The Phoenix Encounter (7 page)

“I can't tell you that.” He shot her a sober look.

Mystified by his cryptic answer, she tried to read his expression, realized she couldn't, even though at one time she'd been very good at it.

“I think you know me well enough to know I'm one of the good guys,” he added.

That was the one thing she knew with utter certainty.

Aware that her pulse was racing, that her thoughts were keeping perfect time, Lily walked into the kitchen and knelt in the corner near the stove. Pulling up a corner of the stained linoleum, she peeled it back, revealing a secret door set into the wooden planks beneath. She extracted a small lockbox, then replaced the trap door and linoleum. “The soldiers have never been here, but I have to be prepared if they show up.”

“What's in the box?”

“All of my notes on the freedom movement. Copies of the
Rebellion.
Information I've accumulated on DeBruzkya. Documentation on some of the things he's done. Some of the data is handwritten. Some of it is on disk, some on videotape. I've even taken some photographs.”

“Stuff he wouldn't want anyone getting their hands on,” Robert commented.

“Proof that he's killing people and has been systematically destroying this beautiful country for nearly two years.”

“Lily, you're playing a dangerous game.”

All she could think was that this hadn't been a game to
her for a very long time. She crossed to the hearth, set the lockbox on the floor and opened it. She handed Robert the latest copy of the
Rebellion
then busied herself booting up her laptop and arranging some of her handwritten notes.

“This is written in Rebelian,” he said.

“You know Rebelian.”

“Yeah, but I'm rusty.” He looked sheepish. “I don't want to miss anything important. Do you think you could hit on some of the highlights for me?”

For a moment she wanted to tell him no. She didn't want to work too closely with him. The less time she spent with him the better off she and Jack would be. The better off Robert would be.

She nodded. “All right.”

He skimmed the newsletter-style paper in his hand. “Do you trust the people you work with not to sell you out?”

“I'm very selective about who I deal with.”

“I'm sure DeBruzkya would pay a nice bounty for the head of the editor of an underground newspaper.”

She repressed a shiver. “None of the people I work with would sell me out.”

“Lily—” Robert's voice was softer than before “—the cause is a good one but you're taking a huge risk.”

She thought of everything she'd seen in the years she'd been in Rebelia. Everything that had been done to her, to the people she'd known and cared for, the children no one cared about. She shook her head. “There's a lot at stake. An entire country. Her people, her children—”

“At what cost to you?”

That was a question she couldn't answer. “Jack and I are fine. Nobody knows we're here. I mean, even you were blindfolded when Jacques brought you here. We're safe and happy—”

“If DeBruzkya captured Jacques and shoved spikes under his fingernails, he'd sell you out.”

“Stop it,” she snapped. “You're trying to frighten me.”

“I'm trying to save your life.”

His quick anger surprised her, and for a moment she didn't know how to respond. Her own temper stirred when she realized his anger had little to do with her newspaper and everything to do with the way they'd left things twenty-one months ago. Why couldn't he just let the past go? He didn't know what had happened to her. He didn't know what could happen if she told him too much. If she let herself feel too much.

“I don't expect you to understand,” she said.

“Good, because your staying here with that child is a little beyond my realm of understanding.”

“Don't lecture me about Jack.”

“How does his father feel about your keeping him in the same house where you run an underground newspaper? In your fervor to save the children and keep the freedom movement alive have you even bothered to think about the safety of your own son?”

Fury swept over her with such force that the words tangled on her tongue. “How dare you imply that I'm endangering my son.”

“What would you call it?”

“I'd call it an impossible situation that I'm dealing with the best way I can.”

Rising abruptly, he paced to the window and stared again at the forest. “It didn't take you very long to find someone else, did it, Lily?” he asked without looking at her.

The words struck her like a breath-stealing punch, and for several seconds she could do nothing but concentrate on getting oxygen into her lungs. “I can't talk about that.”

“You can't talk about it, or you won't?”

“I don't owe you an explanation. I don't owe you anything.”

“Of course not,” he said nastily. “I was only your lover.”

She felt the words like a bullet, piercing flesh and bone and slamming into her heart to shatter it like a piece of crystal. “Stop it, Robert. What happened between us…was
a long time ago. A lifetime ago. A lot has happened since then.”

“Like what?”

