Countdown (16 page)

“How do you know? You haven’t seen me in four years.” But she forced herself to turn her head and look at him. Oh, God, she wished she hadn’t. Now how was she going to look away?

“Tough, isn’t it? Me too.” He stared down at her hand resting on the boulder. “Christ, I want to touch you.”

He wasn’t touching her but he might as well have been. Her palm pressing against the rock was tingling and she felt again that queer breathlessness.

His gaze stayed on her hand. “You touched me once. You put your hand on my chest and I had to stand there and keep myself from reaching out for you. It nearly killed me.”

“It should have. You were being stupid.”

“You were seventeen.”

“I was old enough to know what I wanted.” She added quickly, “Not that you were so special. You were just the first man that I’d felt that way about. I was a little backward where sex was concerned.”

“You didn’t act backward. I thought you were going to slug me.”

“You called me a schoolgirl.”

“I was trying to make you angry enough to protect myself.”

She was still angry, hurt—and filled with bitter regret. “Poor Trevor.”

“I hurt you.”

“Nonsense. I don’t let people hurt me. Did you think you’d scarred me for other relationships? No way.”

He shook his head. “You warned me you’d search until you found someone better than me. You kept your word.” He looked out at the sea. “Clark Peters, nice boy, but he got possessive after two months. Tad Kipp, very smart and ambitious but he didn’t like your dog, Toby, when you brought him home to Eve and Joe. Jack Ledborne, archaeology professor who supervised the second dig you went on. He didn’t tell you he was married and you cut him dead when you found out. Peter Brack, a K-9 cop in Quinn’s precinct. A match made in heaven. A dog lover and a cop. But he must have done something wrong, because you—”

“What the devil?” She couldn’t believe it. “Have you been having me watched?”

“Only when I couldn’t do it myself.” His gaze shifted back to her. “And most of the time I could. Do you want me to go on with your little black book? Or do you want me to tell you how proud I was when you won the Mondale International Art Award? I tried to get them to sell that painting to me, but they keep them for five years to put on tour to display around the country.” He smiled. “Of course, I considered stealing it, but I didn’t think you’d approve. But I did steal something else that belonged to you.”

“What?”

“A sketchbook. Two years ago you left it on a bench at the Metropolitan Museum when you went off with your friends to the cafeteria. I flipped through it and I couldn’t resist. I was always going to return it to you but I never did.”

“I remember that happening. I was mad as hell.”

“It didn’t seem to be anything that you’d develop into a painting. It seemed more . . . personal.”

Personal. She tried to remember if she’d had any sketches of Trevor in that sketchbook. Probably. “Why?” she whispered. “Why did you do all this?”

“You told me when you left Naples that it wasn’t finished. I found it wasn’t finished for me either.” His lips twisted. “Jesus, sometimes I prayed for it to be finished. You’re tough, Jane.”

“Then why didn’t you—”

“You told me I had no place in your life for the next four years. I was giving you your chance to find out if that was true.”

“And if I had?”

“The truth? I’m no martyr. I’d have stepped in and ruined the tidy little life you’d structured for yourself.”

“What are you saying? What’s the bottom line?”

“The bottom line?” His hand moved to within an inch of hers on the boulder. She could feel its warmth. “I want to go to bed with you so bad it’s a constant ache. I respect you. I admire you. You accused me once of being obsessed with Cira, but it’s nothing to what I feel for you. I don’t like it. I don’t know if it will go on. Sometimes I hope it doesn’t. Is that bottom line enough for you?”

“Yes.” Her throat was tight and she had to clear it. “If it’s true.”

“There’s a way to test at least the most obvious portion of it.”

He moved his hand that last inch. He touched her.

She shuddered, but not with cold. Heat.

Too much. Too intense.

She jerked her hand away. “No.”

“You want it.”

She couldn’t lie about that. She felt as if she were sending out signals like an animal in heat. “It’s too fast.”

“The hell it is.”

“And sex is—it’s not everything. I don’t even know if I trust you.”

“And you’re still wary as hell.”

“I have reason.”

“Do you? Your friend died. Do you think I’m to blame?”

“I don’t know.”

“You know. I want everything clear between us. That’s why I brought you here. Think. Make a decision.”

“Mike might have lived if you hadn’t gone after the gold and become involved with this Grozak.”

“So are you blaming me for the domino effect?”

“No, I guess not,” she said wearily. “Or maybe I am. I’m not sure anymore. I don’t know what the hell is happening.”

