Operation: Reunited

by Linda O. Johnston

  Cole doubted they’d locate the shooter, even if they tried. And unless Vane got more excited about the incident, Cole suspected that the very deferential local police would not put much effort into their investigation.

  They all appeared to know Vane. Two years ago, Cole had found that money had been spread liberally to prevent local authorities from getting too curious at the Kenner Hotels. Everything else so far had come close to following the earlier pattern. This, too?

  When the police left, Cole trudged up the path toward the inn, following Vane and Alexa.

  As they reached the building, Minos Flaherty emerged from the kitchen door. “What was going on down there, boss?” he asked Vane. The short, bulky man was dressed in black sweats. There was a sheen on his forehead, as if he had been outdoors. Maybe even running.

  Cole had suspected that he’d been the shooter. Now he was all but certain.

  What he didn’t know was whether he had been the target—or Alexa. And why shoot at either of them now?

  Since Minos had missed, it had most likely been a warning. But what had it been intended to warn them of?

  Had Vane set it up to make certain they didn’t go off alone again? If so, he could have made the point when he’d first joined them.

  Perhaps he figured Alexa would understand without being told.

  All the more reason for Cole to get her alone. He had to talk to her. But first, he had to decide what to say.

  VANE KEPT HIS ARM around Alexa while they walked up the path. She did not try to pull away. If she had, she would have stumbled and fallen.

  He stopped to talk to Minos in private as they reached the kitchen. That was all right. She was able to hold the doorjamb for support.

  Once inside, she managed to get to the steel-topped central island and lean against it. Phantom loped through the room and took his usual place in the pantry next door. He sat and watched her with his anxious, alert doggy eyes.

  “Are you all right, Alexa?” Vane asked. She was uncertain whether his irate frown resulted from concern for her—or from the fact he had found her returning from an outing he might consider forbidden. “You’re certain the bullet didn’t nick you? Or a splinter from the dock? You look pale.”

  “I’m fine, Vane,” she said. Except that a dead man just saved my life. She made a show of glancing at her watch. Her arm trembled. “Oh, my. It’s late. I’d better start dinner, or we’ll have an inn full of hungry guests.”

  “Fine. I’ll leave you alone.” But instead of leaving, he drew close and grabbed her. Kissed her hard on the lips. The pressure of his mouth obliterated any remaining sensation from the sweetness and shock of being with Cole.

  “I don’t know why you decided to disobey me, Alexa,” Vane said, still holding her tightly against him. He was shorter than Cole, but he, too, was strong. A faint scent of beer on his breath indicated he had drunk a draught or two. “You understood my orders. Maybe I’ll just call one of my government friends, mention I’ve found something interesting…”

  She’d thought at first that he wouldn’t dare contact the government with the evidence he’d manufactured against her parents. It would only call attention to what he was doing here.

  She’d dared to tell him so, and he had laughed, told her he’d just move up his timetable, send his guests on their way. He’d tell his government friends that she had brought the terrorists to their inn, make sure there was evidence implicating her this time. That way, he would get both her parents and her without interrupting his own plans.

  Sure there were flaws in the idea, he’d said. The feds would know he wasn’t stupid, that he’d have seen what was going on. But he’d come up with enough information and excuses to keep them investigating until it was too late for…whatever it was he was doing.

  He claimed he loved her, wanted to marry her. Seemed obsessed with her.

  And yet, he would ruin her parents—and her—without blinking.

  He had to be mad.

  Right now, she wanted to shout at him. Instead, she only managed a whisper. “I—I didn’t disobey. I’d every intention of being here when you got back, but I thought you’d be gone longer. You didn’t say I couldn’t leave at all. It was just such a perfect day, and Mr. O’Rourke was so—”

  She had been going to say “insistent,” but she didn’t want Vane to turn his wrath on Cole.

  Not until Alexa had gotten her explanation.

  “I’m sorry,” she finished lamely.

  “I suppose you wanted to spend some time with the bland Mr. O’Rourke because he’s a refreshing change from me, is that it?”

