Enigma Page 23

  Not that he could tell her. It would only raise false hopes. Living with him would make her a target. And he couldn’t do that—not again.

  Not ever.

  He rolled away, careful not to wake her, already mourning the loss of her body wrapped around his, holding him secure against the night. She reached out in her sleep as if she too missed the connection, but settled down again when her fingers brushed against his thigh.

  He started to roll back, to pull her against him, but memory tainted with guilt circled through his mind. There was so much to consider. Even if he accepted Kevin’s death as something he couldn’t have controlled, there was still Mariam.

  If he hadn’t met her, hadn’t married her, she’d no doubt be somewhere today alive and well and working on acquiring her next Pulitzer. There was no way to avoid the fact that if it hadn’t been for him, Mariam would never have been involved with Cullen’s schemes, and, in so doing, murdered merely for that association.

  And he couldn’t do that to Sam.

  As if she’d heard his thoughts, her eyes flickered open, concern washing across her face. “Did you have another nightmare?”

  He shook his head, still staring at the ceiling. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

  “There’s a lot to think about.”

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand, just didn’t say anything, and she snuggled close again, the warmth of her body comforting, her fingers splayed out across his chest.

  “Are you thinking about Mariam?” she asked, her voice muffled against his neck.

  “And Kevin—” he paused, sliding his arm around her “—and you.”

  “I don’t know that I want to be in that group. Especially considering everything going on.” There was a thread of laughter in her voice, combined with something deadly serious.

  Payton fought for control over his rioting thoughts. “I wasn’t thinking of you dead, if that’s what you mean.” He meant the words as a joke, but somehow the sentiment went flat.

  “I certainly hope not.” She rose up on an elbow, her brows drawn together in consternation. “This thing with the bomber. It has you thinking about Iraq?”

  “No.” He shook his head, knowing that she could see right through him. “All right, I’ll admit there are similarities, at least with regard to the fact that someone I care about is in danger, and I’m not sure what exactly I can do about it.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She smiled, obviously not realizing how difficult the words had been for him. “But maybe that’s the point, Payton. Stuff happens and there isn’t anything you can do about it. Isn’t that what you said to me earlier? So maybe it’s about faith.”

  “In what?”

  “In chances. In relationships. Hell, in life. I don’t know, I’m not the person to be asking these things. I’m the one who lines up when they call for a cynic.”

  “You couldn’t tell it by me.”

  She shrugged. “I guess maybe you bring out the romantic in me.”

  Her laughter caressed him like a favorite blanket, and he marveled again at how comfortable she made him feel in his own skin. No need for apologies or excuses. She accepted him as is—period. And something about that fact made him feel whole again in a way he hadn’t felt since before Iraq.

  He rolled over, pinning her to the mattress, and the laughter in her eyes was replaced by something more primitive. Passion. Basic and earthy. Chemistry at its most elemental. They belonged together. At least in this moment.

  Tomorrow would bring reality, and he knew that there was no such thing as an instant fix. Some wounds went too deep, the resulting scars twisting things until nothing was ever the same. And yet, as he moved inside her, a part of him honestly believed that anything was possible.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “YOU FOLLOW Gabe’s instructions to the letter, all right?” Sam stood in the living room of the corporate suite facing her mother, her stomach in knots. Gabe and Payton stood closer to the door, Gabe holding her mother’s newly acquired suitcase. Sam wasn’t sure how he’d managed to obtain clothes and necessities for her mother so quickly, but she was relieved that her mother wouldn’t be arriving at her sister’s with nothing but the clothes on her back.

  Elizabeth nodded, her eyes twinkling, the gray wig making her look a lot older than sixty-two. “I’ll hang on every word.” Despite the gravity of the situation and the fact that she’d lost everything, her mother was treating the whole thing like a grand lark. Agatha Christie meets Jessica Fletcher. “Really, this is so exciting.”

  “Mother,” Sam said, exasperated. “This is serious stuff. We don’t want to tip anyone off to the fact that you’re still alive.” Gabe contained a grin, and Sam shot him a heated look. “This isn’t a game.”

  “I know, darling.” Her mother reached for her hand. “But you can’t blame me if I have a little fun with it. I mean how often does a woman get to go incognito?” She reached up to pat the Jackie O sunglasses perched on her nose. “I feel like Mata Hari or someone.”

  Or someone was more like it, but even Sam had to smile in the face of her mother’s enthusiasm. Talk about rising to the occasion. She had a moment’s guilt at the thought of how many times she’d categorized her mother as boring. Maybe she’d just never had her chance to shine. Or maybe Sam just hadn’t been paying attention.

  Either way, she was proud of her now. And worried.

  “You’ll call as soon as you get there?” Sam sounded more like the mother than the daughter. “Gabe’s given you the satellite phone, right? I’ve got one, too, and we can talk as much as we like without there being any traceable record. No other phones, okay? And no other calls.”

  “Check.” Her mother nodded, reaching into her carry-all to pull out the phone. “Secret agent phones. I love it.” It turned out Gabe had been able to produce a lot more than just incidentals for her mother. Besides the phone, there was also a computer and a tracking device that would enable them to keep up with her mother’s whereabouts. All this in addition to the detail of men assigned to guard her twenty-four/seven.

