Mark had probably done that. Jon felt a hot surge of possessive rage at the thought. Mark had touched her breasts, stroked her hair. He had thrust into her body and … Jon drew a deep breath and tried to block out the thought. He mustn’t think of Mark and Elizabeth together. He had to forget those images. He had to keep the savagely possessive aspect of his nature under control. Mark was a part of her past. Elizabeth was his now. She didn’t know it yet, but she would soon. All the glowing warmth and gentle humor that was Elizabeth would belong to him.
“Jon?”
He forced his hand to relax on the receiver of the mobile phone as he quickly collected his thoughts and answered Gunner’s question. “More. She’s much more, Gunner.”
“That’s good.” Gunner’s voice was gentle. “I’m happy for you. When will you be arriving here?”
“By tomorrow night, I hope. Bardot’s showing signs of impatience. I think he’ll approach her directly and try to use the element of surprise to get the information from her. If the bastard acts with his usual charm and tact, hell probably scare her into jumping in our direction.”
“What if you’re wrong? What if he brings help and forces her to go with him to the farm?”
“I don’t think we have to worry. Bardot’s superiors are already doubting his credibility. Hell want proof if he can get it.” His voice roughened. “And if I’m wrong, you can forget all that bilge they gave us about nonviolence and a low profile. I won’t let Bardot take her.”
“They put you in charge. No one is going to say anything if you find it necessary to change tactics.”
“They’d better not. I’ve run out of patience too. The cost has been too high already.” Jon’s gaze returned to the cottage. “I’ll let you know if we have to switch gears.”
“Do that. I can’t say I’ve liked this waiting game we’ve been playing any more than you have. I could use a little action.”
“You speak as if action’s an unusual state,” Jon said dryly. “I’ve never known a time when you haven’t preferred trouble to the serene life.”
“It’s a quality you’ve always found useful in the past,” Gunner drawled. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who saved my neck when those guards in Said Ababa decided to separate it from my magnificent body.” He paused. “Be careful, Jon. If you have to go on the offensive, make it clean.”
Jon didn’t need Gunner to warn him of the consequences of leaving loose ends on this project. “I’m neither a novice nor a fool, Gunner. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hung up the receiver and started the motor and then backed out of the driveway.
He drove only a short distance down the road before turning off into the woods and positioning the truck to get a clear view of the cottage. He switched off the ignition and the lights, and leaned back in the seat. It was going to be a cold night, much colder than the previous ones he’d spent sitting there guarding Elizabeth and her unborn child. He turned up the collar of his coat and concentrated for a moment, blocking the cold from his consciousness. Even in the protection of the cab he could see his breath mist before him.
He had to think, to plan his next move in case he was wrong about the way Bardot was going to react. He was grateful to have some thing to think about during the long night ahead. It would distract him from remembering the image of Elizabeth touched by firelight. God knows, he’d need that distraction.
“MRS. RAMSEY, MY NAME IS KARL BARDOT, I’M with the National Intelligence Bureau. I have to speak with you.” The large man standing on the steps was staring at her with belligerence, as he flicked open his wallet to show his I.D. “May I come in?”
Bardot. A tiny tingle of fear ran through her. She had been telling herself Jon Sandell was mistaken, that she would never be confronted by Bardot. But just because he was now here there was no reason to assume he was a threat to her, she assured herself quickly.
She stepped aside. “Come in, please, Mr. Bardot.” She turned and preceded him across the hall and through the arched opening to the sitting room. “I’ve just made some coffee. Would you like a cup?”
He shook his head. “This isn’t a social call. I have a few questions to ask you.” He was gazing at her with cold dislike. “How you answer my questions will determine whether it’s necessary to take you into custody.”
“Arrest me?” He couldn’t be serious. “That’s absurd. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Not yet maybe, but I said I could take you into custody, not arrest you. Sometimes it’s necessary to remove the source of an infestation before national security is actually endangered.”
The scene was playing like a Grade B movie, Elizabeth thought. Bardot was definitely a Grade B villain she decided, with his heavy jowls, thinning gray hair and pale blue eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She met his gaze calmly. “But I do know my rights as an American citizen. Without a specific charge you can’t touch me. That’s the law, Mr. Bardot.”
“Can’t I?” His lips twisted unpleasantly. “You’re a bit out of touch with reality, Mrs. Ramsey.” He glanced around the room appraisingly. “This is quite a place. All of these eighteenth-century antiques must be worth a bundle.”
“This is my home. I’d never think of putting a price tag on any of my possessions.”
“No, I guess not. You’ve never had to worry about money. Your father left you a tidy little sum in insurance money when he died, didn’t he?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “And I’m sure your husband set you up so you’d be safe and sound as far as funds are concerned. Money can buy a hell of a lot of protection.”
“My husband left me nothing. He was a professor of English at the University of Michigan.” She tried to keep the anger from her tone. Answer his questions and get him out of here, she had thought initially, but it was be coming increasingly difficult. “Teachers don’t make a lot of money, you know.”
“The University of Michigan never heard of Mark Ramsey,” Bardot said. “Oh someone took the trouble of planting a dossier in their computer to substantiate his story in case it was checked. But an on-the-spot investigation revealed that he never set foot on the campus.” His cold gaze raked over her face. “You appear shocked. You were married to the man. You must have been privy to his secrets.”
“No!” Her head was whirling and she felt sick. Mark had lied to her. Why? He must have known there could be nothing in his past that would alter the way she felt about him. Well, whatever the subterfuge, it must have been for a good reason. Mark never would have done anything wrong. “There must be some misunderstanding. Mark was no criminal.”
“You’re a very good actress. Ramsey chose well.” Bardot paused and then asked sharply, “Where were you earlier today? I came by and you weren’t at home. You don’t have classes on Friday.”
“How did you know—” She broke off. Of course he’d know. If he’d been thorough enough to find out Mark hadn’t taught at the university, his investigation of her must have been just as painstaking. “I took my dog to the vet.”
“Your dog?” A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
She nodded absently. “This is ridiculous, I know nothing about any plots that might en danger security, and neither did Mark.”
“You know. You think you’ve bamboozled us. You have fooled some of the idiots upstairs. They think I’m crazy to believe the intelligence reports from Said Ababa.” His pale blue eyes were burning with a fanatical passion. “But you haven’t fooled me. I know what you are and I’m going to stop you.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Your superiors are right. You are crazy. There’s absolutely nothing to stop. Mark may have lied about his background, but he couldn’t have been guilty of any wrongdoing.” Her voice was trembling and she tried to still it. “You don’t understand. Mark was very special.”
His laugh was more of a mi