Iris Johansen - Dark Summer

He was silent a moment. "I don't really wish to offend a possible ally. Perhaps I can modify my plans."

"Good choice." She hung up. Lincoln had been more forthcoming than she had thought he'd be. She had known he'd approach her at some point, but she had thought that he'd play his cards close to his chest during this emergency.

Had he been bluffing about investigating her? Not to worry. She had buried all the threads that might cause her problems, but she didn't want Lincoln trying to stir up trouble now. After three years of waiting, working, and watching, she was getting close to the goal. She didn't need Lincoln stepping in and getting in her way. She'd better tip Jordan that there might be trouble ahead. She dialed London.

Jordan Radkin picked up on the second ring. "Trouble?"

"I'm not sure. Lincoln says he knows about my lurid past. Does he?"

"Probably not." He chuckled. "I'm the only one who knows your terrible secrets, Bridget. Aren't you lucky?"

She ignored the question. Jordan could be an ass when he chose. She could see him sitting there, his glacial gray eyes glittering with sly humor. "You'd better make sure. Things are moving fast here. I don't want any interference."

He was silent. "What's happening?"

"I may know where all the dogs are by the end of the week. After that, I can start to move."

"With caution."

"As much as I can. Good-bye, Jordan." She hung up.

Jordan hadn't been absolutely sure about Lincoln's threat, but he would become sure. No one was more keen or probing than Jordan when he was on the hunt. She could leave it in his hands.

She settled herself more comfortably in the grassy knoll above the mansion where Addie was being sheltered. The golden retriever was living the good life, and Marrok was right, the security around this estate was top notch. Not because of Addie but because of the people who lived on this strip of land overlooking the Pacific. There had been rumors that the estate might someday be known as the second White House. Bridget had been forced to avoid two security guards earlier in the day, and she would have to keep a sharp eye out.

She lifted her binoculars to her eyes and focused on Addie romping in the grounds below her. Lord, she was beautiful, all golden power and sleekness. Screw, Lincoln. If she had to deal with him, she'd do it. The complications were growing by the minute, but this was her job now.

The dogs of summer had to be kept alive.

A TALL, THIN MAN WAS STANDINGon the front porch, watching as the helicopter descended in the paddock a few yards from the stable yard.

"There he is," Walt murmured. "Trouble."

"Only for the first ten minutes," Marrok said grimly. "After that he'll either be cooperative, or he'll be gone."

Devon stared curiously at the man who was now coming down the steps to meet them.

Chad Lincoln looked to be in his early forties, and his expertly barbered gray hair, silk shirt, and finely tailored trousers came as a surprise. He was smiling and waving, and Devon was having a problem connecting that friendly, urbane, elegant appearance with the man who had caused Marrok to react with such grimness.

"He's British Intelligence?" she asked doubtfully. "He looks more like a dress designer."

Walt chuckled. "May I tell him that?"

"No," Marrok said. "Just keep out of it." He opened the door of the helicopter. "And, Devon, Lincoln is definitely not a dress designer. When he was younger, he was with the Royal Marines and since he took a job with MI6, he's proved himself to be exceptionally deadly in the field." He helped her down. "Besides being a self-serving son of a bitch."

"For allies, you're obviously not on the same wavelength. And what does he think about you?"

"Probably the same." He shook his head. "No, not the same. I respect him, and he regards me with contempt. He likes everything to be civilized, neat, and tidy, including his kills. He regards me as a mongrel half-breed and a savage. Since that's exactly what I am, I can't argue with him."

"You can and should. We're what we make of ourselves, not what we're born," Devon said.

"But, you see, it doesn't matter to me if I'm savage and a mongrel," Marrok said. "Maybe I even like the idea of having an excuse for not becoming civilized."

Her eyes were narrowed on his face. "And you use it. I can see how eager you are. You're anticipating this confrontation with Lincoln."

"How well you read me." He smiled recklessly. "Let's just say, I have a few bones to pick with Lincoln. I've been in a position on occasion where he's called the shots. I don't like being manipulated. I want to get my own back." His smile faded. "And the bastard can just keep his hands off my dogs."

"What does he have to do with the dogs?"

"Ask him," Marrok said as he called to Lincoln, who was now only a few yards away. "Chad Lincoln, Devon Brady. Devon wants to know what you have to do with the dogs, Lincoln."

"Not enough." Lincoln smiled at Devon. "Delighted to meet you, Dr. Brady. Though I knew it was in the cards when I was told to prepare a dossier on you when you were in Santa Marina. For once, it was a plea sure to run a check for Marrok. Usually, the people with whom he's involved are the scum of the earth."

"You had me investigated?" Devon asked, startled.

"I was entrusting Ned to you," Marrok said simply. "I didn't have the right to take a chance. These days I believe in my own judgment, but I've been fooled before."

He'd been fooled by Raymond Danner, she thought. And that error had led to the death of his friend Paco.

"You could have sent for me," Lincoln said. "I would have been there in a heartbeat and taken Ned off the island."

"I'm sure you would. And what would my chances be of ever seeing Ned again?"

"Fifty-fifty." Lincoln turned to Devon. "But you wouldn't have had to be involved. I'm sure you must be very bitter about the way your life has been torn up."

"Yes." But she wasn't going to allow herself to be used as a pawn for him to use against Marrok, and that was obviously what he had in mind. She asked again, "What do you have to do with the dogs?"

"I'm the safety net. Isn't that how you look on me, Marrok?"

"Yes. Though lately I've had my doubts about the 'safety' part."

"You should have considered the consequences when you came to see me," he said softly. "You couldn't expect us to sit and play your game when you take so many chances."

"I didn't. I knew you'd undercut me as soon as you felt secure about doing it." He looked him in the eye. "But that time's not now. You'll tip us into the quicksand. Do you want Danner to get control?"

"No, I intend to do that. MI6 is getting impatient." His glance shifted to Devon. "But I'm being rude. You want to know about my association with Marrok? He came to me four years ago with a wild tale and an even wilder proposition. He said he couldn't trust any U.S. government department to offer him protection for the dogs. Danner had too much power and influence in this country. We were to provide cleanup assistance, when requested, and refuge for the dogs when and if it became necessary. I almost laughed him out of my office." He paused. "And then he started to provide me with demonstrations of his dog, Ned's, rather remarkable ability. I'm not an easy man to convince, but eventually he did convince me."

"How?"

"A lengthy visit by Marrok and Ned to St. Cecelia's Hospital and several terminally ill patients. Seven out of nine were not terminally ill at the end of that visit."

She stared at him, shocked. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so stunned. Marrok had told her that the dogs could accomplish this wonder. But she realized now that she had not really believed him. The panacea, the effect on the dogs, Paco… it all seemed like a story from a book. Yet this cool affirmation from Lincoln jerked her from storybook to reality. She moistened her lips. "Seven out of nine?"