Beside him, Alexandra tensed, one hand braced against the door, her face pale, but she didn’t protest the risks he took, completely aware that if they were caught, they died.
Roarke spied signs directing him toward a major highway and cut through an intersection as the traffic light turned yellow. Hoping the chase car would be caught at the red light and buy him an extra sixty seconds, Roarke headed onto the on-ramp, arbitrarily picking north.
“There!” Alexandra pointed.
Her sharp eyes had spotted a faint trail from the ramp through short grasses to a low-lying area of oaks. If they could make it to the cover of the trees, not only would they evade their pursuers, they wouldn’t have to risk a high-speed chase on the open highway.
Without hesitation, Roarke followed Alexandra’s suggestion and pulled off the ramp. The grass wasn’t as lush on the path. The drought had turned almost everything brown, disguising the trail. The only difference was that here the grass was a tad sparser than on the rest of the sandy area. Other vehicles had come this way but not for a long time. He just hoped that when they reached the trees, they’d find enough clearing space between the trees to hide the entire vehicle.
As shade enclosed them, he edged the car deeper into the wooded area, unwilling to take a chance of chrome, glass or mirror glinting and giving away their location. Finally, he turned off the engine.
“Now what?” Alexandra asked softly.
“We wait.”
“I don’t like waiting.”
He took her hand. “You did great back there in the warehouse. Without your help…”
At the look on her face, he immediately realized his mistake. He shouldn’t have reminded her of the death they’d left behind. She wasn’t accustomed to that kind of violence.
“You did what needed to be done,” he assured her as he pulled out his gun and checked to make sure it was fully loaded. If their pursuers found them, he needed to be ready, but his actions also gave Alexandra a moment to collect herself. Although the car engine was off, he’d left the keys in the ignition and counted on it starting immediately if they had to make a run for it. He checked the bullets and slammed home the clip with a proficiency that had become second nature to him.
Alexandra pulled out the gun Roarke had given her, but held it listlessly on her lap. Roarke suspected she still felt horror and guilt over the killings, but he could think of nothing to ease her inner turmoil. Every person had to deal with the aftermath of violence in his or her own way.
So he remained silent, simply taking the gun from her and checking the load before handing it back, making sure the safety was on. She barely noticed. He ached at the pain he saw in her eyes, wanted to pull her into his arms, but not only did the car’s bucket seats make comforting her difficult, he couldn’t afford to let down his guard.
While in all likelihood their pursuers were speeding down the highway, either north or south, they might double back and spot them. Roarke needed to remain alert, his mind on her safety. Later, if she needed help, she could talk to a counselor about her state of mind.
New agents often needed a few sessions with a professional to sort out their feelings when they came in from the field after their first violent encounter, even though these agents were as prepared as the Agency could make them for wet work, killing. Alexandra had nothing to be ashamed of. For a civilian, she’d acted with uncommon valor when it counted. With the proper training, she’d make an excellent Agency recruit, yet he knew that she much preferred her buildings.
Back at the bank site, her face had glowed with enthusiasm as she’d supervised her skyscraper. Her eyes had lit up, almost sparkling with pleasure, during the concrete pour. He could only imagine how she’d feel when the skyscraper towered over the cityscape, dominating the riverfront with its clean lines and graceful curves.
He hoped she would be there to see it. He also doubted she understood how dangerous returning to the site would be. This time he couldn’t let her talk him into letting her go back. No matter how spectacular the building might be when finished, she couldn’t risk her life over steel and glass.
He didn’t want to overwhelm her with more problems, especially now that she was feeling so vulnerable, still coping with the news of her father’s death and her own part in the death of their kidnappers. As the minutes passed, her color returned, although a sadness remained, haunting her eyes and tugging at his heart.
“I need to get to a phone and call my mom,” she told him, her voice almost breaking. “She’s going to need me.”
He understood her obligation to her mother, but he also knew how much danger Alexandra would be in if she insisted on attending her father’s funeral. Not to mention the danger they could bring to her mother. The date and time and place of the ceremony would likely be placed in the newspaper where anyone could see it. Top Dog was out there somewhere, hunting them and Roarke suspected the man wouldn’t stop until he got what he was after.
Roarke kept his concerns to himself. One step at a time. Right now, he needed to make sure they lost their pursuers. “Let’s give it another half hour.”
“These people who murdered my father want to kill me, too.” She looked at him with eyes too wide, too pain-filled for him not to feel a twinge of guilt.
He should have done a better job of hiding her. “I won’t let them hurt you.”
“They already have. They took away the most important man in my life. And I don’t even know why.”
He had no answers for her, but the frustration and sorrow in her tone turned his stomach into one giant knot. “The key has to lie in those papers your brother sent you.”
“Maybe we should just give them the papers. Keeping them wasn’t worth my father’s life.”
“You can’t know that.”
She tilted her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. “What could be so valuable?”
“I don’t know. Before, I only suspected your biological parents once worked for the CIA, now I’m almost sure of it.”
