The Impossible Alliance (18 page)

She reached up and cupped her hand to his face, smoothing the fingers of her right hand across his cheek, catching
the single tear that had slipped free, soothing it from his skin before it could bleed down into the dark shadow covering his jaw. She sucked in her breath as he closed his eyes and turned his face into her palm. His lips were as warm and as smooth as they'd been in this very room twenty-four hours before.

Except now they trembled. He trembled. And it wasn't from passion.

Before she realized what she was doing, she'd already stretched up into him, the agonizing band on her own heart easing as he turned down into her, catching her own tears with his still-warm, still-smooth, still-trembling lips. And then they weren't. She didn't even flinch when his hands came up to frame the sides of her face, directly over her ears, as he tilted her head to gain instant, scorching access to her mouth. She simply answered his driving, needy kiss. His groan rasped through her, stoking the desire.

Within seconds she'd plowed her fingers into that glorious hair and used it to drag him closer. He groaned again, shifted again, sealing the length of her body to his—but then he froze. A split second later, he tore his mouth from hers, leaving her confused and bereft as he dug his fingers into her shoulders and shoved her to arm's length.

“No.”

“But—”

“Dammit, I will not be a charity case. And I sure as hell won't be a pity f—”

“Don't! Don't you dare say it. Don't even
think
it.” She knew he was hurting, but, by God, he was not going there. She sucked in a lungful of blistering air, using it to purge herself of the fury. “You're wrong. You are not and will never be a—”

“Oh, yeah? What am I supposed to believe? That you're in it for love? That you care? That you're hot for my body? Or are you looking for a baby to go along with the picket fence and the rest of that mythical forever-after crap. Sorry, can't help you there, either. Had a vasectomy when I was
eighteen, compliments of the U.S. Army, just in case. Or maybe it's the photographic brain that turns you on? Well, I've got news for you, sweetheart. It won't last. None of it will.
I
won't last. Take my advice and get out now. While you've still got the chance.”

“No.”

He slammed his hands down on the desk. “Jesus, woman! What is it with you? You think this is some kind of game? It's not. It's ugly and it sucks, but it's life.
My
life. And trust me when I tell you the first time you end up having to hold my hand so I can cross the street or wipe the drool off my chin—or, worse, wipe my goddamn naked ass—it's gonna get old. Very, very, old. Pretty soon, you'll wish to hell it was just plain over.” He stood there, his arms locked over that desk, his shoulders still shaking with the rage of it. With the desolation and the shame, the fruitlessness. The guilt.

His mom.

She was certain when he finally broke his tortured gaze from hers and turned to sink onto the edge of the bed. The absolute resignation as he stared off at that shuttered window. Lost in the past. In the pain.

I got the memory from her.

She didn't need a geneticist to know Jared had gotten something else from his mother. From the file she'd read today, she knew he hadn't gotten a thing from the rest of his father's family until it was too late. He truly believed he was alone in this. Like his mom, he wouldn't have a spouse to share the coming burdens with, and unlike his mom, he wouldn't even have a child.

She ached for him. For the boy who'd dropped out of junior high so he could be there for his mother.

Thirteen. Nowhere near a man but no longer a boy, either.

Just a son. A son desperate to form enough memories for the both of them. Determined that at least
he
would remember. But in the end, he wouldn't even have that. And
he sure as heck didn't believe that someone could love him enough to stick around and do the same for him, especially if she knew about the Alzheimer's going in.

He was wrong.

She hadn't even realized it herself until that moment. He might be pushing her away, hell, shoving her, but she wasn't going anywhere. Not without him. She was right to tell Jared about Sam, even though Sam would be furious with her. But she was also right not to tell Jared about her hearing aid.

Her ear.

Sure, she could pull it off. One quick twist of her wrist and she could prove to him that no one made it through life unscathed. But if she did, if she showed him what was really in that box—and what she was really like without it—would he believe she truly loved him for himself and not because she thought she was too flawed to get someone else?

She didn't have the answer. She could only hope she'd be able to figure it out before it was too late. Not for him. For them.

He finally pulled that dark amber gaze back to hers and sighed. “I meant what I said. I can't do it. I won't.”

