Deadlock

ELEVEN

"YOUR GUN." GARRETT HANDED her a box when he came out of the tall brick building at which they'd stopped after they'd landed at the small private airport in Connecticut. "A.40-caliber Glock as you re¬quested. I'd like to see you shoot sometime."

She shook her head. "After my father taught me, he said I should never pick up a gun unless I meant to use it. He was in Special Services before he became a photographer. He never wanted to kill anything or anyone again, but he knew there was always a threat out there." She smiled reminiscently. "I got pretty good. He used to tell me that he'd put me up against any of the guys in his unit. It was bullshit, but it gave me confidence later when I had to deal with the scum who were trash¬ing the museums." She opened the box. "Nice. Is that all you bought here?"

"No, Dardon is picking up some long-range electronic equipment. He'll be out in a minute." "Electronic equipment?"

"We're going to see if we can trigger a response from Mr. Zelov." "Got it." Dardon opened the car door and got into the backseat. "Pretty sophisticated. It may be good enough."

"Providing this is the right Zelov, and he has a guilty conscience."

Garrett started the car. "We'll have to see. Or rather Emily will have to see."

Emily looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"I think you should be the one to do the Q and A on Nicholas Zelov. He might be less defensive." "Why?"

"What did you tell me about the private life of Nicholas Zelov?"

She glanced down at the computer she'd been studying since she'd gotten on the jet in Pakistan. "He's divorced, no children, parents dead, was in drug rehab eight years ago. Likes women, loves gambling, hates work." She looked up. "Evidently not like his rather bizarre an¬cestor."

"Likes women." Garrett said. "And I phoned his house while I was buying your gun. He's not at home, but the housekeeper said that he was at Foxworth, a very plush casino near here." He quoted. " 'Loves gambling.' Put the two together and we might hit a home run."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"That's up to you." He got on the freeway. "It should take us about ten minutes to get there. Tell me about what else you found out about Nicholas Zelov and his great-great-grandfather, Mikhail."

She pointed at the photo on the monitor of a palatial-looking man¬sion on the hill beyond the wrought-iron gates. The ground lights shin¬ing up at the onion-shaped towers of the building gave it a Disney-like magic. "That's the Zelov family home. It definitely has a Russian flair. It's said to look like St. Basil's in Moscow. It was built by Mikhail Zelov in 1922." Emily looked up from the laptop. "He kept a low pro¬file and lived in a tenement in east New York when he first arrived, then he took a trip to Canada, stayed there two years, and when he came back, he said he'd struck it rich in the Klondike gold mines."

"Maybe he did," Dardon said.

"And maybe he didn't," Garrett said. "Evidently anything was possible with Zelov."

"At any rate, he lived the high life and left an enormous fortune to his two children. He died in 1943, and his heirs promptly started to run through his money," Emily said. "The present head of the family, Nicholas Zelov, was on the verge of bankruptcy five months ago but managed to pull himself out of it." She glanced at Dardon in the backseat. "That's about the time Warwick told him about Mikhail's private influx of money. Nicholas is still not doing well, but he can live marginally in the style to which he's accustomed." She closed the computer. "I'd like to know if Nicholas is getting any electronic trans¬fers as old Mikhail did."

"That's one question you could ask him," Garrett said. "But I doubt if you'll get an answer." He nodded. "There's Foxworth. Quite the little Indian reservation, isn't it?"

"Indian reservation?"

"The casinos are Indian-owned."

The neon-lit hotel-casino glowed in the darkness like a magnifi¬cent beacon in its setting of lush green terrain. "It's almost as palatial as Zelov's castle."

"Then he should feel right at home." He pulled in front of the casino. "We'll park over there." He handed her a tiny black nodule. "Plant it somewhere on Nicholas Zelov before you leave him."

"I feel like some kind of spy. Anyplace in particular?"

He shook his head. "It's powerful and should broadcast from ten feet away. Just touch him anywhere, and the nodule will attach. I just like to be sure."

