One agent is already missing, and now the U.S. government’s most confidential secret is in danger of falling into a power-hungry dictator’s hands.

The top-secret agents of ARIES are the world’s only hope.

Agent Robert Davidson: He’s never let anything distract him from a mission, but finding Lily Scott—the woman he loved and thought he had lost—still alive has shaken him to the core. He wants the truth—and her—and is determined to have both.

Lily Scott: She’d never thought she would see Robert again or feel that familiar surge of desire. But now he’s here, asking questions about her life and her son that she isn’t prepared to answer.

Samuel Hatch: Though pleased to be getting closer to finding his missing operative, the astute ARIES director is troubled by the ominous undertakings of the Rebelian government. If only he could reach Morrow and learn the meaning of the doctor’s last message…

General Bruno DeBruzkya: The power-hungry dictator isn’t only interested in possessing rare jewels. He wants Lily Scott and her son in his clutches—dead or alive.

Dear Reader,

“In like a lion, out like a lamb.” That’s what they say about March, right? Well, there are no meek and mild lambs among this month’s Intimate Moments heroines, that’s for sure! In Saving Dr. Ryan, Karen Templeton begins a new miniseries, THE MEN OF MAYES COUNTY, while telling the story of a roadside delivery—yes, the baby kind—that leads to an improbable romance. Maddie Kincaid starts out looking like the one who needs saving, but it’s really Dr. Ryan Logan who’s in need of rescue.

We continue our trio of FAMILY SECRETS prequels with The Phoenix Encounter by Linda Castillo. Follow the secret-agent hero deep under cover—and watch as he rediscovers a love he’d thought was dead. But where do they go from there? Nina Bruhns tells a story of repentance, forgiveness and passion in Sins of the Father, while Eileen Wilks offers up tangled family ties and a seemingly insoluble dilemma in Midnight Choices. For Wendy Rosnau’s heroine, there’s only One Way Out as she chooses between being her lover’s mistress—or his wife. Finally, Jenna Mills’ heroine becomes The Perfect Target. She meets the seemingly perfect man, then has to decide whether he represents safety—or danger.

The excitement never flags—and there will be more next month, too. So don’t miss a single Silhouette Intimate Moments title, because this is the line where you’ll find the best and most exciting romance reading around.

Enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

The Phoenix Encounter
Linda Castillo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my husband, Ernest, for his never-ending love and support. To my agent, Jennifer Jackson—you’re the best in the business. To my editor, Kim Nadelson—for thinking of me and always having the best ideas. To the team of talented editors at Silhouette who worked so tirelessly on this immense project—you guys are a true class act. And to my sisters in crime—Cathy, Jenna and Vickie—thanks for always being there.

LINDA CASTILLO

grew up in a small farming community in western Ohio. She knew from a very early age that she wanted to be a writer—and penned her first novel at the age of thirteen during one of those long Ohio winters. Her dream of becoming a published author came true the day Silhouette called and told her they wanted to buy one of her books.

Romance is at the heart of all her stories. She loves the idea of two fallible people falling in love amid danger and against their better judgment—or so they think. She enjoys watching them struggle through their problems, realize their weaknesses and strengths along the way and, ultimately, fall head over heels in love.

She is the winner of numerous writing awards, including the prestigious Maggie Award for Excellence. In 1999, she was a triple Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist and took first place in the romantic suspense division. In 2001, she was an RWA RITA® Award finalist with her first Silhouette release, Remember the Night.

Linda spins her tales of love and intrigue from her home in Dallas, Texas, where she lives with her husband and three lovable dogs. Check out her Web site at www.lindacastillo.com. Or you can contact her at P.O. Box 670501, Dallas, Texas 75367-0501.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Copyright

Prologue

Luminescent green cruise missiles streamed like bottle rockets across a violent night sky. Dual neon rainbows arced gracefully, their high-pitched whistles piercing the silence like a widow’s keening. The distant explosions made the earth tremble, a frightened giant huddling against the impending pain.

Dr. Robert Davidson marveled at the eerie beauty as he ducked into a narrow alley between two crumbling buildings and took his usual shortcut toward the pub. He knew better than to travel in the open when the soldiers were in town. He might have come here as part of a government team to document humanitarian conditions, but that wouldn’t stop some trigger-happy young fool from putting a bullet between his shoulder blades. General Bruno DeBruzkya’s soldiers were equal opportunity killers.

Robert had had his fill of war. He’d seen too much of it in the ten months he’d been in the war-torn country of Rebelia. Horrors he wouldn’t soon forget. Horrors that would revisit him in his sleep for a very long time to come. He’d done what he could to ease the pain and suffering of the innocents caught in the crossfire, but time had run out. After months of unrest, civil war had finally erupted. Just that morning DeBruzkya had ordered all Americans out of the country—or suffer the consequences.

Robert didn’t have to be told twice.

But it wasn’t the war raging all around that claimed his thoughts as he passed by the deserted marketplace and jay-walked toward the old church across the street. His harried pace had absolutely nothing to do with the dangers of traveling at night in an area teeming with hostile soldiers, small-weapons fire, and the occasional blast of a mortar round. Robert had to reach Lily. Had to convince her to leave with him. To get on that last plane out.

Before it was too late.

He knew her well enough to expect an argument. American journalist Lily Scott was not the kind of woman to duck and run when the going got tough. She thrived on hardship; she was at her best when the chips were down and the odds were stacked against her. Give her a cause, and she would fight to the end.

But while Robert admired her courage and tenacity, he wasn’t going to let her overdeveloped sense of responsibility put her life in jeopardy. Lily might be fighting the good fight here in this tiny country, but Robert wasn’t going to let her get herself killed. He wasn’t going to lose her to a war nobody seemed to care about.

She was the best thing that had ever happened to him. The only good thing that had come out of this ten-month stint in hell. Lily had kept him going on days when he’d wanted to quit. Days when he’d seen enough and wanted nothing more than to take the next plane out and forget about the hungry children and grieving widows and a political system run amok with corruption. Lily was an oasis of goodness in an ocean of despair. He’d only known her for two months, but even surrounded by a devastated country and indiscriminate violence, they’d been the best two months of his life.

Robert was going to get her on board that jet. He was going to take her home whether she wanted to go or not. Then he was going to spend the next fifty years showing her how much he loved her. The thought made him grin. And he felt like an idiot tromping over the ruins of what had once been a café. No one smiled in Rebelia.

At the end of the street he entered the church through the front door. The roof had collapsed and burned the pews. Tendrils of smoke rose from the destruction like ghostly fingers as he made his way along the wall toward the rear exit. He looked up to see another missile streak across the sky, its eerie whistle making the hairs at his nape prickle uneasily. It was a breathtaking sight, frightening and awesome at once and powerful enough to unnerve even the most seasoned soldier.

Breaking into a run, he left through the rear door and crossed the small cemetery where the headstones glowed ethereally in the darkness. At the next street, he checked for soldiers then headed toward the edge of town where he could see the spire of the boardinghouse and pub where she rented a room on the second floor. The light in her room shone like a beacon from the single window above her writing desk, and he smiled again. Anticipation stirred at the thought of seeing her. He wondered if she was sitting at her desk, staring at her laptop screen, her brows knit in concentration as she tapped on the keys and poured her heart and soul onto paper.

The need to see her, to touch her, sent him into a dead run. He could hear the rumble of tanks in the distance, closer than he’d thought but not dangerously so. But he knew the soldiers would be here soon. And he knew all hell would break loose once they arrived.

All he had to do was convince her to leave with him. Not an easy task considering she’d taken it upon herself to save the country single-handedly. Damn stubborn woman.

He could do it, Robert told himself as he climbed the stone steps and crossed to the pub’s entrance. Damn it, he loved her. And she loved him. She may not have said those words, but he could see it in her eyes. When she smiled at him. When she touched him. When they made love. Just because she’d refused to leave with him that morning didn’t mean she would again now that she’d had time to think about it. Now that the bombs had started falling. Lily Scott might be on a crusade to save the people of Rebelia, but she wasn’t a fool.

He shoved open the heavy wooden door. A German polka played merrily from the ancient jukebox. The impact of a mortar striking the earth nearby rattled the windows and the glasses hanging above the bar. Hans Pavlar, the old bartender, looked up from his miniature television when Robert walked in and grinned. “Hey, American, I thought you would be on your way home by now.”

Robert grinned back. “I’ve got one more thing to do, old man.”

