Author's Note: I am so sorry! This chapter was never supposed to take this long to be written. First was the holidays and I was caught up in finishing 'Fractured Secrets' and then I started this chapter and got about halfway through…and my creativity crashed. I couldn't seem to get anything written. Realizing this didn't have to be the "be all and end all" chapter helped, but it still took me forever.
Sorry.
Hopefully the quality is good enough to make up for the wait. I promise you won't have to wait another three months for the next chapter.
(Long overdue) Author thanks at the end.
All was quiet. I should know. I've been turning my head in every direction on the compass trying to pick up any sound that might indicate that things are not as they should be.
"Damn, but you're jumpy."
Alright, not so quiet. The voice came from just over my shoulder – not surprising since we're yet in our rubber rafts, standard issue and stolen from the local Navy base – and if it'd been a decibel louder, I would have been forced to slug the man for giving us away. Which would really only add insult to injury since sound carrying over water is what'd make me slug him in the first place a body that big hitting the water produce quite a bit of noise itself…
"I forgot that you always get jumpy like a racehorse at the gate, nothin' but an eager bundle of nerves –"
"Shut up, Robbo," I hiss back under my breath. His depiction of me as an overexcited kid on Christmas morning is less than flattering. Besides, it's rather like the pot calling the kettle black since he could never keep a rein on his tongue right before everything went down.
"Is that any way to treat a friend?"
I rest my case.
"I think I'd take exception to that if I had the time." There's the soft noise of equipment shifting against the fiberglass bottom of our "raft," and Robbo helpfully adds, "We're all but there. See you on shore." He squeezes my shoulder and lets go; I know he's gone. My mind's eye sees him slipping into dark water without leaving a single faux-bull's eye ripple to mark his passage, just as ten others in our group are doing. Armed with nothing but their black rubber wetsuits and a knife. The outer sentries had to be neutralized without fanfare; without the blaze of bomb-inspired fire or the grim cadence of gunfire.
Even though I'm sitting in the shadow of my revenge, I find it in myself to feel cheated that those ten officers went ashore without me. Once I would have been part of the group. Even now I can move without making a sound…but not without making sure I'm not seen. I can still take a man out before he knows what's happening, but only if they make a sound to give reveal themselves.
It kills me just as much to not be involved in all of this as it would have to simply walk away with Lizzie and leave this business in the hands of others.
I wonder what that says about me. Bitter grapes and the dog in the manger. Damn. At least neither Aesop nor Lizzie are around to point out my foibles. I'm especially thankful that Lizzie is safe and sound back at the hotel. Not only can she give me a painfully accurate reflection of myself, but she'd be totally out of her depth here. I'm relieved that I don't have to worry about her even if part of me wishes she was closer at hand so that when the dust has settled, I'd be able to get to her faster, or – heaven forbid – she'd be able to come find me in the midst of the battlefield.
The image of Lizzie as a battlefield widow is enough to make my stomach give in to nausea. Sea-sickness, nothing more. Ha. Liz would force herself to face blood and mutilation for me. Damn the woman. I shake my head at my own foul temper. Lizzy doesn't need to be damned; my inability to keep my mind on the job ahead is what needs to be damned. The past week may have brought me closer to my wife, but it's taken me farther from the man I need to be tonight than's safe.
The bottom of our raft scrapes against rock. Apparently our advance team did their business while I was mooning over Lizzie. It's time to distance myself from my family and tuck away the clothes that I feel have been loaned to me by Liz's husband. It's time for me to become the other man, the one who was left after the devastation of being tempted by south-of-the-border dreams.
Regretfully, I tuck away the mental photograph of Lizzy that I've been carrying around with me since I woke up in a hospital bed in Langley. If there's time, I can take it out later. But I can't afford to have it distracting me now, not if I don't want to make her that battlefield widow I was imaging earlier.
One by one, my compatriots slip out of the raft, leaving me alone to wait for Price's men. Without their weight the raft starts to move with the action of the waves; since I don't go far, I safely assume they moored me to the dock. It'd be a shame to simply float away now. Decoy's can't do their jobs if they're not in sight, and out here in the open only a blind man – There's my sense of humor again. – could miss me. Floodlights sweep back and forth over this area every fifty-seven seconds. If all was timed right, the rest of the team was out of sight in those short moments between illumination. It's certainly something that we ran through enough times to carry off, though there's no accounting for incompetence in others.