She got out of the car and looked at the brilliantly lit lobby. "I'm not dressed for this." She looked down at her black slacks and white long-sleeved shirt. "I'll duck into the washroom and at least wash my face and touch up this wig."

"You look great."

"Bullshit." She strode toward the glass doors, which were immedi¬ately opened for her by a uniformed doorman. Clean up. Make dis¬creet inquiries and have Zelov pointed out to her. Then see what she could do about finding out what she had come to find out.

NICHOLAS ZELOV WAS SITTING at the long, granite bar, and Emily had watched him drink two whiskeys in the space of the time she had been studying him. He was a big man in his late forties, with ruddy complexion and black hair. Zelov was barely upright on the stool, and his voice was slurred when he'd ordered that last whiskey. Evidently his alcohol rehab hadn't worked out, Emily thought.

Sad, but that might be better for her purpose.

She slipped onto the stool next to him. "My name is Emily Hud¬son, Mr. Zelov. I wonder if you'd answer a few questions for me?"

"No, go away." He took another drink. "No whores tonight. A few more drinks, then back to the tables."

"I'm not a prostitute, Mr. Zelov. I work for the U.N. I was inter¬ested in your family history."

"U.N.? What the hell?" He suddenly stiffened and turned to look at her. "You're that woman who was kidnapped. I saw your picture in the newspaper." He reached out and touched her hair. "But the color is different."

She leaned back away from his touch. "People recognize me. This helps a little."

"I don't know why you want to talk to me anyway. I read that you were in seclusion somewhere. Why don't you go back there?" He took another swallow of the whiskey. "Ten minutes. That's all I'll give you."

"Thank you. I'll try to be brief."

"You'd better." He was gazing at her critically again. "You look better than you did in that video they released after the CIA got you away from those bandits. You need some meat on your bones, but you're not half bad looking. Would you like a drink?"

"No, thank you."

He signaled the bartender for another drink for himself. "When I was reading about you, I was wondering what those bandits did to you. Rape?"

She didn't answer the question. "I'd like to talk to you about Mikhail Zelov."

An undecipherable expression flitted across his face. "You came to me to ask about old Guru Mikhail?" "Guru?"

"That's what my grandfather called him. Stingy, spooky bastard. He tied up all his money in trust funds that couldn't be touched. My father only managed to finally break the will after wasting years in court."

"Why spooky?"

"He claimed he was a holy man and could heal the sick and send his enemies to their deaths." He smirked with satisfaction. "That's what we used to break the trusts. Insanity. All those documents and letters were what cooked his goose."

"That must have made you very happy," Emily said. "But I under¬stand you went through many of his records again just several months ago. Why?"

He stiffened. "How did you know that?"

She ignored the question. "Did you find something then that you didn't find before?" "Hell, no."

He'd mentioned only documents and letters, Emily thought. She made a leap. "I was actually interested in a book he wrote before he left Russia. It was a kind of a guide to living."

His expression became shuttered. "Oh, that book." He shrugged. "He talked about it." He took a swallow of his whiskey. "I think my grandfather tossed it out with a lot of his father's other effects after the old man died." He looked at Emily. "Why are you prying into the old Guru's stuff? What's it to you?"

She was ready for that question she knew would come. "My profession is preserving artifacts. The book may be historically im¬portant. It had a connection with Rasputin I understand."

"Yeah. I think it did. But he didn't think shit about Rasputin." He suddenly frowned. "I told you. The book was tossed. If that's all you wanted to know, you can hit the road."

"That's not quite all I wanted to know," Emily said. "Why did you go to Moscow five months ago, Mr. Zelov?"

"That's all." He pushed away from the bar. "Now you're sticking your nose into my business. I wanted to see my family's home, asshole. I wanted to search for my roots."

"Could we see Mikhail Zelov's letters and journals you spoke about?" Emily asked.

"I don't give a shit. They're all on record with the court as testi¬mony when we broke the will." He was struggling to get off the stool. "I've had enough of you. You're bad news. I'm going to go back to the tables before you bring me bad luck."

She was losing him. In another minute he'd be leaving her.

