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Mercer continued, unaware of the emotional turmoil Roman fought to keep in check. “She doesn’t know the good guys from the bad guys.”
“She knows me.” The words were clipped, the control back.
“Exactly.”
Would she trust him? Roman was grateful the doc didn’t like guns, because if she did, she would probably shoot him on sight. No, she wouldn’t trust him, at least not at first. He would have to gain her confidence somehow.
Mercer’s tone grew speculative. “Raton is on the Colorado-New Mexico border. We’re assuming she headed north for Denver.”
Cain’s cabin. The ever-logical doc was heading for her brother’s cabin just outside of Aspen, Colorado. A secret hideaway he had shared only with his family and his best friend.
“I’ll find her.” Roman kept his voice even, but his mind raced, already making plans to reach Kate by nightfall.
“Let’s hope so,” came the reluctant response. “It’s one reason why I need you on this. You know her as well as her family—maybe better.”
“She’s hiding, waiting for Cain.” He didn’t even consider the possibility she would sell the data to save her life.
“That’s what I figured,” the older man answered. “She doesn’t know either of you are operatives, which means she’s hoping her big brother knows someone trustworthy in the government.”
Roman silently agreed. As far as Kate was concerned, Cain owned MacAlister Security, a successful international security company. Roman preferred to keep it that way.
“What about Ian?” he asked. Ian MacAlister, Kate’s other brother, was a Navy SEAL team leader stationed in Virginia.
“I called in a favor. He’s been shipped out to the South Atlantic with his team on training maneuvers.” Roman detected grimness in Mercer’s tone. “The man is a loose cannon. I don’t want him finding out about her disappearance until it’s too late. There’s no telling what the idiot might do.”
Roman knew. Ian’s rage would be uncontrollable. Then again, so would Cain’s. But that was Mercer’s problem.
“Her parents?”
“They’re in Scotland. Left a week ago and aren’t due back for a few more. A combined business and pleasure trip.”
Roman frowned. It didn’t give him much time. Even Mercer couldn’t keep something this serious under wraps for long. It was bad enough she was a world-respected scientist, but the fact she was also an heir to the MacAlister fortune made for big news. Once Kate’s disappearance became public, her parents would be on the next Concorde home, complicating matters. Quentin “Mac” MacAlister had his own way of solving problems.
“You said my knowing her was one of the reasons you called me. What’s the other?” he asked, impatient now to get to her. He imagined her holed up in a cabin in the mountains. She hated the mountains almost as much as she hated him. It wouldn’t stop her, though. She would wait there until she could contact Cain.
“My people found Boyd tied, hanging by his fingers to his basement rafters. From the looks of the photos, the guy was tortured then mutilated.” Roman heard the shuffling of papers. “I received a copy of the coroner’s preliminary report. Says here Boyd bled to death. Primary weapon used—surgical scalpel. The victim showed signs of acid burns, blunt trauma with multiple fractures and dislocations.”
“Hell,” Mercer said in a tone tinged with hatred. “This could be Amanda’s file, the technique is that similar.”
Images of Amanda’s broken body flashed through Roman’s mind. A cold chill gripped his insides.
“Nigel Threader,” he stated with barely restrained savagery, then pushed the images away. For now.
“That’s what we suspect. However—” he emphasized the word before Roman could interrupt “—we’re not positive. And since you know more about the bastard than his own mother does, you’re Dr. MacAlister’s best bet for staying alive.”
“He’ll go after her,” Roman said flatly, his gaze drawn to a thin pink scar on the back of his hand. He had no doubt that Threader wanted Kate. Flexing his fingers to relieve a phantom ache, he considered the arms dealer’s actions. Threader might be a sick bastard, but he was a brilliant strategist.
“If it’s him, he’s already looking for her,” Mercer agreed, then paused. “My boys got to Boyd just before he died. But he only lived long enough to warn us that Kate was in danger. We didn’t get any names.”
Mercer continued, his voice holding a note of impatience. “Another thing. Someone’s investigating the MacAlister family. We haven’t found the tie-in yet, and whoever it is hasn’t left much of a trail. Could be Threader, could be anybody.”
“It’s Threader.” A bitter certainty cemented Roman’s tone.
There was another pause, this time longer, before the director said his next words carefully. “I’m not wasting my breath with lectures about the dangers of taking missions personally. You’d tell me to go to hell, anyway. But I am going to tell you this—under no circumstance can he or anyone else get that formula, D’Amato. Is that clear? If you can’t save her—”
“I know.” Roman interrupted, not wanting Mercer to finish the order. If he couldn’t get her back safe, killing her himself would be the only alternative, more humane than what waited for her at the hands of a psychopath like Threader.
Even so, Kate’s quick death would be secondary to Roman’s true mission. If he failed to rescue her, he would have to kill her simply because she was the last known source of information on a weapon ten times more powerful than the hydrogen bomb.
It didn’t matter Kate was the only woman he’d ever loved. It didn’t matter he’d already betrayed that love once to keep her safe. What mattered was that millions of people could die at the hands of a madman.
Roman ran his hand through his hair and gave it a vicious yank. Another one of his nightmares had just become a reality.
