by Gayle Wilson
For one thing, it would be too easy for Reynolds to put two and two together and come up with their connection as the time they’d spent working together at the CIA. And that was something Landon clearly didn’t want him to know.
“Since my relationship with John Sloan clearly wasn’t what you wanted to talk to me about when you came to get me…” Grace let the sentence trail, her brows raised in inquiry.
“No, it wasn’t. Now that I’m aware of your attraction to the man, however—”
“Whether I’m attracted to Mr. Sloan, or to anyone else for that matter, is really none of your business. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Reynolds…”
She started to rise, only to have the American put his hand on the top of her shoulder. He didn’t grip it, but the pressure he applied against her collarbone was enough to force her back down into the chair.
“Now that I’m aware of what’s going on between the two of you,” he began again, still holding her in place, “for your own protection, I think I should warn you.”
She took a breath, trying to control her temper. Not only was he refusing to let her leave, he was also touching her without her permission. Something she hated.
She knew that her dislike of this kind of familiarity, as well as her coloring, had gone a long way to earn her the nickname by which many at the Agency referred to her. The first time they’d made love, Landon had laughed at the idea of her being called The Ice Maiden. Since she’d ended their relationship, however, she’d taken care to live up to that reputation, hoping that refusing to allow anyone to get close to her would prevent her from ever again suffering the kind of pain he’d caused her. Something she’d apparently forgotten today when he’d kissed her.
“Warn me about what?” She met Reynolds’s eyes as she asked her question and then looked pointedly down at his hand, still resting on her shoulder.
He removed it, his lips pursing slightly. “About Sloan.”
“As I said, our relationship is none of your concern.”
“Since you’re in my hands right now, your well-being is my concern, Ms. Chancellor. And I don’t intend to let anything happen to you. You’re too valuable to too many people.”
She laughed at his description. “You mean valuable as the person who’s going to solve the heroin problem in Afghanistan, I presume. Surely you know what a joke that is.”
“Valuable as someone who poses a serious risk to the image of the United States. In this region, people don’t like women in positions of power. In case you hadn’t noticed,” he added with a smile.
“Are you saying that my position puts me in danger?”
“I’m saying that as a representative of your country, you are a very visible portrayal of what many in the area see as Western decadence. The opportunity to humiliate you—and through you, the United States—is one that some here would pay a lot of money for.”
“I understand that. I’ve understood it since the day they brought down the chopper. I don’t see what that has to do with Mr. Sloan, however.”
“I’m not sure whose interests he represents.”
Reynolds was worried about Landon betraying her? Was that what the delay had been? Had he been trying to dig up information about the mythical John Sloan?
“That’s not something you have to worry about,” she said aloud. “The friend who sent him to find me is very real, I assure you. And his interests are the only ones Mr. Sloan represents.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“More sure than I am about who you represent.”
“Let’s just say that you and I also have some mutual friends who are very concerned about your welfare.”
Mutual friends?
“Do you mean…in the Agency?”
He laughed. “What’s the old line? I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“I imagine my security clearances are higher than yours, Mr. Reynolds. Or is that even your name?”
“For the time being. But then I suspect I’m not the only one using an alias, am I? Did you ask him how he lost his knife?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Although she and Landon had discussed the knife Reynolds had found, she didn’t see what possible role it could play in the conversation she and the American were having now.
“Or why he had taken it out in the first place?” Reynolds went on.
“For what it’s worth, I do know the answer to that. The horses had been herded into a natural fissure in the rock face. Someone had stretched a rope across the opening to keep them in. It’s a trick any horseman knows. Even if they can jump it easily, they won’t.”
“Except that wasn’t where we found Sloan’s knife.”
“I’m sorry? I really don’t understand where this is going.”
“You sent us down there to bury Mitchell’s body. Aren’t you interested in how he died?”
“I know how he died. From a massive infection that began in the bullet wound in his thigh.”
“He might have died from that. Eventually. Apparently someone couldn’t wait for his illness to do the job, however.”
“What does that mean?”
Even as Grace posed the question, a coldness settled in the bottom of her stomach. Landon was the one who’d told her Mike was dead. He said the pilot had been dead when he’d gone back to wake him.
And no one other than Landon had entered the cave after she’d said good-night to Mitchell. She would have known if they had since she’d been sleeping between the pilot’s pallet and the cavern’s entrance.
“Mitchell died of a stab wound to the heart,” Reynolds said. “There was enough blood on the front of his shirt to make us curious, so we opened it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
On some level, however, she did. At least she believed it was possible.
Landon knew her well enough to know that she would never leave the pilot behind. Not if he were alive.
She and Stern had both acknowledged that, given the seriousness of his condition, Mike might not survive the night. Was Landon ruthless enough to have finished off a man who was so clearly dying? A man who couldn’t possibly survive the climb over the mountain that had been at the center of his plans to get them away. A man who would have gotten them all killed if they’d tried to take him with them?