Hans looked toward the stairs leading to the rented rooms above. “She’s a stubborn one, our Miss Lily.”

“Yeah, well, so am I.”

“She will not go with you, my American friend.”

Aware that his heart was pounding hard against his ribs, Robert started for the stairs. “We’ll see about that.”

He took the stairs two at a time to the second level. Yellow light slanted from beneath her door. He crossed to it and rapped hard with his fist. “Lily, it’s Robert.”

He closed his eyes, refusing to acknowledge that he was shaken. That he was terrified because deep down inside he knew she was going to refuse.

The door swung open. The world shook a little beneath his feet at the sight of her. Iridescent hazel eyes. A complexion as fine as German porcelain. Wavy strawberry-blond hair pulled into an unruly ponytail.

She blinked once as if his presence surprised her, then a slow smile pulled at her full mouth. “I thought you would already be on the plane.”

He wanted to devour her in a single bite. “I can’t leave without you.” He closed the distance between them, backed her into the room and slammed the door behind him. “I want you to come with me.”

He saw the answer in her eyes before she uttered a word and he heard the message as loud and clear as the bombs dropping outside.

No.

Feeling desperate and scared and a little out of control, he leaned close to her, slid his hands through her hair and kissed her. He wasn’t sure why he did it. Maybe because he felt so goddamn helpless. Maybe because he was scared. Maybe because his entire world revolved around this woman, and he couldn’t bear the thought of walking away without her.

She kissed him back. Heat mingled with desperation and fused into something volatile and unstable. Fear and desire and a hundred other emotions pounded through him with every beat of his heart. He poured all of those emotions into the kiss. Mewling, she opened to him. Dizzy for the taste of her, he used his tongue, wanting her with an urgency that was insane at a time like this. They’d made love just that morning, but he was already hard and pulsing and wanting her all over again. He knew it was crazy, but that’s the way things had become between them, and he was helpless to stop. He could never stop when it came to Lily.

He slipped his hands beneath her blouse and cupped her breasts, brushing his thumbs over the erect peaks of her nipples. Gasping, she arched into him, her hands going to the waistband of his jeans where his erection strained uncomfortably against denim. He groaned when her fingers closed around his shaft.

Realizing belatedly that the moment was going to get out of hand if he didn’t stop now, he grasped her wrists, then broke the kiss. “Don’t tell me no,” he growled. “Come with me.”

She pulled back slightly. Her pupils were dilated. Her nostrils flaring. He glanced at her mouth. Her lips were kiss-bruised and wet, and it took every ounce of discipline he could muster not to kiss her again.

“I can’t,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not going to take no for an answer.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Damn it, Lily.” He glanced at the clock next to the bed. “The last plane is leaving for London in less than an hour. We’ve got to go. Now.”

“The soldiers won’t hurt me.”

“The tanks are coming. They’ll kill you without even seeing your face.”

“No. I talked to DeBruzkya less than an hour ago.”

Anger stormed through him. “I told you to stay away from that son of a bitch.”

“He promised to spare the orphanage,” she said quickly.

“Then you’ve done your work.”

“My work is just beginning. I’m sorry if that hurts you, Robert. But I can’t leave. If I hadn’t been here to contact him, the soldiers would have… All of those beautiful children—”

“Lily, you can’t save this country all by yourself,” he said, surprised by the emotion in his voice. “You sure as hell won’t be able to save it if you’re dead.”

“I may not be able to save Rebelia, but I’m not going to run away.”

Suddenly furious, Robert turned and paced to the opposite side of the room. His heart raged against his ribs, a tormented beast prodded by a cruel owner. “I love you,” he said and closed his eyes against a hot burst of emotion. He’d never said those words to anyone before, knew in his heart he’d never say them again if she didn’t change her mind and come with him.

“You can come back when things settle down,” she said quickly. “In a couple of months.” Moving toward him, she put her hand on his shoulder. “When things settle down here, I can fly to Paris. We can meet there.”

“You’re an American,” he snapped. “DeBruzkya has sworn to kill all Americans.”

“DeBruzkya and I…have an understanding—”

“He’s a psychopath, damn it! He doesn’t make deals.”

“Robert, please, don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.”

He turned to look at her, felt the sight of her like punch to the stomach. God, he loved her so much. How could she expect him to walk away? How could she refuse to go with him if she loved him? For an insane instant, he considered forcing her out of the room and down the stairs to his hotel across town. He was a doctor; he could drug her if he needed to. He could carry her to the jeep where an armed escort waited to take them to the airport in Rajalla thirty miles to the south.

But Robert knew forcing her wasn’t the answer. Lily wasn’t the kind of woman to give up something she’d set her mind to doing. Evidently, she had her mind made up, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could say or do to change it. The thought terrified him.

He stared hard at her, loving her with all of his heart, furious because he knew no matter what he said or did this stubborn, infuriating woman wasn’t going to bend to his will. But dear God, he couldn’t bear it if something happened to her.

Abruptly, he took her arm. Her eyes widened as he dragged her over to the door, yanked it open and shoved her into the hall. “I’m not going to let you get yourself killed,” he snarled.

Shock shone bright and hot in her eyes. “I’m not leaving with you.”

He muscled her down the stairs with her fighting him the entire way. Cursing and struggling, she fought to extricate herself from his grasp, but Robert was stronger. At the foot of the stairs he shoved her through the double doors and into the bar.

Hans Pavlar glanced up from his television, his rheumy eyes widening at the sight of them. “Dr. Davidson?” He looked from Robert to Lily.

Robert barely spared the old man a glance. “Now might be a good time to close up shop for the evening,” he said between clenched teeth. “Soldiers are on the way.”

The old man came around the bar and began closing the interior shutters.

As if that was going to help if someone decided to send a SCUD missile this way, Robert thought bitterly, and forced Lily toward the door.

“Damn you! Let go of me!” Halfway there, she jerked free of his grip. “You have no right!”

Robert released her. For several long seconds he stood in the center of the room, breathing hard, so shaken he didn’t trust his voice. Guilt punched through him at the sight of the red marks he’d left on her arms. Christ, what was he doing? He’d never manhandled a woman in his life. Never put a mark on another living soul.

“Come with me,” he said, realizing he was pleading, that his voice was shaking. “Please.”

“I’m sorry.” She backed away, raising her hand as if to fend him off. “Just…go.”

Robert felt the words like a dull knife being shoved between his ribs. The pain was so sharp he couldn’t take a breath. He felt it, flowing like blood from a wound that would never heal.

He stared at her for an interminable minute, loving her and hating her—and more terrified than he’d ever been in his life. She stared back, eyes wide, breasts rising and falling with each labored breath. “I’ll be okay,” she said. “I promise. I’ll be fine.”

He crossed to her, pulled her to him and kissed her hard on the mouth. It was a kiss born of desperation and the very real fear that he may never see her again. Closing his eyes against the barrage of emotions, he poured his heart into the kiss, trying to absorb her, all the while hoping desperately that she would change her mind and come with him.

Robert didn’t know how he found the strength to pull away, but he did. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but there was nothing he could do to staunch her pain. She’d made her decision.

“I love you,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

She offered a wan smile. “I’ll see you in Paris.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Go before you miss your plane.”

Because he didn’t want to break down in front of her, he turned away and started toward the door. Hans shouted a farewell, but Robert didn’t respond. Mechanically, he walked through the door, down the steps and onto the street. Around him, snow fell gently, a sharp contrast to the violence snapping in the air. He put one foot in front of the other, barely aware of his feet touching the ground. He counted the steps. One. Four. Ten. A missile streaked across the sky, filling the air with the whistle of impending destruction. Robert barely noticed.

He turned to take one last look at the pub. Lily stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, watching him. She waved, and he wondered how it was that they had come to this point. How he could go on without her. Raising his hand, he waved and felt the rise of grief like a bayonet in his heart. Vaguely, he was aware of the high-pitched whine of a missile. The night sky glowing eerily.

An instant later, the world exploded. The concussion whacked him like a giant baseball bat. He cartwheeled through the air, aware of the heat burning him, of tiny debris tearing through his clothes, searing his body. He hit the ground hard. The violence of the impact stunned him, knocking the breath from his lungs. Pain flashed brutally through his left thigh. He heard bone shatter, would have cried out but there was no air in his lungs.

Disoriented, he lay in the snow and watched another missile glide overhead. Trembling and nauseous, he mentally tallied his injuries. There was a vague sensation of heat in his left thigh. But when he tried to move his foot, pain like he’d never known screamed through him. Groaning, he rolled onto his side and glanced down to assess the damage. He immediately spotted the large piece of shrapnel jutting from his thigh. He stared in disbelief at the growing circle of shiny black blood.

