On the way to the airport, Erica sat between Conner and Karl Ernst. Though he sat totally erect, dried blood etched Conner’s hairline, reminding Erica that he’d been shot. She had the feeling that he was remaining upright through sheer willpower. She remembered a time when only willpower kept her going.
Ten years ago she’d lost the man she loved and the child they’d created. The pain had been overwhelming and it had never completely disappeared. She hadn’t allowed herself to hope that Mac would send Conner to help her. But he had, and once she’d seen him he’d slid right back into her life and rekindled both the love and the anguish.
Since then she’d been on an emotional roller coaster. She’d covered her pain with anger over his abandonment. Then without her being able to stop it, the anger had changed, dissolving into a stronger emotion. She couldn’t say they’d fallen in love again because she couldn’t be certain how Conner felt But for her the love was still there where it always had been.
The only anger that remained came from a deep regret for all the time they’d lost. She couldn’t help but fear that new loss loomed over them once more. Something bad would happen unless she came up with a way to stop it. People were being shot again. First Bart, then the ambassador, now Conner.
Erica had hoped by promising Professor Ernst the return of the book, Mac could find a way to rescue them. But her wonderful, foolish Conner had tried to protect her by giving up the most important thing in his life—his identity. What would happen when they arrived on Lookout Mountain and there was no book?
The limo entered the airport’s General Aviation area, where all charter flights originated. Because it was Christmas Eve, the private center was practically deserted. There were no happy people awaiting the arrival of loved ones, no passengers dashing to board planes, their arms filled with Christmas packages. Instead, the offices were dark and the counters vacant.
Longingly Erica remembered her lovely Christmas tree and the night she and Conner had spent in each other’s arms. They’d shared that wonderful moment, but now it was gone. Unless a miracle happened, she was about to lose Conner a second time and she didn’t know if she could bear it.
Brighton Kilgore, who’d apparently received final instructions by phone somewhere en route, directed them to the waiting area, then moved into the office, where he was conferring with the pilot. Erica hadn’t missed the light nod the pilot had given Conner when they arrived. She let out a sigh of relief. Mac had sent him.
She glanced around the area, wishing they weren’t so isolated. Any thought of escape was negated by the increasingly nervous Karl Ernst. Karl kept his gun inside his coat, but there was never any question that it was there and ready for use.
Finally, the pilot led them to his plane and opened the door, letting down the steps. Inside, a second man waited. “Sterling sent me,” he said to Conner as they boarded, then turned toward Karl. “I’m the doctor. Who’s the wounded man?”
“No doctor!” Ernst pulled his gun from beneath his topcoat.
But the doctor ignored him, turning his piercing black eyes on Conner, whose wound was more obvious now in the light. “I’ll just have a look while the pilot is getting takeoff instructions. Please sit down, sir.”
Conner dropped into the seat nearest the door, hoping that Erica would remain nearby. Maybe, with a diversion … But Karl squelched that idea by shoving Erica farther into the plane.
“All right,” Ernst snapped. “Hurry up.”
The doctor opened his bag and pulled out a packet of alcohol-soaked pads. “Quite a hen egg you have there.”
“Yeah, the hen used the butt of a gun,” Conner joked.
The doctor ripped open a pad. “This is going to sting.” He moved around so that his back was to Ernst as he proceeded to clean Conner’s wound. As he worked, he let his jacket fall open, revealing a gun in a holster beneath his shoulder. “You’re a lucky man. An inch to the left and you might not be here.”
Conner’s confidence took a boost. With the pilot and the doctor, it stood three to three.
“I’ll give you an antibiotic injection and treat your wound. That’ll hold you until we reach Chattanooga, but I’d like to get you to a hospital once we’re there. You may have suffered a concussion.”
“No hospital!” Karl’s voice bordered on hysteria. “You’ll do whatever he needs. Let’s go.” He withdrew his gun and brandished it at the pilot.
With no evidence of fear, the pilot moved forward and buckled himself into the captain’s chair.
“Now,” Ernst directed, “you two, Preston and Ms. Fallon. Sit up front, where I can see you.”
Conner rose, a bit unsteady, and followed Erica. They slid into two seats backed against the cockpit. The doctor took one of the chairs opposite them and the ambassador the other. Kilgore sat in the rear, leaving Karl to roam about.
“Don’t do anything funny,” Karl advised the pilot. “Just fly us to Chattanooga.”
After an exchange with the tower, the plane moved toward the runway, where it was forced to sit for nearly half an hour before getting clearance to take off.
