The image of a pond exploded on Raine’s retinas

Leaf shaded and dark, its stillness failed to draw her. It repelled instead. Frightening. Repugnant.

Then the surface of the water began to stir. The pond took on a reddish hue. Cold and dark. Bloody and violent.

Unconsciously she opened her mouth, attempting to draw air into lungs that felt as if the pressure of those black depths were closing in on her. The surface continued to churn, patterns emerging as the water roiled.

There were images there, too, but they were moving too quickly for her to focus on any one of them. Like the bits of glass in a kaleidoscope, they merged and blended, changing even as she watched.

She began to fight. To struggle against the pull of the vortex at the center of the pond, trying not to look into its dark heart, because she knew that if she did, she would see something she didn’t want to see. Something no one was intended to see.

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

Temperatures are rising this month at Harlequin Intrigue! So whether our mesmerizing men of action are steaming up their love lives or packing heat in high-stakes situations, July’s lineup is guaranteed to sizzle!

Back by popular demand is the newest branch of our Confidential series. Meet the heroes of NEW ORLEANS CONFIDENTIAL—tough undercover operatives who will stop at nothing to rid the streets of a crime ring tied to the most dangerous movers and shakers in town. USA TODAY bestselling author Rebecca York launches the series with Undercover Encounter—a darkly sensual tale about a secret agent who uses every resource at his disposal to get his former flame out alive when she goes deep undercover in the sultry French Quarter.

The highly acclaimed Gayle Wilson returns to the lineup with Sight Unseen. In book three of PHOENIX BROTHERHOOD, it’s a race against time to prevent a powerful terrorist organization from unleashing unspeakable harm. Prepare to become entangled in Velvet Ropes by Patricia Rosemoor—book three in CLUB UNDERCOVER—when a clandestine investigation plunges a couple into danger….

Our sassy inline continuity SHOTGUN SALLYS ends with a bang! You won’t want to miss Lawful Engagement by Linda O. Johnston. In Cassie Miles’s newest Harlequin Intrigue title—Protecting the Innocent—a widow trapped in a labyrinth of evil brings out the Achilles’ heel in a duplicitous man of mystery.

Delores Fossen’s newest thriller is not to be missed. Veiled Intentions arouses searing desires when two bickering cops pose as doting fiancés in their pursuit of a deranged sniper!

Enjoy our explosive lineup this month!

Denise O’Sullivan

Senior Editor, Harlequin Intrigue

Sight Unseen
Gayle Wilson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Five-time RITA® Award finalist and RITA® Award winner Gayle Wilson has written over thirty novels and three novellas for Harlequin/Silhouette. She has won more than forty awards and nominations for her work.

Gayle still lives in Alabama, where she was born, with her husband of thirty-four years. She loves to hear from readers. Write to her at P.O. Box 3277, Hueytown, AL 35023. Visit Gayle online at www.booksbygaylewilson.com.

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

CIA AGENT PROFILE

Name: Ethan Snow

Date of Birth: January 15, 1968

Assigned Team: External Security

Special Skills: ATP-rated pilot; speaks Russian and Farsi; expert marksman; degree in forensic accounting

Agent Evaluation: Highly disciplined; exhibits stellar leadership qualities; has high expectations of those who work with him

Status: Resigned from the agency due to personal reasons

Current Address: The Phoenix Brotherhood

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Ethan Snow—Phoenix operative Ethan Snow has spent the past six months trying to connect the dots that would tie The Covenant to terrorism. Despite his frustration, he would never willingly have consulted clairvoyant Raine McAllister, no matter how highly recommended she came. He is left no choice, however, when someone in that secret organization makes Raine a target.

Raine McAllister—Had worked on the CIA’s remote viewing projects when she was a child. Now she helps the police locate abducted children. When she’s asked to help make the connection between those long-ago projects and The Covenant, she discovers that she has more at stake in this investigation than anyone else.

Griff Cabot—The head of the Phoenix will do anything to protect his family, and they are all involved in the danger this time.

Montgomery Gardner—The former DCI oversaw the Agency’s experiments in the paranormal. What part of the blame does he bear for Project Cassandra, the one that went terribly wrong?

Sabina Marguery—Her husband’s suicide resulted from the failure of Cassandra. What secrets is she harboring about that long-ago experiment? And more important, what secrets is she harboring about Raine McAllister?

Carl Steiner—Is the assistant deputy director of the CIA stonewalling the Phoenix about Cassandra because even after a quarter of a century, the Agency still has something to hide?

Charles Ellington—He wrote the book on the CIA’s involvement in parapsychology. Why is Cassandra his only omission?

For Maddie, the sunshine of my life

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Prologue

Washington, D.C.

“I’ve heard of The Covenant, of course. Most of what I know concerns the quasi-patriotic/religious programs they sponsor from behind the scenes. Anyone who’s been in Washington for any length of time has some knowledge of their role in those. That’s not to say, however, that I have anything to add to what you’ve uncovered. Or any names to give you. No acquaintance of mine has ever admitted to belonging.”

Despite his age, former director of central intelligence Montgomery Gardner’s mind was still sharp and his connections as good as they had ever been. If he knew nothing about The Covenant, then Phoenix operative Ethan Snow knew he was at a dead end. And that he’d just spent six months on an investigation that was literally going nowhere.

If the stakes hadn’t been so high, he might have given up long before now. He had come to Griff Cabot’s office today ready to admit defeat. Although Griff had acknowledged that visiting the old man was a last-ditch effort, he had insisted it was one they should make. Gardner was, after all, his wife’s grandfather and Griff trusted him to tell them the truth. Now this, too, appeared as futile as every other avenue of information Ethan had pursued.

“What we’ve uncovered is little more than the fact the organization exists,” Griff admitted. “And that some of its members, maybe a fringe element, have been involved in funding domestic terrorism.”

“Other than a few tantalizing hints,” Ethan added, “we can’t even get a handle on how wide scale their efforts there have been.”

He had hoped the plot involving the Lockett Legacy that John Edmonds had quashed might be an aberration. Now, after months of following up every elusive lead through electronic intercepts and banking records, Ethan had come to believe The Covenant was indeed promoting terrorism on many other fronts. All of them harmful to the United States.

He couldn’t prove what he knew intuitively. And he couldn’t find any way to penetrate the veil of secrecy that effectively protected whoever was behind the organization.

“Americans perpetrating acts of terror against their own people,” Gardner said, shaking his head.

As the director of the CIA, Gardner had certainly been exposed to the harsh realities of treason. There was not a naive bone in the old man’s body, yet he sounded shocked that a group considered by many to be both patriotic and altruistic might be guilty of that heinous crime.

“And protected by an oath of confidentiality while they do it,” Cabot added.

“Membership is by invitation only,” Ethan said. “No one I’ve interviewed will admit to knowing anyone who is or who might be a member. There are no organizational lists as far as we can discover. No tax records because of the way they handle contributions. I’m not sure any one member is allowed to know the identity of another.”

“That must make for interesting meetings,” the old man said dryly. “Do you suppose they go to those masked? A modern-day Hell Fire Club?”

“One bent on destruction rather than debauchery,” Ethan said.

“And all the while hidden behind a cloak of sanctity,” Griff added. “Short of divine intervention or clairvoyance, I’m not sure how we pierce that veil of secrecy.”

“I can’t help you there,” Monty Gardner said, “although I suspect my relationship to the Divinity is as close as some others’ in this town who go out of their way to flaunt their standing with Him.”

They waited as the old man’s lips pursed, his eyes focused unseeingly across the room. The silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable before Griff broke it.

“Monty?”

“I may know someone who can help. You’ll have to do a bit of traveling. I assume you aren’t averse to that?”

The question was clearly addressed to Ethan. Despite his failure to make any headway with the investigation, this was still his case. If the ex-DCI had a contact he believed could provide information on The Covenant, Ethan was eager to pursue it, wherever it might take him.

“I’m more than willing, if you think it might help.”

“I shall hold you to that,” the old man said with that same touch of dry humor. “Come into my office, and I’ll find the address for you. I keep it in a special place. A very special place.”

With that cryptic comment, the old man began to rise from his comfortable armchair. Under the cover of that movement, Ethan glanced toward Griff, his brows raised in inquiry.

Cabot shook his head and shrugged. Apparently he had no idea where or to whom Gardner intended to send his agent.

And it didn’t really matter, Ethan acknowledged. Wherever it was, after six months of frustration, he was more than ready to contact anyone who might be able to help.