-Thump, thump, thump, thump- As more booted feet reach the wooden dock, individual footsteps become less distinct. All I know is that there's a lot of heavily armed men coming my way.
Looks like the decoy's doing its job. As if I haven't a care in the world, I pull a cigarette out of my pocket and light up before offering no resistance as I let the bastards pull me onto dry land.
Pajamas, Liz decided, did not help anyone feel brave. She knew she must have made a picture, sitting on a leather couch in an office where the décor probably cost more than her first car – hell, than her current car – while she was dressed in cheap pajamas, a stolen robe, and one slipper. The other had gotten lost somewhere between the motel and here. Wherever here was.
I'm never leaving my home again, she vowed as she fought not to curl up into a little defensive ball. Since the moment she'd been put in this room she'd been left alone and the silence was starting to cow her. There wasn't even the soft ticking of a clock to help ease her sense of isolation, and no pictures on the walls to distract her mind. Or at least there were none that she could make out in the dim light, and no light switches to relieve the gloom either. The room's windows showed nothing but the night outside, livened by the occasional sweep of light showing where a lighthouse marked rougher seas near the mainland.
She had no illusions about what her purposes for being here were. Her husband's Mr. Masden had eyes the color of tombstones, except without their – the tombstone's – warmth and sympathy. Why anyone would ever make him a regional director or mistake him for anything but a government agent, she didn't know. She shivered, chilled as much by the air around her as by the memory of the look in those cold grey eyes. As by the memory of poor Biaselli –
Stop it, she ordered herself, wrapping her arms around her knees – both to conserve warmth and to make a smaller target. It wasn't long after that that she was slowly beating her forehead against the knobby projections, trying to force another image – any other image – into her mind.
So preoccupied was she, so tightly closed were her eyes, that Liz didn't notice when the door opened to admit another occupant to the room. She didn't notice his slightly contemptuous gaze as it took in her dress and posture.
This – this? – was Sands' wife. Price could barely believe it. This cowering creature actually appealed to Sheldon? Price was well aware of his former protégé's penchant for control, but he also relished a challenge, and what challenge could there be in this pathetic mass in front of him? No wonder he preferred Mexico to living a distressingly ordinary life with her, he thought cynically.
Well, there's no point in delaying. Sheldon should be here soon and his little troop will be getting down to work. He sighed. It really would be a shame to blow this place sky-high, but it couldn't be helped. And toying with Liz would at least help pass the time.
It never occurred to Price that Sands' wife could have more of a backbone to her than met the eye.
The door opened again, this time with a rattle of china. Price watched as his "guest" started, her head flying up.
The open door was like a beacon in the dimly lit room, drawing her eyes to the doorway and the armed man just beyond. She never noticed the man with the tray of steaming coffee; he was irrelevant. He wasn't armed that she could see so therefore not a danger. It was the man just beyond the doorway that captured her attention. He ignored the man with the tray as if totally confident of his superiority over his surroundings, and watched her as if she were a puzzle, a code to be broken and solved.
Watching him with as much care as he afforded her, Liz slowly uncurled. Her back straightened as her feet – her ridiculous feet with one slipper on and one slipper off – touched the floor. By some act of pure will, her neck continued to support her head. With her hands curled easily in her lap – an act of concentration – she looked like a woman of impeccable manners despite her dress. She looked as if she'd come calling for an afternoon chat. Or at least she would have if she could have completely tucked away the alarm in her eyes, if she could have relaxed her posture a bit so it was more natural, if she could have wiped away the thin film of sweat that was forming on her upper lip.
She dissembled well; Price would give her that. But he was an expert at reading people. She was afraid of him.
He didn't think much of her, Liz could see that. He'd taken in every aspect of her appearance in mere moments and had obviously found her lacking. Irreverently, she wondered if she'd measure up if she'd had two slippers instead of one, and the thought helped her relax. It was a thought that her husband would have had and shared with her had he been here. A single eyebrow rose as she raised her chin; she dared him to comment on her slippers. What ridiculousness. Still, a challenge was a challenge and she couldn't afford to not make one right now.
