Now You See Him(62)

"You ready to go?" the man next to him asked, his dark eyes curious. The launch was waiting to take him back to his current identity, his current mission. Stopping the Cadre as they made one last attempt at solidifying their dubious power. Wiping the last trace of them off the face of this earth. It was the best thing he could do for Francey, that and disappearing from her life. Regrets were a waste of time. He had a job to do.

"Ready," he said. And he didn't look back.



"Witness protection program?" Francey echoed, setting the coffee cup down untouched. "I thought that was an American institution."

"It's used the world over. Invaluable, really, or no one would ever testify against powerful criminals. The man you knew as Michael Dowd was a witness to an IRA bombing. He testified, they tried to kill him, and he was sent to St. Anne and you to recuperate a bit before taking up his new life."

"He hadn't been in a car accident?"

"He'd been shot. Quite badly, but modern medicine is amazing, really. They patched him together, and right now he's living quite happily in Australia. With his wife."

"Wife?" Francey echoed.

"Quite a lovely woman. And loyal. She'd been wonderful through all this, Cardiff says. But they're quite safe and happy now. I know he regretted not being able to say goodbye to you, but things got a little dicey at the end there on St. Anne."

"Cardiff. Is that the little man?"

Daniel nodded. "He's a pretty high-up member of British intelligence. I'm afraid he got a little overenthusiastic when you went looking for Michael. You were never completely cleared of suspicion in connection with the Cadre, and he was afraid you were out to kill him. He couldn't get in touch with me, so he decided to put you out of commission for a while until he sorted things out. I'm certain he didn't realize what he'd gotten you into."

"I imagine not," Francey said faintly, still trying to absorb the information Daniel was finally giving her. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I told you, lives were at stake. Michael and his wife and children. Various agents…"

"Children?" she echoed in a high-pitched little shriek.

Daniel nodded. "Three little redheaded boys, the spitting image of their father. Their safety came first. No one thought you were in any danger, and it seemed possible that you were one of the bad guys. I tried to tell them otherwise…"

"This isn't making sense," Francey said, shaking her head to try to clear away some of the confusion.

"Life doesn't make sense, Francey. You've been through too much in the past few days, the past weeks, the past months. We need to get you back to the States. I've arranged for two first-class tickets for tomorrow afternoon. We'll fly to Rome, change planes, and be in New York by Sunday."

"But—"

"Trust me, Francey. As time passes this will all seem a lot clearer. There's nothing we can do except get the hell away from here and get back to normal as soon as possible."

"Why?"

Daniel looked confused for a moment, and he wiped his pale, sweating forehead with a white linen handkerchief. "I beg your pardon?"

"Why do we need to get away from Malta? It's supposed to be a beautiful island, with lovely beaches. Why don't we spend a few days enjoying it? God knows I could use the sun and sea and fresh air."

"If you want a seaside vacation, you can go back to Belle Reste," Daniel said.

"So someone can try to sabotage my car again?"

"Those people have been taken care of."

"The dead men on Baby Jerome? Who killed them? Not an innocent witness who was trying to relocate."

"You ask too many questions, Francey. And you wouldn't want to know the answers, I assure you. Just believe that you'd be safe on St. Anne, or in New York, for that matter."

"But I wouldn't be safe on Malta?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. What's on Malta that's so dangerous?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Don't you want to get home? Back to your life, your apartment?"

He was sweating even more profusely now, despite the fact that the cabin was swathed in air-conditioned cool. He looked ill, and she felt a moment's compunction. His heart wasn't in the best of shape, and if she could trust her instincts, he was as much a pawn in whatever complicated game was going on as she was.

He was right, though. None of it mattered. The man who'd been haunting her dreams, her waking and sleeping hours, was a happily married father now living the good life down under. He was exactly who he'd said he was, a decent, upper-middle-class Brit caught in circumstances beyond his control. She'd been clinging to a fantasy.