Robert had seen enough shrapnel wounds in the last ten months to know this one was bad. Life-threatening if he didn’t get immediate medical attention. The piece of metal had hit him with such force that he’d sustained a compound fracture. The femoral artery had been spared, but he was still in danger of bleeding out if he didn’t get medical attention soon.

Cursing and groaning as pain radiated up his injured leg, Robert struggled to a sitting position only to have the dizziness and nausea send him back down. He lay silent and still in the snow for a moment, aware of the growing circle of blood, the symphony of pain singing through his body and felt a moment of panic.

Damn it, he didn’t want to die like this.

He rolled onto his stomach, worked off his jacket, then eased out of his shirt. Every movement sent ice-pick jabs of agony shooting down his leg. He spotted a narrow piece of wood nearby, looped his shirt around it and formed a tourniquet. Grinding his teeth against the pain, he twisted the makeshift tourniquet around his thigh, praying he didn’t pass out before he could stanch the flow of blood.

Lily.

Raising his head, Robert looked quickly around to get his bearings. Thick smoke belched from the crater where the bomb had struck ten yards away. He squinted through the smoke and flaming debris, trying to locate the pub. Horror swept through him in a flash flood when he realized the building was gone.

Robert blinked, disbelief and horror rising inside him like vomit. “Lily!” He heard panic in his voice but he didn’t care. The terror ripping through him overrode the pain, giving him the strength he needed to struggle to one knee, his injured leg dragging behind him. He got one leg under him, but when he tried to move his left leg the pain sent him spiraling into blackness.

“Lily…”

Holding his broken leg, he went down in the snow and mud and floundered like a turtle on its back. Agony and terror streamed through him like a cold, black tide. He rode the waves, struggling to stay conscious, struggling even harder to keep his head.

“Lily.” He’d intended to shout, but her name came out as little more than a puff of air between clenched teeth.

Dear God, she couldn’t be dead. Not Lily. She was too strong. Too vital. He loved her.

He lay there in the snow and mud, breathing as if he’d just run a mile, staring at the violent night sky, and cursed fate for being so cruel.

He didn’t hear the jeep approach. Barely felt the strong hands that lifted him onto the stretcher. All he could think about was Lily.

Robert fought the hands pressing him down. “Got to…find her,” he said.

“It’s okay, mate,” a British voice said. “I’m a medic with the Allied Medical Forces. We’re going to get you out of here. Looks like you’ve got a bit of a problem with that leg. Try to relax, all right?”

Robert tried to tell the medic that he didn’t want to leave. That he couldn’t leave without Lily, but his thoughts were jumbled, his voice weak. “There’s a woman,” he said. “In the pub. Jesus.”

The young man in the red jumpsuit looked over his shoulder at the crumpled building. There was knowledge in his eyes when he looked at Robert. “There aren’t any survivors in there, chap.”

“No…”

The young man glanced at Robert’s leg and muttered a curse. “I need some morphine over here!”

“No!” Robert shoved at the hands pinning him. “I’ve got to find her. For God’s sake…”

“Easy, mate, we’re going to take care of you.”

The needle bit into his arm. Robert fought the drug, but it dragged at him. He stared at the flames and smoke and debris while he slowly came apart inside. “Lily,” he whispered.

And then the drug sent him to a place where he couldn’t feel anything at all.

Chapter 1

Twenty-one months later

Somewhere in Virginia

Doctor Robert Davidson left his BMW in the parking lot and took the redbrick path toward the building at the rear of the complex. It was a path he’d walked plenty of times in the last year and a half. A path he’d never imagined he would take. But even though he’d been reluctant at first, he walked it with a great sense of pride. Of duty. Of respect.

Just that morning Robert had been summoned by Samuel Hatch, director of the top-secret division of the CIA known only as ARIES. The call had come just before 5:00 a.m. Like all of Hatch’s transmissions, it had been brief and to the point, with few details. Hatch needed an agent with Robert’s expertise and credentials. He would be deployed immediately. Long-term assignment. High-level security clearance. Top-secret mission.

The drive from Robert’s home outside Washington D.C. had taken just over two hours. Stiff from the long drive, he ignored the tinge of pain in his thigh as he passed several low-rise buildings where ivy flourished on the redbrick exterior. From the outside, the center looked like an Ivy League college financed by trust funds and old money. Robert knew differently. Behind the genteel facade lay one of the American government’s most top-secret facilities in the world. With emphasis on foreign intelligence, biomedical research, genetic engineering and high-tech gadgetry, the ARIES boys and girls played with toys the CIA didn’t even dream of. Toys that, in the eyes of the rest of the world, hadn’t yet been invented. The ARIES agents, scientists and researchers had the best of everything. Money was never a problem because when it came to ARIES, Uncle Sam had bottomless pockets.

Robert told himself he wasn’t nervous as he swiped his security card through the reader, then punched in his six-digit PIN number. He didn’t get nervous. Once a man had had his world shaken the way he had twenty-one months ago, it took a lot more than a cryptic call in the middle of the night to shake him.

The steel-core door slid open to a small, windowless room with a tile floor and three white walls. Dead ahead, an elevator door dominated the fourth wall. In the center of the room, black inlaid tile formed a thick line on the floor. Robert stepped up to the line, then looked into the lens of the camera glaring at him and waited for the identification scan to begin. An instant later, a green light flickered, letting him know the retinal scan was complete. The elevator door swished open, and he stepped inside. Frowning at the panel mounted next to the door, he set his palm against the glass and waited while his palm and fingerprints were scanned and the images run through the ARIES personal identification database. Like every other piece of equipment at the ARIES center, the security system was light-years ahead of its time and utterly fail-safe.

Once the green light flashed to tell him his prints had been scanned and approved, Robert pressed the button to the underground level, and the elevator rushed him toward ARIES’s inner sanctum and Samuel Hatch’s private office a hundred feet below ground.

He assured himself a second time that it wasn’t nerves gnawing at his gut. For one thing, Robert didn’t believe in premonitions. Still, he couldn’t deny he had a feeling about this assignment. Hatch didn’t call on his ARIES agents for anything but the most difficult of tasks. He wondered what the good director was going to ask him to do this time.

The elevator doors whooshed open. Robert stepped into a large room filled with low-rise cubicles, about half of them occupied by men and women hunched over computers or speaking into communication headsets. He spotted Carla Juarez, who waved, flashed a dazzling smile, then turned her wheelchair and headed in his direction. Robert watched her approach and smiled for the first time that day. He liked Carla. She was young and pretty with a lovely sense of humor. Up until a year ago she’d been a field operative. Then she’d taken a bullet in her back during a deep cover operation in Eastern Europe. The injury had left her partially paralyzed. She’d been through hell in the last year—something he identified with even though they’d never discussed anything so personal. But unlike Robert, Carla had never grown bitter.

“Hey, Dr. Davidson, how’s it going?” she asked.

Because he didn’t want to answer that truthfully, Robert put on a grin and lied through his teeth. “Couldn’t be better.”

She rolled her eyes. “For an agent, you’re not a very good liar.”

“Thanks.” Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I think.”

“Pin bothering you?”

Subconsciously, he brushed his hand over his left thigh. “Must be a front coming in,” he said shortly, not because he was annoyed but because it embarrassed him to complain about his leg to a woman with a severed spinal cord.

“Takes time,” she said breezily. “Been able to run yet?”

“I’m up to two miles.” It hurt like hell, but he ran. He’d be damned if he was going to spend the rest of his life letting the residual damage from a shattered femur keep him idle. “Played basketball a couple of weeks ago.”

“Ethan told me he beat your butt.”

“I guess that makes him a better liar than me.”

“And a sore loser.” She smiled. “Hatch is expecting you.”

“Thanks.” Robert opened the door to find Samuel Hatch standing at the back of his office looking at a tiny, withered plant.

He looked over his shoulder at Robert and scowled. “Damn strawberry plant is going to die on me,” he muttered.

“They need sunlight.”

“Security had a cow when I suggested I get an office with a view.”

Robert stepped closer and glanced at the plant, wondering why a man like Hatch was so concerned with a scraggly little plant no one cared about. “They like sandy soil,” he offered. “Or maybe some cow manure.”

At Hatch’s questioning look, he added, “I worked in a nursery part-time during high school.”

“I’ll see if procurement can get me a plant light and some cow poop, then.”

