by Kylie Brant
She turned on a small lamp on the worktable and directed the beam. Bill roused and blinked irritatedly at her. She readied some clay and sat down at the table and began to work with it. Before college she’d actually preferred clay work using only her hands and tools. It hadn’t been until her college courses that she’d begun to concentrate on improving her talents at the wheel.
A calm settled over her as she started to work the cool clay. Time flowed unnoticed as she twisted and smoothed, occasionally reaching for a tool to refine the shape coming to life in her hands. One hour melted into the next until exhaustion began to make itself known through burning eyes and an aching back. Her hands stilled, and she leaned back in her chair to relieve the ache.
She stared at the form she’d created. The clay was supposed to have taken her mind off the man who occupied it far too frequently, but even her subconscious seemed to have conspired against her. The wolf she’d shaped should have been a fearsome thing, yet, curiously, it was not. There was a fierceness in its gaze, a certain proud bearing to its head and an overall air of wariness.
Transfixed, she studied the form. How often Sully had reminded her of just such an animal, one circling a campfire, beckoned by the warmth but wary of the flames. How long had she worked to lure him closer to the heat? She wondered now if he blamed her for having gotten singed.
She wiped her hands on a damp towel with quick, furious movements. The anger and hurt his silence had cost her was still there, but there was no denying the emotional vacuum caused by his absence. She’d not only lost her lover, she’d also lost her best friend. She didn’t know which caused her more pain.
There had been countless times in the past when they’d been out of contact for far longer. But then she’d never needed to fear that she wouldn’t see him again, or that their relationship would continue.
She dropped the towel, then propped her elbows on the table, resting her forehead against her clasped hands. Sully knew how important honesty was to her. Discovering Carter’s duplicity had shattered her. It was hard to forgive him for realizing that, and still being less than truthful with her. Understanding what he’d come from offered her a glimmer of understanding, if not comfort. Certainly he’d never had experience at giving or receiving trust, and even less experience with love.
Her head lifted then, panicked by the thought, but once formed, it wouldn’t be banished. She loved Sully. The realization brought dueling emotions of hope and despair. She’d planned to be more careful the next time she found love. She’d wait for a man whom she could trust, one who trusted her. That didn’t describe Sully.
But then she hadn’t really found Sully; he’d been there all along. Before her marriage to Carter, and during it. The night seemed a place for self-honesty, and if she were completely honest she’d admit that her friendship with Sully had continued through her marriage because he gave her something Carter never had, never could. The bond that had connected them so immediately when they’d met had proved more enduring than her marriage.
Destroying that bond brought her more pain than all of Carter’s lies ever could. Because what she felt for Sully was deeper, far deeper, than anything she’d experienced with her ex-husband. Sully had far more capacity to hurt her than Carter ever could, because the depth of emotion was so much greater.
Elizabeth rose to pace near the windows. Lights dotted the horizon like little beacons of hope. She knew from experience that love, especially when it was one-sided, wasn’t enough to sustain a relationship. And she was certain that despite Sully’s real feelings for her, love wasn’t among them. At least not in a form she could accept.
Her eyes swam with tears, tears she refused to shed. She’d picked an impossible man to fall in love with. One with no experience of the emotion, one whose job perfectly mirrored his childhood, with its intricate tangle of lies and distrust.
A part of her mourned the fact that she’d come so far since her marriage. Too far to settle for less than total love, total honesty. She’d regained too much of her self-respect to push any further. Sully would have to take the next step. He’d have to decide if she was worth risking that careful defense he’d fashioned to keep the rest of the world at a distance.
She stared out at the night unseeingly. He’d said he needed her. It wasn’t enough. Love made her greedy; she wouldn’t settle for less than everything he had to give.
Or she’d have nothing at all.
The weatherman had been predicting a relief from the brutal Miami humidity for the past week, but if anything the air seemed closer, heavier. Elizabeth hurried from the bus stop to her condo, looking forward to frigid air-conditioning and ice-cold lemonade. Despite her work in a climate-controlled gallery all day, the bus ride had been enough to wilt her. She mentally added a long cool shower to her list of priorities when she reached home.
She was fitting her key into the door of her building when she heard her name being called behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw a man coming toward her, his features half covered by the handkerchief he was using to mop his brow.
“Miss Bennett? I’ve been waiting for you.”
Wariness flickered through her, and she turned, automatically looking to either side, checking for possible help if she should need it. The street was strangely empty for this time of day.
“Are you a reporter?” she asked warily. The stranger meticulously folded his handkerchief and slipped it in his suit pocket. “No, of course not.” He approached her, reaching into his pocket again, this time bringing forth a leather case the size of a checkbook. He flipped it open so she could examine his badge and credentials. “I’m here to talk to you about John Sullivan, one of the DEA agents I’ve been working with.”
DEA. Her breath clogged in her lungs, and her legs went abruptly weak. “Sully? Is something wrong?”
The man put his credentials away and regarded her soberly. “I’m sorry, Miss Bennett, but yes, there is. Sully was undercover and the case went down... there was shooting... he was hit.”
