Water From the Moon

by Terese Ramin

  Acasia mumbled assurances and admonitions, then kissed him fiercely and hoped this fragile thing they held between them could survive the high cost of "someday."

  * * *

  Buried in the foreign news column of the morning paper two days later were two items Cameron read, then wished he hadn’t.

  The escalation of fighting between government and rebel forces in the Zaragozan capitol of Magdalena has sent thousands fleeing toward the Venezuelan border. Most recently, government troops retaliated against a bombing attack on a barracks that killed fifty–seven soldiers late yesterday by raiding a Catholic mission where rebel leaders reportedly attended mass, killing forty–two women and children and injuring seventeen.

  Farther down the same page:

  Negotiations for the release of one French and two American journalists abducted in Magdalena, Zaragoza, late last week broke off overnight when the French correspondent was reportedly shot and killed during an attempt to free him. Also killed in the raid was the former Army Ranger lieutenant who led the effort. Negotiators refused to speculate on the fate of the two Americans still in captivity, or on when bargaining for their release might resume.

  He read the last item twice and felt the panic rise. She’s all right, he told himself. This isn’t her.

  "I’m an expert on Sanchez and Zaragoza," he heard her say calmly. "When Zaragoza is on the agenda, they ask for me… ask for me… ask for me…"

  He brought his hands together slowly, as if straining to crush something between them. Though he wanted to go at once, to find her and bring her back, he didn’t move. The issue was one of trust. If he couldn’t weather a moment of fear this time, the next time would be harder, the time after that impossible. Because he’d decided there would be a next time, he had to trust her to return the piece of his heart she’d taken with her, and he had to let her go. Loving her would always mean holding fast with open hands.

  With brutal determination, he rose from his breakfast, dropped the newspaper in the trash and left the house to climb the mountain to the cabin.

  * * *

  "Cam?"

  Cameron’s heart did a little hopscotch of relief at the of sound of her voice. "Where are you?"

  Limbo. "The office. New York. I’ve got some reports to clear up, then I’ll be… home."

  He breathed deep and his heart hop–scotched, but he forced himself not to place too much emphasis on her referring to Rhiannon as home. "The French journalist who was killed, were you on that?"

  "I set up the negotiating team and did the briefing, yes."

  "Was the Ranger one of your people?"

  "No. He free–lanced for us sometimes, but not this time."

  "What about the Americans? What comes next?"

  "Honest to God, Cam, I don’t know. A lot of wait’n see."

  Are you going after them? he thought. "Are you all right?" he asked instead.

  "Yeah, fine. A little tired, maybe. I’ll tell you about it when I see you."

  She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she was sure they could have a future. They exchanged a few meaningless words, instead, then said goodbye.

  At her end of the connection, Acasia listened to the sound of dead air for a moment before she closed her phone and fanned through the batch of FBI file photos on her desk. She could link two of the faces directly to Sanchez’s special squads and recognized one as a mercenary confederate of Dominic’s. The other three were unknown to her, but that didn’t matter. They were in custody for placing Cameron’s car bomb. The first three were the ones who concerned her. They were still at large, and she knew what they were capable of. She also knew how to stop them.

  And Dom.

  "Are you sure you know what you’re doing?" Julianna asked from the doorway.

  Acasia glanced up at her. "The fastest way to stop an army is to take away its generals."

  Her red haired partner snorted. "You can’t do it alone. And I can only do so much."

  "Angelo made me an offer a couple of weeks ago that I turned down. By the looks of things down there, if I make a counteroffer now, he won’t refuse."

  "You’re playing in a mine field, Jones. And what about Cam? If you don’t tell him about the latest on this—" Julianna pointed at the spread on the desk "—the men he hired will, since they were in on the capture. It’ll go down better if he hears it from you first. You’ll lose him if you don’t tell him."

