Читать книгу Mountain Retreat - Cassie Miles, Cassie Miles - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Propped up against several pillows, Sidney wakened slowly, cautiously. She peered through heavy-lidded eyes at a dimly lit bedroom with pine furniture. Where am I? Her legs stretched out straight in front of her on a king-size bed with a dark blue comforter. Not my bed.

Wiggling her butt to get comfortable, she winced at the sharp pain from her left arm. I was wounded.

Her memory began to kick in. She heard the echo of an ambulance siren. She remembered being moved into the backseat of a car, looking out the window. And there had been horses and open fields and moonlight. And Nick, she’d been with Nick.

“Not possible,” she whispered. Her throat was dry and scratchy. Her tongue felt swollen. She couldn’t have been with Nick because he was in Tiquanna.

Carefully, she turned on her side so her arm wouldn’t rub against anything. Nick wasn’t here, and she had to accept that fact. All the denial in the world wouldn’t make a difference. She closed her eyes. If the only way she could see him was in her dreams, she wanted to sleep forever.

In her mind, she sorted through her memories as though picking from a jewelry box to choose the shiniest bauble. She selected the day they’d met at the mountain cabin that her friend and colleague, Marissa Hughes, and her new husband had purchased in the mountains outside Deckers in Colorado.

A year and a half ago, it was the summer solstice, June 21, when magic was in the air and young maidens performed candle rituals to see the faces of the men who would be their lovers. Though Sidney didn’t believe in all that mystical stuff, her heart leaped when she was introduced to Nick Corelli, and she went all gooey inside when she gazed into his golden eyes. He shook her hand; the connection between them was palpable. They were meant to be together.

Eight other people had been staying at Marissa’s cabin over the weekend. Sidney could recite all their names and could report on what they were wearing and what they had for lunch, but her attention focused on Nick. They paired up, and she found herself talking more to him than she did with others. She was positively chatty, which was very unlike her. She tended to be quiet and reserved and a little bit shy. An only child, she grew up mostly in the company of her parents, who were both scientists. Sidney had learned from an early age to amuse herself.

Nick invaded her quiet world with his gentle baritone, his laughter and his intelligence. Of course, she appreciated his physically imposing presence. No red-blooded female could ignore those muscular shoulders and tree-trunk thighs. His torso was lean and well-built and begging to be stroked. But she was also attracted to his mind.

Not only did he listen to her, but he actually seemed to care about what she was saying. Her engineering work was too technical to discuss with people who weren’t in the field, and she’d expanded her interests into studies of the lands her firm chose for development, learning the history of the people who lived there and the geological development of these unique places.

During that first afternoon when she and Nick were getting to know each other, the group went tubing. In big rubber inner tubes, they bobbed along a stretch of the North Fork of the South Platte River. The summer sun baked her bare arms and legs while the sparkling, cool water refreshed her senses.

Such a shiny, perfect memory! This brilliant day was meant to be treasured forever.

Lying in the grass beside the river, she and Nick talked about the rock formations and glacial shifts and volcanic activity. Her memory replayed parts of their conversation. She could accurately recall every word, but his nearness distracted her. For long, blissful moments, her overactive brain shut down as she admired this tall man with his easygoing charm. His life experiences intrigued her. Being in the military, he’d seen much of the world.

That night, the group had built a campfire to celebrate the solstice—a night for lovers. At midnight, she and Nick had kissed for the first time.

That kiss, that perfect kiss.

She jolted awake and struggled to sit up on the unfamiliar bed. Her memory filled in the events of what had happened to her in the past few hours.

She’d been at the CIA office, and Nick was there. He was safe. But he was different. And when they kissed, it wasn’t the same. A decent enough kiss, that was for sure, but it wasn’t earth-shattering. She had to know why. She had to save the precious connection with the man she loved.

Throwing off the comforter, she swung her legs off the side of the bed. Sitting up, she was overcome by vertigo and had to lie back down.

They were at a safe house, a ranch outside Austin, being protected by the CIA. Shortly after they arrived, she had been seen by a doctor who stitched up the wound on her arm and gave her meds for the pain. No doubt, the sedatives were making her woozy.