Chapter Two
They’d found her.
Tossing off the quilt, Kate MacAlister slid from the cushions onto her hands and knees, letting the overstuffed sofa shield her from the front window.
How they’d found her so quickly, she would figure out later. If she lived.
She heard no sound, spotted no movement, but she sensed the threat nonetheless.
Her father would insist her Celt blood hummed the warning. Pure and blessed, it was. A gift passed down from their ancestors to a chosen few, he would say.
A few that included Quentin MacAlister’s offspring.
Whatever it was, remained a mystery to Kate. Yet she learned long ago to accept the warnings, to trust them—just as her brothers did.
So when the fine hair on the back of her neck started to do a tap dance down her spine, it meant only one thing.
Time to move.
Blinking hard, she forced her eyes to adjust to the darkness that enveloped the cabin, keeping her panic at bay while things shifted into decipherable patterns. A solitary light glimmered from across the room as a few embers burned in the fireplace, their dim orange glow barely distinguishable.
She concentrated on filtering out the noises of the night, straining to hear her enemies, waiting for confirmation on what her sixth sense already understood. They were close.
Staying crouched below the back of the couch, Kate pushed the sofa pillows under the covers, then crawled across the room, army-style, her body tight to the floor. Her brother’s dark jersey blended well with the night, although it did little to protect her from the icy dampness of the hard wood. Tremors rippled through her, but from cold or fear Kate wasn’t sure.
Please God, just a few more seconds.
At the wood box by the door, she paused no more than a heartbeat, grabbed a slim log and inched up the wall before shrinking into the shadows.
Blood pounded in her eardrums, its rhythm matching the fierce tempo of her heart. She wanted to claw at her ears to make it stop. Instead she made herself take a deep, calming breath. After the second breath, the hammering eased, yet the terror remained, cloaking her like a damp wool blanket.
Soundlessly the door opened and a large, dark figure slipped into the cabin. She forced back a surge of panic and gripped the makeshift club tighter, disregarding the rough bark as it dug into her palms.
What if there was more than one? How far would they go to get the formula?
Stepping deeper into the shadows, she held her breath when the man’s shape passed within a few feet of her. His movements, silent and deliberate as he maneuvered through the room, reminded Kate of a stalking panther.
Or a professional hit man.
She searched his silhouette for a weapon.
He had none. No gun, no knife, not even a rope. His hands hung indifferently at his sides, empty.
Anger exploded in her head, destroying the knot of fear in her belly.
Why did she think he would bother with a weapon? After all, he probably thought she was an easy target. Some egghead doctor he could knock off with his bare hands. Some weak-kneed nonentity who would die because she had no backbone.
She glared at the man as he circled the room, obviously searching for her computer, unaware of the wrath he left in his wake. He wouldn’t find it—ever. She’d worked too hard on her research to let it drop into undesirable hands.
Kate relaxed her muscles, then rolled her weight to the balls of her feet, offering up a brief prayer of thanks for her brother Ian’s insistence on teaching her the rudiments of self-defense. Using the shadows to cloak her movements, she slowly raised her makeshift club, then waited—and watched.
This egghead doctor is going to knock you clear into Christmas, pal. Then you can go back and tell your boss to forget about his plans for the formula.
With his back toward her, the man paused at the couch. She drew in a deep breath as he reached for the covers concealing the decoy. When he grabbed the quilt, Kate lunged. She swung the log hard, intent on striking the back of his head, only to have it disappear in an inky blur before she felt any impact.
Twisting away, he caught the wood with one hand and jerked it from her grasp. In an instant he grabbed her and sent her flying over the couch like a bag of garbage. Her back hit the floor, cutting her scream off with a whoosh.
She bit back the pain that exploded across her shoulder blades and rolled away from the couch, using the momentum to scramble to her feet. The man dived over the furniture, missing her by mere inches. A whimper of terror tore from her lips when she bolted toward the door, her lone chance for escape.
Suddenly a hand snaked out and caught her ankle in a viselike grip, slamming Kate to the floor, chest first. Before she could recover, he was on her back, straddling her waist and locking her hands behind her.
Enraged and frightened, she thrashed about, fighting the inevitable, her body heaving and kicking, trying in desperation to buck him loose.
“Enough.” The command cracked through the room. Its echo bounced sharply off the wall, making Kate cringe.
Exhausted and near collapse, she stopped struggling to lie still on the floor.
“Get off me.” The low, guttural words exploded from her as she tried to gulp in oxygen while his weight crushed her lungs.
“No way, Doc.” The fact he was speaking softly didn’t lessen the fury behind the tone. “Not before I get some answers. Capisce?”
A flicker of déjà vu swept through her. Only one person owned a voice like that, husky and warm like her father’s favorite scotch. He was the only person who got away with calling her that name. And the last person she wanted to see.
God, let me be wrong. Let it be a hit man on my back.
Deftly he flipped her over and snagged her hands above her head. His body straddled hers in a position far more intimate than before, one her body was achingly familiar with.
“Roman?” she gasped, her mind refusing to believe what her heart now recognized.