  If he only knew…

  She could tell Vane. Maybe she should tell him.

  But she couldn’t. No matter what, she would not betray Cole, at least not until she understood why he had done this.

  “I have no interest in John O’Rourke except as a guest at this inn,” she replied in as forceful a voice as she could manage. “You know how much I dislike your demands, Vane. I needed to get away for a little while and had no idea this one small outing would upset you, especially since I planned to beat you back here. I’d no idea the day would end so…so violently.” She raised her chin and studied his unyielding gaze. “You wouldn’t happen to know who shot at us, would you?”

  She was certain that he knew but that he would not admit it.

  “Too bad whoever it was missed your Mr. O’Rourke. Watch your step, Alexa.” Vane turned and left the room.

  Alexa grabbed the counter as her legs nearly buckled. Her entire body felt deflated, as if she were a balloon with the knot in its neck untied.

  For a change, it wasn’t just Vane’s wrath that had upset her. Fortunately, though he apparently did not like what she had done, he wasn’t going to take it out on her parents or her—this time.

  But Cole was alive.

  He had been alive for two years without letting her know he was all right.

  You son of a bitch, she thought.

  She felt like sobbing but her eyes remained dry. She hurled herself toward the sink, an urge to throw up overwhelming her.

  But she didn’t. She just stood there. “Why, Cole?” she whispered.

  As if on autopilot, she began her supper preparations. She decided to prepare a spicy, curried Indian dish, with meat and potatoes and chana dhal—a type of lentil. She got out her amchur powder, made from unripe mangoes, to add a sour tang.

  “Hi. Anything I can do to help?”

  It was John O’Rourke. Cole. He had changed into a navy-blue denim shirt tucked into his ever-present, snug jeans. Over it, he wore a lighter denim jacket. His dark hair was damp again, as if he had just showered.

  Or swum in the lake with her.

  The expression on his utterly handsome face—the face that was not Cole’s—was wary.

  He looked so different. Why? And how could a disguise be that deceptive, that perfect? It hadn’t even washed off in the lake.

  Alexa had been playing in her mind the scenarios that might occur when she first saw Cole again. Should she act indifferent and cold? Should she vent her rage?

  The one thing she had not planned on was for tears to spring to her eyes.

  She looked down. A mesh bag of onions sat on the counter not far from where she had been peeling potatoes, and she grabbed it. She would not allow him to believe she was crying over him.

  As she used a sharp knife to slice at an onion, she replied to his question. “There is not a thing you can do that you haven’t done already.”

  She had meant her words to be a dismissal. Instead, he drew closer.

  “We have to talk, Alexa,” he whispered.

  She kept her voice low, too. “We have nothing to talk about.” Except the fact that you let me believe you were dead.

  She heard a footstep at the doorway and turned. Minos was there. His arms were crossed, and he was scowling. “Vane told me to help you.” He did not sound the least bit pleased. And Alexa figured that Vane had wanted Minos to act not
only as her kitchen assistant, but as her guard dog.

  “Fine,” she said brightly. “I need about ten more potatoes peeled, plus a couple of onions diced.” She gestured toward the counter on the center island, where she had been working. “And that means you, Mr. O’Rourke, are dispensable. Go away and practice for tonight’s quiz show.”

  The smile she leveled at him held no humor.

  “Okay,” replied Cole Rappaport from John O’Rourke’s mouth. “See you later.”

  THAT NIGHT, Alexa lay in bed, her eyes wide open. Phantom’s gentle snores sounded from on the floor beside her. Though the breeze wafting through the open window was warm, she wore a flannel nightgown.

  She still felt cold. But the chill had little to do with the weather.

  She had seen Cole later, as he had promised.

  She had seen him as an ordinary guest at dinner. She had seen him slip into the parlor to mingle with the others watching television and discussing the news.

  She hadn’t seen him in the kitchen again. He had made no show of helping with the dishes so they could talk.

