"What do you mean?"

Marlena sipped on her wine. "Why the need to set up Cunningham in your place? All you have to do is come to me."

Steve thought about it for a moment, and agreed with her. Pierre du Scheum didn't need to hide behind a William Cunningham to talk to Marlena. He also remembered the second recorded phone call Marlena had received. That person had mentioned looking forward to meeting her, so it couldn't be du Scheum. But was that Cunningham?

Pierre du Scheum didn't answer, just sat there quietly finishing his cigarette. Marlena finished her drink and picked up her purse beside her.

"Go home, cherie. Just take care of what you have. It is a wanted item."

"It appears to be. Speaking of that, did you get what you wanted at the meeting today?"

Du Scheum's eyes narrowed a little, and he glanced at Steve without any change of expression. "Not yet," he replied.

"I take it that, as usual, you won't want your name in this little matter?"

"I would appreciate it, Marlena. It would be awkward."

"Okay. Hopefully you can get us the tickets, Pierre. Will you be at the show?"

"Of course."

"I'll look forward to seeing you there."

They got up to leave, and du Scheum shook Steve's hand at the door. "Be careful," he murmured in that quiet voice.

Steve didn't say anything. He looked behind the older man. Birman stood far enough away not to be intrusive. They made eye contact, and he nodded at the bodyguard, who nodded back. Sophisticated and powerful, but no privacy, Steve thought. Not when one's life was being targeted at every turn. Pierre du Scheum couldn't go anywhere without a bodyguard. He, Steve McMillan, could come and go as he pleased.

"What was that all about?" he asked Marlena as they pulled out of the complex.

"Process of elimination, Stash."

"How so?"

"Pierre never calls me cherie. Our first opera wasn't a tragedy. And Pierre doesn't smoke in the penthouse."

Steve pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned to look at Marlena. He pulled the sungla.s.ses off her nose so he could see her eyes. They stared back calmly at him, without the usual laughter. "d.a.m.n it, Lena," he said. "What are you up to now? Warning du Scheum won't save him."

"Warn him?" Marlena frowned, then realization dawned. She couldn't believe Steve would actually think that, but his eyes were accusing and angry. "You think I was warning Pierre just now?"

"You told me earlier you didn't believe that he could be the informant."

"That's right." She frowned again. "And I still believe that."

"Yeah, so you ran straight to him to tell him he's in trouble, didn't you? Do you really care for him that much?"

She was this close to losing her temper, but managed to speak levelly. "How did I give him this warning, then, Mr. Know-It-All? Did I wink at him or pa.s.s him a piece of paper?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. I just know you both were speaking between the lines. You just admitted it yourself. He was telling things that weren't true and you went along, so of course he had to know that something was up. You even brought up his meeting yesterday. That is enough to alert him that he's being watched."

Marlena shook her head. He was reading everything wrong. "Stash, someone is after Pierre. I needed to know how deep he is in, and going to him about the tickets was one way to find out. He acted totally in character of how he would act publicly but that's not him in private, so I know he's in deep enough that he doesn't trust talking directly with me. That means he thinks there are bugs and micro eyes at his place, just as at my first apartment."

"So how is he in private? How would he act?"

She gave him a hard stare. "Are you listening at all?"

"Yes, I'm listening. Your Pierre is in danger, and you want to save him."

"Yes, I do, but that's not what I mean." His anger was like palpable waves of heat against her and she wasn't sure why he was acting as he did. She had wanted to confirm that Pierre was in trouble and she had. What was wrong with that? "Look, only a few people know about the missing laptop in my possession. You, me, and Pierre. He didn't answer my question when I asked about the next function. He's trying to warn me about something."

"So you're both warning each other and you leave me standing around like his bodyguard. You could have discussed this with me first."

"Is that what's causing this?" Marlena demanded, sitting upright. "You're mad because I didn't tell you something I didn't know anything about until the meeting?"

"You knew enough to decide to meet with him. This isn't how a team works, Lena. You tell me what's on your mind before you do anything."

If she wasn't so mad, she would scream at him. Coldly she said, "A team? All I've been hearing so far is you, you, you. I think you've forgotten it takes a 'we' to make a team." She slapped away his hand that was reaching out for her and added, "Didn't I take you along? I wasn't hiding anything from you. There was nothing to conclude until after the meeting with Pierre, that's all. I can't just tell you things that I'm not sure of, Stash. The only way to prove to myself that Pierre isn't our informant was to talk to him, can't you see that?"

"No, I don't see that," he told her, still in that grim voice. "All I see is what I saw. You went to your ex-lover, and it sounded like you were warning him about the laptop. He said he wanted it back and you told him how you could both profit from the deal without him being involved. What do you think that looked like? I saw a conspiracy."