Chapter One

Two Days Later

Gulf Shores, Alabama

The same vague feeling of discontent that had plagued her throughout the day had driven Raine McAllister to the studio at the back of the beach house at sundown. Usually, simply entering that room, with its wide expanses of glass, instilled a sense of peace. Tonight even its magic didn’t seem to be working.

She walked over to the wall of windows that looked out on the blue-green waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Cream-crested waves foamed over the sugar-sand beach below. The red of the dying sun painted the edge of the horizon, but twilight had already fallen over the shoreline.

There was not another human being as far as the eye could see. Living this far from the so-called civilization of the tourist areas had its disadvantages, but the isolation soothed her soul.

Except tonight. Tonight nothing seemed soothing. Or normal. It was as if she viewed the familiar scene below through a lens that was slightly out of focus. Flawed and distorted.

She leaned her forehead against the coolness of the glass and closed her eyes. She concentrated on breathing deeply, willing her mind to tranquility.

After a moment, far sooner than she had intended, her eyes opened. She listened, but whatever had disturbed her reverie apparently hadn’t been sound. There was no noise but the rhythmic sibilance of the waves, muted by the glass.

Whatever was out of place in her world wasn’t outside. It was within. Inside her mind. Or in her soul, perhaps. And she had no explanation for it.

She moved away from the window as the sun dipped beyond the ocean, instantly changing the quality of light in the studio. A silver arrow on the water pointed to the moon, which, hidden until now, rode low in the sky.

She lifted the cloth off her latest work and then stepped back to examine the sculpture in its entirety. Like everything else around her, the figure of the running man seemed slightly wrong, but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about the shape that bothered her.

When she’d finished work last night, she had been pleased with her progress. Now, however…

She allowed her eyes to examine each element of her creation. The runner’s torso expressed a more solid strength than the long, muscled legs, extended to their full range of motion. She reached out, intending to run her finger down the delicate delineation of the calf muscle she had been so proud of yesterday.

For some reason her hand hesitated in midair, as if reluctant to make contact. Determined to shake off tonight’s malaise by losing herself in her work—as she always could—she forced her fingers forward until their sensitive tips encountered the coolness of the clay.

As soon as they did, the figure of the runner disappeared, flickering out of sight to be replaced by the image of a pond. Leaf-shaded and dark, its stillness failed to draw her, as anything in nature normally would. It repelled instead. Frightening. Repugnant.

Deliberately, she jerked her mind away from it, blinking to destroy a picture for which she had no explanation. Her breath trembled in and out in small, audible gasps. Her fingers again hovered a centimeter away from the outstretched leg of the statue.

She closed her eyes, once more attempting to control her breathing. Attempting to remember the last time something like this had happened.

And when she did, she also remembered why she had vowed that would be the last time. There had been a reason then, of course, but as for whatever she had seen tonight…

She opened her eyes, forcing them to focus on the lines of the statue her hands had molded. Yesterday she had relished the feel of the clay beneath her fingers. The medium had become, as it sometimes did, a living force, responding to her command, but also drawing her where it wanted her to go.

Never before, however, had anything like this happened when she touched it. This, then, was the cause of the foreboding she’d felt all day. She had known something in her world had changed, but not what. Of all the possible scenarios she might have imagined to explain her unease, this would have been the last.

That was over. She had sworn it. No more.

She dropped the hand that had touched the statue, turning to retrieve the dampened cloth to place it back over the figure of the runner. Holding the fabric in both hands, she began to drop it onto the half-finished piece.

This time the image exploded on her retinas, the flash as powerful as lightning. The same pond. The same instantaneous awareness of its inherent evil.

As she watched, unable to break free from the grip of the vision, the surface of the water began to stir. Gradually, so gradually that it took her several seconds to realize what was happening, the pond took on a reddish hue.

Not the warm, vibrant color of the sunset she had watched over the ocean, but something cold and dark. Bloody and violent.

Unconsciously she opened her mouth, attempting to draw air into lungs that felt flat, as if the pressure of those black depths were closing in on her. The surface continued to churn, patterns emerging as the water roiled.

There were images there, too, she realized, but they were moving too quickly for her to focus on any one of them. Like the bits of glass in a kaleidoscope, they merged and blended, changing even as she watched.

Everything else faded away. The night sky and the ocean. Her work, scattered on tables and pedestals around the studio. Any sense of time. Of self.

She had no idea how long it was before she realized that the patterns were repeating. Echoing one another in slightly differing versions. And that each time they did, they became more vivid. Clearer. More threatening.

She began to fight them. To struggle against the pull of the vortex at the center of the pond around which everything seemed to revolve, trying not to look into its dark heart because she knew that if she did, she would see something she didn’t want to see. Something no one was intended to see.

She would never know if she might have won that battle. Just as she had begun to despair of freeing herself from the vision, the old-fashioned chimes on her front door sounded. Rich and melodic, the notes cut through the growing sense of horror that held her captive.

She blinked, and the image disappeared to be replaced by the unfinished sculpture of the runner. The damp cloth she had held in her hands had been carefully draped over it, the folds smoothed around its shape.

She couldn’t remember doing that. She couldn’t remember anything after she had allowed the center of the cloth to touch the head of the figure.

She glanced toward the windows, surprised to find that the moon was high in the sky, the trail it left across the water now narrow and indistinct. And there was no longer any hint of crimson along the edge of the ocean.

She turned back to the runner, shrouded now by the cloth. Slowly her head moved from side to side in denial of what had just occurred.

The bell chimed again, echoing in the stillness. She wasn’t expecting a visitor. She got the occasional solicitor out here, but they never came at night.

“Coming,” she said, although there was no way anyone at the front door could hear her from back here. Certainly not that slightly tremulous whisper.

She turned, hurrying now that she had decided something must be wrong. Perhaps the vision had been a warning. A premonition of the news whoever was ringing her doorbell would bring.

Even the suggestion that there might be a logical explanation for what had just happened made her feel better. Never before had anything like that occurred without her consciously seeking it. Her “gift” had always been hers to control. Hers to use or not.

She couldn’t imagine living her life any other way. She didn’t want to think about having to.

“MAY I HELP YOU?”

Although Gardner hadn’t offered to show Ethan any photographs of the woman he’d sent him to see, there had been two small snapshots attached to the inside front cover of the file the old man had taken from his desk. Ethan had studied them, inconveniently upside down, while Gardner copied down Raine McAllister’s address.

One of the pictures had been of a freckle-nosed child, smiling broadly at the camera. The other had been of a seemingly self-possessed young woman in a cap and gown, obviously taken at her graduation from college.

The sea-green eyes of the woman holding the door were exactly the same as they had been in the photos—clear and very direct. Her hair was dark, almost black, but the strong sun of the area where she lived had gilded highlights along its entire length. She wore it shoulder length, as straight as she had during her years in college.

Her face, becomingly tanned, was devoid of makeup. The freckles, although fainter, were still visible across the bridge of a rather high-arched, patrician nose.

“My name is Ethan Snow,” he said, watching the small furrow form between her brows as she realized it meant nothing to her. “We have a mutual friend who thought you might be willing to be of some assistance—”

The furrow disappeared as her mouth tightened. “Whoever sent you was mistaken. I don’t do that anymore.”

She stepped back. Her hand, which had never released the knob, began to push the door forward.

Six months of frustration as well as the events of the last forty-eight hours fueled Ethan’s anger. He’d be damned if he’d come all this way and not even get an opportunity to tell her why. He put his left forearm against the door, his fingers wrapping around the edge to keep it from moving.

Shocked, she looked up, straight into his eyes. Her pupils had dilated, expanding rapidly into the rim of color. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“All you have to do is listen,” he said, still holding the door. “If you want to say no after that, fine. But not until.”

“You’ve been misinformed.” Her voice was softer, free of the shock and indignation he’d just heard in her question. It sounded more regretful than angry. Or resigned. At least when she added, “I really can’t help you.”

“You don’t even know what I want.”

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, I can’t do it.”

Again she pushed against the door, attempting to close it. Ethan didn’t remove his arm. Nor did he step back.

“Ten minutes,” he said.

He was tired. He was hungry. And given the events of the last two days, there was no way in hell he was going to get in the jet and head back to D.C. without at least finding out why Monty Gardner had given him this woman’s name.

Raine McAllister didn’t look like any intelligence operative he’d ever met. And she certainly didn’t look like a Beltway insider. Not in those skin-tight cutoffs and a tank top.

