Conner Preston felt a burst of white-hot anger slice down his spine. He welcomed the sensation. It told him he was alive and reminded him that danger was just ahead. This time the danger was a murderer. And he’d been waiting ten years to confront her.
Following Mac’s instructions, Conner left his rental car in the parking area at the base of Tennessee’s renowned Lookout Mountain and bought a ticket on the famous Incline Railroad. His destination was only a block from the station at the top.
The train was empty. People who lived in the village used the winding, foggy road on the back side of the mountain, and there were no sightseers on the last trip of the day to the battlefield park hidden at the top.
As the train jerked to a start and inched upward, Conner fastened his attention on the wooded area along the tracks. The lighted car made him an open target on the slow, steep climb. He didn’t like being exposed. Anyone could be waiting out there and not be seen. His sense of danger heightened.
Finally, the car reached the end of the line. Conner stepped off and watched as several women, maids, he guessed from their conversations, boarded the train for the ride down.
From the observation platform, Conner took one last look at the valley below. A cloud slowly moved between him and the rising sliver of the December moon. It cast an opaque web of black over the twinkling Christmas lights of the sprawling city of Chattanooga and the Blue Ridge Mountains beyond.
Conner buttoned his overcoat and walked out of the empty station into an early evening mist so thick that it muffled the sound of the tram returning to the bottom of the mountain.
Behind him, the lights went out. The darkness was ideal. It fed the smoldering anger that had followed him across the Atlantic to confront the woman responsible for his brother’s death.
His fury intensified. The fog swirled around the streetlights, turning their glow into faint smears of luminescence. Exaggerated shadows of trees and buildings reached from the sides of the streets to conceal his presence—perfect for a man who spent most of his life in hiding—a man called Shadow.
As he looked around, streaks of light and dark seemed to lift, then swoop to gather their tattered wisps. He felt as if he stood in some kind of unnatural cold, wet smoke. Taking a quick glance down the murky street, he wondered if Mac could possibly be right. Could she be here, in this strange, surrealistic community perched in the clouds?
Erica needed help and Mac had sent Conner. If Mac’s request was intended to soften Conner’s hatred toward her, it hadn’t. He had listened when Mac said it was time he faced the truth about the past, whatever it was. But Conner wasn’t buying any plea to forgive and forget. Wisely, Mac hadn’t made one. He’d simply asked Conner to come.
What bothered him was why. Mac knew how Conner felt about Erica, the constant anger that fueled his daredevil missions. He’d rescued Peace Corps advisers, nuns, sick and wounded children who needed medical attention, but this ambassador was a nobody, a state department official without a post. If the world learned he’d been shot, they probably wouldn’t even recognize his name.
How Erica had come to be his administrative assistant, Conner couldn’t imagine. She’d been an artist when they met, determined to make her mark on the world. Erica was like a whirlwind that had scooped up a brash young soldier and carried him to places he’d never dreamed of. In her own way she’d been as much a risk-taker as he.
Now Mac had taken the wounded ambassador to safety at the Shangrila medical compound and asked Conner to protect Erica. For his own reasons as much as Mac’s, Conner agreed.
Only Mac knew what had happened ten years ago in Berlin, though Conner was no longer sure either of them knew everything.
The German newspapers had reported the murder of Bart Preston, the bright young American architectural student attending the Technical University of Berlin. Little mention was made of the other American, a soldier, who was badly wounded. It was considered just another assault on the military by some left-wing group seeking publicity to support their claim that outsiders were behind the move to tear down the Berlin Wall.
Only a few insiders knew that the two victims were brothers, or that the site of the attack was a little historic church whose minister had been engaged to perform a wedding. And the press didn’t know there was a third American who was missing from the scene—Erica Fallon—Conner’s future bride.
Erica was supposed to meet Conner and Bart at the church. Instead, it was two masked gunmen who’d tied up the minister, ransacked the chapel, and waited inside. Afterward, Bart was dead. Conner, with gunshots in both legs, was stabilized and flown to a military hospital in the states. The army would handle the investigation. The army would find Erica and tell her what happened. The army would keep Conner informed.
