Abruptly he seemed to reorder his thoughts, then pulled out his BlackBerry, pushed at it a few times, and handed it to her. A years-old photograph of Swain, Genevieve, and the diamond merchant from the Ivory Coast she’ d met before dinner glowed on its screen. “Where in the world did you find this?” she asked. “It must be forty years old.They look like children.”
“They are children. And I took it this morning beyond the eastern berm.”
“You took it?” She stared at the screen, thunderstruck. “This morning?”
“They’re living, breathing clones—of Gen and Swain, at least. The other one I don’t recognize.”
“He’s Mr. Abuku from the Ivory Coast. I met him tonight. ”
He slipped the phone from her fingers and back into its holster. “There’s a whole village of them down there. Where they call Swain Father and have to say a worshipful affirmation of their gratitude every morning.”
As the implications of Cam’s discovery slowly solidified in her thoughts, she began to feel sick and light-headed. Clones. Real, live, nearly adult clones. They proved Swain’s need for surrogates, possibly egg donors, as well. . . .
Suddenly all the fears with which she began the day came surging back. Once again, she’ d fallen for the Swain Effect, her emotions bedazzled by his charm, her mind shut off, her fears dismissed. Even after she’d seen him put on his happy face with her own eyes tonight. He was going to ask her up to the penthouse; all his amiable platonic behavior had merely served to get her to lower her guard.
As she stood in jittering shock, Cameron told her all that he’ d experienced that morning. “I’ll be going back in tonight. The good news, though, is that you’re out.”
She gaped at him. “Out? What do you mean?”
“We have our way in now.” He drew a breath and shook his head. “You don’t have to play his games any longer. In fact, my friend is set to get you out—”
“Wait a minute. I was willing to help before when it was just missing girls. Now it’s a whole slave factory, from what you’re telling me, so why shouldn’t I—”
“Because there’s no need, and the risk is too great.” He caught her hand and squeezed it. “You can leave all this behind—with your reputation intact, if all goes well.”
She looked up at him, wondering why it felt more like she’d had the rug pulled out from under her than that she’ d been delivered. “Will I ever see you again?” she asked, mortified by the pitiful tone threading her voice.
He stared at her wide-eyed, then swallowed and said, “I don’t know. Would you even want to?”
“Yes. Very much.”
She seemed to have stunned him into wordlessness. Then a crackling of leaves drew her attention suddenly and guiltily toward a man now standing in the path not ten feet from them. It was the blond server, minus his tray of desserts.
She looked at Cam in alarm. “What’s he doing over there?”
Cameron smiled slightly. “Standing guard.”
She frowned at him, then at the server. “Is he the one who’s going to help me?”
“Yes.”
She looked at the server again, and suddenly she knew who he was.“Is that Mr. Mallory? Your obnoxious insurance adjuster?”
“Not anymore.” Cam grinned and shook his head. “He’ll be disappointed you recognized him. He puts great stock in his chameleon abilities.”
“Well, I probably wouldn’t have if he hadn’t been so annoying yesterday, accusing you of being drunk and going back to burn your own car.”
“Yes, he said you were quite defensive of me.”
“And there I was worrying I was getting you into trouble.”
“Not then, but you probably are now.”
“Hey, you invited me.”
He smiled at her. “You didn’t have to come.”
Her frown deepened.
“I’m glad you did, though, because now I’ll know you’re safe.” Quickly then, he outlined the plan they’d devised to get her out. She was to leave the reception as soon as she could and return to her room to change clothes. At 12:11 there’d be another blackout, during which she’ d take the outside stairwell to the ground floor and wait at the exit for a Broadmoor’s catering van. “That’ll be Mallory,” he said. “You got all that?”
