grown up with it, come to expect it. But she was a grown woman. Her shoulders straightened. Her own woman, she added with a touch of malice as she turned back. It was time to stop freezing up or walking away and take the next risk.
Trace sipped warm whiskey and braced himself for what he thought would be a rousing argument. He'd have preferred it if she'd just gone into her room and slammed the door, but she was entitled to take a few shots. If she needed to, he'd let her aim and fire. He lifted the whiskey a second time. And choked on it.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Gillian calmly finished unbuttoning her blouse. "Proving you're wrong."
"Stop it." She let the blouse slide to the floor, then reached for the hook of her slacks. "Damn it, Gillian. Put your shirt on and get out of here."
She stepped out of her slacks. "Nervous?"
The teddy was virgin white, without lace, without frills. Her legs were creamier, with long thighs. Despite the whiskey, his mouth went dry as dust. "I'm not in the mood for one of your experiments." With damp hands he fumbled for a cigarette.
"Nervous, definitely." She tossed her hair back. One strap fell down her shoulder as she started toward him.
"You're making a mistake."
"That's more than a possibility." She stood in front of him so that the last light of day streamed over her hair and face. "But it'll be mine, won't it?"
If he'd ever seen anything more beautiful, he couldn't remember it. If he'd ever wanted anything more intensely, he'd long since forgotten it. But he was sure he'd never feared anything more than this small, lovely, half-naked woman with eyes like jade and hair like fire.
"I'm not going to touch you." He lifted his glass and drained the last drop. His hand trembled. It was all she needed to complete her confidence.
"All right. I'll touch you."
She had no guide to work with, no standard formula she had tested. Her experience with men wasn't nonexistent, but it had been limited by a strict upbringing and a demanding career. Somehow she understood that even if she'd known hundreds of men this time would have been different. Relying on instinct and need, she stepped closer.
Her hands were steadier than his as she ran them up over his chest. With her eyes on his, she enjoyed the firm, hard feel of muscle as she moved them over his shoulders. She had to rise on her toes to reach his mouth. Then her lips were soft and coaxing as they played across his. With her body pressed against his, she felt his heart thudding.
He held his body tense, as if he were expecting a blow. Once he caught himself reaching for her, but he dropped his hands again and curled them against the dresser at his back. He thought he knew her well enough to be sure a lack of response would humiliate her to the point where she would leave. To keep her safe from him. What he hadn't counted on was that she'd come to understand him, as well.
While her lips toyed with his, she unbuttoned his shirt so that her hands could move freely over the flesh beneath. Her own heart was drumming, her vision clouding, as she murmured her approval. If she had been an accomplished seductress, she could have done no better.
"I want you, Trace." Her lips trailed over his jaw to his throat. "I have since the beginning. I tried not to." On a shuddering breath, she wrapped her arms around his waist, then ran them up his back. "Make love with me."
He put his hands to her shoulders before she could kiss him again. He knew that if his mouth was on hers a second time there would be no reason, no chance. "This isn't a game you can win." His voice had thickened. The words seemed to burn his throat. "Back off, Gillian, before it's too late."
The room was dark. The moon had yet to rise. He could see only the glimmer of her eyes as she looked at him. "You said you believe in destiny. Don't you recognize me, Trace? I'm yours."
Perhaps it was that and that alone he feared most. She was as inescapable as fate, as elusive as dreams. And now, just now, she was wrapped around him like a promise.
"Then I'm yours. God help you."
He lowered his mouth to hers with all the fire, all the force, all the fury, that he'd held back. He'd wanted to save her, and himself. Now it was up to fate, and luck. Whatever promises he'd made he'd break. He would touch her, would have his fill of her. The night would take care of itself.
He let his hands roam over her. The thin material slid under his patois. More enticement. It rose high on the thigh, so he could move from texture to texture, arousing them both. Her skin was like cream, cool, white, rich. Fascinated, he slipped his fingers under the material and found the heat. At once she dug her fingers into his back.
Bracing her against him, he drove her up until her knees buckled. When she was limp, he swept her into his arms.