The Silver Fox and the Red-Hot Dove (12 page)

“I never
wanted
to cause you trouble,” she amended, her firmness wavering. “You’ve given me so much … the only way I can repay you is by leaving. Now. I’ll go somewhere else and call your State Department. No one will ever know that I’ve been staying here, with you. I’ll turn myself in and take the chance they won’t let me stay in this country.” She looked at her hands, which felt cold. “When I show them my value, however, they’ll probably call in all their scientists and have a celebration. Surely then they’ll let me stay.”

“As a guinea pig.”

“What’s that?”

“Never mind. I didn’t tell you about the FBI to make you feel guilty. I just want to explain why you can’t go outside the house anymore. I can’t risk someone getting onto the grounds and seeing you. So from now on, you’re confined to the house. I’m sorry.”

“But what about later? They’ll eventually learn I’m here.”

“No. I’ll work that out when the time arrives.”

“Why are you doing so much for me? After last night, I thought you weren’t impressed anymore.”

His expressive, dark brows stood out like dramatic signals. Now they drew together in support of his ominous expression. “I’m motivated by something a little more important than my groin, Elena. You don’t owe me anything because I want to help you. I certainly don’t want you to keep acting like a slave, patiently doing whatever you think your ‘master’ expects.”

“Do you think I was being polite last night?”

“Yes, to a degree.”

“You ignorant, arrogant … you know so little about me, but you make the most insulting assumptions.
You’ve lived your life in such an empty, lonely way, shut off from ordinary people—just like me—but you don’t have the faintest understanding of what I was offering you last night. I’m sorry I offered, sorry I expected you to be human.”

“I’m
not
human. I’m an Audubon. Be thankful for what that means, because I’m your only hope for getting what you want.”

“You don’t even know what I want.”

“Freedom. Privacy. Independence. To tell the rest of the world, including me, to go take a flying leap.”

“You only see the big issues, not the small, quiet, human ones. It’s true, what you said, but it’s not all.” She shut her eyes and saw the world the way she needed for it to be. “I have to be free to give love and respect; to walk into my own house and sit in my own chair, by my own fireplace; to read a book while snuggling in my own bed on a cold winter night. I need to know the book, and the bed, and the comfort, and even the night are mine to do with as I please. Simple goals, but they define me better than grand ones, such as yours.”

“When I dream, I dream big,” he said gruffly. But when she looked at him, he seemed tired and depressed. “It makes up for a lot of small disappointments.”

“And overlooks so many small, private dreams.” Her voice trembled with emotion. She ached to touch him, but his aloofness stopped her. His feelings for her were tangled with some larger problem she hadn’t discovered yet. She sensed it. She could only be patient, and try to keep from falling more deeply in love with a man who couldn’t recognize love even when it made flowers bloom.

Quickly she looked around, then sighed with relief to see no significant change in the greenery. If he didn’t understand, she didn’t want to humiliate herself again.

“I’d better go inside now,” she told him, then added drolly, “Oh, my. I’m being passive and dutiful, like a slave, aren’t I?”

“In this case, I approve.”

She shot him a challenging look. “I really must make an attempt at being assertive. If I’m to be shut up inside all the time, I
demand
some promises from you.”

“Yes?” He drew the word out warily and studied her through slitted eyes.

“Promise to teach me about American customs, so I can fit in.”

“All right.”

“Including how to attract American men, so I can find boyfriends.”

“You’ll have no trouble.”

“Promise.”

“All right, my little attack dove, I promise.”

“And promise you’ll let me visit your private rooms upstairs.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to see if you leave dirty socks on the floor. It would be very reassuring to know that in some way you’re human.”

“You drive a hard bargain. It’s a deal. Here’s a popular American custom to seal an agreement. Shake.” He held out a hand and she grasped it slowly, not certain he wasn’t testing her in some way. He squeezed her hand and gave it a gentle tug. “I just wanted to see how much heat the power plant was generating today. Your furnace is cold.”

“It was overloaded, so I turned it off.”