After she repeated it back to him to his satisfaction, he returned her to the spot where he’ d first met her. Uncovering the necklace and earrings, he carefully put them back on her, the mothlike touches of his fingers on her ears and neck and shoulders shooting tingles throughout her body. When he was done, she turned to face him, and he stood watching his hands as he adjusted some of the stones in the necklace, fingers trailing lightly upward along its edge and up the side of her neck to her jaw. Then, almost inevitably, his palm cupped her cheek and he was kissing her. It was a gentle, tentative kiss, as if he wasn’t sure of her response, and he withdrew after only a moment.
She stood with her eyes closed, reveling in the touch of his lips along the edge of her jaw, his breath in her ear. He kissed the bend between her neck and shoulder, and she trembled as his hands slid down her sides to rest on her hips. Then she turned her face to his to kiss him again, and this time his lips were not so restrained. Her arms slid up around his neck as he pulled her against him and waves of heat surged through her with increasing magnitude. It had been so long since she’d been in a man’s arms, she’ d forgotten how it felt, how completely, deliciously overwhelming it could be.
Finally, he pulled his mouth from hers, kissed her forehead, then stood there, holding her. She laid her head against his shoulder, wishing the moment would never end. But of course all moments ended, and at length, with a sigh of resignation, he released her, stepping back wordlessly as he slid his palms down her bare arms to take her hands.
“You be careful,” she mouthed.
He smiled crookedly, gave her fingers one last squeeze, and walked away.
And as she watched him go, it felt as if he were taking some vital part of her soul with him. She pressed her hands against her cheeks, aghast at the sudden, powerful sense of loss she felt, at the almost overwhelming desire she had to run after him, to go with him, to never be apart from him again. . . .
She swallowed, then laid her palms flat against the cool stone on the wall and stared blindly at the night-cloaked campus before her. What is wrong with you? You’re thirty-three years old and you’re acting as giddy as a teenager. You can’t be in love with him. You don’t even know him. . . .
For a few moments she stood there, trying to talk herself out of what she was feeling, then dropped it all in horror as she recalled that she was supposed to leave the reception as soon as possible. With Swain still detained by his business associates, there was no better time than now. Pushing away from the wall, she hurried back through the gardens, beset with the irrational fear that she’ d started too late and he was going to get her after all. . . .
She was almost to the elevator when she ran into Swain’s East Indian servant, bearing Swain’s invitation for her to rejoin him. She nearly refused, but common sense prevailed. Why fight him now when she was so close to getting free? Better to endure for a few more minutes than jeopardize that chance. Thus she followed the servant back to the reception patio and past the dance floor at its far end, where a number of couples already swayed to the strains of a Viennese waltz.
Swain waited at its fringes and broke into his marvelous smile as she approached. “Ah, here you are! I understand you’ve been exploring my gardens.”
“I have,” she said. “They’re incredible. I’m amazed at all you’ve done up here.”
He grinned. “Wait until you see what I’ve done with the penthouse.”
It was as if one of the musicians had struck a sour note. Oh, Lord, please, not the penthouse.
He snagged two flutes of champagne from a server’s tray and handed her one. She took it reluctantly but did not sip from it, searching madly for an excuse to escape. Rattling on about the ar
chitect he’ d contracted to design his living space and the world-renowned interior designer who’d helped him decorate it, he guided her inexorably toward the lighted swimming pool glowing behind the penthouse-grounds gate.
“How about I give you a private tour?” he suggested, touching the lock pad beside the gate to open it. “We could go for a midnight swim later.”
When she couldn’t keep her dismay from showing, his face fell. “Not tonight, eh?” His tone carried an unsettling edge.
“I’m sorry, sir. It’s awfully late.”
“Late? My dear, it’s barely midnight. The night has just begun.”
“Perhaps for you, sir. But I’m just the frog girl. I’m not used to all this excitement and wine and fancy food.”
He regarded her bleakly. “Is this my punishment for having left you so long in favor of attending to my business?”
“Of course not.”
He cocked a brow at her.