Price nodded abruptly, breaking the tension and motioning for the man with the tray to come in and set his burden on the table in front of Liz.
Once they were alone again, Price came nearer. Liz studied his face as he took a seat across from her. Strangely, he looked…normal. There was no cruelty hidden in his eyes as there had been in Masden's. He didn't act as if he had to be looking over his shoulder unlike the agents that Liz had met so far, as he should if he had any idea what was being planned and carried out right now. And he must know that, mustn't he? Why else would she be here?
"If you have questions to ask, by all means, ask them," Price invited as he leaned forward and filled to cups with hot coffee. Liz watched the steam rise, then eyed the turtle neck and sports coat that Price wore, and suddenly she knew what she wanted to ask. "Do you always keep it so cold in here or is your AC broken?"
Price, who had been stirring cream into his coffee, glanced up at her in surprise. She foolishly felt smug satisfaction. If nothing else, she'd managed to ask a question he hadn't been prepared for. However, he recovered disappointingly fast.
"I'm sorry my hospitality isn't up to your standards, Eliza. I may call you Eliza, can't I? Since your husband and I were such good friends."
Liz stayed silent, not telling him that she went by "Liz" for a reason. She knew from years of parenting and living with Sands that the worst thing to do would be to rise to the bait.
"I'll take your silence for acceptance." He relaxed into his chair. "I apologize for the crude method that Mr. Masden used to get you here. It is not the method I would have preferred, but then again, crudity has it's place, as do employees like Masden. I can assure you though that he won't bother you again." He must have seen her suspicion at his phrasing for his smiled a secret sort of smile and added, "I'm afraid that Mr. Masden used up his usefulness."
The moment I hear the amusement that accompanies this pronouncement, I know that Price is ten times more dangerous than Masden is. Was. The man who took me from my motel room was just merciless. The man in front of me is smart and merciless. And what's more, he seems to find humor in the fact that he's just had someone killed – I doubt he got his hands dirty himself.
"I'm surprised," he says before I have a chance to verbally respond to his last shocking statement. "Most women – most people – in your position would have long ago demanded to know why they'd been…invited…to share my company."
"I think I have a good idea of what my purpose here is," I whisper through a throat gone dry with terror. "But how did you know –"
"I made it my business several years ago to get your dentist under my employ." Inadvertently I raise my hand to my cheek, having seen one too many episodes of X-Files to misunderstanding what he was implying, and he laughed at me. Not just a well-mannered chuckle, or a simple laugh at my stupidity, but a roar of delight that had him throwing his head back and crowing his delight. "You really are innocent," he gasped as he looked at me again; his eyes twinkled as if to invite me to join in with him, but humor at my expense is something I rarely join in with willingly. "However did you survive being married to Sheldon?"
"His being gone most of the time helped," I mutter. Now I'm simply being defiant, but I don't care. He seems to think I'm ignorant; I'm not. I'm a fully grown woman and Sheldon – "He told me everything."
"Did he now?" Price sounds both disbelieving and…disenchanted. "Well that's just a shame. I never though Sheldon would turn into one of those whiney, broken tale-bearing officers who have to confess everything to rid themselves of a burden of guilt and horror they're too weak to–"
"He's not weak," I interrupt. Righteous anger is an emotion that won't get me much at the moment, yet it's still fizzing through my bloodstream.
Price just raises an eyebrow at me. "Well, if he's not weak, then I assume that you do know everything. Tell me, which was worse to hear about? The woman he took to his bed or the up to three hundred citizens that were injured and killed in the coup d'etat he orchestrated?"
Some small part of me realizes that every moment spent blinking at this man in total… total… It's a waste of time. His words were said with the intention of hurting me. That was his only motive. That's why he revealed two bits of disturbing information. He wanted to make sure that one would find its mark. I know that and the knowing should rob the words of their power, but it doesn't. And my pathetically devastated denial of "no" lets Price know just how deeply his words carved.
"I take it he left out the uncomfortable parts then. The parts that might portray him in a bad light. That might make…reconciliation…difficult."
His words wormed his way into my head until I wasn't sure what upset me more; my kidnapping, Sheldon's…affair, or the fact that he deliberately set out on a course that would hurt the innocent.
"I can tell you more if you'd like –"
"No!" I'm puzzled as to why my voice is so raspy until I notice that I'm fighting tears.