Even before he and Griff had talked to the old man, however, Ethan had reached the end of his resources. Now, after what had happened last night, he was even more convinced than he had been then that The Covenant was too dangerous to allow him to give up on this investigation.

“Whatever you’re here for,” Raine McAllister said, “whoever sent you, I really can’t help you.”

She had stopped pushing against the door with her slender strength. She simply stood there, her eyes holding his, her face as empty of expression as her voice had been of emotion.

“Montgomery Gardner.”

Before he had completed the enunciation of the last name, her face changed. Then, exactly as the old man’s had two nights ago, her eyes seemed to focus on something other than the present. After perhaps five seconds, she closed her mouth, pressing her lips together before she stepped back, opening the door wide enough for Ethan to step through.

Chapter Two

“Exactly what does Mr. Gardner think I can do for you?”

After directing him to the couch, Raine McAllister had perched on an ottoman that belonged to one of the two tall fan chairs in the sunroom she’d led him to. Although there was no ocean view from here, the atmosphere created by white wicker furniture, with its pale-green and yellow cushions, left no doubt this was a beach house.

The room was both elegant and comfortable. During the day, it would be full of light from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Tonight their jalousies had been closed against the darkness, but with the woodwork painted white and the walls a nearly colorless shell pink, the effect was still spacious and airy.

“I’m trying to gather information about The Covenant.”

There was a heartbeat of silence. Ethan wasn’t sure if that was because she didn’t recognize the name or because she was reluctant to reveal to a stranger that she knew anything about the organization.

Given the cloak of secrecy that shrouded The Covenant’s operations and considering how dangerous he believed the group to be, either was a possibility. He was hopeful, of course, that the latter of the two explanations was the one that made her hesitate.

“That’s why he sent you? To find out if I can provide you with information about… I’m sorry. What was it? A covenant?”

Despite what the old man had implied, Raine McAllister seemed genuinely puzzled by the reference. The sinking feeling in the pit of Ethan’s stomach reflected his disappointment.

“The Covenant,” Ethan corrected. “He gave me your name and address and indicated you might be able to help with an ongoing investigation that otherwise, quite frankly, seems to have reached a dead end.”

“So…Mr. Gardner sent you here for my help, but he didn’t tell you how or why I might be able to give it? And you didn’t ask.”

He couldn’t quite read her tone. Bemused, perhaps? Or maybe amused, he amended. Because he’d come all the way down here from Washington based only on an old man’s recommendation that she might be able to help him?

At the same time he was aware that he’d been let in only because he’d invoked the name of Montgomery Gardner. He didn’t want to destroy whatever advantage that had given him by saying something that could be construed as derogatory about the old man. Not before he was sure this really was the wild-goose chase he was beginning to believe it might be.

“Since Mr. Gardner is both a former DCI and a lifelong resident of the D.C. area, when he suggested I talk to you, I assumed you had either worked at the agency or had some specialized knowledge that he believed might be useful.”

There was a moment’s hesitation, as she appeared to think about what he’d just said.

“I suppose in a way I did work for him. I guess I just never looked at it like that.”

“You didn’t consider what you did at the agency work?”

Even as he posed the question, he was trying to figure out how this woman could have worked for Monty Gardner, whose tenure at the CIA had ended almost twenty-five years ago. He would have guessed her to be in her late twenties. Early thirties at the outside. In either case, she would have been far too young to have been an operative during the old man’s regime.

“As far as I was concerned, we played games.”

“Games?”

“They’d point to some place on a map, and I’d describe to them what was there.”

Suddenly everything he hadn’t understood when she’d opened the door clicked into place. And he felt like a fool that he hadn’t put it together sooner.

Short of divine intervention or clairvoyance, Griff had said, I’m not sure how we pierce that veil of secrecy. And in response, the old man had denied any special pull with the Divinity and had suggested they contact this woman.

Both he and Griff had missed the significance of the thing Gardner hadn’t denied knowledge of. Clairvoyance. Raine McAllister was a clairvoyant.

Ethan knew very little about the CIA’s experimentation with parapsychology—other than the fact that it had occurred in response to the Soviet Union’s psychic research. And the time frame in which it had taken place fit into the era when Gardner had been the head of the agency, he realized.

It even made sense of the picture in the old man’s file. It was obvious Raine had been a little girl when she’d taken part in those experiments.

There was something about the exploitation of a child, despite the genuine concerns about national security during those years, that troubled him. It must have bothered Gardner, as well. Why else would he have kept in touch with this woman all this time?

“You were part of the CIA’s psychic research program.”

He had thought the old man must be onto something, especially in view of what had happened after his and Griff’s visit. Now it seemed that must have occurred, not because Gardner had any information to share, but simply because they’d asked him if he did.

“Something which, judging from your tone, has apparently fallen out of favor,” she suggested.

“A long time ago,” he said. “Probably because it didn’t prove to be as valuable as they’d hoped. I never realized the project involved children.”

His discomfort with that scenario undoubtedly showed. She smiled as if amused at his naiveté.

“I take it Mr. Gardner also failed to mention what I was doing before they brought me to Langley.”

There was an almost challenging tilt to Raine’s chin. Ethan wasn’t sure where she was headed with the question, but since Gardner had given him no clue about her, either before or after she’d been involved with the CIA, he told her the truth.

“He said nothing about you beyond his hope that you could help with the matter I mentioned. Information about The Covenant.”

“Maybe he was trying to spare me embarrassment.”

“Embarrassment?” Where the hell was this going?

“I told fortunes. Read palms and auras. I even read the cards.”

“Tarot?”

Despite the polite tone of his question, Ethan was furious at how much time he’d wasted coming down here. What she was saying now was only what he’d expected when he had finally realized her connection with the agency. Carnival sideshow quackery.

“Occasionally I’d see something about the person I was reading that was…tragic. The first beating I ever got was for telling someone they were going to die,” she said with a laugh. “I didn’t know any better. I didn’t understand the concept of entertaining the customer.”

The word beating had tightened the muscles in his stomach, although it had been uttered without any inflection. Maybe she’d used the term in jest. An exaggeration of the spankings that were fairly typical methods of discipline when they’d both been children. Something in her eyes belied that comforting thought.

“So you see, I liked playing Mr. Gardner’s little games,” she said. “They were undemanding. And they were safe.”

“Then perhaps you’d be willing to play another.”

Despite his anger and skepticism, Ethan found he was holding his breath as he waited for her answer. He must be even more desperate than he’d thought.

“For you?”

“For your country.”

Her mouth was a little wide in proportion to the rest of her features. The corners ticked up quickly before she looked down at her hands, intertwined in her lap. Slim and tanned, they seemed as delicate as her face. When she looked up again, the smile had disappeared.

“Like performing a parlor trick, you mean? Reading the cards perhaps.”

Although the tone was again almost free of inflection, the wording clearly mocked what he’d just asked of her.

“You seem amused by the idea of helping your country.”

He sounded like some bureaucratic jerk. Maybe he was, but there was nothing in the least bit funny to him about what The Covenant was trying to do.

Respect for the old man had caused him to seek this woman out. And it had kept him here, even after he’d learned the truth. Under no other circumstance would he have approached some so-called psychic for help. After what had happened to Gardner, however…

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to be flippant. Exactly what do you believe I can do for my country?” The tone of the last was clearly sarcastic, despite her apology.

“I’d ask that what I’m about to tell you remain in strictest confidence.”

She lifted one hand as if to indicate their surroundings. “Just who do you think I might tell?”

“I’d like your word that you won’t tell anyone.”

Again the corners of her mouth quirked and were then controlled. She was openly making fun of him. And since Ethan wasn’t accustomed to being a source of amusement, it made him uncomfortable.

Granted, he had always taken his responsibilities, both with the agency and then later with the Phoenix, very seriously. Maybe too seriously. That didn’t ease the spurt of anger he felt at her unspoken ridicule.

He wondered if he were overreacting because she was a woman. A woman who in any other circumstances he would have been attracted to.

The admission was surprising, but once he’d made it, he realized how accurate it was. Physically, everything about her appealed to him. It was only the other that made him uncomfortable.

“Then you have it, of course.” She folded her hands together in her lap again and leaned forward as if eager to hear what he had to say.

The pose didn’t fool him. Nor did it mitigate his anger. He hadn’t come here to be mocked. Not about something that was an integral part of who and what he was—

The realization was sudden. And stunning.

As soon as he had realized what she’d done at the CIA, he had expected to be amused at any claims she would make about her abilities. She had very neatly turned the tables on him instead. Deliberately giving him a dose of his own medicine? he wondered.

