The knife of terror twisted horribly in her gut. Think, Skye. Think fast. It doesn’t mean he suspects anything. She forced a laugh, kept her voice as light as she could. “It’s a symbol of precise, reasoned judgment. At least, that’s what I was told when I picked the design out of a book of symbols in an Amsterdam tattoo parlor.”
He stared stonily down at her.
She laughed softly. “I was nineteen. It was a lark. They had all sorts of symbols—Celtic, Egyptian, Asian. I liked the Egyptian dog one. I guess the head does look rather jackal-like.”
“And the sword?”
“For strength of character. I see it as a symbol of fighting for what you believe in.”
She could sense tension increase in his body. Inwardly her stomach jittered.
He couldn’t possibly know. No one knew. Only Jalil. She tried to shrug it off. But he’d knocked her off kilter.
Skye peered out the window at the black forest that surrounded them. But all she could see in the drab, mist-shrouded shapes, was the black face of a jackal. Malik.
A shudder shook through her limbs.
“You’re right.” He broke the silence, took her in his arms. Held her tight. Too tight. As if desperate to hold on to some notion. “It is getting cold out here. Go back to bed. I’ll join you as soon as I stoke the fire, get some warmth back into this place.”
But the warmth was gone from his voice.
She pulled the comforter tight around her body. It did nothing to chase the inner chill, the sense she’d failed a test.
Oh, God, she had to come clean. She couldn’t go on like this. The guilt was eating her, playing tricks with the shadows of her mind.
She had to tell him the truth.
* * *
She’d lied again. He was certain of it. She still hadn’t trusted him with the truth. And that cut him.
It shouldn’t. What in hell had given him the delusion of confidence in the first bloody place? Sex? The way she’d held him? The way she’d made him feel so ridiculously whole for the first time in years?
What a freaking fool he was. Scott jabbed the embers, thrust more wood into the flames. Honey settled once again on the rag rug in front of the stove, her ears flicking, twitching at unfamiliar night noises.
With fire crackling once again in the belly of the stove, Scott climbed back into bed.
Skye took him immediately into her arms.
His heart ached.
He wanted to thrust himself deep into her again, to fill that empty void, to find and hold on to that fleeting sense of center that had slipped like mercury through his fingers.
But more than anything he needed to chase away the lies.
He needed her to trust—to confess.
She moved against him, snuggled into the crooks of his body. Her breasts were warm and soft, heavy against his chest. Her arms were smooth, firm. He felt the silk of her hair, her breath caress his face. She was so essentially female.
His kind of female.
A woman who could be both soft and tender and hard as nails. The kind of woman who’d challenge him, keep him alive for the rest of his life. A friend he could take on his wildest adventures. A woman he could take on the next leg of his journey. A woman who might share the passage of life with him.
He shook the notion, tried to focus on the task that had brought him to this point in the first place.
She was a suspected terrorist. Brilliant. Perhaps dangerous.
And he was an agent.
He had no business even entertaining the notion of a future together.
But at the same time, the fact it had even entered his head shook him to his core. Scott Armstrong had not thought about the future. Not for the past nine years. Not since Kaitlin and Leni had died. Not since the Plague Doctor had killed them.
The acrid and familiar anger seeped bitter into his throat.
Was the woman in his arms allied with La Sombra? A man on par with the Plague Doctor?
He stared up at the rafters, watched the flicking light of the flame dance with pagan shadow.
She murmured, pulling him back. He turned, stroked her face. And deep down, a part of him prayed to God he’d find Skye Van Rijn innocent.
He sucked in a breath, filled his lungs to capacity, exhaled slowly.
You really are a fool, Armstrong.
Even if Skye was innocent, it could never work. He was a Bellona agent. And his job had killed his family. He could never put someone he loved in that position again, endanger them.
Ever.
