Safe Passage (10 page)

“She’s good, Rex.” He paused. “Reminds me of the lab I had when I was boy.”

“You were never a boy, Armstrong.”

“Whatever.” He cleared his head. “I have a destination. We’re heading for Zeballos.”

“Where’s Zeballos?”

“The boonies. A two-hundred-year-old village on the northeast coast of the island that once produced millions in gold. It’s a logging community now. Plenty of abandoned gold mines and limestone caves.”

“You know this place then?”

“From another life. My dad took me there for one of our father-son fishing trips. It’s nestled right on the Esperanza Inlet. Nothing behind the town but sheer mountains and forest to nowhere.”

The remorse was suddenly acute at the thought of his father, his parents. It was all coming down on him, as though some kind of floodgate had been opened to feeling. And he was drowning.

Those trips had been real special. A highlight in his young life.

“Where will you be staying?” Rex was talking to him. He yanked his mind back out of the past.

“Not in the town. I’ll send you GPS coordinates when we get there. We’re headed for a cabin somewhere in that region. Let me know as soon as you’ve spoken with our federal contact. I need to know what I’m dealing with here. We picked up a new tail today. Dark green Dodge. Couldn’t catch the plates.”

“Feds?”

“Could be.”

“I’ll check with our man tomorrow. Scott, if it’s not the feds—”

“Yeah, this adds a new dimension.”

“Play it safe.”

Scott heard the concern in Rex’s voice. He tried to laugh it off, tried to tell himself it had zip to do with the fact he was injured, washed up, supposed to be recuperating with a lame-duck surveillance job. “You worried now it’s become a
real
mission?”

“Chill, hard-ass. Let’s touch base tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Right. Oh, by the way, we’ve got new wheels. Traded the truck in. Tab is headed your way.” Scott hung up before Rex could respond.

He smoothed the fur on Honey’s head. So the Logans were having another baby. He shook the odd onslaught of emotion, fished out the piece of paper on which he’d scribbled the address of the theater store.

He had to stay focused. If that was not the cops back there in Duncan, then someone else was after Skye.

He was damn sure he’d lost them. But until he knew who and what he was up against, he wanted to keep her hidden.

Chemainus was an artsy community famous for murals that depicted the history of the valley. It was also full of antique stores and boutiques offering sculpture, pottery and glass. And it had the theater store. Scott had found the address in the Yellow Pages while he’d waited for the dealer to finalize the papers for his vehicle trade.

Evening was edging out afternoon by the time he and Honey reached the shop. But it was still open. He wasted no time in asking for what he was looking for.

“You want a short, medium or long?” the salesclerk asked him.

He thought of Skye’s lustrous dark hair. She’d never manage to hide it all under a short wig. “I’m going to have to go with one of the longer lengths.”

“Color?” The woman held up a chart.

The image, the sensation of Skye’s exotic, smooth olive-toned skin swam into his senses. Too blond and she would look false. Too much red or orange and it would clash with her olive skin and silver eyes.

“That one.” He pointed to a dark ash-blond mixed with brownish frost.

“The snowy mink?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, the snowy mink. And I like this style here.” He pointed to the head of hair on a mannequin. It would balance well with her height, her stature.

“Anything else?”

“Just these.” He held up a pair of studious looking glasses for himself. Deception, he mused, was an art.

A little voice niggled inside him,
Self-deception, however, is folly.

He put his purchase on the Bellona tab.

“What do you mean, it’s the
only
room left?”

The motel desk clerk gave an apologetic shrug. “The art festival’s in town this week. Everything’s pretty much booked solid. You’re lucky to find even this. We just had a cancellation”

“Oh, great. That’s just great.”

“Would you like me to make some calls for you?”

Skye checked herself. The poor woman was actually trying to help her. “No, it’ll have to do.” She grabbed the keys off the counter, spun on her heels.

“If there’s anything else I can get for you, Mrs. McIntyre—” the woman called out after her.

Skye whirled, opened her mouth, shut it again, tried to twist it into a congenial smile. “Thank you, no. We’ll be fine. Could you please direct
Mr.
McIntyre to
our
room when he finally arrives.”

