She leaned back against the overstuffed sofa and shut her eyes. She could hear the noise from the street, the cars, the people, the endless sounds of the city. So different from the peace and quiet of St. Anne. She wanted to be back there. Away from the noise and bustle of New York, away from the news and the lies. She wanted to lie on the beach and listen to the sound of the surf. She wanted to be able to reach out and touch Michael. She wanted to finish what they'd started by the lagoon on Baby Jerome.
She wanted peace. But even more than that, she wanted Michael.
He slid down on his haunches, his back against the rough surface of the building, and lit a cigarette. He didn't smoke much nowadays—just often enough to remind himself he could control it. The smoke tasted harsh, acrid in his lungs. But it cleared away the stench of burning buildings, burning flesh.
Geoffrey hunkered down beside him, his dark, narrow face streaked with soot. "You okay, Cougar?"
The man who'd been known as Michael Dowd nodded, taking another drag on the cigarette. "Right as rain."
"Cardiff said it was too early for you to be out in the field."
Michael's reply was short and obscene. "You know Ross," he added. "Always playing mother."
"He told me about the men on the island."
"Did he, now? You two must have had quite a little chat. Has he started fancying you?"
Geoffrey grinned, scratching his grimy face. "He's saving himself for you, love."
"Sod off, Geoffrey."
"Did he tell you who you got?" he continued, imperturbable.
"Two middle-level operatives and a boy," Michael said flatly. He'd had dreams about the boy. Nightmares, during his most recent stay in hospital, filled with hopeless what-ifs.
"It was Connor Dugan. Brother to the boy-o you took out at the UN."
Michael was adept at hiding his reactions. This time there was no need; he'd worked with and trusted Geoffrey Parkhurst for more years than he cared to admit. "It wasn't."
"Word of honor. You just happened to take out one of the most vicious little killers this side of Beirut. You remember the bomb he set that killed thirty-seven school kids? And then he put out the statement that they should be happy to die for the cause of a free Ireland?"
"And the massacre at Heathrow last summer," Michael added as he felt a black cloud begin to lift. "He was there, I've seen the video tapes. I just didn't connect him with the boy on the island."
"So you've done the world a favor, pally."
Michael grinned sourly. "So who are you, my guardian angel? Come to cheer me when I'm feeling burned-out?"
"We all get burned-out at some point or another. Sometimes we come back, sometimes we don't. Looks to me like you're back, but I'm not sure if your heart's in it. And if it's not, that can be dangerous to all of us."
Michael reached for another cigarette. He seldom smoked more than two a day, but this had been a hell of a day. "The day you can't count on me, then I'll be gone. I don't do things halfway."
"That you don't, mate." Geoffrey looked over his shoulder at the burned out shell of the building. "You really think we got them all?"
"No."
Geoffrey swore. "Why not?"
"You've seen them. Which one do you think was giving the orders?"
"You've got a point. A bunch of dedicated fanatics, but none of them has the vision that some of their recent antics have required. And the ones we've got won't talk, that's for sure. So what's next?"
Michael leaned his head against the building and shut his eyes. He hated the smells, the noise, the stench of death and despair. And yet he'd stepped back into it so easily, breathing in that stench, moving with lethal accuracy. That should have told him, better than anything, that he couldn't turn his back on his way of life. Only death would free him. There was no room for a woman like Francey Neeley in his life. No room at all.
"What's next?" he echoed, staring at his smoke out of half-closed eyes. "Malta?"
"Malta?" Geoffrey said. "I thought they were traced to Gibraltar."
"That's what Ross tells me, but I was never known for being gullible. According to Ross, his operatives have told him the Cadre's planning something in the area of Gibraltar. But I've picked up a hint or two from my own sources, and my money's on Malta."
Geoffrey nodded. "Will he let you go?"
Michael grinned savagely. "Can he stop me?"
His old friend nodded. "I'd like to see his reaction when he finds out you've gone."
"No, you wouldn't. He can be quite nasty when he's in the mood. Watch yourself around him. Get yourself transferred as fast as you can."