Water From the Moon

by Terese Ramin

  A shadow darkened the space in front of her, and she focused on Julianna.

  "He’s in treatment room 6—third on the left. He’s burned and banged, but all right. Paolo’s arm is in bad shape. He’s in surgery, so I’ll be in the office for a few days if you need anything."

  Acasia nodded, accepting the lab coat Julianna held out to her. "What about those guys?"

  Julianna glanced toward the grim–looking official group down the hall, lifted one brow and smiled a wordless What do you think? at Acasia.

  Acasia grinned at her. "Have fun."

  Julianna started down the hall. "I will. Watch your back—and Cam’s."

  "Yeah."

  Acasia waited until she saw Julianna accost the men outside Cameron’s room, then slipped down the hall and through the door of treatment room 6.

  Cameron saw her, drew a cautious breath and tried to grin. "I was just on my way to find you."

  Acasia took in his taped ribs and bandaged hands, the stitches in his cheek, the patchy redness of his skin, and found relief a hollow place between the horror of what could have been and the evidence of what was. Her fists clenched. "I hate emergency rooms."

  Cameron moved toward her. "Ah shit, Casie."

  Years of control were forgotten inside a moment, and Acasia flew to him without reserve, taking care where she touched him. "Cam."

  She had no experience with homecomings, only leave–takings. This sense of permanence was exhilarating and frightening all at once. Cameron’s welcome tasted of concern and gladness and this morning’s coffee. "I was afraid—"

  "Lord, woman—"

  "I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone—"

  "How did you get here? How did you find—"

  "Concorde out of Paris. Jules met me—"

  "Lavender," he murmured, burying his face in her neck and breathing deeply. "You always smell of lavender."

  "It’s good for my skin," Acasia mumbled, and Cameron laughed huskily, drawing her back to kiss her again, touching bandaged fingers to her face. The moment faded, and Acasia’s features darkened with anger, with pain. If Dominic was responsible for this, she would kill him herself this time. After Cam was safe. "We have to—" she began.

  "Get out of here," Cameron finished for her. He nodded. "Like I said, I was about to do just that."

  "Then let’s do it. I’ve got a car. Where are your clothes?"

  "Over there. Just get my wallet. They cut the clothes off me. I’ll need—"

  "Scrubs," Acasia supplied, "There’s a linen cart in the hall. I’ll get some."

  "Grab a wheelchair, too. I can move, but not too fast. And watch out for the feds, they’re down the hall."

  "Jules went to, um, ‘chat them up.’" Acasia paused with her hand on the door and grinned crookedly at him. "I was wrong about who keeps your employees in line, wasn’t I?"

  "I was raised to be a tyrant," Cameron agreed, and heard Acasia’s ragged chuckle as the door shut behind her.

  She returned quickly with the necessary items. Her touch was light as she helped him dress, but the process was painful. She gritted her teeth in empathy every time Cameron winced. When he was ready to go, she eased the treatment room door open for a quick study of the hall, then pushed the door wide to whisk Cameron backward into the corridor and head for the exit.

  "Watch it, there’s Julianna," Cameron muttered as they turned a corner.

  "I see her." Acasia lifted her chin in a salute as her partner shifted positions, casually maneuvering the attention of the men with her.

  A hospital security guard inspected them as they neared the outside doors, and Acasia gave him the full benefit of her smile while she brought the chair to a stop and parked it in the emergency reception area. Cameron kicked the footrests up out of his way, and she tucked an arm under his shoulder to help him up. Sore ribs and muscles protested the activity, and he grimaced but kept moving. They stepped out of the hospital into wan sunlight and crossed to where a gray Mercedes sat waiting.

  "What, no Cobra?" Cameron quipped tightly as he eased himself into the passenger seat. "You going conservative on me?"

  "I thought under the circumstances you might appreciate something with a softer ride." She slammed the door, rounded the car and slid behind the wheel. "On the other hand—" she switched on the ignition and backed the car out of its slot "—don’t let appearances fool you. I borrowed this from Jules." She shifted gears, gunned the motor and grinned sideways. "Jules tests jets and races cars for relaxation."

