“But I would have understood,” Blair interjected softly.
“Would you have?” Her father shook his head with a dry smile. “Blair, if you would have had the slightest inkling of danger, you would have thought that I, as your father, was conning just to save you. And I know you. You would have wanted to stick by your friends.” He waved a hand in the air before she could utter a protest. “But then there would have been the fact that your friends were in no danger. With you out of the picture, they were left in peace. The guerrillas had no point in attacking without their prize for ransom. And that’s one of the main reasons your removal from the picture by us had to look real. The guerrillas had to believe that another terrorist group had beaten them to the punch.”
“Okay, Dad,” Blair said with a sigh, “I understand now why all this information was classified. I understand that your man might have been killed if his tips had leaked. I understand that my disappearance by pseudo-abduction was necessary to prevent catastrophe before it could happen. I understand why you sent … Taylor”—she spat out his name—“to watch me and then get me out when you knew it was definitely crucial. But why all that time on the boat? Why couldn’t he just explain it all to me once we were out.”
“Taylor couldn’t have told you anything because he didn’t know anything,” Huntington said slowly. “And he was under my direct orders not to breathe a word to you about our government being involved.”
“But why?” Blair demanded.
“Several reasons,” Huntington said, rubbing his temple with one hand as he weighed his answer. “Blair, I really wasn’t running this show. My orders came from higher up; no matter what I was thinking or feeling, I had to handle things as I would have with anyone else involved. I couldn’t act as your father. You couldn’t be told anything because”—his voice trembled slightly—“because you weren’t really out of danger until the afternoon we picked you up. That’s why you were on La Princesa. She looks like a dump, but she is, of course, one of our military vessels. We couldn’t send in a plane or a chopper; we couldn’t do anything obvious. You had to get out slow and safe. We knew the first point of clear harbor would be Belize.”
Blair was shaking her head with a rueful smile. “Dad, the time involved is not the point I’m trying to get across. I knew we were following the coast when we left the river behind, although I didn’t really know exactly where I was. What I’m getting at is why keep me in the dark once I was out of the compound? Why didn’t Taylor just tell me he worked for you, and that all he was doing was trying to get me to you?”
Huntington was silent for so long that Blair almost prodded him. But she didn’t. She suddenly realized that his face was contorted with pain, that he trembled as with palsy. “Dad,” she said nervously, “are you all right?”
He nodded and put up a hand when she would have come to him. A second later he spoke, his voice rasping. “I told you, Blair. I could make no allowances for the fact that you were my daughter. My orders were classified. If something had gone wrong, if the guerrillas had gotten hold of you, we couldn’t take the chance that you would tell them anything.”
“But I wouldn’t have told them anything—” Blair began, stopping as she saw her father wince and feeling a chill crawl down her back with a grasp of understanding even before he spoke.
“Blair, the expression is often used as a joke, but it isn’t a joke at all. They have ways to make you talk. If you had been taken, they would have eventually found out everything you knew. As it stood, all you could have said was that you had already been kidnapped. And in the event that you were captured, there was still more at stake. The welfare of the Hunger Crew, our agent, any number of random, innocent villagers.”
It was funny, Blair thought. There had been times when Craig first took her that she had been frightened. But now, with it all over, she felt a cold rising of gut-chilling panic. What might have happened to her under the wing of a true fanatical terrorist suddenly became visible to her mind.
“What about Taylor?” she rasped. “If I were taken, he would have been too.”
“Taylor would have never been made to break,” her father explained softly.
“Oh, come on, Dad! Granted, you sent me the next best thing to James Bond, but even I know they have truth serums—”
“Taylor would have never given them information,” Huntington repeated with soft but firm assurance, refusing to meet his daughter’s eyes.
Blair clamped her lips together. She didn’t need a further explanation. She understood. Within Craig’s ranks certain things were merely accepted. If other lives were at stake, you forfeited your own.
She swallowed the remainder of her martini in one gulp, then walked to the attractive portable bar that stood beside the gray suede sofa and poured herself a second drink, forgetting all about her customary olive. But alcohol couldn’t numb the as yet unaccepted, gut-wrenching agony she was feeling.
“We had to keep everything classified until the guerrilla terrorists could be rounded up, which occurred the day before I came for you. We had arranged to meet at a certain secluded harbor in Belize, but once I was given the all clear, well, I couldn’t wait to see you.” Huntington began pacing the length of the picture window again as Blair silently absorbed his words. “Our man with the guerrillas,” he told her, “led them right into Central American forces when they attempted a sabotage. With the main wing broken, it will only be a matter of time before any scattered dissidents give up.”
Blair was still silent, and her father finally quit his pacing to sit beside her on the sofa. He took her hand until she looked into his eyes.
“Blair, I never wanted you to be harmed in any way by my work. I’m sorry, so sorry.”
“Oh, Dad,” Blair murmured, drawn from her brooding by the sorrow and tension in his worn features. Half-spilling what remained of her drink, she cast her arms around his neck and hugged him to her. “It’s okay, Dad, it’s over.” She felt herself stiffen suddenly. “They were after you, Dad, weren’t they? You were the main target. I was just a means to an end.”
