Stay calm, stay calm… “It’s over, Victor. The police will be here any minute. They know what you’ve done.”
He regarded her for a moment. “And what exactly is it they know?”
“That you were the agent in charge when the Mouton paintings were recovered in that warehouse in Los Angeles. That you only reported seven of the paintings found, when in fact all ten were there. It was you who stole the other three.”
He shortened the distance between them with the same casual yet deadly approach a cat used on a bird.
“Federal agents are sworn to uphold the law of the country,” he said with a sneer. “How could I violate a trust as sacred as that?”
“Maybe for the twelve million dollars a private collector in Germany was going to pay you for them.” She had to keep talking, to buy some time. “Robert found out through the Art Loss Register that the three Mouton paintings weren’t listed as stolen, which meant that anyone could sell them quietly on the international market and no one would ever know.
“But Robert knew,” she went on, gauging the distance between her and the door. Even if she made it past Victor, Luther was waiting only a few feet away. “He’d had a special interest in the Mouton paintings, so he’d dug deeper, asked questions. And everything led him to you. You found out and killed him.”
“An interesting story.” Victor reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun. “What a shame for you no one will ever hear it.”
“I told you the police know.” She stared at the gun, watched in horror as he screwed a long metal nozzle onto the barrel.
Victor sighed. “You’re a terrible liar, Sarah. You wouldn’t have gone to the police until you had proof. And I want to thank you for gathering that proof up for me in such a neat package. Makes it so much easier to dispose of and sweep clean any tracks.”
“You’ll never get away with this,” she said, hating the quaver in her voice.
“Of course, I will. The cabdriver who brought you here was eager to cooperate with the FBI. I’ve already sent a man over to take care of Mr. Hunter at your motel.” He smiled and glanced over his shoulder at Luther. “And as for you. Well, a young woman, working alone, raped and murdered. Happens all the time.”
Caleb! God, no! Panic raced through her. He wouldn’t be expecting anyone. She had to warn him. But how? Victor was going to kill her right here, and then Luther would—
Her knees felt weak and her stomach turned at the thought. She looked at Victor’s face, it glowed like an eerie yellow mask. Glancing at the monitor beside her, she realized the only light in the room came from the lit screen. The computer plugged in under the desk, right by her feet.
It was a long shot, but the only shot she had.
Clutching the file to her in one hand, she sank to her knees. “Please don’t kill me,” she cried, holding Victor’s attention while she blindly reached under the desk for the outlet. “Please, I won’t tell anyone, I won’t. I’ll do whatever you say. Anything.”
She felt the cord and followed it. She continued to sob, then reached out in one swift move and jerked the cord out of the wall.
The room went dark.
Victor swore and she felt him move at her, but she lurched sideways and jumped up. She heard Luther yell as she ran through the doorway, then the crash as a chair overturned directly in front of her.
Still holding the file, she swerved to the right and felt her way down the aisle between two tall bookshelves.
“Find the light switch,” she heard Victor yell furiously. “Just don’t let her get away.”
It was happening all over again. Just like that first night. Her heart pounded in her temples. She wouldn’t let him win, wouldn’t let him hurt Caleb. Dear Lord, where was Caleb now? she wondered. What if she were already too late to help him? She forced the horrible thought from her mind, refused to accept that possibility. She had to stay calm, to think.
She had the advantage of knowing every inch of the library. There were ten long rows of bookshelves, with an aisle dividing them, then several tables and chairs by the exit doors. She’d have to make her way through the maze of bookshelves, then to the exit. But she knew Luther or Victor would be waiting there, with Frank somewhere outside. She’d never make it past all of them. The only other exit was in the opposite corner, and that one led to the history section, which would take her even farther away from help.
Needing her hands free, she shoved the file behind a row of books. Luther and Victor were yelling to each other, and she heard the sound of books falling on the aisle next to her. She hadn’t much time before Luther found the main light switch just inside the doors.
“Sarah,” Victor hissed her name, and she knew he was close. Too close. “You know you can’t get away. Don’t make this so difficult.”
Breath held, she felt her way to the end of the row, then picked up a light hardbound book and heaved it over the top of the bookshelf as far away from her as she could. It landed with a loud thud, and she heard footsteps running away from her. She removed her flats, tucked them under her arm and quickly moved through the rows of books, feeling her way until she reached the bookshelf closest to the history exit.
Victor and Luther were still yelling, searching for the light switch and for her. A few more feet, she told herself. If she made it through the doors, she could take the back stairs to the main level and call for help. The tile floor was smooth and cool on her bare feet.
She was almost there…
The light came on.
“Stop right there.”
She stood in the open with no place to hide. Victor aimed his gun at her from across the room, his expression furious.
“Go get her,” he snapped at Luther, who stood several feet away, his hand on the light switch by the entry doors.
An angry smile lifted one corner of Luther’s mouth. His hand dropped from the switch as he took a step toward her.
The doors behind Luther burst open. With blinding speed a man lunged at Luther, knocking him to the floor, then swung on Victor, kicking the gun from his hand.
