Outlaw Derek Read online

  “Mmmm.” She didn’t even notice when he smoothed the tail of the flannel shirt up to her waist so that only the thin material of the sweatpants separated her flesh from his gentle touch. She was aware only of his soothing hands and the magic of them. “Where did you get the pills?”

  “From my doctor.” He rubbed her hip slowly, very conscious that the back of her thigh pressed warmly against his hip. “I wrenched my shoulder a while back. And you’re supposed to be trying to sleep.”

  She laughed sleepily, completely relaxed now in the darkness. He was a warlock, that’s what he was. “I know. Why are you being so kind to me, Derek? You shouldn’t be kind to me. I’m a lot of trouble.”

  “Are you?” He kept his voice soft, aware that she was almost asleep and hardly knew what she was saying.

  “Oh, yes.” She moved a little under his hands, like a cat shifting lazily to find the sun.

  “How are you trouble?” He moved both hands to her hip, then slid one down over her thigh, his sure, steady touch easing the muscles that were in spasm.

  “Things happen to me,” she said, sighing with contentment as her taut leg relaxed slowly and the ache in her hip faded to a dull throb she hardly felt. “I’m bad luck, just bad luck, always. That money … and then William … and now somebody’s trying to kill me.”

  She had relaxed totally under his touch, and Derek knew she was asleep. He gazed down at her, his hands still massaging gently for long moments until he was sure she was deeply asleep. Then his hands went still—but didn’t leave her.

  She was, he thought, like a beautiful, fragile bird with a badly mended wing. Somebody had once—or many times—told her she could never fly again, and she was completely convinced that it was true. It was in her eyes, her haunted eyes, that she felt she had an open wound that would never heal.

  Derek drew away slowly and rose from the bed, bending to pull the covers up over her. He straightened and stood looking down at her in the gloom, dawn’s light struggling through the curtains. Then he silently and swiftly left the room. In the den, he turned on the television low, intending to see if there were early news reports of the explosion at Shannon’s apartment building. He sat on the couch and lit a cigarette, staring broodingly at the television screen.

  God, he was tired. The situation in Algeria had nearly turned into a fiasco despite his best efforts, and getting out of the country after everything hit the fan hadn’t been fun. Add to that too many long hours in a drafty, noisy cargo plane and a bare four hours’ sleep before Shannon’s predawn arrival at his door, and “exhausted” was merely a mildly descriptive word with little relevance to his condition.

  And that was why, of course. That was why he’d felt so unutterably moved when she had met his gaze in the kitchen, her own big gentle eyes suffering silently. That was why his chest had ached intolerably and something inside it throbbed with a feeling it had never known.

  Oh, yes, he was tired. Tired enough to wonder why certain parts of his body didn’t know about tired. Tired enough that he still felt her body beneath his touch, branded in his mind. Tired enough that he wanted to return to the bedroom and crawl in beside her, hold her, feel her naked against him.

  Derek swore softly. She was lost, alone, in shock and pain, and he wanted to … of course he wanted to. And if he found that Shannon wasn’t alone, that there was a lover in the wings somewhere whom she carefully hadn’t drawn into danger while she had roamed the streets last night, lost and desperately afraid, he would very probably tear the poor bastard limb from limb.

  But she had come to him for help, and that was the important thing, no matter how he felt. Few knew better than he that the situation between them was tailor-made for the right kind of emotions sparked for all the wrong reasons. All her defenses—assuming she had any—were down, splintered around her. And even without the threats against her, Derek was all too aware that she was a fragile woman, a hurt woman.

  And with that wounded spirit threatened by faceless people for enigmatic reasons, she was even more vulnerable, more fragile. She was lost and he was her lifeline; if he moved too quickly, that delicate thread binding them together would snap, and once that happened it could never be repaired.

