Kiss and Tell (15 page)

"I don't get it. Why would they believe the worst of you?"

He paused for a long time. "They know I've become single-minded in my need to pursue one man." Jake looked at her, his eyes dark and dangerously flat. "Revenge can make a man sloppy."

"Against whom?"

"A terrorist named Dancer. I've been after the son of a bitch for six years. Everyone knows I won't stop until I find him. They think I've been distracted, careless, because my efforts to find the rock he's hiding under have been relentless."

"Have you been?"

"Careless?"

"Relentless."

"Dancer is the driving force behind the Shining Path of America in Omaha, where my people were murdered last month. He was the reason I was selected to do the Middle East cleanup. Because
I'm
the one who knows Dancer best. I didn't give a damn about his disciples, his army, or his chemical plant," Jake said bitterly. "I wanted
Dancer
. And Dancer had fled to the Middle East. He was the only thing that could have gotten me to leave so close to the end. So my single-mindedness
did
kill my people in Omaha, and the kid who went with me to the Middle East."

Jake raked his fingers through his hair, his face gaunt, his eyes haunted. "Dancer was responsible for the death of one of my closest friends six years ago."

Obviously exhausted, he was also frustrated and majorly ticked off. Marnie wished there was something she could do to help Jake.

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and stared at the intricate patterns on the area rug at his feet. His dark hair fell forward, so she couldn't see his face.

"People tend to think of terrorists as a handful of Middle Eastern or leftist fanatics, bent on achieving ideological goals through death and intimidation. The reality is terrorists are more obscure. Groups of fanatics pursuing sometimes hard-to-understand agendas, with random violence as their common denominator. Some of them are doing it for money, some for political gain, others because of ethnic conflicts.

"We have no damn idea
what
the hell Dancer's agenda is. He's number three on the U.S. State Department's 'dirty thirty' list."

Jake's dark blue eyes met hers. A shiver of fear climbed Marnie's spine at the look in his.

"He's number one on
mine
," he finished flatly. "And everyone knows it. Things have escalated. We caught Dancer's people with eighty pounds of typhoid bacteria cultures they planned to dump into the water of midwestern cities two years ago. We stopped them. That time. But we don't know where he'll hit next.

"After the massacre in Omaha, he disappeared like smoke. Again. In the meantime, I've been suspended awaiting a full inquiry. And while I'm pinned down here by the guys topside, God only knows what the son of a bitch is doing. Or where he's doing it."

Marnie drained her cup, needing more coffee but not wanting to get up. The story was riveting. She would have preferred reading it to actually living it, but she had wanted a grand adventure. And this was certainly that and more.

"I guess the bad guys up there are a more immediate problem, right? How can you find out who they are?"

Jake picked up his sandwich and brought it to his mouth, looking through her. "The last one will talk."

Which meant he planned on getting them before they got him. "I definitely like a guy who's so sure of himself. In the meantime, since I'm here and a captive audience, why don't you tell me what I can do to help?"

His eyes refocused as he looked at her. "I can't think of a thing. Don't freak out. Don't
chat
, and stay put."

Ookay
. "Not what I had in mind."

"Know how to shoot?" When she shook her head Jake said flatly, "Then you can't help. Do what you do best – lie around and look pretty."

Been there
, Marnie thought, unoffended,
done that
.

She smiled and nudged his hip with her bare toes. "You're a chauvinist, Jake Dolan. I do have a functional brain, you know." She kept her foot against his hip.

"Don't," he snapped, shifting impatiently. A muscle ticked in his jaw "I'm not a chauvinist. If you could shoot what you aimed at, I'd consider taking you topside with me."

Marnie brought both feet together next to his thigh and leaned back comfortably against the pillows, watching him over her knees. "Liar. You wouldn't let me shoot at someone. You might not like me, but you'd never risk me taking a bullet you thought was meant for you."

