Heart of a Hero

by Sara Craven

  “Quince isn’t Quince,” Clay announced. “Or at least not the Quince we thought he was.”

  “That much I figured out on my own,” Eric told them. He reached out to brush Dawn’s hair off her brow and tuck the strands behind her ear with his finger. “You sensed that, too, didn’t you, Dawn?”

  She had, but not fully until they were in the study. “Let’s ask him.”

  Quince was sitting cross-legged on the cave floor, his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands. Grieving?

  Dawn knelt beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Where is Quince?”

  He raised his head slowly, as if he’d been sleeping. “My brother?” He swallowed hard. “Dead. And good riddance. The man was a monster. A traitor to the human race!” He sobbed once, then placed a hand over his mouth to hold it in.

  “You took his place for the bidding. Why?”

  “No. You don’t understand. There was to be no bidding. I can’t even get to whatever it was he had for sale, don’t you understand? I would never, ever sell it, even if I could!”

  “But you wanted all of the bidders to come here to the island as planned, didn’t you?” she asked.

  “To die,” he agreed. “I wanted to eliminate every one of them and I liked the irony of having them destroy one another.” He slid his fingers through his hair and left them there, holding his head as if it hurt. “I have to make up for all Stefan did, all the terrible things he arranged, the terror he abetted.” Then he looked directly at Dawn. “I wanted you to help me. You were like me, Aurora, caught up in something you couldn’t control by yourself. Trapped.”

  She nodded and patted his shoulder. “I know. What is your name?”

  “George. George Cydonia.” He sniffed hard and ran a hand over his face, sighing as he did. “Sean is…was…my son.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Dawn said automatically, trying not to think how she was the one who emptied the pistol into McCoy. She’d had no choice really, and it was counterproductive to waste time sympathizing with a killer. “He was very clever,” she offered. “I would have sworn he was Irish.”

  “He was,” George said. “His mother raised him in Dublin. She and I parted ways when Sean was only two. He contacted me a few months ago in Athens. I have a business there,” he said absently. “Real estate.”

  Dawn exchanged a look with Eric who was listening intently. They were dealing with a real estate agent?

  “What happened to Stefan?” she asked, guiding the questioning away from Sean’s death. She would come back to it, though. It seemed strange that Sean would look his father up after so many years. Maybe he wasn’t Sean at all, but someone in league with Stefan. “Did your brother die here on the island?”

  George nodded. “I acquired this property for him. He wanted something remote and isolated. Said he was retiring. I’ve known for years what he did, but was afraid I’d be implicated if I turned him in. Then two weeks ago, he insisted that Sean and I come out to the island with him. Then he wouldn’t let me leave. He was afraid I would give away his location. Sean…he was…sympathetic to Stefan’s plan. I thought I had dissuaded him, but…Stefan left for a few days last week and then returned.”

  “And he died here? Was he ill?” Dawn prompted.

  George shook his head. “No. He was eating dinner. Choked to death on some calamari.”

  Or was poisoned? Dawn wondered. Sean’s presence at the time made that a distinct possibility.

  “He had already set up everything for the auction of the information, which he told me he had locked in his safe. Meeting the bidders face-to-face would give him the edge, he said. Stefan liked games.”

  “So you decided to follow through and get rid of the bad guys yourself,” Dawn said, trying to sound approving so he would continue.

  “It was a good idea. Sean said he was…helping me.”

  Or getting rid of his competition for acquiring the plans himself, Dawn thought. Canny.

  Eric came and crouched down on George’s opposite side. “Did you wire the place yourself?”

  George shook his head. “Stefan did. The entire island. All but one of the boats. He told me that if anything happened to him after the guests arrived, if they betrayed him, that I was to get off the island and send them all to hell along with what they came after. I can do that.” He looked up at Dawn, his eyes pleading for understanding. “But it seems such a waste, you know? It is a beautiful place. Worth millions.”

  “So we were all to kill one another and spare the property,” Eric said.