He closed his eyes, drifted toward sleep. But on the gray fringes of sleep and consciousness, where misty dream toyed with reality, Scott felt at one with the old wolf. Inside, his heart was dark and lonely. He howled to go back to a happy place. He howled for a past to which he’d never return. He howled to a bleak future he’d never fill as he once had the past.
And all around, the wilderness heard him, echoed his baleful sound. On the periphery, a jackal prowled, growing desperate, sensing weakness.
* * *
Scott swam up from the dark depths of his dreams, up to the light that he could see above him, shimmering on the surface.
His eyes opened to a cabin filled with the bright yellow warmth of morning sun. He could smell flapjacks, hear coffee percolating on the woodstove. He could feel the warm weight of his dog sleeping on his bed at his feet.
And he felt an old familiar happiness coupled with an odd quirk of excitement. It was the feeling he’d always had as a kid on the first morning he and his dad had woken up on one of their fishing trips.
Scott blinked, momentarily confused.
It wasn’t his dog warming his feet. It was Rex’s dog. And it wasn’t his dad flipping pancakes at the woodstove.
It was the woman he’d made love to.
He nudged at Honey with his foot. “Off. Who said you could sleep on the bed?”
The dog looked up, brown eyes wounded.
Skye spun ’round, frying pan in hand, a smile as warm as the sunshine on her face. “I did—the floor’s cold. Morning, handsome.”
“Dogs don’t sleep on the bed in my house.”
“It’s not your house. C’mon, grumpy, breakfast is ready and the fish are biting.”
“Fish?”
“Don’t they bite in the mornings? I’ve decided you’re teaching me how to fly-fish today.”
He sat up, rubbed his hands through his hair. “Oh, you have?”
“Yep.” She set a plate of flapjacks on the table. “Look at this weather.” She waved her hand at the window. “We can’t let a day like today slip by.”
He smiled in spite of himself. Her energy was infectious. “Come here.”
She put her hands on her hips, tilted her chin. “Why?”
“I have a little secret to tell you about fly-fishing.”
She walked slowly toward the bed. As she got near, he lunged forward, grabbed her arm.
She squealed.
He yanked her down onto the bed. She wriggled against his hold.
“Want to hear my secret?” he whispered into her ear.
She stilled in his arms, looked up into his eyes. “What’s your secret, Scott?”
He bent, spoke softly against her lips. “I can’t get enough of you, woman. You’ve infected me. Whatever you’ve given to me runs thick in my blood.”
He pressed his mouth down onto hers. And he slipped his tongue between her lips as his hands worked to unclothe her body.
“You taste like syrup,” he murmured against her mouth as he undid her jeans. “Maple syrup.”
She was as hungry for him as he was for her, her arms reaching for him, her tongue dancing with his. Warm. Sweet. Wild. It was as though he was tasting life itself, tapping right into the core of it.
He forced her backward onto the bed and held his breath. Sunlight pooled warm and gold over her naked body, caught the fine blond hairs on her olive-toned skin. The cool morning air raised tiny goose bumps along her arms, and her nipples were tight, brown nubs.
He pulsed hot, hard with urgent need. He lifted his fingers, gently traced the swell of her breasts, ran his hand firmly down over her belly, found the folds between her thighs.
She wanted him.
She was slick, hot.
He sat back, grasping for a measure of restraint. But she pulled him down onto her and met him with the same raw energy that pounded through him.
The sun changed angles as it rose in the heavens, throwing new shadows across the floor of the cabin. Skye checked her watch—almost noon. They’d spent the better part of the morning in bed, and now she was more than ravenous. “See what you’ve done,” she accused. “The pancakes are cold.”
Scott chuckled, stretching like a lazy beast. “I need a shower. We can warm ’em up after.” He looked around the cabin. “So where’d the realtor say the en suite was?”
She jabbed him in the ribs. “You got two choices, McIntyre. The river. Or the river.”
He sat up. “Coming?”
“The river? You must be nuts. It’s like…freezing.”