She reached out her palm that held the black nodule Garrett had given her and grasped the arm of Zelov's jacket. "One more question. Was there a hammer in Mikhail Zelov's effects?"

"What?" Zelov's cheeks became even ruddier. "That's a stupid question. Why would-Get out. I'm a good customer here. I'll have them toss you out on your ear. I've been patient enough because you looked-Out."

"I'm going, Mr. Zelov. Thanks for your time." She slipped off the stool and headed for the exit.

She glanced back over her shoulder as she opened the heavy glass door. Zelov wasn't going back to the tables. He was heading for the French doors leading to the terrace.

And he was reaching for his cell phone.

"He's heard about the hammer," Emily said as soon as she reached the car. Excitement was tingling through her. "I know it."

"From what I heard, I think he has, too." Garrett held the car door open for her. "And we were lucky he was drunk and transparent as glass." He got back into the car and looked at Dardon. "Ready? It should be coming any time now."

Dardon lifted the headset to his ear. "He's already dialing. He probably had to get somewhere he'd get a clear signal. There's too much electronic interference in casinos."

"He was heading for the terrace," Emily said. "You're recording him? You can do that from out here?"

"With the help of that little bug you planted." Garrett nodded. "Piece of cake with the right equipment. I didn't think we'd get much out of him, but I hoped your asking the questions would send him running."

Dardon nodded. "But we're not getting much. Zelov is in a panic, but the man he's talking to is only impatient, not informative." He lis¬tened a moment, then turned the switch. "That's it. He hung up." He looked at Garrett. "Do you want to stick around and see if he makes any other calls?"

"No." He started the car and drove down the driveway. "But I want to hear that call, and I want you to start trying to trace it. We'll check into a motel and go over it. Do you have a general location?"

Dardon nodded. "I think it was somewhere in Russia."

"That's pinning it down. "

"Best I can do right now." He looked back down at his board. "That may be the best I can do, period, if the line is as protected as I think. We may have to call in an expert to tap a phone-company database."

Zelov had called Russia, Emily thought. Who in Russia had reached out tentacles to touch her, touch Zelov, touch Garrett? Deadly tenta¬cles. Even drunk, Zelov had been afraid when she'd mentioned the hammer.

"Okay?" Garrett asked, glancing at her.

She nodded. "He was nervous when I was talking about the Book of Living, too. He was lying then."

Garrett nodded. "I'd be very curious to read what's in that Book of

Living. It might just lead us where we want to go." He glanced back at Dardon. "Providing Dardon can't point the way."

"I'm working on it," Dardon muttered. "But I'm no expert. I think we may have to call in Pauley to do his wizardry."

"Then we'll do it," Garrett said. "But first I want to hear that call. I saw a Holiday Inn about a mile off the freeway…"

"HERE'S THE DISC." DARDON handed Garrett the black case at the door of his room at the Holiday Inn. "Suppose I work on the lo¬cation a little more before I give it up to Pauley."

"No, get him now." Garrett unlocked the door and let Emily precede him into the room. "Tell him I want him here tomorrow morning."

"It will cost you."

"Everything does," Garrett said. "But it may cost me more to delay."

"Whatever you say." He turned and strolled down the hall toward his room. "I'm glad to give it up to Pauley. Though you know he's go¬ing to be condescending as hell."

"Who's Pauley?" Emily asked, as Garrett came in and shut the door.

"Mark Pauley. He's sort of a techno-wizard in computers and all things electronic. If anyone can pin down the location of Zelov's call, he'll be able to do it. He's the best hacker I've ever known." He glanced around the room. "Set up your computer and we'll play that CD. There's usually a coffeemaker in these rooms, and I could use some cof¬fee. Maybe it's on the bathroom vanity." He went into the bathroom. "Yeah, here it is."

Emily heard the sound of running water as she opened the laptop and set it on the desk. "It's up. Hurry, dammit."

"We've got time." He came out of the bathroom a few minutes later and handed her a cup of coffee. "And the call was very short, Dardon said."