Hatch left the plant and seated himself behind his desk. Robert guessed him to be about sixty years of age, though he could pass for forty-five. He was bald on top but kept the rest of his gray hair cropped short. He was of medium height and slightly rumpled in appearance. Part soldier, part scientist, he was fit for his age and glowing with health. He would have been ordinary-looking if not for the sharp intelligence that burned like gemstones in his green eyes.

Robert took the adjacent chair and waited for the briefing to begin.

“How’s the leg?” Hatch asked, pulling a file from his drawer and setting it on the desk between them.

Robert shifted uncomfortably in the chair, wondering how the other man would react if he answered truthfully. “No problems.”

“You running?”

“Twice a week. Two miles.”

“Good. I like my agents in shape.” Hatch opened the file. “I need you to go to Rebelia.”

For a moment, Robert wasn’t sure he’d heard him right. Then the meaning behind the single word struck him like a rude slap. Dread curdled in his stomach. He stared at the older man, aware that his heart rate had spiked, that a cold sweat had broken out on the back of his neck.

“I know how you feel about Rebelia, Robert, but—”

“I don’t think you do—”

“Dr. Alex Morrow is still missing.” Hatch cut him off. “I want my operative back.”

Robert had never met Morrow, but he’d heard of his work as a environmental biologist within the ARIES network. The man was brilliant. A legend in a few circles. “I knew he was missing. I thought you’d send someone else.”

Hatch looked at him with those sharp green eyes. “You know Rebelia.”

Robert shifted uneasily in his chair, wishing he’d never heard of that godforsaken country, trying hard to control the pounding of his heart—and the bitterness at the back of his throat.

“I need you, Robert. You know Rebelia and her people better than any man in the division,” Hatch said. “You know the customs. The language, the regional dialects. You have contacts—”

“Hatch, with all due respect I haven’t been in the country for almost two years.”

“Save the excuses, Robert.” A hint of ice laced Hatch’s voice. “I’m not asking.”

Clamping his jaws together, Robert looked at his hands, then at Hatch. “Rebelia is still pretty volatile these days.”

“You can handle it.” Hatch’s eyes narrowed, sharpened. “Can’t you?”

After an interminable moment, Robert nodded. He could handle it. But he sure as hell didn’t like it. Not because of the civil war, but because of the ghosts.

“All right,” he said. “I’m in. What do you need?”

“Your mission is twofold. Your first priority is to set up a base of operations for what will be the third leg of the mission. While you’re there I want you to find out everything you can about Bruno DeBruzkya.”

The sweat on Robert’s neck turned to ice at the mention of DeBruzkya. He could feel the muscles bunching with tension. “You mean aside from his being a ruthless son of a bitch?”

“Intelligence tells us he’s been stealing gems.”

“I know about the gems.”

“Then I’ll recap what we know so far. We have substantial evidence telling us that he’s behind at least four heists. The Stedt Museum in London. The Legvold collection in Stockholm. A private collector in Frankfurt.”

“The Gala Summit.” Robert had been there as part of the surveillance team. He knew what had gone down. And he knew Hatch had nearly lost one of his agents. “Do you have any intelligence as to why he’s amassing gems.”

“Could be any number of things. Maybe he’s financing weapons. Maybe something worse. I want to know.”

Robert didn’t even want to think about what a sinister man like DeBruzkya could do with weapons of mass destruction.

Hatch frowned at him. “We need to know what he’s up to. The gems are secondary, but some information would be nice at this point.”

Robert’s nerves coiled a notch tighter. He stared at Hatch, wondering if the other man knew how much he hated DeBruzkya. If Hatch knew Robert held the dictator responsible not only for an injury that had left him permanently maimed, but for the death of a woman he’d once loved more than life itself. He knew that wasn’t the most objective mind-set for a field agent about to embark on a deep-cover mission, but Robert never claimed to be a good agent.

“What’s my cover?” he asked.

Hatch handed him a slender manila folder with the name PHOENIX typed in bold letters on the tab. “Your papers are inside. French passport. Medical degree. You’re part of a team of medical doctors traveling to Rebelia from Paris to administer medical aid to sick and injured children. Your meeting point is in a small village outside Rajalla. It’s all there in the file in French. Your initial contact will meet you at a pub on the outskirts of the city and take you to your source, who will give you enough information on DeBruzkya for you to get started.”

Robert took the file and paged through it, seeing that, as usual, Samuel Hatch and his team had been very thorough. “I guess I’ll need to brush up on my French.”

“And your Rebelian dialects. All communication will be via the ARIES satellite. I’ve got new encoding set up. Your code name is PHOENIX.”

“When do I leave?”

Hatch glanced at his watch. “Two hours. I’ve got a jet waiting at Annapolis that will take you to La Guardia. From there you’ll take the Concorde to Paris then hop on the train to Rajalla.”

Robert slid the folder into his briefcase and rose. “All right.”

Hatch stood, regarding him with intelligent green eyes that invariably gave the impression he could read not only one’s body language but thoughts, as well. “Watch yourself.” He extended his hand. “You know what DeBruzkya is capable of.”

“I can handle DeBruzkya.” As he shook the other man’s hand, Robert knew the real question was whether or not he could handle the ghosts.

At eight the next evening Robert sat in a greasy booth in an obscure little pub called Ludwig’s and nursed a stein of watered-down beer. The pub was crowded with weekend revelers. The booze was cheap, the cigarette smoke was thick and talk was of the old days and revolution.

Robert sipped his beer, wishing he were anywhere but this dank little bar in a country he wished to God he’d never set foot in. He’d been in Rebelia less than two hours, and already she dominated his thoughts. The last hours they’d spent together, making love on the narrow bed in her room above the pub. The fight they’d had over her refusal to leave with him. The violence of her death. The black months that followed.

He knew thinking of her wasn’t going to do a damn thing for his frame of mind or his mission. But he’d never learned how to block thoughts of her. Damn it, of all the places Hatch could have shipped him to, why did it have to be this hellhole? It wasn’t like the world was lacking hellholes. Any one of a dozen or so would have done just fine.

Restless, he finished his beer and motioned for the bartender to bring another. He wasn’t enjoying it, but he didn’t have anything else to do until his contact arrived. He’d already set up base camp, renting a small apartment above a market in a seedy section of town, where he’d installed the tiny communications satellite dish and left a backup short wave radio per Hatch’s instructions. He knew he should keep a clear head, but for the first time in a long time, Robert didn’t want a clear head. Sometimes all that clarity made life a hell of a lot more difficult.

“Sir?”

Robert looked up from his beer to see a young man with black hair and a matching mustache grinning at him, and he took a long sip of beer. “Get lost.”

“I’m Jacques.”

Robert watched him closely, zeroing in on his restless hands and nervous fidget and went with the predesignated script. “What’s your sign, Jacques?”

The other man didn’t blink. “ARIES, sir.”

“If you’re an ARIES, what does that make me?”

“PHOENIX.”

The code words confirmed that this young man with the engaging smile and vivid blue eyes was, indeed, his contact. Robert extended his hand. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.”

“The soldiers set up a roadblock, sir. They’re angry at the rebels again. I had to wait them out.”

“Hopefully, they’re not feeling trigger-happy this evening. I don’t feel like getting shot at.” Robert rubbed the dull ache in his thigh.

“Yes, sir.”

“And cut out the sir crap.”

“Yes, s—” Jacques flushed. “What do I call you?”

“My close friends call me PHOENIX.” Rising, Robert dug five Rebelian dollars out of his pocket and left them on the table. “Let’s go.”

The young man glanced toward a narrow door at the rear of the bar. “This way.”

Looking once over his shoulder, Robert followed Jacques past the bar and out the back door into a narrow alley. Two men clad in ragged coats and dangerous scowls stood against the crumbling brick building smoking Rebelian cigarettes. They eyed Robert with a combination of hostility and suspicion. Robert stared back, keenly aware that if something went wrong he was on his own, outnumbered three to one and without a sidearm to boot.

“Hey, you the American?”

Robert glanced at the tall man with a bald head and full beard and mustache. His nerves jumped when the man reached into his coat pocket. A dozen scenarios rushed through his mind. For an instant he considered reaching for the switchblade strapped to his calf, but he knew if the other man had a gun there was no way he’d get to it in time. Adrenaline cut a path through his gut when the man produced a small, lethal-looking pistol.

Never taking his eyes from the pistol, he raised his hands and took a step back. “What the hell is this?” he growled.

