by Kay Hooper
Andres would need her more than ever now, Sara knew that. She also knew that he was going to try to send her away. He had been badly shaken by Lucio’s capture of her, and she knew the kind of hell he had gone through in the hours before she was safe again. She knew because she had gone through that as well.
The odd thing was that their reactions to that frightening span of hours were directly opposite—and yet each was showing the greatest strength possible. For Sara the strength came in the decision that she would remain; for Andres the strength came in the intention to send her away from him.
Sara knew it couldn’t be avoided, knew they had to face this and put it behind them quickly. And so, when the others, escorted by Colonel Durant, had left for the harbor, she went into Andres’s office. He was at his desk, going over the efficient paperwork that made up the “proposal” offered by Josh Long and Derek Ross. The proposal of aid to rebuild a torn country.
She went over to the window without speaking, gazing out at the deepening twilight. The room was in shadows; only his desk lamp was on. She knew he was watching her because she could feel his gaze; knew he was thinking of how to start this, of how to begin telling her he had to send her away. She could feel that too. And she wasn’t surprised when the words he found belonged to a poet.
“ ‘You should have a softer pillow than my heart,’ ” he murmured suddenly.
“Byron.” Sara drew a deep breath and turned away from the window. But she remained there, leaning back against the frame and gazing at him as he sat in a pool of light.
Andres half nodded. “Byron. And with one interpretation, true words for us. You should have a better life than I can offer, Sara.” His voice was low, all the feeling squeezed out of it with a vise of control. “Even with Lucio gone, this will never be a safe place for you. I must steal what time I can, quickly, to try to build something lasting here, something good. But even with this help”—he gestured slightly at the papers before him—“the time may not be mine to steal. The risk to you …”
“I’m safe here,” she said.
“He took you from me twice!” Andres said in a sudden fierceness.
“He’s dead.” She kept her voice quiet.
“Someone else will come. Someday.” He made a rough sound that was half laugh but held no humor. “Someone always does. Hating, or seduced by a vision.”
“Andres …”
“With me you’ll never be safe.” His voice was low, aching. “You’ll be in danger as long as I live. I can’t bear that, Sara. You must be safe, even if …”
“Even if it means leaving you?” Her face was in shadow; he couldn’t see her expression.
“I won’t put you in a cage!” he said intensely. “Iron bars, guards. I thought … I believed I could do that when I brought you back here. I believed I could love you enough so that you wouldn’t see the bars or the guards. Or perhaps I believed you’d be generous in your own love and that you could ignore the cage. But I haven’t the right to ask that of you.”
“You have the right.”
“No. No man has the right to build a cage around the woman he loves. For any reason. You must be free. And you must be safe. Nothing else matters.”
“Free? What does that mean, Andres?”
He hesitated, then said roughly, “You know what it means.”
“Free to come and go?”
“Yes.”
She let the silence build, then said quietly, “You want to send me away, and apparently I’m free to go. You won’t be warning off visitors any longer, so it seems clear I’d be free to return. That sounds like freedom to me.”
He shook his head a little. “Sara, outside these gates you’d always be escorted by armed guards. That isn’t freedom.”
“Depends,” she said softly, “on my definition of freedom, doesn’t it? And my definition happens to include loving you and being with you. Iron bars don’t make a cage, Andres. Guards don’t make a cage. Those things happen to be a part of your life, and now they’re a part of mine. They don’t matter.”
“Your safety does,” he said, his voice strained. “And not even the guards and the bars can keep you safe.”
“If they can’t,” she said, “nothing can.”
He was silent, something stricken in his eyes.
“Andres …” Her voice softened. “Sending me away won’t keep me safe. You must know that. I could walk down Main Street, U.S.A., and some crackpot with a gun could decide on a little target practice. I could crash in a car or plane, get run over in the street. I could fall down stairs. I could get sick.”
“You’re a target here. Because of me you’re a target.”
“And I’m a danger to you. A weapon to use against you.”
He gestured slightly, impatiently. “That isn’t important.”
“Isn’t it?” Calmly she said, “If I knew for certain that my leaving Kadeira would keep you safe, I’d go. But it wouldn’t, because your life will always be dangerous. And if you knew for certain that sending me away would keep me safe, you would have done it days ago.”
“Sara—”
“I’m not leaving. I’ll take the risk.”
“The risk is too great!”
“No. Like all risks in life, it’s a question of degree. I weighed all the risks against my dream. And the dream won.”
Her admission surprised him. Frowning a little, he rose from his chair and came slowly toward her, needing to see her face now. She didn’t move, didn’t meet him halfway. She simply waited. When he stood an arm’s length away, he saw that her face was as calm as her voice, that her eyes were steady.
“What dream?” he asked after a moment.
She smiled, a sudden glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “I’m afraid I haven’t had time to have my dream painted. But one day I will.”
He was puzzled, intent, some of the tension draining from his face and posture. “Sara, what are you talking about?”
Her smiled remained. “My dream. I have one, too, you know. A dream of living with the only man I’ve ever loved. Of helping him make his country whole again. A dream of waking up in his arms every morning, of seeing his smile and hearing his voice. A dream of having his children.” She drew a deep breath. “I weighed that against the dangers—and the dangers never had a chance.”
