The Makeover Mission (32 page)

She'd changed between then and now. She would no longer go along
meekly with another's plans for her. Not even Lucius's plans. Lucius, who she
trusted with her life, with her heart.

And he'd betrayed them both.

"Jane." He made it sound so soothing, so cajoling, as if
pleading with her to understand. But she wasn't going to make it easy for him.
He could reject her. Reject the love that she'd offered to him with no strings
attached. But she wasn't going to make it easy for him.

She swung around. One foot connecting with a shin, another
snagging a leg from behind. She used her elbows, her knees and found space
before her. She lunged forward. An arm encircled her waist, lifting her from
the floor in the same move, slamming her against a rock-hard chest.

Lucius's chest. She knew from his scent. From the words uttered
against her hair.

"Don't fight this, Jane. You'll only make it worse."

Worse? The man was going to kill her and she was supposed to go
along meekly?

She didn't think so.

She bucked against him, slamming her head back and forth, clipping
his chin, using her feet against his legs, her fingers against anything she
could reach.

"Enough." He grunted the word, squeezing her tighter,
one arm securely about her waist, pinning both arms, the other across her upper
chest, his leg scissoring hers between them.

But she wasn't about to give up. Not yet.

She fought.

He held her tighter.

He uttered words to her, breathless words that meant nothing. She
was tiring and they both could sense it.

Tears wet her skin. She could feel them, feel the pain welling up
with them. He'd lied to her. He'd lied to her.

The refrain echoed in her head, drowning out his voice, feeding
the struggles she refused to cease.

"Elderman. Now."

He held her tighter until the room started to darken. She couldn't
breathe. There was nothing left to fight with. He'd lied to her.

"Hold still. It will be over in a minute."

It was over before it started, she thought, feeling the prick of
the needle against her skin, aware of Lucius's arms wrapped around her.

"You lied." The words were spoken aloud this time. It no
longer matter who heard them. Who knew what a fool she'd been. "I loved
you and you lied."

Elderman stepped back, but Lucius's grip did not lessen. If
anything it intensified until she could feel the numbing sensation begin—in her
hands and feet first, then up her legs and arms.

"You lied." The words mingled with her tears, but it no
longer mattered. "How could you lie?"

His hold released, or maybe she no longer could feel it as the
coldness seeped through her. She could feel herself slipping, realized it was
Lucius moving, kneeling down, her weight still cradled in his arms.

The image of the dead king flashed before her. Soon she'd be laid
out beside him, as cold, as still.

She struggled, but it was useless.

"Shhh." It was Lucius's voice, as it had been once
before, saying nonsense words as she faded. She thought he'd been kind then.
How she could have been such a fool?

"Why wasn't I enough?" Her words sounded slurred, her
sight dimming. But she could still make out Lucius's face bending over her, his
eyes agonized. Hadn't she thought they were cold before? There was nothing cold
in them now. Now she could see emotions so deep and anguished she wanted to
weep for him.

But he'd made his choice. And it hadn't been her.

"Don't fight it, Jane. Damn it, don't fight it."

He almost sounded as if he was trying to reassure her. His hands
brushed her hair from her face, dried the tears still fresh there. She wanted
to smile at that. Tell him it didn't matter anymore if he killed her, not after
he'd broken her heart. But the words wouldn't come. Not those at least.

"I loved you. You lied and I loved…" the last word faded
away, the cold almost complete, the room almost dark. She could no longer see
his face, nor feel his arms around her, but she could still hear.

It was Elena's voice demanding, "Is it over?"

"It's all over."

They were the last words she heard before the darkness came.

Chapter 14

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^

F
ive weeks, ten days and fourteen
hours. Jane glanced up at the institutional clock in the library's basement
break room. Fifteen hours. It was a good sign that she'd stopped counting the
minutes. It was, wasn't it?

Five weeks, ten days and fifteen hours and no word. Nothing. Not
an e-mail, or a letter, or an archaic telegram. Nothing. The sooner she
accepted that he had never really cared, the better. The other alternative? He
was dead. And as painful as the first realization was, she knew it was nothing
to accepting the second.

Her throat closed and the piece of whole wheat bread in her hands
crumbled. She glanced at the clock again. Fifteen hours and four minutes.

The TV made a small hum in the background of the break room. Jane
hadn't even realized it was on until Sue Dobson, the children's librarian,
spoke.

"There, Jane. That's you."

Jane glanced at the small screen and froze.

Elena Rostov. Or was it Elena Tarkioff now?

Sue's voice droned on. "That's the woman I was telling you
about that looks just like you."

Several gazes turned toward Jane. Marion White from circulation.
Ted Peters from the bookmobile.

Marion's voice chimed in, "You're right, Sue. Isn't that the
woman who's been on the news these last weeks?"

"Almost every night. She's some princess in some east
European country. It all sounded so romantic at first."

More like a nightmare.

Sue continued her litany. "Seems like she was going to marry
the king. Only he was assassinated."

Murdered.

"Then his brother stepped up and was willing to both become
king and marry her."

More than willing.

"Only they found out the brother was behind the king's
death."

"What?" That snagged Jane's attention.

"Honey, haven't you been listening to the news lately? Or
reading the papers?"