Marlena shook her head, trying to clear it. His disbelief hurt more than she cared to admit, and she lashed out, "How can you be so stupid? You can't do this job if you let emotions get in the way like this. Pierre does a better job than you can."

The power to hurt back was a frightening thing sometimes. His face, flushed with anger before, turned into a chilling mask. "Then I had better find a job more suitable for me," he told her, "one that lets me talk to real people with real ident.i.ties, who can trust me enough to tell me the truth, who can at least make a commitment with some things."

Marlena flinched at his cutting words, and she scooted back against the door. Steve's expression changed as soon as he finished his accusations, and he leaned forward to touch her. She didn't want to hear any more. His words hurt because he was right. She had no ident.i.ty and couldn't tell the truth about herself. And she couldn't make any commitments; she feared them.

"Lena, I'm-"

"Don't touch-"

Screech of tires. Marlena turned to look back, startled. A mere breath of a moment later, the whole car rattled like coins in a tin can as another larger vehicle slammed against Steve's side. He had been moving toward her at that very instant, and the momentum threw him against the dashboard. His head smacked into the windshield. Her own head hit the car window on her side, hard enough to make her wince. In that split second her mind understood that this was no accident. The vehicle that hit them had done so at a high speed and hadn't tried to brake.

She groped around and pulled at her purse. "Stash! Are you all right?"

There was blood on his forehead. His eyes were closed. She tore open her purse. Too late. She had allowed herself to be distracted from her job. Something smashed the back windshield and she slumped down to avoid all the gla.s.s. She turned, hand in her purse, pulling out her weapon.

Too late. She felt a sting in her neck and touching it, pulled out some kind of dart. And the world went black.

Chapter Twenty.

S omeone was pounding on what sounded like a hollow drum, over and over, determined to get his attention. The beat was insistent, becoming louder and louder until it was impossible to ignore. Steve pushed out of the darkness, grappling with the invisible tormentor, jerking up in one swift motion. "What the-" The rest of the sentence was lost as his whole brain exploded into red and white dots and stars. He cursed, grabbed his head with both hands and found it bandaged.

A man's voice drifted from somewhere to his right. "Man, I love the way you talk when you wake up."

Steve turned his head very slowly. Cam was sitting on a chair, reading. At least he looked like Cam. "Are you related to Cameron Candeloro?" he asked politely. "I seem to be hallucinating him in color-coordinated designer clothes."

"You keep that up and I'll tell doc to give you a couple of shots, pal."

Steve blinked, studying Cam. It was he, all right, except his friend's hair was neatly combed back and he looked too spruced up to be true. Even his tie was straight. "What happened?" he asked, then remembered in a flash. He jerked up again, and ignored the spinning room as he tossed aside the white sheet over him. "Lena! Where's Lena?"

"Whoa, easy, boy." Cam was suddenly by the side of the bed, helping him to sit up. "You have a nasty b.u.mp on the head there."

"Where's Lena?"

"Marlena?" Cam shook his head. "There wasn't anyone with you. Someone shot you with a tranq dart while you were driving and then hit your vehicle. You're lucky to be alive. The whole driver's side is crushed."

Steve grabbed Cam's arm. "No, the car wasn't running and Lena was with me. Where is Lena? And what do you mean, a dart?"

He tried to get out of the bed but Cam pushed him back. "Let's get the doc in here first, then you can tell us what happened, Steve. It's not going to help if you fall down and get a worse b.u.mp than the one you've got right now."

That calmed him down for a moment. "Get the doctor now, then," he said.

"Okay, but I need to get hold of the O.C., too. His order was to call him as soon as you opened your eyes."

"Sounds ominous."

Cam nodded. "Be prepared for trouble, Steve," he warned as he went out of the room.

Steve gingerly touched the throbbing b.u.mp on his head, counting each painful beat. He must have hit the windshield. He remembered turning and seeing a Hummer just before it crashed into them, then...nothing...They were arguing about something and weren't paying attention. He gripped the sheet as pieces of their heated conversation crept back to him.

It was all his fault. He had allowed his jealousy to get in the line of fire. If he hadn't stopped the car or become so engrossed with their argument, they might have seen the vehicle coming for them. A cold panic swelled up inside him. He needed to get out of this place.

He refused to think about what was happening to Marlena right then. No more emotions in the way. She had been right; his emotions were not helping him do his job. Impatiently he waited for the doctor and Cam.

