Somewhere I'll Find You (42 page)

If he believed her, fine.  If not . . .
  She drew in a deep breath. 
“You know about my accident.  Well, some part of me died that night, and I’m not sure that what’s left can feel or drea
m or hope anymore.  I thought differently
,
though,
back there with you.  Now
,
I’m not sure
again.  And all the time, I knew a man was
out there watching.  Waiting.  I can feel him right now.
 
I can still feel him
,
Michael
.
”

“That’s
impossible
, Paige.”

“Is it?”  Hot tears streamed down her cheeks.  “Is it, Michael?  Then how did I know that we were going to be shot at?”

“It’s just so damned hard to believe.”

“Few people do,
” she
admitted lowly.
 
“But …
I thought that you were different.”

Michael jammed a hand through his hair.  “You can . . . feel this man, too?”

Paige simply nodded.

“You
know
what he’s thinking?”

“Sometimes.”

“Damn it, what is he thinking now?”

Paige shivered, not wanting to pick up that cold trail of anger.  But she did because Michael asked her to.
 
What else will I do if he asks me? 
She shuddered at what she found.  He was so very close.  He could have been one of the faces at the museum.  He might have even bid on one of the items.
 
Paige’s fingers began to tremble.  She forced herself to hold the contact, even though it left her weak and sickened.

She
fought to remain separate from the greasy feel of that maddened mind
, feeling stained b
y the crazed delight she could feel emanating from him, and
caught back a sob.  “Michael, oh heaven, I don’t know if we can stop him.  He’s close . . . so very close.  And he’s going to kill very soon, bullet proof windows or not.”

“This time
,
I hope you’re wrong.”  Michael yanked out his cell,
jabbing out a set of numbers.
  When he received no answer, he slammed the phone down in frustration and whirled the Range Rover in a tight turn.  Gravel spewed up from beneath the thick tires as they sped back the way they had come, back towards the mansion.  “I’m not getting an answer,” he responded tightly to Paige’s pale, questioning glance.  Keeping one hand taut on the wheel, he used the others to push a different set of numbers.  “We have to go back.  If I can’t reach them – if they’re not answering – they need help.
”  Michael spoke calmly and succinctly into the cell, asking for medical help as though he was doing nothing more
earth shaking
than choosing a new tie. 

But Paige could see the worry etching its way on to his face as he dialed the numbers of his men again and again, receiving nothing for his efforts.  “Michael, what about …?” she began, but compressed her lips tightly around the rest of her sentence when he shook his head.

“I don’t know, Angel.  We have to hope that they’re all right – and that our gunman, whoever he is, is sane enough not to try taking potshots at anyone while the police and ambulances are here.”

As they
jolted towards the drive, Paige saw two cars parked in front
of where the Range Rover had previously been stationed
.

One of them was an ambulance.
  Help had arrived – but Paige thought that it was already too late.

As he vaulted from the Range Rover and came around to open Paige’s door, Michael cursed at
the
sight of the
stretcher
being
carried out.  He
had
recognized the face of Peter Burke. A bloody good man.

At least he’d
been
a good man.

Now he was dead.  He had two children waiting at home, one barely a year old.  Neither was going to grow up knowing their father.

Michael
turned
his eyes icy with the need for revenge.

“Michael?” Paige whispered, her face haunted as she watched the stretcher being carried away.

He drew his arms around her stiff shoulders.  “Come on, Angel, there’s nothing more for you to do out here.
Let’s go inside, where I hope it’s still safe.
”

* * * *

Miles O’Brian frowned at the passing California countryside.  The sun had just come out from behind a cluster of clouds, glaring on the roadways as happy as a distracted child.  The sight of it blazing so brightly did nothing to improve his sour mood.  He didn’t like it here.  He hated driving on the right as much as he hated
the
American food that sat so heavy
in
his stomach.  He couldn’t stand the loud geniality of the populace with their large smiles and impudent questions.  But most of all, he hated the constant sunshine, frying his skin as it cooked his brain, stinging his eyes so that it was impossible to see where he was driving.  He slowed, waiting for the turn in to the parkway he needed.  He was tired, hot and wanted nothing more than to have this business behind him. 