She jerked upright. “Why do you think so?”
“Sometimes the CIA uses couriers who are simply American business people or tourists. But those men after us are Agency-trained.”
“And?”
“The important documents were carried only by agents.”
“There’s more, isn’t there?”
“I’m Agency-trained. With all the P.I.s your brother has working for him across the state, he could have hired anyone.”
“But he chose you. Why?”
“I suspect because of my background with the Agency.”
She considered his line of reasoning but didn’t immediately accept it. “But he didn’t tell you that, did he?”
Roarke shook his head. “He didn’t even know for sure that you would be in danger. He just wanted to take precautions.”
“I’m glad he did. And I hope he’s all right.”
“While you made copies in the trailer, I checked with Harrison. Your brother’s assistant still hasn’t heard from Jake, and he assured me he wouldn’t forget to call us the moment he hears from him.”
The intelligence world was a small one. Roarke had heard about her brother, and, after Jake had hired him, he’d done a little checking. Unlike Alexandra, her brother had never been adopted. He’d grown up in foster homes. With no help from family, he’d not only survived the state system, he’d grown tough there. But unlike so many unloved youngsters, he hadn’t taken to a life of crime. Instead, he’d founded one of the premier private investigation firms in the country.
“Your brother has a reputation for taking care of himself.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Not much.” He hesitated to tell her how rough her brother’s life must have been as he’d bounced from foster home to foster home. “I work in a small world of professionals and word gets around. Using skills he learned in the military, your brother built his P.I. firm up from nothing. He has an excellent reputation. I’m looking
forward to meeting him.”
Her expression turned wistful. “So am I. Did you know I also have a sister out there somewhere?”
Roarke hoped Jake had found protection for the other sister, too. She would need it if Jake had sent another copy of the materials to her. But right now, he could only worry about his client. “Jake didn’t mention your sister. Actually, we spoke for less than a minute. In retrospect, I think he kept the conversation short to avoid a trace.”
Alexandra looked at the clock on the car’s dash. “Roarke, I have to call my mother.”
“I know. Let’s go find you a pay phone.”
WITH SHAKING FINGERS, Alexandra dropped coins into the pay phone that Roarke located at a convenience store. She had to be strong right now for her mother’s sake. No matter how awful she felt, she had to be there for the woman who had loved her and had raised her.
Every year at this time, her parents moved north to escape the summer heat. Each summer, they rented a house or apartment in a different part of the northeast. Last year, they’d stayed in Cape Cod. The year before her dad had taken up fishing off the Hudson River. This year they’d rented a cabin on Lake George in upper New York State.
Eyes filling with tears, Alexandra could barely read the numbers in the book of personal numbers she always carried in her purse.
“Hello?” her mother’s cheerful voice rang through as clearly as if she was right next to her.
“Mom, I’m sorry I couldn’t call sooner—”
“—It’s fine dear, I’m sure you’re terribly busy with your first skyscraper.” Why was her mother prattling on about Alexandra’s building? For God’s sake, her father had died, been murdered, and her mother sounded as if she hadn’t noticed. Alexandra made herself listen, her hopes rising as her mother continued, “Your father and I are so proud of you. Just last week over a bridge game, your dad was bragging to the Simsteads about your building. They may not invite us back after we cleaned them out—”
“How’s Dad?” Alexandra interrupted, clutching the phone so tightly her hands shook. Was it blind hope? Or was it possible those men had been mistaken? Could her father still be alive?
“Here, I’ll put him on and you can speak to him.”
“Hi, sweetie.”
“Dad!” Her voice choked up at the familiar voice. Roarke heard her scream of joy and squeezed her shoulder, no doubt worried she might faint from the shock. “You’re okay?”
“Of course I’m okay. Your mother and I are visiting Fort Ticondaroga this afternoon. Tomorrow we’re taking a boat out to an island for a picnic lunch. Honey?”
“Yes, Dad?”
“What’s wrong?”
“I was worried about you, that’s all.” She covered the phone’s mouthpiece and whispered to Roarke, “Should I warn them? Do you think they’re in danger?” When Roarke shook his head, she took his word. She wasn’t thinking clearly right now, and if Roarke thought her parents were safe, then they probably were.
She and her father exchanged a few more words and she told him not to worry if he didn’t hear from her for a while. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too, sweetie.”
“Give Mom my love.”
She hung up the phone. “My father’s alive. He’s fine.” Dazed, pleased, lighthearted and very, very confused, she looked to Roarke for an explanation, knowing she hadn’t misunderstood the man who’d said they’d killed her father and were about to kill her.
From the expression on Roarke’s handsome face, she could see he’d already figured out the puzzle and left her way behind. Normally, she’d be upset that she still hadn’t caught on, and he’d figured it out first. But she was so filled with joy after talking to her father that she didn’t care if Roarke’s IQ was double hers. Nor did she care that he was shooting her one of those arrogant, thousand-megawatt smiles, knowing he was as genuinely pleased as she was.
