Lovers Never Lie

by Gael Morrison

  Andrew shifted and rose to a sitting position, forcing Stacia to sit up, too. She turned to face him and found her head spun from the movement. Shutting her eyes to maintain her bearings, she struggled to keep from folding beneath a new wave of dizziness. The pain in her shoulder helped. She focused on it, determined to keep her lips from crying Andrew's name.

  He touched her cheek, his fingers lingering and caressing.

  "Are you all right," he demanded softly.

  "Yes," Stacia whispered, opening her eyes.

  Andrew's face was pale despite his tan, with pain etched in the circles around his eyes and in the lines at the corners of his compressed lips. He touched her shoulder. She bit her lip, but was unable to contain a moan.

  "You're hurt. When I pushed you aside—" Andrew's eyes grew tortured, "—there was no time to be gentle."

  "Pushed me aside?" Memory flooded back, of him shouting first then pushing her hard to the floor. "You saved my life," she said breathlessly.

  "Risked it," he growled. Muscles along his jaw line tightened, and his eyes suddenly blazed. "What the hell are you doing out here anyway?"

  "Getting the answers you need. I thought you were here already." Stacia pushed her hair back from her face. "I thought it would be safer if we did this together."

  "If anything happened to you—" Andrew stared at her fiercely, looking as though he longed to shake her.

  "It would have had nothing to do with you."

  "It would have had everything to do with me." He stood. "I want you to stay here this time."

  "Where are you going?"

  "To catch a thief." Andrew's eyes turned cold as ice.

  "A few diamonds are not worth getting killed over."

  "Those few diamonds are worth half a million dollars," he growled.

  Stacia gasped. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

  "You felt bad enough already. Besides, you might have insisted on helping me." He glowered at her. "It looks like you did that anyway."

  "But she has a gun," Stacia protested, memories flooding back of the gun pointed at her.

  "She's not a very good shot," Andrew said, with a grim smile. "Besides, without the diamonds, my business is destroyed."

  "She's already gone."

  "She can't have gone far."

  Stacia grabbed him by his shirt, then she dropped her hold as her fingers met something slippery and warm.

  Andrew groaned.

  "You've been shot!" Stacia cried, staring at the blood on her hand. "That bullet was meant for me." Carefully, she pulled away his shirt. It was impossible with all the blood to tell if the bullet had lodged in his shoulder.

  Andrew shrugged away her hand and took her face between his palms. "Stay here," he repeated, locking her gaze with his.

  Mutely, she shook her head.

  His touch told her he was angry as did the taut line of his face.

  "My wife died," he growled. "I don't want that to happen to you."

  Stacia tugged her face free. Tears gathered and threatened to spill.

  "If anything more happens to you, Andrew, I—"

  "Don't worry," he said gently. "Nothing's going to happen to me."

  "You don't know that. Nobody knows that."

  He squeezed her shoulder. "I'll be back," he swore, then moved toward the door through which Maria had escaped. When he reached it, he turned and looked at Stacia, blood seeping through his shirt from his wound. He stared at her hard as though memorizing her face, then disappeared like a ghost in the morning mist.

  She remained motionless and listened as he ran along the stone floor. When the last sound died, she moved swiftly after him.

  No matter what he said, she had to follow. No matter how much she was afraid, she had to be strong.

  The door through which he'd exited led into another room identical to the first, then through to a passageway leading to an inside courtyard. Across a postage stamp square of tramped-down dirt was an archway to the outside.

  At the archway, Stacia hesitated, willed the racing of her heart to slow. If she was to help Andrew, she had to be calm, had to stop her mind serving up images of him shot and bleeding, with Maria Argolis and her not-so-clever-but-strong-and-capable man standing over him. With a shudder, Stacia peered out through the archway.

  Nothing.

  Not a sign or sound.

  Her breathing deteriorated to irregular gasps. She pulled in a long breath and tried to think. She had seen no sign of Maria's boat when she landed, so there must be another cove. A trail traced the cliff's edge, but Stacia couldn't see how far it went. Her view was blocked by the out-jutting tower of the fortress.