He leaned down, putting his face inches from hers. His sharp, stony features were barely visible in the darkness, still it didn’t matter. At one time Kate cherished every angle, every plane, every…
“I’m waiting,” he said, the impatience slicing through her thoughts.
His tone sent a shock wave of old memories sweeping through Kate’s body—memories that aroused, then infuriated. He’s waiting.
So what? She’d been waiting for two years, since the morning she woke up and found herself alone. No note, no explanation—nothing.
Kate tried to laugh, but the sound was so weak it came closer to a sob. “Go to hell, D’Amato.”
“I’m already there, Doc.” He laughed, too, the savagery in it making her stomach lurch. “So your suggestion is pointless.”
“I…” Kate stopped as a wave of nausea rolled through her. Bile rose to the back of her throat and she gulped in order to keep it down.
“Roman,” she whispered, the panic evident while she struggled for control. “Please.” With a snap, the dam burst down at the base of her spine and wave after wave of anxiety flooded her body. Oh God, oh God. Not a panic attack. Not now.
“Let…me…go!” She screamed, her voice, thin and high with hysteria as she tried to break free of his suffocating hold. She was shaking violently now, almost convulsively, her hands and feet ice-cold. If she could reach the couch, she could curl up into a ball until the worst passed.
Evidently Roman was way ahead of her. He tightened his grip and lifted her into his arms, then headed for the couch.
“It’s okay, Doc. Just hold on,” he coaxed while he laid her across his lap. His unbreakable but oddly gentle grip pinned her to his body. “Let me help.”
At first Kate ignored the words he crooned in her ear. Time held no meaning while she dealt with the emotional turmoil within her. It didn’t take long before her body, already weakened from the past twenty-four hours, gave out. Gut-wrenching sobs racked her, draining what little strength she had, finally, mercifully leaving her purged but exhausted.
She turned into Roman’s chest and buried her face into the sturdy column of his neck, instinctively searching for a warm refuge from her fears. Under her lips, she could feel his pulse, strong and reassuringly steady. Kate moved her fingers over his heart trying to absorb its solid rhythm.
Roman caressed her back. The strokes felt tender and soothing while he continued to murmur soft, unintelligible words into her hair.
Gradually she drifted back to reality drawn by his voice, its husky timbre vibrating against her face. She could feel dampness on her cheek and realized it was from her own tears. How are you going to explain this, MacAlister?
Kate didn’t want to think about explanations or make any decisions, so she pushed the question away. She’d forgotten how comforting it was to be held in a man’s arms, in Roman’s arms.
Strange how it had always been that way. From the first time they’d held each other to the last time, Kate had responded to Roman on more than just a physical level. From the moment their souls connected, she was lost. She’d never wanted another lover after he’d left because she knew deep down no man would ever reach her as he did.
“Thank you,” she murmured. Then, unable to stop herself, she moved her mouth softly against his neck, relishing the familiar musky taste of him on her lips.
A soft hiss brushed past her ear, and his body tightened against hers. He cupped the back of her neck, bringing her face up. His warm breath fanned her lips in a light caress. A shiver of desire skittered down her spine. She squashed the feeling of betrayal that threatened to surface and closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss, her mouth parting with an eagerness that surprised her.
A muttered “hell” was the only warning she got before he slid her from his lap onto the cushions of the couch. She blinked, stunned, as he wrapped her in the discarded quilt and stood.
“Try to relax, Doc. I’m going to stoke the fire, then find us something hot to drink—or if I’m lucky, something strong.” She tried not to blanch at the coolness in his voice. It was apparent the man was not happy to see her again.
The sharp sting of humiliation traveled down to the core of her being, but thankfully she was too numb to care.
Almost.
KATE GAZED into the fireplace, watching the flames lick greedily around the new logs Roman had tossed there. She tucked her bare feet under the quilt as a shiver danced over her. Even with the extra fuel, the fire did not drive away the coldness seeping into her bones.
The wind howled outside the cabin, and its agitation echoed her unease. Ignoring Roman’s order to rest, she draped the quilt over her shoulders and forced herself off the couch toward the window. He wouldn’t be happy, but she didn’t care. While the panic attack had left her feeling drugged and unstable, she refused to succumb to the aftereffects. Experience had taught her that immobility only delayed her recovery.
Her legs wobbled but supported her well enough to get her across the room. Once there she peered into the pitch-black beyond the cabin, careful to remain concealed behind the slightly parted denim curtains. How much time did she have before they found her? Were they out there now, watching, waiting?
The faint clatter of pans reached her from the kitchen, and reminded Kate of her unwanted company. What was Roman D’Amato doing here? More important, how was she going to get rid of him? Or did she want to? As much as she disliked the man, she wasn’t sure she dared risk his safety. She sighed and adjusted the edges of the curtains together. Placing another human being in jeopardy, even a questionable one like D’Amato, went against her nature.
She hugged her arms tight to her chest, knowing she wasn’t in any shape to do any more strategizing tonight. Under the quilt she rubbed her arms with her hands. In the few minutes by the window, the tremors had stopped, leaving her legs feeling quite a bit steadier, but the iciness still lingered deep within her joints. It would, she was sure, until her nightmare ended.