"Come now, Eliza. Hiding from the truth won't do you any good at all." I never thought hearing a smirk in another man's voice would ever be more grating than the one usually in Sheldon's, but this one is. "I really think you need to know…"
I didn't listen yet I heard every word of what he was saying. I denied it, I tried to ignore it, I tried to justify it…
I couldn't.
Liz's inattention could perhaps be attributed to shock. The man that Price had just described to her was so unfamiliar to her that she could deny him completely…yet something about him resonated of Sands with the intensity of the low hum of a bagpipe's bass drone. Without it, the music could come from any instrument. Liz wasn't fully aware of what Price had said, but the low drone of what she called Sheldon was there.
Deafened – paralyzed – by that drone, she missed the heavy tread of booted footsteps as they slowly got louder. Price, who was not tied up in mental and emotional knots, grinned. It'd been considerate of Sands not to set additional guards over his bride, so thoughtful to not have kept a microphone on her to alert him to the slightest danger to her pretty blond head. It's typical Sheldon, he gloated silently. Leave the little woman for her own safety, never mind that she was more vulnerable alone than she'd ever be if he'd simply take the time to fully bring her into his plans. It was good to see that the intervening years between leaving for Mexico and returning in defeat hadn't driven home that particular lesson.
How he was going to delight in the coming destruction.
Price saw the exact moment that the approaching footsteps pulled Liz out of her neverland of bewilderment. The hope and premature triumph in her eyes served no purpose but to allow him to read her mind; she thought help was on the way. Killing that hope was the most fun he'd had all day.
In a motion that was as smooth as butter, Price moved to sit next to his captive while pulling out his semi-automatic to point. "Not a word," he murmured as the doors flew open to reveal a group of ten or so heavily armed men. "We're going to have a bit of fun." His arm draped around her shoulders like a scarf made of lead; the barrel of his weapon was cold against the bare skin of her neck.
Sands felt rough hands push him into an empty space, and though he had no idea where he was or what was about to happen, he relaxed. Tucked away in the midst of so many, he'd felt acutely claustrophobic. He hadn't been able to pick out a single distinct footstep much less hear enough that'd give him some clue as to his surroundings.
"You can go." Sands' bristled as he recognized the voice, but he forced himself to keep projecting a very relaxed and oh-so-confident persona. The doors closed and he felt further gratitude; those echoing footsteps would have confused him for several moments, moments he probably couldn't afford to waste.
"Sheldon, this is a pleasant surprise." Price's voice was rich with amusement, as it usually was since he saw irony nearly everywhere. "You're looking well."
Sands fought the urge to snap at the man; a display of temper would get him nowhere. In fact, the moment he stopped being amusing, he was likely to get himself shot and that would be a pity. Not that he wasn't armed – apparently no one saw him as much of a threat – but it'd hurt like hell.
Using the voice as a guide, Sands cautiously walked forward until his thigh brushed against a chair. He sat and lit up a cigarette, then regretted it as the smell of smoke wiped out a light, delicate scent that was…familiar in some way.
"I'm surprised at you, Sheldon. Don't you know those things are bad for your health?"
All Sands could smell now was his cigarette so he put that other vaguely familiar scent out of his mind. For all he knew Price had just washed his hands. "I'm already going to hell in a hand basket. Don't see that it matters much."
Despite her confusion over his character and hurt at what he hadn't trusted her enough to tell her, Liz's heart broke at this declaration. Did he truly think so little of himself? She opened her mouth to object but Price just tapped her chin with his gun. When she turned her head as if to look at him, he winked at her.
"It may not matter to you, but you're not exactly alone."
Sands snorted. "Enough chitchat. You know how small talk gets on my nerves."
"You always were insatiably curious," Price all but sneered.
Sands almost sounded bored as he replied. "And meddlesome. Don't forget that."
"How could I when the reminder is staring me right in the face." Price paused, then said with syrupy sympathy, "Oh, so sorry. I forgot that was a sensitive subject."
Liz couldn't see Price's face, but she didn't really need to. The cruelty that'd driven him to mock Sands' handicap was more than obvious. From the way Sands' lips twisted she could he'd picked up on it, but for some reason she couldn't fathom, he seemed… amused. Not that feeling her own frustrated anger would serve him better.
