The Search (3 page)

"You guessed it."

"Okay, then where can I reach you? Are you flying direct to Phoenix?"

"No, I'm going to Atlanta."

Silence. "Eve?"

"Who else?"

"Oh."

"I believe I have you speechless. What an accomplishment. I'll take pity on you. No, I'm not going in sentimental pursuit of a lost love. Eve and I are friends now."

"Heaven forbid anyone would mistake you for being sentimental. You don't have to explain to me about--"

"No, but you'd die of curiosity and then I'd have to break in a new personal assistant. Such a bore."

"I'm not nosy. Anyone would be curious," she said tartly. "After all, you spent a year with her. I thought you might--"

"You can reach me in Atlanta at the Ritz Carlton in Buckhead."

"If you're not going directly to see Sarah Patrick, I'll keep tabs on her."

"That's not necessary. I'll see her in Atlanta."

"No, she's booked back to Phoenix."

"She'll change her plans. By the way, I'm calling Sean Galen after I hang up. If he needs funds, give him--"

"Carte blanche," Margaret finished for him. "As usual. I thought you'd pull him into any rescue attempt. Is he to go directly to Santo Camaro?"

"No, I'm sending him to Bogota on a fact-finding mission."

Margaret made a distinctly skeptical sound. "Pretty words. Who's he going to beat up?"

"Maybe no one. I just need him to find someone and ask a few questions."

"Yeah, sure."

"If Castleton calls, I want to hear from him immediately. He has my digital phone number, but he's too cautious for my taste. He may try to reach me on it only in case of emergencies. But as far as I'm concerned, everything is an emergency at this point."

"No problem."

"Wrong. I see nothing but problems looming. I'll keep in touch." He hung up.

He should have known Margaret would champion Sarah Patrick. Margaret was an ardent feminist who admired tough, smart women who boldly ran their own lives and careers. She had liked Eve Duncan for that same reason. Eve was a top forensic sculptor who had overcome tremendous odds in both her personal and professional life. A very special woman . . .

He hadn't seen her in almost six months. Had he made the transition from lover to friend as he'd told Margaret? Who knew? He had felt something for Eve he'd never felt for any other woman, and he'd tried to analyze it in these last months. Respect, pity, passion . . . Hell, maybe all those emotions had been present. She had certainly caught his imagination from the moment he had met her.

No, he wasn't being honest. He had loved Eve. What was love but respect, pity, passion, and a hundred other emotions? Joe Quinn had said Logan didn't love her enough and deserved to lose her. Well, he had lost her, so maybe the bastard was right. Maybe he'd never make a total commitment to a woman. Totality was for the young and the daring.

Christ, that sounded like a soap opera.

Okay, forget personal problems. Eve was going to marry Joe Quinn, a fact that he'd accepted months ago. His commitment now was to Bassett, and he had to concentrate all his efforts on bringing him back.

That's where Sarah Patrick came in.

He could force her to help him as he'd done the last time, but he'd prefer not to do that. Was there anything else in her background he could use to manipulate her?

He had time to think about it. He should have at least a day to decide what to say to her.

It might take every minute of that time, he thought ruefully. Sarah was tough as nails and Margaret was probably right. This time when he tried to get her to jump when he whistled, there was every chance the situation would explode.

And the situation was explosive enough without Sarah. He had been uneasy ever since he had left Santo Camaro. His instincts told him that something was not as it should be, and he trusted his instincts. What the hell was bothering him?

He was filled with anger and sadness and the usual adrenaline-charged eagerness to jump into the fray-- emotions that were getting in the way. So put those emotions on hold. He had to clear his head and analyze Rudzak's opening move. Why had Rudzak taken Bassett? Ransom or revenge was the obvious answer, but Rudzak was seldom obvious.

He pulled the scarab from his pocket, the one Rudzak had sent him via Castleton. His thumb rubbed its carved surface. The scarab was from such a long time ago, a time of pain and torment and regret. . . . Rudzak had meant to send a message with it, but what did the message have to do with Bassett?

He leaned back in his chair. Think. Play the scenario out. Put everything together before you call Galen.

The shrill howl echoed eerily in the night.

Sarah stopped at the top of the hill, her breathing labored from the hard uphill run.

Another howl, more mournful than the first.

A wolf, Sarah thought. Probably one of the Mexican gray wolves that had been recently released in western Arizona. There had been stories of a few migrating to this area, much to the anger of the local ranchers. That howl had sounded very close. She stared at the crags spiking the mountain behind her.

Nothing. The night was clear and still and the wolf was probably farther away than he sounded.

Beautiful. Monty was staring at the mountain.