“I’d have saved him if I could. I wish I could turn back the clock.”

“But you’d still go after the gold, wouldn’t you?”

He was silent a moment. “Yes. I won’t lie to you. I have to get the gold.”

“Why? You’re a brilliant man. You don’t have to do this. I don’t believe it even means anything to you but the game itself.”

“You’re wrong. This time it does mean something. If I get it, then Grozak won’t.”

“Revenge?”

“Partly. You’re not above taking revenge yourself, Jane.”

“No, I’m not.” She got to her feet. “But I wouldn’t do it by depriving a killer of a pocketful of gold. We don’t think alike.”

“Sometimes it’s not necessary to think.”

That wave of heat again. “It is for me.”

“We’ll see.” He stood up. “But I should warn you, if you decide you want to put your hand on me again, you’re not going to get the same answer.” He started toward the path. “And Angus MacDuff would understand perfectly.”

9
                                                                                          

I
’ve got the old man,” Wickman said as soon as Grozak answered. “What do you want me to do with him?”

Satisfaction surged through Grozak. Now, this was efficiency. He’d been right to call in Wickman. He’d only been on the job a matter of a few days and he’d done what he’d been paid to do.

Well, not entirely what he’d been paid to do.

“Has he written the note?”

“I have it.”

“Then it’s time to finish the job.”

“How?”

Grozak thought about it. In order to have maximum effect the method had to arouse shock, fear, and horror.

“How?” Wickman repeated.

“I’m thinking.”

And then it came to him.

I
’ve got a line on Grozak,” Joe said when he called Eve that evening. “He’s bad news.”

“We knew that from what Trevor told Jane. Details?”

“I don’t have details. The FBI has put a lock on his computer records.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Maybe the same reason Interpol wouldn’t let me access Trevor’s records.” He paused. “And the CIA bounced me off the Internet so fast it made my head swim. Five minutes later I got a call from my captain asking me what the hell I was up to dealing with classified material. Those sites are being monitored damn closely.”

Eve felt a ripple of fear. “Did you find out anything at all?”

“I was able to access Grozak’s local police records. He was born in Miami, Florida, and had a record by the time he was thirteen. He belonged to a particularly vicious teenage gang. They were involved in a number of hate crimes ranging from the rape and torture of a black girl to joining with a Nazi group to beat up a Jewish shopkeeper. He was sent to a juvenile facility for killing a Hispanic cop when he was fourteen. He was paroled at eighteen and disappeared from the radar screen after he got out of prison. That was over twenty years ago.”

“He evidently expanded his horizons and moved on to the international scene if the CIA is involved.” She shivered. “Hate crimes. You’re right. He’s bad news.”

“He appeared to have a grudge against the world. And his psychological profile indicated he’d only get worse.”

“Then why the hell did they let him out of prison?”

“The system. Got to give every murdering kid a fighting chance to kill again. It’s the American way.”

“And according to Trevor, he killed Mike. Christ, it’s not fair.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Are we going to phone Jane right away?”

“Not until we know more. It’s not going to help her to know what he did as a kid. We need an update. And maybe she’ll be the one to get us one. I’m sure she’s not sitting around that MacDuff’s Run and wringing her hands.”

V
enable called on the land line.” Bartlett was coming out of the library when Jane and Trevor came in the front door. “He said he couldn’t reach you on your cell. Neither could I.”

“I turned it off. I figured I could give myself an hour of peace,” Trevor said. “Important?”

“He wouldn’t confide in me. But I’d say we can assume he considers everything he does important.” He turned to Jane. “You didn’t eat any supper. Would you like me to fix you a sandwich?”

“No, I’m not hungry.” She started up the stairs. “I’m going to bed. Unless one of you would like to tell me who Venable is?”

“A man who shares our fears about Grozak,” Trevor said. “Unfortunately, he’s uncertain what to do about it.”

“And you’re not uncertain?”

“Not in the least.” He headed down the hall. “But it’s a problem when the Venables of the world get in the way.”

“Yet you’re evidently allowing him access to you.” She stopped on the third step. “I’m not going to be shut out any longer, Trevor. I’m tired of it. You’ve used Cira as a red herring to keep me from focusing on Grozak, and I let you do it because she meant so much to me. I said a few days. It’s over.”

