Page 21

Sitting alone in her hotel room, Maggie Delaine stared at the silent telephone.

For the fourth time in the last half hour, she reached for it.

This time she lifted the receiver, gripping it a little too hard.

She made the call methodically, as if it were nothing more than business.

After going through the director’s private secretary and the live-in nurse, her boss, Evelyn Rothwell, came on the line.

“Maggie, it’s good to hear from you.”

They exchanged the usual pleasantries, Evelyn assuring Maggie that she was recovering better than expected, Maggie filling her in on team business.

“I’m sorry to bother you at home, Evelyn,”

she said, working to keep her tone nonchalant, “but the press has been all over me.

They want to do an article about Jake Sullivan.

They want to approach it from a whole new angle.

Since Jake’s so tough to interview, they’ve asked me to help. I thought you might give me some background, something I don’t already know.”

Evelyn chuckled.

“You know how Jake is.

He hates for anyone to interfere in his private life.”

“I know, Evelyn, but surely there’s something you can give me.

How about his early years, where he was born, something about his family, that sort of thing?”

“That’s the last thing Jake would want to see in print.”

“Why is that?”

“Surely you know he’s from Hungary.”

“I know his father was Hungarian.

I assumed Jake was born in the States.”

“I’m sorry, Maggie, I thought you knew.

All the members of the selection committee were informed of Jake’s background before his appointment.

Since you came onboard later, I guess it was an oversight.

Jake was born in the Soviet Union. His real name is Janus Straka. He defected to this country during the 1960 Olympics in Rome. Maybe you remember reading about it.”

“No,”

Maggie whispered, fighting for control.

“I would have been pretty young.

I guess I was more interested in boys than current affairs.”

“He was only nineteen at the time.

Jake—I mean Janus—was a top competitor.

He had a strong chance of winning the gold medal that year.

After he came to this country, he wanted to stay out of the limelight so he changed his name and started a new life.”

Evelyn chuckled.

“Jake wouldn’t be happy to find that story in print.”

Maggie could barely speak.

Why hadn’t he told her? “No, of course not.

Thank you, Evelyn.

I’ll think of something.”

“Keep me posted, will you? It’s a definite pain the neck being laid up like this.

I’m itching to get back to work.”

“Just get well.

I’ll stay in touch.”

Maggie hung up the phone, her mind racing.

Jake’s problems were even more serious than she’d imagined, and she’d imagined the worst.

What did the Soviets want with Jake?

He’d been gone from their country for...? Twenty- eight years, she calculated.

She tried to tell herself it was just a coincidence, but she knew in her heart it wasn’t.

She checked her watch.

It was one o’clock in the afternoon.

Jake would probably have gone on to Hickstead as Maggie planned to do as soon as she checked out of the hotel.

She’d promised not to talk to him, but the stakes were just too high. She’d be careful, but she had to know the truth.

Jake owed it to both of them.

I shouldn’t have left her like that, Clay thought for the ten thousandth time.

I should have kicked the fucking door down if I had to.

He knew why he hadn’t.

Because when he’d seen her standing in the doorway, looking so utterly betrayed, she’d aroused feelings so foreign to him—so completely overwhelming—he just couldn’t deal with them.

He’d wanted to go to her, explain that Adrianna had kissed him, not the other way around.

He’d wanted to tell her he didn’t even want to go with the contessa and his father.

But his dad expected it, and Clay hadn’t wanted to disappoint him.

What about Ellie? How much did you disappoint her? It didn’t matter, he argued with himself.

It would have happened sooner or later.

She didn’t fit into his lifestyle.

He couldn’t afford to get any more involved with her than he was already.

“Why don’t you take a little toot and join the party?”

His father’s voice broke into Clay’s thoughts.

“We’ll be landing in Monaco in just a few minutes.”

Clay shook his head and leaned back against the leather sofa that ran along one wall of the Whitfield Corporation’s plush Gulfstream III.

“No thanks, I’m in training.”

The jet was custom designed, with a thirty-foot cabin and a bedroom in the rear, all in shades of burgundy and gray.

“You aren’t thinking about that little redhead you left behind, are you? She’s the last woman you need to get involved with.

Don’t delude yourself, boy.

You’ll never be a one-woman man.

You’re too much like your father.”

He flashed Clay his I’m-proud-of-you-son grin.

“Come on,”

Avery coaxed, sprinkling more of the white powder onto the mirror on the chrome coffee table in front of the sofa.

With a razor blade, he carefully minced any lumps, then straightened the powder into rows.

“You’re too uptight.

It’ll do you good to forget your troubles for a while.”

His father rarely pressed him on the issue of drugs.