“So?” she asked.
“What do you mean, so?
“So what am I missing? What haven’t I figured out that has you so smug?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that, Mr. Perfect P.I. You’re holding out on me. With you, that’s a given.”
His brows came together in a scowl, but his twinkling eyes gave away his amusement. “Was that an insult?”
“It’s the truth. You always hold something back behind that pretty face.”
“Pretty face? That’s a definite insult.”
She touched his rib cage, gratified to learn that he was extremely ticklish. “Do I have to torture you to get you to talk?”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her close. Too close. They stood chest to chest in the convenience-store parking lot while other customers bought gas, used the rest rooms and made calls from the pay phones. She gazed into his perfectly blue eyes and suddenly had trouble drawing another breath.
His eyes had darkened with a longing that tugged at her heart. Not desire for her, but for another woman. The woman he’d lost in Africa. When she’d believed her father was dead, had her grief brought up terrible memories for Roarke? And now that she’d learned her father was alive, had he been rethinking how happy he would have been if he’d found his fiancée alive in the bombed building? Alexandra couldn’t read his mind, but she suddenly felt ashamed for teasing him. Felt guilt over her own happiness.
She could see he wanted to share her delight, but he remained silent. Perhaps she was reading him wrong. He never gave her much to go on. “What’s wrong?”
She seemed to be asking that question a lot lately.
“I didn’t want to intrude on your good fortune at finding your father alive. But I think I know the answer to the puzzle.”
“Well, tell me, already,” she demanded impatiently.
Chapter Nine
First, Roarke insisted that they return to the car. Roarke hated to put a dent in her happiness, but he had to tell her that he’d figured out the puzzle. “That man wasn’t referring to your adopted father but to your biological father.”
“My biological father?” Her hand on his forearm heated him all the way up to his shoulder and down to his feet.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“I was told my father had died in a car accident.”
“Maybe the ‘accident’ was arranged.”
“Why?” As they left the pay phone, she squeezed his arm with intensity. She looked to him for answers, and he wished he had more information to give her. He also wished he felt free to lower his head and kiss her again, hold her in his arms again. He recalled from holding her inside the car trunk how well they fit together—her head snuggled against his shoulder, her breasts softly rubbing his chest, her sweet breath fanning his face.
He ignored the heat of his thoughts and walked her back toward the car. “I’ll bet the answer is in those papers your brother sent. We need to go to the cement company and retrieve your briefcase from under the seat of that truck.”
She slid into the passenger seat and glanced up at him, and he’d bet she remained totally unaware of how she affected him. “I don’t suppose it’s safe to go back to the construction trailer and retrieve the spare set?”
“Nope.”
Her nose scrunched a little as she frowned. “You don’t want me to go back to work?”
“That’s a given.”
“But, but…”
“Your safety has to come first. Your building will have to wait.” He started the car. “I’m sorry.”
“You really are.” She stared at him, her eyes wide.
“Are what?”
“Sorry.”
He squirmed internally before he answered. “Don’t you think I know what it’s like to give up a dream?” The moment the words popped out of his mouth, he knew he shouldn’t have said them. He’d aroused her curiosity, and he didn’t want to talk about the past, about how naive he’d once been, about how little his efforts had changed the world.
“Don’t you dare.”
“Huh?” Had he missed part of the conversation? Lost track while his thoughts were focused on the past? He pulled onto the highway, heading toward the city.
“Don’t you dare think of using that silver tongue—” Silver tongue?
“—of yours to avoid an explanation.”
He shook his head and flashed her an I-don’t-know-what-you-mean look.
“And don’t try any more of those charming smiles to distract me.”
“Why would I want to distract you?”
“To keep from telling me about yourself. You’re so good at evasion.”
“I am?”
She didn’t bother to answer his question, recognizing it as simply another evasive tactic. “What was your dream?”
“When I was a kid, I wanted to be a fireman,” he teased, knowing she wouldn’t give up.
“And I wanted to be an astronaut.” She scowled at him. “Turn right at the next exit. That road will take us straight to the cement company.” She glanced at the dash. “It’s four o’clock. Most of the trucks should have made their last run by now.”
“Good. How many cement trucks do you think the company has?”
“Over a hundred. Why?”
“I’d like to check them without anyone spotting us. The more trucks, the more difficult it’ll be to remain undiscovered.”
“It was truck number 131.”
“You remember?”
“I also remember that once again you’re trying to avoid my question.”
She wasn’t going to let him off the hook. Damn, the woman could be persistent. And even through his irritation, he wanted to kiss her. Even if she could be annoying. Annoying could be…sexy. Erotic. Splendid. Damn it, he should never have kissed her the first time, because now he knew what he was missing.
While he admired her ability to notice and remember the number on the cement truck and take an hour off their search time, he didn’t like to talk about his past. He didn’t like to remember the friends he’d lost. Especially when every memory always went back to Sydney and his failure to protect her.
Hidden Hearts Page 11