Now You See Him(63)

"Are you taking your heart medicine, Daniel?" she asked, trying to push her own concerns aside. "You don't look well."

Daniel managed a sickly smile. "I think I need a new prescription. The current stuff doesn't seem to have the kick it once had. Elmore's going to look into something when we get to the hotel."

"If you trust him."

"He was just following orders, Francey."

"Yours?"

"Cardiff's. If there's anyone who makes me uneasy, it's Cardiff. I'm not sure where he is—we left him behind in Spain—but he's a man with a vision. Once he decides something's for the common good, then it's damn all to the individual. You've been through enough."

Half of what he said rang true. Half was a tissue of lies. And she had no idea which half was which. "One last question, Daniel."

"Francey, the less you know, the better off you'll be."

She ignored him. "Who was the man who rescued me? Who brought me out of the prison?"

He didn't even hesitate. "Cardiff hired him after I insisted he get you out. He was an Arab sailor who does a few discreet jobs on the side for British intelligence. He got you out, brought you to the boat, took his money and left."

"Did you see him?"

"Of course. Sort of an ugly fellow, actually. It's just as well you didn't get a good look at him—you might not have come, and he would have had a harder time if he'd had to drag you."

"I would have gone with Attila the Hun."

"Well, Ahmad wasn't a far cry. Any more questions, Francey?" he asked wearily.

"A thousand. I'll wait until you're feeling better."

"Thank God for small favors. Wait till we're back in New York. Thirty-six hours, Francey, and this will all seem like a dream."

"A nightmare," she said, reaching for Daniel's coffee cup and drinking the too-sweet mixture.

"Nightmare's over, Francey. Time to wake up and start life anew. Forget the past, the people you've met. Think about the future."

Forget the past. Forget Michael. Excellent advice, as always. If only she could follow it. Her life had been on a self-destructive slide since the day she'd first set eyes on Patrick Dugan. Michael Dowd was simply part of the slide. It was past time to pull herself up.

"The future," she echoed glumly.

"In two days I'll take you to dinner at Tavern on the Green and we'll toast that future." He looked and sounded so anxious that Francey decided to dismiss her misgivings, her doubt. Daniel had done a great deal for her over the years. The least she could do under the circumstances was lie to him.

"Sounds wonderful," she said firmly. "I can't wait."



The hotel in the center of the tiny city was very small, very old and very elegant. Francey couldn't even find the name of the establishment as Daniel whisked her inside, and a moment later she gave up the attempt. After all, what did it really matter? In less than twenty-four hours she would be on her way back home, and Malta, Spain, and the last month would be nothing but a distant memory.

She and Daniel were ensconced in adjoining suites. Her marble-and-gilt bathroom was more than twice the size of her prison cell, and the hot water was unlimited. When she emerged half an hour later, her skin was pink from scrubbing, she found her bed piled with new clothes, sand-washed silks, soft cottons, all a size too small. Except that she found they fit her perfectly, were even a little loose, when she tried them on. Glancing over at her reflection in the mirror, she grimaced. Besides looking pale and haunted, she'd lost weight. Too much weight. She looked like a good candidate for Daniel Travers's rest cure on St. Anne. Even Michael Dowd had looked healthier.

She tossed her old clothes into the trash, finding a measure of comfort in the feel of silk against her skin. Maybe things would be all right if she just concentrated on the small pleasures in this life. A soft bed. Silk against skin. The scent of roses filling the air. She needed to work up an appetite, think about the taste of coffee and chilled white wine, of whipped cream and strawberries, of pungent spices.

But all she could think about was the taste of Michael Dowd's mouth on hers. The feel of his hands on her skin.

"Enough," she said out loud. Michael Dowd was several continents away, and she was the last thing on his mind. It was time to make him the last thing on hers.

She rapped on the adjoining door between Daniel's suite and hers. There was no answer. He'd said something about having a rest, and, indeed, he'd looked as if he needed sleep. While the need to know still burned in the back of her brain, for now she was going to give him what he wanted. No more questions. She started to turn away when a trickle of uneasiness danced down her spine.