“Good. You’re learning to take care of yourself. Last night you wanted to take care of me, but only because it’s what you’ve been trained to do all your life. I don’t want that kind of attention.”

Trembling with frustration, she managed a grim smile. “Stop making excuses for rejecting me. I won’t die because you had a change of heart.”

“You misunderstand—” He stopped, looking as frustrated as she felt. “Oh, hell, it’s for the best. Change the subject. Let’s go back to the house. I’m planning a party in your honor. It’ll give you something to look forward to.”

Elena stared at him in shock. “You’re going to let people know I’m here?”

“Only some very special people.”

“People who work for you,” she said in dismay. “A fake party.”

“People who used to work for me. My friends. I want them to know you, and for you to know them. If anything happened to me, they’d help you.”

She grasped his arm. “What do you mean, if anything happened to you?”

Audubon took a startled breath and looked down at her hand on his arm. In a soft voice, he said, “Well, at the moment I might catch on fire.”

Elena withdrew her hand, dug her fingertips into her willful, hot palm, but promised silently to singe this fox’s silver fur before she was done.

Audubon was in his downstairs office by dawn. For several hours he read faxes that had come in during the night and talked to his people in various parts of the world. As usual during the past few mornings, his perfectly brewed, custom-blended coffee grew stale in the percolator atop the mahogany étagére near his paper-strewn desk. The chef’s magnificent crepes with sausage lay untouched on the gold Audubon family crest of the breakfast china. And his every spare thought was for Elena.

He wanted to reach inside himself and tear out the knot of conflicting emotions that grew larger every day. She had been used for other people’s purposes all her life. How would she feel if she knew he might use her too? Kash was in hiding, but Audubon didn’t know where; at the moment a dozen of his people were in Mexico trying to locate him before the
wrong
people beat them to it.

If Kash couldn’t get out of the situation, Audubon would need help from the State Department. He had cultivated government contacts for years, and even accepted free-lance jobs from the government himself on several occasions. But Kash’s situation would take more influence than usual. It would require a bargaining tool: Elena.

Clarice entered his office with a sheaf of notes in
one hand and a prim tilt to her mouth. “If we weren’t below ground, you’d be throwing yourself out the nearest window.”

Audubon glanced up from his incessant pacing. He held a book on psychic phenomenon in both hands. “Did you give Elena my message?”

“Yes. She’ll meet you at the indoor pool in ten minutes.”

“Did you tell Bernard to set up everything I asked for?”

“Audubon, if I can run this office for you, I
believe
I can organize a checkers game and lunch for two.” Offended, she pivoted on her Italian high heels and marched from the room. He made a note to apologize later. He was edgy not only from worrying about Kash, but because he was balancing on a tightrope between keeping Elena at arm’s length and admitting he was desperately in love with her.

She wanted to learn about American customs. Checkers seemed harmless enough, for them both. But he called to Clarice as he left the office, “Did you remember to have Bernard move the geraniums out of the pool house?”

“Yes.” She shut the office door hard.

Moving the geraniums, which were numerous and nearly ready to bloom, was a wise decision, Audubon knew as soon as he saw Elena. She was sitting on the edge of the indoor pool, looking surreal in the striped shadows of the wooden blinds that covered the glass walls. Her one-piece swimsuit was white, cut high on the hips, but otherwise demure, as if anything could make her supple curves less exciting. He decided to pay Mr. Rex a bonus for picking a suit that was classy but would probably be translucent when wet.

Her eyes, when she looked up at him with the provocative challenge she conveyed so easily, caught the pool’s reflected light and were almost as brilliant as the turquoise tile. Their quick, admiring scrutiny and her dismayed smile said she found him and his black swim trunks enormously appealing.

Women had admired him so many times, and demonstrated it in so many ways, that he’d thought nothing could make him self-conscious. But Elena did, because he cared so much about her reaction. He knew his body’s imperfections—the sunken scar just above his left hip, the legs that he considered too long, with knobby knees and feet that were all bone and no grace, the cracked rib, from a fist fight in Morocco, that had healed badly, forming a ridge that showed on the left side of his chest.