"That doesn't mean we won't learn something from it." She took the disc he handed her and slipped it into the computer. "I want to know now."

He sat down in the chair at the desk and leaned back. "Then play it."

She pressed the button.

A sound of dialing and Zelov's heavy breathing. Then the call was picked up on the other end.

Russian. She realized they were both speaking in Russian. Disap¬pointment surged through her. "Dammit."

"You don't speak Russian?"

"No. You do, don't you?"

He nodded. "Pretty well."

He speaks nine languages, Irana had told her.

She opened the desk drawer and pulled out stationery and a pen. She set it in front of him and stopped the disc. "Write it down. I want every word, every intonation, every pause."

He smiled. "I'll try to oblige."

"Don't try. Do it." She started the disc again.

His smile disappeared, and he frowned with concentration, his pen flying over the paper.

She sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. She was once again aware of the intensity, the intelligence in that face. She slowly sipped her coffee and waited for him to finish.

The conversation took only a few minutes. Garrett pushed the sheet of paper away from him and looked at her. "Done. The man Zelov called was definitely not Staunton. You agree?"

Emily nodded. The voice on the tape was smoother, deeper. "It never occurred to me that Nicholas Zelov would speak Russian," she said ruefully. "He seemed so dyed-in-the-wool American."

"I imagine the first Zelov clung very closely to his Russian roots. It seems to have carried down through his progeny." He stood up. "Sit here at the desk. The light is better, and my handwriting isn't wonderful." He smiled slightly. "Though I did try to obey instructions and convey into¬nations and pauses."

She sat down in the chair and picked up the sheet of paper. Garrett's handwriting was bold, dominant, and incisive. Like his character, she thought absently, but there were many more shadings to his personality. "You're right, your handwriting isn't wonderful, but it's clear. That's all that's important."

"I'm glad you can make it work." He lay back on the bed and propped himself up against the headboard. He lifted his cup to his lips. "Read. We'll talk later."

She was already reading.

"It's Zelov. Dammit, you promised me you'dprotect me. You said no one would know."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Zelov. Are you drunk again?"

"I'm not drunk. Well, maybe I've had a little, but that doesn't change anything. I have a right to do whatever I want. You can't tell me what to do."

"I can tell you whatever I wish, Zelov. And you will listen re¬spectfully, then obey."

"Bullshit. You told me no one would know. You lied."

"Stop sputtering and tell me clearly and slowly what you mean."

"She asked about the book. She asked about Mikhail Zelov. She asked about my trip to Moscow." "Who asked you?" "That U.N. bitch." Pause. "Emily Hudson?"

"Yeah. It was her, but her hair was different…"

"Did she mention the amulets? What did you tell her, Zelov?"

"Nothing. I didn't tell her anything. I told her to go chase herself.

She didn't say a word about the amulets. But you've got to protect me. You've got to get her off me."

"How long ago did she leave?"

"Five minutes maybe."

"You fool. You incredible fool to take a chance like this. I'm hanging up."

"You can't do that. Talk to me. Tell me how you're going to-"

"I'm hanging up. Listen carefully. My promise will not be bro¬ken. But if you talk to Emily Hudson or anyone else again, you will be punished. Do you understand?"

"I'm not stupid. Of course, I understand. You can't threaten me. You can't do- "

The connection was broken.

Emily finished reading the last words, then went back and started to read the conversation again. Then she played the disc trying to memorize the sound, the intonations, of the man Zelov had called. She wanted to remember that voice if she heard it again. But they had no name. Why hadn't Zelov mentioned his name just one time, she wondered in frustration.

"Finished?" Garrett asked.

She nodded and leaned back in the chair. "But we haven't got a name, dammit."

"We'll get it." He finished his coffee and set the cup on the night¬stand. "But not much more."

"We know Zelov is definitely involved in something crooked. And that he did something for this man and was paid off. Did he give him that Book of Living*. Or did he give him the hammer?" She thought of something else. "Or the amulets. Plural. That meant there had to be more than the one we found in Nemid's wall."