She knew the answer to those questions. And she also knew that Landon would never have left Mitchell in that encampment alive. Not to bear the brunt of their captors’ fury when they found her and Stern gone. Nor would he have allowed the pilot to be used for anti-American propaganda.
But if Landon believed it was the only way he could get her out of the situation, she also knew that he was capable of finishing Mitchell off without a second’s thought. He might even have thought he was being merciful.
Mike would have been the first to say that was exactly what Landon should have done. Still, there was no way she could accept that sacrifice as right or moral.
Not even if all of them had died in the attempted escape?
“Whether you believe me or not is up to you, of course,” Reynolds went on, speaking into her silence. “I’m just telling you what I found. And you heard Sloan. He didn’t deny the knife was his.”
He hadn’t. Which argued against the scenario Reynolds had just painted.
“But if he had done what you accused him of, wouldn’t he deny it? It makes no sense for him to claim ownership of a knife that would tie him to a murder.”
“I doubt he considered Mitchell’s death in that light. You said the pilot was dying. Besides, maybe Sloan thought the knife might come in handy sometime in the future.” The subtle mockery was back in Reynolds’s eyes.
“It was too great a risk,” she argued, wondering which of them she was trying to convince. “It was always possible that I might have gone back to say goodbye. Mike and I—” Her voice broke unexpectedly.
“I really doubt Sloan would have allowed you to do that, Ms. Chancellor, even if you had tr
ied.”
Landon had prevented her from seeing the body. Forcibly prevented her.
And now it seemed there were only two reasons he would have been so determined. Either Mitchell had still been alive, only to be murdered later by their captors as an act of revenge or because they’d realized the futility of trying to take him with them when they moved their camp. Or Landon had done what Reynolds was suggesting.
Actually, there was a third possibility, she realized. Reynolds could be lying about the whole thing. To drive a wedge between her and Landon? Because of the kiss he’d just witnessed?
“How can you know it was Sloan’s knife that killed Mike?”
Reynolds laughed, despite the macabre nature of her question. “I didn’t have the means to do a forensic analysis, if that’s what you’re asking. In my time here, I’ve become far more familiar with wounds and the weapons that cause them than I ever wanted to be. I compared the width of the wound in Mitchell’s chest to the width of the blade on that knife we found. Not conclusive, of course,” he added quickly, forestalling her attempt to argue with that conclusion. “Certainly not in a court of law. But based on my experience, I’d say the match was close.”
Close enough to make her doubt the man she had once loved? If she confronted Landon with this, she wondered if he would bother to deny an act that would probably have made sense to any of the three men in the cave that night.
“And you believe you could determine a match to any degree of certainty? Considering the number of knives that must have been in that camp.”
“Are you saying you left Mitchell there alive when you and Stern made your escape?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Then you have to consider, with both you and Stern sleeping inside the cave that night, who would have had an opportunity to put a knife into his chest.”
Motive and opportunity. The two things the cops always looked for when they tried to find a killer. And Landon was the only one who seemed to have had both.
“Despite how it sounds,” Reynolds went on, “I’m not trying to convince you of anything. It was obvious to me that you cared about Mitchell. I thought you should know what we found. Considering your…relationship with Sloan.”
“There is no relationship. At least not the kind you’re suggesting.”
“Fair enough. Then I won’t mention this again. Whatever happened, Sloan was successful in getting you away from your captors. For that, we should all be grateful. And now it seems we’ve had some success in locating Stern.”
That news certainly wasn’t what she had expected when she sat down for this interview. As she’d told Landon, she had no longer believed Reynolds was even looking.
“Where is he?”
“He was recaptured the night you escaped, by the group that held the two of you originally. They’re traveling north with him, apparently trying to arrange an exchange.”
“With whom?”
“With the last people on earth the State Department would want to deal with, I can assure you.”
“Al-Qaeda,” she said softly.
“I’m afraid so.”
“So…why are you telling me?”
“Because with your help—if you’ll give it—we’re going to try to get Colonel Stern back safely.”
IT HAD BEEN LESS THAN THE HOUR Reynolds had promised when Grace pushed aside the curtain. The man who had been standing guard over him in the meantime stepped back through the opening, his rifle trained on Landon’s chest until he had disappeared behind the curtain Grace let fall back into place.
“What’s wrong?”
One look at her face and he had known that whatever this was, it was something bad. That was one reason Grace could never have succeeded as an operative. Whatever she felt was revealed in her features.
“Reynolds says they’ve located Stern.”
“And?”
“They’re going to try to work out an exchange with his captors.”
“Offering them what?”
Even before she answered him, Landon knew with a cold certainty what the bastard planned to do. Or at least what he had told Grace.
“He thinks they’ll bite on a chance to exchange Stern for me,” she said.
“Because you’re worth more on the open market.”
