Now You See Him(74)

"Caitlin Dugan is the leader of the Cadre," Michael said flatly.

The color and animation drained from her face. "She's trying to kill me?"

"She always was. And she won't stop until you're dead. Or she is." He pulled up outside a decaying villa, but she didn't even notice, still intent on him.

"So you're going to kill her?"

He didn't bother to deny it. "Yes."

"I can't let you do that."

"You're not going to have any say in the matter. My mission is to deactivate the most ruthless group of fanatics ever to be born on English soil. To intercept a shipment of arms and money, and to wipe out the last remaining members. The Cadre won't let themselves be taken prisoner. If we don't kill Caitlin, she'll kill herself rather than let herself be taken."

"Then let her," Francey said with sudden fierce passion. "Wipe out her organization, destroy their evil, but don't kill her. Not for her sake. But for yours. Promise me, Michael."

God, he wanted to. He would have given years off his life to offer her that assurance. "My name isn't Michael," he said coldly. "And I have no promises for you."

The light went out of her eyes. She gave up on him then, he knew it without question. Before, a part of her heart had belonged to him. Now it was wiped out, one more casualty of the Cadre's far-reaching destructiveness. One more casualty of his own empty way of life.

"Get in the house," he said, turning off the engine and pulling the key. He wouldn't have put it past her to try to make a run for it.

She didn't. Instead she looked down at her hands lying limp in her lap, at the blood on her silk skirt. She touched the stains that were rapidly turning brown in the hot, dry air, and she shivered. "Damn you, Michael," she whispered, staring at her hands.

"You can curse me to your dying day," he drawled, forcing a casual tone. "But at least that'll be decades away, and not tomorrow. Out of the car, Francey, or I'll carry you."

She looked up sharply then, and he could see the intensity of her emotions burning just beneath the surface. Hatred for him, without any question. He accepted it.

Without a word she opened the car door, sliding out and standing in front of the tumbledown villa. "What is this place?"

"A place to hide. No one outside the organization even knows of its existence. You'll be safe here."

"The organization? Now why doesn't that fill me with confidence?"

"The only one you have to fear in the organization is Ross Cardiff, and he's still in Spain. Assuming he managed to swim to shore." The moment the words were out he regretted them.

"What do you mean by that?" she demanded.

"I threw him off the True Blue. Last time I saw him, he was floundering around in Mariz harbor."

The light had come back into her eyes. "You did that for me?"

"Hell, no. I did it because he'd screwed up the mission by his rash actions."

"Didn't I do the same? By coming after you, asking questions? Why didn't you throw me to the sharks?"

"You'd already been there," he said flatly. "Don't get sentimental, Francey. I'd been looking for an excuse to get the drop on Cardiff for a long time. You simply provided it."

"I see."

"You'll find food in the kitchen area. There's no power, but the kerosene lamps are cleaned and ready. No telephone, either, and you'll be at least twenty miles from the nearest neighbor, so I wouldn't try to make it on foot if I were you. Someone will come to collect you as soon as it's safe."

"You're not leaving me here."

"You have no choice in the matter."

"The hell I don't," she said, as all her hard-won control suddenly short-circuited. And she leaped at him, her fury and rage and pain centered directly on him.





Chapter 17


« ^ »



Michael put up his hands to stop her, to keep her not from hurting him, but from hurting herself. He caught her wrists in his hard hands, but the feel of her flesh beneath his was a torment he wasn't able to resist. He yanked her body hard against his, and she stared up at him, wild-eyed, furious, for a long, breathless moment. And then slowly, deliberately, he dropped his mouth to hers.

She jerked spasmodically, trying to reject him, but he was too strong, too determined. He pulled her arms tight around his waist so that her thin, panting body was plastered against his. She could stop him, he knew, by using her knee, by kicking him; she could distract him enough to stop him kissing her. But she didn't. Her arms tightened around his waist, her head tilted back beneath his, and if she didn't kiss him back, she didn't deny him access to her open mouth.

She let him kiss her, an angry, passion-filled kiss that ravaged her mouth even as it ravaged his soul. When he lifted his head to look down at her, he didn't know what he expected.