by Tami Hoag
Banks didn’t flinch at the outburst, didn’t blink. “What’s the problem here, Shane? What Faith is proposing is our original scenario taken just one step further. We’re dealing with a single player, a single variable who may or may not be dangerous. So far he’s been long on threats and short on action.”
Shane gave a harsh laugh. “That’s supposed to make it okay? He hasn’t actually killed her yet, so we should give him one good shot at it—just in case he’s really serious?”
Ignoring the sarcasm, Banks pressed on. “We can make certain he won’t have a chance of getting to her.”
Shane’s jaw clenched as he turned to stare out at the ocean again. His voice was low and strained. “There’s always a chance.”
For a long moment the only sound was that of the ocean pounding the shore a hundred feet below. The wind whipped at Banks’s wildly mussed hair as he turned and leaned his forearms on top of the stone wall. “This isn’t Quantico, Shane,” he said softly, his voice almost gentle. “She’s not Ellie.”
Shane’s heart clenched at the comparison. He had loved Ellie Adamson. He had lost her because his emotions had clouded his judgment. Now he prayed his old friend and colleague was right, because he knew with bleak certainty that if he lost Faith, he would lose everything. She was his hope, his salvation, his one slim chance at a future that wasn’t empty. What he felt for her was so intense, it was like a fire in his soul where for so long there had been nothing but cold and darkness.
“We’ll do it her way.” Banks made the announcement, then took a deep breath and changed the subject. “Rumor has it Strauss bought a boat in Mazatlan. Looks like he’s taking his act south after all.”
“Yeah,” Shane commented absently, not really listening. His gaze had fallen on Faith as she came through the French doors and onto the terrace.
He loved her. He’d forgotten how painful love could be. It was a relentless ache inside him—knowing he loved her and being terrified of losing her.
How had such an innocent woman become entangled in such a dangerous situation? Faith didn’t belong in the world of espionage. Of course, Shane acknowledged the irony, he never would have met her otherwise. Bitterly he wondered if they wouldn’t have both been better off. Certainly she would have been.
“If you’ll excuse me, Ms. Kincaid,” Banks said, straightening away from the wall. He smoothed his hands over the lapels of his hopelessly rumpled suit and gave Faith a wry smile. “I believe I’ll go freshen up before we discuss this further.”
“Of course,” Faith murmured, her eyes on Shane as his boss made his exit.
“You’re getting your wish,” he said flatly, tossing down his cigarette and grinding it against the flagstone with his shoe.
Faith wondered if he realized the thing she had wished for most was his love. He was giving her that, albeit begrudgingly—but it was a start at least. The next step was to close the door on her past so they could be free to look for a future together. It was clear by Shane’s stony expression that her idea for achieving that end was the wish he was talking about.
She folded her arms over her chest as the wind cut through the yellow Shaker sweater she wore. “It’s the best way.”
His expression incredulous, Shane barked a laugh. “You’re an expert?”
Faith met his angry gaze, though tears rose in her eyes. She was all through backing away from trouble, even when it came in a six-foot-four-inch package. “I’m an expert at feeling helpless and afraid and manipulated. I have to put an end to that, Shane. Please understand.”
He stared at her for a long moment, unable to reconcile the conflicts within himself. She was asking for his support, but he was simply too afraid to give it to her. She wanted to risk her life and have his blessing to do it. Anger burned in his chest. How dare she make him love her, then ask him to let her get killed. Dammit, why couldn’t she have left his heart alone? That was where he belonged—alone, in the shadows.
Emotions roiling inside him like an angry sea, he said, “Do what you want.”
Faith squeezed her eyes shut against the pain and held her breath as she listened to him walk away.
It wasn’t a bad evening by coastal standards, Faith thought as she wandered away from the house, strolling through the lush grass twenty yards in from the edge of the cliff. Clouds had rolled in, promising rain later on, but the fog bank that was such a constant this time of year was nothing more than wisps tonight. Bits of it floated past her like thin strips of cotton candy. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her cardigan, hunched her shoulders against the chill, and walked on.
