couldn’t see Cameron, but she strained to do so anyway. "I have to go."
"Come to me, Casie, when you’re through," he whispered.
"I…" She hesitated. The night’s spell was breaking.
"Come to me, Casie." This time it was a demand, as well as a plea.
"Casie? You asleep? You’ve got to get up and talk to me." Something heavy clattered onto the kitchen table, and the light blinked on. Fred’s steps drew closer.
"Casie?" Cameron’s voice was urgent.
I can’t. The part of her mind that hadn’t slept since Lisetta’s death told her what to say, but she ignored it. "Yes, I’ll come," she said fervently. "I want to come."
She heard him smile, felt his relief all the way across the dark room. "Good," he whispered.
Then he was gone.
She turned to greet Fred, who came into the room behind her. He swooped down on her like the great ugly blond bear he resembled, and Acasia barely had time to clamp a lid on the furor Cameron had created before she was swept into her brother’s smothering embrace.
"Thank God you made it!" Struggling for breath and balance, Acasia tried to lift her face out of his dank shirt, but he only mashed her in tighter. "You had me worried sick. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming down here after Cameron Smith? What happened to your rule about no personal involvement? You feeling suicidal?"
Abruptly he dropped her to the floor, and Acasia reeled, clutching air. Her stomach sloshed queasily, her senses were rimmed with fuzz. There was something wrong with the way Fred was behaving, though she couldn’t quite put a finger on it.
"Do you know what it’s been like here today?" he roared.
Ah, that was better. Now he was behaving like Fred. Acasia sagged into a convenient chair and rubbed suddenly bleary eyes. "No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me."
Fred glared at her. "Julianna radioed. She hasn’t even made it into Maracaibo yet. She’s still stuck in Honduras, and she asked me to entertain you and your, ah, guest. I said, ‘Sure, any quest of Casie’s is a potential supporter of my research, right?’" He paused to stalk the room furiously, his big hands opening and closing at his sides. "Hell." He stopped and hunkered down until he was level with Acasia, anxiety overriding his anger. "You all right? You listening to me, Casie?"
Acasia rubbed a tired hand over her face, tried to focus on him. Instead, her gaze moved wearily past Fred and on to the palely lighted kitchen. Her shotgun lay on the table where she’d left it—still loaded. She swore softly under her breath. She’d never done that before, left it loaded and within anyone’s reach. If she hadn’t allowed herself to get so muddled, she would never have been so careless.
She brought her attention warily back to Fred, hoping he hadn’t noticed her slip, but he was sniffing the air around her, outrage registering on his face.
"Drinking? You’ve been drinking? Half of Zaragoza is looking for you and—damn it to hell, Acasia! Are you listening to me?"
"Cut to the chase, Fred," she answered, beginning to sober up.
He touched her knee and rose, suddenly quiet. "The ‘chase,’ little sister, is that Sanchez sent out a mercenary to get Smith back." He looked down at her and nodded at her dawning disquiet. "Yeah, you do know him. Dominic Mansour was here this afternoon looking for you."
The name cleared her brain with nauseating suddenness. "He’s dead."
Fred shook his head. "He’s got a few scars he didn’t have three years ago, but he’s alive. You got out before the ZNLF razed that church, and he must have, too, then left the country. With a little judicious footwork and the right contacts…" Fred shrugged.
Acasia slumped forward in her chair. "Where’s he been?" She felt the urge to place the blame somewhere else, to absolve herself of this guilt without a name. This little sojourn was getting just a bit too tangled up with her past for comfort. "What did I miss? Where didn’t I check?" She lifted her face
"Come to me, Casie, when you’re through," he whispered.
"I…" She hesitated. The night’s spell was breaking.
"Come to me, Casie." This time it was a demand, as well as a plea.
"Casie? You asleep? You’ve got to get up and talk to me." Something heavy clattered onto the kitchen table, and the light blinked on. Fred’s steps drew closer.
"Casie?" Cameron’s voice was urgent.
I can’t. The part of her mind that hadn’t slept since Lisetta’s death told her what to say, but she ignored it. "Yes, I’ll come," she said fervently. "I want to come."
She heard him smile, felt his relief all the way across the dark room. "Good," he whispered.
Then he was gone.
She turned to greet Fred, who came into the room behind her. He swooped down on her like the great ugly blond bear he resembled, and Acasia barely had time to clamp a lid on the furor Cameron had created before she was swept into her brother’s smothering embrace.
"Thank God you made it!" Struggling for breath and balance, Acasia tried to lift her face out of his dank shirt, but he only mashed her in tighter. "You had me worried sick. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming down here after Cameron Smith? What happened to your rule about no personal involvement? You feeling suicidal?"
Abruptly he dropped her to the floor, and Acasia reeled, clutching air. Her stomach sloshed queasily, her senses were rimmed with fuzz. There was something wrong with the way Fred was behaving, though she couldn’t quite put a finger on it.
"Do you know what it’s been like here today?" he roared.
Ah, that was better. Now he was behaving like Fred. Acasia sagged into a convenient chair and rubbed suddenly bleary eyes. "No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me."
Fred glared at her. "Julianna radioed. She hasn’t even made it into Maracaibo yet. She’s still stuck in Honduras, and she asked me to entertain you and your, ah, guest. I said, ‘Sure, any quest of Casie’s is a potential supporter of my research, right?’" He paused to stalk the room furiously, his big hands opening and closing at his sides. "Hell." He stopped and hunkered down until he was level with Acasia, anxiety overriding his anger. "You all right? You listening to me, Casie?"
Acasia rubbed a tired hand over her face, tried to focus on him. Instead, her gaze moved wearily past Fred and on to the palely lighted kitchen. Her shotgun lay on the table where she’d left it—still loaded. She swore softly under her breath. She’d never done that before, left it loaded and within anyone’s reach. If she hadn’t allowed herself to get so muddled, she would never have been so careless.
She brought her attention warily back to Fred, hoping he hadn’t noticed her slip, but he was sniffing the air around her, outrage registering on his face.
"Drinking? You’ve been drinking? Half of Zaragoza is looking for you and—damn it to hell, Acasia! Are you listening to me?"
"Cut to the chase, Fred," she answered, beginning to sober up.
He touched her knee and rose, suddenly quiet. "The ‘chase,’ little sister, is that Sanchez sent out a mercenary to get Smith back." He looked down at her and nodded at her dawning disquiet. "Yeah, you do know him. Dominic Mansour was here this afternoon looking for you."
The name cleared her brain with nauseating suddenness. "He’s dead."
Fred shook his head. "He’s got a few scars he didn’t have three years ago, but he’s alive. You got out before the ZNLF razed that church, and he must have, too, then left the country. With a little judicious footwork and the right contacts…" Fred shrugged.
Acasia slumped forward in her chair. "Where’s he been?" She felt the urge to place the blame somewhere else, to absolve herself of this guilt without a name. This little sojourn was getting just a bit too tangled up with her past for comfort. "What did I miss? Where didn’t I check?" She lifted her face
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