Heart of Gold - By Tami Hoag Page 0,57

not let go of her until morning. He kicked himself mentally for having been such a bastard about the case. He could understand her need to end it, to try to get back some control over her life. He could have shown her that understanding instead of snarling at her like a wounded lion. He would—just as soon as he found her.

They had been through a dozen rooms when Shane realized Lindy had fallen asleep in his arms. He gently tucked her into her bed, brushed a kiss to her cheek, and slipped back out into the hall, quietly closing the door behind him. When he turned, he was met by a grim-faced John Banks.

Immediately Shane’s pulse picked up a beat. “What is it?”

“We need to talk.”

They stepped into Faith’s office, and Banks closed the door.

“Matthews is dead,” he said in a tight voice.

The words set off an explosion of panic in Shane’s chest. He stared at his boss, praying to God he’d heard wrong. “What?”

“He’s dead. The caretaker found him. Timmons and Cerini are at the scene now. Where’s Faith?”

Dragging his hands back through his hair, Shane swore viciously. “I don’t know. I can’t find her.”

The silence that hung between the two men was as brittle as spun glass; the ringing of the telephone shattered it.

Swallowing down the knot in his throat, Shane grabbed up the receiver. “Callan.”

Everything inside him turned to ice at the sound of the voice on the other end of the line. It was cultured, sardonic, and deadly. “Shane, my old friend. Long time no see.”

“Strauss.”

Adam Strauss chuckled, a sound that managed to embody evil rather than humor. “And here I thought perhaps you had forgotten me.”

“Never.” Cradling the receiver between his shoulder and ear, Shane pulled his gun from his shoulder holster and checked the clip.

“That’s a comfort. I certainly haven’t forgotten about you, dear friend. In fact, I’m rather anxious to see you. As is Ms. Kincaid.”

Adam Strauss had Faith. In a terrible flash of insight Shane realized he had never truly known terror until this moment. Now it threatened to swallow him whole. Adam Strauss was a cold-blooded killer, a man without a soul, and he had Faith.

Questions about Faith’s status roared through his head, but Shane forced himself not to ask them. Showing an interest in her would only make her situation more tenuous … if it wasn’t too late already. Pushing the thought to the back of his mind he tried to concentrate on keeping the conversation going, all the while straining to catch background noises that could give him a clue as to where Strauss was.

“I heard you’d gone to Argentina.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Strauss said mockingly. “After everything we went through together, you didn’t really think I’d leave without saying good-bye, did you?”

“No,” Shane admitted. “I didn’t.”

“You and I have a little unfinished business to take care of, mon ami.”

“Where are you?”

The laughter that floated over the phone lines rang with rich amusement. “Nice try, Agent Callan, but I’d rather not have an army of your compadres descending on our little soiree. What we have to settle is between you and me.”

“Why the theatrics with the Kincaid woman, then?” he asked, fighting to keep emotion out of his voice. He holstered his pistol and wiped a sweating palm on the leg of his pants. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Doesn’t she? Ah, well, you know me, Shane. I always have had a flare for the dramatic. Remember our foray into the theater district that time—”

“Can the bull, Strauss,” Shane cut him off. He wanted no reminders of his time inside the Silvanus operation. He’d come too close to the edge, too close to losing what it was that made him human rather than a cunning, vicious animal like Adam Strauss. Now he forced a sigh and a bored tone. “I’ve had a long day. Where do you want to meet?”

“Testy tonight, aren’t we?” Strauss taunted lazily, then turned businesslike. “I’ll give you ten minutes to drive to Anastasia, to the phone booth outside Dylan’s Bar and Bait Shop. I’ll call you there and give you further instructions.”

Shane swore at his nemesis in disgust. “You’ve seen too many Dirty Harry movies.”

“Don’t be insulting, Irish,” Strauss said on a laugh. “Oh, and need I remind you?” he added as an afterthought. “Come alone.”

Shane stared blindly at the stretch of road that was illuminated by nothing more than the headlights of the car. The night was as black as the heart of