  Acasia studied her partner, her friend. Both of them appreciated the desire to keep private lives private, to voice only the essential. Their friendship existed comfortably because they rarely intruded on one another, instead respecting the need for distance. "You’re out of line, Jules. Stay out of my business. The only way I know to stop Cam from going after Dom himself is to do it first."

  "Just be careful, Jones. You’ve only had one…" her lips twisted while she chose the more judicious words "…romantic liaison since I’ve known you, and I was glad to see that one end."

  "Dom was an accident that shouldn’t have happened. Cam’s not."

  "No? Then why treat him as if he is? You two must have a pretty shabby relationship for you to want to keep proving how much he can’t trust you and how you won’t trust him."

  "I trust him," Acasia said coldly.

  "Then tell him Dominic has been directly connected with the bomb that killed Byrd. And that we may wind up going into Zaragoza after a couple of hostages. Let him be a grown–up and make his own choices about how he’s going to deal with it. Let Lisetta go once and for all. You can’t take responsibility for everyone you know or love for the rest of your life. Loosen your grip on the controls and leave a little something for the rest of us to do. Take a little something for yourself."

  She’d never heard Julianna say so much at one time. "Maybe someday."

  "‘Someday’ never comes, Casie. You know that. You told me that when I was breaking up with Charlie."

  "Different context. I was all for you divorcing Charlie. He was a jerk."

  "Different context, same principle. Someday never came. Charlie never changed." She made a little movement of regret. "Doesn’t stop me wishing for someday, though. Look, you said it’s never been a matter of whether or not you and Smith love one another, that it’s always been the circumstances. I think you’re wrong. You love him enough to want to protect him, and that’s a lot. The thing is to love him enough to let him make his own choices."

  Julianna was right, of course, but Acasia didn’t want to admit it. "I’ll think about it," she said, and let her tone make it clear that their discussion was at an end.

  Chapter 15

  THE BED WAS soft. Cameron was hard. Acasia craved both, needed both.

  There was an urgency in their lovemaking, a blend of neediness and no tomorrows and things held back.

  "What?" they asked one another softly, fiercely, wanting to know, afraid to know.

  "Nothing." They lied to one another, pushing the answers away for the sake of another kiss, another moment of madness.

  Finally exhausted, they slept, heavily, tangled together, dreamless. Cameron woke first, in midafternoon, jacked himself up on one elbow and watched Acasia breathe. She slept flat out, on her stomach, one arm beneath her pillow, the other hand relaxed below her chin. The fact that she slept like this, without leaving part of herself on guard, was something he recognized as a gift from her to him, another incomparable piece of trust.

  He touched her hand without urgency, his fingers tracing lightly up the softness of her wrist and arm, then coming to rest on her cheek. Acasia sighed, and her eyelids flickered, her eyes focused.

  "Can I show you something?" she asked.

  Cameron nodded despite a twinge of disquiet. "Sure."

  Outside, the air was pungent, scented with new–mown grass and crushed flowers, pregnant with winter’s transition to spring. A breeze whispered past their ears, chanting on the edge of hearing, new life for old, new life for old…

>   "Where to?"

  "Up the mountain."

  Cameron swallowed a smile and followed her across the fields and up into the mountain’s greening shadows. Dry undergrowth rustled, and patches of wet moss squelched beneath their feet. The air on the mountain was cold and tasted of pine.

  The clearing around the cabin was littered with fresh wood chips. A fresh cord of wood was stacked a few feet to the side of the cabin, and there were a brass doorknob and a solid dead–bolt lock on the door. Acasia’s throat tightened, and she looked at Cameron. He withdrew a small box from his pocket and placed it in her hand. On a bed of cotton, attached to a simple key ring with a leather tab, lay a key.

  "I have the other one," he said. When Acasia stood silent, staring at it, he lifted it from the box and fitted it to the door. "I did a little work up here while you were gone, added locks and alarms, put it on a separate security monitor…. If you try to pick this lock, an alarm goes off down below. There’s also an alarm box—" he pushed the door open and drew her inside "—in the kitchen wall." He opened a spring–locked panel and punched in the code.