“What’s holding us up?” Karl demanded, becoming more agitated with every second of the delay.
“Sorry. The charter services aren’t busy, but this is one of the heaviest travel days of the year for the commercial airlines. We just have to wait our turn. I know your situation and I’m doing the best I can.”
Conner leaned his head against the seat and closed his eyes, trying to shut out the pain. How had he let this happen? And he was responsible. He’d been sent to protect Erica, but he’d allowed his love for her to interfere with his mission.
Now Shadow’s identity had been revealed as a result of his failure. No matter. He’d stand in the middle of Times Square and shout his secret to the world to protect Erica. But he was no nearer solving the mysterious appearance of the statue than he had been to begin with. The only tiling he was certain of was that Erica hadn’t been involved. Not this time. Not ten years ago.
He squeezed her hand.
Even the headache that was pounding against the back of his skull wasn’t punishment enough for his lapse in judgment. Shadow would have considered the risks and countered them before they happened. Of all the close calls he’d experienced since Bart’s death, this was the first time it was personal.
Though he admired Erica’s quick thinking in calling Mac and pretending she was talking to Sterling, he felt damned helpless not being able to do it himself. He glanced at the ambassador, who seemed to be handling their plight better than might be expected. Kilgore looked worried. Perhaps he was reconsidering his loyalties.
Conner held Erica’s hand and considered all that had happened. He kept going back to Erica’s doodles, to the heart around their names. “I saw your note by the phone,” he whispered under his breath.
“You did?”
“No talking to each other,” Karl said.
“What about talking to you, Karl?” Conner asked.
Karl moved from the rear of the plane to the remaining vacant seat across the table from Conner and Erica. “Only if you have something to say that I want to hear.”
Were he alone, Cornier would have rushed Karl. He’d faced greater odds without a thought. But they were in an airplane and Erica was there. And that changed everything.
There was another factor that held Conner back. There was the possibility that he might at last learn the truth about his brother’s death. For now he’d bide his time. Sometimes a man about to crack under pressure could be lulled into revealing more than he intended. “Did you ever see Bart’s book, Karl?”
“No. He never showed it to me. I was his adviser and he kept it from me. But I know he had it. Bart always wore a backpack. That night before he was killed it was stuffed full, but he wouldn’t take it off.”
Conner pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. “That was when you knew he’d found the treasure?”
Karl smiled. “Yes, he told me he thought he was close to finding it. I tried to get him to take me there, but he was very nervous, worried about his responsibility and the law. He left my office for the embassy. He didn’t want to do anything to spoil his brother’s wedding. He promised that he’d show me what he’d found—after the wedding.”
Conner held on to his anger with every ounce of his control. “But you couldn’t wait. You killed him.”
“No!” Karl snapped, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. “I had nothing to do with his death. The assassins were militants, political misfits. I wouldn’t have hurt Bart. I’d be killing the goose before he laid the golden egg. He would have made me famous. Bart wouldn’t have wanted his discovery to be lost. I knew that. He promised.”
Conner turned his gaze on Erica’s employer. “Did you see the book, Ambassador?”
“No, I didn’t,” he answered.
“And Erica never saw it,” Conner went on.
“Wouldn’t it be ironic if he hadn’t made a record at all? If all this were some kind of hoax?”
Ernst’s face drew into a grim smile. “No. I thought that for a long time. When I saw the statue I knew that it was part of the missing artwork.”
Kilgore, who’d remained quiet up to now, finally joined in the conversation. “So who did find the treasure?”
Karl Ernst waved his gun at Conner and leaned forward. “Yes. Who? Was it our lovely Erica who claims to have used it to bring Conner back into her life? Or was it Mr. Preston? You know what I think? I think it doesn’t matter. I will have my answer soon, won’t I?”
Erica shook her head sadly. “You’re sick, Mr. Ernst. There’s no way you can get away with this. There are too many of us who know the truth.”
“But that’s the beauty of it all,” Karl said. “Bart’s death was ten years ago and it’s already been covered up by the military. Now we have an ambassador, an international businessman, a millionaire, and a German official involved in a plot to steal treasures? Nobody’s going to believe that. We won’t be greedy. Nobody knows exactly how much there is. We’ll turn over enough of the artifacts to make the international art community happy.”
“Yes,” Kilgore said eagerly. “In the end, we’ll all get what we want.”
“Except Bart,” Conner said. “You know I’m not going to let you sweep this under the rug.”
