TO HOLD AN EAGLE

by Justine Davis

  Chandra lifted her head to look at him. "And now?"

  He shrugged in turn. "It's gone."

  He knew what his words revealed, what power they gave her, but he couldn't deny her the truth. He knew she would never use that power, anyway. With a breathy little sigh, she lowered her head to rest her cheek against his upper chest. He could feel the tiny brush of her lashes against his skin, felt the warmth of her breath as it flowed over him, making the nipple scant inches from her mouth pucker.

  "What did you mean, before?" he asked hastily, aware that his body was rousing to her presence in his arms, to the silken feel of her skin, the rounded curve of her buttocks pressing against flesh that was eager to return to the wondrous home it had found in her. "You said you wouldn't get pregnant, you said you didn't dare. Why?"

  She made a tiny sound. "I couldn't dare let myself be tied to Daniel by a child, even though he wanted a son. At first I did, too, but I just didn't get pregnant. Then, when I started to see the way he really was, I knew I couldn't subject a child to that. And if it was a girl… I just couldn't. So I went to a doctor. Out of state, so he couldn't find out … and got an IUD."

  Linc drew back and stared at her. "He didn't know?"

  She shook her head. "I had my regular doctor check me first, before I got the IUD, and she reported that there was no reason I couldn't conceive. I knew Daniel would never pursue it, because it would imply the problem was with him. He would never allow that."

  "Damn, Channie," Linc said, shaking his head in wonder. "That was brilliant."

  "No," she denied. "I just didn't know what else to do." She sighed. "I'm surprised he didn't divorce me then. But he just started saying he had decided not to have children yet."

  "Divorce you? And give you a shot at his money? Or risk you finding out maybe there wasn't as much money as there was supposed to be? No way." He hugged her again. "How can you still think he's invincible, Channie? You've gotten around him at every turn. You were clever enough to find out he was trying to kill you. You took the only way out and got away. You've given us enough to take him down. My God, you even fooled the man about his own fertility. What more do you want from yourself?"

  Chandra stared at him. "I never thought about it that way."

  "I know. And it's past time that you did. Long past. He's not invulnerable, Channie."

  She sat up straight in his lap. "But he's dangerous, Linc. So very dangerous. You can't do this tonight. Please, listen—"

  She stopped suddenly. She stared at him for a moment. Then her gaze slid down their naked bodies, flicked to the table where they had taken each other so fiercely, so joyously, and came back to his face.

  "No," she whispered, and sagged down against his chest once more.

  It was all she said, but that short, small word sent a dart of gladness through Linc. He knew, perhaps even more clearly than she did, what that refusal meant, what it was. She was refusing to use the new closeness between them as a weapon, refusing to bargain with it. She was, as he had known she would, refusing to use the feelings he had admitted to her against him, to try and coerce him out of meeting with Lansing tonight.

  He'd been right all along, he thought in quiet satisfaction. There were depths of strength in this woman she had never plumbed, never even realized were there. But she would, he promised. She would learn, he would help her learn, just how strong she really was. And never again would anyone own her.

  "All I need is enough to make the right people sit up and take notice," Linc said, ordering his body to ignore the fact that Chandra was rubbing those long, slender fingers over his chest. "Enough to make them grab Lansing before he can run for it, and start their own investigation."

  "It won't be easy," Chandra said as she smoothed down the edges of the medical adhesive tape that held the small microphone against the broad wall of his chest. "Daniel's very good at keeping secrets. And he won't trust you."

  "That's what I'm counting on," Linc said as he adjusted the remote microphone, then reached for the clean shirt he'd gotten out; Chandra, much to his distraction, was wearing the one he'd had on before. And nothing else. "I've already put myself on his level. Greedy, dishonest, and not above blackmail. If he's convinced he's dealing with somebody as crooked as he is, it might just loosen his tongue a bit. After all, I could hardly admit that I hadn't gone to the police because I wanted to try to extort some money out of him first."