He grinned, a devilish slash across his rough, unshaven jaw. Green sparks of life shot from his eyes.
She hadn’t seen him like this. So potently vital. He had a new energy this morning. And it near drove her wild, just looking into those wicked, flashing eyes. She could feel yet another hot little lick of lust unfurl in her belly. She laughed. “Okay. You win. I could handle a cooldown.”
* * *
They sat on rocks that hung over the river, sipping freshly brewed coffee. Honey explored the bank down below, snuffling in the shallows, trying to bat the shadows of fish with her paws.
Skye felt utterly cleansed after their dip in one of the eddies down below. It was as if the clear, cold mountain water had washed clean through to her soul. As if she’d been reborn and could start with a fresh slate.
She turned to the man beside her. A lock of his brown hair hung over his brow. His green eyes seemed very light out here in the sun, as if he, too, had been unburdened in some way.
He caught her looking, smiled.
She felt her cheeks flush and turned quickly to look at the burbling water, sipped her coffee. It was warm, sweet, tasted only like fresh coffee out in the wilds could taste. “How come stuff always tastes better out in places like this?”
“It’s the sex.”
She snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He laughed. Then his tone turned serious. “Maybe it’s just being away from it all. Makes you see and feel things differently. New perspective and all that. My father used to come out to places like this to recharge his batteries.”
“And your mom?”
“She enjoyed her own space when we were gone.”
Skye shifted on the rock, turned to face him. “Tell me about your dad, Scott.”
He shrugged. “Not much to tell.”
“Yes, there is. You used to do these amazing things with him when you were a kid. He taught you about nature, wolves, fishing. I saw how you reacted in that tackle shop. Something happened between you and him. What is it that keeps you apart?”
The ledge of his brow dropped low over his eyes. “Why are you asking me this?”
“Because it’s eating at you, I can tell. You haven’t resolved something. Am I right?”
He studied her face intently, turned away. Nodded. “Yeah.”
“Why haven’t you seen him in a while? What happened between you?”
He wouldn’t look at her. He hesitated. Then he spoke out to the water, to the trees and the sky. “Nothing. The only thing that happened was me. I cut him, my mother, out of my life. My whole goddamn family. Everyone. I just stopped seeing them.”
There was a cracked edge to his voice. Low emotion. She reached out, touched his thigh. “Why? Why’d you shut them out?”
He swallowed. “They made me remember. I wanted nothing to do with my old life. Nothing to do with my hometown.”
“Remember your wife, your baby?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” he replied simply. “They died in a car accident.” He lurched up onto his feet, turned his back to her. “It was nine years ago. Sometimes it still feels like yesterday.”
Skye set her mug on the rock, stood behind him, put her arms around his waist, rested her cheek against his back. “I’m sorry, Scott. I’m sorry I pressed you on this.”
“It’s okay. I’ve tried for so long to run from it. I can’t. It’s time I faced it. Dealt with it.”
He turned slowly around. “You’ve made me see that.”
Her breath caught at the sight of the pain in his eyes, in the set of his features. And she knew in that instant she loved the man. Rough edges and all. Because it all made sense. His distance. His brusque manner. He was in pain. And it wasn’t just his leg. His heart had been broken.
And Skye had a desperate desire to mend it. Make it better for him.
And more than anything, she wanted to trust this enigmatic writer. Implicitly.
Because she needed to share, to tell him about her own baby. About Malik. She needed to tell him who she was. Because hiding from him, lying to him now, when he was opening like this to her, made her feel dirty.
But she was still petrified at how he’d react if she told him she was not Skye Van Rijn. That she was a fake. A liar. An impostor.
A trained terrorist.
She didn’t want to lose him now that she’d found him.
She pulled him back to the rock. “Come sit by me. Finish your coffee.” They sipped in silence, watching the waters rush by.
It was a new experience for Skye. To sit like this next to a man, to feel such a deep, visceral connection to him, to feel so utterly at peace with him. It was as though she’d found some kind of center to the universe, a place where there was calm.
