Iris Johansen - Deadlock

"You didn't want me to go to sleep."

"Who said I have to be consistent? I didn't want you to lose con¬sciousness until I knew what I was facing." He tucked her arm be¬neath the cover. "I can handle it now."

Gentleness. Strange that the Angel of Death would show tender¬ness. "You're being kind to me."

"Every now and then I have a lapse. I think it was because the sight of those bites tore me up." He drew closer, and whispered, "And that was the moment I decided to give you a gift."

"Gift? I don't want any gifts."

"You want this one." He held her gaze. They were only inches apart, and she felt as if those eyes were pulling her into him, absorb¬ing her. "I'll keep my promise. I'll give you Staunton. I won't stop un¬til he's dead."

She couldn't look away from him. She could almost see the lethal darkness swirling around him as it had when he'd killed Shafir Ali.

"Yes, that's a gift I want." She closed her eyes. "Thank you."

"I don't believe I've ever been thanked for killing a man before."

"You don't have to kill him, I'll do it. I just have to find him."

"I think I'm better qualified than you to do the job." He laid his head down beside her own and pulled her closer. "Don't you?"

"Yes." She had stopped shaking and was beginning to feel the warmth ease through her again. What a macabre response to an even-more-macabre promise. But it was no more bizarre than this bond that was beginning to form between them. She was lying naked in his arms and felt… joined in some manner. "I knew that the moment I saw you." She cuddled closer to him, taking his warmth, taking his strength, embracing the darkness. "Angel of Death…"

"SHAFIR IS DEAD," BORG TOLD Staunton. "He had a wound in his side, but he died of a broken neck." He paused. "The woman's gone."

"Son of a bitch." It was what Staunton expected from the moment the explosions had started to rock the encampment. He gazed out at the spiking fires he could see through the driving snow. "The vehicles?"

"All damaged except the van closest to the huts. Six of Shafir's men are dead."

"I don't give a damn about that asshole's men." But he didn't want them to be captured and talk either. "Tell them all to come to the woman's hut, and I'll give them enough money to scatter and head for the Pakistan border."

"Don't we need them to go after her?"

"Do you think she did this herself? C-4 was used. Someone came to get her. But it couldn't have been a large force, or they wouldn't have hit and run. We have time to do damage control."

"Perhaps we'd better cut our losses," Borg suggested tentatively. "You spent weeks, and she didn't break. Maybe she didn't know any¬thing."

"But I didn't get the chance to make sure, dammit." Anger was beginning to surge through him as he remembered those last moments before he had tossed her to Shafir. "I didn't get to work on her." "You couldn't expect this to happen. The blizzard and the-" "Excuses? He won't accept excuses." And neither would Staunton. He had never failed before, and he wouldn't fail now. "He's trying to hold up on paying me until I bring him the hammer, but it's not going to work. It's got to be pay as I go. That damn hammer was supposed to be here, and he says she has to know where it is." He lifted his hand to his lip, where the bitch had bitten him, and he added viciously, "Well, he'll get what he wants. She'll tell me everything she ever knew." He turned away. "Pack up. We'll take the van and see if we can catch up with her. They had to be on foot. We would have known if anyone had approached in a vehicle."

"After you pay off Shafir's men?"

"Yes. Be sure they all come to the hut. I want every one of them in there waiting."

"They'll be there." Borg turned toward the burning tents. "They'll need that money. But there are at least forty. It's going to cost you."

"No, it won't." He smiled. "We don't have C-4 but we still have the explosives we used to stop the truck from the museum. I'll set the charge while you round up Shafir's men."

Borg's eyes widened. "You're going to blow up the hut?"

"Why are you surprised? It's the best solution to the problem. No loose tongues, no witnesses." He turned away. "But get them up here fast. I need to get on the road after that bitch."

EMILY HAD DRIFTED OFF TO SLEEP.

It was a restless, uneasy slumber, Garrett thought, but he'd take what he could get.

He carefully moved away from Emily and got to his knees. He tucked the blanket closer around her, then rose and started to dress. They should be landing soon, and he needed to talk to Ferguson.

Emily muttered something, and her hand was reaching out from beneath the blanket.

Reaching out for him?

He dropped to his knees again and took her hand. She quieted im¬mediately. He sat there, looking at her, waiting until her sleep deep¬ened again. That unconscious gesture of need and trust had taken him by surprise.

Good God, she was treating him like the father she had lost all those years ago.

No, she had never looked on her father as the Angel of Death. Whatever was going on between them had nothing to do with pater¬nal feelings.

On either side.

He cautiously released her hand and rose to his feet. He waited, gazing down at her. After a moment, he turned and went to the cock¬pit. "How soon are we going to land?"

"Another ten minutes or so." Dardon glanced at him as he sat down. "How is she?"

"On the edge. Fragile as hell."

"What happened to her?"

"She doesn't want to talk about it." He added roughly, "Hell, I don't want her to talk about it. She nearly fell apart when I pushed a little."

"They're going to push her more than a little when you turn her over to Ferguson. She's caused too much uproar for them to just leave her alone."

"And, of course, that's all her fault. She's a victim, dammit."

"Easy." Dardon held up his hand. "I'm not saying that she's not. Just that everyone from the media to the U.N. is going to want an¬swers, and they're not going to be patient about it."

Garrett knew that was true. It was what he'd been worried about since he'd realized how breakable Emily had become during those weeks of captivity. "The media will be after her like a river of piranhas. And Ferguson and the rest will want her to furnish information so that they can go after Staunton and revenge her." His lips twisted. "Even if it kills her to do it."

"Staunton?"

"He's our main target," Garrett said. "Get on the phone and see what you can find out about him." "What do we know already?" "Nothing. I can't talk to her about him yet." Dardon made a face. "Great. You don't know anything?" "I know I'm going to kill him."

Dardon gave a low whistle. "Radical. I thought it was going to be an in-and-out job."

"It's not turning out that way."

"You know, violence may be the last thing she needs. She appears very frail."

"Then appearances are deceiving. She's going through a rough patch now, but you should have seen her following me through that blizzard. She was wounded and suffering from shock, but that didn't matter. No complaints. No hesitation. She just kept going."

Dardon's brows rose. "My, my, you sound like a proud papa."

That damn father image again, Garrett thought. "When did you ever know me to feel paternal toward any woman? She's just got guts, and I admire her for it."

"And you're proud of her."

He was proud of Emily. He was feeling possessive and protective in ways that he'd never experienced for any woman. Even though lust had been very present when he'd been holding her, it had not been the dominating factor… yet. What the hell was happening to him? "Just find out about Staunton."

"Why don't you ask Ferguson?"

"Ferguson always has his own agenda. I may not want him in¬volved."