He’d been careful not to reveal his skepticism that her “gifts” could prove useful. Careful neither by word nor tone to indicate that he would have walked out immediately after learning about them except for the old man’s confidence in her and what had happened two nights ago. So unless she was prescient—

Again, the natural conclusion of that train of thought surprised him. He glanced up, meeting clear green eyes, and found that, although her face was completely controlled, they were full of laughter. As if she knew exactly what he’d been thinking.

It was both disconcerting and annoying. He wasn’t accustomed to being manipulated, yet that was exactly how he felt. As if she were the one conducting the interview. As if she were the one making the evaluation.

As if she had found him wanting.

“You were about to tell me about the needs of my country, Mr. Snow,” she prodded at his silence.

He took a breath, trying to gather his wits. He had to balance his innate distrust of everything Raine McAllister represented with the very real concerns he had about national security if The Covenant wasn’t stopped.

And, too, there was his respect for Montgomery Gardner’s judgment. If the old man was right—if it was remotely possible this woman could help—then he had an obligation to pursue this.

“We have reason to believe that members of The Covenant are funding, if not actively carrying out, domestic terrorism. We believe they are doing so in an attempt to provoke a response from our government against not only the known terrorist groups, but against the entire Muslim world. To set off an American jihad, if you will.”

That was the word Bertha Reynolds had used during the final confrontation with Phoenix agent John Edmonds. Jihad. Holy war.

“The agency I work for,” Ethan continued, choosing his words with care, “had some success several months ago in identifying a few individuals involved in that plan. At the time we were hopeful they were the only members of The Covenant who were in on the plot. That their actions were an aberration in an otherwise legitimate and benign charitable foundation.”

When he glanced up, he realized that she was listening intently. At least she was no longer making fun of him.

“Recently,” he went on, thinking about the most telling evidence they’d gathered, “there have been at least two bombing attempts that we believe may be tied to the organization. The problem is we can’t prove any of this. They’ve taken great pains to ensure that their membership list remains secret. We’ve had no success identifying their leaders. Then…Mr. Gardner suggested you could help.”

“And now that you know why he suggested that?”

Ethan had a feeling that if he attempted to prevaricate, she’d see right through him. Maybe literally.

“My first inclination would be to discount the possibility. I’m not sure I have that option any longer.”

Her head tilted, questioning what he’d just said.

“Less than twenty-four hours after he gave me your name, Mr. Gardner was attacked in his home.”

“Attacked?”

That, at least, was something she hadn’t known. There was a fleeting sense of satisfaction until he remembered the seriousness of the old man’s condition.

“In an upscale Virginia neighborhood that has one of the lowest crime rates in the nation. Nothing was taken from the house although there were a multitude of valuable objects around. In short, there was no sign that what happened was anything other than a personal attack.”

“He isn’t dead.”

It hadn’t sounded like a question, but he answered as if it had been. “He’s in critical condition. Given his age…”

There was a long pause. Her eyes, locked on his face, had lost any tendency to laughter.

“And you believe someone did that because you’d gone to talk to him.”

“Given the timing, it makes sense.”

“Because you talked about me?”

“Or about the organization we’ve been tracking. I’ve no doubt that I’ve asked enough questions during the last few months to make them suspicious. Maybe they followed me there. Or it may be that Mr. Gardner was targeted because of his ties to the agency I work for.”

The crease he’d noticed before formed again between her brows. “The CIA?”

“A private investigative agency.”

“But…” Her lips closed over the question.

“Run by someone who also had very close ties to the CIA.”

“A private agency? You said your investigation was driven by national security concerns.”

“You don’t have to be a government operative to want to protect this country and its people from further acts of terrorism.”

“But you were,” she said. “A government operative.”

“At one time.”

He didn’t elaborate. He wasn’t willing to discuss why he had left the CIA.

It had had nothing to do with the disbanding of Cabot’s elite counterterrorism team. Ethan had left on his own almost a year before that edict against the External Security Team had come down. And only at the urging of someone he respected as much as he respected Griff Cabot would he ever have become involved in clandestine operations again.

“But he will be all right, won’t he?”

She meant Gardner, he realized.

Your guess is as good as mine. That answer was no less mocking than some of those she’d made to his appeal. He didn’t offer it, however.

Despite his distaste for almost everything he had learned about Raine McAllister, he couldn’t shake the notion that he owed it to the old man to treat her, and this entire bizarre episode, with at least some degree of respect. Professional courtesy for a former DCI? Or guilt over the possibility that his and Griff’s visit had played a role in the attack that had injured Montgomery Gardner?

“From what everyone says he’s a tough old bird,” he hedged.

“You don’t know him?”

“Not really. I’ve only met Mr. Gardner a few times. Mostly on social occasions at the home of the owner of the agency, Griff Cabot, and his wife.”

She smiled. “As a child, I was always so jealous.”

It took him a second to make the connection. “Of Claire?”

“She was his granddaughter. We’re about the same age. And she had a right to his time and his interest.”

Which she had wanted for herself?

“I always wondered if she knew about me,” Raine continued. “And if so, exactly what she knew.”

“I don’t understand.”

He didn’t. Not her relationship with the old man or her remarks about being jealous of his granddaughter.

“After it was over…” She paused, her eyes again seeming to contemplate a time other than the present. “He paid for my schooling. First, at a very fine girls’ boarding school in Virginia, and then later at Wellesley.” Her eyes lifted to Ethan’s. “I’m afraid I didn’t fit very well at either. I always thought Claire would have.”

There was no doubt about that, Ethan acknowledged, remembering the poised and beautiful woman who had married Griff Cabot when he’d literally come back from the dead. Despite the very real ideological differences each had brought to that union, theirs seemed to be one of the most successful marriages he’d ever seen.

“When do you want to leave?”

Raine’s question, totally out of context in their discussion of Claire Cabot, caught him off guard.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Or were you just planning to point to some names in a copy of Who’s Who?”

He’d been doing better in the role of stiff-necked bureaucrat, he realized. Playing straight man to her mockery wasn’t nearly so appealing.

“You’re coming to Washington,” he attempted to clarify.

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

He had come expecting to be provided with information that would give him a handle on the inner circle of The Covenant. It was obvious now that was something this woman didn’t possess. What she did have was a supposed psychic ability Monty Gardner believed in strongly enough to have sent him down here.

And now, because she thought she owed the old man something or maybe because she considered him something of a father figure, she was offering to use her “gift” to help Ethan break the code of silence surrounding the dark heart of an organization he’d spent the past six months investigating. The problem was, no matter what the old man believed about her abilities, Ethan himself didn’t think she was capable of doing anything like that.

“I don’t—” he began and then stopped. “Actually, I hadn’t thought that far.”

Back to idiotic straight man, trying to come up with some way of letting her perform her mumbo-jumbo that didn’t involve hauling her back to D.C. He didn’t even want to think about how her act would be greeted by the hard-nosed ex-intelligence agents of the Phoenix.

“I’ll try not to embarrass you, Mr. Snow. I promise you that I’ve learned a great deal since my Tarot-reading days. And I’d really like to see him,” she added softly, her voice more subdued than it had been at any time during the course of their conversation. “It might be my last chance to tell him how much he’s always meant to me.”

“Of course,” Ethan said.

No matter the fallout from this, he realized, given his guilt over the timing of that attack, there really was nothing else he could say to that particular appeal.

RAINE SLIPPED THE CHAIN into the slot on the front door and turned the dead bolt. Normally, despite the isolation of the house, she never thought about those precautions. With all that had happened tonight, she did them automatically.

As soon as she heard the sound of the car’s engine kick over, she turned off the outside lights. She stood a moment in the darkness, listening as Ethan Snow backed his car out of her driveway and onto the two-lane, blacktopped beach road.

When the noise of his automobile had faded into the distance, she retraced her steps to the back of the house. The studio was exactly as she had left it, the figure of the runner still draped under its cloth covering.

For a moment she avoided looking at it, allowing her eyes to move around the room instead, focusing briefly on the completed sculptures. Trying again to find the peace this place had always given her.

Despite her avoidance of the statue that had precipitated the vision, that peace still eluded her. Moving decisively, she crossed the room, intending to uncover the runner. As she approached the figure, however, her steps slowed, almost without her conscious volition.

Although she took a fortifying breath as soon as she reached the pedestal, she didn’t allow any other hesitation. She quickly lifted the cloth, revealing the sculpture.

