by Gayle Wilson
“My first inclination would be to discount the possibility. I’m not sure I have that option any longer.”
Her head tilted, questioning what he’d just said.
“Less than twenty-four hours after he gave me your name, Mr. Gardner was attacked in his home.”
“Attacked?”
That, at least, was something she hadn’t known. There was a fleeting sense of satisfaction until he remembered the seriousness of the old man’s condition.
“In an upscale Virginia neighborhood that has one of the lowest crime rates in the nation. Nothing was taken from the house although there were a multitude of valuable objects around. In short, there was no sign that what happened was anything other than a personal attack.”
“He isn’t dead.”
It hadn’t sounded like a question, but he answered as if it had been. “He’s in critical condition. Given his age…”
There was a long pause. Her eyes, locked on his face, had lost any tendency to laughter.
“And you believe someone did that because you’d gone to talk to him.”
“Given the timing, it makes sense.”
“Because you talked about me?”
“Or about the organization we’ve been tracking. I’ve no doubt that I’ve asked enough questions during the last few months to make them suspicious. Maybe they followed me there. Or it may be that Mr. Gardner was targeted because of his ties to the agency I work for.”
The crease he’d noticed before formed again between her brows. “The CIA?”
“A private investigative agency.”
“But…” Her lips closed over the question.
“Run by someone who also had very close ties to the CIA.”
“A private agency? You said your investigation was driven by national security concerns.”
“You don’t have to be a government operative to want to protect this country and its people from further acts of terrorism.”
“But you were,” she said. “A government operative.”
“At one time.”
He didn’t elaborate. He wasn’t willing to discuss why he had left the CIA.
It had had nothing to do with the disbanding of Cabot’s elite counterterrorism team. Ethan had left on his own almost a year before that edict against the External Security Team had come down. And only at the urging of someone he respected as much as he respected Griff Cabot would he ever have become involved in clandestine operations again.
“But he will be all right, won’t he?”
She meant Gardner, he realized.
Your guess is as good as mine. That answer was no less mocking than some of those she’d made to his appeal. He didn’t offer it, however.
Despite his distaste for almost everything he had learned about Raine McAllister, he couldn’t shake the notion that he owed it to the old man to treat her, and this entire bizarre episode, with at least some degree of respect. Professional courtesy for a former DCI? Or guilt over the possibility that his and Griff’s visit had played a role in the attack that had injured Montgomery Gardner?
“From what everyone says he’s a tough old bird,” he hedged.
“You don’t know him?”
“Not really. I’ve only met Mr. Gardner a few times. Mostly on social occasions at the home of the owner of the agency, Griff Cabot, and his wife.”
She smiled. “As a child, I was always so jealous.”
It took him a second to make the connection. “Of Claire?”
“She was his granddaughter. We’re about the same age. And she had a right to his time and his interest.”
Which she had wanted for herself?
“I always wondered if she knew about me,” Raine continued. “And if so, exactly what she knew.”
“I don’t understand.”
He didn’t. Not her relationship with the old man or her remarks about being jealous of his granddaughter.
“After it was over…” She paused, her eyes again seeming to contemplate a time other than the present. “He paid for my schooling. First, at a very fine girls’ boarding school in Virginia, and then later at Wellesley.” Her eyes lifted to Ethan’s. “I’m afraid I didn’t fit very well at either. I always thought Claire would have.”
There was no doubt about that, Ethan acknowledged, remembering the poised and beautiful woman who had married Griff Cabot when he’d literally come back from the dead. Despite the very real ideological differences each had brought to that union, theirs seemed to be one of the most successful marriages he’d ever seen.
“When do you want to leave?”
Raine’s question, totally out of context in their discussion of Claire Cabot, caught him off guard.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Or were you just planning to point to some names in a copy of Who’s Who?”
He’d been doing better in the role of stiff-necked bureaucrat, he realized. Playing straight man to her mockery wasn’t nearly so appealing.
“You’re coming to Washington,” he attempted to clarify.
“I thought that’s what you wanted.”
He had come expecting to be provided with information that would give him a handle on the inner circle of The Covenant. It was obvious now that was something this woman didn’t possess. What she did have was a supposed psychic ability Monty Gardner believed in strongly enough to have sent him down here.
And now, because she thought she owed the old man something or maybe because she considered him something of a father figure, she was offering to use her “gift” to help Ethan break the code of silence surrounding the dark heart of an organization he’d spent the past six months investigating. The problem was, no matter what the old man believed about her abilities, Ethan himself didn’t think she was capable of doing anything like that.
“I don’t—” he began and then stopped. “Actually, I hadn’t thought that far.”
Back to idiotic straight man, trying to come up with some way of letting her perform her mumbo-jumbo that didn’t involve hauling her back to D.C. He didn’t even want to think about how her act would be greeted by the hard-nosed ex-intelligence agents of the Phoenix.
