MARRYING MCCABE Page 16

  "He killed Jake?" She felt oddly distant, as if the room and everything in it were receding.

  "I'm sorry," Ben said roughly. "But I meant to shock you. You can't fight this one alone, and I'm not going to let you."

  She found herself ushered toward a chair, McCabe's arm around her waist. He sat her down, squatted beside her and coaxed her head between her legs.

  "Linden's wanted by so many people, you wouldn't believe it. Gray and Blade are going crazy trying to keep a lid on what's happened. The media are camped on the doorstep of the hotel."

  She lifted her head, still feeling disoriented. "So what do we do next?"

  In her mind, the man who'd killed Jake wasn't just a person with a gun, he was an unstoppable monster. He'd haunted her dreams for years, and now he was back, shadowy and elusive and lethal.

  "We give him what he wants. A hunt." Ben rose and collected her possessions from the table, then ushered her to the door, once more lifting the curtain and checking outside before he pushed the door open. "First we let Linden see us together. You're going to have a ring on your finger. My ring. When he realises you're engaged to me, he'll go crazy. After that we head for the country for the weekend. Cullen's put his hunting lodge at our disposal, which will put Linden in unfamiliar territory. All we have to do is wait for him to make a mistake."

  "But how can you guarantee he'll follow? If he's comfortable in the city, won't he just wait until we come back?"

  "He'll follow. He's gone to a lot of effort to get our attention. He won't drop the ball now. Interpol sent through a piece of information yesterday that clarifies why he's gone off the deep end, and what he actually wants. Linden's dying of cancer, and he wants us to hunt him. He's looking for an execution."

  When they reached the Lombard Hotel, Ben took her to an unfamiliar suite on the other side of the building. Carter and West accompanied them as far as the door, then left them to their privacy; they were occupying the suite next door.

  Roma deposited her perishables in the fridge.

  Ben placed a black gear bag on the dining table, unzipped it and began transferring electronic gear into it from the table. "Grab a shower and get changed, and when you're ready, we'll go shopping for a ring. Blade's organized the publicity for this, so it's going to be ritzy."

  Roma closed the fridge door and asked the question that had been eating at her all the way there. "Have you thought about what happens if you get killed trying to trap this guy? What will happen to Bunny?"

  He picked up an unfamiliar handgun, ejected the empty clip, then began slotting in shells from a box of ammunition. "I've lived with that level of risk for years—every time I went on an SAS mission. And so has my family." His gaze was cold, uncompromising. "The time to get Linden is now. He's vulnerable because he wants you, but sooner or later that vulnerability is going to tick him off. He's going to decide that shooting the guys you go out with isn't enough. He's going to get jealous of anyone you spend time with. Eventually he'll tip right over the edge and decide that if he can't have you, no one can. And that's when you become a target." He slid the clip home and calmly put the gun down on the table before picking up a second handgun and ejecting the empty clip. "That's not going to happen."

  Ben didn't add his own private fear: that Roma was very probably the ultimate target anyway. He didn't know how unbalanced Linden was, with his own death approaching, but the man might very well reach a point in his reasoning where he decided that if he was going to die, then Roma should die with him.

  "Does anything ever stop you, McCabe?"

  "Yeah." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "She's about five foot five, mouthy, and a whole lot of trouble. Go and have that shower before I decide to get in with you. You may not have been counting, but I have, and it's been three days. The only reason I haven't kissed you is because if I do, we won't be going anywhere for a while."

  A little shudder ran through her. "You've been counting days? I've been counting nights."

  Ben went utterly still. He set the gun down. The click as metal connected with wood was loud in the thick silence of the room. He started toward her, peeling off his T-shirt and discarding it as he walked. His gaze locked on hers. "You are going to kill me."

  She wound her arms around his neck and lifted her mouth to his, relieved that he'd put the situation with Linden aside, that he was hers, even if it was only for a short time. "Bet on it."