She didn't answer. She couldn't.

He wasn't ready for the truth, and she refused to lie. So she did the only thing she could. She turned and walked slowly to the door. There, she leaned down and scooped up her bag as well as the jacket she'd dropped on the floor. She laid the jacket on the desk and retrieved the micro computer data disk she'd secreted within her bag and flipped it to him.

He caught the tiny CD neatly. “What is it?”

“While you were poking through my bag today, I was in Orloff's office banging away on that wireless laptop we snuck in with us, poking through Greg Krazner's life.”

Even as his brows rose, she noted the relief that had slipped into his eyes. Relief that she'd let it drop.

She had. For now.

“What did you find out?”

“You sure you wouldn't rather just read it?” They both knew it would be quicker in the long run.

Hope blossomed in her heart as he shook his head. Though he refused to say it—hell, though he'd refused
her
—it was obvious he didn't want her to leave him alone.

It was a start.

She turned slightly and leaned back against the edge of the desk, hoping to ease the tension in her body before she locked up for good. “I was right. The Greg Krazner I know is the same man DeBruzkya mentioned. Like me, he did his doctoral work in rocks—but it gets better. Not only does Greg have a Ph.D. in geology, that degree he picked up at Stanford?”

“Let me guess. Like you, chemistry.”

“Bingo.”

He dropped his stare to the disk in his hands and ran his fingertips around the edge of it.

“We share the same hobby, too.”

His gaze shot up. “Lapidary?”

She nodded. Granted, cutting gems was a common hobby among geologists. Still, “He's supposed to be good.”

“Like you.”

She shrugged. “Depends on the stone. You have to work with what's there. I've been lucky.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah. His papers.”

“Scientific papers?”

“I haven't had a chance to read them all. But judging from the titles, we share another interest. One a bit more unusual.”

“Environmental causes?”

“Out-of-the-box chemistry.”

He frowned.

She couldn't help it. He looked so bemused with her favorite chem prof's label, she grinned. “Greg and I tend
to favor the rarer elements of the periodic table. The ones you don't see every day, if ever. I haven't been able to detect any specific patterns yet, pull out any common elements. I'll need to read the actual papers for that.”

He tossed the micro disk several inches into the air, then caught it. “DeBruzkya steals gems from all over the globe for almost a year, his fascination with an old Rebelian legend regarding a specific gem, and now an interest in out-of-the-box chemistry? It's odd. Damned odd. It's beginning to sound like Karl was right.”

“He was—or is.”

Those brooding brows shot up. “Which is it?”

“Both. I believe there
was
proof. Karl just never intended to show it to me. Not until they got me wherever it was they'd originally intended to take me.”

“Veisweimar, most likely.”

“Agreed. If we're lucky, we'll find out for sure tomorrow night. Or better yet, we'll find the ruby, itself.”

His fingers closed over the disk. “Ruby? Karl didn't mention anything about a ruby. Are you telling me you finally remember the rest of that meeting?”

“No. I still have no idea what Karl was trying to tell me. He could have been trying to classify the stone for me at the last minute—warn me that it
was
a ruby. I don't know. Like you, I'm beginning to wonder if the blasted memory's not gone forever.” The moment he tensed, it hit her.

What she'd said hit her.

Sweet Mercy.
Talk about a faux pas. First the unintentional slam in the forest regarding his GED, and now this. Only this was much, much worse. As God was her witness, she'd been referring to his initial medical evaluation of
her.
She swallowed softly. “Jared, I'm sorry. I did not mean that how it sounded, I swear—”

“I know.”

Silence locked in.

Just when she thought they'd never get past it, he slid over the key. “The ruby?”

She nodded slowly, gratefully. “Abel Braun. Before we discussed his wife's Alzheimer's, we discussed the stone. It's a ruby all right, and DeBruzkya has it.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because Abel found it.”

Once again the silence returned. They both knew it had nothing to do with Abel or the ruby.

It had to do with them.

Jared dropped his stare and traced his fingers around the disk. “If we play this right, it could all be over tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“If that happens…
when
that happens…”

Her heart began to throb painfully as he trailed off. She ignored it, concentrated on praying, instead. He finally sighed heavily and dragged his gorgeous amber eyes up to hers. Only, the glow was gone now, snuffed out. Completely.