Turning the pistol so the butt faced Robert, the bald man laughed outright, then passed the pistol to him. “You Americans are so jumpy.”

The three men broke into hearty laughter. Robert wasn’t amused and snarled a very American profanity as he accepted the pistol and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans.

“You’re a real comedian,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Robert said, “If you’re finished joking around, how about if you take me to my contact?”

The bald man scratched the top of his head and glanced at the other two men. He spoke in rapid Rebelian. Robert was only able to catch every other word or so, but what he was able to decipher gave him a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Your contact is a very important person within the rebel movement,” said Jacques.

“Somehow I already figured that out.” Robert stared at him, waiting, wondering what the hell these three men were up to. “Take me to him.”

“The only way I can do that is to blindfold you.”

“Look, either you trust me or you don’t,” Robert snapped.

The three men exchanged looks again. The bald man spoke first. “This has nothing to do with trust.”

“Then why the blindfold?”

“Because if the soldiers capture you, they will torture you until you reveal the location of our headquarters. We can’t risk that. The blindfold is for your own protection, my friend.”

Because of the threat of hostile soldiers, the journey to the rebel stronghold was made on foot. Blindfolded, Robert walked behind Jacques with the bald man and his cohort bringing up the rear. A mile into the walk, his left thigh began to throb. Robert had learned to deal with the pain, mostly by directing his thoughts elsewhere. He was a firm believer in the mind-over-matter philosophy and had decided a long time ago that the injury was not going to limit his physical capabilities. Of course, the injury didn’t always cooperate.

The cold rain wasn’t helping matters. But Robert used the cold and wet to keep his mind off the pain. Still, after three miles, his limp became so pronounced that the bald man paused and touched him on the shoulder. “Do you need to stop and rest, American?”

The blindfold pressed soggily against his eyes. Robert smelled wet foliage and damp earth and guessed they were probably deep in the forests to the north of Rajalla. Cold rain dripped down the collar of his jacket, and the material pressed wetly against his back. His leg ached with every beat of his heart. But because stopping wasn’t going to help any of those things, he shook his head. “Let’s keep moving.”

“It’s not much farther.”

He concentrated on his mission objectives as he walked, formulating questions for his Rebelian contact. He wanted a run down on DeBruzkya. Rumors about an American who had been captured. Or gems. He tried hard to keep his mind on the business at hand, but his thoughts went repeatedly to a woman with iridescent hazel eyes.

“You can take off the blindfold.”

Thankful to be rid of the soggy material, Robert stopped and stripped it off. They were in the midst of a forest thick with tall trees and low-growing brush. Ahead, he could just make out the jagged peaks of the mountains and knew they were heading north. Blinking to clear his eyes, he spotted a faint path that wove between the trees to a small cottage nestled beneath the thick canopy of Rebelian pines. Yellow light shone in the windows. Smoke chugged from a stone chimney, and the smell of wood smoke hung in the air.

“Your contact is inside.” Smiling, Jacques reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “We’re glad to have you here, American.”

Meeting his gaze, Robert saw the sincerity behind the words, the truth in the other man’s eyes, and nodded. “We believe in freedom in America,” he said.

Bowing slightly, Jacques backed away. “Your contact knows how to reach me if you need anything.”

Robert stood in the rain and watched the three men disappear down the trail, then looked through the trees at the cottage. The sight was surreal in the utter darkness, like something out of an old fairy tale. A pretty cottage surrounded by a beautiful forest and the backdrop of breathtaking mountains. He wasn’t sure why, but the sight made him think about Lily. She would have liked it here.

“Don’t go there, buddy,” he said, cursing the ghosts that refused to give him peace even after so many months.

He pulled the old revolver from the waistband of his jeans, checked the cylinder and found it loaded. Hoping his contact knew English, he shoved the revolver into the waistband of his jeans, and started toward the cottage.

His heart pounded hard and fast as he stepped onto the stone porch and knocked on the door. Instinctively, he stood to one side, just in case whomever was on the inside had a nervous trigger finger and decided to shoot first and ask questions later. He saw a shadow move inside the window, and his nerves zinged. Resting his right hand lightly on the butt of the pistol, he knocked again.

The door swung open. Recognition sparked like a hot wire and sent a surge of shock to his brain. Robert stumbled back. His first fleeting thought was that he was seeing his first ghost.

Lily.

He stared at her, aware of his heart pounding in his chest. He tried to utter her name, but his brain was so overwhelmed, he couldn’t speak. All he could think was that he’d seen her die. That it was an absolute impossibility for Lillian Scott to be standing there in a thick cotton sweater and faded blue jeans staring at him as if he were the one who’d come back from the dead instead of her.

A thousand words tangled inside Robert, but he choked on every one of them as if they were shards of glass. Emotions snapped through him like thunderbolts, shocking his body with their awesome power. He stared at the woman standing in the doorway, aware of his heart raging in his chest, the dull roar of blood rushing through his veins.

He couldn’t believe Lily was alive. But it was her; he knew it as surely as he saw the flash of recognition in her hazel eyes. There was no other woman like her. No other who could affect him like this. He would know her anywhere and under any circumstance. He would know her in the dark, just by the feel of her, the scent of her. The energy surrounding her.

Robert stared, speechless and shocked to his bones. Her hair was longer, but still as radiant as burnished copper. She had the same flawless skin, as fragile as fine German porcelain. Only now there was a tiny scar that ran from her left eyebrow to the hairline at her temple.

“Lily,” he whispered after an infinite moment.

“Robert. My God. I didn’t…” She blinked, as if trying to wake herself from a dream. “How did you…”

Neither of them seemed capable of completing a sentence. Slowly, he once again became aware of his surroundings. The ping of rain against the tin roof. The crackle of a fire in the hearth. The smell of bread and wood smoke and woman. His leg ached dully, the way it always did when he overexerted himself, but he barely noticed the pain. And for the first time since receiving the injury, he was glad for the distraction.

“C-come in,” she said.

When he only continued to stare at her, she stepped back. “You’re getting wet.”

“I’m already wet.” But Robert knew the weather no longer rated on his list of concerns.

His heart raced with his pulse as he stepped into the cottage. Warmth and a startling sense of comfort he didn’t quite trust embraced him. He looked around, seeing immediately that whomever lived here had somehow managed to turn a ramshackle hovel into a home.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Robert watched as she crossed to the fire and tossed another log into the flames. Before he even realized he was watching her, his eyes swept over her, taking in every detail. She’d lost weight, but the curves he’d once known intimately still defined her shape. Even through the thick cotton sweater she wore, he could see the outline of her full breasts. Her jeans were snug enough so that he could see the gentle roundness of her hips. And in those fleeting seconds her beauty made him remember all the things he’d tried so desperately to forget in the twenty-one months since he’d last seen her.

Robert cut the thought short with practiced precision. He wasn’t exactly sure what was going on but knew he couldn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t let himself think of her in those terms. Not when he’d worked so hard to get her out of his system.

“I could ask you the same question,” he said.

“I—I live here.” She glanced at him over her shoulder as she walked into a small kitchen area. “Were you looking for me?”

“No,” he said quickly and held his ground at the door. “I was supposed to meet someone here.”

He watched her pour Rebelian black tea into two mismatched cups. She looked cool on the outside, maybe even a little tough, but her hands were shaking, and for the first time he realized she was merely hiding her shock better than he was.

She carried both cups to the wooden chairs in front of the hearth. “Your contact?”

That she knew about his contact shocked him all over again. Lily didn’t know he was an ARIES operative. No one did, aside from his counterparts and other ARIES personnel. There was no way in hell he would ever tell her. The less she knew about him, the safer she would be.

Because he wasn’t quite sure how to respond, he didn’t answer. Instead, he followed her to the hearth, keenly aware of her scent, that her essence filled not only the room, but the entire house. “I’m doing some missionary work for the French government.”

She looked at him oddly, a student perplexed by a particularly difficult math equation. “I was supposed to meet someone here tonight, as well.”

A sinking sensation swamped his gut. And suddenly he knew this was no coincidence. “Jacques brought me here.”

Her knowing eyes met his. “Jacques is…with me. He’s part of the movement.”

With me. Of all the words that stuck in his brain, he hated it that it was those two. He stared at her, torn between turning around and walking out and forgetting this had ever happened, and shaking her until she told him how it was that she was alive and he’d spent the last twenty-one months dying a slow death because he’d thought her gone.

“There’s got to be some kind of mistake,” he said.