Half an hour later the doctor was done examining him. No concussion. Just a big bruise and cut where he had hit the rearview mirror. That probably saved him from crashing through the windshield, the doctor said. But all Steve could think about was Marlena. He wanted to be released from the hospital immediately. That was when he found out that there was a guard outside the room, and he wasn't there to ensure his safety.

He turned to Cam. "Care to explain?"

Cam rubbed his nose. "Only if you promise you aren't going to deck me and then try to make a run for it."

Steve frowned as he looked around for something to wear. "I don't think I can run far without a pair of jeans. I'm not going to walk out of this room with my a.s.s hanging out."

Cam grinned. "That isn't a pretty image, buddy." He sighed. "The thing is, they contacted the rental car company to find out who you were, and of course they contacted us. When we got to you, you were already in the hospital, out of it. The cops gave us the details and said they also found fifty thousand dollars in a briefcase by you."

Steve raised a brow. "Fifty thou? And no one took this briefcase?"

Cam shrugged. "Hard-On wants to ask you about that, I'm sure." When Steve opened his mouth, he interrupted quickly, "No, don't tell me anything, man. Don't want to know about the fifty thou. Don't want to get you in any more trouble than you're in. I'm sure you have a great explanation, what with you working with our a.s.sa.s.sin lady, but if you tell me anything I'm going to have to write a long report. And I hate writing those things, okay?"

Steve quirked his lips. "So now I am enemy number one at TIARA?"

Cam shook his head. "Not to me, but I know what you're doing. Hard-On has told us all that there's a rat in our system and he doesn't want any more leakage, especially to you, so everyone is thinking-"

"-that I'm the rat," Steve finished for him.

"Yeah, something like that. I can't say a thing, or they will know Patty helped you."

"I know."

"They even asked me where you're staying now, so thank G.o.d you didn't tell me, or they would be searching your and Marlena's little nest."

That brought on some alarm bells. Steve c.o.c.ked his head. "They searched my apartment, didn't they?"

Cam nodded. "Yeah, but I don't know what they found there. No, no, don't tell me anything, d.a.m.n it! I don't want to write that d.a.m.n report."

Steve sniffed. He understood Cam's motive in trying to distance himself. "You mean you don't want to put Patty's name in it, if possible. You're protecting Miss Ostler, just in case this is going to hit the fan."

Cam's smile was rueful. "That obvious, huh?"

"Cam, bud. You're wearing ironed clothes, for G.o.d's sake. There is not a smudge on those light brown pants. Your shoelaces are tied. And you don't have food in your mouth."

Steve almost laughed at the forlorn look Cam gave him. "I know," Cam said mournfully. "And she doesn't even notice."

"I'm sure she did," Steve a.s.sured him, then winced. "What the h.e.l.l am I doing talking to you about your love life? I need to get out of here."

"That's not likely, man. Hard-On looked like he's holding your b.a.l.l.s."

The image wasn't very funny. "Do me just one favor, Cam? It won't get you to make a report, promise."

"Okay."

"I'm going to give you a number, and I want you to call a woman named Tess Montgomery for me. Tell her what happened."

"Okay. Give me the number. And don't tell me what or who she is, please."

Steve took the pen from Cam and jotted down the number. He pa.s.sed back the pen and paper. "Just call her ASAP, okay?"

"Yup."

"I need to get out of here now. Where the h.e.l.l is Harden?"

As if on cue, the door opened.

Marlena focused on the swinging light in the ceiling, then at the furnishings within sight. She had been quietly lying on her back the last fifteen minutes, remembering and listening. There was no one around her, so she had opened her eyes. Her head swam and her mind was not very alert, but surprisingly she was free to move around.

After a few more minutes, she decided that it wasn't drugs that were making everything sway back and forth. A boat. She must be aboard some kind of boat. That low humming must be the engine.

Slowly she sat up. A quick look around told her she was indeed alone. No Stash. Her heart lurched as she recalled the sight of him against the dashboard, blood trickling down his forehead. Where was he? Was he very injured?

Except for the cobwebs in her head, she didn't feel she was physically hurt. She touched her neck cautiously, at the spot where she remembered she'd pulled out a dart. It was slightly sore, but no swelling. She studied her hands-no trembling. She wished she had a mirror to check her eyes, to see whether they were dilated. She didn't think anyone had interrogated her while she was out like a light; her training could block quite a lot of drugs, but it had been a while since it had been tested. She sighed. Part of the disadvantage of not working in a group-very few challenges except in real situations.

Her leather jacket had been taken off, but otherwise her clothes were intact. She tried to stand up and fell back on her backside again. She frowned. How long had she been out that the drug still had this effect on her? Was Stash drugged somewhere, too? She had to get up, find out where he was.