He turned his head and gave her the strangest look. "Oh, yeah?" he almost snarled. "Where the hell did you get that idea?" He didn't contradict her statement that he didn't like her, however.

"You must have a hundred cowboy books in here. It's the code of the West." Her feet were still cold. She wriggled them a little deeper between the cushion and Jake's butt. "Come on, admittedly I've never even held a gun, and frankly I don't particularly want to start now. But I don't want to lie around doing nothing, either."

"Fine. Watch the monitors for me."

"Where will you be?"

"Taking care of business."

His body heat warmed her cold bare toes. Her eyes felt gritty, as though the sandman had sprinkled sleepy dust in them. Marnie blinked, trying to stay awake. "Who else knows about this place?"

"No one."

She slid a little lower, nestling her head into the cushions. She liked looking at him and let her gaze move over his face as he concentrated on the monitors across the room. She wished she had her sketch pad and pencils so she could catch his brooding, pensive expression. His mouth was made to kiss a woman, yet right now it was a tight, grim line. Although he sat absolutely still, an air of unleashed electricity crackled. She wondered if she was a good enough artist to capture the suppressed energy in a man who sat so still.

He was analyzing the situation in his head. When he reached a conclusion, he'd be gone. Up there in the icy snow and dead of night. One man against...too many.

Her eyelids drooped, and she closed them for a moment to relieve the burning sensation. Opening them, she found Jake watching her. She wished she had the right to slide her arms around his narrow waist and rest her head on his shoulder.

"Anyone interested in finding you could check with the county offices and do a title search." She was talking to stay awake, but yawned anyway.

"Nope. I've buried this so far down, there's no way. My name isn't on anything. Are you going to finish that?" He indicated the other half of her sandwich.

"I'm not really hungry. Go ahead." Other than a few cookies, she hadn't eaten since the chili and soup this morning, but her stomach warned her not to add to the churning acid.

The muscles in his back shifted under the black cotton sweatshirt as he reached over and picked up her sandwich, demolishing half of it in one bite.

"Someone could have followed you," she suggested, snuggling her head on the soft sofa back.

"No."

"Maybe not this visit, but some other time?"

"I never come here using the same mode of travel. My routes are so convoluted not even I could have followed me, and I knew where I was going." He polished off the sandwich.

"What about family?" He shook his head.

"Friends?"

"We don't exchange chatty letters."

"Now, why doesn't that surprise me? Come on, Jake,
someone
has to know about this place."

"Other than me, and now you, anyone who knew about the lair is long dead. Four of us pooled our resources more than ten years ago to buy the land and the cabin. Now I'm the only one left, and there's no maybe about it. I saw them die. Long before this 'basement' was started."

"But they knew about it?" She closed her eyes for a moment to relieve the dryness. Hmmm. That felt good. She left them closed for a while longer.

"Sure they knew. We planned it together," he said impatiently. "But they didn't tell anyone. Just like I didn't. Subject closed."

"Do you have a phone?" She squinted up at him. Jake nodded. "Secure line? On roam mode?"

He scrutinized her. "For an artist, you seem awfully knowledgeable about computers and secure lines."

Ridiculously pleased he'd remembered, Marnie smiled. "I'm a programmer, Jake. Wright Computers, my dad's company in Silicon Valley, remember? I know something about tracing crackers, the more sinister form of hackers. These guys are good, but I've caught quite a few of them. We do work for several high-profile companies who have the best possible security. If you were traced through this computer, I'll be able to tell you how and probably who as well. Is the computer on a secure line, too?"

"Yeah."

She couldn't help it – she yawned again. "Have you sent any messages out while you've been here?"

"A couple to my headquarters. But I changed the signature file. No one could have traced me that way."

"Yes," she told him grimly, "they could." A small quirk curved her lips. "See? There is something I can do. I'm good at what I do, too. I can figure out who traced your E-mail. And once you have that info, maybe you can figure out who those men work for and why they're after you.