And of course, there was the new scar from the arrow wound on his right side—more important than all the others because when her compassionate gaze went to it, he felt a shiver of awe, remembering what she’d done to him, giving up her secret to save his life. He couldn’t take advantage of her trust. He wouldn’t let himself think about a future with her, because the future was so uncertain. To dream about it and then lose it might shatter all he’d built around him emotionally throughout his life.

It was too late to make an excuse and cancel lunch, but he wished he could. The sight of Elena made his conscience feel raw. His willpower seemed as fragile as the Japanese rice paper etchings on his library wall and the Faberge eggs in the display case of his bedroom. He had filled his home with delicate and breakable objects in direct contrast to forging his own unbreakable determination and steely strength. But now this delicate and breakable woman had undermined him. Reluctantly he sat down on the side of the pool and put his feet in the water, as she had. “Hmmm. Warm. Thank you.”

Her mouth curled in droll response. “I never swam in a giant bathtub before. How decadent.”

The remark was a nice shield, but couldn’t stop the accelerated rise and fall of her chest, or the way her misguided devotion floated to him on the scent of the gardenia bushes outside the room’s glass walls. Audubon faked a relaxed smile. After all, he was the one who controlled her future. All he had to do was keep himself from loving her. “You want to learn
American customs,” he taunted mildly. “Then learn to love evil American pleasures.”

“Such as?”

As if on cue, Bernard appeared in the open space that led to the manor’s central feature, a large vaulted room, filled with massive antiques and oriental pillows. Decorated in shades of warm burgundy, it was a very masculine place of sophisticated comfort. “Are you ready for lunch, Mr. Audubon?”

“Yes. Bring it in, please.”

He wheeled a wicker serving cart to a glass-topped table surrounded by upholstered wicker chairs. After setting several covered silver dishes and a silver pitcher frosted with condensation there, he nodded and left. “Come sample an American delicacy,” Audubon said, rising and walking to her. He held out a hand, while his eyes went to her delicate cleavage and the streak of sunlight across her worried, mesmerizing face.

His reaction made him very glad that he never wore bikini swim wear—it left nothing to the imagination, which offended his sense of drama, and besides, it showed too much of the scar on his hip. He pretended nonchalance as she took his hand, her fingers dewy and warm. “What luxury?” she asked, drawing her hand away.

Even the hint of her warmth was tormenting. At the table he unveiled their lunch with more impatience than elegance. “Hot dogs.”

“Stop your teasing. What are they called, really?”

“I’m not teasing. Eat.”

His tense answer silenced her. She repressed all comments about lunch until later, as they lay on their stomachs facing each other on large rafts, with the checkerboard on a float between them. “Why are they called dogs?” she asked, looking at him solemnly with her chin propped on the back of one hand.

“Because they’re made of dog meat.” He continued setting up the checker pieces, and avoided looking at her. Every time he looked at her he questioned
how he could live in this house after she left. He would see her in every room, every hallway—everywhere.

“You like to make fun of me. You’re angry. If I could take back what happened between us the other night, I would. It has only made you resent me.”

“No. I just don’t know what hot dogs are made of. Leftover pieces of pig, I suppose. Who cares? Live dangerously.”

“Is that what you’ve always done—live dangerously.”

“Not when I could help it.”

“Why would a man who can have anything he wants risk losing it all on mysterious schemes?”

“Not
schemes
. Projects. I help people. Save their lives, even.”

“How?”

“By getting them out of problem situations. Just as I helped you.”

“For money?”

“Sometimes, if the people are rich and can afford my fee. It depends on the customer.”

“And if they can’t afford it?”

“If they have a worthy cause, I help them without charge.”

“How many people work for you?”

Carefully setting the last checker piece in place, he raised his eyes to hers. “I’ll tell you my secrets, if you’ll tell yours. What would have happened to you if you’d stayed with Kriloff?”

“I’d have continued participating in his research, of course.”

“But what kind of research? I have a mental image of you curing white mice sent over from a cigarette study of severe coughs.”