“There’s no mistake.” She handed him one of the cups. “I don’t have any sugar. That’s one of the many things we no longer have in Rebelia.”

Amazed that she could be thinking about sugar when his world had just been rocked off its foundation, he took the cup and sipped the strong, dark tea, trying desperately to rally his brain into a functioning mode.

“I just can’t believe it’s you,” she said, sipping her tea. “This has been planned for months. We need your help.”

“I’m here for information,” he said. “Not to help you.”

Holding her cup between her slender hands, she looked at him through the rising steam. “I’m your contact. And if you want information from me, you’re going to have to earn it.”

Chapter 2

Having spent the last two years in a country decimated by civil war, hunger and indiscriminate violence, Lily thought she had endured every kind of shock a human being could endure. She’d seen things she couldn’t fathom. Things she refused to think of once the lights were out and she was alone in her bed. A few minutes earlier, she’d thought she could handle just about anything fate saw fit to throw her way.

She’d been wrong.

Not even the horrors of war had prepared her for seeing Robert again. She simply couldn’t believe he was standing in her living room, as warm and alive as the last time she’d seen him. The night she’d hurt him terribly and then watched as he’d been cut down by shrapnel.

God in heaven, how was she going to handle this? How was she going to tell him everything that had happened since he’d left? Things that would change both their lives forever. The questions gnawed at her like voracious little beasts. Questions that terrified her more than the threat of any bomb or soldier’s bayonet or stray bullet. Questions she had absolutely no idea how to answer.

Standing next to the hearth, Robert regarded her with hard, suspicious eyes. He may look the same, she mused, but the last months had changed him. Made him hard. Maybe even bitter. She considered the bitterness in her own heart and wondered if the last months had been as hard for him as they had been for her. She didn’t see how.

Still, the steely gaze that swept the length of her remained starkly familiar. The pull was still there, too, she realized, and a shiver rippled through her hard enough to make her hands shake. She endured his scrutiny with stoic silence, hoping he couldn’t hear the deafening rush of blood through her veins or see her shake.

Refusing to be cowed, Lily stared at him, trying to keep her thoughts on the business at hand and failing miserably. He offered a commanding presence that unnerved her as much as the sight of any enemy soldier. Broad shoulders. Lean hips. Legs slightly bowed with muscle. He seemed taller than she remembered even though she knew that was an impossibility. He had the most fascinating face of any man she’d ever seen. Intelligence and a subtle cunning burned bright and hot behind piercing blue eyes. Laugh lines cupped a mouth that was much more harsh than it had been when she’d known him. A five-o’clock shadow darkened a square jaw that lent him a hostile countenance. Even from three feet away she could smell him, an out-of-doors scent that reminded her of mountains and rain—and a time when he’d ruled her senses as surely as he’d held her heart in the palm of his hand.

Lily cut the thought short with brutal precision. Now wasn’t the time to remember how well she’d once known this man.

“You can’t possibly be my contact,” he said after an excruciating minute.

“I am.” Having lost her appetite for the tea, she took it to the sink and dumped it.

“Lily, for God’s sake, I thought you were dead.”

For a while, Lily had thought she’d been dead, too, only to realize that sometimes it was much more painful to be alive. The old pain roiled inside her as the memories shifted restlessly. Memories she’d refused to think of because the pain was too great. Memories that had eaten at her from the inside out for nearly two years. If it hadn’t been for Jack, she wasn’t sure she would have survived. Sweet, precious Jack had given her hope when the last of her hope had been all but ripped from her heart.

Gathering her frazzled nerves and the tangled remnants of her composure, she turned to face him. “As you can see, I’m very much alive.”

“I can see that. But…my God, how—”

“I was injured.” Self-conscious, she touched the scar at her temple and tried not to remember that her physical injuries had not been the worst of what she’d endured.

He stared at her with those hard eyes, and she knew the shock of seeing her was giving way to the need for an explanation. A explanation she had absolutely no idea how to relay. She’d consoled herself with anger in the weeks she’d been held captive, tried hard to convince herself that Robert had abandoned her. Some days she’d even believed it. Days when it was easier to be angry than it was to hurt.

“Why didn’t you contact me?” he asked incredulously. “Why didn’t you let me know you were alive?”

Because she hadn’t the slightest clue how to answer him without opening a Pandora’s box of pain that would change both of their lives irrevocably, she turned to rinse the cup. Stacking it neatly on the rack, she crossed to the fire to warm her hands, aware that Robert had trailed her.

“I can’t discuss that right now,” she said.

He stared at her, his expression incredulous and angry. “I deserve an explanation, damn it. We were…together.”

Pulse pounding like a jackhammer, she stared at him. “It’s in the past, Robert. Let it go. I’ve moved on. Maybe you should have, too.”

Robert felt as if he’d been slapped. “I want to know what happened.”

“No, you don’t.” Because she couldn’t bear to look at him and think of those terrible days, she walked into the small living area and motioned for him to take one of two chairs in front of the hearth.

Never taking his eyes from her, he started for the farthest chair, but had to cross in front of her to reach it. Feeling as if she’d suddenly strayed too close to a rogue tiger in a flimsy cage, she backed up a step, trying not to notice the way he winced when he sat down.

“You’re limping,” she said, watching him closely.

“It’s an old injury.”

She wondered which were worse, the injuries that left scars on flesh or the ones that left an indelible mark on the psyche and shattered the heart. “If you want to get into some dry clothes, I can hang yours near the fire.”

He looked at the sweater and jeans that clung damply to his frame. “I’ve got a change of clothes in the duffel.”

“You can change in the back. There’s a room for you.”

Robert grabbed his duffel and slung it over his shoulder. Lily rose and walked through the kitchen to the small room that had been added to the cottage as a pantry many years ago, back when people had had food. With wood plank floors and shelves holding a meager supply of canned vegetables and fruits, it was barely large enough for the cot, let alone a man of Robert’s size. But it was all she had and it was going to have to do.

He stepped into the room and set his duffel on the narrow cot. The mirror above the sink caught his stare, and their eyes met, held.

Lily felt the contact like the blast of a mortar. Looking quickly away, she stepped back. “There’s no door, but Jacques put up this curtain to give you some privacy.”

“This is fine.”

“I’ll just…be in the living room.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

She wasn’t sure why she hesitated. Maybe because there was so much more she needed to say. Maybe because she wasn’t quite sure if he was a figment of her imagination. But she couldn’t stop looking at him. By the time she realized what she was doing, it was too late for her to escape.

Never taking his eyes from hers, Robert reached for the hem of his sweater and pulled it over his head. Lily’s breath stalled in her lungs as his magnificent chest loomed into view. She saw a thatch of dark hair. The ripple of muscle beneath taut flesh. Vivid blue eyes that discerned a hell of a lot more than they revealed. The sight of him shook her, and for a moment she couldn’t move. She’d faced a lot of terrible things in the years she’d been in Rebelia, but oddly none of those things had unnerved her as much as the sight of Dr. Robert Davidson taking off his shirt.

“Maybe you want to stay while I change pants, too,” he said.

Feeling a hot blush burn her cheeks, she yanked the muslin curtain closed and fled.

Lily’s heart was still beating heavily against her breast a few minutes later when Robert walked into the living area and found her at the hearth.

“Where do you want me to put my clothes?” he asked.

She turned to find him standing right behind her, his wet clothes in a bundle. He’d put on a flannel shirt over a black T-shirt. The faded jeans he wore fit him loosely, but there was no denying the sinew of his legs or the bulge of his manhood beneath.

Barely sparing him a glance, she took the clothes from him. Pulling a ring set into the wall over the hearth, she stretched the thin cord to the opposite wall and secured it to a small hook. Once the line was taut, she set about draping his jeans, shirt and jacket over the cord. She could feel his eyes on her as she worked, but she didn’t dare turn to face him. She had to get herself calmed down first.

“How is it that you’re here?” he asked when she’d finished.

Because she didn’t feel capable of explaining something so complex at the moment, she hedged. “I could ask you the same question.”

“All right. I’m working with a group of French doctors on a humanitarian—”

She swung to face him. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here. In my house. I wasn’t expecting an American.”

“Exactly who were you expecting?”

“Someone…who needed information. For the cause.”

“The freedom movement?”

“That’s right.”

He shrugged. “You got me.”

A vague sense of uneasiness rippled through her. Robert Davidson might be a smart man, he might even be brilliant, but he’d never been a good liar. “I don’t understand what part you’re playing in this.”