  “All but Sean. And Aurora, of course,” George admitted. “As I said, she’s merely a pawn to you, just as I was to Stefan.” He swallowed hard.

  “Okay, how were you to blow it?” Eric asked.

  George seemed to snap out of his stupor as he glared up at Eric. “I won’t tell you. But I still can do it at any time. I will before I let you—”

  Eric leapt on George and grasped his arms before the words were out of his mouth. “Search him. The remote. Find it!”

  Dawn was closest but not quite fast enough. George twisted free and had the thing out of his pocket and in his hand before she could get to it. He held it up and backed away from her, his back to the rock wall, a threat in his eyes. “I’ll do it!”

  “Do you really want Sean to end up under a huge pile of rubble, George?” she asked gently. “Wouldn’t you rather have a ceremony of some kind? Say goodbye to him properly?” She glanced briefly at Eric, who nodded encouragement.

  She reached out, trying to touch George’s arm. “Please consider it, George. It is true we want what your brother took and intended to sell, but not for the reasons you think.”

  Again, she looked to Eric for permission to reveal why they were there. “You see, the three of us work for the American government. We came here to outbid the rest and to capture the terrorists’ representatives sent here to buy it. We’re on your side, George.”

  “I don’t believe you! It’s a trick!” He shook the remote as he pointed with it to Eric. “He…he’s Arab, not American. And you…” He stopped, frowning. She figured he must have just realized her Spanish accent had disappeared.

  “My name is Dawn Moon. I’m an agent with the National Security Agency,” she explained. “This is Eric Vinland and Clay Senate. They are also agents.”

  George looked confused, but at least he was concentrating on them and not the remote he was holding. “It doesn’t matter. If I destroy it, no one can have it.”

  Dawn sighed. “George, you don’t even know what it is.”

  “It’s important!” he insisted. “I know that much. It’s vital to the terrorists!”

  “Yes,” she agreed, keeping her voice as calm as possible. “We need to make sure this gets back in the right hands. And to verify that Stefan brought it here and that it’s not out there somewhere for someone else to discover. You never actually saw what he had, did you?”

  “No.” He slowly sank down to sit on the floor of the tunnel. With a gesture of resignation, he handed the remote to Dawn. “The code is 08-16-53. Stefan’s birthday.”

  She sighed with relief and exchanged a look with Eric. He smiled at her and said a quiet, “Thank you.”

  She sat down next to George, careful to keep him covered in case he decided to reenergize suddenly and do something they didn’t expect.

  Clay was busy with the tiny device he had removed from beneath his skin. “This damned thing’s definitely not receiving and probably not sending, either,” he muttered. “Something must be blocking the signals.”

  Eric looked at Dawn with regret. “Then I guess we’re on our own.”

  Surrounded by Arab terrorists, the most critical part of their mission unaccomplished, Dawn wondered what they would do now. She could practically see the wheels turning in Eric’s head as he assessed their predicament. That gave her hope. He was the one with all the experience. He would think of something. She watched him amble over to the mouth of the cave an
d step outside.

  Clay crouched down near her and crossed his arms over his knees, his weapon dangling from one hand. He closed his eyes.

  She hoped he was broadcasting mentally, trying his last-ditch method of contacting backup. Hadn’t Eric said that each of the Sextant team had particular talents in that vein?

  A few minutes passed in silence. Then Clay spoke. “I’m too tired to think. How about you?”

  “Running on adrenaline,” she admitted. “Trying not to crash.” Now was a good time to satisfy some of her curiosity. She might not get another chance. “Can you do what Eric says he can do? Do you mind read or whatever?”

  His full lips quirked down. “No. I’m supposed to have visions. Not that I can interpret them clearly until after the fact. Lot of good that does.”

  “Have you had any since we’ve been on the island?” she asked, only half believing him, but still wondering about the kind of men who thought they had these powers.