  "This is just like the house—you get fifteen seconds before it goes off." He came back to Acasia, who was staring at the black potbellied stove that sat in its corner niche, sporting a big red bow. Sections of chimney sat on the floor next to it. "I haven’t had time to finish the chimney yet, but I will, and we’ve never talked about furniture, so I didn’t bring any up. I don’t know what you like."

  She blinked full, tearless eyes at him. At the same time that he stole the last of her independence, he strengthened it. What was she going to do?

  "I—" she began, and gestured inadequately.

  Cameron took her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm before placing the key there and folding her fingers over it. "The drafting table is perfect," he said softly. "Thank you."

  The first time she’d known she wanted him as more than a friend had been something like this. He’d thrown pebbles at her window and taken her out in his father’s sailboat in the middle of the night to watch a meteor shower. They’d known one another for two months, and he’d already stolen her heart, but that was the first time she remembered noticing silly, disconnected things about him—like how big his hands were and how he held things. The way his smile always started in the tension line in his left cheek and drifted right.

  The way he looked at her when she talked, giving her his full attention, as though there were nothing more important in his life. It was the same way he was looking at her now, as though he wanted to fill himself with her. She felt the same way she had then, too: lost and found; frightened. There were so many things she’d left unsaid, so many things she might not get the chance to say.

  "Cam, I don’t think you should—"

  He put a finger to her lips. "Take this at face value, Casie. I’m not asking for anything I can’t offer in return."

  Acasia closed the distance between them to throw her arms around him and bury her face in his neck. "Oh, Cam."

  His arms tightened around her more slowly, as if savoring the journey and anticipating the result. Acasia warmed him, fitted him, enticed him. The hug grew fierce. "I missed you."

  "I missed you, too." Her lips moved against his skin without sound. With a sense of dread, she eased herself out of his arms. Time to play truth and consequences. Do it fast. Get it over with.

  "Dom’s officially been linked to your car bombing." She talked quickly, without stopping for breath. "The FBI captured three members of what appears to be a six–man squad yesterday in Virginia, just before I got in. They sent pictures and résumés over to see if I recognized any of them. I’ve had dealings with two of the men they didn’t catch, and can name the third. They’ve apparently separated and gone underground, which could make them hard to get at."

  She scrubbed her hands over her hips and moistened her lips. "They’re being paid for you, Cam. Half in advance, half on delivery. They’re not going to quit."

  There. She’d taken half of Julianna’s advice. Now what?

  She looked at the floor, waiting for his response. Cameron lifted her chin.

  "I wondered if you’d tell me," he said. "I got my own call yesterday. The way I heard it, though, I’m not the only one they’re being paid for. You’re on the list, too." He watched her swallow. She wasn’t the only one hand–delivering truths. He released her chin. "I’ve also been advised that my best avenue of defense may be to cancel the contracts at the sources—plural. Meaning Sanchez and Mansour." His mouth twisted. "I’m wealthy enough to do that, Casie."

  "No." Her denial was immediate and involuntary. "Byrd’s not worth—"

  "Byrd? I stopped caring whether or not I ‘avenged’ Byrd yesterday." He traced the line of her jaw. "But you? You’re worth that much to me."

  Oh, God, just what every woman wanted, right? A man who’d kill for her…

  "If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not be."

  "Too late."

  Acasia’s stomach knotted. He wouldn’t. No, of course not. He was too honorable. Too reasonable. Too gentle. A gentle man. A very wealthy gentleman. Who hadn’t fallen off the turnip truck yesterday. Who’d become a billionaire in his own right before he was thirty–five. Who couldn’t have gotten where he was without playing a little hardball. Or possibly a lot. What did she know?

  She looked at him and read the truth in his eyes. He would. For her. "You haven’t—"

  "Not yet."