"Either way, it sounds as though the only way you could have been traced was through your computer. And if I know anything, Jake, I know computers. You deal with the bad guys up there. I'll figure out who they are from down here."

Chapter Eight

J
ake didn't want her doing
anything
.

The fact of the matter was he didn't want her within a hundred miles of this mountain. He didn't want her on his computer doing God knew what and talking to God knew who. He didn't want her close enough to smell her unique fragrance. And he damn sure didn't want her to watch him with sleepy, heavy-lidded eyes filled with a warmth he hadn't known he was missing until she came along.

He hated like hell that he'd brought up the guys. Even after all this time the loss of three of the Musketeers, the best damn friends a man could ever have, was still a spike in his chest.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he told her impatiently. At his words those baby blues narrowed. "While I appreciate the offer, you won't be here that long. As soon as the river goes down I'll get you across the upper bridge. It'll take you a while to get to your vehicle, but you'll probably be home by tomorrow night."

She burrowed her toes under his thigh. The woman loved to
touch
.

"I'll be here long enough to—" The light dawned. "You don't trust me enough to
let
me help you, do you?" She paused and gave him a calculating look, then said conversationally, "Do you have a sharp knife?"

He shifted his hip but couldn't get out of her reach. "In the kitchen. Why?"

"Because if some blonde tried to slice your throat, and you lump all blondes together, then I might as well get it over with. It must be hell waiting for the other shoe to drop." Her pretty blue eyes looked quite serious.

"Although I ought to warn you," she added, "the sight of blood has a tendency to make me faint. And frankly, I'm too tired to move. So why don't you go over there and pick out one you think would do the job? Then come back here, lay your head on my lap, and indicate which way you want me to cut your carotid artery, right to left or left to right."

"You want me to get you a knife so you can cut my throat?"

"Isn't that what you're waiting for?"

Jake stared at her; he'd never met anyone like her in his life. "Do you always just blurt out what's on your mind?"

"It's a waste of time to dance around the issue. Why not cut to the chase? It eliminates misunderstan— Hey," she said brightly. "Those guys are gone."

He'd noticed several minutes ago. She jumped from one subject to the next like a dragonfly. It was disconcerting.

He levered himself off the couch, away from her scent, her guileless eyes, and her pale bare feet.

"I'll go get the dog."

"Terrific. Could you bring my backpack while you're at it? And Jake? Be careful."

He'd rather face a hundred assassins than stay down here with her and her screwy logic. "I always am."

*

Despite her physical and mental exhaustion, the second Jake left, Marnie found herself too wired to sleep. Standing between two monitors, she watched Jake take the short trip topside in the elevator. From her vantage point she could observe both the cabin and Jake. She wanted to be alert in case the men came back.

Seconds later they did.

"Oh, shoot."

Three of them entered the front door of the cabin. Her imagination filled in color and detail. Black clothing, headgear, knives, Uzis. The infrared images diverged on entering.

"Oh, my God.
Jake!
"

Her eyes shot to the screen showing Jake, still in the narrow confines of the elevator. If he had spoken, she knew, she would be able to hear him. But there was no way he would be able to hear her.

Frantically she scanned the walls on either side of the metal door across the room, half hoping for a call button. She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right." Naturally Jake had some high-tech gizmo that read his palm print. It wasn't going to help
her
any. There was no way to let him know that within seconds he'd be walking in on three of the bad guys.

The iffy moonlight sliced into the cabin, bisecting it into light and dark. It also messed up the infrared of the camera, making it hard to see. The men looked like fuzzy red blurs – though somehow their weapons seemed much clearer. Perhaps it was her imagination working overtime.

One man spoke, and the other two spread out. The words, while perfectly clear, were totally unrecognizable to Marnie. She scowled.

Powerless, she observed one of the men cross to the counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the room.

"Nuh-uh, you don't need to look at tha— Darn it."

He picked up her sketchpad, still propped on the counter. The sketchpad filled with her drawings of Jake. Her heart sank.