It was one Clay felt strongly about.

Booze and women were usually enough of a high for Clay, but he couldn’t even feel the Glenfiddish he’d been guzzling.

Apparently, his black mood was obvious to his father, who seemed determined to end it.

“Come on, son,”

he coaxed.

Clay smiled grimly.

“Why the hell not?”

he said.

“You only live once.”

“Good boy!”

Avery clapped him on the back and Adrianna ran her hand along the inside of his thigh.

Clay accepted the rolled up hundred-dollar bill from his father, covered one nostril, leaned forward and inhaled a single white line.

He did the same with the other nostril, then passed the bill to Adrianna.

“That’s my darling,”

she cooed and nibbled the side of his neck.

Clay could barely feel it.

He felt warm from the drugs and best of all, numb, exactly what he wanted.

“Clay, honey,”

a second female voice put in.

“You aren’t ignoring me, are you?”

It was Gina Pavetti, Adrianna’s niece, a younger version of her attractive aunt.

Gina had the same flawless olive complexion and thick-lashed, black eyes.

The last time Clay had seen her, she’d just turned sixteen.

“How could any red-blooded man ignore you, Gina?”

Clay hadn’t forgotten the way the girl had come into his room in the middle of the night and climbed naked into bed with him.

Clay had smacked her bottom and sent her packing.

He looked at her now, a grown woman whose sexual appetites appeared to have blossomed along with the rest of her.

She scooted up beside him and slid her arms around his neck.

“Isn’t this better?”

Her black hair touched his cheek as she dipped her head and kissed him.

Her lips felt soft and warm, but he thought of another pair, lush and smiling, and eyes so trusting he felt a crushing weight on his chest.

His father passed him the rolled-up bill, and Clay lowered his head to the beckoning white powder.

The pilot announced their imminent arrival in Nice, and they all fastened their seat belts.

Though the cocaine had numbed him, Clay rested his head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes, hoping to block his thoughts.

He didn’t stir until the plane touched down and taxied to the executive terminal.

Every summer the Contessa Pavetti rented a villa on either the French or Italian Riviera.

This summer the sprawling mansion she had chosen overlooked the blue waters of Monaco.

Clay’s room was huge and elegant: ceilings with painted frescos, marble floors, a massive four-poster draped with expensive velvet tapestries, a marble bath with golden cherub fixtures.

The valet had unpacked for him.

Clay had come to the room to change into his swimsuit for a few hours out by the pool.

He threw off his clothes and pulled on his suit.

He’d been drinking steadily, and the cocaine was doing its insidious best to keep his mind in a state of numbness.

Grabbing a towel, he returned poolside to find his father, Adrianna, and Gina splashing gaily, stark naked in the water.

“Come on, Clay,”

Gina pouted.

“Don’t be a spoil sport.

Take off your suit and join us.

The water feels wonderful.”

Clay looked at the lush curves of her body.

She was built more voluptuously than her aunt, an almost Grecian appearance.

Her sexuality seemed in character with those overindulgent times.

It was what he had come here for, wasn’t it? He pulled off his suit and dove into the pool.

Gina was beside him the instant his head broke the water.

Giggling, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for years,”

she teased, kissing the corner of his mouth.

Clay looked down at the sculpted lines of her face.

Water beaded on the swells of her breasts, the tips just cresting the surface.

“I should have whacked you harder,”

he said, only half teasing.

“Anytime, lover, a little pain just enhances the pleasure.”

She giggled, one hand traveling down his body, determined to arouse him.

Clay felt strangely unmoved.

He pulled her arm from around his neck and dove beneath the water.

Craving the exertion, he swam several laps, trying to understand why none of this appealed to him as it had in the past.

“Let’s go inside,”

Adrianna suggested after they’d all climbed out of the pool.

“I think I’ll stay out here and catch some sun,”

Clay said.

“Come on, Clay, you’ve been drag-assing all day.”

Impatience was back in Avery’s voice.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“I guess I’m just worried about the competition,”

he lied.

“I hate to break training.”

“That’s a lot of horseshit.

The contessa’s been planning this for weeks.

We can’t disappoint her, can we?”

There was no mistaking his father’s annoyance.

“Come on inside, we’ll have a little more blow, party, and then relax.”

The tight expression Avery wore was one Clay had hated since childhood.

One of disapproval and disappointment.

Avery Whitfield’s son was supposed to be the consummate ladies’ man.

Clay was letting him down.

“All right, let’s go,”

he said.

No one bothered with towels, just walked naked into the salon.

Avery mixed drinks and handed them around, then picked up the tiny vial that rested on the bar and tapped out eight more lines of cocaine.