There was no repetition of what had occurred at sunset. Nothing at all unusual happened.

The flowing lines of the figure seemed as pleasing to her as they had last night. Proportioned. Graceful. Displaying exactly the strength and athleticism she’d been trying for.

She circled the stand, examining the statue from every angle. When she reached the front, for almost the first time since she’d shaped the features, she looked at the runner head-on.

Her heart seemed to falter before it resumed beating, but at an increased rate. Although she moved closer, there was no doubt at all about what her eyes had told her.

The straining face of the runner she had fashioned two days ago, the figure that had metamorphosed into the vision of that dark, bottomless pond, was clearly that of the man with whom she had just agreed to travel to Washington tomorrow.

Chapter Three

Ethan almost didn’t recognize her. And when he did, he realized he had again misjudged her.

Despite the size and regional flavor of the local airport, she had dressed in a two-piece cotton knit dress in a deep shade of turquoise. The color set off her tanned skin and dark hair. Although she was wearing sandals, they had low heels and matched the calfskin purse slung over her shoulder. A black wheeled suitcase stood beside her.

She watched his approach, her expression unrevealing. Her eyes, which he had thought last night were the color of the sea far out from shore, today seemed to match the vibrant fabric of her dress.

“Ready?” he asked.

He wasn’t sure why Raine McAllister seemed capable of reducing him to a degree of social ineptitude he hadn’t suffered since high school. Maybe it had something to do with the directness of her gaze.

Or with the fact that she had managed to make him feel last night as if she knew what he was thinking. A formidable obstacle to overcome, even for someone who professed not to believe that was possible.

Considering what he’d been feeling as he’d walked toward her, that wasn’t the only obstacle he faced. He had acknowledged his attraction last night when she’d been barefooted, dressed in cutoff jeans, her face devoid of makeup. Today she looked as sophisticated as any of the women he’d encountered during his forays into Washington society.

He could only hope his physical reaction wasn’t obvious. And that she couldn’t really read his mind.

“What time is the flight?” Raine asked.

Obviously her abilities didn’t extend to anything as mundane as flight schedules, Ethan thought. A cheap shot maybe, but he was still uncomfortable with this entire scenario. Since he’d pulled out of her driveway last night, he’d been trying to shake off the feeling that agreeing to take Raine back to Washington had been a huge mistake.

When he called Griff to explain why Gardner had recommended they contact her, as well as to warn him that she’d be accompanying him back to D.C. today, he’d learned that Gardner’s condition was still listed as critical. Both Griff and Claire were staying at the hospital almost around the clock. So if Raine was determined to see the old man before—

He blocked the unpleasant thought. “How about now?”

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t ask any questions. Ethan shifted the strap of his overnight bag to his shoulder and then reached down to take the handle of her suitcase. Without thinking, he put his free hand on the small of her back, intending to direct her toward the door that led out to where the plane was being prepared.

She jumped at his touch, as if a spark of electricity had been conducted from his body to hers. Considering the terrazzo tile floor, that was highly unlikely.

“This way,” he said, careful this time not to allow his hand to make contact with her waist.

Pulling her case behind him, he led the way down the portable steps and onto the tarmac. The Lear, the Phoenix’s latest purchase and highly tangible evidence of the agency’s success, gleamed sleek and white in the morning sun.

He stopped at the foot of the stairway to glance behind him. Raine was still standing at the top, one hand gripping the railing, her eyes locked on the plane.

“Is something wrong?”

He should have told her they would be taking a private jet. There had been no reason not to. Nothing beyond some kind of perverse attempt to test her abilities, perhaps.

At his question her eyes left the aircraft to focus on his. “We’re not flying commercial?”

“I brought the agency’s plane down to speed things up.”

Both he and Griff had agreed that the attack on the old man had implications for the investigation. If Gardner believed Raine could help, then the quicker Ethan talked to her the better.

“You’re the pilot?”

“Is that a problem?”

She shook her head, but her gaze fastened again on the jet. Her lips tightened before she looked away. She took another breath, deep enough to be visible, but finally she started down the stairs.

“I’m fully certified,” he said when she stepped onto the tarmac beside him. “I have as many hours in the air as most commercial pilots. The plane’s new—”

She shook her head again. “It isn’t that.”

If she’s about to come up with some kind of psychic nonsense about why we shouldn’t make this flight…

“Then what is it?” His question sounded more abrupt than he’d intended.

“Nothing. I’m ready whenever you are, Mr. Snow.”

She headed resolutely toward the plane as if that dramatic pause at the top of the stairs had never occurred. Except it had. And for some ridiculous reason, it bothered him.

He was aware that there were storms in the area. Their flight plan would take them on a course parallel to them, but far enough away that they shouldn’t have any problems. Like any good pilot, he didn’t take risks with the weather. And he had always felt safer flying than driving, especially around the Washington area. Now, however…

Unmoving, he watched Raine climb the stairs to the Lear. Just before she stepped through the hatch, she turned to look down at him.

Her glance had been just that. A meeting of the eyes, over before he could decide what he had seen in hers.

The same mockery that had been there last night? Had that hesitation at the top of the stairs been an attempt to rattle him because he didn’t believe Gardner’s faith in her abilities was justified?

If so, she was in for a surprise, he vowed. It would be a cold day in hell before he bought into any of that palm-reading, Tarot-scanning sideshow. A very cold day.

IN STARK CONTRAST to the subtropical sunshine they’d left, Washington was gray and rainy. Maybe the weather was appropriate for the visit they were making, Ethan decided as he led Raine down the corridor of the hospital.

There was only one intensive care waiting room. Through its glass-topped door, he spotted Griff and Claire sitting side by side. They weren’t conversing, but they were holding hands, the strain of the vigil they kept etched on their faces.

He opened the door, ushering Raine through. As Griff rose to meet them, Ethan wondered what the head of the Phoenix had told his wife about her grandfather and the woman beside him. Of course, it was always possible Claire had already known about the little girl who had once been so jealous of her relationship with Monty Gardner.

“Ethan,” Griff said, and then turned to smile at Raine.

“Raine McAllister, this is Griff Cabot. He’s the head of the Phoenix Agency. Mr. Gardner is—”

“I know,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. Cabot.”

Griff’s eyes met Ethan’s briefly before he took the slim fingers in his own. “Griff. And thank you for coming.”

“How is he?”

“Holding his own. How much longer he can do that…”

“As long as he has to,” Monty Gardner’s granddaughter said.

They turned to find that Claire was standing slightly behind her husband. She took another step, entering the triangle the three of them had formed, and held out her hand to Raine.

“I’m Claire Cabot. I understand you know my grandfather.”

“I knew him,” Raine corrected as she took the hand Claire extended. “A very long time ago.”

“I see,” Claire said after a moment, but it was clear from her tone that she didn’t.

“Raine worked with your grandfather,” Ethan began, and then wondered whether this was the time or the place to go into exactly what she had done for the CIA.

“With Grandfather? But…” It was obvious that, just as he had last night, Claire was trying to make Raine’s age fit with the time Montgomery Gardner had been in a position to employ anyone. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Raine was a little girl. The agency—”

There was no way to sugarcoat what the CIA had done or Gardner’s role in it. Despite her grandfather’s position as the director of central intelligence, Claire was not a fan of the agency. The idea of a child like Raine being exploited there would trouble her, just as it had him. And right now he didn’t want to say anything that might seem critical of her grandfather.

“Mr. Gardner was very kind to me,” Raine said, easing the awkward pause. “In a way that no one else in my life had ever been before.”

“I see,” Claire said again.

This time her tone seemed even more distant. She was probably trying to figure out why this stranger had intruded at what she must fear might be her grandfather’s death bed.

I was always so insanely jealous…. She was his granddaughter. She had a right to his time and his interest.

Was that why Raine had been so determined to come? Because she was still jealous? Ethan wondered. Except that didn’t fit the impression he’d gotten when she’d talked about the old man.

Of course, his assessment hadn’t necessarily been made by either his logic or his training. Something far more primitive, more physical than cerebral perhaps, drove his desire to believe she’d had no ulterior motives in coming here.

“You didn’t know about me, did you?” Raine asked.

“Know what about you?”

There was a hint of arrogance in Claire’s question, which might be the result of tiredness or of strain. Of course, it was understandable that Griff’s wife wasn’t reacting with her usual poise and kindness. To be fearful of losing her grandfather and then to be introduced to a strange woman who claimed to have a long acquaintance with someone to whom she had always been very close…

“It doesn’t matter,” Raine said. “I just thought he might have mentioned me.”