  "Then don’t. For me. For Fred. For the hostages I might have to—"

  She bit her tongue, but not in time. Cameron caught her arm. "The hostages you might have to what?"

  Despite her best intentions, the truth didn’t come easily when every instinct she possessed told her to lie. "Locate."

  Cameron dropped her arm and went still. "You’re going after them."

  "The subject came up."

  "And?"

  "I’m here, aren’t I?"

  He went tight. Every muscle, every nerve, yanked beyond control. She had a habit of straining his resolve whenever he thought it was strongest. He didn’t want to do what he found himself doing, but it was as if someone had suddenly overloaded all the connections between his brain and his heart, short–circuiting his commands. "You’re here. What the hell kind of answer is that? Be straight with me for once, Casie. I’ve earned the right to expect that much from you."

  "And what have I earned the right to expect from you?" Acasia faced him squarely. He had always known exactly how to push the button on her temper. "A little more angst every time I walk through your door? A little trust? Maybe some respect? A handful of consistency? What do you want to do, pat me on the head and send me out to play in your rose garden for the rest of my life?"

  He was halfway across the room, headed for the exit, but she couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t.

  "There are thorns in that garden, Cam. What are you going to do when I prick my finger? Tear out all the roses, or shut me in a sterile room and feed me tea and cookies off a tray? That’s not what you promised me when I agreed to this."

  He didn’t even look at her when he reached the door and opened it.

  "Don’t you run away from me, damn you! Don’t—"

  The tremors from the impact of the solid door hitting its solid frame receded at about the same time reaction melted the muscles in Acasia’s legs. She sat down on the window seat and tucked her knees tight to her chest, wrapping her arms around them to stop their quivering. She’d done it again, shoved him away at the very moment when she most wanted to share the truth, to compromise. But he’d been shoving, too.

  She glared at the door. Paolo had been right. Her own initial instincts had been right. She didn’t belong in Cameron’s world any more than he belonged in hers. But Jules said to stick with it. And Acasia’s heart said, "Like glue."

  She left the cabin and started down the mountain after Cameron. He was well ahead of her, crossing the field toward the walled garden behind the house, a lone dark fig
ure against the green and gold meadow, easy for any of the three men whose pictures she had in her file to pick off. She picked up speed. He shouldn’t be out here alone. He shouldn’t be out here at all.

  "Cam!" She caught up with him as he entered the garden. "Cam…"

  "I swear to you, Casie, I thought I had a handle on this, but I don’t." He shook his head. "Yesterday… this morning… less than an hour ago… I knew I could live with it, no matter what you told me you might have to do, even if the only way you had to help someone was to go into Zaragoza for him. I told myself I could handle it. But I can’t."

  "It takes time to—"

  "What comes next with you? A face–to–face between you and Sanchez? A heart–to–heart between you and Dom? Because I know you. If you think that’s the only way to resolve this, that’s what you’ll do. And not knowing… I couldn’t even send people to help you, because there would be too much risk of them missing Mansour and hitting you."

  What could she say? "I thought we dealt with this the other morning."

  "Yeah, we did. But that was before I knew Mansour’s crew has a hit list, before someone else got killed for going hands–on on one of your cases. Now I have to deal with both those things, along with the reality of your best intentions."

  For a moment Acasia listened to a pair of birds chirping beyond a hedge. Then she spoke. "I told you last night, what comes next is a real waiting game. Right now, I’m waiting for a call. After that, maybe—maybe—I go sit in a hotel room someplace where no one will see me unless I want to be seen, drink lots of coffee, order plenty of room service, get stiff from inactivity, do isometrics to relieve the tension and keep one hand on the phone at all times." She rubbed his arm. "Then maybe I go to Zaragoza—or not. I don’t know."

  "I know you, Casie. No risk is too great, no promise unbreakable, if it interferes with your sense of duty. All you need is an excuse. I don’t like living with the fear that if something happened to you, my whole world will be shattered. I need more from us than hello and goodbye. I want more of us than what we share in bed."