  He stubbed out his cigarette and sat up straighter, leaning forward to catch the drone of the television as the early news came on and the scene shifted almost immediately to a gutted apartment in a building across town. He watched carefully, listening intently to the reporter’s statement that the fire marshals had found evidence of arson, in fact, of an explosive device. No one had been hurt in the blast and resulting fire, but a tenant was missing. Police were searching for the missing tenant, Shannon Brown, whom they wanted for questioning.

  Derek sat back and glanced at his watch. He wondered how early he could phone the governor.

  TWO

  “YOU’RE SURE SHE’S all right?” William Franklin’s voice had lost the last vestiges of sleep, and he sounded worried as hell.

  “I’m sure. She’s asleep in my bed right now.”

  There was a beat of silence, and then the governor’s voice came over the telephone line more calmly. “I knew you’d look after her if anything happened.”

  “Uh-huh. And you knew something would happen, didn’t you? That’s why you gave her my name. Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Governor?”

  “Stop being so damned formal,” Franklin ordered peevishly. “You’re beginning to sound like a government operative, and heaven knows you never have before.”

  Derek took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. “William, my doorbell rang at four this morning, and I found a very frightened, very vulnerable lady on my doorstep. I’m functioning on about four hours’ sleep, I have a monumental case of jet lag, a pounding headache, and what I suspect is the beginning of a hellish problem. Play games with me, and I’m coming over there to tear your heart out.”

  Franklin chuckled. “Now you sound like yourself.”

  “William.”

  “All right, all right. Just remember this: you take care of that lady. She’s something special.”

  “I caught that. Why’s she special to you?” A blunt question, but Derek was a blunt man.

  Calmly, Franklin said, “Partly because she took a bullet meant for me.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. There was a private party about two years ago for my key campaign workers. Some maniac decided to kill me, and Shannon saw what none of the security people did. She threw herself at me, knocked me down. I didn’t get hit, but she did, in the shoulder.”

  Slowly, Derek said, “There was no publicity.”

  “No.”

  Derek decided not to ask how that had been arranged: as it was, he knew more than he cared to about “political realities.”

  “I see. That’s why you got her a job at Civatech?”

  “One of the reasons. While she was recovering from the wound, Annie and I also grew very fond of her.” Franklin hesitated, then asked, “Have you ever met someone who’d been slapped down so many times they’d learned to expect another slap?”

  “Yes.” Derek cleared his throat. “At four this morning.”

  Franklin sighed. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? That damned limp and some bad luck, and the poor kid’s convinced she’s just taking up valuable space in the world. Sometimes she forgets it all. And then she remembers, and it’s like watching a flower close up.”

  After a moment, Derek said, “So tell me about Civatech.”

  “Not much I can tell you.” Franklin accepted the shift in subject. “Shannon could probably tell you a lot, even more than she realizes she knows. She’s observant and perceptive. All I know is that some of those odd sentences she picked out of a few letters sounded suspiciously like the codes I remember from my Army days. And with a high-security firm like Civatech, I just had to wonder.”

  Derek told him what Shannon had reported to her supervisor about the nonexistent product and the nonexistent company. �
��What do you think?”

  Worried, Franklin said, “Dammit, I don’t know. Some of their products are not exactly nice toys. If a design was scrapped, it was probably because there was something that made it unworkable, uncontrollable, therefore, quite dangerous. If some idiot has built a prototype from a defective design and means to peddle it to the highest bidder—Damn. I can—”

  “No, you stay out of it. If something happens and I think I’ll need your clout, I’ll let you know. Civatech is a private company with a lot of military contracts: we should keep you out of this, if possible. I’ll protect Shannon while I do some checking. I know a few sources.”

  Reluctantly, Franklin said, “If you say so. But keep me advised. And, if something goes wrong, Derek—”

  “If something goes wrong,” Derek said steadily, “I’ll see to it that Shannon gets to you safely.”

  “All right.” The governor’s voice was somber. “Take care. And take care of her.”