When she didn't answer, he turned to her, struck her with a look cold enough to freeze hell. “Who's Jack's father, Lily?”

Her heart pinged hard against her ribs, then began to race.

“Did you know him when you were seeing me? Were you seeing him behind my back? Is that why you refused to leave?”

She stared at him, speechless and hurting and on the verge of panic. “That's a petty and hateful thing to say.”

“I want to know. I deserve an answer.”

“Don't do this.”

“Don't do what? Ask for the truth?” He crossed the room but stopped two feet away from her, as if he didn't trust himself not to strike out at her if he got too close. “Is it Jacques?”

“Jacques?” If she hadn't been so shaken she might have laughed. But she didn't because the moment was breaking her heart. Instead, she said nothing more, and watched as the realization entered his expression. And it killed her inside to let him believe a lie.

Face dark with anger, he turned and stalked to the window. Lily looked at the lockbox, at all the information she'd accumulated on a man she'd dedicated her life to destroying, and for the first time since this nightmare had begun wondered if that goal was worth the sacrifices.

She risked a look at Robert. She couldn't ever remember seeing him look so desolate. Not Robert Davidson the doctor. The gentle man who healed the wounded. But something had changed inside him since the last time she'd seen him. A bitterness that had made him hard. He looked isolated and alone and dangerous as hell standing there, staring sightlessly out the window. What had happened to the gentle man she'd once known? The man who'd held her and
laughed with her and made love to her as if she were the only woman in the world?

I destroyed him,
she thought, and turned to flee to her room before he could see the tears.

R
obert found the bottle of cognac in the kitchen. He didn't know where she kept the snifters, so he poured two fingers into a teacup and slammed it back in two bitter gulps. He'd never been much of a drinker, had certainly never acquired a taste for cognac, but his temper was pumping pure adrenaline, and if he didn't get himself calmed down or find some kind of an outlet he was going to break something.

Hoping the alcohol would dull the sharp edge of fury pumping through him, he poured a second time then put the bottle away and carried the cup into the living area.

He knew better than to let any of this get to him. Damn it, he wasn't a jealous man. Had never been possessive or obsessive or particularly neurotic when it came to women. He'd always considered himself above that kind of imbecilic behavior. He was an enlightened man and worked through his problems with reason and civility and intellect. But the more primal side of him knew that if Jacques came through the door at that moment, Robert would take a great
deal of satisfaction in decking him with all the diplomacy of an alley drunk.

He took another drink, grimacing against the bite of alcohol on his tongue. He knew what the problem was and he hated it almost as much as he hated the idea of Jacques taking over where he'd left off twenty-one months ago. Robert wasn't merely jealous. No, this was much worse than simple jealousy. He still had feelings for her. Deep, irrevocable feelings that came from a place inside him he couldn't control. It was as simple and terrible as that. And he knew with every beat of his heart that there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it except move on.

Easier said than done when the woman had him tied up in knots. Here he was on one of the most important missions of his career, consoling himself with cognac because he couldn't keep his emotions in check, when he should be questioning her about DeBruzkya and Dr. Morrow. How pathetic was that?

“Drinking isn't going to help anything.”

Robert looked up to find Lily standing in the doorway looking breathtaking and troubled and so beautiful he wanted to reach out and touch her just to make sure she was real. “Maybe not, but it's damn sure going to make me feel better.”

“I can't do this, Robert.”

He didn't want to know what
this
was, so he remained silent, knowing she was probably going to tell him, anyway.

The alcohol was beginning to fuzz his brain. And for the first time since he'd taken that first drink he wasn't so sure it was a good idea. Suddenly he needed his intellect, and it wasn't anywhere to be found. “You can't deal with me because you don't have the guts to tell me the truth.”

“Don't lecture me about guts.”

“Then talk to me, damn it. Tell me why you let me think you were dead for twenty-one months. Tell me why you
had a son with another man. Tell me why we're not together right now, Lily.”

She crossed to him. For a moment he thought she was going to poke him in the chest with her finger, but she didn't. “I can't get involved with you. I don't
want
to get involved with you. There's no way we can just pick up where we left off. Is that clear enough for you?”

She was standing so close he could smell the clean scent of her hair. A hint of the forest. The warmth of sunshine. And the sweet scent of mountain air rolled into a single, intoxicating aroma. The combination was beginning to make him feel woozy. “I got you loud and clear,” he managed to speak.

