Somewhere I'll Find You (18 page)

While waiting for Paige, Michael searched his jacket for his cell.  He
needed answers, and
couldn’t help but remember her thick dossier and the mention of her alleged ability to glean government information. Was she truly psychic?  Is that how she knew so much?  Was her ability to tap into unknown information
truly
legitimate?  He knew he had to contact the one person that would have th
e answers.  He couldn’t stand the man – in
fact,
there wasn’t a word strong enough to
accurately express
how much he disliked him.  But desperate times called for desperate measures, Michael supposed.

He had to call Alistar Carver.

The call went through immediately, bypassing all the safeguards upon which Alistar normally insisted. Too keyed up
to notice or dally over
pleasantries, Michael got straight to the point.

“I need information – and I need it without all of your usual red tape.”

There was that dry laugh that he
so hated.  “Commander Sinclair. It’s a
lways so nice to hear from you!  Enjoying your holiday
,
are you?”

“
It’s bloody wonderful
,
actually -
and don’t try to change the subject
,
you silver-tongued, overpaid bureaucrat.”

“Compliments, Commander?”

“If you say so.
I need information.”

Even with the distance between them, Michael could imagine Alistar.  His silver hair would be shining in the dusky sunlight, a cup of Earl Gray near his left hand.
  His perfectly tailored, elegant suit would be cut to accentuate the excellent physique he still maintained despite the fact that the previous
month
had marked his fifty-sixth year in the ser
vice of the British government.

A man as vain as he was ruthless, he used every available opportunity his high office afforded him to continue to look his best and, despite Michael’s dislike of the man, he could still admit that Alistar was known
even now
to turn more than one lady’s head as a result.  He was dapper – dashing, even – and as coolly charming as a snake waiting for
the
perfect opportunity to bite.

Even now, as Michael caught the familiar staccato of Alistar’s elegant fingers tapping on th
at polished walnut desk of his, he could almost see the viper-like smile curling on Alistar’s lips
while he listened to Michael’s curt questions.
 
He makes me feel hunted,
Alistar does
.
I’m so tired of feeling like I’m stuck in some perpetual game of Cat-and-Mouse with him.
  But he’s the only one who might know about Paige’s … ability.  I have to know.  I have to ask him.

“
Of course Paige has worked
for MI5,” the smooth voice admitted.  “Unofficially, you understand.  A free
-
lancer
, so to speak.” 
Static interference muffled his next few words before the line cleared.  “I suppose that you could read more into what is officially on paper.   She was talented enough to be worth the risk.  You of all people should know that there are some countries that still use some form of psychics.  I know that they like to believe that they are an elite team, but they are not.”  As he paused, Mic
hael knew without having to be able to see the man that
Alistar
was
sipping
at
his tea.  “By the way,
next time, use normal channels,” he instructed dismissively.  The line went dead a moment later.

Tapping the phone shut, Michael could see that it was becoming increasingly obvious that Paige’s ability was no longer classified.
 
Someone must have heard enough about it to put her in harm’s way.

From her vantage point at the bay window, Paige watched the myriad of expression that crossed Michael’s face.  She didn’t have to ask who he was speaking
to;
the flood of frustration and anger that crossed his face was enough to read.  Then came the words drifting to her on the strings of her gift – “next time
,
use the normal channels.”  What was it that he wanted?  Was he friend or foe?  Not even her gift was telling her that.

Looking up, Michael could see Paige standing by the window. Annoyed to find her watching, he quickly moved to rejoin her, his face betraying nothing of his raw, jumbled emotions. As he looked at her, he could see the contempt in her eyes.

“Look, there’s one thi
ng that you need to understand,” Michael began, hoping to head her off.

She knew that tone of voice
;
she’d heard it from Miles too many times in the past.  That cool, pleas
ant, and dangerous attitude which
warned her that s
he needed to tread carefully, despite how tired she was of the condescension and secrets that always seemed to surround her.

“Al
l
right,” she said patiently, as if speaking to a child.  “Why don’t you make me understand?”