“I’ll try not to embarrass you, Mr. Snow. I promise you that I’ve learned a great deal since my Tarot-reading days. And I’d really like to see him,” she added softly, her voice more subdued than it had been at any time during the course of their conversation. “It might be my last chance to tell him how much he’s always meant to me.”
“Of course,” Ethan said.
No matter the fallout from this, he realized, given his guilt over the timing of that attack, there really was nothing else he could say to that particular appeal.
RAINE SLIPPED THE CHAIN into the slot on the front door and turned the dead bolt. Normally, despite the isolation of the house, she never thought about those precautions. With all that had happened tonight, she did them automatically.
As soon as she heard the sound of the car’s engine kick over, she turned off the outside lights. She stood a moment in the darkness, listening as Ethan Snow backed his car out of her driveway and onto the two-lane, blacktopped beach road.
When the noise of his automobile had faded into the distance, she retraced her steps to the back of the house. The studio was exactly as she had left it, the figure of the runner still draped under its cloth covering.
For a moment she avoided looking at it, allowing her eyes to move around the room instead, focusing briefly on the completed sculptures. Trying again to find the peace this place had always given her.
Despite her avoidance of the statue that had precipitated the vision, that peace still eluded her. Moving decisively, she crossed the room, intending to uncover the runner. As she approached the figure, however, her steps slowed, almost without her conscious volition.
Although she took a fortifying breath as soon as she reached the pedestal, she didn’t allow any other hesitation. She quickly lifted the cloth, revealing the sculpture.
The
re was no repetition of what had occurred at sunset. Nothing at all unusual happened.
The flowing lines of the figure seemed as pleasing to her as they had last night. Proportioned. Graceful. Displaying exactly the strength and athleticism she’d been trying for.
She circled the stand, examining the statue from every angle. When she reached the front, for almost the first time since she’d shaped the features, she looked at the runner head-on.
Her heart seemed to falter before it resumed beating, but at an increased rate. Although she moved closer, there was no doubt at all about what her eyes had told her.
The straining face of the runner she had fashioned two days ago, the figure that had metamorphosed into the vision of that dark, bottomless pond, was clearly that of the man with whom she had just agreed to travel to Washington tomorrow.
Chapter Three
Ethan almost didn’t recognize her. And when he did, he realized he had again misjudged her.
Despite the size and regional flavor of the local airport, she had dressed in a two-piece cotton knit dress in a deep shade of turquoise. The color set off her tanned skin and dark hair. Although she was wearing sandals, they had low heels and matched the calfskin purse slung over her shoulder. A black wheeled suitcase stood beside her.
She watched his approach, her expression unrevealing. Her eyes, which he had thought last night were the color of the sea far out from shore, today seemed to match the vibrant fabric of her dress.
“Ready?” he asked.
He wasn’t sure why Raine McAllister seemed capable of reducing him to a degree of social ineptitude he hadn’t suffered since high school. Maybe it had something to do with the directness of her gaze.
Or with the fact that she had managed to make him feel last night as if she knew what he was thinking. A formidable obstacle to overcome, even for someone who professed not to believe that was possible.
Considering what he’d been feeling as he’d walked toward her, that wasn’t the only obstacle he faced. He had acknowledged his attraction last night when she’d been barefooted, dressed in cutoff jeans, her face devoid of makeup. Today she looked as sophisticated as any of the women he’d encountered during his forays into Washington society.
He could only hope his physical reaction wasn’t obvious. And that she couldn’t really read his mind.
“What time is the flight?” Raine asked.
Obviously her abilities didn’t extend to anything as mundane as flight schedules, Ethan thought. A cheap shot maybe, but he was still uncomfortable with this entire scenario. Since he’d pulled out of her driveway last night, he’d been trying to shake off the feeling that agreeing to take Raine back to Washington had been a huge mistake.
When he called Griff to explain why Gardner had recommended they contact her, as well as to warn him that she’d be accompanying him back to D.C. today, he’d learned that Gardner’s condition was still listed as critical. Both Griff and Claire were staying at the hospital almost around the clock. So if Raine was determined to see the old man before—
He blocked the unpleasant thought. “How about now?”
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t ask any questions. Ethan shifted the strap of his overnight bag to his shoulder and then reached down to take the handle of her suitcase. Without thinking, he put his free hand on the small of her back, intending to direct her toward the door that led out to where the plane was being prepared.
She jumped at his touch, as if a spark of electricity had been conducted from his body to hers. Considering the terrazzo tile floor, that was highly unlikely.
“This way,” he said, careful this time not to allow his hand to make contact with her waist.
Pulling her case behind him, he led the way down the portable steps and onto the tarmac. The Lear, the Phoenix’s latest purchase and highly tangible evidence of the agency’s success, gleamed sleek and white in the morning sun.
He stopped at the foot of the stairway to glance behind him. Raine was still standing at the top, one hand gripping the railing, her eyes locked on the plane.
“Is something wrong?”
He should have told her they would be taking a private jet. There had been no reason not to. Nothing beyond some kind of perverse attempt to test her abilities, perhaps.
