Golden Threads

by Kay Hooper

After a moment, Devon prompted softly, “Did he say anything else?”

  “Hmmm? Oh. No, he wouldn’t tell me. He said not to worry. But I did.”

  “All right. Now tell me about the room. You were looking at the window.”

  “Bookshelves with all the books pulled out. Another window; those drapes are torn down too. There was a table in front of it; it’s all smashed, and the vase that was on it is broken on the floor. Then more shelves and—Dad’s desk. I can see his computer; it’s on, but there’s nothing on the screen. I think someone’s wiped everything off the hard drive, even the operating system; the machine’s just humming.”

  “Are there any diskettes?” Devon asked. The FBI agents had found none.

  “Floppies? No. They must have taken them. Dad always kept the hard drive backed up on floppies. There was a file case for them, but I don’t see it anywhere.”

  “All right. What do you see?”

  “They’ve been into his safe. It’s behind the desk, very obvious behind a painting. I told Dad it was obvious, but he said that was okay, he never kept anything important in there. They’ve ripped the painting and broken the hinges.”

  “Look at the desk, Lara. Look carefully.”

  “I see it. There’s nothing. Just the computer. The papers and files that are usually there are on the floor, mostly torn in pieces.”

  “Fine. Now keep looking clockwise around the room.”

  She drew a shuddering breath. “Dad’s on the floor. He looks—”

  “Easy, honey. Easy. Look at it as if it’s a picture. Just a photograph.”

  “But it isn’t. It’s real. They’ve killed him…” Her voice wavered, unsteady with horror and pain. Abruptly, her eyes snapped open, blind for an instant. “I can’t. I can’t keep looking—”

  Devon pulled her into his arms and held her tightly, stroking her soft hair. “All right. All right, honey. You did just fine. Don’t think about it anymore.”

  For a moment, Lara held on to him, but then she pushed back far enough to meet his concerned gaze. “It doesn’t matter,” she said tiredly. “There wasn’t anything else. Dad’s desk was to the right of the door. I told you I wouldn’t think of anything to help us.”

  He was silent, his arms still around her. Then quietly he said, “You told me more than you told the agents who questioned you before.”

  “I did?” She was puzzled. “What?”

  “That your father had something with fingerprints.”

  Lara thought about it, but shook her head. “I don’t see that it helps us.”

  “It tells us that your father’s evidence wasn’t something that could have been wiped off a computer disk. And that it was evidence he believed to be safe. He hid it somewhere, Lara. The cartel didn’t find it, and we didn’t find it. So it still exists.”

  “Somewhere.”

  “Yes. Somewhere.”

  “I don’t know where it is.”

  Devon hesitated, then said, “I can’t believe he’d hide it so thoroughly that professionals couldn’t find it without making sure you could. He was in danger, and he knew it; there was every possibility that the cartel might guess what he was up to and stop him. He had to protect you.”

  Lara shook her head. “You know what he told me. Nothing. Just that he had evidence that would stand up in court. Devon, he never told me where it was. I’ve gone over every conversation of those last few days; he just said that the less I knew, the better it would be.”

  Devon was silent.

  She managed a faint smile. “So there won’t be a last-minute reprieve.”

  “Don’t say that,” he told her instantly. “Don’t say it as if—”

  “As if I’ve been condemned?”

  “Dammit, Lara.”

  “Hey, I haven’t given up yet. We have a chance of catching the cartel’s man, and maybe that’ll be enough.”

  Devon held her a bit tighter, unwilling to tell her that he doubted it would be. The cartel’s man was likely to be a professional hired for this job, with little or no knowledge of the men he was working for. Even if he turned out to be a totally cooperative witness, the chances were good that he would be able to tell them nothing that would help.

  Lara would still be a threat to the cartel.

  And another killer would be sent after her.

  He didn’t want to tell her any of that, and tried to keep his own cold awareness from showing on his face. But it seemed that either he wasn’t the natural actor he was supposed to be, or else the tie with Lara simply made it impossible for him to hide from her any emotion as deep and strong as his fear.