The concrete beneath her feet abruptly listed, and she put a hand behind her to brace against the door. “Is he all right? Is he...?” Alive was the word she was trying to form. She wouldn’t even consider the alternative. Dread oozed nastily through her stomach, and her heart reared to her throat.
“He’s alive, yes,” the man said hastily. “Gosh, I’m sorry for frightening you like that.”
Panic and relief pendulumed crazily inside her, and for one nauseating minute she thought she’d be sick. She waited a moment for the feeling to pass, then raised her head and asked, “How badly is he hurt?”
“We think it’s just a flesh wound, but of course, he’s not letting any of us near enough to be sure.” A grave smile showed on the man’s face. “You know Sully. He’s raising hell about going to the hospital, and refusing to leave the site until the arrests are taken care of. After the shooting he mentioned you.” He shrugged selfdeprecatingly. “I pumped him for a little more information before his head cleared. I hoped if I found you, I could take you to him, and you could convince him to go to the hospital, where he belongs.”
It took a moment to sift through the conflicting emotions, but she grasped the most important information he’d given her and clung. Sully was alive. And he was asking for her. She took a deep breath and rose, locking her still shaky knees. “Take me to him.”
The man rose, as well. “With pleasure.”
Sully saw the man as soon as he walked out of the freight company. Frank was leaning against a late-model sedan parked at the curb, but pushed away when Sully approached.
“Boss wants to see you.”
Sully eyed him warily. The first time he’d seen Frank had been at Conrad’s estate, when he’d taken Toby’s place and ridden with Sully back to Miami. Whatever his duties in the organization had been in the past, now he was a replacement for Toby in every sense of the word, serving as Conrad’s bodyguard. Sully had always wondered what hand, if any, the man had played in Tob
y’s disappearance.
“When?”
“Now.” The man stepped aside and opened the car door.
Deliberately Sully wiped his forehead on his shirtsleeve. “I’m going to go home and wash off this grime first. Something tells me Mr. Conrad would rather see me after I clean up.”
Frank moved into his path. “The boss said now.”
Sully regarded the man through narrowed eyes. Conrad had been visibly nervous the last time he’d seen him. He wondered if the man needed more reassurance, or if this sudden summons meant something more serious.
He moved to shove by the man. “I’ll come by after I’ve showered and changed.”
Frank sidestepped to stay in his path, and moved his jacket back just a fraction, enough to show the holstered gun he was carrying. “Mr. Conrad gives me an order, I carry it out. He wants to see you. Now.”
Weighing his options coolly, Sully made the only decision he could under the circumstances. He lifted a brow. “You make a good lackey, Frank. I guess the shower can wait, if Conrad’s really that eager.” The other man waited for Sully to precede him into the car, and then followed him in and slammed the door.
“Okay, Ernie,” Frank said to the driver. “Let’s go.”
The car pulled away from the curb and into the Miami traffic. Sully leaned back. “What’s this all about? Conrad getting nervous?”
The man flicked a glance at him. “How should I know? I’m just following orders.”
“Yeah, so you said.” Frank didn’t react to the subtle sarcasm, and Sully lapsed into silence. His instincts, though, were on full alert, adrenaline spurting through his veins. Conrad had always used Sully’s pager to contact him before. His sending Frank to fetch him spoke of an urgency that had edginess prickling along his spine.
After several minutes Sully was able to guess their destination. They were headed toward a warehouse Conrad used as a distribution point after the drugs had been smuggled into the country. Here the shipments were split into smaller parcels and readied to sell to street buyers. Since there was no shipment scheduled that Sully knew of, the selection of the spot just stoked his apprehension.
Frank and Ernie flanked him as they walked into the warehouse. The interior was cavernous, dim and empty of activity. When the heavy door slid shut behind the men, Thomas Conrad stepped out of the shadows, his face wreathed in a professional smile.
“Roarke. Let me apologize for this hasty meeting. Something’s come up.”
“I figured.” Sully made a point of looking around the warehouse. “What’s going on?”
“Come with me,” Conrad invited, indicating that he should precede him. “The office is this way. We’ll be more comfortable there.”
Sully’s spine prickled as he stepped before the man. They went through a door, down a short hallway and entered a glassed-in office. Frank and the driver remained standing, but Sully waited until Conrad had sunk into one of the vinyl-covered chairs, then seated himself. He studied the other man beneath lowered lids, but there was nothing in Conrad’s expression to cause him alarm. That faint air of edgy eagerness was there, the same one he’d worn since Sully had met with Vargas the first time. He looked out of place in the serviceable office wearing his Savile Row suit and Italian shoes, but didn’t appear unduly agitated. Remembering the visible emotion on the man’s face when he’d been forced to eliminate Toby, Sully felt himself relax a degree.
“Mr. Vargas has paid me an unexpected visit,” Conrad said. He pulled up one pant leg carefully, and crossed one knee over the other. “I gave him a thorough rundown of the plans you developed for the pipeline. Naturally he’d like to discuss them with you himself.”
“Why here?”
Conrad held up his hands in a gesture of genuine bafflement. “He likes to vary his comings and goings. He also insists on being apprised of every detail of his operation. He’s never been to this warehouse before—perhaps he hopes to kill two birds with one stone on this trip.”
