The Warrior. Dinah McCall

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СКАЧАТЬ staying calm around her was almost impossible. He’d waited so long for revenge. He needed to find out if her father was the man he sought. He guessed that he was, but couldn’t be sure—wouldn’t be sure until they were standing face-to-face.

      He didn’t know what was going to happen after this quest was over, but right now he didn’t care. If he turned to dust, so be it. Revenge was a cold mistress, and he was tired—tired of it all.

      “The kitchen is through here,” John said, leading the way.

      But Alicia was so enthralled by this place that she kept lagging behind. The walls were a pale blue. The floor tiles were oblong, rather than square, and in an off-white color with gold veins scattered throughout. The furnishings were different shades of gold and blue, with snow-white throw pillows of every size. She could see a huge library off to the left, containing what appeared to be a well-organized office. The walls were covered with art and artifacts, most of which appeared to be of Native American theme or origin. The ocean breeze funneling through the open windows billowed the sheer white drapes hanging from ceiling to floor like earthbound kites. The faint scent of salty air permeated the rooms, along with another pleasant but less distinctive scent. It took her a few moments to locate the source, and when she did, she was once again surprised. A huge vase of wisteria sat on a waist-high table in the hall, giving every room access to the sweet, sweet smell of the blooms.

      “The flowers…”

      John paused and turned. “Yes?”

      “They’re lovely,” she said softly.

      For the first time John felt a sense of guilt. This woman was obviously in dire straits, or at least she thought she was. She was also stunning to look at. He needed to remember that her well-being was just as vital for him, albeit for different reasons, as it was for her.

      “They were White…uh…my wife’s favorite,” he said, glancing toward the vase of white and lavender flowers, the slender stalks drooping from their weight. “They used to grow wild where we lived.”

      Alicia’s eyes widened. Past tense. “She died?”

      John flashed on White Fawn’s sightless gaze and the blood spilling from the gash in her chest, then stifled the anger he still felt. “Many years ago,” he said shortly, and changed the subject. “Let me put the perishables up, and then I’ll show you to a room. You’ll be comfortable here until you figure out what you need to do, okay?”

      “Yes, and, John…thank you,” she said.

      He nodded, well aware that she wouldn’t be all that grateful if she knew of his ulterior motives.

      “Yeah, sure,” he said, stifling another twinge of guilt.

      

      Alicia was standing on the balcony off John’s bedroom, overlooking the ocean, watching the light fading from the sky. She’d asked permission to see the view, and he’d made himself absent to let her enjoy it. Now a faint sliver of moon hung awkwardly against a growing darkness as a few wispy clouds passed in front of it. Night birds were beginning to call. A stiff breeze lifted the hair from Alicia’s neck, chilling her all the way through. She wrapped her arms around herself as a shudder ripped through her.

      From behind, she heard a footstep, then felt the weight of something soft and warm settling on her shoulders. The gesture was both thoughtful and unexpected. As she pulled the edges of the sweater close around her, the scent of musk and a fainter scent of cigar smoke wafted toward her.

      She hadn’t seen John smoke, yet she recognized the singular scent of fine cigars.

      “Thank you,” she said softly, then looked back toward the water. “This is all so beautiful, but I’m sure you already know that.”

      John knew she was referring to the view, but for the first time since she’d walked into his house, he was looking at her and seeing her as the beautiful woman she was, not just as a means to an end.

      “Yes…very beautiful,” he said.

      Alicia looked up, caught his gaze on her and lost her train of thought.

      “Talk to me,” John said suddenly.

      “I…uh…”

      “Where do you live?”

      “Most of the time in Miami.”

      “Is that where your father is?”

      She nodded.

      He stifled a smile. Now he knew where to go. His suitcase was already packed. He was willing to leave her here on her own if she chose, or she could keep on running. But tomorrow morning, he was going to Miami.

      Even though he’d gotten the information from her that he needed, he decided to keep her talking. The more he knew, the more likely his success would be, and he was long overdue for success.

      “Why are you running from your father?”

      Alicia pulled the sweater up beneath her chin and looked back across the water.

      “It’s an ugly story.”

      “I’ve heard ugly before.”

      She was startled by the undisguised anger in his voice, reminding her that she was about to spend the night with a stranger. Still, he’d taken a chance for her. He deserved to know that what he’d done might put him in danger.

      “A few days ago I overheard my father and an old friend of his discussing an impending business deal. It had to do with selling weapons to terrorists…the same people our soldiers are fighting in Iraq.”

      John was stunned. It was the last thing he’d expected to hear. “Are you sure? I mean…is there a possibility you misunderstood?”

      Alicia pivoted, her voice rising as she answered. “To my knowledge, there is only one Osama bin Laden, only one group called al Qaeda. Do the words ‘delivery in Afghanistan, money transfers to Geneva,’ suggest anything to you?”

      John flinched as if he’d been kicked in the belly, then walked past her in the darkness, bracing his hands against the balcony rail as he stared off into the night. He’d waited an eternity for justice, but did his personal justice supersede the safety of thousands of young servicemen and women?

      He turned abruptly, a looming silhouette against the sky.

      “His name…What’s your father’s name? How would he have access to those kinds of people?”

      “His name is Richard Ponte. He’s the largest arms and munitions manufacturer in the western hemisphere.”

      Darkness hid the shock on John’s face. It seemed that the soul of the man who’d killed his people had not learned much during the ensuing centuries. Then another thought surfaced. Alicia Ponte was clearly afraid of her father’s wrath, so…what did she think he would do to her?

      “Does he know you overheard that conversation?”

      Alicia’s shoulders slumped. “As of this afternoon, yes.”

      A chill ran through John’s СКАЧАТЬ