  “I will.” Derek cradled the receiver and then ran a hand around the back of his neck. The first thing he had to do, he acknowledged, was to get some sleep, otherwise he wouldn’t be worth the bullet to shoot him. He looked at his watch, calculating that between the pill and her exhaustion Shannon probably would sleep at least six more hours. Trusting that she had indeed lost her pursuer of the night before, he stretched out on the couch and mentally set his internal clock to wake him up.

  Then he went to sleep. All of him did, except the watchful part that never slept.

  Across the street, a tall man who had stood with utter stillness in the shadows of waning night and the chill of a gray dawn straightened as the street became active with the bustle of day. He stepped out of the alley where he had waited so watchfully for several hours and strolled casually across the street, into the lobby of the apartment building that had been the focus of his attention.

  There was a row of mailboxes in one wall, and he stood scanning them intently, his peculiarly colorless eyes coming to rest at last on a single name. One brow lifted and he whistled softly, tonelessly. He reached up to tap a knuckle against the nameplate thoughtfully, then glanced toward the stairs. After a silent debate, not one argument of which showed on his expressionless face, he turned away and retraced his steps.

  He didn’t pause at the alley this time, but moved along briskly, nothing setting him apart from other pedestrians … except that those other early-morning people sent the tall man unconsciously wary glances and instinctively gave him plenty of room on the sidewalk. He didn’t notice or, if he did, found nothing unusual in the reaction.

  He hailed a cab at the end of the block, changing taxis three times before finally reaching his destination. And, even then, he waited across the street, watching the traffic pass for nearly an hour before he strolled over and entered a second apartment building, this one more shabby than the first. He ignored the elevator, taking the stairs and climbing to the third floor, knocking lightly on the door of a corner apartment. It opened for him almost instantly, and he went inside.

  “Well?” she asked tensely.

  “The girl found sanctuary,” he said a bit dryly.

  “What? With who?”

  “Whom,” he murmured.

  She frowned at him, her thin little face angry. “Stop correcting my grammar!” Like him, she had no accent of any kind, but a perceptive observer would have realized that neither of them had spoken English from childhood. “She got away from them? Where did she go?”

  “To our old friend from Prague.”

  She caught her breath, and a flush came and went quickly on her small face. “Him? But he was out of the country, you said—”

  “It appears he has returned.”

  “How did she know to go to him?”

  “I have no idea. She went directly to his apartment after checking a telephone directory, so I assume she knew who she was going to.” He shrugged out of his coat and went into the kitchen, returning with a cup of coffee. “It is difficult to judge,” he went on thoughtfully, “how much or how little she may know. However, since they destroyed her apartment, it is reasonable to assume she knows something.”

  “And so?”

  “We wait.”

  Shannon was still sleeping when Derek woke exactly six hours later. He checked on her and then went to take a shower. The rest had done little more than take the edge off his weariness, but he was accustomed to much less sleep during an assignment and tended to be grateful for what he could get. He felt almost human after showering and shaving, more so after hot coffee, and by the second cup was able to think more clearly than he had during the small hours of the morning.

  The most important thing was Shannon’s safety, which meant that he had to discover who was after her and why. He could do a little basic research from his apartment by making a few calls, but sooner or later he’d have to do some reconnoitering at Civatech and find out just what was going on there. And Shannon would have to be with him, since he wasn’t about to leave her alone if he could help it. She’d be safe enough with William, but Derek felt uneasy for several reasons when he considered that alternative.

  Since they had moved so quickly to get Shannon, and since they had not even bothered to make the explosion look like an accident, Derek had to assume they were both nervous and unaware of her closeness to the governor. If they had not been nervous, the explosion would certainly have appeared accidental, and if they had realized just how close to William she actually was, they might have hesitated to go after her at all. It was public knowledge that William Franklin was a good friend and a very bad enemy, and he was hardly the type to keep quiet if someone he cared about was hurt or killed.