  She started along the trail, sprinting as swiftly as she dared over the uneven ground. Within seconds, she had rounded the tower. In that instant, her blood froze.

  Andrew was in front of her, his muscular form listing to the right as he favored his wound. A lump lodged in Stacia's throat, cutting off her respiration as her eyes blurred with tears. She could scarcely see him now.

  Scrubbing away the tears with the back of her hand, his image cleared, then blurred, then cleared again.

  Now it was too clear. Beyond Andrew was Maria, who raced like a young woman along the edge of the cliff. Her footsteps were no longer shaky or infirm. Under that false grey hair she must be far younger than she pretended. She must be thirty-eight or forty, forty-five at the most.

  Past Maria, the figure of a man rose up from beyond the cliff. Stacia's heart stopped. The man must be on another trail to the sea, must be coming to Maria's aid. Stacia's mouth opened in a panic-filled scream.

  At the sound of her cry, Andrew turned toward her, his black hair whipped against his face by the wind.

  A shot rang out, smoke curling from the gun in Maria's helper's hand. Stacia screamed again and began to run, ignoring the ache in her wrenched shoulder.

  Andrew. Andrew. His name beat a tattoo in Stacia's skull. At least he hadn't been hit by the man's bullet. Instead, he put himself between the gunman and her, running back towards her, frantically waving her away.

  Maria's helper didn't retreat, but came closer, instead, and with a sickening lurch in her belly, Stacia recognized him.

  It was the man from the taverna. She should have guessed he was the man in Maria Argolis's pay. If Andrew hadn't come along, his diamonds would have been in Maria's hands much sooner, and if that had been the case, perhaps no one would have been hurt.

  The man crouched low and aimed once more, using one hand to hold the other steady, his face hard with concentration. Maria Argolis still ran towards her helper, glancing over her shoulder as she drew near him. Her face glowed with triumph.

  As Stacia ran, too, her breath rasped in her ear, drowning out the wild pounding of her heart. She didn't know what she would do to help when she finally reached Andrew, only knew that whatever happened, she had to be at his side.

  "Go back!" Andrew shouted.

  Stacia ignored him, continued to run, didn't dare look to her right where the cliff face was sheer for fear she would falter.

  With no conscious thought, she ran on furiously, saw the man aim his gun at her, and Andrew fling himself between. She clung to the faith that if they just were together, everything would be all right.

  They would both be safe.

  She was closer to Andrew now, and realized with horror that the sticky patch of blood on his shoulder had spread to his rib cage. He held out his hand as though to shield her, and she drew strength from the memory of his fingers enclosing hers.

  Then another shot rang out and the whole world changed.

  She saw the dust first, a skittering twister of fine sand rising from the ground next to her feet. Then another shot, and another, and the ground fell away. The disappearing earth yawned emptily beside her.

  She scrabbled on the cliff's edge, her feet dancing in the wind. But there was nothing left to hold her.

  Andrew flew over the ground, reaching for her again, extending his fingers in a
final impossible attempt to catch her. His guttural cry was the last sound she heard before she scraped and slid and bumped over the rocks.

  Falling. For what seemed an eternity, she continued to fall. When finally she stopped, she lay on her back, stunned, afraid to move, speak, or even open her eyes. Only the sound of Andrew's voice penetrated her terror.

  "Stacia," he called again.

  She forced her eyes open. Andrew stared down at her from the new edge of the cliff some eight feet above.

  "I'm all right," she whispered.

  "Anything broken?" he asked urgently, his skin devoid of color, his gaze never leaving hers. His lips were a grim slash, as though he, too, were holding his breath, convinced, the same as she, that the whole ledge would come tumbling down if he let her out of his sight.

  It was impossible to contemplate checking for broken bones. She'd have to move to do that, and movement was impossible. She remained where she was, frozen against the ledge.

  "Wiggle your toes," Andrew instructed, "or your fingers. Wiggle anything."