  He finished buttoning the shirt, making certain the microphone was well hidden, then moved his hands to his waist. He stopped midmotion, realizing that he was about to unzip the jeans he'd pulled on and tuck in his shirt, as if he'd been alone, not standing in front of a woman he'd known for mere days.

  When he saw her blush, he couldn't help grinning; he liked it, that with him she blushed about the kind of things a woman should blush about. He went ahead and unzipped his jeans.

  "Nothing you haven't seen, but it still feels strange, doesn't it?" he said, wondering a little at himself as well; he'd never been overly modest. But then, his body had never been so out of his control before, either. Just the thought of her looking at him had started the blood pooling once more, low and deep inside him.

  "New," Chandra whispered, and the husky, wondering undertone told him all the things she didn't say. Wonderful, special, frightening yet exultant, all the emotions were there in that simple word.

  His throat tight, he tucked in the shirt, zipped the jeans, and buckled his belt, all the time aware she was watching him. He selected a few of the papers from the WestCorp file, folded them, and put them in his back pocket. Then he picked up his .45 and shoved it in his waistband at the small of his back, and pulled on the blue jacket from his foul weather gear to hide it. The moment he had reached for the gun, she had looked sharply away, biting her lip.

  "You're sure this will work?" she said after a moment, doubtfully eying the compact package that had been delivered along with the file from WestCorp. It consisted of a pocket-size receiver and a slightly larger tape recorder, both together hardly bigger than a couple of video tape cassettes.

  "Sure. It's state-of-the-art, thanks to Con and WestCorp. Weighs less than a pound, but it's got a range of more than fifteen hundred feet."

  He walked to a small cubby near the bow berth and dug out a pair of worn running shoes; loose deck shoes would not be wise if he had to move fast. Chandra watched him, and he saw her eyes widen slightly at the sight of the shoes; he'd never worn anything but the deck shoes around her. But if she realized the reason for the change, she didn't say anything.

  "The receiver has a direct interface with the recorder," he said as he came back, "and it's voice activated, so I can just turn it on when I get there, without worrying about running out of tape."

  "We."

  She sounded oddly firm, and Linc stopped in the process of putting on his shoes. "What?"

  "When we get there."

  He straightened up, one shoe on, the other dangling from his fingers. "We?" he said softly.

  "We," she returned, that adamant note still there.

  "Channie—"

  "I'm going, Linc. I'll do whatever you say, wait in the car, out of sight, I won't talk or even move, but I'm going."

  "There's no reason—"

  "There's every reason. That man tried to kill me. He didn't even have the nerve to do it himself. He hired two video game playing henchmen to do it for him, like I was a … a dog he didn't want anymore, or a bug he wanted to swat. I want—I need to be there."

  You can't prop her up forever. Shiloh's words came back to him in a rush. Even if she really does have some strength at the core, it doesn't matter if she doesn't know it, if she doesn't believe it. You've got to let her find out for herself.

  His perceptive little sister was right, Linc thought. If Chandra wanted, for the first time, to confront what Daniel Lansing had done to her, he couldn't deny her the right. He hated the thought of her in danger again, but if he clipped her wings now, when her self-confidence was suc
h a fledgling, untried thing, he would cripple her for life. She was right, she needed to do this. And it wouldn't hurt him to have someone along, just in case…

  "All right, Channie," he said softly. She looked surprised, as if she'd expected more of an argument. "You've earned the right to be there," he explained, "by surviving him, if nothing else. But," he added warningly, "you do what I tell you, when I tell you, mermaid, no argument."

  Color flooded her face, but she nodded quickly. And Linc knew instinctively she was remembering that moment, at the height of their passion, as his body convulsed within hers, when the nickname born of their first, sea-drenched meeting had burst from his lips.

  He was silent as they closed up the boat and headed for the fast, flashy coupé he'd rented just an hour ago. He'd driven it back to the marina while Chandra had brought the Blazer, giving him a chance to familiarize himself with the controls. He didn't want to use the Blazer, not when it could leave some kind of a trail that might lead back to Shy. The speed of the coupé might come in handy, and he'd thought the flash fit the image he was trying to build.