  Actually, in thinking about it, it did have a sort of spy flavor. James Bond as a sexagenarian and recast as a woman. Her mother seemed to be fitting right into the mold.

  Sam stifled a laugh, her gaze colliding with Payton’s. His eyes crinkled in response and for a moment it was if they were the only two people in the room. She swallowed, and then purposely broke the contact. She had to stay focused on the business at hand, and Payton was one hell of a distraction.

  “Okay, then, I think that’s about it.” She blew out a breath, wishing suddenly that she could keep her mother here, hidden away from prying eyes, but it didn’t make sense. She had to go back to Austin. Had to start work on decoding the clues the bomber had left, and frankly her mother would just be in the way.

  Oklahoma was the right place for her to be. Suddenly it just seemed really far away.

  “I’ll be fine, Sam. I’ve got you and your team looking after me.” Her mother had always had an uncanny knack for reading her mind. “Not to mention your Uncle George. Heavens, I’ll be knee-deep in men.” She shot an admiring glance at Payton and Gabe. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  Again Sam realized she was seeing a side of her mother she hadn’t even realized existed. This was a woman who was obviously capable of handling whatever was thrown at her with bravery and spunk, and unless she was missing the boat entirely, a bit of flirtation thrown into the mix as well.

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine. It’s just that I worry. This guy is playing for keeps and I don’t want you hurt.” Sam squeezed her mother’s hand. “I thought I’d lost you once. I couldn’t bear it again.”

  “Well, I’m not too fond of the prospect myself,” her mother whispered with a wink, then sobered. “The truth is, I’m not the one at risk, honey. You are. Which means you have to keep your wits about you and watch every step.”

  “I can handle it, Mom.” Her tone was defensive, and she hated
the fact.

  “I’m not saying you can’t. I’m just reminding you that no one is invincible. I don’t want to lose you either.”

  “You won’t. I promise.”

  “I’ll hold you to it.” Her mother smiled, pulling her close. “Just remember how proud I am of you. And how proud your father would be.”

  Sam nodded, letting her mother’s words settle deep in her heart.

  “I love you, honey. Don’t ever forget that.”

  “Me too, you,” Sam said, and then pulled back as Gabe nodded that it was time to go.

  Her mother squeezed her hand again, and then turned to leave, stopping for a moment to whisper something in Payton’s ear. Then with an audible click the door closed and it was just the two of them.

  “I assume she told you to watch out for me,” Sam snapped. Despite what she said, her mother obviously still didn’t believe she could take care of herself.

  “Nope,” Payton said, his smile slow and a little bit provocative. “She told me to hang in there—that you were worth the effort.”

  J.T. PACED BACK AND FORTH across his living room with the determination of a caged cat. Everything had gone exactly as it was supposed to in New Mexico, but somehow the accomplishment wasn’t giving him the same moment of exultation that the others had.

  Maybe it was because it hadn’t been part of the original plan, or maybe it was simply the fact that he honestly had no beef with Samantha’s mother. But then, he hadn’t had a problem with the senators either, and although originally that had been quite frustrating, now he was actually beginning to take pride in the fact that he alone had been responsible.

  There was also the fact that other people had been killed in the blast. A college student and her boyfriend. He couldn’t say that he had regrets about that. Relationships were something he’d never been able to understand. Physical ones in particular.

  He’d seen the boy arrive, seen him kissing the girl, his hands pawing at her. The whole thing had been clumsy to the point of humor, except that it was so repugnant. J.T. shuddered delicately, and stopped to adjust the angle of the framed Nolan Ryan uniform on his wall.

  He had very few possessions, everything chosen because it added meaning or value to his life. His small house was sparely decorated, each object placed with an eye to maintaining the proper balance and energy.

  He particularly liked to make certain that things were kept immaculate. Everything was free of dust and in its place, the strict adherence to order giving him a sense of well-being. Even in his workshop there was order. Tools in their places, his workbench spotless. Only the far wall seemed chaotic. And even in chaos he’d created something beautiful.

  A reflection of life. His and Samantha’s.

  He turned on the TV, flipping through the news channels, looking for something on the bombing, then clicked it off again. He’d only been back in Austin a short while, and he’d seen very little about the event. Just the fact that an explosion in Albuquerque had killed three people, and that the incident might be linked to the bombing that had taken the life of Senator Ruckland and his colleagues.

  J.T. clenched a fist, then immediately released it, forcing his breathing into a slow, calming rhythm. There was nothing to be gained by allowing himself to be angry. Anger caused mistakes, and changed the field of energy.

  He turned toward the statue of Kaun Yin, her compassionate face as always filling him with contentment. Sometimes he saw Samantha’s face there, but not so much of late. It was almost as if she were pulling away from him, separating from what was ordained.