“Then you can think about this,” Karl snapped. “I have Erica and I have you. One of you will produce the book or”—his voice grew deadly quiet—“one of you will die.”
Erica shivered. Conner felt it and knew that Ernst had been pushed as far as it was safe to push him. For now Conner needed to think, plan, and hope that Mac had time to work out something on the mountain.
“You’re holding all the cards now, Ernst. But we’re not there yet. How long is the flight?” Conner asked the pilot, reaching out to take Erica’s hand.
“About another hour and a half.”
Conner yawned. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m feeling a little rocky. If I’m going treasure hunting, I could use some sleep.”
“Good idea,” Erica said. “I’ll turn out the light.”
Conner adjusted their seat so that it tilted back and drew Erica against him, shutting his eyes.
Beside him, Erica laid her cheek against his shoulder and followed suit. She wished they could talk. She wished she knew what he was planning. She wished they were back in New Orleans eating chocolate muffins. She wished it was ten years ago and they were planning their wedding.
But it was now and, in spite of the precarious position in which they’d found themselves, Erica felt warm and safe, as if she’d finally come home. Her last waking thought was of Conner. She wondered where he had been that morning when the ambassador called.
Erica roused when the plane touched down in Chattanooga. With Conner wounded and weak, she couldn’t believe that she’d actually slept.
“Is it true?” he whispered in her ear.
She turned a questioning look toward him.
“On your notepad. Is it still Erica and Conner?”
“Be quiet!” Karl Ernst backed away from the pilot and turned his gun on Conner. “No whispering.”
“Sorry,” Conner said in a tight voice. “I was just reassuring Erica.”
“But I’m the one who should be reassuring you,” Erica said, ignoring Ernst. “The answer is yes. Maybe it’s just the Christmas spirit.”
She couldn’t say it any plainer than that without baring her heart to the world.
“I love the Christmas spirit,” he said with an attempt at a wicked smile. “Erica, Christmas, and chocolate, what a combination.”
Runway instructions crackled over the radio. The pilot complied. The plane slowed its speed and coasted to a stop.
“Check out the windows, Kilgore,” Ernst said, backing toward the door.
Kilgore complied. “Don’t see anybody or anything. The place looks deserted.”
“Good, open the door.”
“Wait,” the pilot instructed. “This isn’t our dock. We’re on the other side.”
“Here!” Ernst insisted. “We’re getting out here.”
The pilot turned off the engine and Kilgore opened the door, letting the steps down.
Karl stood beside the portal, just out of view, his finger on the trigger. “You first, Kilgore.”
Nervously, Kilgore peered out, then moved down the steps. “All clear!” he called out.
Moments later they were walking across the dark runway toward the terminal, passing several offices before they found the door to the central area. But all Karl’s precautions seemed unnecessary. They seemed to be the only ones around. Outside the front door a van waited. The key was in the switch.
“You drive, Kilgore,” Ernst directed.
“Now, just a minute, Ernst. I’m getting a little tired of you running the show. You drive.”
Conner didn’t like the way things were going. Ernst had grabbed Erica once again. They’d left the pilot behind and there was no sign of Mac. Conner was weaker than he thought and he didn’t have to be told his reflexes were off. Fortunately, nobody had frisked him so they were unaware of the second gun he’d jabbed into his boot. Still, even with the doctor’s help, he could see no way of using it without endangering Erica.
“Get in!” Ernst screamed.
“I’ll drive,” Conner volunteered. “If Erica will direct me.”
“Do it.” Ernst waved his gun toward the van. “You two sit in the front. I’ll sit behind Erica. If anything, anything goes wrong, she’s dead.”
Conner crawled into the van. With an ironic grin he fastened his seat belt and watched as Erica did the same. What did it matter if they were buckled in? A bullet would be just as fatal as a car crash.
As they drove through the city, Conner focused his attention on the mountain. There’d be no ride up the Incline Railroad this trip. On Christmas Eve they probably shut the sightseeing down early anyway.
Erica directed him along the river to the long, curving road leading up. Already darkness covered the mountain like a gauzy cape. The lights of the Christmas decorations peeked through the low-hanging clouds like pieces of costume jewelry.
Conner drove slowly because he was beginning to think that he had a concussion. His vision blurred occasionally, forcing him to blink repeatedly to clear away the fuzzy spots. The tension inside the van increased steadily as they snaked upward.
“Faster,” Karl said.
“This isn’t easy,” Conner argued gently. “The road is narrow and the fog is rolling in. I don’t think you want me to drive off the side of the mountain, do you?”