But she wasn’t going to kid herself. She knew she’d have to step back out into the storm eventually and choose a path. Whatever direction she went, the chaos raged one way or the other. She knew that. But maybe this time she could take an ally with her, a friend to hold on to. Maybe. If he didn’t hate her for being a liar once he learned the truth. If he didn’t detest who she really was.
All she wanted right now was for this quiet, intimate moment to last. But it was now or never. Leave it any later and she’d be breaking their new trust, their tentative bond. It would be betrayal.
She sucked air in deep. “I know how it feels, to cut out your past,” she said softly.
“What?”
“And I’m learning that you can’t run forever, either.”
He shifted on the rock to face her. “Are you running, Skye?”
She gave a soft laugh. “You know I’m running, McIntyre.”
He leaned forward “Yes. But I’m not sure what you’re running from. I don’t understand why you haven’t called the police, why you haven’t asked for help.”
“They haven’t been able to help me before. I told you that.”
“Are you in trouble with the law, Doctor?” His eyes probed hers. As much as she tried, she couldn’t look away. But she couldn’t lie to him, either, not anymore.
“I—I don’t know if you’d understand.”
“Try me.”
She tore her eyes from his, looked out over the raging angry waters of the river. Suddenly nervous as all hell.
He reached out, touched her arm. “Skye, we can do this.”
She clutched her knees into her chest, rocked slightly. God, she wanted a bond like this. Was her news going to blow this tender connection to smithereens?
He looked suddenly up at the sky, frowned.
She followed his gaze. “What is it?”
“Chopper.”
She could hear it. A faint, distant thuck, thuck, thuck.
Reality pierced like a blade.
She jumped to her feet, pulled back.
“Relax. It’s probably just a helicopter from one of the logging operations in the area.”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“Besides, it’s miles away.”
“Right.” But she continued to back into the cover of the trees. It was safer there. “You coming?”
He studied her. “You’re terrified.”
She nodded.
“All right.” She could see he was appraising her, thinking. “I’ll join you as soon as I’ve finished my coffee.”
She hesitated. She didn’t want him out in the open, on that rock like that. They could see him.
“It’s okay, Skye. Relax. If the chopper gets any closer, I’m gone. Don’t worry. No one will see us.” He whistled for Honey, as if to prove a point.
The dog bounded up the bank, onto the rocks.
“Here, take Honey. Go up to the cabin. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
She bent, hooked her fingers under Honey’s collar. “I’ll make us some lunch. Maybe we can still go fishing later?”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
She turned to leave.
Scott watched her walk up the path toward the cabin and listened to the distant chop of the machine in the sky. He figured it was several miles away. But he doubted it was her pursuers. They couldn’t have found her. Whoever they were. They had no knowledge…unless… “Skye!”
She spun around at the top of the path.
He yelled out to her. “When you came up here with Henderson, who else came with you?”
“Charly and her boyfriend, and some of the other guys from the lab.”
“Jozsef?”
“Yes. And Jozsef. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
Skye paused, studying him, then turned and made her way through the trees.
Scott lost sight of her and Honey as they reached the porch. His vantage point on the rock was pretty well screened from the cabin by the towering conifers. He squinted into the bright sky, tried to catch a glimpse of the chopper. He couldn’t. But the sound of it had taken on a new tone to his ears. An ominous one. If Jozsef, alias Balto Nakiskas, had come here with Skye, there was a chance their location was compromised.
He fished out his satellite phone, dialed Rex.
He needed answers. Quick.
“Armstrong, we’ve been waiting for your call.” Scott noted the use of the word “we.” This was bigger than just Bellona now.
“Rex, any word on that plate I gave you?”
“Yeah, we ran the number. A rental. Paid for by a company that ships gourmet foods from Europe.”
“What’s the name of the company?”