  She had to do it. If only for him. Slowly, so slowly she was not positive her body obeyed her brain, Stacia wiggled the fingers of first her right hand, then her left. Her toes were next. She couldn't see them, but she could feel them curl inside her runners.

  Nothing really hurt. Not if she discounted the gash on her temple dripping blood into her hair, and the cuts and scrapes she knew existed from the burning sensation they created.

  Crack!

  Another bullet ricocheted off the cliff above her, and a handful of gravel rumbled down, sprinkling Stacia with a fine layer of pebbles and sand. She flattened further against the hard rock and Andrew's head drew out of sight. For a long moment, there was no sound at all.

  "Andrew!" She screamed.

  Andrew's face reappeared, his eyes black bullets of fury as he stared along the cliff. Stacia raised her head infinitesimally and followed Andrew's gaze. Maria and her helper were half way down the other cliff trail, scrambling with more speed than care.

  Every few feet, Maria halted and took aim. Another shot sung out, but the angle was poor. It hit an out-jutting piece of limestone far beyond Stacia. Another shot followed in swift succession, and a loud voice shouted something incomprehensible.

  Stacia cautiously raised her head higher, saw Maria's man crack open his gun and swear again. He turned to Maria, but she shook her head and showed him her own gun. Another stream of pebbles rattled down from above.

  "Are you all right?" Andrew called.

  With a hard swallow, she nodded. "I think they're out of bullets, Andrew."

  "I see that," he said.

  "Go after them," she cried, though she didn't want him to leave. "You have to get your diamonds back."

  "I'm not going anywhere."

  "They're worth too much to lose. You said so yourself."

  "I'm not leaving you."

  "They're not armed anymore."

  He didn't move.

  When Stacia stared upward, all she could see of Andrew were his broad shoulders, muscular arms, and of course his face.

  "You're afraid," she whispered, unable to believe it, but staring into his eyes, she saw the truth of her accusation.

  "Not of losing my diamonds," he replied grimly. His eyes darkened to a mask that kept his emotions secret.

  "Andrew," she moaned, heard the desperation in her own voice. She clenched a handful of sand from the ground beside her, and tried again to speak, more softly this time. "They'll get away," she entreated.

  "It doesn't matter," he said.

  "It has to matter." She started crying and couldn't seem to stop.

  Maria and her helper were almost to the bottom of the cliff now, the movement of their feet sending avalanches of dirt sliding down before them. Maria still clutched the package and the man his useless gun. Every few yards they looked back, as though amazed no one was following, that Andrew wasn't after what was now possible to get.

  "I'm not going anywhere until you are off that ledge and safe," Andrew called down, his voice drawing Stacia back from her contemplation of their enemy.

  Safe. The one thing she'd sworn to renounce. The one thing she now wished for them both with all of her heart.

  "Can you sit up?" Andrew asked. His stomach churned when he looked down and knew he couldn't go to her, that his weight would break away the ledge upon which she rested.

  She smiled at him faintly. "If you promise they won't throw stones next."

  "I'll throw them back if they do." He tried not to hear the engine of Maria's boat sputter to life in the distance.

  "Your last chance," Stacia said, her eyes begging him to desert her. "They're leaving!"

  "Let's get you up from there," he replied. "I need to hold you."

  Pink tinged her cheeks.

  "But you have to sit up," he added.

  Her lips opened as though she were about to say she couldn't, then she pressed them tightly shut and slowly eased herself into a sitting position. Only once did she glance below before swiftly averting her gaze.

  Andrew glanced at the sea also. What had once been inviting now presented danger. The sea's edge was far below and covered with rocks, and that's where Stacia would land if she fell from her ledge.

  "Can you stand?" he asked, pushing away all images of her not making it back into his arms.

  She shook her head.

  "You have to do it." He'd do it for her if only he could.

  Stacia's skin paled as though she were suddenly engulfed by dizziness, and she shut her eyes tight.

  "Put your head between your knees," he commanded urgently.

  She bent over, her hair parting around her neck. Her skin was creamy and vulnerable, but beneath the soft exterior, she had the courage of a goddess.