“Caleb!” Sarah cried out in relief, then screamed as Luther rose and came at Caleb with his fist raised. Caleb whirled and with one swift jab between Luther’s eyes, sent the man crashing back to the floor, unconscious.
Victor stood facing Caleb, only now it was Caleb with a gun in his hand.
“Who the hell are you?” Victor asked, his eyes narrowed with rage.
Caleb smiled. “Just an insurance agent. Whole-life, term. Afraid you wouldn’t qualify, though. After the courts are done with you, your life expectancy is going to be very short. You okay, Sarah?”
She wanted to run to him, to throw herself in his arms, but her legs weren’t working properly, and all she could do was take a few shaky steps toward him. “Frank’s still around here somewhere.”
“Ah, yes. My buddy, Frank. I met up with him already, and we said hello.”
“It was Victor who stole the paintings,” Sarah said. “Robert found out and that’s why Victor killed him.”
“I know.” Caleb kicked Victor’s gun out of reach. “I did a little research of my own.”
“So did we.”
Sarah gasped at the sight of the tall, jean-clad man standing in the doorway. His hair was long and dark, his gaze intense as he moved into the room and took everything in. Two other men came in behind him and stood, waiting for instructions.
“Hey, Mike,” Caleb said easily, “a little late, aren’t you?”
“Looks like I timed it just right.” The agent looked at Victor. “This our man?”
Victor glared at him. “I’m an FBI agent. You’re interfering with a federal crime, and the penalty is—”
“Save it,” Caleb cut him off. “Get this guy out of my sight, will you, Mike? I’m about to do something I’m sure I won’t regret.”
Mike motioned to the agents standing behind him. They moved toward Victor, but Luther suddenly leapt at Caleb, knocking him off balance. The agent
s went for Luther, leaving Victor alone. He dove for his gun lying a few feet away, then rolled and pointed it at Caleb.
Caleb jerked backward as the gun went off. Another shot rang out, this time from Mike’s gun and Victor went limp.
Sarah screamed, watching helplessly as Caleb slumped to the floor.
The smell of antiseptic hung heavily in the hospital corridors, mingling with an occasional scent of roses that drifted from the nurses’ station. An orderly dressed in blue studied a chart as he walked down the dimly lit hall, and Sarah watched anxiously as he passed through the double doors that led to surgery.
She’d tried several times in the past four hours to get through those doors, to talk to someone, anyone, who might tell her how Caleb was doing. Each time a guard on the other side had stopped her. Politely but firmly she’d been told there was no news and to wait. The nurses had been equally polite, as well as noninformative, and she hadn’t seen Mike since he’d driven away in the ambulance with Caleb. One of the other agents had brought her here, then disappeared himself.
She was going crazy.
The nightmare repeated itself over and over in her mind. Victor aiming the gun…a sharp blast…Caleb falling…the sound of her own scream echoing over and over.
Victor was dead, and Caleb was lying on an operating table, fighting for his life.
It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. After all they’d come through, everything that had happened. She refused to accept that he wasn’t going to be all right. He had to be.
She couldn’t lose him. Not this way. She couldn’t stand it. She loved him too much to bear the thought of a world without him, even if his world didn’t include her.
She straightened as a doctor came through the doors, her heart beating wildly as he moved toward her. But he walked past her to a couple waiting at the far end of the hall. She slumped back in her seat, blinking several times in an attempt to clear away the burning moisture.
She heard the sound of hushed voices and the quiet ring of a nearby phone. A cup of cold coffee sat on the seat beside her. The sight of it made her stomach turn.
She couldn’t stand it anymore.
Swaying slightly, she stood and marched toward the double doors. When she pushed them open, the guard was there again, blocking her way. She met him, narrowing her eyes as she stared him down.
“You’re either going to have to shoot me or arrest me,” she said, her voice controlled and remarkably calm. “But I’m coming through and I’m not leaving until someone talks to me.”
He started to argue, but she brushed past him, shoving him off when he reached for her arm. She started down the inner corridor and walked into the first room. It was empty. She made her way to the next room, ignoring the guard on her heels. A janitor was mopping the floor.
She moved toward the third room just as the doors opened and Mike stepped out. She saw a team of doctors inside, their masks off, looking at a chart. They glanced up when they saw her.
“Miss Grayson—”
“I’m going in,” she said coldly.
He took hold of her arms. “Sarah—”
“Dammit—” She shook him off and swiped at the tears that suddenly spilled over. “You can’t stop me.”
“Sarah,” he said more gently, taking hold of her again. “I’m sorry.”
Cold terror welled up inside her. She stared at him, trying to form words that wouldn’t come.
Hesitating, he glanced over his shoulder to the room behind him, then looked back at her. His jaw was like granite, his mouth a hard, straight line.
“He’s gone, Sarah,” he said quietly. “And I am sorry.”
Everything went black.
Twelve
Wolf paced, his massive head raised high, his ears alert to the drone of a lawn mower next door and the laughter of children playing ball on the sidewalk outside. A breeze lifted the curtain from Sarah’s open living room window, bringing with it the scent of freshly mowed grass and frying bacon.