Claire’s lips parted as if she wanted to continue her questions. Before she did, however, she glanced at Griff. The small negative movement of his head caused her to close her mouth without another comment.

Ethan wondered which of them Griff was trying to protect—his wife or Raine or maybe even Ethan’s investigation. He couldn’t believe the very pragmatic head of the Phoenix actually thought Raine McAllister might make a difference in the investigation, so Griff’s decision to put an end to this increasingly awkward conversation must have been personal rather than professional.

“I’d like to see him.” Raine’s voice was properly subdued, considering the circumstances, but she sounded as if she thought that request to be reasonable.

“You want to see my grandfather?” Claire obviously couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “Do you have any idea—”

“He’s only allowed one visitor per hour. On the hour,” Griff intervened. “And for only ten minutes.”

“That would be more than enough time,” Raine said. “Any time at all, actually—”

“Only family is allowed in the room,” Claire snapped, making no pretense of politeness this time.

Raine smiled at her, apparently willing to overlook her rudeness. “You’ve had him your entire life, Claire. Surely you can spare me ten minutes.”

“Just who the hell do you think you are?” Claire finally exploded, her face flushed and angry.

“His daughter,” Raine said.

THE CALM BEEP of the monitors and the low light of the glass-walled cubicle were soothing after the tenseness of the scene in the waiting room. She should have been able to handle that better, Raine thought. Despite the number of times she had tried to imagine a meeting with her father’s family, nothing had gone as she’d expected.

She was genuinely sorry to have caused Claire more distress, but she hadn’t seen any other way to respond to what she believed was her father’s convoluted method of reaching out to her.

When it had become clear Claire was determined to keep someone who had been a mere employee from seeing her grandfather, Raine had felt she had no other choice than to claim her rightful place at his side. And, of course, it would all have to come out eventually.

She supposed she should be thankful Claire’s mother hadn’t been here. If it was that difficult to learn that you had an aunt you’d never known about, how much more startling would it be to discover the existence of a half sister? One that no one had bothered to tell you about. Not even your father.

She forced her eyes away from the digital display to watch the even rise and fall of Montgomery Gardner’s chest. The ventilator breathed for him, its slow rhythm almost mesmerizing.

She stepped nearer the bed as the nurse pulled the curtain closed to give them a modicum of privacy. For a moment the features of the man in the narrow, railed bed were unfamiliar. Almost alien.

Not only were the tubes and wires distracting, the signs of the attack he’d suffered were brutally clear. Blood had pooled beneath the thin skin under his eyes, blackening both of them. The gash on his forehead had been neatly stitched, but it was long and swollen.

She resisted the urge to touch his cheek, putting her hand on the top of his wrist instead. His skin was cool and dry.

Too cool? she wondered, but the steady blip of the monitor reassured that sudden fear.

He was holding his own, Cabot had said. And he would, as long as he has to, his granddaughter had added.

In spite of those determinedly optimistic evaluations, the old man’s strength was nearly at an end. Raine had known that, as far away as she had been. Throughout today’s journey she had sensed that he was almost too tired to fight anymore. So very tired of it all, she thought, running her fingers along his forearm, which was nothing but skin and bones.

Maybe that’s why he had sent for her after all these years. Because he was tired of seeing everything he had devoted his life to endangered. He wouldn’t have told them that, of course. He would never reveal that much of himself or his feelings.

Instead, he had dispatched Ethan Snow with the suggestion that she could help if they would contact her. And at one time that might even have been true. Now, however…

“Why didn’t you send for me before?” she whispered, bending to put her mouth near his ear.

There was no reaction. His eyelids, their thin blue veins visible beneath the fragile skin, never moved.

All these years she had waited, respecting his wishes. Until today she had never demanded his attention, never approached any member of his family, never interfered with their lives in any way.

For a year after his wife’s death, which she had read about in the papers, she had waited for him to call, believing that now he would finally acknowledge her existence. Apparently he’d decided that would still be too traumatic for the remaining members of his family. Judging by Claire’s reaction, he had been right.

She was sorry she’d broken the news so abruptly. Cruelly, she admitted, but she truly believed her father wanted to see her. If he hadn’t, why would he have given Ethan Snow her name?

Besides, if she hadn’t revealed their relationship, his family would never have allowed her into this room. If the doctors were right, and there really was so little time…

She bent closer, her lips parted to speak to him again, and discovered she didn’t know what to call him. She had never called him “Father.” Not aloud. Yet to call him “Mr. Gardner” seemed a denial of all that he had meant in her life.

“I don’t know that I can help your friends. So many things have happened…” She hesitated. That wasn’t something she wanted to share with him. Not now. “But I’ll try.”

For a moment Ethan Snow’s face was in her mind’s eye, his voice passionate, touchingly sincere, as he talked about protecting his country.

Her father shared that same patriotism and dedication. That’s what he had asked of her before. That’s all he was asking now. And she would do the very best she could, despite what had happened in the past.

“I promise you I’ll try.”

This time she leaned forward to press her lips against the undamaged side of his forehead. As soon as they made contact with the old man’s skin, the nearly electric force that had caused the statue of the runner to morph into something else jolted through her consciousness again.

The image was exactly the same. Dark water. Cold and deep and still. And somehow deadly.

Aware this time of what might happen, she instantly began to fight against its pull. She jerked her eyes open and stumbled backwards, bumping into a monitor and sending it rolling away from the bed.

It had been attached to one of the myriad wires, of course. As the connection was disrupted, an alarm sounded, loud and demanding in the quietness.

The curtain behind her was thrown open, and two nurses rushed in. One of them began to adjust the monitor she’d stumbled into, thankfully silencing the alarm, while the other went over to examine their patient.

“I’m sorry,” Raine said. “I backed into one of the machines, and it went off. Nothing’s wrong with my father. It was just an accident.”

The nurse by the bed looked over her shoulder. “You’ll have to leave.”

“But I told you—”

“I’m sorry. You can wait in the waiting room. Someone will call you.”

The nurse who had readjusted the monitor took her by the elbow, directing her toward the curtain.

“Come on, my dear. Better to get out of the way so we can make sure everything is all right.”

She wanted that, of course, but she had the feeling that if she let them send her away, she would never be allowed to return. There were too many things left unsaid.

And too many years during which they might have been said. On both sides.

The drape was pulled closed behind her, and Raine found herself standing alone in front of the cubicle. She thought about waiting out here until they were through, but one of the other RNs from the nurses’ station rose and started toward her.

Raine put her purse over her shoulder and looked at the glass door leading out of the ICU unit. A man waited beside it, his eyes directed not inside, but at the white tile wall opposite him. He stood with his arms crossed in front of his body, the left holding the wrist of the right.

He wore a gray, three-button suit over a white dress shirt and blue tie. His salt-and-pepper hair had been cut almost militarily short, and he was clean shaven. Although she had never seen him before, the look was one she instantly recognized, despite the passage of years. Perhaps the style of the suit had changed, but the way he was dressed was what she had once considered to be the agency’s unofficial uniform.

Another of Cabot’s men? Assigned to protect her father? Or assigned to watch her?

That was possible. Cabot and Ethan Snow were probably already in the process of trying to verify her claim.

Other than asking the man in the cubicle behind her, she wasn’t sure how they would do that. Monty Gardner was far too adept at keeping secrets. After all, he had had more than forty years with the CIA to perfect the art.

“I think it would be better if you go back to the waiting room now,” the nurse from the station said.

Startled from her contemplation of the man outside, Raine turned to smile at her. “Of course. You will send for me when they’ve checked out the equipment, won’t you? I wasn’t in there but a minute or two. I’d really appreciate another chance to talk to my father.”

The nurse looked slightly taken aback, perhaps because of Gardner’s physical condition. It was obvious that any conversation wouldn’t be two-way.

“I’m sure there’ll be other opportunities,” she said. “Now, if you don’t mind…” The nurse gestured toward the exit to the unit.

Given no choice, Raine walked across the room and pushed the bar that would release the door. As it opened with a pneumatic hiss, the eyes of the man who had been waiting outside met hers.

“Ms. McAllister?”

He had obviously been given her description. Maybe he had a message from Ethan or the Cabots.

“Yes?”

“If you’d come with me, ma’am.” He took a step along the corridor as if her consent would be automatic.

“Come with you where?”

He turned back, smiling at her. Although it was an attractive smile, it didn’t quite reach his eyes, which she saw were an unusual shade of brown, so light they were almost gold.