She unlocked the motel room door, flung it open, tossed her backpack onto the one and only bed.

Just great. She was going to have to sleep with the writer tonight. And the thought of it punched her smack in the gut. She felt winded. Terrified, actually. She didn’t trust herself to be near him.

She sat on the bed, pried her boots off with angry movements. She was way out of her league when it came to Scott McIntyre, dammit. Other men she could kiss without coming totally undone.

Boots off, she threw herself back on the queen-size bed. It was altogether too small. She stared up at the ceiling. She was running all right. And it wasn’t just from Malik’s men.

She was running straight into another kind of trap.

And she was sure of one thing. If she opened up, Scott McIntyre might just steal her heart.

And she’d end up paying the price.

It was more than she could afford.

“Quiet, now. One sound and you’re back in the car.” Scott let Honey out of the Land Rover. He didn’t know if they allowed pets in the motel but he wasn’t going to chance asking them.

The retriever obedient at his side, Scott unlocked the motel room door and walked in.

She lay on the bed like a sleeping beauty, her dark hair spread over the white of the pillow.

His muscles tightened in a band across his chest.

Then he saw.

There was only one bed.

And she was sprawled out on it. Something dark and hot slipped through his gut. He stepped inside the room, quietly setting his package on the dresser.

But even in her sleep, she caught his movement. Her eyes flashed open. She jerked upright on the bed, hand flying to her chest as if to reassure herself she was fully clothed. He’d awakened her from some deep dream. One that had flushed her cheeks a soft pink.

He swallowed at the intimacy he saw there.

Her eyes darted around the room, as if to confirm the reality of her surroundings.

This was not a relaxed woman.

This was a woman doing one hell of a job hiding some deep-rooted fear.

“Arise, sleeping beauty, I’ve got a present for you,” he said dramatically.

“Where the hell have you two been?” she snapped. “You’ve been gone more than two hours.”

“Relax, sweetheart.” He picked up the package. “This is for you.” He held it out to her.

She took it, uncertain. “What is it?”

“Open it.”

She tore at the wrapping, held up the wig, frowned. “You said you were going to get dog food.”

“We did. But we got this for you, too.” He took the wig out of her hands, lifted it over her head and positioned it carefully over her tresses. He concentrated on ignoring the sensation of her dark silken strands against his fingers as he covered them with the false blond ones.

He stepped back.

The color he’d chosen was perfect. She looked like a siren. He should’ve guessed Skye Van Rijn would only stand out more as a blonde. Still, it was a highly efficient disguise. That’s what he loved about wigs. They were simple. And, in his experience, they worked.

She threw her feet over the side of the bed, padded to the mirror and adjusted the hair around her face. She made a wry face, pouted at her reflection.

Then she laughed. “What the hell is this for?”

He stepped up behind her, caught the silver of her eyes in the mirror. She looked into the reflection, back into his eyes. The frisson was immediate. Heat swelled between their bodies.

“I thought I’d take you out somewhere quiet for supper tonight. Get to know you a little better.”

She turned slowly to face him, her breasts almost touching his chest. His pulse spiked. He swallowed against the tension that gripped at his throat. In the mirror he could see her shapely butt as she faced him. And he saw the unmistakeable stamp of raw desire reflected in his own features.

He knew she could see it, too.

She looked slowly up into his eyes. He could feel the warmth of her breath against his lips as she spoke. “Ah, you think they won’t recognize me in disguise?” Her voice curled through his senses. “Ingenious,” she mocked.

He smiled, lifted his hand to gently move some of the hair from her face. “Maybe I just like blondes. Snowy-mink ones.”

She stilled instantly at his touch, like a rodent frozen by a serpent’s stare. She was afraid. He could sense it in an animal way.

He, too, was afraid, couldn’t move. They teetered silent at the cusp of something. One small move would send them down one road. Another would topple them over, past the point of no return and they’d end up naked, limbs entwined, hot and slick on that single bed.

And Scott was so close to making the wrong move. So very damn close. His hand remained immobile against the skin on her cheek. He couldn’t seem to unhitch it.