  Not that it mattered now, he thought. He'd have to make certain Lansing never saw it. Or Chandra waiting in it. But just in case, they had cut up an old shirt of his into a makeshift scarf, and she'd tied it Gypsy style around her head, covering the beacon of her pale hair. Shy's jacket hid her shape and size, and as long as she stayed crouched down in the car, she would be barely noticeable in the dark.

  Now he almost wished he'd agreed to Con coming along; at least there would have been two of them to keep her safe. But Shy—although she'd deny it to the death—needed Con with her now, not out on some white hat crusade. And Con had done enough already; he'd gotten that file together in a rush, and this surveillance setup was worth a few thousand dollars. He would just, Linc said with silent determination, make sure himself she didn't get hurt. Whatever it took.

  As he pulled out onto the coastal highway, turning north toward Los Angeles, he wondered with an odd sense of discovery when his priorities had so changed. When had Chandra's safety, and not bringing Daniel Lansing to justice become his preeminent task?

  On the surface, he supposed, it would seem that it had changed in those fevered moments atop the main cabin's table, when he had discovered that his body was capable, with her, of pure, soaring flight. But he knew it wasn't just that, that what he felt for her was much more complicated.

  The words he'd thought before drifted back to him. A bird with a wing down. It was true, he hadn't been able to walk away. But this time his mind went on with the analogy: what happened when the wing was fixed? In the literal sense, you let the bird go, and took what joy you could from seeing it fly away, free and healthy once more.

  And Chandra? If he succeeded, and she found her wings?

  He suppressed a shiver. The thought of her just flying away, on the wings he'd taught her to use, made him ache with an emptiness that made what he'd felt before seem miniscule. She'd leave a battleship-size hole in him, in his heart, and he didn't know if there would be enough left to put back together and go on.

  He couldn't think about that now. He didn't dare; he had to concentrate on the task ahead. On Daniel Lansing. It was well over an hour's drive; he'd better use the time. He began to question Chandra again, taking her over and over every aspect of Al Geary again, pulling out every possible thing that might give him an edge. Then he started on her husband, asking about everything he could think of, every nuance of behavior that might give him a clue. He would have to play this by ear, judging from the man's reaction what tack to take, and the more he knew, the better chance he had.

  He picked her brain, making her go over detail after detail, every tune she could remember seeing Lansing meet with anyone, speak to anyone on the phone, until he had an even clearer picture of the domineering, arrogant man who planned to fool the world. He hated putting her through it, but he took heart at the fact that with each recitation, the note of anger in her voice grew.

  When they reached the exclusive Palos Verdes Peninsula, a large hill of a promontory that jutted out into the Pacific west of L.A., Linc sensed Chandra begin to tense up. She gave him directions through the late night dark streets in short, clipped tones, and he saw that her hands were clasped tightly together, caught between her knees as if it were the only way she could keep them from flailing out wildly. He saw her look around at the large, expensive homes, at the neighborhood that had once been hers, and try to suppress a shudder. This might look like paradise to some, Linc thought, but for her it had been hell.

  When at last she said, in a tight little voice that was barely audible, that the house was on the next street, Linc pulled over to the curb. Startled, she turned to look at him. But before she could say anything, he reached for her and pulled her to him, heedless of the awkwardness of the position. He kissed her, urgently, thoroughly, taking her mouth without waiting for her acquiescence, while he offered his own without restraint. It was a consuming kiss, a kiss of promise, and when he released her, she sat back in the bucket seat, looking more than a little dazed.

  "Think about that, not him," Linc ordered, his own breath coming in short bursts in the aftermath; in his effort to distract her, he'd almost short-circuited himself. Then he pulled the car back onto the street.

  She'd drawn him a map of the street, and how the houses were situated, so he knew exactly where he wanted to park. Facing outward, toward the best escape route, across the street and out of the direct line of sight from the front of Lansing's house. Her description had been precisely accurate, and within moments he slid the coupé into the spot he wanted. He could see the big house, but had to lean far forward to do it. And consequently, Lansing would have to be outside and looking to see the car.