Everyone took a turn.

Finishing last, Clay glanced across the room to see Adrianna on her knees in front of his father, gearing up for a round of oral sex.

Gina slid to the floor in front of Clay.

“Relax and enjoy, son,”

Avery called out.

“You deserve it.”

Clay had been with dozens of women, but always in private.

He’d never been into group sex, which seemed even more debauched when one of the participants was his father.

Seeing Gina on the floor in front of him, Clay caught Avery’s smile of approval.

Instead of desire, Clay felt a surge of fury and a knot of disgust in the pit of his stomach.

He grabbed Gina and pulled her to her feet, grabbed a condom and dragged her behind him into the bedroom.

“You want to play games, we’ll play games,”

he growled.

Hard from the drugs, he tossed her on the bed, covered her and drove deep, giving no thought to her pleasure, pounding into her until he reached a climax.

Gina came, too.

Clay rolled away and rose to his feet, saw Gina’s satisfied smile.

Clearly, she had enjoyed herself, and the knowledge filled him with even more self-disgust.

Regret overwhelmed him.

As he stalked out of the drawing room, he felt sick inside.

Sick and dead.

And so empty he wondered if he’d ever be able to feel anything again.

In his room, he showered, spent extra time scrubbing his skin until it turned an angry red, trying to remove the feeling of self-loathing.

How could he have done it? How could he have let his father goad him into doing something he hated himself for? Something he couldn’t forget or forgive.

How could he have betrayed Ellie’s trust so vilely?

He remembered the look on her face as she stood in the doorway, watching him with Adrianna.

At the time, he hadn’t deserved that look.

Now he did.

No one was around when he reached the bottom of the marble staircase.

Carrying an overnight bag, he headed straight for the servant’s quarters in the rear.

“I need you to take me somewhere,”

he told the chauffeur.

A few minutes later, the driver brought the limo around to the front of the house.

Clay got in and the car pulled away.

There was a small chateau in the hills above Nice called St.

Martin.

There were only twenty guest rooms, but the owner was a friend, and he always found a place for Clay.

This time, Jean Paul put him up in one of the small, private villas that surrounded the main chateau.

The wizened little Frenchman spoke to him only briefly, just led him to his rooms away from the rest of the house and left him alone.

Clay wondered if the grief he felt inside was evident on his face.

As soon as she arrived in the village of Hickstead, Maggie checked into the Crown and Rose Hotel.

She had been waiting for Jake to arrive all afternoon.

The moment she spotted his rental car pulling into the parking lot, Maggie hurried down to the lobby.

“I need to speak to you, Jake.”

He stopped as she approached, worry lines digging into his forehead.

“What’s happened? Are you alright?”

“Nothing’s happened.

I’m fine, but we need to talk.”

“I told you we couldn’t do that, Maggie.

You promised me.”

“I know, but I can’t keep that promise any longer.

I spoke to Evelyn today.

I asked her to fill me in on your background.”

Jake’s expression grew grim.

He took her arm and led her over to the sofa in the hotel lobby.

Several tourists, cameras hanging from their shoulders and laughter in their voices, walked past, heading for the dining room.

“Dammit, Maggie, you’ve got to stay out of this,”

Jake hissed.

“You’re putting your life in danger.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Jake?”

Piercing blue eyes bored into her.

He sighed.

“I was planning to.

I just wanted the time to be right. I wanted to tell you about my past, then I was going to ask you to marry me.”

“Oh, Jake.”

Maggie touched his face.

His skin was warm, but the muscles were taut over his cheekbones.

Jake pulled her hand away and glanced around to be sure no one was watching.

“Go back to your room, Maggie.

Stay away from me until this is over.”

“No.

I want to know what’s going on.”

“Dammit, Maggie.”

“I want to know, Jake.”

“All right.

I’ll meet you tonight.

There’s a little pub just north of here called Geoffrey’s.

I’ll be there at ten o’clock. And for God’s sake be careful no one follows you.”

Maggie nodded.

With a last glance at Jake, she stood up and headed for the door.

At nine thirty that night, Maggie left her room, hailed a cab, had the driver haul her around for fifteen minutes, then let her off four blocks from Geoffrey’s Tavern.

Inside the smoky, low-ceilinged pub, she spotted Jake sitting in the far corner, his back against the wall.

A fan drifted in lazy circles above his head and smoke hung in dense blue patches over the nearby tables.

The patrons looked like locales.

None wore the weary smile or the I-don’t-dare-miss-anything look of a tourist.

Jake glanced furtively around the tap room, then fixed his gaze on Maggie.

A corner of his mouth curved up in what seemed an appreciative smile, and Maggie’s heart beat faster.