According to Mac, it wasn’t until later that the military investigator learned the reason for Erica’s absence—a change of heart about the wedding and an early morning flight to Paris.
In a few moments Conner had lost his brother, the woman he loved, his military career, and for a time, his will to live. But Mac had stepped in and refused to let him quit Mac recognized the potential for Conner’s unique experience and convinced him that he could use his military skills to set up his own business.
Conner never heard from Erica. Mac said she’d stayed in Paris. By the time he was ready to leave Shangrila, Paradox, Inc. was a reality and he had realized that there was no room in his life for a permanent personal relationship. He’d sworn he’d never see Erica Fallon again. He didn’t dare. He hoped instead that life would be her punishment, as it was his.
Conner Preston operated his import-export business with sophistication and flair. But his undercover services, for those who could afford them, were carried out by a man known only as Shadow.
For ten years Conner searched quietly for the mastermind behind Bart’s assassination. At the same time he rescued or found lost people, places, and objects—everything from the ordinary to the bizarre, from the legal to the not so legal. He’d been incredibly successful because he had nothing to lose. His life had ended in the chapel, watching his brother die. Now he belonged to Mac and those who needed him most.
This time it was personal. Conner’s official objective was to protect Erica. Shadow’s mission was to finally confront the woman he would forever hold responsible for Bart’s death and expose the evil in her heart.
If Erica Fallon had ever had a heart.
As the wind pushed against the back of the house, Erica heard every sound, every creak of the walls, every brush of a branch against a window. She was running out of time and she didn’t know what to do.
Mac had been willing to take the ambassador, even with the risks involved. He’d even offered Erica sanctuary, but she knew the truth—the bullet Ambassador Collins had taken was a warning to her.
Ten years ago Erica had learned about warnings, to believe them or unconscionably bad things happened. Once again she was being deliberately drawn into something evil and she had no idea what the evil was.
Or why.
And who was Mac sending to help her? Why had he been so mysterious, referring to him only as “the man”? She folded her arms across her chest and squeezed. The house was warm. It was her heart that was cold.
It had been that way for a very long time.
When the doorbell rang, she jumped. Her throat closed off and she couldn’t swallow. He was here. It had to be Mac’s angel. No one else knew where to find her. At least she didn’t think she’d been followed. And, except for the ambassador, she’d kept her connection to her family home in Tennessee a secret.
Erica stepped into the foyer, glanced into the mirror, then chastised herself. What difference did it make how she looked if she was going to die?
The streetlight beyond the security hole kept her from seeing the man’s face.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Mac sent me,” came the muffled reply.
Erica opened the door and stepped back to let the man inside.
He stood very still, merging so well with the fog and darkness that for a moment she thought he was gone. Then he straightened his shoulders, as if throwing off a great weight, and stepped closer, into the light.
Dear God—Conner. “No,” she whispered as she caught her throat with her fingertips. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this. “No, he wouldn’t do this to me.”
“Yes, he would, and he damn well did—to both of us.”
Conner Preston took a cold close-up look at the woman he’d once loved. Loved, then hated, then dismissed.
At least that was what he’d thought. He’d been wrong. Just looking at her brought it all crashing back.
She’d changed. Ten years ago she’d been so young and determined, so full of life, convinced that the world was hers for the taking. And she had taken it as though there were no tomorrow.
Her live-for-the-moment philosophy had seemed curiously at odds with her reason for being in Germany. She’d been an art history student on a Fulbright scholarship studying the design of historic buildings. That was how he’d met her, through his brother Bart, who was an architectural student in the same program.
As Americans, Bart and Erica had been partners and friends. Then Conner had been transferred to Berlin and reunited with his younger brother.
From the moment Conner had laid eyes on Erica, he’d been completely captivated. For weeks, he was the third member of their team. They’d minutely measured, photographed, and studied the little chapel that was the focus of their project. Conner hadn’t understood his brother’s love for the old church, but he’d dissect the Empire State Building if it would keep him close to Erica.