Blair could feel her father’s shrug beneath her arms. “It is all over, Blair,” he replied vaguely. Then he pulled away from her and smiled. “You know, honey, if it had been completely my decision, I would have had Taylor keep you in the dark anyway. You would have figured that out and tried to get me. If you knew he would have never really harmed you, you would have driven him absolutely nuts with escape attempts!”
“Dad! You could have trusted me!” Blair protested.
Huntington shrugged again. “It really doesn’t matter. I don’t make up classified listings.”
“And you wouldn’t break them, even for me, would you?” Blair asked softly.
It took Huntington a long time to answer, but when he did, his eyes didn’t waver from hers. “No, Blair.” He released a sigh, and Blair saw how very tired he was and how much fright and tension he had lived with for her. “I am a servant of the country,” he said with quiet, unassuming dignity, “and though I’ll admit ethics are sometimes confused, I don’t confuse mine. You’re my only child, Blair, and I’d happily die for you. Don’t look at me like that, almost any parent would say the same and I’m still hoping that one day you’ll know that for a fact, but I do not break government seals.”
Blair touched his cheek gently with love and pride. “I understand, Dad, and I love you for all that you are.”
“Everything that was had to be,” he responded gruffly, “but I did bulldoze my way into calling the majority of the shots. I demanded Taylor. I’ve watched him for years, and I know he’s the best.”
Blair lowered her eyes and moved away from her father, taking his place pacing before the picture window. “Taylor,” she mused dryly. “Yes, Taylor. Well, whatever the circumstance, you would have never needed to worry about me managing to get away from that man. I don’t think a Sherman tank could escape him.”
“Blair,” Huntington queried, sounding a little strangled.
“Were you ever hurt?”
Yes, Dad, Blair thought fleetingly, you’ll never know how I was hurt. “No,” she said aloud, adding with a reassuring grimace, “not really.” The thought of the blow to her jaw that had sent her to blackness couldn’t be felt as the hint of a memory in the morning. “But I was frightened silly at times. Oh, Dad,” she muttered impatiently, “what are we doing in Central America anyway? Never mind!” She held up a hand before he could speak. “I don’t want to hear ‘classified!’”
Huntington grimaced as he looked into his daughter’s eyes. She was trying to be light for his sake, but there was still anger deep within the emerald green, a frustrated anger. She was handling things as he had known she eventually would—with a dry acceptance. She had grasped all the complications of the situation, and he had also known, she had easily understood his position and how others had been concerned.
And it was over. She was home safe.
He kissed her cheek. “I’m not going to say ‘classified.’ Your question is a debate in itself. I can answer only that I’ve been with the State Department for almost forty years. I’ve seen mistakes; I’ve disagreed with policy many times. But in my job I serve the officials that have been elected by the majority of the people. Those are the rules of the game.” He stopped, grimacing sheepishly. “Am I forgiven?”
Blair kissed her father’s cheek. “There is nothing to forgive, Dad. I’m grateful that I’m alive, well, and here with you.” An unwelcome stab of pain made her wince inadvertently. She was grateful; she was glad to be with this parent she so adored and admired. But she was also lonely. Although it had been less than two months since she had first set eyes on Craig, he had come to be the center of her life, whether in love, passion, hate, or anger. She could no longer go to bed and know that he would crawl in beside her later.
And even when she had decreed that he not touch her, he had been there. She had slept ridiculously soundly. She had crept into his arms, to strength, to security, by morning.
The man made a fool of you, she reminded herself.
As if reading his daughter’s mind, Huntington said softly, “You need to forgive Taylor, too, Blair. He wanted no part of this, you know. He was furious when we sent him out. He felt like he was going on baby-sitting duty.”
Great, Blair thought dryly. Taylor had wanted no part of her … well, he had certainly exacted his revenge. The humiliation of falling for his ridiculous lines was galling, the more so with hindsight. Oh, God, what an idiot I was! A real idiot, because even now she still wanted him, still loved him.
No, she told herself firmly. It was good that she had been nothing more than a “princess” to take down a peg to him. She was relieved that she needn’t worry that he might really love her. Because she couldn’t take it again. She could no longer handle the thought that those she loved were in danger. She was going to have to forget Craig because as it was she would spend her days worrying.
Blair suddenly realized that her father was watching her with both concern and amusement. Loathe to have him perform any more mind reading, she indignantly snapped, “What kind of diplomat is that man anyway? What happened to the staid, cordial types?”
Huntington listened to his daughter’s questions, sure there was more to them than met the eye. She was a responsible woman; she wouldn’t resent a man for having done his duty. He hesitated, answering slowly because of his perception, and also because there was no real explanation or title for Craig Taylor’s expertise. “Taylor is … well, he is a diplomat. He specializes in touchy situations.”
“Danger, you mean.”
Huntington shrugged. “He’s a good man,” he said softly.
Oh, he’s good all right, Blair reflected dryly. “Yeah,” she murmured aloud, dismayed at the pain given away with the tone of her single word. She forced a smile and held her empty glass up to her father. “Pour me another, will you, Dad? I think I deserve to get a little tipsy.”
