Setting Him Free (12 page)

"There is indeed a ring. And, I think Taylor gave it
to you. He wasn't wearing it when I saw him. Am I right, Miss
Radley?"

The fact that he knew her real name barely registered
He'd seen Taylor. She couldn't conceal her surprise. Her mind raced
with the implications.
Taylor was back in England.

And now, looking at Lord Carrington's emotionless
expression, she knew what Taylor had been up against. What he'd
meant by danger. And he was family. What hope did she have of
walking out of this?

"What are you going to do?" she said, a tremble in
her voice. "Shoot me?"

The old man let out a surprisingly robust laugh for
one so frail. "Either that or I'll be offering you a job. Let's
just see how this conversation goes, shall we? Now, you
are
Miss Radley, aren't you?"

Danielle nodded. He'd pulled the rug from under her
feet. Quick thinker though she was, this conversation would test
her skills to the limit.

"Good, I just needed you to confirm that we have the
right person." He sounded like someone ticking off an inventory,
suddenly very brisk and businesslike.

"The file's safe." He motioned towards the desk. "I
presume that's what you've come for?"

You're enjoying this, you bastard
. Danielle
clenched her fist and some fighting spirit returned, but she
couldn't help looking with longing towards the potential source of
any chance of a future with Taylor.

"Your own grandson. His wife? How do you live with
yourself?"

"Politics, my dear. You couldn't begin to understand.
And you must believe I had nothing to do with the murder. I would
never condone that."

"That was big of you." Danielle flicked another
glance at the drawer.

He followed her gaze. "Ahh, the file. I suppose I
could just give it to you."

"You could, oh," she realised quickly that he was
toying with her. He tilted his head and contemplated her. She could
almost see the options running through his mind.

"Just what would you be prepared to do to get
it?"

The question threw her. What would she do? She wanted
it so desperately, it scared her. Then suddenly it clicked into
place. Taylor wasn't just back in England. He was back. "Oh my
God," she said, her voice rising, her blood running cold. "What's
he doing in return for the file? What are you making him do?"

"I'm very impressed, my dear. It took us two years to
find him. You got him here in two weeks."

It's my fault. Taylor's killing again and it's my
fault. He's doing it for me. Oh God, what have I done?
I'm
supposed to be saving him.

I still can.

That last thought gave her courage and, somehow, she
got to her feet.

"Tell me where he is. I'm going to stop him. He
doesn't have to do this."

"It's too late."

"No it isn't. Tell me. You wouldn't have the file if
he'd already done the job. Please tell me."

The old man looked genuinely mystified for a moment.
"Why should you care so much? You knew him for barely a day."

"Because." What did she tell him? How could she
explain what had happened, how fast it had happened? It sounded
bizarre even to her. "Because...because…" She looked Lord
Carrington squarely in the eye. Calm now and focused on what she
had to do.

"I'm having his baby. Your great-grandchild."

For the briefest moment Lord Carrington seemed to
visibly shrink in front of her. He went from hard man to proud
grandfather, and back again so quickly, Danielle almost missed
it.

She felt a slight twinge of guilt before ramming home
her advantage, reminding herself what this man was capable of.
She'd seen his weakness, and now she could play this game too. He'd
asked her what she was willing to do to get the file. Well, they
were both about to find out.

"When?"

His voice was very thin and frail. Only now did
Danielle notice the pallor and the blue tinge to the old man's
lips. She could see what was going through his mind.
Will I live
to see it?

"Early next year." Danielle kept her voice even, her
gaze unwavering. Cruel, yes, but it had to be done. Too much at
stake.

"A great-grandchild?" His gaze flicked down to her
stomach and back to her face. "My first."

She heard the tiniest hint of pride in his voice.
Time to twist the knife
. "You won't see it. I'll make sure
of that." Danielle dropped the notebook into her bag and extended
her hand. "Goodbye, Lord Carrington. I'm sorry we couldn't do
business."