  He made a sound in his throat, half grunt, half laugh. “I dreamed a bevy of demonic birds descended. Sort of like the old Hitchcock movie. Prophetic and pretty damn useless now, wouldn’t you say?”

  “You trust Eric’s abilities, though, don’t you?” she asked, reaching for hope.

  Again that sound, this time more laugh than grunt. He opened his eyes and peered at her sideways. “The kid? That’s what the team calls him, you know. The kid. And no, I don’t think he can perform his parlor tricks any longer. Not since he met you.”

  “He said the same thing. So what’d I do?”

  Clay sighed and leaned his head back against the rock, stretching his neck. “I don’t know. Probably nothing. You just are who you are.”

  She reached out and touched his arm. “You mean I’ve screwed up his psychic abilities? That’s what you’re saying?”

  He nodded and looked her full in the face. “He couldn’t connect with you during the interrogation. Or since. I think maybe that’s wrecked his confidence or something.”

  Had she done that? “How?”

  “Again, I don’t know. But maybe you can fix it,” Clay suggested softly. “Try letting him in.”

  “In?” She almost croaked the word. She had let Eric in all right. Twice now. And that obviously hadn’t helped him a lot, at least not in the way Clay meant. It had helped her, though. Or maybe not, now that she thought about it. She had trusted the man with her body, but she certainly didn’t trust him with her heart. She hadn’t let him in there yet and didn’t dare.

  The low rumble of Clay’s chuckle broke her reverie. “Let him into your thoughts is what I meant, Moon. It might help.” He watched her for a few seconds, looking deeply into her eyes, then added, “Send him a message. Think something to him. Try it.”

  “What?” she asked in a near whisper.

  “Anything, doesn’t matter what. Maybe he just needs to know he can still do it.”

  “And then he might be able to contact our backup?” she asked hopefully.

  Clay shrugged, but his concern was evident. “It couldn’t hurt to try, could it? But you need to believe in what you’re doing when you do it.”

  Dawn wasn’t sure she could, not fully anyway, but was willing to grasp at any straw right now. Eric needed to get his team here one way or another, and they weren’t coming until he notified him that he was ready. If Clay thought she could help Eric do that, she would certainly try.

  She tried to think of something to project to Eric that wouldn’t involve anything personal or private. Revealing how she felt about him wouldn’t be a good idea. Maybe a simple command to come back inside the cave would do for a start.

  She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and repeated the phrase, Come to me, Eric. Over and over, she thought the words until they filled her mind completely.

  To her surprise, she heard his hurried footsteps and opened her eyes.

  “He came back in!” she crowed, shooting Clay a look of triumph.

  “Damn right I did,” he grumbled. “The beach out there is working alive with men. And they aren’t ours. My guess is Sudanese. Ali’s people. I figure we have less than five minutes before they climb up here and find this cave.”

  They all leapt to action except George. Clay grabbed him and half dragged him out of the cave. They hurried back into the tunnel that led to the house. There was nowhere else to go that didn’t lead down to the beach and certain death.

  “This way!” Eric ordered when they came to the passage that forked off the main corridor. “Where does this lead?” he asked George.

  “To the roof,” he answered when Clay jogged him with a firm shake.

  They rushed onward and periodically climbed steps hewn into the rock. Dawn had visions of being trapped up there on top of the villa, besieged like knights in a medieval castle with the enemy crawling up the walls.

  After an exhausting run, they reached a trapdoor that opened above them. Clay pushed his way next to Eric and they lifted it a few inches to look around.

  “It’s clear up here for now,” Eric said. “Let’s go.”

  They exited onto the flat rooftop that was, as she had hoped, deserted. A three-foot coping surrounded the edge like the battlements of a castle.

  Below, outside the villa, they could hear shouts and thudding bootfalls. Definitely surrounded, she thought, and not as well armed as they needed to be.

  “Only one door leading up here out of the house,” Eric observed, inclining his head toward the small structure that looked sort of like a freestanding closet atop the roof near the middle.