  The exclusive jeweller housed in the Lombard retail complex was jammed with people, most of them media hounds.

  Roma stared at the tray of rings, barely able to concentrate, let alone focus. Her whole body was still tingling and throbbing from the hour she and McCabe had spent in the shower, and added to that, she still hadn't adjusted to the shock of learning just who the gunman was.

  "That one." Ben picked the ring off the bed of midnight velvet and slipped it on her finger. The fit was slightly loose, but it was snug enough to stay on.

  The stone was a huge, tawny diamond hewn from the Argyll mines in Western Australia and set in white gold. There was no price tag, but then, Roma hadn't expected to see one.

  "Yeah, I know," Ben said. He lifted her fingers to his mouth and kissed the ring. "You wanted a skull ring like the Phantom's, so you can punch Linden's lights out with it. So do I, but this'll just have to do in the meantime."

  Some of the stiffness left her spine. She smiled, feeling teary-eyed at the fact that she had an engagement ring, yet no engagement, and that McCabe was trying to cheer her up with a ridiculous kid fantasy. "You wanted a Phantom ring?"

  "Always."

  He glanced at the jeweller, a gaunt man, who looked more like an undertaker than a man who spent his days shaping exquisite fantasies in precious metals and gems. "We'll take it."

  Ben handed over his card and pulled her into his arms. "I'm going to kiss you now," he murmured. "Try to look enthusiastic."

  "I know the script."

  His mouth grazed hers, meltingly soft, then more firmly, until he parted her lips and stroked her tongue with his. Her eyes drifting closed, she rose up on her toes, arms curling around his neck as he kissed her more deeply.

  The background murmur of conversation, the hot flash of cameras, faded. When Ben finally lifted his mouth, the silence was broken by a burst of applause.

  "That should do it," he said calmly, and slid his arm around her waist as Carter and West forged a path to the door.

  * * *

  Chapter 19

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  The road wound endlessly through low hills, sleek with grass, then began to climb, precipitously one-laned and slippery with mud. The terrain changed, became harsher, steeper. Grey, lichen-rough igneous rock protruded where the wind had stripped the hillsides bare of all but a meagre covering of soil and scrubby, tough vegetation. The gentler land below supported cattle and horses; these hills were strictly sheep and goat country.

  The road narrowed again, to little more than a walking track. Ben braked, unclipped his seat belt, climbed out and made a swift circuit of the truck, locking the hubs into position for four-wheel drive. When he put the truck in motion again, Roma had to hang on as they climbed. She could see the hut ahead; it was situated at the head of a broad meadow, the sides of which plummeted hundreds of feet to a thick belt of native bush below. The approach was open, with no cover. There was nowhere for Linden to set up a sniping position other than in the precipitous country behind, and to get there, he would have to pass by the hut.

  The high country, on the other hand, was nothing but cover. It loomed, broodingly dark, densely cloaked in subtropical rain forest, plunging to the rocky coastland on the other side.

  The Jeep skidded and wallowed along the wheel ruts that led to the hut. As Ben drew up, close to the door, it began to rain. A warm, steady downpour that greyed out the surrounding country.

  "Welcome to Northland," he said dryly. "We'll need to air out the hut and light the fire. Cullen says it hasn't been used for a couple of months, so it'
ll be damp."

  Ben reached into the back seat and handed her a raincoat, then began unloading gear. Roma awkwardly pulled on the oversize oilskin, grabbed a box of groceries and squelched across the strip of soggy grass to the hut.

  It was dark inside and smelled of damp and smoke and pine timber. There were two rooms, a kitchen/dining area and the main room, which boasted a potbellied stove, a built-in double bed, which also served as a couch, against one wall, and a rack of four bunks on the opposite wall.

  Roma opened all the windows, letting air circulate. Ben carried in an armload of wood, which he added to the partially filled box beside the pot-belly, and immediately set about lighting a fire. With the fat little stove crackling, the hut took on a cosier aspect.