"Not only have I heard every variation of that slur, Bill, but I've thought up a few of my own." Sands kept his voice light, but his tone still warned Price that whether he'd heard it all or not, he'd be unhappy if the not-so-funny joke were repeated.
"Yes, you always did have a smart mouth." Price no longer sounded amused. Sands had used his tongue to grate away at his arrogance often in the past and Price wasn't the kind of man who'd thank a colleague for pointing out his failings, much less for using them to sharpen their wit at his expense. "A pity they didn't rip out your tongue instead. I could have told them it was the bigger threat." His arm tightened around Liz's neck until she had to stop breathing or lean into him. "Perhaps I'll have to track down dear Eliza to ensure that your loose tongue won't cause me problems from the grave."
From the corner of her eye Liz saw Sands freeze, either furious at the taunt that Price had known what was going to happen to him and hadn't raised a hand to stop it, or irritated at the threat to her. Still, she doubted it rivaled her own sudden paralyzing fear. Fear for him. The threat against her was meant to hurt Sands; she doubted she was in danger of being tortured by anything other than seeing Sands harmed. Still the venom that would lead a man to make so gory a threat indicated a deep, deep, hate…
My first reaction is a nearly overwhelming need to grab Price by the throat and demand to hear what he knows about Lizzie. My second reaction is that he's fishing, trying to trick me into revealing whether or not I told Lizzie anything of consequence. Hard on the heels of that comes irritation. Once Price realizes he's lost, he'll blow this place sky high or something, and that'll be the end of any attempts to clear the names of dozens of agents. And that has to come first. Then I can grab Price by the throat and demand to hear when he knows about Lizzie.
So I force my face to relax as I drop the stub of my cigarette on the floor and grind it into the carpet. "First you use the lamest jokes in the book, and then the most clichéd threat known to romance writers across the world. You really need to choose your weapons with a bit more care, Bill."
"What would you suggest? That I have a gun pointed at your gut under the table? That is the kind of subtle method that you prefer, is it not?"
"A la Hans Solo? Sure, but why bother hiding a gun under a table at a time like this? It's not as if I can see if you have a gun. Besides, out in the real world it'd be rather conspicuous if you were suddenly short an arm. What you need is a fake third arm. They're very effective."
"How enlightening. I never would have assumed you still preferred displays of brute power over a more complex strategy. You never were able to play on the level of a good shadow government. You were too showy"
"Shadows are too easy to drive away," I counter. Except for mine, of course. "People expect flash, so why not use it to…blind…them?"
"Care to put your money where your mouth is?"
"I can't believe you're thinking about that at a time like this." Alright, I'm not actually surprised. Price will go a long way to prove a point, but this is ridiculous. And there's that scent again. What is it?
"I have all the time in the world. You'll play white this time since you made the opening gambit of coming here in the first place."
"You know I prefer black." I'm almost surprised when he doesn't start in on how "I always was a reactionary," but not disappointed. That's one refrain I can go without hearing for a long time. Doesn't anybody realize just how little people truly change once they're adults and set in their ways?
I hear the creak of leather and Price's self-satisfied voice say, "Are
you asking for a handicap?"
I really ought to since I've never
played chess without looking at the board before, but I don't particularly care
if I win or lose at the moment. In fact,
I want to get the game done with as soon as I can.
"Pawn to E4."
"Pawns…so easy to sacrifice. Pawn to E5. Like that old man in the guitar town you had sacrificed to get your first knight into play."
I stifle my surprise at hearing that Price would know of – or even remember – the death of a complete nobody. "Heard about that, did you? I didn't know you cared. Knight to F3."
"Pawn to D6. Of course I heard about it. I may have let Masden and others like him to monitor and eliminate other agents across the globe, but you three I wanted to handle myself, seeing as how I trained you. Or at least I thought I had. After the way you all stumbled around in the dark, unable to find your own asses, I had my doubts. I kept hoping that you, or Roberts, or Riley would put the pieces together…connect my strategy. It would have cost me hundreds of thousands of dollars, but it would have been worth it to know whether or not you had the intellect to join my little enterprise. Needless to say you're all great disappointments."
"Bishop to C4. Who was your inside man?" He'd better not say –
"Someone who enjoys chess nearly as much as I do."