She couldn’t pull away.

That’s when he saw it. Light refracting in tiny emeralds, eyes of a gold bug nestled at the hollow of her throat. He hadn’t really noticed it before.

He moved his hand to touch the unusual gold pendant, remotely thankful to have found sudden purpose for movement.

“Where’d you get this?”

She jerked back, bumped into the dresser. Her hand flew to the jewel at her throat, focus returned to her eyes.

“Jozsef…gave it to me just before the wedding.” She took another step back. “I—I don’t really like it.” She sank down into the chair next to the dresser, as if crushed by the sudden weight of an unwanted memory. She clutched the pendant, covering it with her hand.

“But you’re still wearing it.” Scott didn’t know what drove him to say that. It smacked of accusation. He ran his tongue over his teeth. His mouth was dry.

“I…he…Jozsef made me promise to wear this beetle always.”

Scott stepped closer, laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Skye.”

She looked up into his face. Her eyes were wide. He felt like a brutish bull, trampling over her pain. The woman was still hurting. He had no business feeling what he was feeling. No business using her pain to get inside her head.

It’s your job, Agent. Remember that. Just another job.

But it wasn’t. Not anymore. This one had taken hold of him. Deep down, he knew this was different. It was getting to him in ways he never anticipated. And if he didn’t grab control of himself, real soon, he was gonna blow it, seal his fate once and for all with the Bellona Channel.

And that wasn’t a future he was ready to contemplate.

“No, Scott, don’t apologize. I’m the one who’s sorry to have dragged you into the mess of my life.” Her voice was brittle as she struggled for composure. “I’m not usually like this. It’s just that…that…everything’s going to hell in a handbasket.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, faced her. “What do you mean?”

She inhaled a shaky breath. “When Jozsef gave me this pendant, there was something in his eyes. Like an urgency. He said no matter what happened, I must promise to wear this. It was like…like he knew something was going to go wrong. I think he knew when he gave me this beetle that he wouldn’t be at our wedding.”

Scott reached out for her hand.

She pulled away. “Please, don’t touch me.”

Her words burned.

He held back, moved his hand, instead, to pet the silky fur of Honey’s head. The dog could sense the unease, the emotion that pulsed through the room. She nestled her snout into the crook of Scott’s knee, whimpered softly.

“Skye, why do you think Jozsef never showed?”

She was quiet for a while. When she spoke, there was a quaver to her voice. “I don’t think he had a choice. I think something happened to him.”

“Why?”

“You think I’m in denial, don’t you? You think I’m scratching for excuses so that I can cope with rejection. I’m not. Things have been adding up weird. I got this feeling.”

“What, exactly, makes you think something happened to Jozsef?” His tone was more demanding than he’d intended.

She shut down.

She yanked the wig from her hair, tossed it onto the dresser, raked her fingers through her dark tresses. “Just forget it.”

He softened his voice. “Skye, if you talk to me, maybe I can help.”

Her top lip trembled ever so slightly. “I just don’t know who to trust.”

Scott lifted his hand. He needed to touch, to console. But he restrained himself. “You think Jozsef’s disappearance is more than some simple payoff.”

She slumped forward, dropped her face into her hands, her hair curtaining him from her features. She shook her head, as if to discard everything in it. Her body jerked with a sob. Then another. Emotion tore through her, racked her frame. Scott could hold back no longer. He dropped to his knees in front of her, took her into his arms. Held her. Just held as she sobbed.

Honey whimpered, tried to edge her snout into Skye’s lap. And they stayed like that. The three of them. A tiny vignette.

A misbegotten, temporary family built on lies.

Chapter 9

S
kye raised her face to the showerhead, let the water sear her skin. But the piping heat didn’t penetrate deep enough, couldn’t cleanse her past. Couldn’t wash away her present predicament.

She stepped out of the shower, reached for the motel towel, scrubbed it angrily against her body. She’d said too much to Scott McIntyre. She’d crashed. That had never happened to her before. And Scott was no fool. He’d soon start putting the pieces together.