But she couldn’t relax, not while Nick was back and she was unable to comprehend what was happening. She had to regain control.

Struggling, she forced herself to sit up again and waited until the room stopped spinning. Though the curtains were drawn, enough moonlight spilled around the edges of the window that she could see a dresser with a mirror, an overstuffed chair and a bedside table. A digital clock showed the time: 2:37. On a typical Friday night, her shift at the saloon would have ended. She’d be off work and on her way home. Would those intruders have been waiting for her?

If Nick hadn’t been there to shove her out of the way, she would have walked into a blast of gunfire. Or not. If she’d been alone, they wouldn’t have needed guns to subdue her. She could have been taken hostage.

Leaning forward, she balanced on the soles of her bare feet. Her toes were cold. As soon as she shed the comforter, she shivered. All she was wearing was an oversize T-shirt that hung halfway to her knees. The white bandage on her upper arm gleamed in the moonlight.

She practiced taking one step forward and one step back, not wanting to be far away from the bed in case her knees buckled. As she straightened her shoulders, pain from her wound radiated across the upper half of her body. Fighting it, she clenched her jaw.

Her mouth was parched. She reached for a half-full water glass on the bedside table and wetted her lips. The liquid revived her. She drank it all, set down the glass and cleared her throat. Better, she felt better.

Calling out for help was one option, but she didn’t want to be seen as helpless. As an engineer, she worked mostly with men, and she knew they tended to see women as the weaker gender, easily pacified and disregarded. Not this time. Maybe she wasn’t as fierce as a lioness, but she meant to be taken seriously.

At the lower edge of her bedroom door, she saw an outline of light. Outside this room, other people were awake and probably making plans. She would join them and become part of the team.

Easier said than done. Obviously, she had to change clothes. Stumbling into a cabal of intelligence agents in her oversize T-shirt and bare feet wouldn’t gain her any respect. She shuffled to the closet and opened the door. The total darkness inside the closet dissipated when she flipped a light switch at the edge of the door frame. Smart move, Sidney. Turning on the bedroom lights should have been step number one.

With the overhead light on, she searched for something to wear. After fumbling around, she managed to get dressed in a flannel shirt, baggy sweatpants and moccasins that were a couple of sizes too big. Not exactly what she’d choose to confront the precisely groomed Agent Victoria Hawthorne, but this makeshift outfit would have to do.

She opened the bedroom door. To her left was a long hallway with rooms on one side and a carved, wooden balustrade on the other. Below her, on the first floor, was a vast, open room with a two-story moss rock fireplace. Standing at the banister, she looked down into a living room and a dining area where several people sat around a table.

Nick was there.

Her fingers tightened on the polished wood of the banister rail as she looked down at the back of his head. He still wore the trousers from his gray suit but had shed the jacket. His white shirt was rolled up to his elbows, displaying powerful forearms and wrists.

The muscular lieutenant from Marine Intelligence sat beside Nick. Across the table was Agent Phillips. He sat with his elbows on the tabletop and his chin propped on his fist. The poor guy looked exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open. Agent Hawthorne sat at the head of the table, of course.

From this angle, Sidney viewed Hawthorne in profile. Not a hair in her sleek brunette bun was out of place. On the table in front of her were folders and electronic equipment. Her tone was calm, and Sidney strained to hear what she was saying. It sounded like a recap of tonight’s incidents.

At one point, Hawthorne reached over and patted Nick’s arm. Her slender white fingers contrasted with his olive skin and the soft black hair on his forearm. The mere fact that another woman was touching him gave Sidney a pang of jealousy, and she was glad when he jerked away from her.

“In conclusion,” Hawthorne said, “I assure you gentlemen that we will uncover the source of this information leak. I will need full cooperation from each of your services.”

The marine officer shook his head. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll take care of it.”

“I prefer conducting my own interrogations.”

“Not going to happen, ma’am. I have to protect the identities of my undercover operatives.”

“We’ll see,” she said. “None of us like to think we have a traitor, but how else would information about Nick be made available?”

“What’s done is done,” Nick said. “I’m more concerned about what happens next.”