Life goes on, she thought dimly and stared blankly at the cup of tea in her hand. People still slept and ate and mowed their lawns. Children still played. But there was no color anymore, no clarity or coherence. Every second, every minute, was like sand sifting through her fingers.
It hardly seemed possible that three weeks had passed. Time no longer had relevance. The sun came up, it went down. It got dark, it got light. Either way, it made no difference at all. Even the luggage that she’d packed for her trip to Mexico still sat in the middle of her living room. She might unpack, she might not. It simply didn’t matter one way or the other.
She hadn’t even been allowed to go to the funeral. Security precautions, Mike had told her. He also told her that he would be in touch with her again, but he hadn’t. She’d called the number that Caleb had given her that day in the cave, but it was disconnected. She’d called six different federal agencies and no one had ever heard of a Mike Townsend. She’d seen a small article in the newspaper about the recovery of the three Mouton paintings, but there had been nothing about an FBI agent named Victor Howard, nothing about a shooting at the library.
It was as if none of it had ever happened. If it wasn’t for Wolf, she would think she’d dreamed the entire thing. She closed her eyes and let out a long shaky breath.
But it wasn’t a dream. It was real. Too damn real. And so was the pain that ripped her apart and left her open and raw.
But there was another reality. One that promised hope and gave her strength to go on.
She was pregnant.
Smiling softly, she slid her hand over her flat stomach. Her fingers tingled at the energy she felt radiate from within her. A baby. She was going to have Caleb’s baby.
Tears blurred her vision, a mixture of pain and happiness. Pain for the fact that he would never know, never see his son or daughter; happiness that she still had a part of him with her. A part of him that she would always love and cherish.
She wasn’t worried about being a single parent. She was fortunate that Granny had left a trust fund for her, so money wasn’t a problem. And after what she’d faced with Victor Howard, nothing would ever frighten her again. Caleb had taught her to be strong, to fight. She would teach that to their child, though something told her that with Caleb being the father, strength and bravery and honor would be inherent.
Setting her tea down, she rose and moved into the bedroom, dressing carefully for her doctor’s appointment. She wanted to look nice today, had even bought a new blue floral dress that she knew Caleb would have liked. He would be with her today in her heart, in her soul. He always would be.
She’d just finished combing her hair when she heard Wolf growl. At the sound of her doorbell, the animal started to bark furiously. Slipping on her shoes, she took hold of Wolf’s collar and opened the door.
There were two of them. Dressed in dark suits, dark sunglasses. She didn’t know their names, but she knew who they were. What they were.
Agents.
Her heart started to beat wildly. She took a long, slow breath, refusing to let herself be upset.
The shorter one with clipped blond hair showed her his badge and identified himself and his partner. Agent Walters and Agent Forster.
“Miss Grayson,” Agent Walters said. “We would appreciate it if you would come with us. There’s a matter pending that requires your attention.”
Hysteria bubbled up inside her. A matter pending? She’d lost the only man she would ever love, and they were concerned about a matter pending? She seriously considered letting go of Wolf’s collar, but years of etiquette won over her raging emotions.
“Agent Walters,” she said, her voice tight and cold. “Four weeks ago three agents showed up at my door, asked me to go somewhere with them and then tried to kill me. Give me one good reason I should go with you now.”
He shifted uncomfortably, then glanced over at the blue sedan parked in front of the house. She watched as the darkened back seat window slowly slid down.
I
t was Mike.
Tears burned the back of her throat. Mike was her only tie to Caleb. The only man who could tell her anything about her child’s father. The one man whom Caleb trusted.
She pulled Wolf back inside and grabbed her purse. “I’ll be back, boy.” She gave the animal a hug. “You take care of things here.”
She slid into the back seat with Mike and stared at him for a long hard moment. “You look amazingly real for a man who doesn’t exist.”
“What do you mean?” He signaled for Agent Walters to drive. Agent Forster walked toward another car parked in front of the house next door.
“I tried to call. No one’s ever heard of you.”
“We’ve had to do some reorganization. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you.”
“If you tell me you’re sorry one more time,” she said, her voice barely controlled, “I swear I’m going to hit you.”
He looked at her with surprise, then nodded. “Okay.”
“Where are we going?” she asked as the car moved onto the freeway.
“Someplace safe we can talk,” he said. “It’s not far from here.”
“I’ve heard that song before.”
“I understand how you feel, Sarah. You have every right not to trust me.”
“You have no idea how I feel,” she whispered, then blinked back the tears.
“You’re right,” he said quietly. “And I’d apologize, but I’d rather you didn’t hit me.”
She smiled weakly, but there was no more conversation. They drove for maybe thirty minutes then got off the freeway and headed into an industrial center in the middle of the San Fernando Valley. A small, private airport lay beyond the warehouse where Agent Walters parked the car.
A Cessna roared by overhead as Mike opened the car door for her.
“Inside here,” he yelled over the noise and pointed to the warehouse.
There were two four-passenger planes inside the building and a series of offices in the back. Mike took her arm and led her into the first office. Pictures of airplanes decorated the wood-paneled walls. Mike pointed to one of the two chairs across from a large wooden desk. “Why don’t you sit?”
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