"It would seem so." He paused. "But the man who paid Zelov off promised to protect him, and that may mean he'll try to rid him of us.

So I believe that we should get out of here and head for Moscow as soon as possible."

She shook her head. "Not until I get a transcript of Mikhail Zelov's letters and journals, the ones that were used at that trial."

He nodded. "I was going to send Dardon to Hartford to get copies as soon as the records office opened, but I have a lot for him to do. We'll go ourselves. I want to be there before Zelov gets sober enough to request that the documents be kept confidential. Though they can't be that revealing if they've been public for years."

"There could be something that will give us a lead. We've got to try."

"Easy, "Garrett said. "We are trying. I'm just saying that I don't want you to build up your hopes, then be disappointed."

"I don't care if I'm disappointed. I'll just go down another road." She stood up. "I'm going to my room. I'll see you in the morning. What time?"

"Six. I'll order room service for the three of us and we'll get moving." He swung his legs to the floor. "I'll walk you to your room." "That's not necessary."

"Yes, it is. And it's necessary for you to keep your door locked and not open it to anyone but me." He opened the hall door for her and followed her out into the corridor.

"You think that man Zelov called will send Staunton after us."

"Perhaps. It's an open game. We're not even sure Staunton is con¬nected to Nicholas Zelov yet."

"They're connected. I feel it." She stopped at her door. "And maybe we should stay here and let Staunton come to us."

"Not when we're ready to widen the circle."

"We can widen the circle later. I want Staunton now."

"What a bloodthirsty woman you are, Emily." He smiled down at her. He reached out and touched her lower lip with a forefinger. "And you look so wholesome and ail-American."

Her lip was suddenly tingling beneath his finger. An instant before, she had been only thinking of Staunton and how to trap him. Yet the moment he had touched her she had become acutely, physically aware of everything about Garrett. The spicy, male scent of him, the warmth of his body, his eyes looking down at her. How did he do that to her? She moved her head to avoid his touch. "I don't feel wholesome. And I do want Staunton's blood."

"You'll get it." His hand dropped away from her. "We'll get them all." He turned away. "But don't answer your door no matter whether you want it to be Staunton or not. Not without me beside you, and right now you're obviously not ready to let me occupy that position all night. We don't know how soon or in what manner that promise is go¬ing to be kept to Zelov."

STAUNTON CURSED AS HE SAW the name on his phone ID. Dammit, it was Babin. He didn't need this. He was pissed off enough that Borg had told him that Garrett had probably managed to get his hands on the amulet in Nemid's study. Borg had bribed one of the Afghani officials who had been crawling all over the library to describe the condition of the crime scene, and that hole in the drywall had not been Borg's work. Staunton didn't want to have to admit that to Babin before he got it back. The bastard hadn't wanted him to use the amulet to strike the deal with Nemid.

Staunton started talking the moment he picked up. "I was just go¬ing to call you. We plugged the leak in Kabul, but Garrett managed to get his hands on the amulet. Not that it will do him any good. No one can tell anything from it, and we'll take care of Garrett before he makes a connection."

"He's already made a connection," Babin said coldly. "I just re¬ceived a call from Nicholas Zelov squealing like a pig. Emily Hudson paid him a visit tonight. And if she was there, then Garrett must have been there, too."

Oh, shit.

"I didn't think Garrett would track him down quite so soon. As I said, I got rid of Nemid. He was the immediate threat."

"I didn't tell you to kill Nemid. I could have handled it. And I told you that you shouldn't use one of the amulets with him."

"I had to offer him a bargain he couldn't refuse. We needed him. It's my job to keep you from worrying about details. And we'll do damage control." He changed the subject. "Did Zelov tell her any¬thing?"

"He said he didn't, but the idiot called me immediately after she left him. The drunken fool didn't even realize the risk." "I told you that you should get rid of him." "I couldn't, dammit."

"I'll jump on the next plane for New York. Do you know where they are?"

"No. Figure it out for yourself. Prove your worth. But you'll arrange for someone else to find and dispose of Garrett and retrieve Emily Hud¬son in the safest and least public of ways. It's clear you haven't been able to keep a low profile. You know of such a person?"

