Golden Threads (7 page)

"Now, it looks like the cartel has found you. Is that it?"

"I don't know.
Maybe."

"Maybe?
Lara, you were nearly run down last night. Your apartment's been searched. What else could it be?"

"I just don't see the point," she told him, saying aloud what had been running through her mind. "The cartel has to know the FBI would be suspicious of any accident, so why try to run me down with a truck?"

"To scare you."

Lara grappled with that for a moment.
"Because I might somehow lead them to the evidence against them?"

"They searched your apartment," he reminded her. "And they meant you to know it, because the only sign they left was that drawing cut in half."

She felt cold again. "Damn. Why can't everyone— the FBI, those criminals—realize that if I knew anything at all, I would have said so?"

"Maybe they think that you might know something you aren't consciously aware of," Devon suggested slowly.

"How could that be?"

He shook his head. "I'm not sure. Something you saw but didn't really notice; something you heard but didn't really listen to. I don't know."

"Neither do
I
. I've gone over it again and again in my mind. Do you think I could ever forget that night?
Or the weeks before?
I’ll never forget, not any of it!"

Devon's arm tightened around her. "Easy," he murmured.

Lara took a steadying breath, then rose and began wandering restlessly around the room.

"You should call the FBI," he said.

"And be uprooted again? Lifted out of this cage and dropped into another one?" She laughed bitterly.
"No, thanks.
I won't run for the rest of my life."

"Then what?"
His voice hardened. "Roll over and die for them?"

"They haven't hurt me."

"Not yet. Do you really believe they'll take the chance of leaving you alive when they think you know something?"

"I won't run. I won't."

"Lara, for God's sake,
be
reasonable."

She laughed again, not bitterly but not amused. "How ironic that I'm about to occupy center stage in a fairy tale. It isn't so easy to be a prince in real life, is it? Stay out of it, Devon. The witch might blind you for real.
Or worse."

He rose from the couch, watching her as she paced the room. "You think I'm going to run out on you," he said slowly.

"I think you should," she said in a flat tone, not looking at him. "You'd be a fool not to. In real life, I don't need a prince—I need a bloody army." She was hardly aware of her own sardonic tone.

Devon chuckled suddenly.

Lara swung around to stare at him in surprise,
then
heard a giggle escape her. "Hysteria," she offered as an excuse for her choked laugh.

He was smiling a little.
"No, just a sense of humor.
But if you aren't willing to call out the FBI's army, I'm afraid you're going to have to settle for a prince. I'm not going anywhere, Lara."

"Now who's not being reasonable?" It was the only thing she could think to say.

He slid his hands into the pockets of his pants, powerful shoulders moving in a faint shrug. "I’ll admit I've never thought of myself as a prince, but I'm willing to give it a shot."

"Why?"

His smile faded,
then
changed, reappearing as a sweet, determined expression that was indescribably male. "You know why."

Lara felt her knees weaken. The man possessed an uncanny ability to scatter what she fondly called her wits, she decided dazedly. She forced herself to make one last attempt to make him see this situation sanely. "Devon, this isn't a fairy tale; there won't be any helpful magic. It isn't a play; there won't be applause when it's over. It's real, and I can't see a happy ending."

"Maybe you're not looking hard enough."

"I don't dare look any harder." She had held her voice steady with great effort.

He came to her slowly, but didn't touch her when he stood only a foot or so away. There was an expression in his eyes she had seen before, that inward-turned anger that was so dark, and his handsome face tautened until it was almost masklike.

He's fighting again. The thought was clear in her mind, but the knowledge was bewildering. What was he fighting?

"Devon—"

"You can't talk me out of it, Lara." He was terse, his voice clipped. "So, we'd better come up with strategy of some kind."

"For instance?"
She refused to admit to herself how relieved she felt. "Pull up the drawbridge and flood the moat?"

"I don't suppose you'd consider something along those lines?"

Lara shook her head. "No, not if you mean staying put in the apartment. Besides, this is hardly an impregnable castle, as the events of tonight proved."

He frowned. "They should have put you in a building with more security; the front entrance isn't even locked."

"This is a small town. Apartment buildings don't have security here. They've never needed it."

"You need it," he pointed out.

"Not now. I have a prince." She had intended to sound sardonic, but somehow her voice had emerged with a tremor in it.

Devon made a slight movement, as if he wanted to touch her. But he didn't. "Such as he is," he said lightly, then
went
on, "Look, it's late; we can talk about ways and means tomorrow. Why don't you go to
bed.
I'll bunk down on the couch—"

"No, you won't," she
interrupted,
controlling her voice this time and making it sound firm. "They won't try anything else tonight. If they'd wanted to, they would have been waiting here for me."

"Not if they knew I was with you."

"I'II be fine, Devon. Go home."

"Did anybody ever tell you that you're a stubborn woman?"

"Yes." She managed a smile.

He swore softly. "I don't want to leave you."

Lara chose to interpret that as concern about the possible danger rather than something more intimate. "I'll be fine," she repeated.

Devon stared at her for a moment, then bent and kissed her quickly. "If I didn't believe that," he said somewhat roughly, "I wouldn't be leaving. Lock the damned door."