  “It’s all right, Devon,” she said gently.

  He kissed her, needing that, then murmured, “Is it?”

  “All I hope to gain from the bluff is a little more time. I know it isn’t a solution.”

  She knew; he didn’t have to tell her anything. His throat was so tight, he could hardly speak. “It’ll do one thing, if we catch their man. They’ll lose track of you, at least for a while.”

  Lara waited, watching his face gravely.

  “We can…hide you again.”

  “It’s still my choice,” she said.

  “Yes.” That battle had already been fought; he understood pain and loneliness too well not to accept that it was her decision, her right to choose.

  “Another apartment, another town, another name—another life with no roots. Another prison.”

  He had expected an instant refusal of that option, but wasn’t sure from her toneless voice how she felt about it. He held his own voice steady. “Lara, you can’t run a bluff indefinitely. There’s an outside chance that a good legal case can be built against the cartel’s man. In that case we could give him and his associates enough heat to keep them busy for a while. But it’s more likely that he won’t know anything about them, and won’t be much use to us in going after them.”

  “So they’ll send someone else after me.”

  “Yes. We’ll have to get you away, honey.”

  Lara pulled away from him. She didn’t pace, but moved around the room almost as if she’d never really looked at it before. Finally, she began musing aloud, her voice soft and faraway. “You know, I always thought that Rapunzel and her prince complicated the problem needlessly. All that stuff about a silken cord being woven into a ladder, when the solution was right in front of them all the time.”

  She stopped moving and faced him. “All she had to do was cut off the braid, tie it to the window, and climb down. They’d have gotten away free. Why didn’t that occur to them?”

  “I don’t know,” Devon said quietly, watching her.

  “I think I do.” She smiled. “I think it was because of who and what they were. The prince had always had his freedom and didn’t value it enough to think of sacrifice; Rapunzel had never known freedom, so she couldn’t know it was worth a sacrifice.”

  “You’d cut off your hair.”

  “Yes. But that isn’t my problem.”

  Devon got up and went to her, feeling a tug that reminded him of that other time and the pain of raw emotions. He wasn’t going to like the answer, he knew that, but he had to ask anyway. “Then what is?”

  “I love you, Devon.”

  His heart seemed to stop, and then pound erratically inside his chest. He managed a smile. “That’s a problem?”

  “Inside a tower it is.” She stared up at him with steady, somber eyes. “Because I think that you believe what I feel wouldn’t survive outside that tower. If I let you take me somewhere safe, to another tower, you’ll never be sure, will you? You’ll always wonder if, like Rapunzel, I fell for the first prince who climbed in the window.”

  “Lara—”

  “Oh, I know we haven’t talked about a future. We haven’t been able to. But if it’s just good sex as far as you’re concerned, I wish you’d tell me now, because—”

  “No.” His hands found her shoulders, and he gave her a little shake without really being aware of it. “No, d
ammit. I want you in my life.”

  The tie between them, she thought dimly. Blessing or burden; it seemed Devon still wasn’t sure. But at least he was unwilling to lose it, and that was something. She took a deep breath. “Then I have to cut off the braid.”

  He knew what she was saying. Unlike Rapunzel and her prince, Lara knew freedom was worth a sacrifice, and she was willing to make it. But she could lose more than a beautiful golden braid; she could lose her life.

  “I want you safe,” he said huskily. “Nothing is as important as that.”

  “One thing is. I love you, Devon. That won’t change, inside a tower or out. But you don’t believe it. I could live in a prison with you and never notice the bars. But I could never live with your doubt. Until I’m free to walk away, you’ll always wonder if I would.”

  He couldn’t lie to her, and he knew it; the emotional bond between them was too strong to allow for a deception. He couldn’t persuade her that what she believed was wrong, because it wasn’t. Even with a soul-deep desire to trust that a love born in captivity could survive freedom, he couldn’t believe it.

