Dancing on the Wind (48 page)

bedroom. “Stay here, go sightseeing, go to the beach, whatever.”

“You sure?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said as he kept moving.

She waited, and when she heard the low curse, she bit her lip to keep from

laughing.

“Keenan?” There was exasperation in his tone.

“Yes?” she replied.

“Can you get the door?”

Without answering, she came into the great room, opened the door then turned her

back on him to return to the bedroom.

“I can’t shut it!”

“Then leave it open!” she yelled back.

There was another curse then silence.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“Stubborn man,” she said for what she thought might be the hundredth time in the

last two weeks.

Well, two could play that game. He was chafing to go it alone then let him. She

would go sightseeing or to the beach or…

“Whatever,” she grumbled as she pulled out a pair of shorts and a halter top from

the dresser.

Since there was no need for money on the Island—everything was provided free to

the operatives—all she had to do was stuff her keycard into the pocket of her shorts,

grab a bottle of spring water from the fridge, a book from her bag and she was out of

there.

* * * * *

He was bone-tired and although he would not admit it, was grateful for the low

dosage of tenerse they gave him to help alleviate the pain eating away at his leg. His T-

shirt and gym pants were soaked with sweat, he swung down the corridor on his

crutches with his jaw clenched.

She hadn’t left any messages with the receptionist, and that had pissed him off. No

one knew where she was, although the girl in the boutique told him Agent McCullough

had stopped in to get a straw hat.

“She had a book with her,” the girl told him. “I bet she’s at the beach.”

He nodded and pivoted around clumsily to head back up the corridor, growling

every step of the way. Everyone he passed spoke to him and he grimaced a greeting of

sorts. That wasn’t unusual for him since it was his normal salutation to his fellow

operatives, so no one paid much attention to him.

Out of sorts, feeling pathetically useless, he stopped at a long bank of windows that

happened to look out at the airfield and saw a jet being refueled. It was the supply jet he

was fairly sure, and one glimpse at his wristwatch told him it would be leaving in an

hour or two.

For a long time he stood staring at the plane. Finally he went over to a wall phone,

called security and asked when the plane would be taking off.

“They’re going to be a bit late today, Agent Fallon. The other flight due in today

had hydraulic problems and had to make a stop at Salvador International,” the head of

security told him.

“How ’bout telling them I’ll be hopping a ride back to the Exchange with them?”

Fallon said.

“Yes sir, of course. I’ll make sure they know.”

No one would dare question him leaving, he thought. The security man wouldn’t

think twice about the request of an Alpha. There would be no checking with the

Exchange to make sure Fallon had permission to leave the Island. It would be assumed

that he did.

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But he couldn’t leave things open-ended with Keenan. He had to let her know he

was going. The thought of trying to make his way through the sand was daunting but

at least there was a wooden boardwalk that led out to the jetty. Maybe he could get her

attention and she could come to him there if she was even at the beach.

Sweat dripping down the sides of his face and neck, he made his way to the

boardwalk and paused to scan the shoreline. He saw two people in the water, a few

stretched out on beach chairs or blankets and one lone jogger. Turning his attention to

the pier that jutted out into the turquoise water, he saw a woman with a long brown

braid and knew it had to be Keenan. Clenching his teeth, he starting moving in her

direction.

The book she’d brought with her had not held Keenan’s attention and she’d put it

aside after a chapter or two. She couldn’t seem to concentrate so she sat down under the

thatched lanai roof built over the end the pier and dangled her legs in the water, sitting

there with a cool ocean breeze fanning the loose hairs at the sides of her face, listening

to the thatching rustling on the roof.

She heard the tap-tap-tap of the crutches and knew Fallon was coming up behind

her. She could feel the turmoil in his mind coming off him in waves and wondered if he

realized he was broadcasting his thoughts. Normally he was so careful to shield from

her but today that wasn’t the case.

“Hey,” he said once he reached her.

She craned her head around. “Hey yourself. How was the session?”

“Hell,” he said, and slumped against an upright that held the thatched roof over the

end of the pier. “How was your day?”

“Well, Harry Rod, Peter, Dick and I had wild, unbridled sex in the pool, but that got

boring after awhile so I came out here.”

“You didn’t get enough wild, unbridled sex last night?” he asked in a husky voice.

“I could have used some more in the shower this morning but my boyfriend didn’t

seem interested.”

He grunted then turned his attention to the sweeping beauty of the ocean. “The

beach here is almost as beautiful as the one at Mistral Cay,” he commented.

Keenan snapped her head around. “You’ve been to Mistral Cay?” she gasped.

“Worked there for a while,” he said then grinned. “While on assignment.” He

looked down at her. “How do you know about it? You been there?”

“No, but Mama owns a timeshare there,” she answered.

“It isn’t time the women share there,
myneeast caillagh
.”

“Yeah, I know what they share, Fallon,” she snapped. “Please tell me by worked

there you don’t mean as a helper.”

He wagged his brows at her then looked away.

“Bastard,” she grumbled.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“That was a long time ago,” he said. “Before I met you,
lhiannan
.”

“You let me catch you dipping your wick in some other woman’s wax now and see

what happens, hound!” she said with a snort.

He laughed and it was the first laugh she’d gotten from him since the beating.

Fallon longed to ease himself down beside her but knew it would be too awkward,

too painful, and the getting back up again would be humiliating—if he could even do it

and he doubted he could. Instead, he was content for a moment or two just to stare at

the ocean and be close to the only woman he would ever love. He knew sooner or later

she would give him the opening he was seeking.