"Yes, but I'd rather do it myself."

"I don't care what you'd rather do. You'll come here in case I need you." He hung up,

Cold, arrogant bastard, Staunton thought, as he hung up. He was tempted to ignore Babin and go to New York himself. He didn't want anything to happen to Emily before he could get his hands on her. He'd waited too long.

But Babin was a force he had to reckon with. Staunton wasn't quite ready to make a move yet. Everything and everyone had to be in place. This was his big chance, the bonanza he'd searched for all his life. He had to be calm and patient. It would be better to do as Babin ordered, find someone else to do the job, and trust that his orders would be obeyed. He had to have Emily Hudson.

But if he couldn't do what he wanted to do at the moment, then he would find another way to sting Emily. She had to realize that he was still in control.

He reached for his phone and dialed Borg. "Are you still in Kabul?"

"Yes. I thought I'd call you and ask-"

"Get a plane to Morocco. Isn't that where you said we followed Irana Povak?"

"Yes, Tangiers. She's working with some doctor there." He paused. "But I don't know if I can get to her. Dardon has her surrounded with security."

"We'll get to her. One of those security men will make a slip, and we'll find a way to take her. Find someone to bribe. Find someone to kill. Until then we just have to be patient. Watch and wait, Borg. Watch and wait." He hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. Good advice, but he wasn't feeling in the least patient. He didn't want Irana Povak. He wanted Emily, dammit. But Emily could be reached by anyone she cared about, and she cared about Irana Povak.

You want another experience like the one with Joel Levy, Emily? Let's see if I can oblige you.

But now he had to throw a bone to Babin and do as the arrogant bastard commanded. He had to find someone else to do the job of go¬ing after Emily in Connecticut that he wanted to do himself. Who was efficient that he could control?

Sal Caprini. Sal was smart and lethal and would know that Staunton would come after him if he didn't do exactly as instructed. But there was the problem of finding Garrett and Emily. He frowned as he concentrated on the problem. Emily and Garrett had found Zelov and were digging deep. What would Garrett's next move be? In his position, what would he do?

Then it came to him.

He started to dial Sal Caprini in New Jersey.

DARDON KNOCKED ON THE DOOR at six forty-five the next morn¬ing, and when Garrett answered, Dardon said, "Got him. He was down in Miami doing a job for IBM."

"Hello, Pauley," Garrett said to the man standing beside Dardon. "Thanks for coming."

"Dardon said it was going to be profitable," Pauley said. "I've de¬cided I have to retire like you. Keeping up with all this new technol¬ogy is making an old man of me."

"Emily, this is Mark Pauley. Emily Hudson." Dardon gestured to the man who entered the room with him. "He's going to break into a phone-company database that everyone says is unbreakable and get us the information we need. Or so he says." He headed for the room ser¬vice table where Emily was sitting. "Breakfast. I'm starved. At the rate you're charging us, we can only afford to give you a cup of coffee, Pauley."

"I'll survive." He came forward and shook Emily's hand. "I'm very glad to meet you. I understand that if I reveal I've seen you, I'll die a slow and horrible death. Titillating, isn't it?"

He had a faint British accent, but there was nothing of British re¬serve in his smile. It was warm, intimate, and chock-full of charm. He was brown-haired, blue-eyed, in his late twenties, and stunningly good-looking. Emily couldn't remember even seeing a movie star that attrac¬tive. "If you can call death titillating. How do you do, Mr. Pauley."

"Oh, not actually experiencing the dire fate. I violently oppose death. But it's always interesting to skirt on the edge." He turned to Garrett. "How much time do I have?"

"Time to have a cup of coffee," Garrett said. "I'll even order you breakfast. I'm not as miserly as Dardon."

"I understand and forgive him. He's an amateur, and he resents a professional's expertise." He gave Dardon a sly glance. "I'll even let him come and watch a master at work. He may learn something."

"Bastard," Dardon muttered as he took a sip of coffee. "You're not so perfect. I will watch you, and I'll learn your bag of tricks."