At that moment they came to an open space, where the trees, bare of leaves, looked as if they’d been poked into the side of the hill like picks in a dead floral arrangement. The entire valley was visible below. There were no guard rails and no wide shoulders to protect a vehicle.
Karl cleared his throat.
“Drive carefully, Conner,” the ambassador said. “Be quiet, Karl. You’re too close now to blow it with impatience.”
Karl gave the ambassador a quick look and let out a long breath. “Just get us there.”
Finally, they reached the top and, with Erica’s instructions, the street on which she lived. Navigating was made more difficult by cars parked along its side. This was Christmas Eve, the time for family dinners and out of town company. They’d have to be careful not to catch an innocent bystander in the showdown.
And that was what Conner was preparing for—a showdown. He wasn’t sure about the ambassador, but he and the doctor had to overpower two men who expected to find the location of a treasure worth millions of dollars.
He pulled the van into the narrow space in front of the garage and killed the engine. “Well, there are no lights inside, Erica. I guess we can assume that we’re celebrating Christmas alone.”
“Give Kilgore the key,” Ernst instructed. “We’ll wait here until you check it out.”
“Wait a minute,” Kilgore argued. “I told you I wanted out. I’m not going in there by myself. Suppose—”
Ernst waved the gun. “I said, check it out.”
“I’ll go with you,” the ambassador said, sliding the van door open and climbing down slowly.
Kilgore followed. “Great. A lot of help you’ll be if someone is waiting for us.”
Erica gave out a little sound of impatience. “There is no one in the house. Who would be there?”
Moments later the door opened and light poured through every window.
Conner hadn’t known what to expect, but he was disappointed when Kilgore called out, “Everything’s clear.”
Ernst stepped out and once again grabbed Erica by the arm. “You walk with me, Erica. Just so Mr. Preston doesn’t get any fancy ideas. We don’t want anybody else shot, do we?”
So much for Conner’s plan to shove Erica inside and take Karl outside the door. He and the doctor stepped into the foyer and moved toward the study at the back of the house. Kilgore was studying the fireplace. “Damn, it’s cold in here. Where’s the thermostat?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Ernst snapped. “We aren’t going to be here long enough for that. Get in the middle of the room—all of you.” He continued to hold Erica as the others complied. “Now, you get the book, Erica.”
She’d run out of time. Mac hadn’t been able to help. There was nothing to do but admit the truth. “I don’t have it.”
Ernst lifted the gun. “No more stalling, Ms. Fallon.” He took off the safety and pointed it at Conner.
“That’s enough, Karl.” The ambassador stepped between Ernst and the others. “So far nobody has been killed. You can’t let this go any further.”
Ernst shook off the ambassador’s words. “What do you mean, I can’t go any further? I’m not taking any more orders from you. None of this has worked out like you planned. And I’m not taking the blame for shooting anybody.”
Erica gasped. “You, Mr. Ambassador? I don’t believe that. You were shot!”
The diplomat let out a shallow breath and nodded. “I’m afraid so, Erica. A necessary action, meant to make you understand the seriousness of our request. It was either you or me. I’m very sorry it had to come to this, Erica, but I’d like the book now.”
Conner wished he could save Erica from what was coming. But it had to play itself out. “How’d they get to you, Ambassador? From what I’ve learned, you’re a man easily led, but a servant of the people involved in international theft? Is that a new part of your diplomatic job description?”
“Job description?” The old man spat out bitterly. “Where in the job description does it tell you what you’re supposed to do when your life’s work is suddenly taken away, and you’re offered retirement or reassignment to a nothing little country that nobody has ever heard of?”
“I always believed you cared about me,” Erica said softly.
“I did. I still do. In spite of Karl’s contention otherwise, I was satisfied that you didn’t know about Bart’s discovery.”
Conner didn’t like the sound of the diplomat’s voice. It was thready and weak. Even in the watery light, Conner could see that his color was ashen. Ambassador Collins had become a desperate old man who was past being a threat. Still, Conner couldn’t let up now.
“So when did this unholy alliance with Kilgore and Ernst begin?” Conner asked.
“What difference does it make now?” He propped himself on the table at the end of the couch. “Karl has been searching for the hiding place ever since Bart turned over the piece of broken marble. He identified it immediately as being from a statue stolen from a church in Italy. But Bart swore there was nothing else in that passage.”
Erica gave a troubled laugh. “He was right. Conner and I were there when he found the marble. That was all we found.”