Sully shrugged, as if the answer didn’t matter. “He’s in charge.”
“I am happy that you remember that, Mr. Roarke.”
Sully’s head jerked around. He’d only heard that dry, rustling voice once before, but it was immediately recognizable. He rose, as did Conrad, as the Colombian came through the door in back of them. He gestured for the men to retake their seats, and pulled up a chair to face them. Then he turned his reptilian stare on Sully.
“Thomas has been most impressed with your ideas. He said that you have completed your plans, as far as possible, and need further input from me.”
Sully inclined his head. “That’s about it.”
The smaller man rested his hands lightly on the sides of the chair and contemplated Sully. “I would like to hear for myself what you have come up with. You may proceed.”
That still, waiting air continued, as Sully filled him in on the plans he’d outlined for Conrad, the ones that would, if the men weren’t stopped, quite successfully establish a new pipeline of death into the United States’s heartland. Other than a few questions, Vargas listened silently.
When Sully had finished, he said, “Very good, Roarke. You’ve been very thorough.”
“As I told Mr. Conrad, there’s nothing more I can do until you make a few decisions.” Perspiration collected at the back of Sully’s nape when fixed with that sleepy, predator look. “How many trucks will you need? Do you want to buy the rigs and hire some drivers, or find some drivers with their own rigs?”
“What would you suggest?”
Pausing, as if contemplating the question, he answered finally, “I’d use a dummy front to buy the trucks outright. Put some of your own men in as drivers. Take care of getting the proper licenses and labels yourself, rather than entrust it to someone who might not be as careful.”
Vargas gave an imperceptible nod. “As you say. Great caution should accompany every aspect of our work. I believe you are right. I will buy the trucks. A half dozen of them should be sufficient. Thomas, you will see to it.”
Conrad gave an almost invisible snap to attention when addressed, and nodded. He’d listened in almost avuncular indulgence to Vargas’s approval of Sully’s plan. Then his superior’s gaze shifted away.
“You have been a great help to my organization, Roarke. Perhaps you can do even more.”
Sully slouched farther down in his chair, giving an appearance of ease despite the keen-edged energy kicking through his veins. “I’ll do what I can.”
The man nodded, as if his agreement were no more than a formality. “I told you before that I intend to expand to Europe and Japan. You may be of help in those particular projects, as well.”
Conrad straightened in his chair and protested, “Mr. Vargas, I’m more than capable of handling those details alone.”
Vargas didn’t even look at the other man. His oddly hypnotic gaze was trained on Sully. “Well, Roarke?”
Sully gave a regretful shake of his head. “Sorry, I don’t have the kind of experience you need for that. I’ve never even been overseas.”
The man’s hands tightened then released on the arms of his chair in a continuous rhythmic movement. “You needn’t have traveled abroad extensively to have acquired the kind of experience I’m looking for. I believe you’ll be more helpful than you think.”
Returning the man’s stare unblinkingly, Sully didn’t answer. There was no way in hell he was going to provide this drug lord with any more ideas of how to spread his drugs and death to even one more victim. The first thing he’d do when he got out of here was try to contact O’Shea. He was rapidly becoming convinced that it was a mistake to let Vargas go unchecked for weeks longer.
He lifted a shoulder. “I’ll do my best, but like I said. I don’t know much about Europe, and even less about Japan.”
At his reply, the Colombian relaxed imperceptibly. “I think you underestimate yourself. You have proved to be wonderfully ingenious thus far. I know of no other man who could have accomplished what yo
u have. Why, you managed to dupe Thomas, and that, as far as I know, is a first for him.”
His lips stretched in a dreadful parody of a smile. “But of course, that’s your job, isn’t it...Agent Sullivan?”
Chapter 15
Not by a flicker of an eyelash did Sully display the splinters of ice those words shot through his bloodstream. “I guess I’m not following you.”
Conrad frowned and straightened in his chair, but a wave of Vargas’s hand stemmed his question.
“I’m sure you are.” He reached into his inside suit pocket and withdrew a plain white envelope. With unhurried movements he withdrew its contents. “You’re much too clever to deny the evidence I have here.” He let the dull black leather case fall open to reveal the DEA badge with the gold eagle perched atop a gold globe, sunbeams radiating out to the edges. The official picture tucked in the bottom corner wasn’t particularly flattering, but it was undeniably Sully.
Conrad’s face went ashen. “What the hell is that?” he croaked.
Vargas didn’t spare him a glance. “It appears to be Agent Sullivan’s death certificate.”
The nerves that had been tightly bunched at the nape of Sully’s skull exploded, and fear sprinted down his spine. Lowrey. That scum-sucking son of a bitch. He was the one who’d been holding Sully’s credentials. He was responsible for Sully being made as an agent. “I don’t know what you think you’ve got there, Mr. Vargas, but any second-rate con can get his hands on a badge and shield realistic enough to look legit to civilians. I hope you didn’t pay somebody for that.”
There was no emotion on the other man’s face. “Please, Agent Sullivan, do not try my patience. I paid a colleague of yours quite handsomely for the information that he offered when he contacted me. I know all about the investigation targeting my organization, just as I know about your identity.”