with blood. “Please.”
“No.” His own scream wrenched through the air, its rawness jarring him from his sleep. His eyes flew open and he expected to see her body lying next to his, but only the smell of her blood followed him back into reality. The metallic scent lingered in his nostrils, mixing with the sour odor of his sweat and the staleness of the cabin. His stomach heaved in protest.
“Damn.” Roman D’Amato swung his legs over the edge of the berth and pressed the heels of his hands against his temples. The sledgehammer inside his skull eased into a rhythmic throb.
He’d made the wrong choice. If the nightmares were the punishment, so be it. Lord knew he deserved worse, much worse.
He grabbed a cigarette from the nightstand and shoved it between his teeth, ignoring the slight tremor in his hand when he lit up. The first drag was long and deep, allowing him to savor the taste while it filled his lungs. He waited until the burning pressure in his chest forced him to exhale, then slowly he blew the smoke out, letting it swirl around his head.
The scent of Amanda’s blood faded.
Roman fell back onto the bunk and covered his eyes with his forearm. Before long, the even rocking of the boat and the nicotine soothed him. He’d bought the cabin cruiser a few years back to escape. Its long, sleek lines and comforting rhythm drew his soul like a magnet. Still, the boat couldn’t save Roman from his demons or the punishment they bestowed. Nothing could.
It didn’t matter, he mused. He wanted retribution, not salvation. The timing wasn’t right, though, not yet.
But soon. Very soon.
A black heat pulsed in his blood, burning with revenge.
For Amanda. For himself.
The shrill ring of the telephone jolted him out of his thoughts. He grabbed the clock from the nightstand, then dropped it onto the cabin floor in disgust. Nine in the morning. Only three hours of sleep.
He got up from the bed, not bothering to put his shorts on, and walked naked to the desk where he’d tossed his cell phone. Only one person had his number, and that person would have only one reason to use it.
Automatically activating the scrambler, he answered on the fourth ring. “Yeah.” Roman saw no need for niceties since the man on the other end of the line was Jonathon Mercer, Director of Labyrinth, an elite branch of the CIA.
“I’ve just canceled your vacation, D’Amato.” Mercer didn’t believe in polite conversation, either. In their business, it was a waste of time. “We have a situation.”
Roman laughed, and acid burned his throat. There were always situations. He’d been a specialist too long to believe otherwise.
“I’m unavailable, Mercer. Get someone else.” He bit out the words, not caring if it cost him his career. Hell, maybe it was time to retire, anyway.
“Damn it, there isn’t anyone else,” came the impatient reply. “Kate MacAlister walked out of Las Mesas and disappeared.”
“What do you mean she disappeared?” Dread raked his gut. Cold and razor sharp.
“Exactly that,” the director admitted irritably.
There was a short, tense pause while Roman swallowed an obscenity. At the mention of Kate’s name, his reputed control always vanished. A truth he’d never been able to escape.
“I’m listening,” Roman ground out, his voice tight. He reached for another cigarette. The Las Mesas Institute was a nuclear laboratory located in southern New Mexico. Their security measures were the most advanced in the country. Impenetrable. The way Roman had designed them to be.
“A few months ago, Dr. MacAlister made a breakthrough on her antimatter energy research,” Mercer replied gruffly. “It appears she found a way to capture the energy created when antimatter particles collide with normal matter.”
Familiar with Kate’s theory, he wasn’t surprised she’d succeeded in proving it. Besides being Las Mesas’s top physicist, the woman was a certified genius, having gotten her doctorate in both computer science and physics by the age of nineteen.
“Last night, shortly before midnight, she ran a program at the lab, destroying all her research data. Then she left.”
“It doesn’t make sense.” Roman frowned. “The antimatter research was her baby, had been for the past five years.”
“Still, her disappearance was triggered by a phone call she received at the lab.” After a pause, Mercer continued, “We’ve reason to believe it was Marcus Boyd, her associate on the project.”
Roman remembered meeting Dr. Boyd at some award banquet held in Kate’s honor. The man had reminded him of an old mouse, slight in stature with a nervous disposition. He also remembered Kate’s disapproving look when he’d casually offered the timid man some cheese from the buffet table.
Mercer interrupted Roman’s thoughts. “We suspect she’s hiding but can’t verify it without tipping off the domestics.”
Domestics meant FBI and the local police. Labyrinth tended to avoid contact with them for security purposes.
Roman swore and pressed his fingers to his eyes, where the rhythmic throbbing metamorphosed once again into a sledgehammer. The woman had more brains than she had common sense. “I’m still listening, Mercer, but so far you haven’t explained why the doc went into hiding.” Roman grabbed the aspirin bottle from the desk drawer and swallowed four tablets dry as Kate’s image flashed before him. The long, black hair, the startling gray eyes, the delicate lines of her face.
When he got hold of her, he’d wring her beautiful neck.
“Copies of Dr. MacAlister’s latest research notes have surfaced among some of the world’s leading arms dealers.” Mercer’s voice hardened. “Specific handwritten notes only someone working closely with her would have access to.”
“Boyd,” Roman supplied. The doc had been set up.
“He was the most logical suspect,” Mercer agreed, “but it’s going to be damn hard to confirm our suspicions— Boyd’s dead.” Roman smashed his cigarette between his fingers then threw the remains into a half-eaten bowl of cereal he’d left on the desk the night before. The little fool, she put herself in harm’s way the moment she destroyed her research. Even if Boyd wasn’t selling her work, someone was. It was only a matter of time before whoever killed Boyd went after her.
“What do you have that’s concrete?”
“Not much,” Mercer responded, echoing Roman’s frustration. “A short while ago she contacted Cain’s office from a pay phone in Raton, New Mexico. We assumed she couldn’t get a signal on her cell phone and took a chance on being traced.” Mercer grunted. “Which we did, of course. She hung up after Cain’s secretary told her he was out of town.”
Roman rubbed his face, barely noticing the whiskers that scraped his palm. Cain was Kate’s oldest brother, Roman’s most trusted friend and one of the Agency’s top operatives.
“He’s overseas,” Mercer confirmed. “Too deep undercover to reach. Hell, even if I could manage it somehow, I wouldn’t.”
