Safe Passage (15 page)

“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.

Chapter 14

T
he cabin door crashed open. Scott loomed in the doorway, his eyes glittering. Angry energy crackled sharply around him.

Skye stepped back. “Scott, I—I was just coming to get you. I’ve packed a lunch.” She held up the pack, tried to smile. “I thought I’d show you where Henderson catches his trout. It’s about a mile down the river where a small tributary feeds into a little lake.”

His features were implacable granite. “Sure.” He limped over to where he’d stacked the fly rod and tackle. He grabbed his backpack, dumped his clothes out onto the floor, replaced the first-aid kit that had tumbled out with his gear. He stuffed his fishing tackle into the bag, slung it over his shoulders, reached for his cane and his rod.

“Let’s go, then.”

“Scott, what is it?”

His eyes flicked up, met hers, held. “Nothing.”

She opened her mouth, thought better of it. But his switch in mood made her edgy. Real edgy.

She led the way from the cabin along a narrow trail spongy and fragrant with pine needles. It wound through the forest and down to the lake. Honey ran ahead, snuffling in rich loam under the trees, releasing the scent of resin and warm, fecund earth.

But Scott remained stonily silent behind her.

The forest understory was thicker down by the water. Brush scrambled to cover the path. Much of it was swollen with the buds of berries, the promise of a rich fall harvest. Skye crouched low through the dense undergrowth. They were almost at the lake. She moved the brambles aside, revealed a still body of water and a microcosm of life.

Electric-blue damsels and big brown dragonflies pinged and darted over the surface of the lake. Beetles crawled across the pads of lilies. Small birds clung from reeds that poked out from the water. The air was warm and full of sound.

A fish leaped, greedy for the insects that skimmed the surface of its world. It plopped back, rippling the surface.

Still Scott said nothing. He crouched on the bank, studied the insect life. Then he opened his fly box, tied a tiny fly to the end of his leader.

“What’s that?” she asked in an effort to break the thick silence that hung around him.

“Damsel fly.”

She nodded. He was going to fool the fish who were already leaping for the real damsels. She watched as he fed the line out with his left hand, flicked the rod deftly, delicately with his right. His little damsel mimicked the real thing, just flecking the surface before being yanked back. Droplets of water flicked off the line as it looped, danced back and forth. They caught the sunlight like jewels. Here one minute. Gone the next.

He got a bite, lifted the rod lightly up, set the hook. He started to play his catch. The fish fought back, leaped, spraying water jewels and a shimmer of rainbow scales.

But he reeled it in easily. It was small. He crouched as he pulled it closer to the shoreline. He stopped short of lifting it from the sanctuary of its pond.

He turned to Skye. “Take it,” he said. “Careful. Don’t damage the scales. Open the mouth, release the hook.”

Crouching, she reached into the water. It was cool against her skin. She grasped the little fish. It slipped from her fingers. She tried again, this time clasping it gently. It flopped like a slippery little heart in her hands. Its mouth gasped in stress. With her fingers she reached into its mouth, pinched the tiny hook buried in the flesh, slipped it out. It came out easily. The barb had been pressed back.

“Good,” he said. “Now hold it under its belly. Careful. Keep it in the water, let it revive. It’ll go on its own.”

And it did, with a soft flick of its tail, it made a choice and swam back to the safety of its pond.

Skye rested back on her haunches, staring into the water where the fish had disappeared. It gave her a strange kind of elation mixed with awe, having had the privilege of holding a creature from a different element, setting it free.

He was watching her.

She looked up. His face was still hard as stone. But something in his eyes said different.

“You never keep them?” she asked.

“Not unless I need food.”

She nodded. “I like the idea of setting it free.” And as she spoke, she, too, craved release. She’d been like that little fish. On a line too long, gasping for life. And Scott had shown it to her, dangled it in front of her like a dazzling damsel fly. Could she take the bait? Would she, too, be ultimately set free? Or would the system hook her, reel her in, swallow her for supper?

She had a choice to make. A momentous decision. And in taking that bait, in coming clean, she might lose the man. This man who’d sharpened her yearning for freedom, for the richness of an open and honest life.