  He rose to his feet and dusted his hands off on his jeans. "It's primitive, but everything's here. There's an outside shower, and a chemical toilet in the lean-to. I'm just going to have a walk around and install a couple of early warning systems. Will you be all right?"

  "Fine."

  "Just yell if you need me, okay?"

  He hitched a rucksack over one shoulder. Roma had watched him pack it and knew he had laser alarms, radios, night-vision gear and other technical gadgets she could only guess at, along with a supply of batteries and a battery charger that could run off the truck if needed. She watched him stride down the hill, and the apprehension she'd held at bay seeped back. The police and Interpol had set up a broad network of operations to catch Linden, and Blade, Gray, Cullen, West and Carter formed a protective net around the hut, just in case Linden eluded capture. They were all out there now, moving into position, but even so, she couldn't help worrying. Linden had been operating in the shadows for years, a methodical, unseen enemy used to evading capture; it was hard to believe that he could be stopped that easily.

  She began unloading groceries into the cupboard and the meat safe, which was simply a cupboard jutting out from the hut wall, the wire gauze lining allowing the cooling breeze to circulate through it, at the same time keeping out animals and insects. Ben had bought a lot of dried and tinned food, which was just as well, because there was no electricity and therefore no refrigerator. All the cooking was done on a stainless-steel gas cooker, which was set up on the crude wooden bench. Water was supplied by a header tank, which stood on an elevated platform next to the hut. The header tank also supplied the shower.

  Minutes later the rain stopped and the sun came out. Birds called raucously, and there was an insistent hum of insects. The scents were lush and primitive: wet earth, the dark, resinous tang of the bush, the steamy aftermath of the rain intensifying everything.

  Roma strolled outside and examined the tin lean-to that held the toilet, and the rough wooden stall and slatted platform that comprised the outside shower, enjoying the sun on her skin and the refreshing breeze. She refused to look at the brooding bush-clad hills or dwell on the fact that even now she was probably under surveillance by her family, the police, Interpol and God only knew who else. She wouldn't put it past her Aunt Sophie to be up in those hills somewhere. She hated to miss out on any of the action.

  She found a plastic bucket on a hook beside the header tank, filled the bucket with water and lugged it inside. The hut was neat and tidy, but everything was coated in a layer of grime, the windows festooned with cobwebs. She dragged the mattresses outside to air in the sun, leaned them against the side of the hut and propped them up off the damp ground with an assortment of boxes and tins she found in the lean-to.

  She used the broom propped behind the door to take down all the cobwebs and sweep the place out; then she searched through the cupboard under the bench and found a scrubbing brush and a selection of cleaning materials, and set to scrubbing the bench and the small built-in dining table and settles. When those were clean, she started on the windows, happy to concentrate on doing rather than thinking.

  When Ben walked in the door, the hut was fresh and aired, the mattresses back on the bunks, and there was a casserole bubbling on top of the potbelly. It was getting dark, the long extended twilight finally fading into a deep, midnight-blue sky, so she'd lit the lantern she'd found in a cupboard and placed it on the bench where she was making damper.

  He'd taken off his shirt, which hung wet and limp over one bronzed shoulder, and the rucksack dangled from his fingers. In the dim golden light, his eyes were shadowed, the bold lines of cheekbone and jaw starkly delineated.

  "Something smells good."

  "Steak casserole. I thought I'd better use the fresh ingredients. The meat will stay cool in the safe, but it won't keep long in this weather."

  He eased off his boots and placed them just inside the door, hung the rucksack up on a peg that was hammered into the wall and padded over to the potbelly.

  She dipped her hands into a bucket of water, washed the dough from them, then dried them on a tea towel. When she set the pan of damper on top of the pot-belly to cook, Ben glanced at her left hand.

  "Where's the ring?"

  She met his gaze briefly, then walked back to the bench to clean up the floury mess she'd made. "I took it off. The engagement's just a publicity stunt to catch Linden, it's not real."