"Ajedrez," I whisper, cursing under my breath while I fight the urge to tear out my hair.
"Indeed." He's laughing at me. "Bishop to G4."
"She was a good lay, but not nearly worth trouble she caused. Just what did you offer her?" It doesn't matter since she'd dead. Or at least that's what I tell myself. But I had been prepared to throw Lizzie over for her. Thank God Lizzie's safely tucked away. I don't deserve her, but at least she'd never consort with my enemies.
That's what that scent reminds me of – a freshly out of the shower Lizzie.
"Nothing. In her guise as a good little AFN agent, she contacted the Company and they routed her to Masden who passed her information along to me."
"And did you –"
"Make a move, Sheldon."
"Knight to C3. Did you know she was Barillo's daughter?"
"Let's just say it didn't take me nearly as long for me to find out as it did for you. Another disappointment. Much like this game. Your heart isn't in it."
"Well, you know how it is. Places to go, people to see. An eager wife waiting back home to make all of this finally go away."
"Sheldon, Sheldon, Sheldon." That mockingly patient voice irritates my nerves at the same time it chills them. "There's nothing about your life that I don't know. I thought I'd explained that. You know how I feel about loose ends. I couldn't risk that you'd told her something dangerous…mentioned my name at some point in time. There was nowhere safe to leave Eliza."
My heart is racing fast enough to make me a little dizzy. Or perhaps that's an effect of not breathing. But how can I when my mind is telling me that's why I've been smelling that scent…that it got all over Price as he killed Lizzie.
I can't fall apart, damnit! Not even for her. If she's dead, there's nothing I can do for her. If she's nearby and dying…there's still nothing I can do for her other than stand helplessly by her side.
Nothing changes how I have to stay here and keep Price talking.
I breathe deeply – though my spinning mind tries to construe that as a betrayal – and say, "What are you getting at? Are you going to send me after an unmarked grave when we've finished our business?" If she's dead, so are you. Now it's more than personal to see Price on his way into the great beyond. Now it's more than revenge.
"Fallen queens aren't given unmarked graves, Sheldon. Their bodies are held in state, evidence of the new regime's superiority. It's the way of the world." There's a soft grunting sound and a body suddenly impacts mine. It lays limply against my chest before shuddering and pressing closer; the fresh scent of soap wafts up to surround my head.
Lizzie. I instinctively wrap my left arm around her body, leaving my left free to draw my weapon when the time comes.
"Mate and checkmate," Price murmurs.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Liz didn't know what she had done that was worth apologizing for, but there must have been something. The look on Sands' face just before she had found herself in his lap had been so awful, so full of unpleasant surprise, that she felt as if she had somehow actively participated in deceiving him. His trust was so fragile a thing that she feared that by not putting up a fight, for not having enough of a spine to make her presence known earlier, for allowing him to be blindsided, she had collaborated with Price. It was irrational, but then, this wasn't an environment conducive to keeping a level head.
It was that same baseless sense of guilt that led her to attempt to pull away from him, though the last thing she wanted was to give up the shelter of his arms. To risk making him uncomfortable, to take away his concentration…those were things she couldn't do. Not when it could mean his life. That was a prize she found herself even more reluctant to surrender than the heat and strength of his body.
There was just one problem: Sands was unwilling to let her go.
She was so close to him that his lips brushed against her hair as he spoke. "It's alright. Don't move just yet." His arm tightened around her waist, keeping her where she was. As heartless as it seemed, Liz did make a good shield. One that was an unlooked for blessing in the midst of what was quickly turning into a fiasco. No, he wasn't planning to sacrifice her in the line of duty; there were no visions of body shields running through his head. Though her presence complicated many things, it also made one thing easier: as long as she was in his lap, Price couldn't see what he was doing.
"Sheldon," she whispered helplessly. Liz badly wanted to question his decision, but the slight tightening of his mouth – the only part of his face visible to her – was enough to warn her to keep her tongue. Being near him provided her with a deceiving sense of safety but Liz knew she was still far out of her depth…and that her husband wasn't. She had little choice but to obey him instantly and without question. So when Sands' arm tightened around her a bit more, she obediently rested her head against his chest.