“I expect you to respect my feelings while you're in my home. If you can't do that, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Are you getting this?”

Her eyes were luminous in the soft light coming in through the kitchen window. Robert stared at her, shocked that he could want her even as she trounced him with that sharp mouth of hers. Frustration coiled and burned in his gut like barbed wire being pulled ever tighter. The voice of reason called out for him to turn and walk away before he did something stupid, but the need to touch her was much more powerful.

She winced when he raised his hand and brushed a lock of hair from her face. Her eyes widened. Her full lips parted as if she were about to protest, but she didn't. Robert looked at her, aware of the color riding high in her cheeks. That her pupils were dilated. He stared, knowing those things weren't the reactions of a woman who wanted a man to stay away.

“If you want me to stay away from you I suggest you stop looking at me that way,” he growled.

“I—I don't know what you mean.”

“You're sending out mixed signals like a Las Vegas marquee.”

“I'm ticked off.”

“Yeah, and maybe I'm the only one who has the guts to acknowledge what's really going on.”

“You're out of line,” she snapped.

“You're damn straight I am.” He started to brush his fingers over her lips, but she slapped his hand away.

“You know better than to drink alcohol,” she said.

Robert didn't think his reaction to her had a damn thing to do with the alcohol he'd consumed, though she was right in that he'd never been able to handle much in the way of drinking. When he was in high school, he'd been diagnosed with a rare blood disease he'd inherited from his father. One of the effects of the disease was that his body couldn't break down alcohol. He was able to drink in moderation, but the effects were magnified. Lily had teased him about it when they'd been together.

“I know better than to do a lot of things, but I do them anyway.” He shrugged. “Here I am.”

“I'm still wondering about your motives.”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“I might believe you if the pieces fit.” She shook her head. “They don't.”

Scowling, Robert walked into the kitchen and dumped the remaining cognac down the drain. Since Lily didn't know about his being an agent for ARIES, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to let her think his motives were of a more personal nature.

Cursing under his breath, he rinsed the glass then set it to drain and walked into the living area. “Talk to me about DeBruzkya.” He didn't miss the irony in that the most dangerous subject they could possibly discuss was the only safe topic to breach.

She glanced at him from the chair where she was sitting, her expression perplexed and perhaps a little suspicious. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Anything you can tell me.”

The lockbox lay open on the floor in front of her. Lily slipped from the chair and knelt. She lifted a well-used
folder and a brown envelope, then held both out for Robert. “This is everything I've been able to document in the last couple of years.”

Taking the chair next to hers, Robert took the folder, and opened it and skimmed the contents. “You've been busy.”

“So has DeBruzkya.”

He picked up a photo, set it down quickly. “Not the kind of stuff he would want the rest of the world to know about.”

Frowning, she gestured toward the file. “There are some things going on that I don't understand.”

“Like what?”

“From the information I've been able to gather, he's suddenly become very interested in acquiring gemstones.”

The hairs at the back of Robert's neck prickled. “Gemstones? How do you know?”

“Come on, Robert. I'm a journalist. I dig up information for a living.”

“So what did you dig up?”

“There have been a series of robberies,” she said.

“They've been in the news at home,” he said easily. “They've taken place in several countries. The Stedt Museum in London—”

“The Legvold collection in Stockholm. Van Werten in Frankfurt,” Lily finished.

“DeBruzkya is behind the robberies?” he asked.

“During one of our interview sessions, he told me about his interest in acquiring gemstones. I made a note but didn't think anything about it. Then a few months later I heard about the robberies. I did a little digging, and sure enough, some of his top lieutenants were out of the country during each of the robberies. Later, I learned he'd acquired several of the gems for his collection. I know him well enough to assume it wasn't by conventional means.”

Thunder rumbled outside. Robert saw her shiver but fought the urge to move closer to her. Lily reached behind
the chair, pulled out a threadbare quilt and draped it over her shoulders.

“Two people were nearly killed last week when he hit the Gala Summit in D.C.,” he said. “One of them was a good friend of mine.”

“I read about it,” she said. “I'm sorry. I hope your friend is all right.”

He thought of Ethan and Kelly and almost smiled. “He's doing just fine.”