Dinner had come and gone, a vague memory of frozen pizza eaten during the discussion of the case. Setting a trap to catch the man terrorizing her had been Faith’s idea, but she remembered little of the conversation. Shane had occupied her attention almost to the exclusion of all else.
Her heart ached—not so much because of him as for him. He’d declared his love for her, but there was little doubt in her mind he would sooner have cut out his tongue. Immediately he had withdrawn from her—physically and emotionally—pulling back behind those gray granite walls of his. The tension that had thickened the air between them since that moment had driven her out of the house.
Oh, it wasn’t Shane alone, she admitted as her steps led her down a gentle slope toward the caretaker’s cottage. It was everything—Shane, the case, thoughts of her life with William, memories of the Fearsome Foursome and their days at Notre Dame. All of it had crowded in on her until she’d begun to feel claustrophobic. As soon as she had tucked Lindy in and watched her daughter drift off to sleep, she had slipped out a side door in search of fresh air and solitude.
She let her mind drift now to thoughts of her friends—Alaina and Jayne and Bryan. Their lives had taken such different paths. The dreams they had shared with one another had been altered or left behind or attained, only to discover there was no gold at the end of the rainbow. More than a decade had passed since they had each rushed off with youthful enthusiasm to find their futures. Life had led three of them to meet once again at the same crossroads, and together they had chosen the path that had brought them to Anastasia, to what had once been a fantasy dreamed up by college kids on spring break.
What did the future hold for her now, Faith wondered as she stopped to look out at the sea that was as gray as liquid pewter. Absently she rubbed her keepsake between her thumb and forefinger, and her thoughts turned back to Shane.
He wasn’t an easy man to love, but love him she did with all her heart. Could they have a future together? He’d told her from the start he couldn’t make promises. A man like Shane was married to his profession, and it was a profession that demanded he be a loner. It was a profession that had locked a tender, sensitive man behind walls of cynicism.
She had to hope that after all this madness was past, she would be able to convince Shane the time had come for him to let go of the shadows shrouding his soul, because she was convinced right down to her toes that he was the man she had been waiting for forever. They could have a life together there at Keepsake, a nice, quiet life. And a family. Tingles fizzed through her like champagne bubbles at the thought of carrying Shane’s baby, of holding it and nursing it at her breast while Shane looked on, proud and content.
Turning away from the ocean, she let her gaze wander over the lovely, rolling land that belonged to her, to the eccentric complex of houses that made up her inn. Due west of her, beyond her long driveway and to the other side of the road, the wild meadowland gave way abruptly to rugged hills beautifully cloaked in deep green forest that looked nearly black now in the fading light. And just a few yards to the north of where she stood sat the caretaker’s cottage—a small whitewashed stone building with a slate roof and a bright red door. It marked the northern border of her property with a distinctively Irish flare.
Yes, this would be a perfect place to raise a family. It would be a perfect place for Shane to settle and shed the shell he’d encased his ten
der feelings in to protect them from a world of grim reality. Faith closed her eyes and pictured the scenes clearly in her mind, praying with all her might that she wasn’t just wasting her time romanticizing, letting her heart chase rainbows.
She checked her watch and heaved a sigh. It was time to head back to the house. Banks wanted to go over the particulars of their plan once again. But as long as she was so close, she decided she would stop in to check on Agent Matthews first. The poor guy had scarcely been allowed to set foot out of the cottage because he was the expert when it came to the phone tap and that was where his equipment had been set up. She bit her lip and winced at the thought of having to share living space with the noisome, irascible Mr. Fitz. Del Matthews deserved some kind of commendation for sacrifice above and beyond the call of duty.
Bringing her fist up to knock at the door, Faith frowned when it moved inward on its hinges as she applied pressure. “Mr. Matthews?” she called as she stuck her head inside.