But things were in chaos.  His people had turned out to be unreliable and both Paige and Michael had failed to make contact when they should have.  Irritably, O’Brian gunned the motor, taking a corner faster than he intended, a wave of apprehension turning in his stomach.

What sort of mess am I walking into,
now?

When he made
one final
turn a few moments later, he discovered wh
at sort of mess everything was.

“What do you mean, I can’t go up?”  Miles stood glaring at the
g
rim faced man with iron-gray hair who claimed to be in charge.  “Listen, Mister . . .”

“Detective
Rossi
– and the answer is still no.  I have orders not to allow anyone on the premises.”

Muttering a curse,
Miles
flipped out his badge, shoving it in the man’s face.  “Does
this
change anything?”

The detective frowned.  “Not in this country.  I’ve got orders not to allow anyone in.  I can’t disregard that without proper authorization.”

“Then get it, damn it.
Miss O’Neal is up in that house.  She can verify my credentials.”

The detective’s face remained impassive.  “She’s working with you?  Perhaps then you can explain your connection
,
since I gather you’re not in the film industry.”

“I’ll answer your questions once you assure me that she’s safe.”

The detective shrugged his shoulders; he could play that game, too.  After all, it was amazing how long it could take for a call to go through
to the right places
.  “Very well, Mr. O’Brian, if you’ll return to your vehicle, I’ll see what I can do.  The cell towers in these parts are unreliable, at best.”

“You had better hope that they are not.  And it’s
Inspector
O’Brian, Detective.”

****

“Dear God, that man died because of me!”  Paige’s face was sheet white and her fingers were shaking. They were in the sun-filled living room of the cottage.
After the police had been called in and a perimeter established, Michael had calmly and quickly, moved them down to the relative safety of
Seaview,
with its warm, cozy surroundings. 

Paige saw only shadows around them, however
.

She caught a shuddering breath.  “I’ve got to do
something,
don’t you see?”

Shutting her eyes, she barely felt the bright tartan blanket he placed around her.  Placing his hands on her face, Michael’s touch was gentle, even if his eyes were not.  “This has gone on far enough.  Don’t worry, I’ll get the man behind this, if it’s the last thing that I do.”

“Don’t say that, Michael.  He’s clever –
very
clever.”

“Don’t waste your worry on me, Paige.  I can handle one psychotic killer just fine.  But you’re to stay here, understand?  If what you say is true, he’ll be watching, and you’ll be his first target.”

“What about
you?
  He wants you too!”

“And he’s going to get me,” Michael said darkly.  “Clear as day.  A perfect bloody target.  Only I’m going to set a few traps for him first.”

“But I could . . .”

“No.
  I won’t take any more chances with your life.   I was a fool to let you stay for so long.  I should have made you go long before things got this dangerous.”

Desperation made Paige reckless.  She couldn’t face the thought of Michael going unprotected to face a madman’s bullet but the sound from his cell interrupted her words.

Glancing at Paige as he flipped open the
receiver
, interrupted her words.  “What is it?”

A deep voice came from the other end.  “There’s a Miles O’Brian waiting down here.  He says that he works with Miss O’Neal.  He’s threatening all sorts of international repercussions.  I’ve checked him out and his security clearance is pretty high.”

“Don’t worry, I know all about his security,” Michael interrupted, his eyes settling on Paige as his phone clicked shut. He didn’t move, not even one muscle.  But it was clearly a struggle.

Don’t hate me,
Paige prayed. 
Don’t let it be too late for the truth.

“Michael, I know about those papers.  I knew about them and I was supposed to find them.”

His face was grim.  “Who sent you?” he growled.

“Another man from your country.  Someone who does the same kind of work that you do.  In fact, you’re on the same team.  Or almost so.”

“There is no such thing as
almost
, Paige.  No
t in the world in which
I live.  Right now they are holding one Miles O’Brian back at the mans
ion – someone who claims to know you on a
work-related basis
.”

“He knows about . . . what I can do.  I’ve done it for him and his people before.  He wants those papers we found.  Those papers are important to him and obviously someone wants them as badly as he does.”