“To rejoin your party, of course.”

Ethan? Or the Cabots?

The latter seemed unlikely, given Claire’s reaction. Maybe Ethan had arranged for her to be escorted to somewhere besides the waiting room, so that she and Claire wouldn’t meet again.

“And I need an escort to do that?” she asked.

The man’s smile widened before it became a soft chuckle. Even his laughter didn’t change the amber eyes.

“I’m just following orders, Ms. McAllister.”

That, too, was something she remembered from when she was a child. That’s what they all said. All those hard men had always just been following orders.

All but my father, who gave them.

As the charge nurse had done inside the ICU, her escort put out his hand, gesturing down the hallway. Raine glanced back through the glass door, but the curtain around her father’s cubicle was still closed.

They had said they’d send for her, but they would assume she had returned to the waiting room. If Ethan were waiting for her somewhere else and she allowed this man to take her there, they wouldn’t know where to find her.

“I’ll have to tell the nurses where I’ll be.”

When she turned back, the man was no longer smiling. His eyes seemed even more golden. Lighter. Colder.

Colder?

“I’ll send someone to tell them,” he said, taking her arm.

She was getting tired of people doing that, she realized. As if they thought she wasn’t capable of making up her own mind about where she wanted to go. She pulled against his hold, but instead of releasing her, his fingers tightened painfully around her elbow.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

She hadn’t finished the sentence before he’d pulled her against him, her back to his chest. Something hard was pressed into the base of her spine. For a second or two she didn’t understand its significance. Not until he put his cheek next to hers, his mouth close to her ear.

“Walk,” he said. “Don’t look back. Don’t talk. Just walk. I’ll tell you where.”

When she didn’t move, more out of shock than from any intention to resist, the object in her back, which she now realized must be the muzzle of a gun, ground into her backbone. He closed the distance between them, which had the effect of both hiding the weapon and, at the same time, urging her forward.

“I don’t know how much you know about firearms, Ms. McAllister, but the one at your back is a 9 mm. Trust me when I tell you it will blow a very big hole in your spine.”

She did trust what he’d just said. Just as she knew he would have no compunction in pulling the trigger.

It was damned late to be getting that kind of clear message about what was happening, she thought. Far too late to do her any good.

From the first she had tried to tell Ethan Snow that she couldn’t help him, but he hadn’t listened. And then when she had heard Monty Gardner was involved, she had put her doubts aside in order to make this journey.

One that was a waste of everyone’s time. Because now she had absolute proof that she couldn’t even use her gift to help herself.

Chapter Four

“She said nothing about Gardner being her father, I swear to you,” Ethan said for the second or third time. “She told me she’d worked for him. That he’d paid for her to go to school—a finishing school of some kind—and then to college. If I’d had any idea that she would say something like that to Claire, I swear I’d never have brought her here.”

In all the years that Ethan had known him, he’d seen very few things rattle Griff Cabot. Anything that affected the well-being of his family was obviously one of them.

Although he hadn’t been in on the action, Ethan knew that the Phoenix had been born out of a dangerous operation Griff’s former External Security Team members had undertaken, at Cabot’s request, to rescue his daughter from a kidnapper. The fact that Griff had blown the cover the CIA had arranged for him in order to carry out that mission indicated exactly where his priorities lay.

“I think she’s lying,” Cabot said curtly. “I’ve known Monty Gardner a long time, both before and after I met Claire. There’s never been a man more devoted to his family.”

“Maybe after his wife died—”

“He’s been a widower for less than seven years. It won’t wash, Ethan. Whatever Raine McAllister is selling, I’m not buying.”

Despite his sympathy for Claire, who had clearly been distraught, for some reason Ethan felt compelled to defend Raine against that characterization.

“I’m not sure she’s selling anything. She hasn’t made any claims on Gardner’s estate or on the family. At least, not yet. I think she just wanted to see the old man again. It may be that when she was told visitation was for family only—”

“She dreamed up that story about being his daughter?” Griff interrupted. “That’s even more unforgivable. Besides, a claim like that is too easy to disprove. She has to know she can’t get away with this.”

“Maybe she only needed to get away with it tonight.”

“You think she wants access to his room to do him harm?”

As the thought occurred to him, Griff started toward the corridor leading to the ICU. And considering the seemingly inexplicable attack on Gardner, that suspicion wasn’t as farfetched as it normally would have been.

Ethan grabbed his arm, forcibly restraining him. “I’m not suggesting anything like that. We’ve all been afraid he won’t make it. She was, too. She wanted to see him before it was too late. Maybe she was desperate enough to come up with that story.”

Claire had vehemently denied her claim, but Raine had been resolute that she was Gardner’s daughter. And equally resolute in her demand that she be allowed to see her grandfather. She hadn’t wavered from either position, not even in the face of Claire’s escalating anger. When Griff had taken his wife out of the waiting room to calm down, Raine had taken the opportunity to present herself to the ICU staff as Gardner’s daughter, newly arrived from out of town.

Given the Cabots’ explanation about the manner under which the unit allowed visitation, Ethan had expected her request to see him to be turned down. It hadn’t been. She’d been ushered inside the ICU unit before Griff’s return.

At least Claire had no idea as yet that Raine had been allowed in to see her grandfather. As exhausted and as anxious as she was, that would probably have been the last straw.

“I don’t care how desperate she is,” Griff said. “I won’t have her adding to his family’s stress.”

“Gardner gave us her name. That means there’s some—”

“He provided her name as someone who could help the investigation. Not as his illegitimate daughter.”

“Maybe not, but there’s some bond between them that’s important to them both. After all, he paid for her education. And that’s the only reason she let me in, by the way. Because I told her Gardner was a mutual friend.”

“I’m willing to believe she cares for him. About him,” Griff amended. “The other, however—”

“Mr. Gardner’s daughter? You may come back to the ICU now.”

They turned to find the nurse who’d just made that announcement standing in the door of the waiting room.

“She’s already in the ICU,” Ethan offered.

“The pretty brunette?”

An apt description, Ethan thought. Of course, he’d already admitted his bias in that respect.

“She went in maybe ten minutes ago.”

“But we sent her back out,” the nurse said, coming over to them. “There was a problem with one of the monitors. She was going to come here and wait until it was resolved.”

Automatically Ethan scanned the faces of the people gathered in the room, although he would surely have noticed if she’d returned. Raine was definitely not among them.

“Maybe she decided to wait in the corridor,” he suggested.

“But…I just came that way. There’s no one there.”

“Maybe she left,” Griff said, his voice hard. It was obvious that as far as he was concerned, that would be nothing but good riddance, despite the static state of the Phoenix’s investigation.

“She seemed very anxious to visit her father,” the nurse said, peering around the room as if she thought they might have missed her. “I can’t imagine where she’s gotten off to.”

Uneasiness stirred in Ethan’s stomach. If Raine wasn’t in the waiting room or in the corridor…

“I’ll help you look,” he offered.

“Of course, she could come back during the next regular visitation time,” the nurse said, apparently ready to give up the search as too time consuming in the face of her other duties.

“Not if I can help it,” Griff said under his breath.

“I’m sorry?” The nurse appeared puzzled by the comment.

“There are some…family tensions.”

Ethan doubted Griff would appreciate his explanation, but maybe it would be better if the staff understood that Gardner’s relatives weren’t pleased about sharing the precious few minutes they had to visit him with someone they viewed as an imposter.

“Is there a ladies’ room nearby?” Ethan asked.

“Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? She was upset when the alarm sounded.”

The nurse continued to talk as she led the way back to the waiting room door, Ethan following. He’d leave it to Griff to explain the situation to Claire.

He only hoped the two women hadn’t chosen the same rest room in which to attempt repair to their shattered emotions. When the nurse searched the one nearest the ICU, however, she found it was empty.

“Maybe she decided to go down for coffee,” she said. “If you see her, would you tell her that her father is still the same. And that she was right. The problem was in the machine.”

“I’ll tell her,” Ethan promised.

He watched as the woman walked down the corridor and pressed the button that would give her admittance to the ICU. Standing there alone, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Raine had been determined to see the old man. If her visit had been cut short, then she should have been waiting around here to be readmitted.

Except she wasn’t. Knowing how furious Claire had been about the idea of letting her in to see her grandfather, he didn’t believe Raine would risk the family taking steps to prevent her from doing that again.

Claire’s departure from the waiting room had been her window of opportunity. He couldn’t see her giving it up to go down to the cafeteria for coffee.