"You wouldn't think so if you ran across one of those wolves, Monty. They have no manners. Ask the ranchers around here."

Another howl echoed through the night.

Monty's head lifted. Beautiful. Free.

Dogs were supposed to be descended from wolves, but she had never noticed any savage qualities in Monty. No animal could be more gentle or loving. Yet was he feeling some buried instinct as he listened to that wolf? The idea made her uneasy, and she dismissed it immediately. "I think it's time we went back to the cabin. You're getting moonstruck." She started at a run down the path toward the cabin in the valley below.

Clean wind.

Clean air.

Firm earth.

Silence that had nothing to do with death or sorrow.

God, it was good to be home.

Good.

"You bet. Beat you to the cabin."

She didn't, of course. Monty had already jumped through his dog door and was lapping at the water in his dish when she threw open the front door. "You're supposed to be tired from that job in Barat. Give me a break."

Monty gave her a scornful look and then leisurely walked over to his rug in front of the fireplace.

"Okay, don't give me a break. But remember who pays for the groceries."

Monty yawned and stretched out.

The fire was welcoming and her easy chair beckoned. She would like to stretch out herself.

She reluctantly glanced at the blinking red light on her answering machine. She had ignored it when she'd arrived at the cabin two hours before and was tempted to do the same thing now.

Retrieve the messages or take a shower and then curl up in front of the fire? She knew what she wanted to do. Close the world out and go back to the routine with Monty that soothed and sustained them during these off periods. Even the telephone was an intrusion when all she needed was rest, exercise, and no more mental stress than was involved in reading a good book.

But that red light wouldn't stop blinking. She might as well get it over with.

She crossed the room. Two messages.

She punched the button.

"Todd Madden. Welcome back, Sarah."

Shit. She didn't need this.

Her hands clenched into fists as she heard Madden's smooth, faintly mocking tone. "I hear you did a magnificent job. The team earned grateful praise from the Turkish government, not to mention nice coverage by CNN. I think we may have to bring you and Monty up to Washington for a few interviews."

"The hell you will, you asshole," she muttered.

"I can almost see your expression. You're so predictable. Unfortunately, Boyd's mandatory report to ATF on you mentioned that you disobeyed orders on one occasion. He was obviously trying to protect you, but he had to do his job. Are you becoming unstable, Sarah? You know we can't permit instability at ATF. And you know the consequences of your expulsion from ATF." He paused. "But I'm sure you can persuade me that this was just an isolated incident. Come up to Washington for those interviews and we'll talk about it."

Slimy bastard.

"Call me and tell me when you'll arrive. No more than two days, I think. We don't want to be old news." He hung up.

She closed her eyes as waves of rage poured through her. Damn him. Damn him.

She drew a deep breath and tried to control herself. Madden would love to know that he had upset her. He preferred cowed obedience and he didn't like it when she refused to give it to him. He might have the upper hand, but she had let him know what she thought of him any number of times in language that was both abusive and explicit.

Screw him. There wasn't any question she'd have to go to Washington, but she wouldn't call him back and she'd take at least a three-day rest before she left the ranch.

She punched the button for the second message.

"It's Eve, Sarah. We've finally got it. It's confirmed. We'll wait for you. Please come right away." Eve hung up.

So much for rest, she thought resignedly. She would never phone Eve to ask her to wait a day or two. Eve had waited too long already. "Looks like we have another plane trip tomorrow, Monty. We have to go see Eve in Atlanta."

Chapter 2.

"I'm here," Logan said as soon as Eve picked up the phone. "I've checked in at the Ritz Carlton in Buckhead."

"Thanks for coming, Logan. I wasn't sure you would."

"I always told you I'd come when you called." He hesitated before asking, "How's Quinn?"

"Wonderful. He's very good to me."

"That's no great chore. Who could help it? I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"You could come to the cottage tonight."

"No, I'm here to support you, not irritate Quinn. Take care of yourself." He hung up.

She had sounded calm and there was a ring of truth in her words when she spoke about Joe Quinn. It was clear all was going well in that quarter. Was he disappointed? It surprised him that he felt a tinge of regret but no pain. Well, you got over everything in time, and he had never really felt that Eve belonged to him even when they were living together. Their bond had been fragile, and Quinn had no trouble barging in and--

His phone rang.

Margaret?

"Hello, Logan, it's been a long time."

Logan's hand tightened on the receiver. "Hello, Rudzak."

"You don't sound surprised to hear from me."

"Why should I be surprised? I knew it was only a matter of time."

"You don't know the meaning of time. Neither did I until I lived in that hell you threw me into. It was like being buried alive. Every minute was a decade. Did you know my hair turned white in that prison? I'm younger than you and I look twenty years older."