“Cira wasn’t exactly a red herring.” He studied her expression. “But you’re right, it’s gone on too long. You’ve got to start to trust me. I’ll work on it.” He smiled. “Tomorrow.” He disappeared into the library.

It was just as well he hadn’t picked up the challenge she’d issued, she thought wearily. Her emotions were raw and she was confused and, yes, frustrated. The night had been too intense and had sent her spiraling through a tornado of sexual tension. She’d barely been able to keep her composure on the way back from the Run. She’d been aware of every movement of his body as he walked beside her. It was idiotic to respond like this. Jesus, it wasn’t as if she was the inexperienced kid she’d been when she first met him.

“You can trust him, you know,” Bartlett said gravely. “He’s a bit erratic, but Trevor’s never let me down when it counted.”

“Really? But then, your relationship is a good deal different, isn’t it? Good night, Bartlett.”

“Good night.” He started down the hall toward the library. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Yes, tomorrow. She’d go to Mario’s study first thing and stay there a few hours to get ready to confront Trevor. Those hours with Mario had been tranquil, and she needed that peace. Tonight she’d sleep and block out Trevor, try not to think how much she’d wanted to touch him. Hell, touch him? She’d wanted to pull him into bed and rut like a damn nymphomaniac. She couldn’t think of a bigger mistake. She had to keep a clear head and she didn’t know if she could if she became sexually involved with Trevor. She’d never had this kind of intense response to any man, and the bond between them was as strong now as it had been four years ago. She couldn’t afford for it to gain any more power.

Then don’t remember how it felt sitting beside him on that boulder at the Run. Concentrate on this Venable.

T
revor had just hung up when Bartlett came into the library.

Bartlett raised his brows. “That was quick. I take it Venable was overreacting?”

“Maybe.” Trevor was frowning thoughtfully. “But I’d rather he overreact than sit on his ass and live in la-la land like Sabot.”

“What was the problem?”

“Quinn’s been trying to access the CIA records on Grozak. It made Venable nervous.” He shrugged. “It was bound to happen. Quinn’s an ex-FBI man and he has contacts. He’ll find a way to get the info he wants. I’ll deal with it when it happens.”

“And that’s all Venable wanted?”

Trevor shook his head. “He said that he had an informant in Switzerland who said something important was going down in Lucerne.”

“What? Grozak?”

“Vague. But a possibility.”

Bartlett tilted his head. “It’s bothering you.”

“Grozak always bothers me if I’m not sure where he’s going to jump next.”

“Maybe Venable’s informant got it wrong.”

“And maybe he got it right.” He leaned back in the chair, his mind trying to process those possibilities. “Lucerne . . .”

J
ock is going to meet us at the fountain,” MacDuff said as he crossed the courtyard toward Jane. “If that’s all right with you?”

“I don’t care.” She sat down on the rim of the fountain and opened her sketchbook. “When is he coming?”

“In a few minutes. He’s watering his plants.” He frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Sketching you. I hate wasting time.” Her pencil was moving rapidly over the page. “You’ve got a very interesting face. All hard lines, except for the mouth. . . .” She added a few lines to the cheekbones. “I knew you reminded me of someone. Did you ever see that TV program
Highlander
?”

“No, I was spared that.”

“You look like the actor who plays the lead.”

“Oh, God.”

“He was very good.” She smiled slyly, wondering how far she could take this. “And pretty, very pretty.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. “Jock is the one who you’re supposed to be sketching.”

“I’m loosening up. It’s like stretching before you run.” She paused. “By the way, Trevor took me to the Run last night.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

He didn’t answer.

“Oh, of course, Trevor said you had your people all over the castle.” Her gaze fastened on the sketch. “It must be difficult having to lease out this place. I grew up in the streets, and there’s never been a place I could really call mine. But for a few minutes last night I could imagine what it must be like.” She raised her eyes from the pad. “I believe Trevor could too. That’s why he likes the Run so much.”

He shrugged. “Then he’d better enjoy it while he can. I’m taking it back.”

“How?”

“Any way I can.”

“But Trevor said your family couldn’t afford not to rent out the place.”

“Then that’s the way to get it back, isn’t it?”

“With Cira’s gold?”

“The gold seems to be the goal for all of us. Why should I be any different?”

“Then that’s why you’re concerned about Grozak?”

“What did Trevor say?”

“He said to ask you.”

He smiled faintly. “I’m glad he kept his word.”

“I’m not. I want to know how you’re involved. Is it just the gold?”