She stopped suddenly, snared by her blurry image in the steamy bathroom mirror. She gave a quiet, derisive laugh. That was her, a blur of person. Out of focus. Not quite real. She reached forward, rubbed a hole in the mist with the back of her fist, stared at her own face. More than anything she wanted clarity, openness, honesty in her life. She wanted to be a real person again. Not an alias. She didn’t want to run anymore. The little clearing she’d made in the mirror closed in on itself, blurring her reflection as she watched. Skye frantically rubbed it back.

She wouldn’t let Malik do this to her anymore. She had to make it stop. She couldn’t get old and die in obscurity, running for the rest of her life. Wouldn’t. It was time she fought back. Because right now, she had nothing to lose—apart from her life. And what was that worth? Not much living the way she was. She was hollow. And Scott had shown her just how hollow. He had made her feel human, real. And as much as it hurt, she wasn’t ready to give that up again.

But how could she fight back? Could Scott really help her? Could she trust him with her darkest secret? She wanted to. Skye slipped into her yellow terry bathrobe and cinched the belt at her waist. She had to. She didn’t have a choice. Because she was not going to let Malik win. Not this time. She would not go back to the way she was. She was prepared to gamble with her life on this. She’d even go to prison.

She stepped out of the bathroom determined, an edgy adrenaline coursing through her veins, a thousand tiny butterflies fluttering in her stomach. But ready.

Scott looked up as she stepped into the room. A smile creased the rough, tanned planes of his face. She could almost read relief in the sparkle of his green eyes as he watched her. She smiled warmly back.

“You look like you feel better.”

She rubbed a towel through her hair. “I do. How about that dinner now?”

“Excellent idea.” He stood, slipped a pair of bookish spectacles onto his nose, looked at her quizzically. “What do you think?”

She threw back her head, laughed from her heart. “Is that
your
disguise? I didn’t know you needed one.”

He shrugged. “Thought it might be fun.”

“Fun?” The word felt alien in her mouth.

He stepped closer. “Sweetheart, we’re running from reality, we might as well enjoy the ride.”

She swallowed, raw lust once again unfurling slowly through her veins. “How true.” He didn’t know just how true. She studied his eyes through the lenses.

“Well, what do you think? How do I look?”

“I—I think you look like a writer.”

He wiggled his brows. “But I am.”

“Yes. I do believe you are, McIntyre.” She laughed again. And it felt good.

Skye gaped at the silvery-gray, four-wheel drive. “What’s that?”

“That, my dear, is our new getaway vehicle.”

She spun ’round, pinned him with her eyes. Her fake hair was platinum, surreal in the moonlight. “What happened to your black truck?”

“Traded it in. Besides, this one goes better with your new hair.”

She turned slowly, stared at the vehicle.

“It’ll get us into the Zeballos backcountry,” he offered.

“You think it’ll fool them?”

“Worth a try.”

“You did this…for me?”

“You getting in or what? I’ve made dinner reservations.”

She resisted. “Why? Why are you doing this, Scott?”

He shrugged.

She placed her hand firmly on his forearm. “I need to know why you’re doing this for me?”

Guilt raised an ugly sharp head in his chest. He pushed it away. “Is a man being nice to a beautiful woman really such a foreign concept to you, Doctor?”

“In my world, nothing comes free.”

He slipped his arm over her shoulder, whispered into her ear, “You must learn to trust, Doctor. With trust comes freedom.” That thing in his chest twisted sharply. The words he’d just uttered stuck thick in his craw, the irony catching like thorns. He swallowed.

She angled her chin, looked up into his eyes. “I know.” Her voice was soft. Warm. “I know.” She stood on tiptoe, bussed his cheek. “Thank you. For everything.”

He just nodded and opened the passenger door for her. What did Scott McIntyre know about trust, about fun? Obviously a hell of a lot more than Scott Armstrong did. He walked around the Land Rover to the driver’s side and opened the back door for Honey. She hopped in, then he settled into the driver’s seat, started the ignition.

Agent Scott Armstrong would do well to heed some of futurist Scott McIntyre’s advice, he thought ruefully as he shifted the vehicle into gear. Because right now his alias had a better handle on life than he did.