She’d missed him so much these past few days.

He looked so handsome and dear it was all she could do to keep from rushing into his arms.

Instead, she continued at a steady pace across the room until she reached his side.

“Hello, Jake.”

Jake stood and pulled out her chair.

“Hello, Maggie.”

She let him help her with her lightweight coat.

“But then your real name is Janus, isn’t it?”

The words sounded harsher than she had intended.

He should have told her long ago.

He should have trusted her.

“I haven’t been Janus Straka for twenty-eight years,”

Jake said.

“Not since the day I arrived in America.”

They both sat down.

Jake took her hand, leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

Maggie forced herself to ignore the warmth of his touch, determined Jake wouldn’t charm her out of the answers she deserved.

“What do they want with you, Jake?”

“Maggie, I agreed to meet you because I love you and because I owe it to you.

But I don’t want you involved in this.

Whatever it is—and I don’t really know myself—it’s something that’s dangerous to you and Sarah.

Let’s enjoy our time together. Then you’ve got to go back to the hotel. You’ve got to stay out of this. If you won’t think of yourself, think of Sarah.”

“Sarah loves you as much as I do.

She would want to help you and so do I.

I won’t stand by and watch you get hurt.

You’ve got to tell me what’s going on.”

Jake leaned back in his chair.

He studied her face, taking in the tiny furrows at the corners of her eyes, the dark smudges that noted her worry.

She wasn’t a woman who took no for an answer.

It was one of the things he admired about her. She deserved to know the truth.

“As I said, they haven’t told me what they’re after, but whatever it is, they’ll do anything to get it.

They’ve threatened my mother and sister, Maggie.

If they find out about you, they’ll use you against me, too.

Your life and Sarah’s could also be in danger.”

A waiter arrived, a youth about eighteen.

“Take your order, sir?”

“We just want coffee,”

Jake said.

The boy brought it quickly, then busied himself with other patrons.

A burst of raucous laughter rose in one corner and died away.

“Does anyone else know what’s going on?”

Maggie asked.

“An old friend of mine in the CIA.

A man named Daniel Gage.

He helped me when I first came to America.

He’s doing everything he can to find out.”

Maggie’s shoulders relaxed.

“Thank God.

I was afraid you hadn’t told anyone.”

“I haven’t told him everything.

I haven’t told him about the attack on Ellie or the incident on the plane.”

“Why not?”

“Because the government has to be concerned about the safety of the team.

They’ll step in.

The Soviets will know I’ve told them, and my mother and sister will suffer the consequences.”

Jake reached over and caught her trembling hand.

“Maggie, I’ve got to ride this out.

I’ve got to find out what they want.”

“How much longer do you think before they tell you?”

“Not long.

Whatever they’re planning has something to do with the Olympics.

Or possibly this European tour.

It won’t be long now.”

“Oh, Jake, I’m so frightened for you.”

“We’ve got to stay strong, Maggie.

We’ve got to hope Daniel can find a way to stop them.”

Maggie nodded and blinked back tears.

More pain, Jake thought.

All I’ve ever brought her is pain.

Maggie absently stirred her coffee, which had to be cold by now.

He could see how worried she was.

“You’d better go back,”

he said.

“Before someone sees us together.”

“I don’t want to go back.

Isn’t there someplace we’d be safe? Someplace we could go?”

Jake hesitated.

The loneliness in her eyes matched the ache in his heart.

He wasn’t sure how many more chances they’d have to be together.

“There’s a small hotel just down the street.

If we’re lucky, maybe they’ll have a room.”

Maggie smiled so brightly his chest clamped down.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Leaving money for the coffee, Jake grabbed her coat and settled it across her shoulders, then guided her toward the door.

It felt good just to be close to her.

Outside the tavern, the streets were wet, reflecting the lights of passing cars.

The damp seemed to sink into his bones.

Jake guided Maggie down the sidewalk to the hotel, and she waited in the tiny hotel lobby while he signed the registry Mrs.

and Mrs. Stevens.

The minute the door to their small upstairs room closed behind them, she turned into his arms, and he felt the coldness of her cheek against his.

“I love you so damned much,”

he whispered.

“I can’t stand to think of losing you again.”

“Jake....”

Maggie kissed him with such yearning his chest clamped down.

He ran his fingers through her silky blond hair and kissed her mouth, her eyes, her nose.

“I love you,”

she whispered.

With trembling hands, they helped each other undress and made love on the lumpy double bed.

It didn’t matter where they were.

They were always so right for each other.

He shouldn’t have brought her here, but he didn’t regret it.

Jake had never regretted a moment he’d spent with Maggie Delaine.