The place seemed dead quiet. The lights had not been turned on. Shadows swallowed up all the corners of the cluttered living room, giving the place an eerie cast. The furniture was old and worn. Books were jammed haphazardly into a built-in case in one wall. An angry-looking steelhead trout stared down at her from its mount above the cold stone fire place.
“Mr. Matthews?” Faith called again, inching her way inside. “Mr. Fitz?”
Silence was her answer. Gooseflesh rippled the skin on her arms, but she ignored it and continued on into the cottage.
She found Matthews in the small main-floor bedroom sitting with his back to the door, monitoring his machines, earphones clamped on his head. Faith breathed a sigh of relief, only briefly wondering why he hadn’t turned on a light.
“There you are,” she said, crossing the room. She stopped beside his chair, but the questions that had formed in her mind never made it any farther than her throat. She tapped Del Matthews on the shoulder, and his body suddenly slumped sideways and sprawled onto the floor at her feet.
Faith clamped a hand to her chest as if to keep her racing heart from leaping out. For just an instant she froze as her mind absorbed the visual information. Del Matthews was dead. Realizing that, she took two steps backward, ready to whirl and run. She had to get to Shane.
“How thoughtful of you to come down to the cottage, Faith,” a dark, silky voice murmured in her ear. “You’ve saved me a great deal of trouble.”
At the sound of that voice every muscle in her body tensed with a speed and intensity that was painful. She didn’t have to turn around to know it was the barrel of a gun she felt pressing into her spine. The metallic taste of fear washed through her mouth. The need to see her tormentor surged through her but was overridden by the feel of the pistol in her back. The sensation of a weight crushing her chest reminded her to start breathing again, though the tension in her muscles prevented much more than a shallow gasp.
“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” she asked, managing nothing more than a raw whisper.
“Why, I’m an old friend of Agent Callan’s,” he said, sarcasm edging his curiously pleasant, well-modulated tone. “My name is Adam Strauss.”
TEN
SHANE SAT AT the piano, playing softly. As he had time and again in his past, he let the music sort his feelings through for him.
He loved Faith Kincaid. Damned if he hadn’t wanted to throttle her for it earlier in the day, but he was getting used to the idea now. What he wasn’t comfortable with was the plan to use her openly as bait to catch a possible killer.
It might have been a different story if they’d had a better handle on their perpetrator, but they didn’t have a clue as to who the man might be, what his connection to Gerrard was, what his background was. The guy might have been a mild-mannered former mail clerk from DataTech, or he might have been a hired gun. Whoever he was, he hadn’t taken one false step. Shane couldn’t shake the feeling that the man was a pro.
The thought of setting Faith up for the creep made his blood run cold.
But they would deal with it. The decision had been made, and he would follow orders. But he vowed he would bring Faith through this without so much as a scratch. No harm was going to come to the woman he loved—not if he had anything to say about it. And when it was over, he was going to tell her he loved her—not shout it at her, not say it as if it were a curse, but whisper it to her, kiss the words across her skin, give voice to the feelings that had invaded his previously empty soul.
He was going to make love to her until there was no doubt in her mind about his feelings for her. The future still held uncertainties, but there was one thing he was feeling more and more sure of—he wanted that future to include Faith …
“Hi, Shane.”
… and Lindy.
Shane’s fingers stilled on the keys, and he turned, his heart warming instantly at the sight of little Lindy standing beside the piano bench in her Care Bears pajamas. She had a choke hold on her doll with her right arm and was rubbing at her sleepy eyes with her other hand.
“What are you doing out of bed, honey?” he asked softly, not even trying to stop himself from reaching out to brush at the little girl’s tousled blond curls.
Without waiting for an invitation, Lindy scrambled up onto the padded bench and situated herself on Shane’s lap. “I had a bad dream about dinosaurs. Where’s my mama?”
“I don’t know.” He and Faith had gone their separate ways after dinner in a tacit agreement to cool off before they discussed the case further. “Isn’t she with Alaina and Jayne?”