“I would never do such a thing, sir. In fact, I’m immensely grateful you invited me as your guest tonight.” She went on to pour out her appreciation for all the people she’d met, all the things she’d learned, the food, the gardens, the incredible evening she’d had. “But I’m turning into a pumpkin here, sir,” she lamented. “Some people may be able to get by on four hours sleep a night, but I am not one of them.”
“There are beds in the penthouse, you know. And I am quite skilled at massage. A little wine, a little downtime . . .”
She couldn’t hide her horror any better than her dismay. “I’m sorry, sir, but that would be most inappropriate.”
“Not for me,” he said, grinning. He sipped his champagne, then leaned close and whispered, “A lot of these people are judging you for being with me, it’s true. But only because they’re bitterly jealous that I chose you instead of them.”
She had no words to respond to that and was reduced to praying for deliverance.
Like everything else she’ d failed to hide, he must have seen her distress, for he backed off. “Very well, I’ll take a rain check for now. But rest assured, I’ll be back soon to collect.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll look forward to that.” Did he hear the tremor in her voice?
He motioned to the black-uniformed security guard standing near the gate and told him to escort her to the elevator. Nodding, the man turned and led her back toward the south side of the penthouse to a golden door in the granite block.
“I thought we were going to the elevators,” Lacey said warily.
“This is the express elevator, miss,” said the guard as the door slid open. He stepped in after her, slid his key into a small hole beside the door, and the car rose gently.
“Why are we going up?”
The guard didn’t answer, for already the car was stopping and the door on the opposite side was sliding open. Beyond lay a cathedral-like entry area with a wide curving stair and flowing waterfall. “Please exit the car, miss,” said the guard.
She stepped like an automaton into the penthouse’s entry.
“The director will join you shortly,” the guard said. “In the meantime he wishes you to make yourself at home.”
Chapter Forty-One
After leaving Lacey by the garden’s west wall, Cam walked directly to the elevators and descended to his sixth-floor apartment. The first thing he did was exchange his formal wear for the black running shorts and T-shirt he normally wore to bed, and after that moved restlessly between his three rooms.
Parting with Lacey had been difficult. He still couldn’t believe he’ d actually kissed her, struggling in the aftermath to recall whatever had possessed him to do such a thing. It was not the time, nor the place, nor remotely sensible, but somehow his desire had gotten the better of him. She had been so heart-stoppingly beautiful. Swain had surely chosen the dress to have exactly the effect it did, though perhaps he’ d not intended the effect to play out in Cam as it had. . . . One moment he’d been standing there, reveling in her nearness, her scent, her creamy skin beneath his fingertips as he’ d adjusted the necklace, and the next he was laying his lips upon hers.
Even more unbelievable was how she’ d responded. Thinking of it still made the heat rise and his fingers tremble. In fact, one of the reasons he’ d left the reception so abruptly was out of fear he’d run into Swain and be reminded of what the director intended for her. Every time he even came close to touching that possibility, the passion of his desire transformed itself instantly to a passion of fury.
And the last thing he needed at that moment was passion of any kind. He needed to be cool, calm, and in the moment, doing his job, undistracted by worries for her safety—or memories of holding her in his arms, her warm lips moving against his. . . .
He flung himself up out of the chair into which he’ d mindlessly collapsed a few minutes earlier and forced himself to attend to preparing for his mission—filling water bottles, getting out running shoes and socks, and collecting it all with fanny pack and head lamp in a pile beside his bed. At ten minutes until the blackout, he turned off all the lights save the lamp at his bedside, and climbed into bed, where he pretended to read his Bible as he waited.
The moment the lamp went out, he jumped out of the bed and made a quick circuit of the room, extracting from their hiding places the various implements Rudy had given him that first Sunday they’d met and adding them to the fanny pack: the fat ballpoint pen that worked like a pen but wasn’t one, a flash drive disguised as a heart-rate monitor, his special iPod, the Taser, and the pistol along with five magazines of shells.