He made no move to shake her hand. "Sit back down,
Miss Radley. We need to talk. How much do you want?"

Her throat felt thick, as if her heart had crawled up
and lodged there. She sat down slowly, never taking her eyes from
the old man. She'd underestimated him once before and wasn't about
to do that again. "There's only one thing I want. One thing I want
to talk about." Her gaze stayed firmly on the desk.

Lord Carrington laughed. "Have you ever thought of
entering politics, my dear?"

"I don't generally like swimming with sharks, Lord
Carrington, but in your case I'm willing to make an exception."

The old man sat there, staring at her. The silence
stretched out for so long that Danielle had trouble keeping still.
Her heart pounded so hard, it was painful. Everything hinged on
what he said next.

"He was my favourite, don't you know."

"So you just used him up? How could you?"

A brief look of annoyance flickered over his
features. "I've already told you, you have no idea how these things
work."

"I think I do, Lord Carrington. You used him to fuel
your own ambitions. But you can put it right. It's in your power to
do so." The oldest trick in the book.
Let the man think it's his
idea.

"I can see what you're doing, young lady." Lord
Carrington's eyes glittered. "
If
there is a baby, I probably
won't live to see it anyway. So why should I help you? Why should I
put myself at risk?"

"Because you owe Taylor big-time, and you know it.
You used him and it's time to pay back. Do the right thing for
once. And I think that, deep-down, you still love him. Do you
really want to die with this on your conscience?"

Another long silence.

"You might live to see your great-grandson, after
all."
Push the knife in hard, give it a twist
. She was
learning fast.

The old man levered himself up from his chair. "Are
you sure I can't interest you in a job?"

Danielle held her breath while he fished in his
pocket for a key and shuffled over to the desk. It seemed like an
eternity before he unlocked the drawer and took out a very small
envelope.

That was it? That's what all this fuss was about?

Making his way back to Danielle, he stood for a
moment and contemplated the envelope in his hands. "He's a clever
lad, you know, should have gone into politics instead of the army.
I'm very impressed. Goodness knows how he got hold of half of
what's in here."

Danielle swallowed. Frozen in place, she eyed the
envelope. "I know that. Let me take it to him."

He drew the moment out, whether for effect or because
it really was such a big deal, she'd never know. His lips were
moving, but no sound came out, almost as if he was silently
weighing up the pros and cons. He glanced once out of the window,
smiled very briefly, composed himself, then held out the
package.

"I strongly suggest he never tries to use it." He
pressed it into her hand. "I'll make sure the relevant people know
he has it. He smiled again, at some private thought, and nodded his
head. That will be enough to buy his safety. And I'll take care of
the murder charge. I'll deny any involvement, of course."

"Of course." Danielle took the envelope with shaky
fingers, hardly able to believe it. Her future. Taylor's future.
She raised her eyes to the old man. "Thank you," she said. "Now
where can I find him?"

* * * *

It was that dream again. Danielle, looking at him
with such yearning and love. Telling him she wanted him and would
never leave him. He blinked, the image shimmered and faded, and he
was alone once more.

Taylor stood at the shoreline, hands in pockets.
Wild, angry waves crashed over his bare feet, soaking the hem of
his jeans, matching his mood. He wanted the anger. Needed it so he
could do what he had to do.

The envelope was folded, in his back pocket. Still
unopened. He pulled it out, already knowing what would happen when
he did open it.

"It's me or you, mate," he muttered. "Who's it going
to be?"

Ripping the envelope open, he carefully pulled out
the photograph. An unremarkable face stared back at him, circled in
red ink, his smiling family around him. A soft target; he could
tell that already. His Grandfather had at least done that for him.
Single shot should do it.