  His hands landed on her shoulders, and she found herself spun around and in his arms.

  "The hell it's not real," he said flatly. "All that bastard needed to know was that I was sleeping with you. He's been following me anyway, because he knew that was the quickest way to find you. The engagement isn't for Linden, it's for me."

  The next day passed without event, except for the changeable weather. One moment it would be pouring with rain, the next the sun was burning down, the intense, humid heat enervating. Roma stayed inside most of the day, which sawed at her nerves. The hut was cramped and dark and hot, and she hadn't thought to bring any reading material with her. Aside from cooking meals and washing the dishes afterward, there was nothing to do.

  Ben went out periodically to check his surveillance equipment. Other than that, he spent his time maintaining regular radio checks with each of the members of the team, and noting their positions on a map—a safety procedure to make sure no one got lost or hurt in the rough terrain.

  Ben's frustration level built through the day. The weather was hot and steamy, and Roma was lying around in a skimpy halter top and a brief pair of shorts. Every time she shifted restlessly on the bed or flopped on her back, he had to forcibly restrain himself from joining her. With God only knew how many pairs of binoculars trained on the house, he couldn't do a thing about his frustration level but wait until nightfall.

  As soon as it got dark, he coaxed her to bed, determined to banish the distance that seemed to be growing between them despite their physical intimacy.

  Rain pounded on the windows, seemed to float in the air as they made love. When it was over, they lay tangled together, sweat sealing their skin where they touched. Gradually Roma relaxed beside him, the tension that had kept her restless and on edge during the daylight hours seeping away as she drifted into sleep.

  Still too tense to sleep, Ben propped himself on one elbow and watched her as she slept.

  They'd made love, and he knew that she loved him, but other than that, she was eluding him. He had no sense that she was his, and it was driving him crazy.

  It was as if she'd retreated behind a blank mask, and wherever it was that she'd gone, he couldn't reach her. She hadn't put the engagement ring back on, hadn't said she would marry him, though he wanted to marry her. All his uncertainties had dissolved when she'd walked out on him and he'd thought he'd lost her to Linden. But the situation with Linden had had the opposite effect on Roma. The closing out was subtle, but it was there, and it was driving him crazy, because he wanted everything from her. He needed commitment.

  He understood the fear that was freezing her up inside, but he wouldn't allow her to use that as a reason for walking away from him. Once Linden was out of the way, things would settle down. He would have time to convince her.

  He wrapped hi
s arm around her waist and settled her in close against him, uncaring that it was too hot to cuddle.

  Oh yeah, he had time with Roma, he thought grimly … providing he could keep her with him.

  At dawn of the third day Ben packed the rucksack with reconstituted food, bottles of water and batteries. He was going to meet West to replenish their supplies.

  Roma pulled on her oversize shirt, letting it hang loose over her shorts. "I'm coming with you. I can't stand being cooped up in here another day."

  "You should stay out of sight."

  "Of what?" she muttered. "The birds?"

  Ben looked up from the pack. "I don't want to take any risks with you."

  "You keep forgetting one thing," she said calmly, rummaging for her sneakers. "I'm not the target, McCabe. You are."

  While Ben was checking the Glock, she slipped the Sig out of her holdall and eased it into the small of her back, then sat on the edge of the bed and laced on her sneakers.

  West materialised out of the shadows. He was dressed in army fatigues, the DPM—disruptive pattern material—blending perfectly with the shades of the bush. He took the rucksack and handed over an empty one, then stood talking to Ben.

  Roma wandered away, enjoying the soft, cool air of early morning, the pretty wildflowers that sprouted among the rough, tussocky grass. She went down on her knees and began picking a few of the tough little blossoms to brighten up the grim interior of the hut. She snapped a stem of ladder fern then another, adding them to the bunch, then froze. A familiar tension tightened the skin at the centre of her spine, crawled all the way to her nape. The flowers dropped from her grasp. She straightened, turned casually, gaze drifting along the rim of heavy forest.