“Since you haven't discussed me with Sam, you probably don't know. I'm not in ARIES anymore. I'm no longer an agent. I've been out since that call.” He shrugged. “I'd decided it wasn't worth the risk. But your uncle, he's a persistent man.”

She actually managed a smile. “I know. I'm glad.”

He nodded. “Me, too. But I'm also serious. The moment this mission is over, so is our partnership. When you and I leave Rebelia, I'll be leaving ARIES…and you. For good.”

“A
h…the hero of the hour.”

Jared forced himself to step forward in the black leather shoes and tuxedo trousers Marty had been able to scrounge up on short notice, and clap his hand into DeBruzkya's fleshy palm. He even managed not to give in to the intense urge to shift his body exactly eighteen inches to the right, just far enough so the man's smarmy, speculative gaze would no longer be connecting with the woman on his arm.

“I am so pleased you could make it, Dr. Coleman.”

“The pleasure is all mine, General.” Or it would be. Sooner than later, too, if the Rebelian bastard didn't find somewhere else to fuse that stare. At the moment it was gleefully plunging down the V at the front of Alex's sea-green sheath. The one that reached damned near all the way down to her navel. When Alex had tried the clingy scrap of fabric on two hours ago at Orloff's house and discovered it was two sizes too small, she'd sworn vengeance on their mission's erstwhile Man Friday. Jared didn't bother adding that he'd taken one look at her when she stepped out of the
guest room and decided to take Marty out himself. But for now, they were facing dinner across from those greedy eyes.

DeBruzkya finally managed to tear his gaze away. It shifted to the left, beyond Alex, to Roman Orloff and the intimate army of uniformed colonels, majors and pompous statesmen milling about behind them. “Ah, Dr. Orloff, it is good to see you, as well. In fact, my sister would like to see you later.” The man finally included Jared in his gaze. “The both of you. She would like to thank you personally.”

“She won't be attending the celebration?” Alex asked.

DeBruzkya seized the opportunity to turn back. To stare once more. “I am afraid not. She is tired tonight.”

Jared kept a tight rein on his reflexes as DeBruzkya latched on to Alex's left bare arm and stepped out of the makeshift receiving line, doggedly drawing her with him.

“And how is Mikhail, General? Is he…staying here, too?”

“For the moment. I wanted him near. And since we have an excellent medical room within the castle, I thought the boy could convalesce along with my sister during these last months of her confinement.” Jared clamped down on another wave of fury as those meaty fingers slid up Alex's arm. “And you, my dear. How are you feeling this evening? Perhaps you are feeling faint and need to lie down?”

“Not at all, General. Impending motherhood seems to suit me quite well.”

“You have taken the necessary tests, then?”

“Just this morning.”

Pity.

Though the man didn't say it, they all heard it. Just as they all knew Bruno DeBruzkya wouldn't wait around to rectify the situation should the desire strike him. But at least he'd relinquished Alex's arm. “I must see to my remaining guests. I shall return shortly. Perhaps we may take a walk after dinner and I will show you my castle, yes?”

“I'd like that.”

Jared knew what she was doing.

He also knew it was necessary. If Orloff couldn't manage to create a distraction for them, Alex would be their backup plan. But that didn't mean he had to like it. And it sure as hell didn't mean he wasn't going to do everything—and he did mean everything—in his power to make sure Alex and DeBruzkya didn't spend sixty seconds alone together tonight, much less long enough for a private tour of the castle.

The buffoon's triple row of medals clattered as he took Alex's hand and bowed stiffly. Jared immediately stepped up as DeBruzkya stepped away, claiming Alex's arm before the general could change his mind. He shifted his gaze quickly to avoid her eyes as she turned to him to adjust the black tie on his tux. It was a mistake.

His gaze instinctively followed the exact same path DeBruzkya's had taken minutes earlier—and immediately discovered something new. That V didn't dip damned near to her navel, it dipped past it. At least from this angle.

He was going to kill Marty Lyons.

He tore his gaze away. “Let's get some air.”

Her eyes widened. “So soon? You think it's wise?”