At his question her eyes left the aircraft to focus on his. “We’re not flying commercial?”
“I brought the agency’s plane down to speed things up.”
Both he and Griff had agreed that the attack on the old man had implications for the investigation. If Gardner believed Raine could help, then the quicker Ethan talked to her the better.
“You’re the pilot?”
“Is that a problem?”
She shook her head, but her gaze fastened again on the jet. Her lips tightened before she looked away. She took another breath, deep enough to be visible, but finally she started down the stairs.
“I’m fully certified,” he said when she stepped onto the tarmac beside him. “I have as many hours in the air as most commercial pilots. The plane’s new—”
She shook her head again. “It isn’t that.”
If she’s about to come up with some kind of psychic nonsense about why we shouldn’t make this flight…
“Then what is it?” His question sounded more abrupt than he’d intended.
“Nothing. I’m ready whenever you are, Mr. Snow.”
She headed resolutely toward the plane as if that dramatic pause at the top of the stairs had never occurred. Except it had. And for some ridiculous reason, it bothered him.
He was aware that there were storms in the area. Their flight plan would take them on a course parallel to them, but far enough away that they shouldn’t have any problems. Like any good pilot, he didn’t take risks with the weather. And he had always felt safer flying than driving, especially around the Washington area. Now, however…
Unmoving, he watched Raine climb the stairs to the Lear. Just before she stepped through the hatch, she turned to look down at him.
Her glance had been just that. A meeting of the eyes, over before he could decide what he had seen in hers.
The same mockery that had been there last night? Had that hesitation at the top of the stairs been an attempt to rattle him because he didn’t believe Gardner’s faith in her abilities was justified?
If so, she was in for a surprise, he vowed. It would be a cold day in hell before he bought into any of that palm-reading, Tarot-scanning sideshow. A very cold day.
IN STARK CONTRAST to the subtropical sunshine they’d left, Washington was gray and rainy. Maybe the weather was appropriate for the visit they were making, Ethan decided as he led Raine down the corridor of the hospital.
There was only one intensive care waiting room. Through its glass-topped door, he spotted Griff and Claire sitting side by side. They weren’t conversing, but they were holding hands, the strain of the vigil they kept etched on their faces.
He opened the door, ushering Raine through. As Griff rose to meet them, Ethan wondered what the head of the Phoenix had told his wife about her grandfather and the woman beside him. Of course, it was always possible Claire had already known about the little girl who had once been so jealous of her relationship with Monty Gardner.
“Ethan,” Griff said, and then turned to smile at Raine.
“Raine McAllister, this is Griff Cabot. He’s the head of the Phoenix Agency. Mr. Gardner is—”
“I know,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. Cabot.”
Griff’s eyes met Ethan’s briefly before he took the slim fingers in his own. “Griff. And thank you for coming.”
“How is he?”
“Holding his own. How much longer he can do that…”
“As long as he has to,” Monty Gardner’s granddaughter said.
They turned to find that Claire was standing slightly behind her husband. She took another step, entering the triangle the three of them had formed, and held out her h
and to Raine.
“I’m Claire Cabot. I understand you know my grandfather.”
“I knew him,” Raine corrected as she took the hand Claire extended. “A very long time ago.”
“I see,” Claire said after a moment, but it was clear from her tone that she didn’t.
“Raine worked with your grandfather,” Ethan began, and then wondered whether this was the time or the place to go into exactly what she had done for the CIA.
“With Grandfather? But…” It was obvious that, just as he had last night, Claire was trying to make Raine’s age fit with the time Montgomery Gardner had been in a position to employ anyone. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Raine was a little girl. The agency—”
There was no way to sugarcoat what the CIA had done or Gardner’s role in it. Despite her grandfather’s position as the director of central intelligence, Claire was not a fan of the agency. The idea of a child like Raine being exploited there would trouble her, just as it had him. And right now he didn’t want to say anything that might seem critical of her grandfather.
“Mr. Gardner was very kind to me,” Raine said, easing the awkward pause. “In a way that no one else in my life had ever been before.”
“I see,” Claire said again.
This time her tone seemed even more distant. She was probably trying to figure out why this stranger had intruded at what she must fear might be her grandfather’s death bed.
I was always so insanely jealous…. She was his granddaughter. She had a right to his time and his interest.
Was that why Raine had been so determined to come? Because she was still jealous? Ethan wondered. Except that didn’t fit the impression he’d gotten when she’d talked about the old man.
Of course, his assessment hadn’t necessarily been made by either his logic or his training. Something far more primitive, more physical than cerebral perhaps, drove his desire to believe she’d had no ulterior motives in coming here.
“You didn’t know about me, did you?” Raine asked.
“Know what about you?”
There was a hint of arrogance in Claire’s question, which might be the result of tiredness or of strain. Of course, it was understandable that Griff’s wife wasn’t reacting with her usual poise and kindness. To be fearful of losing her grandfather and then to be introduced to a strange woman who claimed to have a long acquaintance with someone to whom she had always been very close…