She locked the door behind him,
then
leaned back against it for a moment. Oddly enough, there was little in her thoughts concerning faceless enemies trying to frighten her—or worse. She wandered back into the living room and looked at Ching, still sitting on the coffee table and regarding her enigmatically.

"How about that?" she murmured to him. "I have a prince."

"Yah," Ching said softly.

In his position across the street from the apartment building, the man was virtually hidden in the shadows. He watched the lighted windows on the third floor, his gaze shifting from time to time to probe the front entrance of the building. The rear entrance was barred from inside; he had checked.

The lights in the third-floor apartment went out, but the man didn't move. He barely noticed the increasing chill as the night wore on, and when muscles protested his stillness he flexed them absently and expertly without much movement; anyone passing by him in that moment would have seen nothing.

He watched, and the night passed. No one approached the apartment building across the street.

"Well?"

"She doesn't have them."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Then—"

"We have another problem."

"What?"

"There's a joker in the deck."

Lara worked most of the next day in her apartment. Devon called around nine, saying he'd just wanted to make sure she was all right. After saying he would pick her up at noon for lunch, he hung up somewhat abruptly. She wondered if he had guessed that, given half a chance, she would have avoided the lunch date.

The truth was Lara hardly knew what she was feeling—particularly about Devon. The sense of relief she felt in having shared her secret with him was almost overwhelming, and yet she was nagged by the awareness that she shouldn't have done it. She shouldn't have broken the most rigid rule of the federal protection program: Tell no one.

And even though her confession to him had brought relief, so much else hadn't been changed by it.
She still felt isolated, alone. Separate.

And wary.
Wary, especially, of Devon.
He had said that he wouldn't leave, had seemingly accepted both her burdens and her unwillingness to call in the authorities; and yet, he was clearly struggling against his own desire for her.

"You've gone quiet on me again," he said.

He had surprised her by producing a picnic basket and then driving to Pinewood's single park, which was on the edge of town at a small lake. The fall day was clear and warm, the park virtually deserted, and they had spread their blanket near the lake.

Lara tried to think of a response to his remark, one he would accept. They had finished lunch, and had repacked the picnic basket. He was lying, on his side, on one elbow, regarding her gravely. She thought he looked a little tired, as if he hadn't slept much.

"Lara?"

"You have the most amazing voice," she blurted.

One of his flying brows lifted, and the sapphire eyes held a flash of laughter before shadows replaced the amusement. "Have I?"

She looked at him somewhat helplessly. When he was with her, the suspicions faded away until they didn't seem to matter; it was when she was alone that those awful doubts crept in. "Yes. It—it just isn't fair, dammit!"

"Sorry," he murmured, smiling.

Lara fumbled for another topic. Without food to occupy their attention, she could no longer even try to block out her awareness of him. And, no matter what he'd said later, she couldn't help remembering that he had virtually told her to refuse him the night before.

"Don't you have to get back to your office?" she said finally. "It's after one."

"No, there's no hurry. Schedules are very informal in the design section. I think that's usually the case on the creative end of things."

"Unless—"

Devon's smile faded.
"Unless it involves security clearances and the like.
Is that what you're thinking?"

She shrugged, avoiding his intent gaze. "I guess."

He watched as she picked up a red autumn leaf from the ground beside the blanket and started twirling it between her fingers. "Is that why you've been so quiet? Because telling me about it last night brought back memories?"

Lara hesitated, then said, "What happened to my father was left unresolved, unfinished. His murderers were never identified, much less caught and tried, and the evidence he spent his last days working on was never found. It didn't have an ending. And until it does..."

"You won't be able to put it behind you," he said.

"No. That's why it's almost a relief to believe the cartel has tracked me down. Something is happening, and that's better than nothing. I wanted you to understand that."

He was silent for a moment,
then
said, 'I can understand that, Lara." His mouth tightened suddenly as he added, "But you're risking your life needlessly by refusing to contact the authorities."

"I told you. I don't want to be moved again, and that's what they'd do."

"I realize how you feel, but—"

"How can you?" She stared at him with burning eyes. "Have you ever had your roots cut away? Have you had to learn to answer to a strange name? Have you had to divide your life into two parts, and try to forget the first part ever existed?" She drew a shaky breath. "Every face could be an enemy, so you have to hide. You hate the fear, but you can't fight it, can't conquer it—not until there's an ending. And that ending could come tomorrow... or never."

"Lara..."

"It's like being half-alive," she whispered. "And all you can do is
wait
.
In limbo.
Like Rapunzel in her damned tower. I can't stand it anymore, Devon. I want my name back, and my life; I can't have either until it's over."

"I'm sorry," he said softly. He was very still.

She regained her control and made her voice even. "So am I. I shouldn't be dumping all this on you. But I haven't been able to talk to anyone about it."

Devon reached out suddenly and pulled her down beside him. He leaned over her, his wide shoulders blocking the sunlight. "I want you to tell me how you feel, honey," he said softly.

She gazed up into his shadowed eyes and knew he was lying. Her pain was a burden to him. She summoned a smile.
"Never mind.
I'll stop feeling sorry for myself. We should be getting back; you may not have a schedule, but I have a deadline and I need to work this afternoon." It was a lie, but Lara didn't care. Her whole life was a lie. Why balk at one more?