She noticed the doctor moving back into the shadows and slowly toward the table where Kilgore stood. She needed to keep the two men talking. “You knew about Bart’s black book from the beginning, didn’t you, Ambassador Collins? And it was your idea for those men to pretend to be Green Berets and kidnap me.”
“Yes. I knew about the book,” the ambassador admitted. “I’m very sorry, Erica. I never intended for anyone to be hurt. Then those fools Karl hired got trigger-happy and Bart was killed.”
“Hah, let anybody prove it,” Karl said.
The ambassador took a weary breath and continued. “Conner was gone and though we searched everywhere, the book had disappeared.”
“And that’s the real reason you hired me to work for you,” Erica said. “You were still looking for Bart’s notes.”
“In the beginning, yes.”
Conner couldn’t take a chance on moving. The doctor was almost even with the ambassador. Just a few more seconds. “What about Kilgore’s part in all this?” Conner asked.
Karl snorted. “Kilgore’s a fool. The statue had to go to somebody who had the money to buy it. We knew he wouldn’t ask questions when we told him that it came from Shadow. And we also knew he wouldn’t be able to resist showing it off. We counted on somebody coming forward with the truth.”
“A fool?” Kilgore rushed toward Karl. “What do you mean, a fool?”
This time there was no storm, no lights, only whatever expertise Conner had spent years developing. Before anybody knew that he’d moved, he caught Ernst’s hand, closing around the gun and shoving it toward the ceiling. But the man was stronger than he looked. He let Erica go and turned toward Conner, elbowing him in the chest. As they struggled, both men went down. The gun fired and fell to the floor.
Erica screamed.
“Run, Erica!” Conner yelled as he fell on top of Ernst. “Call 911.”
“I’ve got this one,” the doctor called out as he twisted Kilgore’s arm behind him.
But Ernst wasn’t ready to give up. He kneed Conner in the groin and managed to crawl away. Just as he reached for the gun, Conner put him out with a karate chop to the neck. In a matter of seconds it was all over.
Erica knelt by the ambassador, who lay on the floor, moaning.
“I’m so sorry, Erica,” the old man said. “I never meant this to happen. I just wanted to go back to Berlin. If I found the artifacts, they’d have to reward me.”
“About Bart’s notes, Ambassador,” she asked. “Are you convinced that there really was a book with the location of the treasure?”
“Yes, Erica. There really was. I saw it.” He gasped and closed his eyes. The front of his shirt was seeping blood.
Erica raised her eyes to meet Conner’s. “I think you’d better come over here, Doctor. Karl’s shot hit the ambassador. That is, if you’re really a doctor.”
“I’m really a doctor,” he said, turning to the man lying prostrate on the Oriental rug.
Erica, still shaking at the possibility of what could have happened, folded her arms across her chest and held on to her elbows.
“So where did Kilgore get the statue?” she asked.
“From me,” the ambassador replied in a thready voice. “The night that Bart came to see me, he brought not only his book, but two statues that proved his claim. He left this one with me for safekeeping. Then he was killed, and the secret hiding place died with him.”
Erica looked at the ambassador with sadness in her eyes. “It was you all the time. You knew Mr. Kilgore had tried to hire Shadow to look for the treasure. You just didn’t know that Shadow had turned him down. So you had the statue sent to Brighton in Shadow’s name. Then Professor Ernst authenticated its history—all so that Brighton would fund your committee. The committee would make the search legitimate enough to smoke out the diary, either from me or Preston.”
Conner shook his head. “So many things could have gone wrong. How could you believe your plan would work?”
Ernst groaned and struggled to sit up, leaning his back against the wall. “It did work. That book is out there somewhere. I would have found it if it weren’t for you, Preston.”
At that moment, flashing blue lights and sirens sounded outside the door, announcing the arrival of the police and an ambulance.
The police explained that the house had been wired. They’d been listening to everything that had happened. Conner turned over Ernst’s gun while Ernst and Kilgore were placed under arrest. The paramedics loaded the ambassador into the ambulance. At the last moment, one of the officers shoved Conner into the departing vehicle.
“No!” Erica shouted. “I’m coming with you.”
As the door was closing, Conner called out to Erica, “Wait here for me. I’ll be back.”
The caravan of blinking lights snaked back down the road, leaving Erica alone on top of the mountain. She looked out at the moon peeking through the clouds and felt a drop of moisture roll down her face.
It was Christmas Eve and she was alone.