No. But he needed to clear his head. He shot a glance across half-a-dozen uniforms and caught Orloff's attention.

The neurosurgeon nodded discreetly.

“We're covered. Let's go.”

He didn't give her a chance to argue, slipping his arm about her shoulders as they stepped under the stone arch-way leading to the massive French double doors and the second-floor balcony beyond. He glared at the set of camouflaged guards they passed, both armed with Romanian Kalashnikovs, daring either punk to stop them. The taller of the two read his mood and stepped aside.

Wise kid.

Jared shoved the doors open and nudged Alex through.

“You're drawing attention to us with that scowl,” she murmured.

“Honey, that dress is drawing enough for both of us.”

“Well, don't blame me. I didn't pick it out.” She grimaced down into the V. “If I had, I sure as heck would have picked something a bit more flattering. It's not like I want the world knowing I haven't got enough topside to anchor a feather in a lazy breeze.”

“Yeah, well, you know what they say.” He reached the stone baluster and turned around just in time to watch those smooth honey brows arch.

“Really? What do they say?”

Mistake number two. He didn't even need the Alzheimer's to screw up tonight. He was doing beautifully on his own. He opted to bluster his way out. He didn't have much of a choice. “Hell, you posed as a guy. I'm sure you heard it.”

“Heard what?”

He flushed. Fortunately it was dark but for the flickering wrought-iron sconces hanging from the castle wall. “Less than a handful's not enough, more is just a waste.”

They both knew she fit in his hands perfectly. Absolutely perfectly.

She stepped forward, directly into his personal space.

“Don't—”

She smoothed her fingertips across his lips, pressed lightly. “Shh. Relax. Isn't that what you're always telling me?”

It was. But how could he relax with that dress six inches away? With her six inches away? With that soft green gaze growing softer before him? With those honey curls catching the unusually warm spring night and brushing lightly against her cheeks? With that endless, creamy neck—and that distinctly erotic mark he'd left behind. He stared down at it, mesmerized by it. By her.

Every man here knew how that mark had gotten there, DeBruzkya included. They'd all stared at it. All he wanted to do was cover it with his hands, smooth it away. Erase it.

And then lean down and give her another.

He closed his eyes and felt her fingers in his hair, slipping through the strands she'd asked him to leave free just before he'd dressed. “I did some extra research today.”

He froze. Opened his eyes. “Extra?”

She nodded. “Care to know what I learned?”

Yes. No. God help him.

“I learned that early-onset simply means the disease manifests before age sixty-five. Your mother's onset was extreme. Not unheard of, but very extreme.”

“She was my mother. My biological mother. I was tested specifically for early-onset. Late-onset doesn't carry markers, but early-onset does. I have them.”

“I know. But that doesn't mean it's carved in stone. Not the timing, anyway, just the final result. You have your father's genes, as well. They may temper the rate.”

“Don't you think I—”

Her finger found his lips again. “Shh. Someone might hear.” He knew then why she'd chosen tonight. Here. He might have picked the spot for their mission's sake, but she'd had this balcony, this moment, in mind all day—for her personal agenda. It was the gate, the syringe, the jeans all over again. The woman was too damned clever for her own good. Definitely for his.

“As I was saying, the timing's not carved in stone. You could have twenty more years, perhaps even thirty. If things work out between us and
we
decide to make a go of it, we could have twenty years, even thirty. That's more than my mother and my father had. More than Sam and my aunt Rita. More than your mom and dad. More than a lot of people have.”

Yeah, but what would the majority of those years be like? For her. “Alex, please…don't do this.”

“Then you do something for me. Tell me, if your mom had it to do all over again, if she'd known before your father left for Vietnam that he'd never be coming home, would she have stopped loving him? Or would she have
insisted on marrying him before he left, instead? With or without your grandfather's approval.”

He refused to answer, because he knew what it would be.

“Jared?” Her voice was so low he could barely hear it. He leaned forward instinctively.

“What?”

Her breath caressed his ear. “Have you considered that I might die first?”

He slammed his eyes shut against the thought. His mind and his heart followed. He would not consider that. He could not.