  After weighing the wisdom of going out onto the balcony, in case he appeared there, she had done so, but only for ten minutes. She hadn’t seen him there, either.

  Maybe he was taking her at her word, that they had nothing to talk about.

  But she had been wrong. They had a lot to talk about. Even though no explanation he could ever impart would be enough to ease the agony he had put her through for the past two years.

  Nor enough to make her stop hating him now, as intensely as she once had loved him.

  She pulled the covers up tightly beneath her chin and sighed deeply into the dark. She had to sleep.

  It was the only way to turn off the dark, angry—and incredibly sad—emotions that pulsed through her as surely as her blood was pumped by her heart.

  Suddenly, Phantom’s snoring ceased. The dog rose.

  “Alexa? Are you awake?” The whisper punctured the stillness.

  She hadn’t heard the door open, but she saw the faint light from the hallway and a backlighted figure silhouetted before it. The light disappeared as the door shut.

  She knew she had locked her door.

  She sat up, beginning to shake. “Who’s there?”

  As if she didn’t know.

  Phantom’s toenails made small skittering sounds on the uncovered part of the wooden floor as he merrily greeted their intruder.

  Traitor! Alexa thought. But the dog wouldn’t understand.

  The trespasser didn’t answer her. Instead, her mattress suddenly sagged beneath his weight as he sat at the edge of her bed. She hadn’t heard his footsteps as he crossed the wooden floor or the rug that lay on top of it.

  He was still a phantom.

  “Go away, Cole,” she said, not meaning it. She kept her voice low. There were many reasons she did not want him to be discovered here, in her bedroom in the dead of night, in the darkness, not the least of which was that her controlling and ruthless—and quite possibly insane—fiancé just might not understand the presence of John O’Rourke.

  He certainly wouldn’t understand that his closest friend in the world, Cole Rappaport, wasn’t, after all, dead.

  Neither did she.

  “I’m not leaving without some answers,” Cole replied to her demand, his voice also muted.

  “What!” Of all the things he could have said, that was the last thing Alexa had anticipated. She moved then, stretching up to turn on the reading light on the wall behind the bed. The light was unlikely to be noticed by anyone outside the room. Even if it were, there would be an obvious explanation for its being on.

  Cole was still dressed in denim shirt and jeans. He sat stiffly, without moving toward her, but there was a stony glint in his dark brown eyes. He ignored Phantom, who rubbed against his leg for attention. The pup settled down at his feet. “Don’t worry about your fiancé hearing our conversation on his monitor and rushing in to your rescue. I swept the room for listening devices right after dinner, when everyone else was downstairs. I found yours, right there in your jewelry box where your ring is.” He mentioned her engagement ring in a tone as full of distaste as if he spat worms from his mouth. “The device was hidden in the box’s lining. It’s now subject to an unfortunate malfunction.”

  Alexa was speechless. She hadn’t even considered that Vane would have bugged her room. She had a phone extension in here. Had he tapped it, as well?

  Cole continued. “I want to know exactly what the scheme is, Alexa. The one that went dormant two years ago after the explosion, and that’s been put back together now.”

  “And exactly why do you think I know what it is?” she replied coldly. She studied his face in the golden glow of the light. She still saw little resemblance to the man she had known in the breadth of his jaw, the sculptured cheekbones, the cleft in his chin, the rugged, straight brow.

  But the eyes. They had looked familiar from the first moment she’d seen him. They still did.

  Except that, before, there had been a softness in Cole’s gaze. Caring.

  Love.

  She couldn’t think about that, or how she had felt about him. She had to deal with the current situation.

  “I was injured in that damn explosion, Alexa, but unfortunately for you my mind remained intact.”

  Of course. He must have had plastic surgery after the explosion. She hadn’t been able to tell.