“KTS Global. They’re held by a parent company in Belgium, which in turn seems to be a shell for another numbered company in Athens. It’s one of the companies Danko invested for. Made a killing from the beef embargo.”
Scott’s pulse spiked. Everything was circling in. Everything kept coming back to Greece.
“Any further word on Nakiskas?”
“No. But Scooter’s guys have narrowed down the search for the system that has been hacking into Dr. Van Rijn’s computer. Pretty complicated setup. He followed the trail from the doctor’s computer to a server in Amsterdam. That server tapped into the computer of an Iranian refugee who went by the name of Jalil.”
“He the hacker?”
“No. Appears he was another victim of the hacker. Looks like this Jalil was a confidant of Dr. Van Rijn’s. She’s been e-mailing him for some time. She told him in her most recent correspondence that she was taking time out to think. It’s dated the night before you two left Haven.”
“Christ. Have our guys spoken to this Jalil?”
“He’s dead.”
“What?”
“Unsolved homicide. Killed almost a year ago. The Dutch authorities say he’d been tortured.”
His stomach swooped. “Skye’s been e-mailing a dead guy for this past year?”
Someone tortured for information?
“He may be dead, but his computer’s not. We traced it to a room in an Amsterdam building. The room is rented by Ergo. It’s a subsidiary of the same Belgium operation that owns KTS Global.”
“We’ve opened a bloody can of worms.”
“It gets even more interesting. The e-mails to Jalil’s computer are being routed through two different hubs. Scooter’s European guy has finally tracked it all back to one key server in northern Greece.”
The muscles across his neck strapped tight. Greece again. “An Anubis cell?”
“We think so. We’re zeroing in on the location as we speak. We have Greek authorities and U.S. military standing by. They’ll move in as soon as it’s confirmed.”
Scott said nothing. Ice coursed through his veins. He glanced up at the cabin. How in hell was Skye connected to all this? And who in hell was after her? If Nakiskas was Anubis, and if his company had rented the car the goons were tracking them in…. That could mean Anubis itself was after the doctor. But why? What was she hiding from him? What did Anubis want from her?
Rex’s voice sliced into his tumbling thoughts. “There’s something else. Specialists at Vancouver General have identified the illness contracted by Charly Sheldon, Dr. Van Rijn’s assistant.”
“And?”
“It’s Q-20. Incredibly rare. Never before seen outside of Central Africa. Docs reckon she must have inhaled the virus somehow. It first manifested in her lungs. But the thing is, Sheldon hasn’t been out of the country, let alone to Africa.”
“And Skye Van Rijn has.”
“She’s key in all this.” He paused. “Bring her in.”
The leaden surge of ice in his blood thickened. His gut clenched. He wasn’t ready to hand Skye over to the bureaucratic machine. She had to be a victim.
“That was an order, Agent.”
“Give me till morning.”
“Scott.”
“I’ll have her story by morning. More than you’ll ever get in an interrogation chamber.”
“I can’t do—”
Scott held the phone out toward the roar of the river. “What’s that…Logan? You’re breaking up…Logan, I can’t hear you…”
He flipped the phone shut. The bitterness of bile crept up into his mouth. He’d finally gone over the edge. He’d let his goddamn heart win out over his head. He was laying his career on the line for a woman. And all the while, a dark little thought circled his brain. What if she really was guilty? What if she was a supreme con artist who’d played him for a jackass? What if he really was totally washed up?
He buried his face in his hands, rubbed at his skin till it burned. “Don’t let me down, Skye.” He whispered. “Don’t let me down.”
Scott lifted his head, stared out over the roiling river, pulled himself back into focus. A bubble of anger erupted in his belly. Then another.
Yes. He’d have her story by dawn.
And God help the woman if the worst was confirmed. Because she’d given him hope.
She’d dared to let him look to the future.
And if she took that from him now…
He pushed himself to his feet, faced the path up to the cabin, forced cool, calculated calm on the bitter cocktail simmering inside.
This was his very last shot.