When the lamp relit, he was in bed again, feigning sleep, and had only fifteen minutes to wait before the BlackBerry beeped and he snapped it up to read with profound relief the decrypted, translated text message:
Package received and home safe. You’re good to go.
He texted a copy that reply, slid the cell phone back into his fanny pack, then turned out the lamp for good and went to bed. There he tossed and turned, rucking up the bedding into a long ridge beside him in hopes that whoever was monitoring the surveillance images after the next blackout would be unable to distinguish the rumpled bedclothes from his body, at least until daylight.
It wasn’t hard to feign restlessness. Waiting was always the hardest part of any mission, but with this one it was especially difficult, given what he feared he would encounter down there. But you’re just eyes and ears. Just finding out where to send the team. You won’t have to make contact.
With a sigh, he turned his thoughts to God, praying for direction and protection, reminding himself just who God was and that He was certainly stronger than anything Cam might find in Swain’s lair. . . .
The vibration of his watch jerked him out of a half-sleep, and he opened his eyes as the hum of the air-conditioning silenced, and the illumination under the door vanished. He punched off the watch alarm, reset it for thirteen minutes, and rolled out of bed. Shoving his feet into his running shoes, he tied the laces, then donned head lamp, water harness, and fanny pack and stepped into the silent, pitch-black corridor outside his room.
Four minutes later, he exited the east stairwell into the cool, starlit night and started up the east berm. By the time his watch vibrated again, giving him a two-minute warning for the re-illumination of the campus security lights, he’ d crossed over the berm’s crest and was moving upstream, following the familiar path by starlight. He found the black bag Rudy had left for him under the bush they’d agreed upon—a bit put out, not only that it was a duffle bag rather than the day pack he’ d requested, but that it seemed to be filled with rocks—and continued to the mine shaft without incident. He stood quietly beside the juniper for a few minutes, seeking any sign he’ d been followed. When none came, he shoved the duffle under the tree and crawled after it.
As he stood upright in the darkness beyond the entrance hole and switched on his head lamp, Zowan leapt up from the rock on which he sat waiting.
“Where have you been?” the boy cried, soundi
ng so much like Swain, Cam worried for a moment it really was Swain and that he’ d been horribly deceived.
“I told you I’d be late,” said Cam, squatting beside the duffle bag to unzip it.
“Is that all the supplies and clothing?” Zowan asked.
“There’s been a change in plans.” Cam glanced around. “Where are Parthos and Terra?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been down and back three times now. The drum hasn’t been moved. I’m afraid they’ve been caught.”
“The Elders are probably all in a tizzy after your disappearance. Security may just be tighter than usual.” Cam pulled open the duffle. Right on top was the set of tan technician scrubs he’ d requested.
“We never should’ve talked them into going back,” Zowan moaned.
“We did the right thing,” Cam assured him as he tore open the plastic packaging.
“But now they’re stuck down there,” said Zowan. “Or worse.”
“And you and I are going to go and get them.” Cam shrugged out of his T-shirt and donned the tunic.
“You and I?” Zowan asked. “What about your friends? The ones you said you’d bring?”
“My friends’ll be here later. First I have to find out where they’re supposed to be going.”
Zowan looked at him aghast, and Cam saw the fear of betrayal sweep across his face. “I haven’t betrayed you, Zowan,” he said hastily. “But security is very tight at the zig.” He would have stopped there, but God nudged him to go on. “And there’s more at stake than you know. Swain’s got something down there that could destroy us all. I have to find it.”
“The secret lab,” Zowan said, nodding.
“Or worse.” Cam pulled off shoes, fanny pack, and belt, then stripped off his shorts and replaced them with the scrubs’ trousers.
“If the Enforcers catch me,” Zowan said presently, “they will kill me.”
Cam looked up at him, seeing suddenly how young he was, how innocent. How could he even ask the kid to do this? He wasn’t a trained soldier. He sighed. “Okay, don’t go, then. But do you think you could draw me a map?”
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