"By all means." Pauley's smile faded. "Seriously, give me a time frame, Garrett."

"I want to be on a plane and heading out of the country by noon."

"Then you may have to take me with you. These days it's not easy hacking into a phone company and tracing past calls. There are all kinds of trip wires and firewalls. Even the NSA has trouble, and they're the snoopiest bastards on the planet."

"Do your best. Otherwise, you may have to take a short Russian vacation."

"It will have to be short. I don't like Russia." He shrugged. "Well, I don't mind it, but they don't like me. You'd think a country as into electronic snooping as the Kremlin would be a little more tolerant. I think they're jealous." He winked at Emily. "Like my friend, Dar¬don." He turned to leave. "I'll skip breakfast and go back to Dardon's room and see if I can make some headway. Maybe I'll even strike it lucky and meet your deadline."

Emily watched him leave. "Is he as good as he says he is?"

"Better." Dardon made a face. "He's a damn wonder. He doesn't look at things the way we do. He has a cyber connection."

"He looks like a movie star."

"And makes the most of it," Garrett said dryly. "He makes the most of all his talents." "I think I like him."

"You see? He's in the room five minutes, and you're on his cheer¬ing team." There was a faint edge to his voice. "Don't get too in¬volved. I'll send him packing as soon as I get what I need from him." He sat down and started his breakfast. "Eat. We've got to get moving. I want to get to the courthouse as soon as they open." He turned to Dardon. "And you don't have time to stay with Pauley and play with the computers. You need to set up the flight, pick up documents, and arrange for a place for us to stay in Russia."

"Pauley, too? You were serious?"

"Pauley, too. Even after he gets us the address we need, we may be able to use him over there." He grimaced. "And it will give Emily something pretty to look at on the trip to Moscow."

That edge was in his voice again, and it was beginning to annoy her. "That would be nice," she said coolly. "I may learn something from him. I'm sure he's a good teacher."

Dardon chuckled. "He'll tell you he is."

"It depends on what he's teaching." Garrett met her gaze. "You could do better."

"Could I?" She finished her coffee. "But you never know unless you give someone a chance."

"My, my." Dardon's expression was suddenly wary as he looked from Emily to Garrett. "I believe it's time I made my exit. I have a lot of things to do."

"No, stay." Emily pushed back her chair. "I'm through. I'll go to my room and finish packing." She glanced at Garrett. "Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes." He was frowning as he got up, crossed the room, and stood gazing after her until she reached her door a few yards away. "I'll come and get you."

Lord, he was being careful, she thought. But she wasn't complain¬ing. Even though this morning the sun was shining brightly, and Staunton seemed far away, she still was feeling that sense of threat just around the next corner.

"00 I DETECT A LITTLE TENSION between you?" Dardon asked, as Garrett closed the door and came back into the room. "Should I have gotten someone other than Pauley? I could have pulled Les Mobler in. He's not as good as Pauley, but he's real ugly."

"Very funny," Garrett said. "She's too smart to be taken in by sheer good looks." But he had been surprised that Emily had seemed to be drawn to Pauley. Surprised and irritated. It probably shouldn't have bothered him. Emily was a woman, and every day she was emerging more from that stunned, numb condition that had enveloped her since he had taken her away from Staunton. Women were attracted to Pauley, and he should probably be grateful that she was behaving nor¬mally.

He wasn't grateful. He had felt a flash of possessiveness and jealousy that had come out of nowhere and was primitive as hell.

And on some level Emily had recognized it and reacted with defi¬ance. The mood between them in those last few minutes had been explosive.

"I've never seen you like this." Dardon was staring at him specula¬tively. "She's not your property, Garrett."

"I know that." But he felt as if she belonged to him. Every minute they were growing closer, he was learning more about her, the bond was growing. "I wouldn't want to own any woman."

Not consciously but that primitive instinct was there.

Get over it. It was probably purely sexual, and as soon as they came together, it would fade.

And they would come together. To hell with patience.

And to hell with that pretty boy Mark Pauley.