“
Like it not, we’re stuck with each other.  Either you’re a target
,
or I am. 
But think about it – if it
had
been
you they were after, why not simply wait until you were alone? 
Whoever got into the mansion had to be watching your comings and goings
, don’t you think
?”

“So they knew that you were in the house,” she finished.  Her words fell
away
as
Michael’s hand raised to forestall any further conversation
.

Thankful that they hadn’t moved from the window, his eyes narrowed when he glanced outside.

“Now what’s the matter?”  Her irritation went unnoticed as he moved her aside.

“Someone is out there,
”
he replied quietly.
 

“Of course there is,” she laughed.  “People walk the beach all the time.  This
is
California.” 

Now who is being stubborn and refusing to see what is in front of them? Considering her lack of home security, I shouldn’t be surprised.  No wonder they never let her out of
the
office.
“With a storm brewing?
” he asked, barely managing to keep his voice level and low.
 
“
I don’t think so.”

She tried to pull away, only to be captured in a band of iron.  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re paranoid?”

He turned briefly, his eyes narrowed
,
as frustration filled his voice.  “And has anyone told you how incredibly naïve that
you are?”  He gritted his teeth.
“
Now show me how to get to the n
orth side of the house.”

Paige nodded. Michael watched as fear slowly replaced irritation.  “If you’re trying to frighten me, you’re succeeding.”

“I’m not trying to frighten you,” he replied, relenting slightly.
“
I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“From what?”

His mouth hardened.  “That’s a good question. 
Now s
how me how to get out of here.” 
His
voice
remained soft, but there was command in every word.

Silently Paige let him through the lofty rooms accented with oak beams and dark paneling.  Though appreciating the décor was the last thing on Michael’s mind, it was impossible not to feel the warmth and charm.  When they emerged into the kitchen, however, his face was unreadable.

“Stay here.”

And then he sprinted out.

Paige started to stop him, but the memory of his eyes kept her still.  In an instant
,
the friendliness
had disappeared from them, leaving his gaze
cold and hard.

The
y had been the
eyes of a warrior.

A stranger’s eyes.

Paige shivered slightly as his tall figure vanished into the night.  She found herself wondering what Michael Sinclair really wanted.

A shimmering glow blended with the light from an approaching storm.  Barely seen, a black garbed figure stood watching, his eyes sick with frustration.  Danger reeked about the cottage
, leaving him feeling more helpless than ever.  Some sixth sense warned
him that this young couple was
heading straight into the same danger that had destroyed his life with Jenny.  Dragging a sigh from somewhere deep in his soul, he looked down at Argo.  “It’s happening again.  How many
more will suffer because of one
zealot
’s
ideals?”  Angrily, he cursed as he stood by, watching helplessly as events unfolded.

As Michael moved, old habits were still in place.

Stay low.

Aim where they least expect you.

Always keep them guessing.

The finer points of what he was doing now, what he considered close protection work, wasn’t like in the movies, where everything was speed and glamour with pumped up bodies.  In real life, it was a test of patience, of agonizing minutes spent sitting in utter silence, waiting to see who got bored or restless, or just plain hungry
,
and gave away their position.

Crawling along the dubious shelter of a sand dune, he waited there
,
counting the time along with the beating of his heart.  Five minutes.  Ten.  Twenty.  A bird skimmed toward the water, while the wind whined around his hiding place.
There was no mistaki
ng the prickling in his neck, however, so w
hen there was no noticeable movement, he worked
slowly
down the dune.  Soundless, he dropped to the ground
,
bellying up his way along the winding beach,
employing the same manner he’d used in times long ago and in places far distance from here.

He’d gone nearly a mile and darkness was closing in fast when he saw the dusty Jeep with a flat front tire and a broken jack beside it on the ground. 
This must have been what I saw from Seaview.  I really am jumping at shadows. 
Patient inspection of the scene assured him further that there was no one about, and he reluctantly decided that it was highly probable that the owner had simply gone off to get some help.