“Supposedly. If they buy into it, then he’ll pretend to arrange a meeting.”
“Pretend?”
“Instead of an exchange, it will be an ambush. He and his men are going to take Stern away from his captors.”
“And you believe him?”
“I can’t see what would be in it for him to give me to someone in exchange for Stern. As you said, I have more market value. If he’s lying, then why?”
“To get you to trust him. How do we know he isn’t working with whoever has Stern?”
“We don’t. We don’t know anything about any of them. Except that the people who held the three of us made no attempt to return us to the coalition. And now Reynolds says they’ve recaptured Stern and are trying to sell him to Al-Qaeda.”
That, at least, made sense. If the colonel had survived, in Landon’s opinion, he would have to be back in the hands of his former captives.
“Reynolds might even be on the up-and-up,” she went on. “We have no way of knowing that, either.”
“Did he tell you who he’s working for?”
“He implied for the Agency. Something about he and I having mutual friends.”
“Did you believe him?”
“Does it matter? We’ve run out of options, Landon. We can cooperate with Reynolds on the off chance that he is one of the good guys or…” She raised her brows. “Do you have another plan?”
“Where’s the meeting going to be?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t share that kind of information. All he said was that I’m the only bargaining chip valuable enough to lure them to it.”
“I don’t like anything about this, Grace. Not with you as bait.”
“I don’t think he really cares what you like. And for what it’s worth, I didn’t get the impression he was asking my permission, either.”
“Would you have given it?”
“To retrieve Stern? Of course.”
It was only what Landon expected her to say, although he believed the connection she’d made with Mitchell, a man nearer her own age, had been stronger.
“You don’t owe Stern anything. You certainly don’t owe him your life.”
“If Reynolds is telling the truth, it won’t come to that.”
“And if he isn’t?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that he isn’t offering us a choice. We leave in the morning.”
“We?”
Landon was surprised by the information. If he had been Reynolds, he would have wanted to separate Grace from Landon’s influence, as well as from the possibil ity that he might try to throw a wrench into the scheme if he saw it wasn’t what it was supposed to be.
Did that argue that they could trust Reynolds? Or did it simply indicate that he was playing a smarter game than Landon had given him credit for.
“He says his force is too small to split and still have any chance of rescuing Stern.”
Which meant Reynolds didn’t want to leave someone here to guard him. Landon could understand that.
The expedient thing to do in that case would be to shoot him and have done with it. The fact that Reynolds apparently wasn’t proposing to do that made him wonder if he’d misjudged the man. But that wasn’t something that could be decided here and now, of course.
Whatever the outcome of tomorrow’s journey, it would determine one thing for sure—exactly how far they could trust Steve Reynolds. And Landon knew it would be up to him to figure that out before something bad could happen to Grace.
Chapter Ten
Even though Reynolds hadn’t been able to spare anyone to keep Landon guarded back at camp, he must have decided that his plans for an ambush could succeed without the two men
who were still keeping an eye on him. And obviously keeping him away from the action, as well.
They had taken Landon to a position off to one side of the ridge where Reynolds’s men were hidden among the rocks, much as they’d been that first morning. Although Landon and his guards were positioned as high above the clearing as the rest of the American’s force, they were several hundred feet away.
All Landon had been able to do was to watch—and worry—as the hours between midnight and dawn slowly dragged by. Reynolds’s men had climbed the ridge last night, long before the proposed exchange was to take place. He’d first had his scouts search the area to make sure the people holding Stern weren’t planning the same sort of double cross.
Landon shifted his position, trying to ease muscles cramped from the long night’s waiting. Then he again focused his attention on the woman sitting in the jeep below, which had been parked at the foot of the ridge where Reynolds’s tribesmen were hidden. Despite the intensity of the sun, Grace had hardly moved since the American had pulled the vehicle into position almost an hour ago.
Landon looked up from the top of her fair head for a moment, his gaze following the ridgeline. From below, there would be no evidence of the ambush Reynolds planned, his troops carefully positioned among the boulders and outcroppings.
Some sound, audible in the stillness but not yet identifiable, drew his gaze back to the scene below. On the opposite side of the clearing a plume of dust had appeared that hadn’t been visible only seconds before.
Reynolds had apparently spotted it, as well. He opened the door of the jeep and stepped out, unfastening the snap on the holster that held his sidearm as he walked toward the front of the vehicle.
Once there, he turned and said something to Grace. The words were too low to carry to Landon, but in response she, too, climbed out and stood beside the still-open door.
Landon glanced back, making sure he knew exactly where the two men assigned to keep him out of this were located. Rather than watching him, both were concentrating on what was happening below. At that realization a flare of hope ignited in Landon’s chest.
Grace had been right. He did know a dozen ways to kill a man with his bare hands. All he needed was a chance to get to them before they could get off a shot. And their inattention might just give that to him.