They’d measured and sketched the historic structure for hours, even crawling through the ancient catacomb of tunnels. Once, when a crawl space came to an end, Bart managed to find a trigger mechanism that got them beyond the false wall. He’d been ecstatic to find a broken piece of marble that he was sure came from an ancient sculpture. He’d sworn Conner and Erica to secrecy to protect his discovery from treasure hunters.
Then Erica did something she’d never done before. She left the work to Bart while she and Conner shared private picnics at Tiergarten Park and Wannsee Lake, visited coffee houses, where they drank strong espresso and ate the local specialty, hot dogs and French fries with mayonnaise. Erica fell in love with as much determination as she approached her studies. And the studies were left behind in the wake of newly discovered passion.
Erica was the most exotic woman Conner had ever met. She’d heard his buddies call him Shadow and demanded a special name of her own. Because of her flair for the dramatic, he’d laughingly called her his Dragon Lady. Her midnight-black hair had been long and straight, falling across her shoulders to the middle of her back. The first time they’d made love she’d teased him by covering her breasts with it.
Conner closed his eyes, trying to shut out that memory. He couldn’t. It slammed into him with sonic force.
A gust of wind blew dry leaves across the porch in a rustle, reminding him that they were standing in the light. Out of habit, he glanced behind him.
Erica stepped back and in a tight voice said, “I guess you’d better come in, Conner.”
“Yes.” He found it oddly difficult to speak. The ease of their past relationship was long gone and the new emotion between them was dangerously volatile.
He shrugged out of his overcoat while Erica closed and locked the door.
The click sounded like a shell falling into the chamber of a gun. Conner patted his jacket, instinctively reassuring himself that his own weapon was within reach.
“You won’t need that here,” Erica said as she took his coat, careful that their hands didn’t touch. “At least I don’t think you will. But then, I’m not sure of anything anymore.”
Once, the catch in her voice would have moved him. Then he remembered what she’d done. “Whatever you know is more than I know. Talk to me, Dragon Lady.”
He used his secret name for her mockingly.
“Would you like some coffee?” She turned toward the kitchen as if she had to escape from the bitterness he made no attempt to disguise.
Conner followed her without comment, focusing on the house to give himself time to regroup.
Except for the appliances, the kitchen was straight out of the forties with glass-windowed white cabinets full of neatly stacked dinnerware. Erica went into the pantry and brought out two mugs that she set on a small table nestled in the three-sided bay window overlooking the valley below.
While she filled the coffeemaker with water, Conner walked over to the window. He instinctively hugged the edge of the wall and looked out. The elements had thrown a cloak of opaque gray over the house, closing them inside. He didn’t need to worry about being visible. He couldn’t see beyond the blank panes of glass.
Soon the sound of grinding filled the silence, and the rich smell of coffee beans permeated the air.
Finally, Erica spoke. “First I want to say I’m sorry, Conner—about what happened to you—and Bart. I—”
“You damned well ought to be. He died because of you.”
He heard her gasp and saw her face pale in the reflection of the windowpane.
“I couldn’t have changed anything. By the time I knew, it was too late. All I can say now is that I’m truly sorry.”
“If you’d told me you weren’t going through with the wedding, neither of us would have been there. Or was it a setup all the way? I’ve often wondered about that.”
“You think I knew what was going to happen? No, don’t answer that. I can see that you do. You actually believe that I arranged to have the man I loved more than life itself wounded and his brother killed.” She spoke rapidly, then paused and took a deep breath. “Your brother was my partner, my best friend.”
“You disappeared without any explanation. I call a person who does that a coward.”
Conner didn’t say murderer, but he could have. And she knew that was what he was thinking.
“I know you don’t believe this, Conner, but I had no choice. And then—then it was too late. Staying away from you was safer.”
He had to hand it to her. She almost sounded sincere. If he turned around and looked at her, he was certain he’d see those big black eyes swimming in tears held back through sheer willpower. There was a time she would have cried. She was tougher now.