Taylor placed two fingers over the man's face,
blanking it out, leaving only his smiling family in view. Two
girls, one on each arm. An adoring wife, soon to be a widow. Taylor
closed his eyes. Fatherless children. Grieving wives. How many had
he been responsible for? He didn't even know. Had stopped counting
a long time ago. He lifted his fingers and gave the man back to his
family. Covered him again. Playing God, that's what he was doing.
All that stood between him and Danielle was this one man, who he
didn't know and didn't want to know.

He stared at the photo one last time and pushed it
back into the envelope.

"I guess this is your lucky day, mate."

Without hesitation, he tore the whole lot into four
pieces and threw them into the sea. They floated around his feet on
the incoming tide, taunting him for his weakness, or strength, he
still wasn't sure which. He walked back to the cottage with no idea
of what his next move should be. He didn't know what to feel about
his decision. It was hard to feel anything at all.

* * * *

There he was.

Hair longer than she remembered, and blown every
which way by the stiff breeze. Hands in pockets, his white shirt
billowing in the wind, sleeves folded back to his elbows. Standing
and staring blankly. Two months since the crash and even from where
she was standing Danielle was aware of how much he'd changed. But,
she wasn't sure who she was seeing. The man he used to be before,
or the man he'd become after they'd parted. Slipping off her shoes,
Danielle stepped gingerly onto the cold, hard sand and made her way
towards him to find out.

She'd missed him, but not until this moment, after
finally setting eyes on him again, did she realise quite how much.
There'd been a hole in her life, and, as she closed the distance
between them, she felt the hole closing up. And the world, which
had been tilted at such an odd angle since he'd left, was slowly
righting itself, like the sun suddenly appearing on an overcast
day.

Her heart wanted to run ahead of her and leap into
his arms. That was how she'd imagined this reunion. She reined it
in, walking slowly and deliberately instead. A few more yards and
he'd turn around and see her. Then she'd know if he still wanted
her.

She hadn't been going to give him a choice. He was
her Taylor and she'd come to claim him. But her rational mind
screamed the possibility that when he turned around she wouldn't
see Taylor at all. Just some guy she'd had amazing sex with in the
aftermath of a traumatic experience.

A few feet away, she stopped and softly called his
name. He was so engrossed, he hadn't heard her coming. He turned
and she knew then, that he'd always be her Taylor. The killer who'd
found his soul. The man with the sad eyes who'd made such sweet
love to her. Did he still want her? With a lump in her throat, she
waited for his reaction.

* * * *

In another dream she'd appear to him, calling his
name, but he couldn't get to her. No matter how hard he tried, or
how loud he called, she always stayed out of reach. He'd wake up,
covered in sweat, as if he'd run a marathon, and every time it
happened she was a little more ghost-like, and that bit farther
away.

He turned towards her voice, unable to resist. If
ghosts were all he was going to get, then so be it. He'd more or
less resigned himself to never seeing her again. Until the
deadline, he was safe. When they found out he wasn't playing ball,
it would start all over again. Then there'd be a choice. Stay? Or
run again?

"Taylor."

The sound of her voice washed over him like a
familiar melody, making him shiver. He loved everything about her,
and it only got worse. Absence really did make the heart grow
fonder as well as more painful.

He frowned. She was almost near enough to touch. This
was new. His hand went out and, instead of going right through her
as he expected, it touched warm, solid flesh. Taylor pulled back as
if she'd burned him. His breath caught in his throat.

"Danielle?"

"Yes." Her fingers circled his, guiding them to her
face.

"Christ, it really is you?"

Her face, the one he remembered so well, lit up. "You
better believe it."

Believe? He touched her again. Warm and solid and
definitely not a ghost. Somehow, she'd found him. She leaned her
soft cheek against his hand and closed her eyes.

"Danielle." He repeated her name, as if he still
couldn't quite believe that she was there. "You found me."

"Did you ever doubt it?"

He was quiet for a moment. Humbled by her faith in
him. "No," he said. "You were the one thing I never doubted."

A very small smile lifted the corner of her mouth.
"You are pleased to see me?"

He held out his arms. "Come here," he said. "Let me
show you how much."