Lindy shook her head, an earnest expression on her face as she stared up at him with her thumb inching toward her mouth. “Huh-uh.”
A sliver of fear skimmed his nerves, but Shane dismissed it. There was no danger. Faith wouldn’t have left the property, and the property was under surveillance.
“I want my mama ’cause I need a hug real bad,” Lindy said soberly. Her lower lip plumped out, and her brow furrowed with the threat of oncoming tears.
Letting go a little more of his reserve, Shane scooped her up in his arms and held her tight, deeply inhaling Lindy’s warm, powder-soft scent. “How about if I give you a good hug now, and then we’ll go together and find your mama?”
Lindy hooked one arm around his neck and squeezed for all she was worth. “Okie-dokie, but I still get a hug from Mama too.”
“Deal.”
Faith wasn’t in her office or her bedroom or his bedroom or the kitchen. Shane had to fight to keep the cold wave of fear from sweeping over him as he carried Lindy through the rambling old house. The place had twenty-seven rooms and four attics. Faith could be anywhere, putzing around with decorating details or hunting through old trunks left behind by long-dead residents. She liked to do that kind of thing when she was nervous or angry.
Maybe she had gone upstairs to search for that ridiculous ghost she believed so strongly in. His brain spewed out a dozen possible simple explanations for her disappearance, while the sixth sense he had relied on so many times over the years told him with ever-increasing volume that something was very wrong.
One thing was certain. When he found her, he was going to take her in his arms and not let go of her until morning. He kicked himself mentally for having been such a bastard about the case. He could understand her need to end it, to try to get back some control over her life. He could have shown her that understanding instead of snarling at her like a wounded lion. He would—just as soon as he found her.
They had been through a dozen rooms when Shane realized Lindy had fallen asleep in his arms. He gently tucked her into her bed, brushed a kiss to her cheek, and slipped back out into the hall, quietly closing the door behind him. When he turned, he was met by a grim-faced John Banks.
Immediately Shane’s pulse picked up a beat. “What is it?”
“We need to talk.”
They stepped into Faith’s office, and Banks closed the door.
“Matthews is dead,” he said in a tight v
oice.
The words set off an explosion of panic in Shane’s chest. He stared at his boss, praying to God he’d heard wrong. “What?”
“He’s dead. The caretaker found him. Timmons and Cerini are at the scene now. Where’s Faith?”
Dragging his hands back through his hair, Shane swore viciously. “I don’t know. I can’t find her.”
The silence that hung between the two men was as brittle as spun glass; the ringing of the telephone shattered it.
Swallowing down the knot in his throat, Shane grabbed up the receiver. “Callan.”
Everything inside him turned to ice at the sound of the voice on the other end of the line. It was cultured, sardonic, and deadly. “Shane, my old friend. Long time no see.”
“Strauss.”
Adam Strauss chuckled, a sound that managed to embody evil rather than humor. “And here I thought perhaps you had forgotten me.”
“Never.” Cradling the receiver between his shoulder and ear, Shane pulled his gun from his shoulder holster and checked the clip.
“That’s a comfort. I certainly haven’t forgotten about you, dear friend. In fact, I’m rather anxious to see you. As is Ms. Kincaid.”
Adam Strauss had Faith. In a terrible flash of insight Shane realized he had never truly known terror until this moment. Now it threatened to swallow him whole. Adam Strauss was a cold-blooded killer, a man without a soul, and he had Faith.
Questions about Faith’s status roared through his head, but Shane forced himself not to ask them. Showing an interest in her would only make her situation more tenuous … if it wasn’t too late already. Pushing the thought to the back of his mind he tried to concentrate on keeping the conversation going, all the while straining to catch background noises that could give him a clue as to where Strauss was.
“I heard you’d gone to Argentina.”
“Tsk, tsk,” Strauss said mockingly. “After everything we went through together, you didn’t really think I’d leave without saying good-bye, did you?”