  "Oh, God. And what do you do?"

  "To relax?" Acasia slowed the car long enough to hand some money to the guard in the parking lot’s tollbooth, then sent them zipping out onto the road. "I don’t know. Never thought about it. I don’t relax much. I guess when I do… " She shrugged. "I suppose I practice my footwork… you know, box, work out, do odd jobs—the usual." She saw a minuscule opening in the traffic headed for the expressway and took it.

  "Watch it!" Cameron said sharply, and stepped down hard on a phantom brake when she switched lanes seemingly under the bumper of a large semi, then sandwiched them into the gap between two more. "Next time I drive."

  "I’d like that." Acasia brushed her fingers over the back of his arm and sent him a telling glance that left him quiet. She was so much better at show than tell.

  There was a sudden break in the traffic. Acasia stepped on the gas, steering the Mercedes out from among the trucks and onto an open stretch of road. Washington’s outer limits flashed past, then were exchanged for Maryland’s. They drove in silence for a while, trading glances, holding back queries neither wanted to begin yet.

  Tiredly Cameron rested his head on the back of the seat, grimacing as he rolled to the left to make himself more comfortable, watching Acasia. She looked different here than in the jungle. The violet of her suit was definitely her color; it set off her eyes. He kept forgetting how beautiful she was. Not pretty, just beautiful. And looking at her did the same thing to him now that it always had. Since the first time he’d laid eyes on her back in school, she’d given him restless nights, made the empty places inside him ache to complete her with himself, to complete himself with her. She was like an extension of his heart, a missing piece of his soul. He reached for her, and air hissed sharply between his teeth when the seat belt rubbed a stinging path across his chest.

  "Are you all right?"

  Cameron nodded, adjusting himself, carefully, deeper into his seat. "Fine. I just moved too fast." For someone who’d managed to get through life without experiencing anything as painful as a toothache, he was certainly making up for lost time. He glanced down at himself, looked at the gauze on his hands, felt the tape pull around his ribs, and shut his eyes to block the image of the limousine bursting to pieces, of the driver lying on the sidewalk, seemingly coated in flame, the door handle still clutched in his hand. Byrd was dead, and he was having trouble living with the inconvenience of what amounted to a bad sunburn. Somewhere along the way he’d gotten his priorities loused up.

  "Think about something else," Acasia said softly. "Tell me about your father. Did he ever get that Gauguin appraised?"

  "That one you told him was a fake?"

  "Yeah."

  "No. He was afraid you’d be right. I had it done after he died. You were right."

  "He di—Oh, Cam." Acasia turned to him quickly, then looked back at the road. Simon drove her crazy, but she loved her father in spite of his shortcomings—and because of them. That was what love was, right? No matter what? "I’m sorry. I didn’t know."

  Cameron shook his head. "No reason you should. We kept things pretty private. It was a relief, actually. He had a massive stroke about three years ago, and he never came back from it. He died just after Christmas. Sort of made me… look at my mortality… want to earn the rest of my life…." He laughed shortly. "Like you said, face the things I haven’t done." He paused, picking at the seat belt across his chest. Images of what had happened outside of the hotel plagued him. He couldn�
��t stop seeing Paolo and his men on the ground, or Byrd being pitched his way like a fiery rag doll. He looked at Acasia. "I don’t like what you do," he said abruptly, passionately. "I don’t like you doing it."

  "I don’t expect you to. There would probably be something wrong with you if you did. I’m glad you don’t."

  "Are you always so tough?"

  Her lips twisted. "It pays to be able to take what comes."

  "I know. Whatever happens, you always land on your feet with your guard up."

  Acasia eyed him warily from the corner of her eye. "What do you mean?"

  Cameron rotated to get a better view of her, ignoring his body’s shriek of protest at the movement. "Define playing politics and doing odd jobs. Who do you do them for?"

  "What?" She glanced at him, puzzled. "Define—? Oh." She grinned without humor when light dawned. "You’ve got a good memory. I thought maybe you’d missed that. I should know better."

  "Probably. You going to tell me?"