“We proceed as planned,” Hawthorne said. “Three days from now, on Monday, we transfer you into the hotel where Hurtado and the others are staying. You will have private talks and interviews with the oil companies, politicians and investors. At the banquet, you will praise the little dictator. Then, you’re done.”

“Seems like a lot of fuss for public relations,” he said with some bitterness. “Tell me again why this is useful.”

Sidney wanted to know the answer to that question, too. It might be better for her to stay out of sight and listen while they talked. She ducked behind the carved, polished wooden spokes holding up the banister rail.

“How many times do I have to say this?” Hawthorne abruptly rose from her chair and pressed her hand across her forehead as though physically holding back a migraine. “It’s in the best interest of the US to keep Hurtado in power, and the Tiquanna rebels are garnering sympathy. It’s your job to make Tomas Hurtado look like a hero.”

“So the oil development firms will choose to do business with him,” Nick concluded her speech.

“It’s no big deal,” she snapped. “All you have to do is put on your uniform, flash your charming smile and tell everyone about being rescued by Hurtado.”

Those were stories Sidney wanted to hear. While Nick was gone, she’d imagined him suffering a horrible fate and then tried to convince herself that he was off at a picnic in the Tiquanna jungle. After he told her the real version, she might be able to let go of the tears she’d wept and the pain she’d imagined.

She sat cross-legged on the floor and peered down from the balcony. They wouldn’t see her unless they were really looking, but she had a clear view of the table. Her simple surveillance was kind of ironic, considering they were spies.

“You’re not telling me the whole story,” Nick said.

“Of course, I am.”

“If it’s no big deal, why did the rebels come after me tonight with guns blazing? I deserve a real answer. My fiancée is lying in a bed upstairs with a gunshot wound.”

When he gestured toward the balcony, their heads turned in her direction and she pulled back into the shadows.

Agent Hawthorne slapped her palms on the table and thrust her face toward him. In profile, her nose was as long and sharp as a ferret’s. Her lips drew back from her teeth.

“I was going to ask you the same question,” she said. “Is there something you haven’t told us? Some bit of information you haven’t seen fit to share?”

“My debriefings are complete. I gave you pages of intel on the rebel camps, on where they’re getting their weapons and how their operation is run.”

“How do you know it was the rebels who attacked tonight?”

Nick rose slowly from his chair and towered over her. “You tell me, Hawthorne. How did they know about Sidney?”

“A leak,” she said.

“Could be something else,” Phillips said. “They could have had Sidney under surveillance at the saloon.”

Eager to get away from Nick’s scrutiny, Hawthorne turned on him. “Why would they do that?”

“We haven’t kept it a secret that Nick is here in town. He’s part of the schedule for the Tiquanna meeting. The rebels might have figured that he’d contact his fiancée. And when she left work in the company of two official-looking guys, they’d draw the obvious conclusion.”

Sidney nodded. Though she hated to think of being watched by rebel thugs, Phillips’s explanation made logical sense. She wished that he was in charge of this operation instead of Hawthorne.

The thin female agent returned to her seat at the head of the table. “I knew it was a mistake to pick her up tonight.”

“She would have found out that I was at the meetings with Hurtado,” Nick said, “and there would have been hell to pay.”

Phillips drawled, “Y’all wouldn’t want to make Miss Sidney angry.”

“Oh? Why not?” Hawthorne said.

Nick chuckled. Sidney couldn’t see his face, but she knew he was grinning as he said, “My fiancée was planning a coup on the government of Tiquanna. You’d be wise not to underestimate my woman.”

“Let’s talk about another woman, shall we? I’d like to hear more about your relationship with Elena Hurtado.”

Sidney vividly remembered Elena. An exotic, raven-haired beauty, she played the role of South American bombshell to perfection. Elena was a woman who deservedly inspired envy. If Nick had a relationship with her, Sidney wanted to know.

Not wanting to miss a word, she leaned forward. Her forehead bumped against the spokes holding up the railing. Just a quiet, little thump. But it was enough to draw the attention of the military guy and Phillips.

She was discovered. There was nothing she could do but stand up. Trying to ignore the pain in her arm, she pasted a smile on her face and shuffled along the balcony toward the staircase in her oversize moccasins.