Gideon's Corpse

57

As dawn broke, Gideon stood by the leather sofa, his head pounding, pulling on his clothes while Alida lay nude on the bearskin rug before the fireplace, still asleep, her blond hair in a wild tangle, her smooth skin glowing against the coarse dark nap of the rug. Out the windows of the cabin, dark clouds smeared across half the sky, and a humid wind lashed the pines. A storm was brewing.

Confused memories of the night before knocked about in his head: too many drinks, more spectacular sex, and God only knew what unwise things said or promised. Gideon felt awful. What had he done? He was a complete asshole. To allow himself to be drawn into that, when he suspected her father of being a terrorist and all the while plotting how to stop him, bring him down…it was monstrous.

What should he do? Should he take Alida into his confidence? No, that wouldn’t work—she would never, ever believe that her father, Simon Blaine, bestselling author, ex-spy, was the ringleader of—or at least involved in—a nuclear terrorism plot. Who would? He had to keep lying to her, and he had to do this alone. He had to go to Maryland, find Blaine, and stop him. And he couldn’t get on a plane, couldn’t do anything requiring an ID. His only way of getting back east was to drive—in Alida’s Jeep.

It seemed impossible. Why would a man like Blaine be involved in a terrorist plot like this? But he was. Gideon was sure of it now. There was simply no other answer.

As he thought about his position, once again he felt overcome with self-loathing. Yet what choice did he have? This was about more than clearing his own name. Countless lives were at stake. Nobody would believe him; he was a wanted man; and so he was compelled to act alone. There was no escaping it.

As he pulled on his shirt, his eye once again fell on the curves of Alida’s body, her face, her lucent hair… Was it possible he was actually in love with her?

Of course it was.

Enough, enough. But even as he was trying to pull his eyes away, she opened her own. And winced.

“Ouch,” she said. “Hangover.”

He tried to force a grin onto his face. “Yeah. Me too.”

She sat up. “You look like hell. I hope I didn’t break you.” She gave a wicked smile.

He hid his face by bending down to tie his shoes.

“And where are you so all fired up to go this morning?”

He forced himself to look up. “Paiute Creek Ranch. I’m going to confront Willis.”

“Good. It’s him, I just know it. Let me come along.”

“No, no. Could be dangerous. And your presence might detract from getting the truth out of him.”

She hesitated. “I get it. But I’m worried. Be careful.”

Gideon tried to arrange his face into a semblance of normality. “I’ll need to borrow the Jeep.”

“No problem. Just stick to the back mountain roads.”

He nodded.

She stood up and before he could escape she put her arms around him, pressed her lips to his, and sidled her naked body up against him. A long, lingering kiss followed, the warmth of her body creeping through his clothing. Gideon surrendered to it. Finally, she released him.

“That was for luck,” she said.

Gideon could only nod dumbly. She went to a drawer, plucked out the keys, tossed them to him.

He caught them. “Um, just in case—gas, whatever—do you have any money?”

“Sure.” She picked her pants off the floor, rummaged in the pockets, extracted a wallet. “How much?”

“Whatever you can spare, I guess.”

She pulled out a bunch of twenties, and without counting handed them over with a radiant smile.

He tried to move but felt as if frozen. He couldn’t do this—not to her. And yet here he was, about to do it. Stealing her car, taking her money, lying to her, going after her own father. But, damn it, what choice did he have? His position was impossible. If he stayed here with Alida, countless people would die and he might still end up in jail. If he left…

“I may not be back for a while,” he told her. “I have a few other things to do. Don’t wait up for me tonight.”

She looked at him with real concern. “All right. But stay away from people—any people. My father mentioned roadblocks on the main routes going in and out of the mountains, Los Alamos, and Santa Fe. Watch yourself.”

“I will.”

He stuffed the money in his pocket, dodged another kiss, and rushed to the Jeep. He jumped inside, started the engine, and peeled out, leaving a cloud of dust. He tried not to look back but couldn’t help himself—and saw her standing in the doorway, still naked, one leg slightly cocked, her blond hair cascading down her shoulders, waving.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He pounded on the steering wheel as he headed down the ranch road. Rounding a bend, he came to Blaine’s writing hut, surrounded by trees and out of view of the main ranch. On impulse, he drove up to it and got out. Using the Jeep’s tire iron, he smashed a window, climbed in, took Blaine’s laptop computer, tossed it and a charger into the back, and then continued on.