She searched his eyes as if for guidance. Something in them softened, almost imperceptibly. He crouched slowly beside her. “It’s good to fish again,” he said quietly. “Thanks.”

She couldn’t read the message under his words, interpret the strange look in his eyes. “Why thanks?” she asked.

“You brought me out here, set me back on this road. I’d forgotten the taste of it.” He looked away, out over the lake. “Whatever these past few days have been about, at least I’ll take that away.”

Her chest tightened. There was a sense of finality about his words. She tried to laugh, make light of it. “You’re not planning on leaving me here, are you?”

“Skye, what do you hope to achieve, hiding in this cabin? How long do you plan on staying out here?”

She took air deep into her lungs. Nervous. But she wanted to do this. Tell him. Everything. And he was forcing it. Right now. Pushing her right up to the edge. She looked over and felt a sickening wave of dizziness. Like she’d felt in the plane when she’d had a chute strapped to her back. But she had to leap. Or she’d never know the feeling that awaited. She’d never know the brilliance of the life that may lie on the other side. She prayed her chute would open. And she jumped.

“I…thought it would be a safe place to think. I need to make some decisions, a plan.” She swallowed, waited for his reaction. Over the buzz of dragonflies and clicking noise of bugs, she could hear the chopper hovering in the distance.

“What kind of decisions?”

“I needed to know if I could trust you. Totally, because I—I don’t think I can do this alone.”

His brow lowered over his eyes. The sound of the chopper died. It had landed somewhere. Somewhere not far away.

“Do what alone? Talk to me, Skye.”

“I’m—My name is not Skye.”

He went rigid. Something shuttered instantly in his eyes.

“I’m not from Holland.”

The muscle in his jaw jumped wildly, but he said nothing.

Terror leached into her chest. “Say something, Scott.”

Don’t let me lose you.

He jerked his eyes away, took a bottle of water out of his pack and swigged, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m listening.” His voice was hoarse.

But she couldn’t talk. She couldn’t do it. Her mouth was dry like crumbled bone. The sides of her throat stuck together. With a trembling hand she reached for his water bottle, took it from him, drank deep.

He watched her carefully. “You’re scared.”

She nodded her head.

“Of me?”

A lump caught at the base of her throat. “No.” She closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts. Then she opened them and looked directly into his. “I’m scared of losing you.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m afraid that after I tell you my story, you’ll hate me for what I’ve done. For who I am.”

Something unbelievably tender flashed through his features. But it was fleeting. There. Then gone. Replaced with a hard set of his jaw, a sharp glint in his eyes. He reminded her of an animal poised to leap on its prey, tear its throat. “Everything. Tell me everything, Skye.”

She wanted to hear him say that whatever she told him, it would be okay, that he’d understand. But he didn’t. He was glaring at her. Eyes angry. But she was committed now.

“All right. This is my story. And by God I hope you understand. I
need
you to understand.” She could feel the hot wetness of emotion in her eyes. She swallowed it back. But the edge of it cracked through her voice. “I need
you,
Scott,” she whispered.

He raised his hand, as if to reach out, touch her. Then pulled it back.

“Everything, Skye.” His voice was thick. “Now.”

She bit down on the pang of hurt, threw back her head, looked up at the evening sky. Birds played on currents of air.

“When I was a child, I always envied them.” She motioned with her chin to where the birds soared above. “They always seemed so free. They could go where they wanted…I couldn’t.” She choked over the ball of pain that blocked her throat. This was even harder than she’d thought, putting into words for the first time what she’d always kept buried deep in her soul.

This time he did touch her; his hand rested warm on her arm. It fed her courage.

“Start at the beginning,” he said softly.

“Okay.” She nodded, sucked in her breath. “I’m not Skye Van Rijn. I assumed the identity of a dead child with that name. I was not born in Holland. I was born in northern Greece, near the Albanian border. I don’t know who my father is. My mother was a soldier of the communist movement, a member of a terrorist cell tolerated by the Greek government because of its commitment to act against Turkey.”

He was dead silent, a muscle pulsing at his temple. Then he spoke. “Like the Greeks tolerate the Kurdistan Workers Party?”