Tipsy, hah! She wanted to knock herself out. She wanted to forget, if for only the release of a few hours, all that happened. She wanted to make herself stop thinking about Craig. She wanted to ease the agony of wanting him.
“Sure, sweetheart,” Huntington agreed, hopping to his feet and refilling both glasses. He remembered her olive. He handed back her glass and reached into an onyx cigarette box, taking one for himself while offering one to Blair.
“No, thanks, Dad,” she said, adding wryly. “Haven’t you noticed? I quit.”
Huntington’s brows rose. Although she hadn’t smoked much, all her attempts to give up the habit in the past had been futile. “Oh? How did you manage that?”
Blair shrugged, then ordered her lips to curl into a small smile. “Oh, I just took it into my head, I guess.” A wide yawn suddenly escaped her and she glanced at her father apologetically. “I think I’ll take this up with me for a long hot bath,” she murmured, inclining her head toward her drink. “Then bed. Changing time zones has gotten me off kilter!” Impulsively she hugged her father again, smiling her assurance of love and understanding as she released him.
“’Night,” she murmured, striding for the stairs and the upper level and the bedroom her father had always insisted upon keeping ready for her at any time. She paused halfway as he called a soft “Blair!”
“Yes, Dad?”
“Please don’t be angry with Taylor. He is a good man.”
She offered him the ghost of a smile. “I doubt whether he would really care if I was angry or not. We’ll probably never meet again, but you’re right, Dad, he is a good man. Tremendous. You should use him for all your abductions. His title should be changed to Taylor the Hun.”
Huntington sternly held back a chuckle. “A tyrant, huh?” he queried, not expecting or wanting an answer. “Forgive him anyway. Like I told you, he really wanted no part of this.”
No, of course not, Blair thought sourly. Poor Taylor, rugged man of action deprived of the danger he thrived upon to babysit a do-gooding rich man’s widow. No, spoiled little princess. Get his terms correct here, she mocked herself. She had fallen into his hands so easily! What entertainment she must have provided—his due with ironic vengeance for being stuck with the job!
God, he had waltzed her down a primrose path, and she hadn’t balked a single step!
And the pity of it was that now, even now, if he walked into the room with his lies of love on his lips, she would trip down the steps to be in his arms. No. She wanted no part of that deceitful adventure seeker.
But did she want to sleep! To still her rampant thoughts, to stop her heart from tearing to shreds, split between anger and fear, and then relief and then the need that overrode it all—love.
Huntington watched his daughter, knowing something was wrong. Then he lowered his eyelids to hide a discovery he had found in her delicate features. Something was wrong, but it was a good wrong, a right wrong if such a thing existed. She was feeling, really feeling something for a man for the first time since her husband’s death. She would never react so otherwise. Her father had seen her often enough before this escapade—always polite to dates and escorts but always distant. Never really touched.
“Blair?”
“Sorry, Dad, my mind was wandering. What?”
“Please, don’t be bitter.”
“I’m not, Dad.”
“I mean against Taylor. I think he was finally given an assignment he couldn’t quite handle.”
“What difference does it make?” Blair asked, trying to tone down her impatience. “He’ll be flying off somewhere else soon, I imagine.”
“He also spends a lot of time in Washington,”
“I won’t be here that long.”
“What do you mean?” Huntington queried sharply, wincing as he did so. She wasn’t his little girl any longer, hadn’t been for some time.
“Dad,” she said firmly in return, smiling a little at the autocratic tone he had used. She knew it well. A parent never liked to believe a child had really grown up. “I st
ill owe the Hunger Crew three months. I’m going to finish my time.”
Huntington frowned. “Blair, we still haven’t totally cleared this situation. It will be weeks before—”
“Whoa,” Blair laughed. “I’m not heading back tomorrow.” A ghost of mischief lit into her eyes. “I guess I owe you three months too. How’s that for a deal?”
Huntington grinned ruefully. “I guess it’s fair.” She had changed, he thought with a hint of sadness. Somewhere along the line, in the jungle or in the boat, something had changed her. She had always been mature, but now the haunted self-doubt she had carried after Ray Teile’s death was totally erased.
“There’s a shindig for George Merrill this week—you know him, my old crony from S.S. A birthday party. Your old man needs a date. Will you humor the poor guy and come along with him?”
“Humor him?” Blair chuckled affectionately. “Of course I’ll come with you. I’ll have the most dashing escort at the ball.”
Huntington smiled serenely at his daughter. He was manipulating her life again, but what the hell, he was her father and he wasn’t getting any younger. If he didn’t push things along a bit, he might never live to be a grandfather.
The years had made him a profound reader of human nature, and at this particular time, he was sure he was reading between the lines correctly.
Blair continued up the stairs, oblivious to the deviousness of her father’s smile. She halted one more time. “Dad! What about the crew? They must be worried sick by now. Do you have any buttons I could push to get a quick message through? I—”
“They aren’t worried.” her father interrupted. “They know almost everything you do by now.”
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