Eye of the Storm (18 page)

"Or you come up swinging."

She sighed, tipping her head back, wondering when Tate had gotten so smart. "So do you miss it?"

"What? The old life? No. I learned a long time ago to never look back."

"But you just told me I should be honest about my past."

"No. I said you should be true to it. There's a difference. We are who we are. Situations may change, but we don't, at least not fundamentally."

"So have you made a new life? Found someone?"

"No." He shook his head. "Relationships, in my opinion, are highly overrated. In the end, the only person you can really trust is yourself."

"From philosopher to cynic in under five minutes—not bad, Tate."

She expected him to laugh, but instead he sighed. "You used to agree with me."

And for the first time she considered that maybe Tate was wrong. Maybe people could change. Or be changed. Maybe loving Reece had made her less cautious. Less cynical. Or maybe it had just turned her into a fool.

"Maybe I did. I don't know. I'm not seeing anything clearly right now. Everything's been turned inside out, my life with D-9 and my life with Reece colliding into some kind of unrecognizable conglomeration."

"I thought your life with Reece was over."

"So did I...."

"Well, you know what Maurice would say." He slid his arm around her shoulder, the feeling comfortable in the way of a favorite sweatshirt or blanket. In some weird way, Tate felt like home.

She leaned against his shoulder, memory taking her back. "He'd tell me to stop with the emotional bullshit and keep my eye on the ball." She could feel the rumble of Tate's laughter as he, too, was transported back.

"And what would you tell him?" He reached up to stroke her hair, as if somehow their physical connection could bring the old man back.

"I'd tell him to go to hell." She whispered the last, tears filling her eyes. So many people lost.

"I hate to interrupt. But I thought maybe we ought to go over the plans for tomorrow." If ice could metamorphose into a voice, Reece had accomplished the feat.

Simone jerked away, color flooding her face. She opened her mouth to explain, but Tate beat her to it.

"We were just catching up on old times. Remembering Maurice." Tate's tone was neutral, friendly even, but based on the muscle ticking in Reece's jaw, he wasn't taking it that way. "So, what's up?"

At first she thought Reece wasn't going to answer, but then he shrugged, the gesture at odds with the anger simmering in his eyes. "I just thought it'd be a good idea if we talk through the details."

"It's pretty straightforward," Tate said, still sitting next to her on the picnic table. "I arranged for a private plane to pick us up at a corporate airstrip just outside of town. Seemed better to avoid the airport. It's pretty small, but there's bound to be security."

"So how the hell is it that you managed to arrange a plane?"

"Friend of a friend who owed me a favor. I kept up with as many contacts as was feasible. A guy never knows when that sort of thing will come in handy. You know?"

"So did you have contact with any of the others after the relocation?" Reece's eyes were narrowed in speculation.

"Not unless you count Maurice."

"You saw Maurice?" Simone almost choked on the words.

"Once or twice," Tate shrugged. "He had a couple of things that needed to be taken care of and I'm really good at that sort of thing."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Reece asked.

"About a month before all this started."

"Why the hell didn't you tell us before?" Simone tried, but couldn't contain her exasperation.

"I would have, but the opportunity didn't present itself. And nothing happened that sheds any light on any of this. Believe me, I've been over it again and again."

"Well, humor us, and go over it one more time." Reece straddled the end of the bench, looking almost dangerous in the light spilling from the cottage windows.

"All right." Tate tipped back his head and released a long breath, gathering his thoughts. "Maurice called and said he needed to meet. We set up a place and time. I told you I was in Richmond, so I wasn't far away. Anyway, once we were together he told me that he had to take a meeting with someone that could be a threat to D-9, or what was left of it."

"What did he want you to do?"

"He wanted me to be prepared to handle it, if the meeting didn't turn out the way Maurice wanted it to."

"Did he say who the meeting was with?"

"No. But I got the idea that it was someone from our past. Which is why I thought of the Ramirez connection. Especially in light of the fact that Carlos is purported to be in the U.S."

"So what happened?"

"I don't know. We left it that he'd call me. Only he never did. And about the time I was starting to get worried, I got the postcard. You know the rest."

"You should have told us." There was censure in Reece's voice.

"I meant to. We've just been going at it nonstop and as I told you, I didn't think it mattered."

"Everything matters. And you know it." Simone stood up, clenching her fists. "I agree with Reece. You should have told us you'd seen him."

"Look. First off, for all I knew you were on the wrong side of this thing. And second, I've been working my ass off to keep your family safe. So I didn't mention the fact that I'd seen Maurice. I'm sorry. But honest to God, it's not worth getting this worked up over."

Simone's anger evaporated as quickly as it had come. Tate was right. It didn't matter. "I'm sorry, too. I overreacted. It was just a shock to hear that you were still involved with the Company." A small part of her was actually jealous.

"Only a couple times, I swear. And then only working for Maurice. I guess maybe part of the reason I didn't say anything was that I was afraid you'd blame me. I should have sensed something was off. But I didn't. Until it was too damn late."

"All right." Reece still wore the look he had when he disbelieved someone's testimony, but at least his jaw had stopped twitching. "I can accept that. But I still have another question."

"Shoot." Tate frowned, waiting.

"How is it exactly that you're still alive?"

There was a moment of complete silence, even the insects seeming to go quiet.

Then Tate's eyes narrowed in anger, his muscles bunching in reaction. "I beg your pardon?"

Simone opened her mouth to try and intercede but nothing came out. So she looked over at Reece, trying to understand where he was going, but coming up empty.