Scott handed the wine list back to the sommelier. “We’ll have the Janus Creek Zinfandel.”

The stunning blonde sitting opposite him scanned the room. Scott felt bizarre, as though he and Skye were part of a movie set. Two people playing roles in a fake life. But no one was going to yell “Cut” once dinner was over. They would be playing these roles for days to come. He wondered just what was going to give first.

“This is beautiful, Scott. I thought you were kidding when you said we had reservations.”

“It’s small. Quiet.”

And intimate.
But that was for security, he told himself.

The sommelier brought the wine, displayed the label. Scott nodded. The man splashed rich red liquid into the bulb of his glass. Scott raised it to his nose sniffed, smiled.

“Perfect,” he told the sommelier who proceeded to fill their glasses. Scott raised his to salute Skye.

She smiled. “Cheers. To new beginnings.”

“New beginnings?”

She pointed to the label. “It’s a Sonoma vintage, from the Janus Creek vineyards.”

“What’s that got to do with new beginnings?”

“I know the place. Jozsef and I were there about a year ago. We were traveling up from Texas,” she said openly.

“The farm is named after the Janus Creek, which runs through it. The source of the Janus is a spring that bubbles up precisely at the summit of two watersheds. It splits into two,” she explained. “Gravity forces one part of it to flow south to join rivers that feed into the Pacific ocean. The other part flows north before joining the Pacific.”

“Two different directions to the same end?”

Skye nodded. “That’s why the spring was named after the Roman god Janus. The god that looks both ways, covers both angles at the same time, guards every door.”

“But why beginnings?”

“Ancient Romans sought Janus’s help at the start of wars. They believed invoking him ensured their beginnings would have good endings. That’s why the first of January is dedicated to him. He keeps an eye on the happenings of the old year while looking forward to the new.” She studied him over her glass, took the rich red liquid into her lips.

Scott’s eyes dropped to the label. He’d never given the appellation much thought. “I thought Janus was a two-faced liar. God of deception.”

She shifted slightly in her chair, bit her bottom lip. It had drawn a faint burgundy stain from the wine. He could imagine the taste of her mouth. “Ever heard of Janus-faced, Skye?”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s more of a modern English thing…that two heads equal a divided self. Janus is thus deemed an appropriate symbol for a self-deceived person. It’s not the way I see it.”

He took a sip of wine, let it settle around his tongue, feeling the tart bite, the wild fruitiness, before swallowing. “So does this Roman Janus have a Greek counterpart?”

She almost choked. She set her glass studiously down onto the linen tablecloth. “No.”

He’d touched something. But what? Something to do with Greece? He leaned back in his chair, assessing. “You know an awful lot about this stuff.”

“I—I had an interest. Years ago.”

Out of the corner of his eye Scott could see the waitress approaching with their food. He sat forward. “You ever been to that part of the world?”

“What part?” She looked edgy.

“The land of the Gods of Olympus. Greece.”

She shook her head. “No. Never.” The waitress set their plates in front of them. Skye moved quickly to change the topic.

Scott filed the information away in his brain, turned to the waitress. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Can I get you anything else?

“Some water, please,” Skye asked. She looked suddenly pale.

“Sure thing.” The waitress halted, staring at Skye’s neck. “Oh, what a beautiful necklace.”

Skye’s hand shot once again to her throat. “Thank you.”

She looked away, her tone brooking no further discussion. But the waitress persisted. “My sister collects jewelry bugs. Her boyfriend just gave her a little gold bumblebee. What I wouldn’t give to find her a beetle like that for her birthday. May I ask where you got it?”

Scott watched, vaguely amused. Skye continued to clutch the gold pendant. But she looked up at the waitress. “Why does she collect bugs?”

“I know, she’s totally nuts. But ever since she was a kid she’s had a fascination for crawly things. She wants to study entomology at university next year.”

A hint of smile toyed with Skye’s mouth. “I think I’d like your sister. Tell her good luck. But I don’t think you’ll find a bug like this locally. This one was made for me in Europe.”