  “Lara—”

  She lifted a hand, her fingers lightly covering his lips. “It’s all right, Devon. I’ve known it all along. But some things are worth risking everything for. It’s my choice.” Smiling, she slipped her arms around his neck. “Now, since we have a couple of hours before we have to be at the theater to rehearse…”

  —

  The rehearsals on Saturday went as planned, with nothing unexpected occurring. It was the same on Sunday. Devon stuck close to Lara, and neither of them made any effort to hide their relationship offstage. The entire cast and crew was rapidly aware that Rapunzel had indeed found her prince, and Nick got rather sentimental about it.

  Lara practiced the Moonlight Sonata on an old piano that boasted more gilded paint with every day that passed and that, at one point, sprouted a few colorful feathers owing to the playful taste of one of the crew. They went over lines and marks, and were fitted for costumes. Devon was talked out of a minor rebellion when he saw the tights intended for him, but only after a compromise of boots and knee-breeches was reached. Ching was given his cues by Nick, who knew and understood cats. Ching performed like a trouper. The scenery began to take shape, and the crew practiced the set changes under the frowning eye of a director with a stopwatch.

  Inside the theater, the play began to come together, and since it was the weekend, everyone spent most of both days working at it.

  Nothing unusual happened. Lara rode in Devon’s car and more or less ignored her own. Luke was friendly, but didn’t go overboard on the charm, and if he still had doubts about Devon, he kept them to himself. He tried twice more to seduce Ching, first with chicken, then salmon; but since the cat had progressed from open hostility to cold disdain, he didn’t get very far.

  On Sunday night, at midnight, a bus was due to pass through town on its way to Washington. Lara planned to be on it. She and Devon had talked it over, and their plans were carefully laid. Since he had been spending every night at her apartment, Devon thought it would look too suspicious for him to leave on this night; and since the lights in the apartment went out well before midnight, the watcher outside could speculate that Devon was, on this night, sleeping the sleep of the just. And the weary.

  The simplest explanation is usually the most believed.

  Lara would creep out in darkness, presumably leaving her lover a note, and walk to the bus depot just a few short blocks of lighted streets away. Two agents, strategically placed well beforehand, would make certain she reached her destination. Devon would wait in the apartment for an hour, at which time he’d be relieved by a third agent, who would take his place on the chance that the watcher would decide to check on Devon’s presence.

  Then, Devon would slip out the back to a waiting car, drive to a private airfield, and take a waiting helicopter directly to Washington. He didn’t want to let Lara out of his sight at all, and took small comfort from the fact that an agent would be aboard the bus when it entered and left Pinewood, and that she would be very discreetly escorted all the way to her father’s house.

  Lara had been impressed by the number of agents involved in the plan, but had to admit that if her father’s beliefs had been correct, any effort to stop the cartel would be worthwhile.

  She felt as protected as was possible under the circumstances and didn’t hesitate to tell Devon so. She was afraid, of course. She would have had to be an idiot not to be conscious of fear. But she was committed, certain of her reasons for that commitment, and very conscious of the knowledge that doing something was better than doing nothing.

  So, near midnight on Sunday, she was able to draw about her a cloak of calm resolve and say goodbye to Devon without shattering into a million pieces.

  “I’ll see you at the house,” he said, resisting the finality of a goodbye and pulling her close in a fierce embrace at the door.

  It was dark; she couldn’t see his face clearly. She returned his kiss with all the feeling inside her, then murmured, “I love you,” and left while she still could.

  Devon was alone in a dark, silent apartment. Almost alone. Though not noticeably nocturnal, as most cats are, Ching was very much awake now, and restless. He prowled about, murmuring to himself and occasionally uttering a soft comment to Devon. He didn’t want to be held or petted, and it was obvious that his idol’s tension was affecting him.

  It was the longest hour of Devon’s life. He could no more be still than the cat could, and he wandered around the dark apartment filled with such a storm of emotions, it was like being battered by something he couldn’t see. He felt that he had failed Lara at a desperately critical moment, and the pain and self-disgust of that was killing him.