"Everyone in D-9 has had a killer on their trail. Mather, Bea, Maurice, Ed, even Simone. Everyone but you. How do you figure that?"

"Obviously you've forgotten the Buick ride from hell."

"I haven't forgotten anything. It's just seems odd to me that you're here unharmed when everyone else is dead."

"I'm alive. Are you questioning my survival, too?" Simone asked, her loyalties pulled between her friend and her ex-husband.

"You know I'm not. Hell, I'm not even sure I'm questioning Tate's. I just think the inquiry is relevant."

"I agree," Tate said, surprising them all. "In fact, I've thought about it myself. And the only explanation I can come up with is that I've been on the move. I told you I'd met with Maurice from time to time, and took on the odd job here and there."

"Yeah, as recently as last month." Reece's tone was dry, but his distrust seemed to have evaporated a little.

"The point is," Tate said, "that my activities keep me on the go. So it wouldn't be easy to track me down." Simone opened her mouth to argue, but he waved her off. "At least not as easy as it was to find the rest of you. Look, as far as I know no one tried to get to me until I got to the rendezvous. Same as Ed. Only I was luckier." He shot Simone a look of gratitude, and she turned to Reece.

"It makes sense. The killer can only be one place at a time. And we've got a solid timeline with Maurice, Mather, Bea and then me. Maybe Ed and Tate were just farther down the list."

"Only Maurice inadvertently upped the ante when he called for the rendezvous," Tate added.

"I just had to ask the question." If Reece's words were meant as an apology, his tone didn't mirror the sentiment.

"I understand." Tate's voice held a note of respect. "If the situation had been reversed, I'd have done the same."

"So now that we're all on the same page," Simone said, trying to cut through the radiating tension, "why don't we talk about tomorrow?"

Reece nodded. "I assume you have a plan for when we get to D.C.? We can hardly drive out to Langley and announce ourselves."

"I admit I haven't had time to think that far ahead." Tate shrugged. "But we'll work out something."

"We can call Marguerite," Simone said, the idea growing in appeal once it was spoken out loud.

"Who's that?" Reece asked, turning to her with a frown.

"An old friend. She was a deep cover operative for years, and then she retired. But like all of us—" she shot a look at Tate "—she couldn't stay out of it, so she signed on as a consultant for D-9. Helped us with logistics, and sources, really with everything. If anyone can get us into Langley, it's Marguerite."

"Yeah, but it's been ten years. How the hell do we find her?" Tate asked.

Simone ducked her head. "You're not the only one who had contact with someone still on the inside. Marguerite has been my lifeline. She was all that kept me sane at times. Especially in the beginning."

"You've seen this woman?" The muscle in Reece's jaw was ticking again.

"No." Simone shook her head. "There was too much risk in that. For both of us. But we write. Lately by e-mail."

Tate opened his mouth, but she waved it shut. "We used secure connections and alias routers. There's no way anyone could have traced it."

"Still, you were taking a chance." For once Tate and Reece seemed to be of one accord.

"No more so than your doing odd jobs for Maurice. Anyway, the point is I know where she is, and I know she'll help us."

"Are you sure we can trust her?" Reece asked, ever the skeptic.

"Yes," she and Tate answered together, and somehow the tension of the moment eased.

"All right. So we'll contact her when we get to D.C., agreed?" Tate looked from Reece to Simone and then back again.

"It'll be good to have an ally," Reece capitulated.

"All right, then. I suggest we get some sleep," Tate said, pushing off the table. "You coming, Simone?" There was nothing untoward in his voice, but she could see Reece stiffen.

"No. I think I'll sit out here a while longer."

Tate nodded and, after a sideways glance at Reece, headed for the cottage, the sound of the screen door slamming indicating he'd gone inside.

"Walk with me," Reece said. It wasn't a request, and she was too tired to argue.

They walked across the parking lot toward the pine trees that bordered the little steam. The water gurgled along, the sound soothing, a sharp contrast to the tension that filled the air. They moved in tandem, finding a rhythm even in their discord. Soon the trees surrounded them, the moonlight barely penetrating the pinecone-laden branches.

Reece stopped to pick up a pebble and tossed it into the stream. It skipped three times, skimming over the water as if it hadn't a care in the world. Simone wished life were as easy.

"Were you lovers?" He turned to face her, his dark eyes clouded with emotion she couldn't or wouldn't put a name to.

"I'm not sure I'd choose that word, exactly. But yes, we were together. A long time ago."

"Was it serious?"

"Tate and I? No. I mean, we were friends. Are still friends. But the rest was just a way to connect with someone. To belong somewhere if even for just a moment. We were isolated from the rest of the world. There was no one to depend on but each other. And sometimes the only way to prove we were alive was..."

"Physically." He finished for her.

"Yeah."

"And now?" He was talking about the little interlude on the picnic table.

"Now I know that there can be something more. Something based on a hell of a lot more than need." She caught his gaze and held it, desire arcing white-hot between them.

"Really?" he asked, the corner of his mouth turning up almost imperceptibly.

"Yeah." She was repeating herself, but it was becoming difficult to think clearly.

He closed the distance between them, his hands tangling in her hair as he pulled her to him. There was an urgency between them that had never been there before. The need to come together overriding common sense.

His mouth slanted over hers, their tongues meeting in a well-rehearsed dance. They hadn't been together in a long time, but nothing had been forgotten in the interim. The feel of his skin against hers, the rasp of his five- o'clock shadow, the sharp smell of him, the soft rhythm of his breathing, all the things that added together, made a man—this man.