“DeBruzkya is getting bolder and bolder.”

“He's out of control.”

“Is that why you're here?” She shot him a canny look.

Robert stared at her. “I'm here to inoculate children against disease. That's all you need to know.”

She didn't look convinced, but he didn't push it. “What troubles me most about this is that DeBruzkya doesn't seem like the kind of man who would be interested in gemstones.”

“True. He's more of a weapons of mass destruction kind of guy.” Robert frowned at the thought. “Even if he's amassing these gems to finance his dirty little war, it doesn't seem like his style.”

“There's another bizarre twist that might help put the pieces together for you.”

“I can't wait to hear it,” he said dryly.

“Have you ever heard of the Gem of Power?” she asked.

“I've heard enough to know it's an old Rebelian legend that no one believes, including me.”

“Quite a few people do believe in this legend, particularly some of the older peasants from the southern mining region. The legend has been around for hundreds of years.” Leaning back in the chair, she brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them to her. “The last time I met with DeBruzkya, he mentioned this Gem of Power. I thought it was odd at the time, but now I'm not so sure it was odd at all.”

“DeBruzkya doesn't strike me as a superstitious man.”

“Me, neither, but for some reason he appears to believe in this particular legend.”

“You're kidding?”

She shook her head. “He started talking about it one day when we were having espresso at a café in Rajalla. At first I didn't know where he was going with it. I'd been so involved with the freedom movement here that I hadn't kept up with world events, so I didn't know about the gem thefts.”

“What do the thefts have to do with an old legend?” Robert asked.

“I'm not sure, but I swear, Robert, that day I met with DeBruzkya and he talked about the legend, I think he believed it. I could see the fanaticism in his eyes.” The memory of fervor with which he told the legend made her shiver, and she pulled the quilt more tightly about her shoulders. “He was creeping me out.”

“What's the legend about?”

“Something like ‘he who owns the stone will have the power to rule the world.'”

“Sounds good in theory, if you're a nutcase. I don't think DeBruzkya is a nutcase. Dangerous, definitely, but not a nut.”

“Maybe he's going to use it to play upon the superstitions of the Rebelian people. You know, to control them.”

“Could be. He's a control freak, but I don't see how he could believe a legend would give him any kind of meaningful leverage.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “What's the story behind the legend?”

“I've heard it told in slightly different ways in different circles. The way DeBruzkya told it, the legend started some four hundred years ago when a Rebelian ruler had a huge stone set for his bride. Shortly after the birth of their first child, a son, she died after a long and terrible illness. Four generations of royal brides died the same way. Their deaths started to give the stone a bad rap as being cursed. The fifth-generation bride was a bit more shrewd than the others
and decided she wasn't going to be the next in line. She covertly sold the stone to a rich merchant who wanted to murder his wife. At that point, the stone disappeared into the Rebelian population. No one knows where it is.”

“What kind of stone?” he asked.

“No one knows.”

“How does that fit with the claim of power to rule the world?”

Lily shrugged. “Maybe the stone enables its owner to commit the perfect murder.”

“Most times it takes more than one murder to rule a country.”

Mass murder, she thought and shivered.

“That's quite a legend.” Robert said.

“Makes you wonder about the guy asking for your hand.” Lily wasn't superstitious, but she couldn't keep the gooseflesh from raising on her arms. She listened to the rain ping against the tin roof and thought about the legend and tried not to let it trouble her.

“You put on a good front, Lily. But it's pretty clear to me that you're more afraid than you're letting on.”

The statement jolted her, and for a moment she wasn't sure how to answer. She didn't like admitting to being afraid—it made her feel somehow diminished—but she didn't think Robert would believe a lie. “Only a fool wouldn't be afraid of a man like DeBruzkya.”

“How did you get close to him?”

“I let him think he was in control of the situation. That he could use me to get what he wanted.”

“To write his autobiography?”

She nodded. “I led him to believe I was a hungry young writer with big plans for my career. His ego made it easy to deceive him. All I had to do was let him think I was going to tell the world that he is not the evil man the mainstream media have portrayed him to be, but a misunderstood leader with a brilliant mind and ambitious ideas for his country and the rest of Europe.”

“Ego,” Robert muttered.

“That makes him predictable.”

“To a degree.” He rubbed his left thigh. “Do you know where his headquarters is located?”