Sarah threw herself into Tucker’s arms.

“Not wasted,” Tucker said a bit thickly, his arms tight around her. “Hey, let’s get the hell out of here. This place is on fire.”

Brodie set an unused Molotov cocktail aside with a sigh. “You two go on. I’ll drag him along. Guess we can’t leave him down here to roast, much as I’d love to.”

Sarah avoided the spreading fire and darted over to grab the kerosene lamp to light their way back through the tunnel; the two men had infrared goggles hanging around their necks, but she didn’t feel much like plunging back into the darkness.

There was a crash from above and the floor of the church shuddered beneath the weight of whatever had fallen, so they didn’t waste any more time. Sarah and Tucker led the way swiftly, while Brodie followed with an unconscious Varden slung over one shoulder.

“Where’s the other one?” Sarah asked breathlessly as they hurried along the tunnel. “The one Varden wanted to kill Tucker?”

“I found him long before he heard that order,” Brodie replied. “Knocked him cold and dragged him to the mouth of the tunnel. Any sign of Duran?”

“No. Varden said this was his game.”

Brodie grunted. “That explains a few things.”

“Like what?” Tucker demanded as they emerged from the tunnel and into bright daylight.

“Like why he baited a trap. Not Duran’s style.” Brodie dumped Varden unceremoniously just outside the tunnel and looked around with a frown. “Now, where the hell—”

“No need to clean up the mess, Brodie. I’ll do that.”

It was a deep, pleasant voice, cool and oddly resonant, and Sarah knew who he was even before she jerked around to find him standing only a few feet away.

Duran.

SEVENTEEN

Not an average man.

He was tall, athletic; physical power was obvious even though he wore a dark trench coat open over a sober business suit. He was dark, his hair the true black of a raven’s wing, and strikingly pale and almost iridescent greenish eyes looked out of an extraordinarily handsome face.

Sarah was vaguely aware that both Brodie and Tucker had drawn guns and leveled them at the man, but he was looking at her. And she recognized him.

“I’ve seen your face,” she said slowly. “I’ve seen you. In my visions.”

He didn’t look surprised, merely nodding, and he stood relaxed and apparently at ease despite the guns pointed at him.

rodie said, “I’ve been waiting for you to turn up, Duran.”

Those pale eyes flickered toward him, then returned to Sarah’s face. “My apologies, Miss Gallagher.”

“Why?” she asked blankly.

“This has been badly handled from the beginning. There was no need for so much…trauma.”

“I suppose my dying in the house fire would have been much less traumatic for everybody involved?”

He smiled. “Exactly.”

She knew it wasn’t wise to try, but she let her senses reach out anyway, very carefully.

Immediately, she felt he was a dangerous man, yet that was only an intuitive judgment rather than something definite. She sensed no threat from him. In fact, she sensed…nothing. Not even shadows.

It was as if whatever made him the man he was—his personality, his spirit, his soul—were encased in something she simply could not penetrate.

Not, at least, without touching him.

Tucker said, “If you think you’re going to get your slimy hands on her now, think again.”

Duran glanced at him, then shrugged wide shoulders. “With a small army protecting her, I imagine you’re correct, Mr. Mackenzie.”

Tucker looked a bit surprised, and distinctly unbelieving, but since it wasn’t the moment to bring him up to date on what they knew and had surmised, Sarah merely said, “I won’t stop looking back over my shoulder. Just so you know.”

Duran smiled again, and there seemed to be a flicker of honest amusement in his pale eyes. “Noted.”

They could hear, faintly, the sounds of sirens approaching, and Duran added dryly, “It seems the local officials have finally taken note of the fire. Your people have pulled out; I suggest you do the same.”

“And just leave you standing here?” Brodie demanded. “Why the hell shouldn’t I drop you now and save myself a lot of trouble down the road?”

Duran looked at him and, pleasantly, said, “I have a mess to clean up. And we both know you aren’t going to shoot me, Brodie. The only man you could kill in cold blood would be the man who killed your wife—a crime you know I’m not guilty of.”

“What about Cait?” Brodie demanded harshly, not reacting in any visible way to the mention of a dead wife.

Duran shook his head slightly. “None of my people killed her.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t care what you believe.” Duran’s voice remained pleasant. “But if I were you, I’d look inside my own house. For a traitor.”

Brodie’s finger tightened on the trigger for an instant, and his face was stone. But then he swore and said to Sarah and Tucker, “Let’s get out of here. Now.”

They left Duran standing there, and when Sarah glanced back, it was to see him looking down at Varden’s unconscious body with a singular lack of expression.

The rendezvous point was about two miles away, and when Sarah, Tucker, and Brodie arrived at the clearing not far off the road, they found another Jeep waiting for them.

Murphy was sitting on the hood. A tall and very athletic woman with short, spiky blond hair and fierce green eyes, she looked like somebody the Navy SEALs might have trained, especially since she was wearing fatigues.

Sarah had met her only briefly and Tucker hadn’t met her at all, so introductions were in order. As seemed to be her nature, Murphy was taciturn, merely nodding at Tucker, but then she said something that stopped them in their tracks.

“We’ve lost Leigh.”

“What are you talking about?” Brodie demanded.

Murphy’s voice was flat, hard. “She started the fire, as planned. And then—I don’t know what happened. All I know is that I saw her inside the church, just as the roof started to cave in. Nick and I checked it out, but there was so much heat and smoke…He stayed back there to lurk in the woods and see what the cops find.”

Brodie stood very still, his body rigid. His face was gray, his eyes hollow. “We have to look for her,” he said mechanically. “Something else could have happened to her.” He looked at Sarah. “Tell me something else happened to her.”

She had closed her mind so tightly in order to get into the church that opening it widely now required an effort. But as soon as Sarah made that effort, she felt an icy wave sweep over her, shaking her badly and leaving behind it nothing but an empty ache.

She was holding Tucker’s hand and was grateful for his strength and the solid warmth of him beside her. He hadn’t known Leigh, but he felt Sarah’s pain and loss, and his mind reached out instinctively to offer her compassion. It was a light but comforting touch she needed.

She put her other hand on Brodie’s arm. “I don’t…I don’t think so. She’s gone, Brodie. I can’t sense her at all.”

He drew a deep breath. “Christ.” He looked suddenly much older than his years. First Cait and now Leigh. This time, the price had been high indeed.

Tucker asked quietly, “Why would she have gone in there?”

It was Murphy who answered him, her voice still hard but beginning to crack around the edges. “She might have seen one of them still trapped in there. She would have gone in.”

“Even for one of them?” Tucker asked.

“Even for one of them.”

It was decided not to return to Leigh’s house. Murphy vanished for a few minutes and then returned to lead the way to what she called a safe house in Portland. Nick would meet them there later, and Murphy and Nick would remain with the others for the night, then go their separate ways in the morning while Brodie took Tucker and Sarah back to Richmond.