  God, why hadn’t he told her he loved her? He did. He’d known it for days. Why hadn’t he been able to say it? Just three simple words…And it was his fault she was out there now, his fault she was risking everything. Him and his selfish doubts. Had the last ten years made him such a coward that he’d allow her to risk her very life in order to spare him the pain of uncertainty?

  I could live in a prison with you and never notice the bars.

  It was true, and he knew it. Without his doubts standing between them, Lara would have been willing to be hidden again, given a new name and identity, because she wouldn’t have been alone and could have built a new, strong life for herself. But that kind of quiet sacrifice had to be sustained by trust, and how could she trust a man who had no belief in the reality of her love?

  Devon stopped pacing abruptly and stared blindly at nothing.

  All that stuff about a silken cord being woven into a ladder, when the solution was right in front of them all the time.

  What was he most afraid of? Until tonight, he had been afraid to trust in Lara’s love because ten years of roles had left him flinching away from any risk of pain. But he was hurting now, and he knew why.

  It wasn’t the risk that brought pain, he realized. It was the unwillingness to risk. That was why he’d been tearing himself apart. He hadn’t been willing to risk anything with Lara. Get her away safe, yes—but she’d be in a prison, and he couldn’t risk that. Love her, yes—but don’t tell her, because that made him vulnerable, and heaven knew he couldn’t risk that. Let her choose to be bait for a dangerous trap, yes—because he couldn’t choose, couldn’t risk being wrong, terribly wrong.

  And a tower was only a prison when you weren’t willing to cut off the damned braid and get the hell out.

  In that instant of realization, Devon made a choice of his own. He glanced at his watch and knew that his agent would be there at any moment. Swiftly, he went down the hall and into Lara’s bedroom, and got the cat carrier out of the closet.

  Before a surprised Ching could struggle, the cat found himself stuffed into the box. And the first note of his enraged howl was cut off by his idol’s soft but utterly implacable command.

  “Quiet! Or you’ll ride in
the trunk.”

  Ching shut up.

  Two minutes later, Devon opened the door to allow his agent to slip in.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  “It’s a go. A car fell in behind the bus as it left town. And if anybody’s watching this building, I’ll turn in my pension.”

  “For both our sakes, I hope you don’t have to. Thanks, Mac. Stay here just to be sure. I’m taking the cat.”

  “Thought I was supposed to cat-sit?”

  “You were. But I’ve got a hunch.”

  “It’s your party. Call me when the shouting’s over.”

  “Right.” Devon, with a tough plastic box containing a silent but mutinous cat in hand, slipped out of the apartment. In minutes, he went out the back and found his car and driver waiting with lights off and quiet engine running. He put the carrier in the backseat and got in.

  “Hurry,” he ordered.

  —

  Lara had expected memories to overwhelm her, but when she stepped into the foyer and turned on the lights, it was almost like entering a totally strange house. It was clean; a service came in monthly to dust and vacuum. The electricity was still on because she had refused to allow it to be turned off. It was quiet because it was supposed to be empty.

  She wanted to walk through the house, to find some sense of familiarity, but she knew time was short. The car she had “rented” at the bus depot had been equipped with a very special radio, and an agent had informed her that her hunter was very close on her heels.

  Taking a deep breath, she crossed the foyer and went into her father’s study. It was neat again, the books on their shelves, torn drapes and upholstery replaced, the desk tidy. As if nothing had happened here.

  Lara went to the desk and sat down, keeping her mind occupied with what she had to do. Take the diskette from the pocket of her jacket and put it in the computer disk drive. Turn on the machine. Wait for it to load the program into its memory.

  She knew Devon was here; she could feel his presence. There were others here as well, hidden in the house. The place was wired. The trap was set, and baited.

  She looked at the waiting computer, then began keying in commands. Lines of data began racing across the glowing screen.