  "You sure you want to know?"

  "That’s the prerequisite for asking you any question, isn’t it?"

  Acasia whistled through her teeth. "That’s rough, Cam."

  "Answer the question for a change, Casie."

  Acasia chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment. "Okay," she agreed. "If I can. Let’s see…" She cleared her throat. "Politics. Um, for that, read… cooperation. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. And, ah, odd jobs?" She squinted at the road. "Odd jobs. The price of cooperation. And—" she held up a hand to silence Cameron’s angry snort "—before you explode, let me just say that, yes, that means on various and sundry occasions I have cooperated with other businesses and foreign governments—and I’ve done some, er… free–lance work for the State Department, or their cohorts." She gazed at Cameron, who swore under his breath. "Undoubtedly you’ve done things for them, too," she said quietly. "They wouldn’t have been so involved in that mining deal of yours otherwise."

  "They offered me backing for information. That’s standard business practice. The things you do—"

  "Business," Acasia said pointedly, interrupting him. "Politics, cooperation… different words, same outcome. If you want to be successful, you do what it takes. Even when it means compromise." She sent him a troubled, insightful look. "Look, Cam, I know how that sounds, but right now I have no idea where you want to go with this, or what you may have heard about me. I told you the other night that I won’t lie to you anymore, and I meant it. But don’t expect me to tell you everything about myself, either. There are too many things about me that I’d rather you never know."

  He knew so little about her, only what he’d intimated from outside sources: Fred and Paolo, the State Department, and from watching a mercenary trash a village to find her. And his impression of mercenaries was that they did exactly what they were paid to do, no more, no wasted effort. There wasn’t anything about himself he could think of that he would mind telling her. He’d done stupid things when he’d been young, but nothing he couldn’t live with. Or admit to. Except this morning, and what he intended to do about it. Personally.

  Bleakly he realized that he didn’t want her to know everything about him, either. He would rather lie. He wouldn’t, but he would rather.

  He reached for her, grazing her shoulder with his knuckles. Acasia pressed her cheek to his fingers and turned her head to kiss them. The light touch burned him, made him ache for fuller contact. Love was an infuriatingly contradictory emotion, absolute and incomplete at the same time, full of trust and yet distrustful, without need of assurances but completely insecure—an emotion that only the toughest survived.

  Again he studied Acasia. She was tougher than she knew. Even when she wanted to run from him, she only retreated a few steps, then determinedly, even stubbornly, held her ground. She wanted love, wanted him, wanted more of life than she’d allowed herself so far, but if it didn’t work out she would simply find a new balance and go on. She would allow herself the luxury of love, but she wouldn’t need. He understood that all at once, with an involuntary sense of admiration, swallowing a sudden surge of jealousy and pain.

  You couldn’t ask for everything, right? That was like asking to have your cake and eat it, too—although Cameron had never understood the logic behind that particular adage. After all, what was the sense of having cake if you weren’t going to eat it? But that was digressing from the point: they didn’t have to know everything about or be totally dependent upon each other in order to love. They had private lives, private selves. Acasia loved him; he loved her.

  He felt like a liar.

  After a last touch, he reclaimed his hand and forced himself to take notice of their surroundings. Outside, the sun hung low behind a blue Gas Food Lodging Next Exit sign. Seeing the sign made Cameron realize he hadn’t eaten since this morning, and he had no idea when Acasia had eaten last. If he worked at it, he could convince himself he was hungry—and food would be a distraction. The exit ramp was coming up fast.

  "Quick," he ordered. "Turn here."

  "What? What’s wrong? Is someone following us? Did I miss something?"

  "Yes." Cameron took a fast glance over his shoulder, saw no traffic and reached for the steering wheel, curtailing the urge to grab it barely in time to save himself some pain. "Take the exit, damn it!"

  "Why—? What—?" Acasia turned the wheel sharply, sending the car across the shoulder of the road. She ducked her head to look behind them, saw nothing but a billow of dust, braked the car to a furious halt and turned on Cameron. "What the hell was that for? Didn’t I look awake? There’s nothing back there. Why did you tell me there was?"