"Go easy, Sue." Marion interjected with a shake of her
head. "Can't you see Jane's still mourning her aunt? It was your aunt who
passed away wasn't it?"

"Yes. My aunt." The words rasped against her throat.

"Hard to lose someone you love and pay attention to the
everyday things at the same time. It's no wonder you don't know what's
happening halfway around the world."

"What is happening?" Jane asked. Not wanting to know
anything, unable to let it go. A moth to the flame.

Sue spoke up. "They feared there was going to be a
revolution."

"But?"

"But when all the dirty details came out, both the brother to
the king and the woman who looks like Jane were exposed as murderers."

"They were? But what happened?"

Was he alive?

"It's been quite the soap opera." It was Ted Peters
nodding. "It seems the U.S. was involved with the king. The murdered one.
Some then wondered if we were behind the king's death."

No. Not the king's.

"But now there's some second cousin on the throne and things
finally look like they're going to even out."

"Without bloodshed?" Jane asked, aware she held her
breath.

Sue looked at Marion who looked at Ted.

"I didn't hear of any deaths," Ted said. "Though
there usually are a few causalities in this type of thing. Innocents who get in
the way."

Didn't she know it?

"So that's it?" Her voice shook but she steadied it.
"What about the U.S. involvement? Aren't there advisors and such?"

Gray eyes. Wary, lonely, deceiving gray eyes.

"Doesn't anybody know what happened to them?"

Ted stood, carefully folding and refolding his paper napkin.
"Probably were. Probably still are. Us small fish are the last to know
what's happening with the big fish."

So true.

Marion rose, too. Just as the intercom buzzed and Doreen Bellows's
voice crackled over it. "Jane? Jane Richards? There's a patron in research
who insists on speaking to you."

Jane looked at her barely eaten meal but it was Marion who
answered. "Doreen, can't someone else handle it? Jane just started her
break."

"He's very insistent."

Marion's brows arched as she glanced at Jane. "He?"

"Probably Mr. Witherspoon." Jane stuffed her sandwich
back into her paper sack. "He's researching Sumerian tablets and—"

"He has a bouquet of yellow roses." Doreen's voice
cackled again.

"No researcher ever brought me roses." Marion grinned
and winked.

"Me neither," chimed in Sue.

"Don't look at me." Ted grabbed his archeological
magazine. "But if I had someone waiting for me with roses I wouldn't be
lagging."

She wasn't lagging. Catching one's breath wasn't lagging. Surely
there was a mistake. There were any number of reasons a man with roses was
asking for her. Any number.

She was still reassuring herself when she walked around the corner
and froze.

Any number of reasons except this one.

"Are you all right?" Lucius stood less than three feet
away, his face looking drawn and wary, a bouquet of vibrant sunny roses
clenched in his hands.

This was not happening to her.

"You're alive?"

"Of course I am." He sounded surprised that she'd even
asked.

"Why are you here?" She was barely aware she asked the
question. There were so many questions crowding through her thoughts.

She watched him flinch before he stepped forward. "I needed
to see you. To make sure you were all right."

He made it sound so simple. This man who had upended her life.
This man who made her want and ache, cry and beg. Who had woken her heart only
to break it clean in half. She could kill him for it.

"Well? Are you?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Oh, I'm just peachy keen. Now you can leave."

She knew they were alone. At least for the moment. But any second
a patron could walk past the small desk and filing area. She was not about to
have a public scene at her place of work. And no doubt he knew that.

Her words were bitter, her actions automatic, the numbness she'd
come to live with over the last months intensified. The old Jane would have
been flustered, pleased that he'd sought her out. The new Jane could only
remember how fragile the last weeks had been. And why.

She heard his sharp intake of breath.

"Jane—"

"I mean it, Major. You know where the exit is. Same door as
you came in." She didn't dare raise her hand to point the way. She was
afraid it'd shake too much.

"We've got to talk."

"We're no longer in Vendari, Major. You're no longer calling
the shots. I'd like you to leave."

Where were the words coming from? The hurt? The pain? The
betrayal?

She'd loved him and he hadn't trusted her. Not once.

Well, she'd been a fool before, but that Jane had disappeared. She
might not be wearing designer clothes and silks any longer, but neither was she
plain Jane now. Crushed Jane—yes. But only if she let herself be swayed by this
man.

"You're upset," he said.

"You noticed."

He ran a hand through his hair. A move not in sync with the calm,
controlled man she knew.

"Look, I know there's a lot to explain and this isn't the
best place to do it." He spoke as if she wasn't standing there glaring at
him.

Do not relent. Do not believe his tone. He broke your heart.
Remember that. He broke your heart.

"No explanations are necessary." If only her emotions
could feel as cold as her words. But they didn't. They felt shaky and unsure.
He'd hurt her—unbearably, but now he was back. And he wanted to talk. As if
she'd believe that.

Why did she care?

"We will talk, Jane." He made it sound like a promise,
and a threat. But before she could protest he moved, with that lethal, quiet
grace of his. Closed the space between them. His arm was about her, pulling her
close, his lips claiming hers. Hard. Possessive. Demanding.

She wanted to fight, to protest. Something. Anything. Except what
she did. She stepped toward him instead of away. Met his heat with her own. It
was a kiss she knew neither would be able to forget.

All her resolve to remain aloof crashed with the taste of him.