Tempestuous Eden (29 page)

“Why, ah, of course women believe in compromise!” she assured him.

“Yes, I guess they might,” he agreed, but he didn’t appear any less down. He smiled again absently and waved as he left. “I wonder if they believe in compromise when they’d rather strangle you in the first place,” she thought she heard him murmur.

Minutes later Craig stared idly at Capitol Hill.

First it was classified, now it was compromise.

He wanted his life back! his mind screamed. If he compromised, everything might be too late.

And yet he couldn’t just turn his back. Ethics, his own ethics, kept standing in his way.

He fought a long, hard mental battle as he stood there, oblivious to the fact that it was late spring, and that late spring in Washington was beautiful. Cherry blossoms were in splendid abundance; the sky was a crystal blue. The air carried a delightful nip.

Just once he wished he could turn his back. Not care.

But he couldn’t.

Again, it would be less than himself that he offered to her.

A week.

In a week he had to convince her to forgive him. And then to compromise.

It would never happen. Because he would be gone then … and he knew how she felt. He would never forget how she had broken when holding his gun. In truth, she would rather have him be a convict than see him leave for a danger zone.

His fists clenched tightly by his side. She was his! He had to have her, would have her.

He had only one choice, and that was to make her realize just how fully she was his before he left. And that was a bit of a sticky problem. If he knocked on Huntington’s door, she would merely slam it in his face. There was a chance. Merrill’s party. Surely she would be there.

And he would use every trick he knew to make damn sure
she
knew she belonged to him—body, heart, and soul—before he left.

Compromise or compromised? he wondered dryly.

This was one battle of diplomacy he was going to win, even if the means weren’t particularly diplomatic.

“I
STILL DON’T UNDERSTAND,
” Blair said grimly. She was finally home alone with her father in his Washington town house, staring at the rise of Capitol Hill through the picture window. Her fingers were tensely curled around the long stem of a martini glass. “You knew the guerrillas were planning to attack the Hunger Crew, but you just let them stay there in danger because the tip on the attack was classified?” Her question was thick with stunned disbelief.

“Blair”—Andrew Huntington took a very long sip of his own martini and paced before the window—“we had a man in with the guerrillas undercover. His had been a long and delicate assignment—drawing their trust. If any of the information he discovered leaked, they would have caught him immediately. His life would have been the forfeit—”

“But the Hunger Crew!” Blair interrupted. “You were willing to let them be killed?” She simply couldn’t believe that her father would allow such a thing, or even be involved with powers that would offer up a sacrifice of such dedicated humanity.

Huntington winced at his daughter’s tone. “You don’t understand,” he told her softly. “The members of the Hunger Crew were not in danger—just you. The only reason the guerrillas planned to attack was to abduct you. To hold you for ransom—support for their operation, guns, equipment, rations. They didn’t give a damn about the Hunger Crew. I couldn’t just call you home. They would have hit before you walked two steps off the compound, and the repercussions might have been tragic. If, just if, you would have merrily flown on out, they might have tortured our agent to death, and retaliated against us by staging a massacre on either a friendly civilian population, or on the very people you’re worrying about protecting—the Hunger Crew.”

“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.