“I'm right and you know it. You of all men know what I do for a living. Even if I didn't, there are no guarantees in life. Absolutely none. So if I'm willing to run the risk, if I'm willing to take the chance, who are you to tell me no?”

He forced his eyes open, then his mouth.

But her fingers had returned to his lips. “Just think about it. Okay?”

He stood there, counting his heartbeats, running the first five volumes of the
Encyclopedia Britannica
though his brain as he tried
not
to think about it. He failed. He finally nodded. There wasn't anything else he could do. “I'll think about it.”

“Thank you.”

With that, she rose onto her tiptoes and kissed him. He sucked in his breath as her lips caressed his. As the tip of her tongue trailed lightly across his bottom lip, then dipped gently into the corner. It would have been so easy to shift his head, to pull away, to break it off. But he couldn't. He simply stood there and savored the slow, bittersweet taste of her mouth, knowing that given where they were tonight, what they were about to do, this was as far as it would go. In a way, it was all the sweeter for it.

It was over far too soon. She pulled away and slowly turned around.

Until then, he hadn't even realized Orloff was standing on the far side of the double doors, patiently waiting. At least, the man appeared to be waiting patiently. But from the way he'd loosened the side of his threadbare tie, as if accidentally, Jared knew, Orloff wasn't waiting patiently at all.

And it was time.

 

“You have the plans?”

“In my head.”

Alex winced as Orloff stiffened. If a neurologist could react like that, God only knew what Jared had faced growing up with his mother. Fortunately Orloff was a good neurosurgeon, because he didn't say it.

Unfortunately he didn't say anything.

She stepped away from the balcony into the silence. Before it grew worse. “Jared is fine. He has a photographic memory.” She refused to add anything else. Whether or not Orloff was helping them, whether or not he'd covered for her, that was all the man was going to get. “How long do we have?”

“Fifteen, twenty minutes. Perhaps longer.”

She blinked. “What did you do, knock them all out?”

He shrugged. “I did not have to drug anyone. We were interrupted by one of DeBruzkya's men. There has been an emergency, a skirmish near the Delmonican border. A group of freedom fighters surprised DeBruzkya's men and have gained ground. DeBruzkya and the soldiers left, saying only they would return soon.”

She swung her gaze to Jared's and caught his nod.

“Let's do it.”

He was right. It was the best they could hope for.

She slipped her heels off and twisted the right three-inch wedge around and around until the heel unscrewed completely. She carefully removed the vial of sedatives from the compartment within, then twisted the left heel off to remove the miniature blowgun. By the time she'd finished
reattaching both heels, Jared had retrieved the darts, his lock-pick kit and three of his ever-present throwing knives. The dart and picks had been in his heel compartments. Without his boots, she didn't want to know where he'd hidden those knives.

Orloff stepped up to the balcony doors and opened them, deftly obscuring the view as Jared vaulted over the side of the stone baluster, landing lightly on the slight rise in the lawn beneath. He held up his hands as she turned her back to Orloff, grunting softly as she dropped neatly to his arms.

“Sorry.”

“I'm fine—and so's your dress. Let's go.”

He didn't have to tell her twice. She shadowed him as he turned and led the way, slipping into the mature pine trees surrounding the castle, using the thick trunks to conceal their forward, zigzagging progress as they drew closer and closer to their objective—the outer door Jared had blown off its hinges the week before. Within minutes they were there.

As close as they could get, anyway.

Still a good twenty feet. And all of it wide-open, moonlit clearing. She raised her hands to her lips and cooed softly into the night, mimicking a very-early-rising mourning dove. Two soldiers, both armed, stepped into the clearing.

Dumb.

Jared rewarded each with a swift dart from the miniature blowgun, tipped in a quick-acting sedative compliments of Orloff.

The boys fell like bricks.

She and Jared raced forward. He snagged the Kalashnikovs while she removed the darts. He retrieved his kit and hunkered down in front of the lock of the brand-spanking-new door.

The seconds dragged out unmercifully, punctuated by the magnified scraps and clicks of metal against metal within her right ear as Jared continued to calmly work the lock.

“Hurry.”

“I am.” His words were little more than a murmur. “You want faster results, give me a stick of C-4 and a blasting cap.”