And if not, then where the hell was she?

THERE HAD BEEN NO HESITATION in the gunman’s guidance. He was obviously very familiar with the hospital or he had explored this route before he’d come to wait for her outside the ICU.

As she’d followed his directions down the dingy, narrow corridors of a part of the building obviously frequented only by staff and maintenance, Raine had thought they would surely encounter someone. If they did, she planned to try to signal to them that she needed help.

The only people they’d passed, however, had been a couple of nurses, who hurried by them with their eyes downcast. Tellingly, they had both been carrying purses.

Coming in to work from the parking deck? If so, that must where her captor was taking her.

If this were like the parking facilities of most hospitals, it would be filled with cars and people at this time of day. He probably wouldn’t be willing to use the gun out there among them. That wasn’t a given, of course, but she thought a more likely scenario was that he would put her into whatever vehicle he’d driven here and take her with him.

The crucial questions were why he wanted to do that and where he intended to take her—neither of which she could answer. She couldn’t begin to speculate on what this abduction might be about—other than the Phoenix’s investigation, which also seemed to have precipitated the attack on her father.

Someone obviously believed the two of them knew something about the organization Ethan Snow had mentioned. Maybe her father did, but if so, why hadn’t he given that information to Ethan and Cabot when he had the chance?

As for her, she knew nothing about The Covenant. She couldn’t remember hearing the name before Ethan had mentioned it in her living room last night.

“To the left,” the man behind her directed.

His hold on her arm hadn’t loosened, nor had the muzzle of the weapon he held shifted. As they walked, she could feel it rubbing against her spine.

“Punch the up button,” he instructed as they approached a bank of three elevators.

As soon as they were in front of the doors of the first, she obeyed, reaching out to push the ascending arrow. The sign on the wall listed a color match for each parking level, four of which were above the floor they were on.

This might be her last chance, Raine realized, especially if he had parked on the top level, which in any deck was apt to be sparsely populated. The last opportunity to effect an escape before he got her alone.

If there’s someone inside when the doors open—

Two chimes signaled the near-simultaneous arrival of two separate cars. Still without any clear-cut plan, she tensed, preparing to take whatever opportunity presented itself.

Would he shoot me in cold blood with a witness present?

Her sense from the first had been that he would. Certainly if he was pushed.

If she was right about that, as soon as he got her into a deserted area, then he would kill her. But if he’d been instructed to take her somewhere instead of killing her here—

The doors of the elevator in front of her, as well as the ones on the one beside it, began to slide open. She took a breath, afraid that if she did anything more to prepare, she would communicate her intent to him.

The opening doors revealed an elderly woman and a man in a wheelchair. The man looked frail, but the woman was tall and raw-boned. Her white uniform seemed to indicate she was the man’s caregiver rather than a relative.

“Excuse us, please,” the woman said cheerily as she began to maneuver the chair out of the elevator.

Raine and her captor were standing so close it would be difficult for the caregiver to get the chair out around them. Despite that, the man behind Raine made no move to step aside, perhaps fearful that in doing so, he might reveal his weapon.

“Watch your toes, dear,” the woman warned as she attempted to roll her charge by them.

Taking advantage of the situation, Raine pretended she was forced to take a step to the side in order to get out of the way of the wheelchair. The move caught her captor by surprise, and the hold on her elbow loosened fractionally.

When it did, she jerked her arm forward as hard as she could. Incredibly, it slipped out of the man’s grasp.

She sprinted to the next elevator, whose doors, with perfect timing, began to close as soon as she ran between them. That didn’t prevent her from pressing the close-door button when she’d located it.

Outside there was an ungodly commotion. It sounded as if, in pursuing her, her captor had somehow become entangled with the wheelchair, maybe upsetting it. The female aide was shrieking something unintelligible. The man with the gun shouted an obscenity just as the elevator doors slid together.

Heart racing, her breath coming in audible gasps, Raine tried to think what she should do next. If she were right about her captor having deliberately parked at the top of the parking deck…

Frantically she punched the button for the floor below it. Her eyes watched the elevator’s climb while she prayed she’d been in time. A soft ping gave the answer to that plea.

As soon as the doors opened, she stepped out and began running full-out down a corridor that looked very much like the one she’d just left. She needed to find another set of elevators or figure out how to get back into the main section of the hospital as quickly as she could.

Once she’d done that, she would think about what came next. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go back to the ICU, since that’s where the man with the gun had been waiting for her.

And in all probability, it was where he would begin his search for her this time. If he were brazen enough to try to take her again.

Of course, the ICU area was also where Ethan Snow was. Despite the fact that he was little more than a stranger, her inclination was to find him as quickly as she could.

He was the ex-CIA agent. He was also the one who had gotten her into this. And beside that, he was—

The sound of a chime from the other end of the corridor put a halt to her list of Ethan Snow’s crimes and attributes. The chances that the occupant of that arriving elevator was her captor were remote. Unless…

She tried to picture the elevator bank where she’d pulled off her escape. Had the floors where the elevators stopped been shown above each car? If so, it was possible he’d tracked her by simply watching those numbers flash by until the elevator had stopped on this particular floor.

The spurt of adrenaline produced by that realization pushed her to increase her speed. Breathless, she finally rounded a corner to see a small offset with a double bank of elevators.

She rushed into the center of it, pushing the up and down arrows on both sides repeatedly. Rationally she knew that wouldn’t make them arrive any quicker, but she felt she had so little control over what was happening that doing something—even if it were pointless—seemed to help.

The first car to arrive was going down. And it was empty. As she stepped in and pushed the close-door button, she heard what sounded like someone running down the corridor she’d just traversed.

The footsteps were heavy. A man’s hard-soled shoes, slamming against the polished tile with each step.

When the elevator doors closed, she leaned, weak and panting, against the cool metal wall before she realized she hadn’t made a floor selection. She straightened, looking at the control panel. The only lighted indicator was for the first floor. If she didn’t do something soon—

The chime and a soft bump indicated it was too late to change her destination. An upward glance at the numbers above the doors confirmed she had already arrived on the main floor.

Maybe that would be an advantage, she told herself. More people. More protection. Security guards.

The doors opened to reveal none of those things. She was in another offset hallway, the corridor that fronted it as deserted as had been the one she’d just left.

Except for the sound of those running footsteps, she amended.

She shot a look above the elevator she’d just exited, which confirmed her worst fears. The numbers of all the floors were displayed, the L, for lobby, now brightly lit.

He would have been able to follow her from floor to floor, so the footsteps she’d heard had undoubtedly been his. Which meant there wasn’t a moment to lose. As soon as he could get an elevator, he’d follow her down here, too.

She ran out into the corridor and turned right without taking time to look at the signs on the wall. Her most immediate need was to get away from the elevators. As far away from them as she could before he arrived.

Despite the rather obvious fact that this wasn’t a major hallway of the hospital, she passed far more people than she had since she’d made her escape. Not enough to constitute a crowd. Certainly not enough to hide among.

Several stopped and gaped as she ran by. Belatedly she realized that calling attention to herself like this meant that any of them would be able to describe her to her pursuer and tell him exactly which direction she’d been heading.

She slowed to a walk, at the same time trying to ease her ragged breathing. Trying desperately now to blend in with the other visitors.

Suddenly the corridor she’d been following came to an abrupt end. Her two choices were clearly communicated by the arrows on the wall. The one that pointed to the left said Main Lobby. The other indicated that it led to the financial and administrative offices. And the cafeteria.

She hesitated, weighing the advantages and disadvantages of entering either of the most public areas of the hospital. Could they possibly have someone watching the main entrances and exits in case she managed to escape from the man with the gun?

If so, she’d be better off following the arrow that led to the business offices. There would be plenty of exits there. Fire doors if nothing else. And at this point she wasn’t averse to setting off some alarms.

She adjusted the strap of her purse more securely over her shoulder, taking a quick look behind her. The man who’d held a gun to her back wasn’t behind her. Not yet at least.

She turned in the direction leading away from the lobby, walking purposefully down the cross corridor. There were a comforting number of people, most of them probably headed to the cafeteria. The smell of food was tantalizingly close, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.

She walked past the line of patrons waiting to go in, careful to keep her face turned away from the glass-enclosed serving area. Beyond the relatively crowded entrance lay a broad hall, whose tile floor gleamed empty and inviting.

Business offices. Administration and finance. All she had to do now was to find an outside door—

Just as she congratulated herself on having successfully evaded her pursuer, a masculine hand closed painfully tight around her elbow.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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