  “So-called guests were planted in your family’s hotels two years ago. Our investigation proved they were terrorists—mine and my dear friend Vane’s. The investigation ended, or at least was put on hold, when I was nearly killed. Now, lo and behold, two of the original cast of characters just happen to be in the hotel business again, as partners. No, more than partners—lovers. Foreigners similar to the last batch—people highly trained in the use of explosives—are being taught U.S. customs and idiomatic language, right here. Of course you know what’s going on. And I want an explanation.”

  Icy fingers of fear inched up Alexa’s back. But they didn’t strangle her growing anger. “And you think that I’m part of this plot? That I was part of it back then, too?”

  “I may be a fool, Alexa, but I’m not stupid. Of course you’ve been part of it all along.”

  “I see.” She wished she could erase the hoarseness in her voice. It spoke of the emotions welling within her. She didn’t want to cry. She wouldn’t cry in front of this man whose purported death had all but destroyed her, and whose words now were shattering what was left of her. “And that’s why you let me believe you were dead.”

  “No, Alexa. I let you believe I was dead because I’d thought you an innocent victim, and that by staying out of your life, I would protect you.” His laugh was an ugly sound, full of bitterness. “And it gets even more ironic. I didn’t contact Vane, either, since I figured you both would end up like my father, who was murdered even before the blast. And like me—or at least as dead as I was supposed to be.”

  “Your father was murdered?” Alexa was even further appalled. “You only told me he’d died. But of course I know now there was a lot you didn’t tell me.” She managed a glance at him. “What about Warren Geari? Did he survive the blast, too?” Warren had been the general manager of Kenner Hotels. In the nightmare of accusations that had been hurled at her family after the explosion, it had become obvious that Warren, a longtime trusted employee and friend of the family, had orchestrated the involvement of the hotel chain.

  “No,” Cole said. “I was the only fortunate one.”

  Alexa cringed at the continued acrimony that flowed from Cole’s mouth.

  But she was the one entitled to be bitter. He had judged her without even speaking with her. Had hidden from her for two years—two years in which he had been alive—and she had suffered because she had thought she had lost him in the explosion.

  She had lost him in the explosion, she reminded herself. The only difference was that he hadn’t died.

  She
had loved him so…and her love had become a victim, just like Warren Geari. Only it had just died. Today, as she had learned the truth.

  She sat up farther in her bed, resting her back against the headboard. She crossed her arms over her chest to still, as much as possible, the shudders of unrestrained emotion that passed through her.

  “All right, Cole,” she said quietly, hating the shakiness in her voice. “Believe what you want. But I have to assume that, since you’re here, you’ve come to investigate this alleged plot all over again. Right?”

  “That’s right.” His voice was cold. “I’d been given other assignments, but kept my ears open. I only recently started hearing rumors again in the intelligence community, and the trail I picked up ended, so far, at this inn—with Vane and you. And this time, it won’t be enough to stop the latest group of infiltrators you have staying here. This time, I intend to find out what is planned, who else is involved. The scheme will be thwarted, Alexa. Believe me.”

  “Good,” she said. She saw his eyes widen in disbelief. It was her turn to make a pretense at a laugh. “Let me tell you my version of the truth, Cole. You don’t have to believe it. And I don’t care if you do, as long as you promise to help me protect my parents.”

  “Your parents?” Confusion knitted his straight, dark brows together. Alexa had an urge to reach over and smooth them….

  What was she thinking? This man was her enemy. If nothing else, he wanted to put her in prison.

  Perhaps, instead, she could use him. And just maybe she would not need to escape after all.

  “I’ll cooperate with you, Cole,” she said. “Tell you everything I know, which isn’t much. Help you get whatever information I can, although I have to tell you that my own attempts to learn something useful have been fruitless so far. In return, I want you to help me find some trumped-up documents Vane created to implicate my parents. With luck, we’ll get enough to put Vane in prison for a long time. And if you don’t railroad me, maybe I can just go back to running my inn. Myself.”

  “Without your beloved fiancé?”

  “Myself,” she reiterated, not bothering to tell him that she had never loved Vane. That she had become engaged to him out of gratitude—and even lethargy. She had known she could never love another man after Cole.