“Maybe you don’t need to know. Maybe I just want you to talk to me about what you know. About what you’ve been hearing.”

“Why are you here?”

“Let’s just say I’m not here for the weather.” He rolled his shoulder. “I want information.”

“What kind of information?”

“You’re involved with the freedom movement.” He shrugged. “Maybe you know something that could be useful.”

“Like what?”

He hit her with a direct stare. “What do you know about Bruno DeBruzkya?”

Another ripple of uneasiness went through her, only stronger this time and she fought a slow rise of panic.

When she didn’t answer, he smiled, but it was a cold, hard smile. “Okay. If you don’t want to talk about DeBruzkya, we can always go back to him.” He looked around the room. “Maybe you could start by telling me what you’re doing here. Why you’re living here. Like this.”

The question shouldn’t have startled her. She’d known he would eventually begin asking more personal questions. Risking a look at him, she found him watching her intently and felt his stare all the way to her bones.

“That’s not a difficult question, is it?” he asked.

No, she thought. He wasn’t asking the difficult questions yet. But she knew they were coming. And she had absolutely no idea how to answer any of them.

“I’m involved with the freedom movement. I get food and medical supplies to the sick children. The orphans. I raise money, collect food and toys and try to give them hope, let them know someone in the world cares.”

“You still working?”

“I wrote for the Rebelian Times Press for a while.”

“And now?”

“A few months ago DeBruzkya took control of the media, and I just couldn’t do it any longer.”

“Censorship,” Robert said with distaste.

Lily nodded, feeling the same distaste all the way to her bones. “I kept writing. About the war. About the people. The children. They’ve all got stories to tell. Some of them are quite amazing.” She grimaced. “I didn’t have an income, but by then the economy was so bad it didn’t really matter. I sent pieces to the Guardian in London and the New York Times. One thing led to another, and before I knew it I had started a sort of underground newspaper.”

He cut her a sharp look. “Jesus, Lily…”

“The Rebellion is printed weekly. For some people, it’s the only way they can find out what’s going on in their own country that isn’t fabricated by the government or part of DeBruzkya’s propaganda.”

He stared at her intently. “DeBruzkya doesn’t tolerate journalists who print the truth. He’s murdered them in the past. Damn it, Lily, he’s brutal—”

“He doesn’t know about the Rebellion.”

“Lily, for God’s sake, how can you be so naive?”

“I may be a lot of things,” she snapped, “but naive isn’t one of them.”

Rising abruptly, Robert limped to the fire. Setting his hand against the mantel, he leaned and stared into the flames, the muscles in his jaws working angrily. “DeBruzkya is ruthless. If he wants to find you, he’ll stop at nothing until he does.”

The words chilled her, but Lily didn’t let herself react. She might be afraid on occasion, but she refused to live her life in fear. She refused to let it make her decisions for her. “I’ve been careful. I write under a pseudonym. He doesn’t know I’m an American. He doesn’t know where I live.”

“I don’t understand how you can believe that, unless you’re into denial.”

“I’m not denying anything.”

“He’s a dangerous son of a bitch, Lily. Especially to the people who’ve crossed him.”

“I haven’t crossed him.”

He cut her a hard look. “I’d say running an underground newspaper in the midst of his dirty little war qualifies as crossing him. Information in the wrong hands can be a dangerous thing to a dictator.”

“It would be a thousand times worse if I sat back and did nothing.”

For the first time the layers of anger thinned enough for her to see the raw pain beneath, and she knew his concern for her was real. The realization touched her, and she felt her emotions shift dangerously.

“Why do you do it?” he asked quietly.

For the lost ones, she thought. “Because I have to.”

He contemplated her like an angry dog that had just been swiped by a unassuming feline. Lily stared back, wondering how he would react if he knew everything.

And as she gazed into the electric blue of his eyes, the endless months they’d been apart melted away like steel in a smelter. The pang of longing was so powerful that for a moment she couldn’t catch her breath. The urge to go to him pulled at her like a dangerous tide. A riptide easing a hapless swimmer into a treacherous sea.

But because she knew he represented a very real danger to her—because she represented an even bigger threat to him—Lily banished the thoughts. She could never think of Robert in those terms again. Going to him, touching him, getting too close were things she couldn’t allow herself to do. Giving in to the feelings coiling inside her might just get them both killed.

A cry from the bedroom at the rear of the cottage jolted her. She felt Robert’s questioning stare on her, but she didn’t dare meet his gaze. In her peripheral vision she saw him glance toward the rear of the cottage, and a shudder ran the length of her. For a instant, she stood there, frozen with indecision, a hundred emotions pulling her in a hundred different directions.

“Is there a child here?” he asked.

Trying in vain not to shake, Lily rose from the chair. “That’s…Jack.”

“Jack? Who is Jack?”

She started toward the bedroom, keenly aware that Robert was following her and that she didn’t have the slightest idea how she was going to explain a one-year-old baby to a man who had every right to know.

Lily closed her eyes. “Jack is…my son.”

Behind her, she heard Robert stop dead in his tracks, but she didn’t slow down. She didn’t turn to look at him. She wasn’t sure what her eyes would reveal if she did. She’d never been able to lie—not to Robert. She wouldn’t lie now—even if the truth was more brutal than any lie she could have fabricated.

Jack is my son.

The words reverberated like the echo of a killing shot inside Robert’s head. He stood in the semidarkness of the hall and watched Lily disappear into a small bedroom at the rear of the cottage, his head reeling.

Lily had a child. He couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe she’d moved on so easily while he’d spent the last twenty-one months crippled by the past. The thought angered him, shook him more than he wanted to admit. He tried to blame his reaction on exhaustion and stress and the shock of seeing her again after believing her dead for so long. But he knew there was more to it than that. Knew it went a hell of a lot deeper than any of those things.

Movement down the hall yanked him from his dark reverie. He looked up to see Lily holding a small bundle wrapped in a blanket. A blue blanket. He wondered how, in a country as devastated as Rebelia, she’d managed to find a blue blanket for her baby boy.

He stared at her, then the child, trying desperately not to think about what her having a child meant.

I’ve moved on. You should have, too.

The full meaning of the words penetrated his brain. Evidently, she had, indeed, moved on. Judging from the size of the baby, she hadn’t waited too long after Robert had left to do so. He wondered who the father was and tried like hell to ignore the knot of jealousy that tightened in his gut. He knew it was stupid to feel that way. His relationship with Lily had been over for a long time. Any feelings he’d once had for her had been replaced by bitterness.

The bitterness surged forth now with such force that Robert could taste its acrid flavor at the back of his throat. He watched her approach, then pass him without acknowledging him. Feeling angry and out of place, he trailed her to the living room, then paused to watch her spread a blanket on the sofa and lay the child down to change him.

“He’s your…son?” he asked.

She didn’t look at him but continued tending the baby. “Yes.”

Robert felt the affirmation like a physical punch. Lily had a son. He couldn’t believe it. His brain simply refused to absorb the information. “How old is he?”

She did look at him then, but her hazel eyes were cool. “About nine months.”

Mentally he calculated the months, felt a hot cauldron of anger begin to boil. No, she hadn’t waited very long at all.

“His name is Jack,” she added.

“Jack.” He repeated the name, thinking of the young man who’d brought him here. His name was also Jacques, but he’d had a French accent and pronounced it differently. Robert wondered if Jacques was this child’s father.

Robert thought of the endless months of grief. The kind of black grief that ate at a man’s soul and changed who he was. He thought of all the surgeries that had been required to repair the shattered bone in his thigh. The ensuing months of rehabilitation. The knowledge that he would never be the same. He thought of the secret hope he’d held in his heart that Lily would show up alive and smiling and ready to spend the rest of her life with him. God, he’d been such a fool.

It infuriated him that while he’d been going through all those things, she’d taken up with another man—and had a son with him.

Anger and jealousy melded into a single, ugly emotion and snarled inside him like a rabid beast. He wanted to lash out at her. The words were poised on his tongue, sharp as a knife and ready to cut. But he knew better than to let that beast out of its cage. Knew it would take him apart if he let it.

With the mission foremost in his mind, he couldn’t let that happen.

Relieved that Lily was busy tending to the baby, Robert closed his eyes, willing away the emotions swamping him. She’d moved on. He had to accept it. She was alive. That was the important thing. It would have to be enough.

“He’s been ill,” she said, fastening old-fashioned diaper pins at Jack’s pudgy hips. “I’ve taken him to the doctor in the village, but Dr. Salov hasn’t been able to give me a diagnosis.”