Sands felt her decision in the tension that took possession of her body. Liz was a trembling mass in his arms. Her trust was obviously something she battled to give him. He wished that her offering didn't have the bittersweet power to touch him. Life was easier when he was the only one he had to look out for. Now he could only hope that she was ready to move as soon as he gave the order.
"How touching," Price drawled. Sands had never forgotten the other man's presence, but Liz nearly levitated out of his lap. She'd never been one for public displays of affection, and now, though the heat of embarrassment beat off the chill of the room, she forced herself not to respond. If she'd met Price in some sort of normal setting – on the street, at a get together, in some sort of social or business setting – she wouldn't have hesitated to give the man a piece of her mind. It was an unsettling realization that anyone she met under those so-called "normal situations" could be as violent as this man was under his thin veneer of public civility.
"Really, Sheldon, how do you put up with such a mouse?"
"Simple; got her pregnant." Sands' words were dry, sardonic. It was a familiar – if usually teasing and possibly emotionally unhealthy – retort between he and Liz, but Price wouldn't know that. He wouldn't catch on to the undercurrent of assurance he was trying to pass on to his wife as a reward for her trust. All his former mentor would see was responsibility…one Sands had apparently escaped at his first opportunity. "Besides, she's not usually so much trouble. If she were, I might have reconsidered." Probably would have been more careful, made sure she finished school so she'd be happier and more occupied.
"Women," Price agreed in a perfect tone of male commiseration that had Liz grinding her teeth. Sands heard her and tugged a lock of her hair in lieu of laughing softly at her irritation.
With an attitude like that, I doubt he's ever had a woman, Liz fumed, not at all placated by Sands' words or his touch. Besides, this weak anger was better than either fear or humiliation.
"I'm glad you feel that way, Price continued, unaware that he was being scorned by his "captives." "I'd hate for you to be pining away for her in the afterlife."
"Oh yes," Sands agreed, really wishing he had eyes to roll. Seriously, sometimes there's no retort so elegant a well-placed roll of the eyes. The arrogance in here was stifling, and considering how much he himself usually exuded, that was saying something. "Just think of all the opportunities I'll have to sneak into women's bedrooms once I'm a ghost. And there'll be nothing for the angry husbands to come after." Com'on, you jackasses. I've only got so many guns. If his compatriots didn't take out the barracks and the generators in the next few minutes, things were going to get ugly.
The lack of gunfire outside should have been comforting, but Sands suspected that this room was soundproofed. He had no evidence that he wasn't twisting in the wind.
Creaking leather alerted Sands to Price's movements. "As much as I've enjoyed our little chat," he drawled, his voice coming from a couple of feet higher than it had been, "I'm afraid time is running short. I have a helicopter waiting, and you…well…" Price let the implications of his words speak in his place. "I know you have no intention of allowing me to leave here alive, but if I die, so does your family. Not just your lovely wife, but your children as well."
Liz tensed in Sands' lap at this threat against her children, part of her needing to jump up and do something to defend her loved ones. Only Sands' arm around her waist kept her from doing anything stupid.
"Don't I get a chance to say goodbye?" Sands asked, stalling for time. Soundproofed or not, the explosions he was counting on would be clearly heard and felt, even here. He just needed to keep Price distracted and in the room for a bit longer.
"You've seen too many movies," Price grumbled, but he didn't protest. He'd seen how uncomfortable his presence made Liz, how she was embarrassed to be trapped in her rather undignified position in front of him. Let her suffer a bit more before he killed off the husband who felt so little compassion for her that he would take what he could from her even now.
"Sheldon, don't," Liz protested as Sands pulled her more firmly against him, not that she really expected him to listen. And he didn't.
"Please, no," she whispered as he ignored her and lowered his head towards her. She brought her hands up to push him away, unwilling to accept that he would dare kiss her Goodbye Yet at the first touch of his lips against hers, her resistance melted away and she found herself cupping his face as she kissed him rather desperately. She couldn't accept that he would simply sit here and let her go while he waited behind for death. It wasn't in his character to so passively accept a clearly unacceptable fate. Besides, he wasn't here alone. He had friends somewhere on the island at the very least. He wasn't really giving up. Not on life. Not on her.
Please, not on her.
Sands tasted her fear, but ignored it like he had to. Their margin for error was quickly shrinking and he couldn't afford to let either of them give into her emotions.
