Within hours of his arrival, Tracy had opened her eyes and spoken for the first time.
“It’s you!” she said when she saw him. And then she smiled, that bewitching, sad, intelligent smile that danced on her lips but always started with her moss-green eyes. The smile that had conquered Cameron Crewe from the very beginning.
But seconds later the smile had faded and Tracy’s eyes had closed once again.
That was two days ago.
Now, according to Greg Walton, Jeff Stevens was on his way. The British government was up in arms, demanding to be allowed to see Tracy and assess her condition.
“They’re pissed. MI6 are saying she’s compromised their operation against Drexel, that it’s our fault for failing to control her. And they want your head on a plate.”
“Too bad.”
“They’re claiming Stevens is her next of kin,” Greg Walton said. “If that’s true you won’t be able to stop him seeing her. And he’ll bring Frank Dorrien and anyone else Dorrien wants in with him.”
Cameron Crewe was distraught.
He couldn’t let that happen. He had to get Tracy to wake up.
He’d been on the point of giving up when suddenly, in the early hours of this morning, he’d woken suddenly in the chair by Tracy’s bed to hear her moaning loudly, asking for water and complaining about her head. She’d been confused at first. Delirious. But within a few short hours she was sitting up, sipping sweetened tea and holding his hand, talking to him quite normally.
“Do you know what happened to you?” Cameron asked her. “Do you remember anything?”
Tracy looked away guiltily.
“I know you had dinner with Jeff Stevens,” Cameron said. “It’s OK.”
He was trying to reassure her, but Tracy’s eyes instantly narrowed with suspicion.
“How do you know?”
“Greg Walton mentioned it,” Cameron said, a little too breezily. The last thing he wanted was to alienate Tracy now. He’d let her out of his sight once, against his better judgment, and he was in no hurry to repeat the experience. “Do you have any idea who did this to you?” he asked, changing tack.
Tracy shook her head. “Do you?”
“I have a couple of theories.”
“Shoot.”
“You won’t like them.”
“Try me.”
“OK. Jeff Stevens.”
“Jeff?” Tracy started to laugh, but it made her head hurt. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Cameron looked at her intently. “I don’t see why. He knew where you were. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for him to follow you that night. He’d already pumped you for information over dinner. Found out what his paymasters wanted to know. He didn’t need you anymore.”
“Jeff would never hurt me.” Tracy was unequivocal.
“Are you sure? What if he felt he’d told you too much that night at dinner? What if he regretted it? Maybe he was scared?”
Tracy shook her head. “You’re way off base.”
But Cameron wasn’t giving up. “Maybe he was jealous. Angry. Lashing out in a blind fit of rage.”
“About what?”