Robert’s attention snapped to Lily. “The baby has been sick?” For an instant, angry male and concerned doctor clashed. Then his physician’s mind clicked into place. “What are the symptoms?”

Lily lifted the child, then pressed a kiss to his forehead. “The symptoms haven’t been consistent, but several times I’ve noticed that his fingers and toes are blue. Sometimes he’s cold to the touch. He had a low-grade fever last week, but it went away after a couple of days.” She looked at the child in her arms, worry creasing her brows. “Sometimes he’s…lethargic. He sleeps a little too much. Some days he doesn’t eat enough.”

Robert glanced at the child and for the first time got a good look at him. Jack was a beautiful baby with vivid blue eyes that were alert and intelligent. He had thick brown hair with a cowlick at his crown and the face of an angel come down from the heavens. Robert had never been partial to babies. But the sight of Lily’s baby awed and amazed him nonetheless.

“Nice looking kid,” he said.

“Thanks.” Robert saw the quick flash of pride in her eyes and the smile she couldn’t quite hide. “He’s everything to me.”

“Do you mind if I examine him?”

She cast him a startled look but made no move to hand over the baby.

“Lily, for God’s sake, what do you think I’m going to do? Throw him out the window? Come on. I’m a doctor. Let me examine him and see if I find anything out of the ordinary.”

“All right.” She glanced toward the rear of the cottage. “I can put him down on the bed in the bedroom,” she said and turned to carry Jack down the hall.

Snagging his medical bag off the floor, Robert followed, entering the bedroom just in time to see Lily lay Jack on the bed. He knew he should be paying attention to the child and not the bed, but he couldn’t help but notice it was little more than a twin-size mattress set up on a homemade wooden pedestal. Hardly big enough for Lily, let alone Jack’s father. The thought of her sharing that bed with another man disturbed him a hell of a lot more than he wanted to admit, and another wave of jealousy seared him.

As if realizing his thoughts, Lily said, “I thought you’d have more room if I laid him on the bed.”

“This is fine,” he snapped.

She unwrapped the blanket, and Robert found himself staring at a perfect baby boy wearing pajamas with little blue ducks and tiny booties that had been made to look like traditional Rebelian shoes. And he found himself smiling despite the knot of tension at the back of his neck. “What’s up, doc?” he said in his best Bugs Bunny voice.

Jack kicked out his legs in delight. “Gah!”

“That’s what I thought,” Robert said.

Lily leaned forward. “What is it?”

“A Bugs Bunny fan,” he said deadpan.

She didn’t quite laugh, but he heard her release the breath she’d been holding and figured the level of tension wasn’t going to get any lower.

“Let’s have a look at you.” Struggling hard to keep his mind on the business at hand, Robert dug into his medical bag for his stethoscope and thermometer and quickly examined the baby. All the while Jack cooed and kicked his feet in quiet protest.

“Temperature is slightly elevated,” Robert said.

Lily pressed her hand to her breast and looked worriedly at her son. “He’s got a fever? What does that mean?”

Robert held up his hand to silence her. “Heartbeat is regular and strong. Pulse is good.” Using his penlight, he checked the baby’s eyes and ears, then moved on to do a quick check of his extremities. The blue tone of his fingers and toes worried him. Taking one of Jack’s fingers between his thumb and forefinger, Robert pressed and watched the tiny pad turn white. When he released it, the blood returned slowly. A little too slowly in Robert’s opinion.

“Okay, big guy. I think that’ll do it.”

Leaning forward, Lily pulled on his pajamas then carried him to the crib. “Why is his temperature elevated?” she asked over her shoulder as she laid him in the crib.

Robert walked to the crib and looked at Jack in time to hear him giggle and was surprised to find himself smiling. He didn’t have much to smile about at the moment, but there was something contagious about the sound of a baby’s laughter. “I don’t know. The fever isn’t high, certainly not anything to worry about at this point. I can give him a dose of acetaminophen to take it down.”

“All right.”

“He appears to be just fine at the moment, but I’d like to run a couple of blood tests.”

Lily turned on him, her eyes huge and concerned. “Blood tests? Why? What did you find?”

“I didn’t find anything definitive, but just to be safe I’d like to rule out a few things.”

Never taking her eyes from his, she came around the crib, a mother lion facing off with a big male who’d just threatened her cub. “Don’t give me some vague doctorlike answer, damn it. What are you looking for?”

Robert didn’t want to worry her needlessly, but he had to tell her what he thought, regardless of how difficult the truth might be.

“I’m not looking for anything specific at this point,” he said. “But from the cursory exam I performed, I can see that his circulation isn’t quite normal. I don’t think it’s anything serious at this point, but it definitely warrants a few nonobtrusive tests.”

“Circulation? Oh, my God.” She pressed a hand to her breast. “What could it be?”

He shrugged. “It could be something as benign as a slight case of anemia. Any number of things that aren’t too serious—”

“But…it could be serious?”

He hated to be the one to put that sharp-edged worry in her eyes, but he didn’t see any way around it. “I don’t know, Lily. That’s why I’d like to run some blood tests. Just stay calm. This is nothing to get worked up about, okay?”

Biting her lip, she looked over her shoulder at the baby cooing in the crib. “He’s everything to me,” she said. “I could never bear it if something happened to him.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to him,” he said firmly. “These are routine tests. Chances are the pediatrician will prescribe some vitamins with iron, and Jack will be just fine.”

She didn’t look convinced, but at least she no longer looked as if she were going to jump out of her skin. He supposed they’d both learned that fate didn’t always bestow a kind outcome.

The instincts he’d developed in the course of his experience as a doctor told him to reach out and touch her, just to reassure her that her child was going to be fine. But Robert didn’t dare touch her. Deep down inside he knew it wasn’t the physician who wanted to touch her, but the man who’d never gotten her out of his system.

“I’d like to take him to the hospital in Rajalla where there’s a pediatric unit and laboratory facilities,” he said.

Lily visibly paled, but masked it by quickly turning away. Noticing that her hands were shaking, Robert watched her closely and wondered about her level of anxiety at the mention of the hospital in Rajalla. “Is there a problem with Rajalla?”

“No. Of course not.” She looked directly at him and smiled, but Robert saw the shimmer of nerves beneath the surface. “It’s just that the city has…changed since you were last there.”

Rajalla was the capital city of Rebelia. Robert had spent a good bit of time there and remembered it as a pretty, bustling metropolis with several sleek skyscrapers, ancient stone churches, a bazaar where local farmers and artisans sold stone-baked bread and Rebelian stained glass, and some of the most beautiful parks in all of Europe.

Robert had researched Rajalla carefully before leaving the United States. He knew DeBruzkya’s soldiers had invaded the city. He knew those soldiers had destroyed many of the buildings, including several historical cathedrals. He knew the once-healthy economy had slumped, that people had fled to the nearby country of Holzberg to become refugees.

But he was getting some odd vibes from Lily and wanted to hear her view. “How has it changed?”

She moved away from the crib as if what she were about to say was somehow harmful to her son. “DeBruzkya is in control of the entire city now. There are armed soldiers everywhere, including the hospital.”

“The soldiers don’t know who you are, do they?”

The hairs at his nape prickled when she didn’t answer.

“DeBruzkya himself has spent a fair amount of time at the hospital,” she said. “His sister is pregnant. The general is fanatical about his sister’s unborn child because that child will become his only heir.”

“Does DeBruzkya know who you are?” he asked.

Lily turned to look at him, her expression troubled and stubborn at once. And suddenly Robert got a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Does he know who you are?” he repeated.

“He knows my face.”

Robert cursed.

“He doesn’t know I’m with the freedom fighters,” she said quickly.

“Does he know what you do?”

She stared at him, a hunted animal trapped in the crosshairs of a high powered rifle. “No.”

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I can’t believe you would do something so incredibly foolhardy.”

“Robert, I can handle this. I know what I’m do—”

“You’re so far over your head you don’t know up from down,” he growled.

“I’m not afraid of him,” she snapped.

He shot her a hard look. “You’re too damn smart not to be afraid.”

She evidently didn’t have anything to say to that, so she turned away. Robert contemplated her in profile, liking what he saw even though he was dangerously furious.

He wanted to believe he was just being paranoid, but his instincts were telling him there was a hell lot more to the situation than what she was letting on.

Lily was lying to him. She was hiding something important. Something dangerous. And for the first time in his life Robert found himself hoping his instincts were wrong.

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