Val fell to his knees next to them, only dimly aware of the glass shards digging into his flesh. “How is she?”
“Alive,” Sean said. “I don’t know how, or for how long, considering the condition he’s in.” He indicated Georg’s gruesome corpse, bent backward in a contorted arc. The man’s mouth, nose and bulging eyes all streamed blood. “She must have taken the same poison he did.”
“She kissed him, and he died,” Val said.
“That’s what I figured.” Sean’s voice was grim. “She has a tongue stud in. Some kind of poison capsule. The chick is a fucking head case. She makes me tired.”
Val cupped her jaw, tried to open her mouth. Sean batted his hand away. “Don’t touch her, for Christ’s sake! Some of the stuff she uses goes right through the skin. We can’t even do mouth to mouth.”
“I don’t care about the poison,” Val said. “I will give her mouth to mouth.”
Davy gave him a steely glance. “Like hell you will. Things suck enough without you croaking on us, too. Try it and I’ll knock you out.”
It would hardly be necessary, Val thought, swaying. He caught himself against the floor as he stared down at Tamar’s still form.
Her face looked like a pale, delicate wax effigy.
“I must call someone,” he said, shaking himself. “Medics, doctors. For Rachel, too. Someone give me a cell phone. An ambulance—”
“Connor’s already on it,” Davy interrupted him. “The FBI liaison’s taking care of it. Everybody’s on their way. So, these bodies…uh, what the hell happened here? Did you waste them all?”
“No. Just a few of them,” he said vaguely. “Seven or eight, maybe. They mostly killed each other. What are you doing to her arm?”
“It’s broken,” Sean said roughly. “Those filthy pigfuckers had her hanging from a goddamn rope with a broken arm. I can’t do shit about her crazy poisons, but at least I can splint her arm.”
Glass crunched as Val thudded down onto his ass. He caught himself with a bloody hand. The dim room was fading away.
He struggled to stay awake, alert. He didn’t want to leave Tamar while she still breathed. What a waste of precious moments with her.
But he could not support the weight of consciousness any longer. He was collapsing under it. On his way down the long slippery slide.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, he’s shot, he heard one of them say in an exasperated tone, before he pitched face first into nothing.
Chapter
30
Cray’s Cove, five weeks later…
Val pulled his motorcycle to a stop at the road that led to Tamar’s house. It was different than the last time he had seen it. It was now a road, not a camouflaged deer track. The driveway was freshly asphalted. A plain whitewashed post boasted a large, shiny silver mailbox with STEELE stenciled on in in bold black letters. There was a plastic box for the Washingtonian and another box for the local paper.
It disoriented him. For a moment, he doubted his own bulletproof, iron-riveted memory, but just for a moment. He’d been intensely aware of the exact latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates of Tamar’s physical presence on earth since he learned of her existence. He could not be mistaken about this. He gunned the motor again with a muttered curse.
He was just afraid, after these endless weeks of enigmatic silence. Afraid to speculate what the silence meant. So fucking afraid, he could barely eat. Or breathe, for that matter.
It was Tamar’s way to let a man sweat, but it seemed particularly cruel to him now, after lingering for weeks near death, to be left alone to doubt, to wonder. Should he reach out to her? Was it better to wait?
But he could not wait forever. It was killing him. He had to know.
And besides, he knew Tamar. She liked strength. Needed it. He had to be strong. Fear was weakening him, so he had to be fearless.
Hah. A stiff challenge. But he would try with everything he had.
Doubts nagged and stung him. She had never actually said that she loved him, except for that time that he remembered like a dream after she’d cuffed and drugged him at the agriturismo. And that may have been just a chemical fantasy. Questionable at every level.
He’d hoped that trying to save her and Rachel would have been a point in his favor but evidently not. She had ignored his very existence ever since.
He jerked to a stop at the electronic gate. There was a vidcam mounted above it. He buzzed the button and waited for a response.
This simple gate was nothing like the high-tech camouflaged facsimile of the falling-down barn that had stood here before. She’d ripped out all of her space age security, and put the plain, simple basics in their place. In other words, she’d lowered her defenses.
He wondered what that meant about her change in mood. He hoped it was good news for him. He was afraid to speculate.
No one was responding to his buzz, but he was going in anyway.
He was ready to face anything, even a loaded gun. Nothing could be worse than this blank emptiness. The boredom and pain of convalescence, then the intensive debriefing and subsequent negotiations with PSS. Then the quiet, endless days, one after the other, alone and dazed in his apartment in Rome. Slumped in a chair, staring at shadows moving on the wall for hours. Unable to eat, sleep, move.
Everything he tried to do felt like useless playacting, empty of all significance. No connection to anything that counted. How could there be? What counted had been ripped out of him.
What counted was walking around, living and breathing a half a world away from him. His heart, walking around outside his body. Ignoring him.
The intercom finally beeped. “Who is it?”
It was a female voice, but not Tamar’s. “Is this the home of Tamar Steele?” he asked.
A cautious pause, and someone said, “Who wants to know?”
“Valery Janos. Is she home?” He stepped up to the camera, stared into it, and let whoever was looking at the monitor inside get a good, long look.
The gate clicked and hummed open. He accelerated on through, and headed up the long, winding road that led up to the crest of a mountain that plunged steeply down to the Pacific Ocean. The hillside was dark with towering conifers and draped with a ragged mantle of mist. The broad, shining beach was lashed with surges of white foam. Dramatically beautiful, as befitted the home of a woman like Tamar.
The closer he got to her, the more his chest ached.
Had it just been his wishful fantasy projected onto her, that dawn interlude in the hotel room in San Vito? He had seen something in her eyes that had changed the nature of his existence. His soul had awakened, and so had his heart, his brain, and other parts he didn’t even know how to name. They had risen from a deathlike sleep, and now they would give him no peace.
Had it been real, that half-remembered ‘I love you’?
The garage was open when he pulled up. A young woman with a mop of curly red hair stood in the opening, holding a squirming baby in her arms. Margot McCloud. The name floated back to him. Davy’s wife. She was not smiling.
Val could politely initiate a conversation in ten different languages, but he just stood there, swallowing over the dry lump in his throat. “Is she here?” he asked when he could finally speak.
Margot jiggled her baby, studying him solemnly. “Yes. She’s working. In her studio.”
His stomach sank. “So