  "Take a couple of deep breaths," Andrew instructed, his heart pounding furiously. If she fainted, she could topple over the side.

  "I can't come down to you," he said again. "That ledge won't hold my weight. You'll have to climb up."

  She glanced at him, then her gaze held steady.

  "Imagine my arms around you, Stacia. Imagine I'm holding you, never letting you go." The trust in her eyes made his heart tremble. "Keep your back to the wall," he added, "and edge your way to a standing position. Look up, not down."

  She placed her hands flat against the wall, and slowly, surely, eased herself upright.

  In his heart, Andrew cheered heron, not wanting to distract her by speaking aloud. Maria's boat passed directly in front of them, seemingly to mock them as it bobbed gently up and down in the water.

  "Keep your eyes on me." He spoke loudly this time to cover the sound of the boat's engine, and was relieved when it disappeared from view around the out-jutting rocks.

  Stacia's face filled with determination and she did as he suggested.

  "Now lift your hands to mine."

  She twisted her head as she looked up, her cheek against the dirt as she examined the cliff's surface. Then she pressed her hands harder, as though her fingers were all she had to keep her glued to the cliff face.

  "I can't do it," she said at last, her skin a pasty white.

  "You have to," he said fiercely.

  Her eyes filled with worry. "I can't let you help me," she said. "Your wound... it's bleeding."

  "That's not important."

  "It is to me."

  "I'm fine." He stared steadily down at her, willing her to do as he said.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, she edged her hands skyward, and he leaned farther over the cliff. He pressed as close to the ground as possible, his wound plastered against the dirt, and his blood reddening the earth beneath him. Pain sucked the air from his body. He thought he might pass out. Stacia's eyes were black with fear, but the courage she had drawn upon to face Andropolous was there also, all the more powerful because she possessed it despite her fear.

  Andrew stretched a fraction further and his fingers met Stacia's. When they intertwined with hers, a cur
rent flowed between them, exchanging heart for heart, and with it their strength.

  "Now turn," he instructed softly, "so you're facing the cliff."

  She caught her lip between her teeth.

  He wished he could make it easy. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll hold you."

  She kept her gaze skyward, didn't look at the danger below, and slowly, carefully, shuffled her way around. Pebbles and sand littered the ledge upon which she stood, and more skittered down as her body brushed the cliff. She blinked her eyes, no doubt blinded by the falling sand. But perhaps that was better. The less she saw, the less she'd be frightened.

  With a swift release of hands, an uncrossing of arms, and a swifter re-grasping, Stacia stood positioned on her tip-toes, holding onto Andrew by his wrists. He clutched her wrists also, determined never to let her go.

  "Now what?" she asked, a tremor in her voice.

  "Now you climb," he answered gently.

  Her eyes widened.

  He tightened his grip.

  "Trust me," he exhorted, his heart echoing in his ears. She smiled at him shakily, but her smile was filled with trust. With legs that seemed locked, she slowly, inexorably, raised her right foot. She edged it into a fissure and managed a step upward.

  He held onto her with his hands, and also with his eyes. If he could retain her gaze, he could get her up safely. He focused past the pain in his bleeding wound and knotting shoulders, and concentrated instead on pulling her up a few inches.

  He edged his body backward as she moved upward, anchoring them with his toes. The wound from the bullet bled more profusely than ever, but the courage and trust in Stacia's eyes lent him strength.

  "You're almost there," he whispered finally.

  Her head topped the cliff. Dirt fell ominously around her as she scrabbled for a foothold in the freshly eroded soil. He braced himself on his elbows, and rose to his knees.

  Stacia's grip on his wrist suddenly loosened, and her foothold fell away. He held on tightly as for one endless moment she hung in space.

  She scrabbled for another foothold and Andrew got to his knees. Hanging half on and half off the cliff in a tug of war between life and death, Stacia managed, with one final pull from him, to fight her way up and over the edge.

  He fell backward and she sprawled across him, both their strengths gone. Her breathing suddenly grew so slow he thought she might have fainted.