“Too bad.” The waitress smiled. She left to fetch the water.

Scott picked up his knife and fork. “Well, someone likes your beetle, even if you don’t.”

Skye fixed him suddenly with her silver stare. She reached with both hands slowly up behind her neck and unfastened the clasp. She set the little gold bug with the emerald eyes on the table in front of them.

Scott raised his brow in question.

“I want her to have it. For her sister.”

Scott set his utensils down. “The waitress? You serious?”

Skye blew out a breath. “Yes. Dead serious.”

He reached out, picked up the little beetle, weighed it in his palm. “Feels like solid gold.”

She tucked into her food. “Probably is. I never liked gold.”

“And the eyes, are they emeralds?”

“Probably. I like emeralds.” She looked up into his eyes. “I like green eyes.”

He swallowed. “You can’t just give it away.”

“I need to do this. To move on.” She tried to change the subject. “Food’s excellent. Yours is getting cold.”

“What if he comes back?”

She stopped chewing. “Jozsef?”

“You made him a promise, that you would wear it always.”

“No. I didn’t. He wanted me to promise. I didn’t say the word.”

“What if he
does
come back? What if there really was a valid reason for him leaving you at the altar?” Scott knew he was acting like a wretched dog with a bone. But all of a sudden, he couldn’t let it go.

“You want to know if I’d take him back.”

“Would you?” He could hear the sharp edge in his voice. But for the life of him, he couldn’t keep it out.

She shook her head, and a secret weight lifted from his chest. He breathed deep. “Why not?”

“I need to understand what happened to Jozsef. But like I told you, I never loved him. I think I need to acknowledge that to myself.” She glanced at the pendant resting on the white linen. “Taking that off is like removing a weight. It makes it final. I can’t explain it.”

“Why
were
you going to marry him?”

She set her fork down next to her plate. “I guess you have a right to ask that question.”

He shrugged. “Do I?”

She took in a breath, slowly released it. “Jozsef walked into my life one day. And he was so right. He knew all the right buttons to push. We liked the same things, shared the same interests. He was fascinated by my work, wanted to know every little detail.” She fiddled with the stem of her glass. “He made me feel wanted. I needed to feel normal, Scott.”

Her candor made his brain stumble. “And you thought marrying him would make you feel normal?”

“He asked me. It seemed a logical step to take.”

“But you didn’t love him,” he insisted.

She looked down at the garnet liquid in her glass, spoke softly. “I didn’t know if I knew how to love…how to feel. I’ve been numb. For a long time. A very long time.”

He lifted his glass and sipped. “And now?”

Her eyes flashed up to his. Color flushed her cheeks. “I think you know the answer to that.”

The wine seeped warm in his chest. He could feel it smolder in his belly. He looked into her eyes. And he wanted to kiss her.

“And you, Scott? What’s your story?”

He blinked at the rapid turnaround. “Me?”

“Have you ever felt numb, Scott? You know, when you’ve been out in the cold too long and you freeze, then when you find warmth again, you thaw, begin to feel, and it hurts like all hell?”

He didn’t know what to say.

“Well, have you?” she pushed.

He swallowed, still speechless.

She leaned forward, lowered her voice to a whisper over the table. “You know what? I think you have. I think you were burned once, badly, and went numb, like me.”

He couldn’t breathe.

“But you’re not going to tell me your story, are you?”

The room was closing in on him.

“You want me to trust you and you won’t tell me anything about yourself,” she said softly. “You said trust brings freedom. But you won’t trust me. You’re not free, either, McIntyre. You’re just as trapped as I am.” She lifted her glass, sipped, eyes watching him over the rim.

He felt like bloody two-faced Janus. He was building a web of deceit, trapping this woman. This woman who’d been hurt so bad by something she’d gone numb.

Like him.

It’s your job, Agent. What in hell is wrong with you?
He reached for his glass, took a deep swig, swallowed the bitter pill, choked as the drink went down. This was way wrong. This shouldn’t be happening. He took another swig. Like the Janus creek itself, he had a head pointed in each direction. Armstrong looking one way. McIntyre the other.