He didn’t answer directly. “The gold should be enough to motivate any man, especially a man who needs money as desperately as I do.” His gaze went beyond her shoulder. “Here comes Jock.” He made a face. “Try to refrain from calling me names while he’s around. It will be healthier for all of us.”

She turned to see the boy coming toward them. He was smiling and there was a hint of eagerness in his expression. Lord, that face . . . She automatically turned the page of her sketchbook. “Good morning, Jock. Did you sleep well?”

“No. I have dreams. Do you have dreams, Jane?”

“Sometimes.” She began to sketch. Could she catch the haunted expression that lingered behind that smile? And did she want to? The vulnerability of the boy was almost tangible, and capturing it seemed an intrusion. “Bad dreams?”

“Not as bad as they were.” He was looking at MacDuff, and the devotion in his expression made her shake her head in amazement. “They’re getting better, sir. Honestly.”

“They’d better be,” MacDuff said gruffly. “I told you it’s only a question of will. Use it.” He sat down on the rim of the fountain. “Now stop yammering at me and let the woman sketch you.”

“Yes, sir.” Jock looked at Jane. “What do I do?”

“Nothing.” She looked down at the pad. “Be natural. Talk to me. Tell me about your flowers. . . .”

G
ood morning,” Jane said as she carried a tray into Mario’s study. “How are you today?” She shook her head as she saw the pile of papers on his desk. “I’d say you either worked late or started early. Whichever it is, you can use a break for a cup of coffee and some toast.”

He nodded. “Thank you. Actually, I didn’t get much sleep last night and I’ve probably had too much coffee already.” He reached for the carafe. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to have some more.”

She studied him. “You’re wired.”

“It’s getting interesting again.” He took a drink of his coffee. “There are hours and hours of just painstaking deciphering and then it starts to open up for me.” He smiled eagerly. “Like the curtain swinging open in a theater when the play begins. Exciting . . .”

“I can see it is.” She went to her chair in the corner and sat down. “But you’ve been translating too much Cira if you’re starting to do comparisons with theaters and plays.”

He glanced at the statue by the window. “There’s never too much Cira.” He looked down at the photocopy on the desk in front of him. “I have to call Trevor. I believe I may have found a reference he’s looking for.”

“Ah, the gold?”

“Yes, anything to do with the gold.” He frowned. “No, I’ll wait until the final translation. I have to check over the inserts I had to make. I have to make sure that—”

“Mail call.” Trevor stood in the doorway with a small package and two letters in his hands. “For you, Mario. Just arrived by special messenger.” He came toward the desk. “Who do you know in Lucerne?”

Trevor’s tone was without expression, but Jane was suddenly aware of an underlying tenseness in his demeanor.

“Lucerne?” Mario’s gaze focused on the mail Trevor had placed before him. “For me?”

“That’s what I said.” Trevor’s lips tightened. “Open it.”

A chill went through Jane. She knew how careful Trevor was with all aspects of security. She didn’t like this. There was something wrong. “Have you checked it?”

“Of course I’ve checked it.” He never took his gaze off Mario. “No bombs. No powder.”

“Then why are you—” She broke off as she watched Mario open the letter and start to read it.

“Or maybe there was a bomb,” Trevor murmured.

She knew what he meant. Bewilderment and then horror froze Mario’s expression as his gaze flew across the page. “What’s wrong, Mario?”

“Everything.” He lifted his eyes. “Everything. How could you do this? Why didn’t you give me the other letters, Trevor?”

“What letters?” Trevor asked.

“I have to see the tape.” He frantically tore the wrappings off the package and took out a black VHS case. “Where’s a VCR?”

“The library,” Trevor said. “I’ll go with you and set it up.”

“No, I’ll go by myself,” he said jerkily. “I don’t want your help.” He ran from the room.

“What happened?” Jane asked as she got to her feet.

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” He crossed to the desk and picked up the letter.

Jane frowned. “That’s a breach of privacy.”

“Sue me.” Trevor was already reading the letter. “I’ve an idea the content’s aimed at me anyway. Mario was— Shit!” He thrust the letter at Jane and headed for the door. “Read it. Son of a bitch . . .”

Jane looked down at the letter.

Mario,

Why do you not answer them? They’ve sent you letter after letter and told you what they’ll do to me if you don’t stop what you’re doing. Surely blood is more important than your work. What evil have you become mixed up in that would cause these men to do this to me?