  However, now that they had indeed tried to kill Shannon, it was extremely doubtful they’d give up on that intention, even if they chanced to find out about her relationship with William. As Derek had told him on the phone, he was their ace in the hole, a considerable amount of clout in an emergency, so Derek was reluctant to hide Shannon away in the governor’s mansion unless it was absolutely necessary.

  He poured more coffee and stared down at the breakfast bar where the morning paper lay, still neatly folded; he’d remembered to get it from the hallway, but hadn’t read it. He lit a cigarette, frowning down at the paper without really seeing it. Shannon and he probably didn’t have much time, he was thinking. Since there was no past or present connection between him and Shannon, it was reasonable to assume she would be safe with him. Except for one small thing.

  Who he was. There weren’t twenty people—counting Shannon and the Franklins—in Richmond, Virginia, who knew who and what Derek Ross was; the bad thing was that a good fifteen of the twenty wore black hats. If the people at Civatech had “street” connections and knew the right questions to ask, it would only be a matter of time before someone alerted them that a government agent known on both sides of the street as something of an outlaw lived in the city. They’d check him out automatically as a possible danger, and since he had long ago learned that anyone could be found if the search was careful enough and professional enough, he rarely bothered to hide his whereabouts behind unlisted phones or assumed names. So he would be easy to find.

  Shannon wouldn’t be safe here for much longer.

  That was something Derek acknowledged and accepted. So they’d have to leave soon. Which meant Shannon had to have clothes: she’d stand out far too much wearing his too-large clothing, and even if it was safe to return to her apartment, he doubted there was anything left there to salvage. The problem was, Derek didn’t want to leave her alone, nor was he ready to endanger her by taking her out in public, at least until he had a better idea of what was going on at Civatech.

  Absently, he unfolded the paper and began scanning the headlines, wondering if there was anyone who could—his glance caught and held on a photo, and his eyes sharpened as he read the caption and the accompanying short article. “Well, well,” he murmured thoughtfully. “Nice of Lady Luck to help me out.”


  The phone directory was equally helpful, and he placed a call to a rather well-known hotel in the city. Unsurprised, he waited patiently while he was switched from one person to another, perfectly aware that he was working his way progressively through the layers of careful security that tended to surround wealthy and famous people. It took a good ten minutes to reach the center of all that protection, and when he did he commented a bit dryly, “I’d have found it easier to reach the President.”

  A warm chuckle came from the line. “Derek, it’s good to hear from you. Sorry about the gauntlet, but Zach insists. He’s gotten even more protective, especially the last couple of months.”

  Soberly, Derek said, “Yes, Kelsey told me about Teddy. How is she, Raven?”

  Sighing, Raven Long said, “Physically, recovered. Emotionally is something else. She and Zach really wanted that baby.”

  “Tell them both how sorry I am, will you?”

  “Of course.” Her voice lightened. “What are you doing in Richmond?”

  “I live here.”

  “Oh?” She laughed. “Well, how could I know? You had a flat in London, a place in Hong Kong, and—what was that? A chateau in France?”

  “A very small chateau. I also have an apartment in Richmond.”

  “Any port in a storm,” she murmured.

  Her tone was rather deliberately gentle, and Derek chuckled. “Heard about Algeria, have you?”

  “I have very good ears.”

  “I’ll say,” he observed dryly.

  “You made a big bang over there,” she explained. “For someone who scorns firearms, you tend to make a lot of noise sometimes.” Before he could comment, she was going on briskly, “By my calculation, you should have just barely returned from there, and even iron men have to sleep. So why are you awake when you should be blissfully unconscious?”

  Derek grinned. That was Raven—right to the crux of the matter. “I need a favor,” he told her.

  “Oh, good, I was hoping you did.” Her voice was cheerful now. “Josh and Zach are busy with a union strike, and since they claim I’d be a distraction at the bargaining table I’ve been sitting here twiddling my thumbs.”