'Only for the first ten minutes,' Marrok said grimly. 'After that he'll either be cooperative, or he'll be gone.'
Devon stared curiously at the man who was now coming down the steps to meet them.
Chad Lincoln looked to be in his early forties, and his expertly barbered gray hair, silk shirt, and finely tailored trousers came as a surprise. He was smiling and waving, and Devon was having a problem connecting that friendly, urbane, elegant appearance with the man who had caused Marrok to react with such grimness.
'He's British Intelligence?' she asked doubtfully. 'He looks more like a dress designer.'
Walt chuckled. 'May I tell him that?'
'No,' Marrok said. 'Just keep out of it.' He opened the door of the helicopter. 'And, Devon, Lincoln is definitely not a dress designer. When he was younger, he was with the Royal Marines and since he took a job with MI6, he's proved himself to be exceptionally deadly in the field.' He helped her down. 'Besides being a self-serving son of a bitch.'
'For allies, you're obviously not on the same wavelength. And what does he think about you?'
'Probably the same.' He shook his head. 'No, not the same. I respect him, and he regards me with contempt. He likes everything to be civilized, neat, and tidy, including his kills. He regards me as a mongrel half-breed and a savage. Since that's exactly what I am, I can't argue with him.'
'You can and should. We're what we make of ourselves, not what we're born,' Devon said.
'But, you see, it doesn't matter to me if I'm savage and a mongrel,' Marrok said. 'Maybe I even like the idea of having an excuse for not becoming civilized.'
Her eyes were narrowed on his face. 'And you use it. I can see how eager you are. You're anticipating this confrontation with Lincoln.'
'How well you read me.' He smiled recklessly. 'Let's just say, I have a few bones to pick with Lincoln. I've been in a position on occasion where he's called the shots. I don't like being manipulated. I want to get my own back.' His smile faded. 'And the bastard can just keep his hands off my dogs.'
'What does he have to do with the dogs?'
'Ask him,' Marrok said as he called to Lincoln, who was now only a few yards away. 'Chad Lincoln, Devon Brady. Devon wants to know what you have to do with the dogs, Lincoln.'
'Not enough.' Lincoln smiled at Devon. 'Delighted to meet you, Dr. Brady. Though I knew it was in the cards when I was told to prepare a dossier on you when you were in Santa Marina. For once, it was a plea sure to run a check for Marrok. Usually, the people with whom he's involved are the scum of the earth.'
'You had me investigated?' Devon asked, startled.
'I was entrusting Ned to you,' Marrok said simply. 'I didn't have the right to take a chance. These days I believe in my own judgment, but I've been fooled before.'
He'd been fooled by Raymond Danner, she thought. And that error had led to the death of his friend Paco.
'You could have sent for me,' Lincoln said. 'I would have been there in a heartbeat and taken Ned off the island.'
'I'm sure you would. And what would my chances be of ever seeing Ned again?'
'Fifty-fifty.' Lincoln turned to Devon. 'But you wouldn't have had to be involved. I'm sure you must be very bitter about the way your life has been torn up.'
'Yes.' But she wasn't going to allow herself to be used as a pawn for him to use against Marrok, and that was obviously what he had in mind. She asked again, 'What do you have to do with the dogs?'
'I'm the safety net. Isn't that how you look on me, Marrok?'
'Yes. Though lately I've had my doubts about the 'safety' part.'
'You should have considered the consequences when you came to see me,' he said softly. 'You couldn't expect us to sit and play your game when you take so many chances.'
'I didn't. I knew you'd undercut me as soon as you felt secure about doing it.' He looked him in the eye. 'But that time's not now. You'll tip us into the quicksand. Do you want Danner to get control?'
'No, I intend to do that. MI6 is getting impatient.' His glance shifted to Devon. 'But I'm being rude. You want to know about my association with Marrok? He came to me four years ago with a wild tale and an even wilder proposition. He said he couldn't trust any U.S. government department to offer him protection for the dogs. Danner had too much power and influence in this country. We were to provide cleanup assistance, when requested, and refuge for the dogs when and if it became necessary. I almost laughed him out of my office.' He paused. 'And then he started to provide me with demonstrations of his dog, Ned's, rather remarkable ability. I'm not an easy man to convince, but eventually he did convince me.'
'How?'
'A lengthy visit by Marrok and Ned to St. Cecelia's Hospital and several terminally ill patients. Seven out of nine were not terminally ill at the end of that visit.'
She stared at him, shocked. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so stunned. Marrok had told her that the dogs could accomplish this wonder. But she realized now that she had not really believed him. The panacea, the effect on the dogs, Paco… it all seemed like a story from a book. Yet this cool affirmation from Lincoln jerked her from storybook to reality. She moistened her lips. 'Seven out of nine?'
'Good percentage, isn't it? Good enough to convince my superiors that Marrok and his dogs of summer were worth the investment.'
Marrok smiled sardonically. 'But not without an immediate payback.'
'Not quite immediate. And you couldn't expect us to fund you without receiving something in return.'
'No, I didn't expect that.' He turned back to Devon. 'You've gotten practically no sleep in the past twenty-four hours. Why don't you go inside and try to catch a nap?'
'Are you trying to get rid of me?'
'Yes. I have to talk to Lincoln, and you don't need to hear it. As Lincoln said, you're bitter enough about being involved without getting in any deeper.'
Bitter? Of course she was bitter. Yet she found she didn't like the idea of being sent away like an outsider.
But what else was she but an outsider? Her heart was touched by those dogs, but they weren't her problem. Marrok certainly wasn't her problem.
'You can't help, Devon.' Marrok's gaze was on her face. 'And once you get a little rest and get your balance back, you'll not want to help.'
'I didn't say I wanted to help.' She turned and started up the porch steps. 'And I wouldn't be interested in anything the two of you are going to say to each other. I'll call and talk to Nick and let him know that everything is okay.'
'And take a nap.'
'If I feel like it.' She closed the screen door behind her. She wouldn't look back at the two men. Close them out. She'd make her call, then lie down and block all this craziness from her mind. She was dialing Nick as she walked toward the bedroom.
'How are you?' she asked when he picked up.
'Fine. Did you get the computer?'
'No. Things didn't go well.' That was an understatement. That moment when she'd stared down at that chalked outline on the floor of the clinic seemed a long time ago. 'And they may get worse.'
'For us?'
'I don't think so. Marrok has changed his mind. He doesn't want us here.'
'And that's what you wanted. When?'
'Soon. Is Janet okay?'
'Sure. She's alternating between being belligerent and following her natural instincts and trying to run the place.'
'Gracie?'
'Missing you. But she loves everyone. She's getting along just fine.'
'Good. I'll be down to see you as soon as I get a little sleep. Bye, Nick.'
'Devon, you sound… Why don't I come up there, and we'll talk?'
'Thanks. But I don't need a shoulder to lean on. I've just been hit in the face with something that's pretty strange. I have to decide whether to accept it.' But she'd already accepted it, she realized. That moment of shock following Lincoln's almost casual statement had broken through the haze of bewilderment that had enveloped her.