“Forget the explanations, Erica. I wouldn’t believe you anyway. Whatever the reason, you left me standing at the altar. Bart got caught in the crossfire. And you were responsible.”
“Then why did you come? Obviously Mac told you I’d be here. I can’t understand why he didn’t extend the same courtesy to me.”
“Believe me, I wouldn’t be here—except for Mac. Suppose you tell me why he thinks you need help.” Conner turned slowly to face her, daring her to refuse.
She blanched, catching the counter as if she might have fallen otherwise.
“He asked me to protect you, Erica. I agreed. That means I have a job to do and I intend to see it through, even if I would rather cut and run.”
“Do you have to be so cold, Conner? Can’t you give me even the smallest benefit of the doubt?”
“Not in this lifetime, lady. The last thing I want to do is rehash what might have been. There was a time when I wanted to know why. Not tonight.”
But Erica wasn’t going to let him get away with using mental force. “All right, Conner. I admit I should have explained.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I tried, but I couldn’t find you. Then later I understood that it was better if I let you go. What about you? You knew where I was. I sent word that I’d wait for you in Paris. You never came. In one afternoon I lost everything too.”
Conner felt his gut clench. She almost had him believing her, until he remembered Bart. And if she’d sent a message, Mac would have told him. It was time to end the discussion. He didn’t intend to let this turn into a scene of bitter recriminations. The quicker he got to the bottom of her problem, the quicker he could get back to the life he’d built for himself.
“You’ll excuse me if I can’t rouse a lot of sympathy for your pain, if you felt any. In fact, I’d like to deal with the present.”
Conner’s words said one thing, but his pulse was pounding and his mouth was dry. He couldn’t look away without giving her a hint of his faltering control. So he watched her with a narrowed gaze. She was dressed in coveralls made of shimmering spandex that fit like skin.
A voice inside him whispered, “Get the hell out of here, Conner. She’s trouble and you’re about to get caught up in it again.”
“I’m waiting,” he said. “What kind of danger are you in?”
“Not yet, Conner, we have to talk about what happened in Berlin. I think it’s connected to this new trouble.”
“Tell me about this new trouble and I’ll decide.”
“You’ll decide? I think you’d better know, Conner Preston, that you don’t make the decisions.” She took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but you’re here to help me, not give orders.”
God, she was beautiful. He could see her agitation and he felt a startling response in his own body. Help her? That was the last thing he had on his mind.
Now he understood that old reference to the thin line between love and hate. In spite of what she’d done, all he wanted was to find the nearest bed and plunge into her, ravish her like some old-world invader taking claim to a land he’d fought for. Hell, he didn’t even need a bed.
Then she raised thick-lashed eyelids and gave him a look that said she knew exactly what he was feeling.
Conner forced his reply. “That’s yet to be decided—whether or not I will help you.” He might as well make her squirm. “Just so we understand each other, what’s in it for me?”
There was no point in trying to protect him any longer. “You misunderstand, Conner. I never expected Mac to send you. I wish he hadn’t. You see there’s another person in danger. Shadow. I assume that’s you, unless someone else has adopted that persona.”
“What does Shadow have to do with this?”
“The person who shot the ambassador said if he didn’t get the book, next time he wouldn’t miss.”
“What book?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t need you, Conner. Something else very odd happened. I got a call from the ambassador’s office this morning. It seems we’re about to receive a belated wedding gift.”
Conner grabbed her wrist and pulled her so close that he could feel her breath on his chin. “What do you mean, wedding gift?”
“A package from Berlin arrived at the ambassador’s old office in Paris. They are forwarding it here. It was addressed to Lieutenant and Mrs. Conner Preston.”
At that moment there was a shatter of glass and Conner heard a whistle. He slammed Erica to the floor and fell on top of her.
“What are you doing?” she asked, struggling to get out from under his protective cover.
“Shut up, Erica, and stay down.”
“Why?”
“Somebody just took a shot at us.”