  He frowned at the thought, his carefully won control slipping. Payton Reynolds was to blame. The man had glued himself to Samantha’s side like the lovesick adolescent J.T. had killed in the bomb blast. The sight was revolting. He’d seen them on the news and in the paper, but seeing them together at her mother’s house had been the worst. He’d wanted to stay and watch her work, watch her deal with the fact that his power was greater than hers. But the sight of Reynolds with his hands all over her had been more than J.T. could deal with.

  So he’d left—taken the first plane home—and had been stewing about it ever since. The plan had always been for a final confrontation. Now that he had Samantha’s attention, the time seemed perfect to lure her into the web before she figured out he was behind it all.

  But he hated the idea of leaving anything undone. And Reynolds had upset the balance. J.T. sighed, letting the sound of the wind chimes on the porch soothe his roiling mind. There was only one thing to do, really.

  No choice at all. Before he could achieve union, he must restore the balance. It would be a risk, certainly. The extra time a danger as she began to put together the pieces of the puzzle. But it was the only way.

  SAM FOCUSED the microscope on the fragment from her mother’s house. The metal had darkened with the blast, but beyond that there was nothing to see. No tool marks and no Chinese symbols—a paradox. On the one hand the work seemed to match that of the bomber, but on the other hand, this was the piece that should have the Tai symbol and it wasn’t there.

  She blew out a sigh, running her fingers through her hair, exhaustion playing havoc with her brain. Maybe she was just missing something. Or maybe they really were dealing with two separate situations.

  She shook her head and removed the fragment, running her finger over it to try and feel for an indentation that might mark the etching. This was the same guy. She could feel it in her gut. She just needed to find the proof.

  The symbols on the other fragments were tiny, barely visible to the naked eye. She’d never have seen either of them without the help of the microscope and computer enhancements. But now that she knew what to look for, she ought to be able to pick it up on her own.

  At least with the help of the microscope.

  But she wasn’t finding a damn thing. Frustrated, she tipped back her head and closed her eyes, trying to think, her mind moving as slow as a fly in molasses. She grinned at the antiquated simile, thinking of her grandmother.

  Tenacity and perseverance had been her favorite words. And Sam just needed a little of both. She opened her eyes and looked at the fragment again. The mark had to be there. She just wasn’t seeing it.

  She held it up to the light, the discoloration turning blue-black, almost iridescent in hue. She frowned, her brain finally clicking into gear. It was possible that the patina was masking the symbol. After putting the fragment carefully on the lab table, she walked over to a shelf and retrieved a small glass bottle. Returning to the table, she took a stopper full of the liquid inside, and carefully let a drop fall on the fragment.

  She counted slowly to ten, and then took a piece of sterile flannel and carefully wiped the fragment clean, blowing on it in an attempt to get it to dry faster. Then with impatient fingers, she slid the fragment back under the microscope, centered the eyepiece and began to focus.

  Nothing.

  Determined now, she repeated the procedure, this time waiting a full thirty seconds before wiping the weak acid mixture away. She settled the fragment back under the microscope and peered through the lens, adjusting magnification, her heart accelerating as she saw the Tai come clear.

  Sometimes it was all about a blinding glimpse of the obvious.

  “You find something?” Harrison was standing at her elbow, his voice making her jump. Apparently he’d been taking lessons from Payton.

  “The Tai.” She backed off of the microscope, allowing him to have a look, waiting for his agreement.

  “This one is different from the other two.” He lifted his head, frowning.

  “How so?” She asked, immediately taking another look at the magnified image.

  “It’s smaller for one thing. And the indentation is deeper. The symbol more defined.”

  Harrison was right. The detail was clearer. And the smaller size would account in part for why it had taken her so long to find it.

  “You think he’s evolving?” Harrison asked, his expression still puzz
led.

  “Maybe.” Sam shrugged. “Or maybe he just wanted to come up with a better version. He’s a perfectionist, remember?”

  “Well, either way, I’d say it’s a solid link from the Albuquerque bomb to the other two,” Harrison said. “It must have been a relief to find out your mother wasn’t in the house.” There was a wistful quality to his voice, and Sam remembered the way his sister had died, the enormity of what had just happened to her hitting home.

  “I was really lucky.”

  “Not sure I believe in luck.” There was a trace of bitterness in Harrison’s voice, something she hadn’t heard from him before. Compared to Payton and Gabe he seemed so normal, as far from tortured as a man can be.

  But then everyone dealt with life in different ways. Maybe Harrison hid behind his sunny facade.

  “I’ve got something for you, too,” he was saying, and she pulled her mind away from the complexities of human healing. What the hell did she know about stuff like that anyway?

  “Something good, I hope?”

  Harrison shrugged, with a grin, his countenance restored. “Depends on how you look at it.”

  “So tell me.” She responded to his enthusiasm with a smile.

  “While you were out battling the bomber, I was checking out the evidence from the remaining priors we isolated.”

  “And?” Sam felt the tingle in her bones that signaled discovery.

  “And, Lubbock is a wash. Same as Brownsville, both ends welded, and no symbol. Add to that the fact that there was apparently real animosity between the night watchman and the night manager. Seems our watchman was hitting the sheets with the manager’s wife.”