  He ordered George to lie down next to the balustrade and stay there. “Clay, you watch the doors. Dawn, check out the perimeter for access that way,” he ordered, pointing to his right. “I’ll go left.”

  They found no way that anyone could get to the roof unless they had brought grappling hooks or came through one of the two doors, the one main stairway from the house proper and the flat trapdoor from the tunnel.

  However, there was no other way down for them, either. They were effectively trapped up here. The critical information was in the safe downstairs in Quince’s office. That would have to be destroyed if it couldn’t be reclaimed. Dawn realized they might have to die here in order to ensure national security.

  Once they had reassembled, she felt she had to make a suggestion. “You have to try to summon the team again, Eric. Maybe from up here it’ll be a clear shot with no interference. Straight across the water, right? They’re out there waiting. Give it another shot.”

  His smile was wry. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that simply, sweetheart.”

  “It might,” she argued, trying to ignore his use of the endearment. He probably called women that all the time. “Have you just given up?” She noted Clay’s nod of encouragement and continued. “Give it a go, Eric. At least try. When I sent you a message to come back in the cave, you came. No hesitation. I think you were reading me then.”

  “She’s right. You could have been, subconsciously,” Clay added.

  For a few seconds Eric studied her, then released a sigh. “Try your transponder again, Clay, and I’ll do whatever I can, too. Maybe one of us will get through to Jack or Will. If we don’t see our guys approach before we’re overrun up here, we’ll have to blow the house. We can’t let anyone get off the island with what’s in that safe.”

  Dawn experienced a chill, hearing him affirm out loud that they could die here. She moved closer and took Eric’s hand. “You can still do it. I know you can.”

  He leaned down and kissed her, just a quick meeting of lips. Then he looked into her eyes. “Thanks, Dawn. For everything. You know how much I care, don’t you?”

  That near declaration sounded a lot like a goodbye. It made her realize she wanted more from Eric than she had admitted, even to herself. When he let go and started to turn away, she grabbed his sleeve. “Wait!”

  “What?”

  “Take out the contacts,” she whispered. “Please. I’d…I’d like to see your eyes
when you look at me for what might be the last…Do you mind?”

  He reached up and hastily removed and discarded the tiny bits of brown that had disguised the vivid blue of his irises. Then he grinned at her, that same ingratiating expression that turned her all soft inside. “You never cease to amaze me, Dawn, you know that?”

  Dawn couldn’t speak; she was too caught up in the moment. Silently she brushed the dark hair off his brow with her fingers and wished it were streaky blond again. She would give nearly anything just to see him once more exactly as he had been before becoming Jarad.

  “Now go over there, please,” he suggested, pointing across the roof. “Keep watch. When you’re this close, I can’t think, much less project, okay?”

  She let go of his hand and turned her back to him, not caring that Clay had witnessed what was between them or that he’d probably guessed how they’d crossed the line on the mission and become lovers.

  What difference would his knowing make if they were all blown sky-high? And if they weren’t, she would be glad to stand the consequences of fraternizing on the job.

  But Clay wasn’t watching. He was sitting down on the roof, his weapon resting across his legs as he used his knife to tap a message on the tiny disk.

  She glanced back at Eric, who now crouched against the balustrade that surrounded the flat rooftop and looked out across the Aegean Sea. Was he doing it? Could he actually send thoughts out there and have them picked up by Jack Mercier or one of the others on his team? Apparently, he’d done it before, if they could be believed.

  His broad shoulders and back were straight, his head tilted back a little.

  God, she was in love with that man. Against her better judgment and all the rules governing what they were doing, she had fallen for him like a ton of bricks. Dawn wished to heaven she could see his face.

  At that second, he turned and shot her a smile that made her breath catch. Had he read her thoughts at that moment?

  Embarrassed to be caught with what was probably a sappy look on her face, she jerked around and hurried to the far side of the roof. Now was no time to go soft.