  "I didn’t say something was behind us, I said you missed something."

  "What?"

  "Food," Cameron said firmly. "You need some. And I’m hungry. I want some. I also want a bathroom, a painkiller and some distraction. Making love with you would probably come under that heading, but we’ll have to get out of the car to do that, because I’m not as young today as I was yester—"

  Acasia kissed him. It was full of let’s–shut–him–up enthusiasm rather than finesse, but it worked. Cameron raised his hands and dragged her closer with the barest touch. He wanted her badly, needed her, needed the purely physical reminder that she belonged to him, with him. But not here. Not now. Later.

  He pulled back at the same time she let him go, facing forward as she readjusted her expression into one of calm. She paused before putting the car in gear to drag her fingers lightly over the inside of his thigh.

  "Is that better?" she queried solicitously. "Are you distracted now?"

  Cameron made a strangled sound, and Acasia patted his leg.

  "That’s what I thought." Then she blew her advantage as they pulled away from the side of the road by asking anxiously, "That sign did say ‘Lodging,’ didn’t it?" and making Cameron laugh.

  * * *

  "Rhiannon? You’re taking us—" Words failed Cameron. It had occurred to him, belatedly, that he hadn’t told her where they were going, that he didn’t know her plans for them, only that he could guess they’d be very different from, and more complicated than, his own. In disbelief he stared across the wobbly cafe table at Acasia.

  They’d stopped at a gas station that doubled as a convenience store, taking advantage of a gift shop selling souvenir sweat suits to replenish Cameron’s wardrobe before settling down to eat at the restaurant next door. Acasia chose a thick, juicy hamburger, corn on the cob and French fries. Cameron felt the pull of the stitches in his cheek, glared at her and ordered eggs, toast, hash browns and Jell–O.

  "Rhiannon?" he asked again, and wondered why he was so surprised. Great minds aside, it never paid to underestimate Acasia Jones.

  Acasia hunched uncomfortably and nodded. She’d expected some reaction to her announcement but this wasn’t it. "Yeah. You invited me, it’s home ground for you, you know where to hide, and I have the blueprints. Security’s tight, but not perfect. I can get you through—" She glare
d at him in disgust. "What are you laughing at? It’s a good plan. Your own security people won’t know we’re there unless you tell them."

  "It’s not—" Cameron choked on a mouthful of eggs, grabbed gingerly for his glass of iced tea and gasped as he swallowed.

  "Be careful, you’ll hurt yourself."

  "I already have." Cameron laughed, and he put a hand to his side and cleared his throat. "Oh, God, I needed that. I’m sorry—really. I’m—" He coughed again and carefully picked up his napkin to dab at his mouth. "I’m sorry. It’s not the plan. It’s… Never mind. It’s not what I expected."

  "What did you think, I’d put a big red S on my chest and drag you around the country like a turtle on its back, six–guns blazing?"

  "Something like that."

  "Oh, well, thank you very much. Mr. Diplomacy. Who the hell do you think I think I am? I want you safe, not emasculated."

  Cameron ducked his head and made an odd choking noise behind his hands.

  Acasia glared at him. "What?"

  "Nothing. Really." He tried to control the urge to laugh and failed. "I just got a picture of you saying that to Father McDowell, the debate coach."

  "Father McDowell?" Acasia’s dignity was supreme. "Why would I have said a thing like that to him? He didn’t handle comments like that well."

  "Mmm, that’s exactly why you would have said it. You called it something like, ah, ‘controlling a man by his weaknesses.’"

  "Not controlling, gauging. Gauging a man by his weaknesses. And he had a few to gauge."

  "He cringed every time you walked into a room. I think you were the only student he ever kicked out of his history class but still wanted on the debate team."

  Acasia propped her elbows on the table and stared back over the years. "The man was a masochist."

  They regarded one another with pleasure, sharing pure, uncomplicated memories, smiles lingering at the corners of their mouths.

  Acasia’s dimmed first. "That was a lifetime ago."

  "No, only half." Cameron brushed the back of her hand. "The worst half."