“I tried contacting Coim, but either he isn’t back yet or that psychic fence is

blocking me,” she told him.

“It doesn’t block psi trans,” he said, shifting the weight on his left leg. “If it was

back, it would have answered.”

“He,” she stated emphatically. “He, lineman. Stop thinking of him as an it.”

A low grunt signified he heard her.

“He thinks of you as a son,” she said. “Did you know that?”

Fallon’s lips twitch with amusement. “
He
does, huh?”

She didn’t answer but swung her feet in the water. “Tomorrow, I think I’ll go for a

swim.”

There it was, he thought. There was his opening.

He frowned. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

Keenan looked around at him. “Why not? I’m a good swimmer. I won a lot of

medals for it in high school and college.”

“Track too as I remember,” he said, thinking of the blue ribbons, trophies and

medals he’d seen in her girlhood room in Georgia.

“Then you know I’m not going to drown,” she stated.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. After today, it won’t be my problem.”

It was Keenan’s turn to frown and she twisted around, bringing her feet up onto the

pier. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

For the longest time he didn’t answer and the expression on his face made her heart

accelerate—and not in a good way. She was beginning to feel true unease and opened

her mouth to ask him again what he’d meant by what he’d said when he swung his

eyes to hers.

“When I get back to the Exchange, I’m going to ask the Supervisor to disconnect the

Extension.”

Keenan sucked in a shocked breath, her eyes flaring. “What?” she whispered. Her

expression said she didn’t understand.

“You heard me,” he said, pushing away from the upright and adjusting his hold on

the crutches.

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“But why?”

It had been there in her mind and he had absorbed it with both hurt and

disappointment but it also gave him an out—an easy way to break it off with her in a

way that would be as final as he could make it.

“I can’t trust you to have my back,” he said, and the words were spoken with no

feeling, no inflection—just thrown at her like poisoned darts.

Keenan’s forehead crinkled with hurt. “That’s not true.”

“If you had been watching my back, Roland wouldn’t have been able to sic that

thing on me. I wouldn’t have been beaten to a pulp and I wouldn’t be standing here in

so much pain I can barely endure it.”

Tears filled Keenan’s eyes. “Fallon, I…”

“It’s over, McCullough,” he said. “I can’t break the bond between us, but I can sever

the Extension, and I’m going to. I don’t need a partner I can’t depend on.”

“I love you,” she said, putting out a hand. “Fallon, I love you. Doesn’t that count for

anything?”

Fallon watched a tear roll down her cheek, took in her trembling lips and hardened

his heart.

“No, babe, it doesn’t. I need you out of my life before you wind up getting me

killed.”

He swung around on the crutches, not giving her a chance to reply, and hobbled up

the pier. He could feel her gaze on his back, could feel the hurt and the shame in her

heart, but he didn’t look around. Tears of his own clouding his vision, he kept going

though his heart was breaking, his soul withering. It was the only way he knew how to

protect her. If she was with him, sooner or later the evil inside him Martiya had left

behind would bubble up and hurt her, or the creature would return for him and she’d

get caught between them. He couldn’t take that chance.

The last time Fallon saw her was as the plane was banking sharply northward over

the sparkling turquoise waters. The pilot—unaccustomed to having a passenger—had

forgotten to block the window and Fallon had a view of the pier. He leaned toward the

window, and as soon as he saw her, rested his forehead on the glass. She was sitting

where he’d left her, staring out to sea. He watched her until the shields came down.

An hour later, a sudden, terrible pain stabbed at the base of Fallon’s brain and he

slapped a hand to the sensation, gasping at the debilitating ache. Immediately his head

was pounding furiously between the temples. It soon became the worst migraine he’d

ever experienced. The shot of tenerse he injected in his neck barely calmed the

throbbing agony.

* * * * *

At 5 p.m. that afternoon, the passenger jet finally arrived on the island. Nine people

wearing body armor beneath their tropical clothing stepped off the jet and onto the

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

runway in pairs. Each passenger was carrying two things—several small silver aerosol

containers, the spray from which killed those not inoculated with the vaccine within

seconds of inhalation, a palm-size heat-sensing unit used to find living targets and a

nine millimeter automatic pistol concealed under their shirts. What the spray did not

instantly kill when released into the air ducts, the hollow-point bullets would.

Methodically the mercenary team led by Royce Cookson infiltrated every room

inside each of the four main buildings as well as the seven perimeter buildings. Despite

the strong security the Exchange had in place, the Island fell easily. In all the

contingency plans made by the security division, no one had considered the scenario

that played itself out that afternoon.

When Cookson and his team of seven mercs left the Island at a little after 7 p.m.,

they carried with them the only survivor of the attack—lying unconscious on a gurney.

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“Agent Fallon, we’ll be landing shortly. You are under orders to remain on the

plane,” the copilot said.

Fallon scowled at the man. He was feeling numb—as though someone had shot him

full of pairilis and that made him testy. “What the hell for?”

“Supervisor’s orders, sir. Under no circumstances are we to allow you off the

plane.”

A hard glint entered the Reaper’s eyes. “And you think you can keep me from

deplaning…” His glare shifted to the copilot’s name tag. “Scott?”

“I am to tell you there has been an incident, sir, and that you are to remain on the

plane,” the man said.

A hard chill went through Fallon. “Incident? What kind of incident?”

“We weren’t given the particulars, sir. We were simply asked to make sure you

remained onboard until an escort comes to retrieve you.”

Without another word, the copilot returned to the cockpit.

Fallon closed his eyes and tried sending to Keenan, but there was no answer and he