Her hand felt small and cold in his as he grasped it and pulled it away from his face. His other hand stayed behind her head, holding her to his kiss in preparation for the outrage that would explode any moment –
"Sheldon!" she gasped, jerking her hand away from his zipper. She was not about to do…that…when they weren't alone. However, her husband captured her mouth again, his lips and tongue working to distract her as he simply swallowed her protests and gently guided her hand back to his fly, squeezing it once as if in supplication.
In spite of their rather deadly serious situation, Sands found himself starting to unwillingly respond to her as she hesitantly pulled down his zipper. Part of him obviously had no sense at all as his blood started to heat, but he ignored it, brushing her hand away when she would have done what she thought he wanted from her. Her hands are like ice, her hands are like ice, he repeated to himself as he reached inside his pants – using her for a cover – and wrapped his fingers around the small one-shot pistol hidden there.
Freeing himself enough to return a bit of her desperation, he kissed her hard and pressed the gun briefly into her hand. She understood the silent message that he'd gotten what he wanted, and she carefully pulled the zipper back into place.
He broke away, and kissed her a few more times before whispering, "Don't cry for me, Argentina," against her ear. Then he stood, dumping her off his lap.
Author Thanks: many, many, many thanks to all of you for being so patient and not getting on my case (though I admit it may have helped), and for not sending me e-mails full of threats to tar and feather my cat or steal my Photoshop something. :P
Mayorst (Eye of the Tiger – it's very Sands if you ask me. He seems like the kind of guy who'd be a Rocky fan. I don't know why, but there it is. I present my neck for ringing, both for where I stopped and for how long it took me to pick back up.); Spoofmaster (don't worry about forgetting to review a chapter – I almost forgot to write this one. slaps forehead I only wish I were a writing machine); quick29 (things never go as planned in my universe. And I don't know what I'd do without my cliffies.); Merrie (see what I can do when you're not here:P If things never went wrong just as they were going right, stories would be pretty boring, wouldn't you agree? . Anyway, frustrating is the new endearing.); Dawnie-7 (yeah, poor Biaselli, I'm thinking about making her critically injured instead of dead, but probably not. I try not to resurrect people I kill off.); misc (raises right hand I solemnly swear that the next chapter will be out by the end of March at the latest, unless I fall into a coma or die. Or am completely paralyzed and have to use one eyelid to communicate the rest of the chapter.); Lynx (Sands really isn't too good for Liz, but she's very good for him, and they would have had a great marriage if you know, he hadn't lied about his profession and been gone most of the time for half of it… I know what you mean about travel. There's been days when I've spent over half of it in a van or a plane or something, and it always exhausts me, even if I nap most of the time. I thought that little detail would make my characters more real. lol – the whole 'Eye of the Tiger' thing is just so very Sands. The whole sarcastic, want to slap him, want to hug him to pieces after screaming at him thing.); LadySparrowJack (here's that chapter and hopefully it was worth the wait.); Desperado1102 (utterly monstrous but so alluring…doesn't that sum Sands up perfectly by the end of OUATIM? If not for "Chiclet," he would have been totally unredeemable, but there's these specks of humanity that shine through now and then. Totally intriguing. It's what made me want to write this fic in the first place, to explore that more. I'm really want to apologize for the update lag – hopefully it hasn't turned you off the fic. There's so little that comes after this that I'd hate for you to miss it. Though I suppose it is only a fic. :P); myster (I end chapters on a cliffhanger frequently. I mean, I gotta have some reason to keep you all coming back and complaining in reviews. .); doctress (morbidly fascinated can be a very good thing. I won't complain.); derangedfangirl (have I seen you over at Johnny's Angels? The name is familiar. Anyway, thanks for the review. You're one of the few who kept me on task in December – though all that meant was opening up the document and staring at it for a few hours before closing it without any work done…but it all paid off in the end. .); Cayenne Pepper Powder (holds out wrists to be slapped I'm sorry! You're absolutely right, I've been a slacker, and I promise not to do it ever again until 'Days' is completed. And though you didn't say that in your review, you did spur me on to feel horrible guilty and to finally talk to someone about the fic and get some help to get past my writer's block. So there. . I always love hearing from you.)