  He glanced at his watch. He'd planned to be a bit late, to let Lansing fret a bit, and it was just after midnight now. It would be a few more minutes before he made contact; he wanted to survey the surroundings and work out a couple of escape routes.

  He sensed rather than saw a movement beside him, and looked in time to see Chandra shiver as she stared at the palatial house that had been her prison. It was time, he thought, for this to be over.

  "All right," he said briskly. "Let's get this boat in the water."

  Knowing she had no watch, he reached out and made an adjustment on the clock on the dash, until the time exactly matched the time on his own heavy watch. With a reflex action, he closed the heavy nylon flap that fastened over the dial. He wasn't really worried about any reflection from the face of the watch giving him away, but it was a habit on every mission, part of a routine of preparation, and he did it without thought.

  "It's eight minutes after midnight. I'm going to keep him waiting a bit longer while I look around, get a feel for the place. I'll head for the door at 12:15."

  Chandra sucked in a breath, started to speak, then stopped. She looked away, then nodded. He reached between the seats where he'd wedged the receiver and recorder, then stopped.

  "Channie?"

  Slowly, she looked up.

  "You'll be able to listen. If anything goes wrong—anything—or if I tell you through the microphone, you get out of here. You get yourself, and this tape, straight to Con. Understand?"

  She stared at him. "Linc—"

  "No arguments, Channie. If you hear anything that doesn't sound right, or if I tell you to beat it, you run like hell. No questions, no hesitation. I told Con it was going down tonight. He'll be waiting."

  Her eyes went wide with fear. A different kind of fear than he'd seen in her before. Fear for him, he realized suddenly. It warmed him, even as he tried to assuage it. He tried for a reassuring tone; he'd meant to convince her he meant what he said about her fleeing if anything went wrong, not to terrify her.

  "I don't think anything's going to go wrong," he said. "Lansing's the one who's on the edge, and from what you've said, I'd bet his first and only concern will be for himself. So just sit tight. I'll be back before you know it.
"

  He slid out of the driver's seat, pushing the door closed enough so that the interior light went off, but not so far that the sound of the catch would echo through the midnight air. He'd also left the car running, and Chandra's heart took a little tumble as she realized he was leaving things prepared for an escape if necessary. And she thought she knew now why he'd let her come; he'd wanted someone to get the evidence out if anything happened to him.

  She suppressed a shudder as she watched him cross the street, aware through an odd numbness of the strength and grace of his stride, the movement of a man completely in control of a powerful body.

  Except when he'd made love to her. He hadn't been in control then. He'd been wild, almost desperate, yet at the same time gentle with her, careful, like a starving tiger who, despite his raging hunger, kept his claws sheathed. She'd felt cherished in a way she'd never known before, a way she'd never dreamed possible.

  And he was going to confront her husband, the man who had tried to kill her, the man who had killed Al Cleary for no clearer reason than to shut him up. Linc was going into a midnight meeting with a murderer, so that she didn't have to. And she was letting him. She was letting the man she loved risk his life for her.

  The man she loved. Chandra acknowledged the words in her mind with the calm acceptance of a person who has turned a corner to see what she'd always known was there. She loved him. She loved Lincoln Reese, and she had known it on some subconscious level for a long time. It was too soon, too fast, the circumstances too impossible, but it was true, nevertheless. She loved him.

  And she was sitting here waiting to see if the man who had tried to kill her would kill him.

  Nausea roiled up inside her. Linc would not have to be doing this at all, if she were the kind of woman who could stand up to her husband, if she had the strength to tell the world the truth about what kind of man Daniel Lansing was. But she wasn't that kind of woman. She trembled at the very thought of such a battle. So instead, the man she loved was fighting it for her. He who had fought so many other battles, he who had shown her for the first time that her silly dreams of how the world should be could be real, he who had taught her with such care and passion what the act of love could be like when you truly cared about someone, was walking into this awful danger because of her, because she lacked the courage to do it herself.