“Yes. But this has little to do with the PKK. It masquerades as a splinter of the old PKK. But it’s something far more dangerous.”

“What group is it?” He barked the question. Her stomach jumped.

“It’s…it’s the heart of Anubis, Scott.”

Every muscle in his body tensed. The muscle pulsed faster. His brows dropped down like a hawk. His eyes scorched.

“They…they have a training camp. I was born in that camp. Raised there. Schooled there. I never knew about the real world—”

“The leader?” His fingers dug into her arm. “Who runs this camp?”

“They call him La Sombra.”

Scott’s fingers bit harder. “You
know
La Sombra?” His voice was ominous, foreign.

She nodded, afraid at the depth of hate in his face.

“What is his name? His
real
name?”

“Malik Leandros. It means Master. And if he finds me, he will kill me for telling you.”

Scott dropped her arm like something gone bad.

She winced.

He dragged his fingers hard though his hair, pulling at the roots. “That tattoo on your hip—”

“Malik’s idea.”

“He
branded
you?” There was disgust in his voice.

“In a way.”

“What about the sword?” He spat the question.

“I am the sword. The Sword of Anubis. I was christened Zeva, which means sword.”

He lurched suddenly to his feet, turned his back on her, stared out over the lake to where Honey was chasing bugs. He clenched, unclenched, fists at his sides.

He swung abruptly back to face her. “You were his lover,” he said simply. “You’re a terrorist.”

She leaped up, tried to take his hand. He wrenched free. Something ripped in her heart. Her chute. It wasn’t going to open for her this time. She’d made a mistake. She flailed wildly. “Scott,
please,
let me explain.”

He stared at her, his face all hard planes devoid of any emotion whatsoever. “Yes. Explain.”

“I can’t talk to you, standing like this. Please, sit.”

Slowly he lowered himself back down to the bank. She joined him. “I escaped, Scott. I’ve been running, hiding from Malik for thirteen years. I am no more a terrorist than you. All I want is an honest life. All I want is to be free.”

Scott rubbed his hands brutally over his face. “What happened? How did you end up here?”

“I never had a choice, Scott. Remember that. I was born into Malik’s camp. I was taught he was Master. Then, when I turned eighteen, I caught his attention. He wanted me. In the way a man wants a woman.”

His body stiffened. His obvious distaste shot pain into her heart. She swallowed. “Malik always got what he wanted. A part of me was even flattered. I was young, insulated, schooled in the dogma he preached. And he was like a god, beautiful, dark and powerful like Zeus. He took me into his private residence and personally taught me the art of sex and languages. He taught me to fight. He wanted to deploy me to other countries. To seduce secrets from men.”

Scott winced again. Pain sliced through his features. He looked away.

“But I got pregnant when I was nineteen. He said I must get rid of my baby. He said a child would make a warrior weak. He said there were lesser women for the task. But I couldn’t do it. I felt this new life growing inside me and I began to question everything. Him…the camp…my ideals…. I wanted another way for me, for my baby. It made him furious. I told him I was leaving. We had a terrible fight. I used all my skills, but he hurt me. Badly. I was bleeding.” Skye choked back a sob.

Scott turned back to face her. “What then?”

“An older woman from the camp took pity on me, got some other women from the nearby village to smuggle me over the Albanian border. They knew people there who helped me get to Amsterdam. But I—” Her voice cracked. “I…lost my baby.” Pain spilled wet from her eyes. She clutched her knees tight into her chest, rocked as the sky began to darken.

Scott’s mouth was set in a tight line. “What happened then?”

“I was put in touch with an Iranian refugee named Jalil.”

His eyes snapped to hers. “Jalil?”

“Yes. He became my one friend, still is. He helped me get to Canada. He made me Skye Van Rijn. Gave me papers, a new life.” She took a deep breath, shuddering as she exhaled. “I owe him my life.”

Something new crossed his features. Confusion pulled at his brow. He opened his mouth to speak. Shut it. Looked away. “And the degrees? Your doctorate?”

“Those are mine.” She snapped. “They are
me.
The real me. I earned them.”

“And now La Sombra has found you.”