In the instant before he pulled her into his arms, Sara knew without a doubt that she had won.
It was a long moment before Andres could speak, and when he did, his voice was unsteady. “It won’t be easy, my love. Until things improve on Kadeira, a spark could set off another war. And there’s so much to do.”
Sara pulled back just far enough to smile up at him. “I know. And you should know that I don’t intend just to knit and weed the roses. I have a business degree with a minor in economics. I can help.” She waited, watched while he accepted that she wouldn’t wait safely inside this house but would be actively working for the good of Kadeira. For his dream as well as hers.
Andres smiled, his eyes glowing. “I believed you were strong, mi corazón. It seems I was right.”
The sounds of arrival were heard at the front door.
Sara stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “You certainly were.”
Then they went to greet the visitors and to set about healing a wounded country.
EPILOGUE
HE WAS A rotund little man, an unashamed paunch straining the seams of his tailored vest. Shiny wing-tipped shoes were on his small feet. He had a great leonine head with a cherub’s face, small brightly twinkling eyes, and pouty lips. And he was so much a caricature of a strutting bantam rooster pleased with his own importance that few people whom he would encounter casually would even look for more than that.
There were those who knew better. A relative few, certainly, but those who had learned their lesson had learned it well. And they knew that the man who called himself Hagen was as harmless as a battleship, as innocent as a shark in bloody waters, as foolish and inconsequential as a hydrogen bomb.
They knew, in fact, that he possessed a Machiavellian mind of frightening ruthlessness, an absolute vision of justice, and an inability to give up even when the cause seemed lost.
Recently he had also developed a somewhat unwelcome ability as a matchmaker, but that was neither here nor there, he had told himself.
On this fine morning Hagen sat alone in his office. Atop his spotless desk reposed a chessboard. On the black side, all the pieces except the king had been taken off the board; on the white side, the king and queen, bishops, rooks, and knights were ranged neatly. There were no pawns, which was rather deceptive, since Hagen tended to think of all people as mere pawns.
And Hagen was planning.
He studied the board for a few minutes, pudgy hands clasped and at least two chins resting on them. His small twinkling eyes moved back and forth between the kings thoughtfully. Black and white. The black king alone; the white king with a small army around him. “Small” being, of course, a relative term.
Hagen eyed the rooks and bishops and knights. He especially eyed the white queen. The most powerful piece on the board, the queen. And in this case, certainly …
He reached out and slowly picked up the white king. He held it in his hand for a moment before closing his fingers around it gently. He looked back at the board. The space beside the white queen looked very empty, indeed.
Hagen might have felt a moment’s compunction then. Some uneasiness certainly sent a spasm across his cherubic face and tightened his pouty lips. It was a fleeting thing, swiftly over. In his mind he watched the white pieces move in various ways toward the black king. Feints, all-out attacks. He watched them fiercely protecting their white queen.
And they would, of course.
“Pandora’s box,” he muttered aloud. He wasn’t altogether certain he was prepared to open it. But what choice did he have? Plans so carefully laid couldn’t be easily discarded. Not his plans, at any rate. And he’d already set them in motion. They would take time, of course, to execute, and he would have to be extremely careful.
The minor feints he had arranged these last months had shown clearly that the white king’s security was impressive. Quite impressive, in fact. Response time to any threat had been the fastest he’d seen. But there were weaknesses in that apparently impenetrable armor. Chinks.
A great deal, he thought, could fall through very small chinks.
As an intellectual and tactical exercise, it was going to be interesting. He had the uneasy feeling, however, that his own physical safety might be endangered this time. Some people, he thought, seemed unconvinced that the end always justified the means.
Still.
Pandora’s box. “The ills of mankind,” he said aloud, then shook his head. No, not that, perhaps. But furies, certainly. Strong furies, as he had cause to know. He shook his head again and set the white king gently to one side of the board.
No choice.
He was a rotund little man, comical in appearance but not in reality. Not comical. He was dangerous. Even those few who knew appearances deceived didn’t know quite how true that was in relation to him. They would learn.
If they survived the lesson.
BANTAM BOOKS BY KAY HOOPER
THE BISHOP TRILOGIES
Stealing Shadows • Hiding in the Shadows • Out of the Shadows
Touching Evil • Whisper of Evil • Sense of Evil
Blood Dreams • Blood Sins • Blood Ties
THE QUINN NOVELS
Once a Thief • Always a Thief
ROMANTIC SUSPENSE
Amanda • After Caroline • Finding Laura • Haunting Rachel
CLASSIC FANTASY AND ROMANCE
On Wings of Magic • The Wizard of Seattle • My Guardian Angel (anthology) • Yours 2 Keep (anthology) • Golden Threads • Something Different • Pepper’s Way • C.J.’s Fate • The Haunting of Josie • Illegal Possession • If There Be Dragons • Rebel Waltz • Larger than Life • Time After Time • In Serena’s Web • Raven on the Wing • Rafferty’s Wife • Zach’s Law • The Fall of Lucas Kendrick • Unmasking Kelsey • Outlaw Derek