The Phoenix Encounter

“Then why the blindfold?”

“Because if the soldiers capture you, they will torture you until you reveal the location of our headquarters. We can’t risk that. The blindfold is for your own protection, my friend.”

Because of the threat of hostile soldiers, the journey to the rebel stronghold was made on foot. Blindfolded, Robert walked behind Jacques with the bald man and his cohort bringing up the rear. A mile into the walk, his left thigh began to throb. Robert had learned to deal with the pain, mostly by directing his thoughts elsewhere. He was a firm believer in the mind-over-matter philosophy and had decided a long time ago that the injury was not going to limit his physical capabilities. Of course, the injury didn’t always cooperate.

The cold rain wasn’t helping matters. But Robert used the cold and wet to keep his mind off the pain. Still, after three miles, his limp became so pronounced that the bald man paused and touched him on the shoulder. “Do you need to stop and rest, American?”

The blindfold pressed soggily against his eyes. Robert smelled wet foliage and damp earth and guessed they were probably deep in the forests to the north of Rajalla. Cold rain dripped down the collar of his jacket, and the material pressed wetly against his back. His leg ached with every beat of his heart. But because stopping wasn’t going to help any of those things, he shook his head. “Let’s keep moving.”

“It’s not much farther.”

He concentrated on his mission objectives as he walked, formulating questions for his Rebelian contact. He wanted a run down on DeBruzkya. Rumors about an American who had been captured. Or gems. He tried hard to keep his mind on the business at hand, but his thoughts went repeatedly to a woman with iridescent hazel eyes.

“You can take off the blindfold.”

Thankful to be rid of the soggy material, Robert stopped and stripped it off. They were in the midst of a forest thick with tall trees and low-growing brush. Ahead, he could just make out the jagged peaks of the mountains and knew they were heading north. Blinking to clear his eyes, he spotted a faint path that wove between the trees to a small cottage nestled beneath the thick canopy of Rebelian pines. Yellow light shone in the windows. Smoke chugged from a stone chimney, and the smell of wood smoke hung in the air.

“Your contact is inside.” Smiling, Jacques reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “We’re glad to have you here, American.”

Meeting his gaze, Robert saw the sincerity behind the words, the truth in the other man’s eyes, and nodded. “We believe in freedom in America,” he said.

Bowing slightly, Jacques backed away. “Your contact knows how to reach me if you need anything.”

Robert stood in the rain and watched the three men disappear down the trail, then looked through the trees at the cottage. The sight was surreal in the utter darkness, like something out of an old fairy tale. A pretty cottage surrounded by a beautiful forest and the backdrop of breathtaking mountains. He wasn’t sure why, but the sight made him think about Lily. She would have liked it here.

“Don’t go there, buddy,” he said, cursing the ghosts that refused to give him peace even after so many months.

He pulled the old revolver from the waistband of his jeans, checked the cylinder and found it loaded. Hoping his contact knew English, he shoved the revolver into the waistband of his jeans, and started toward the cottage.

His heart pounded hard and fast as he stepped onto the stone porch and knocked on the door. Instinctively, he stood to one side, just in case whomever was on the inside had a nervous trigger finger and decided to shoot first and ask questions later. He saw a shadow move inside the window, and his nerves zinged. Resting his right hand lightly on the butt of the pistol, he knocked again.

The door swung open. Recognition sparked like a hot wire and sent a surge of shock to his brain. Robert stumbled back. His first fleeting thought was that he was seeing his first ghost.

Lily.

He stared at her, aware of his heart pounding in his chest. He tried to utter her name, but his brain was so overwhelmed, he couldn’t speak. All he could think was that he’d seen her die. That it was an absolute impossibility for Lillian Scott to be standing there in a thick cotton sweater and faded blue jeans staring at him as if he were the one who’d come back from the dead instead of her.

A thousand words tangled inside Robert, but he choked on every one of them as if they were shards of glass. Emotions snapped through him like thunderbolts, shocking his body with their awesome power. He stared at the woman standing in the doorway, aware of his heart raging in his chest, the dull roar of blood rushing through his veins.

He couldn’t believe Lily was alive. But it was her; he knew it as surely as he saw the flash of recognition in her hazel eyes. There was no other woman like her. No other who could affect him like this. He would know her anywhere and under any circumstance. He would know her in the dark, just by the feel of her, the scent of her. The energy surrounding her.

Robert stared, speechless and shocked to his bones. Her hair was longer, but still as radiant as burnished copper. She had the same flawless skin, as fragile as fine German porcelain. Only now there was a tiny scar that ran from her left eyebrow to the hairline at her temple.

“Lily,” he whispered after an infinite moment.

“Robert. My God. I didn’t…” She blinked, as if trying to wake herself from a dream. “How did you…”

Neither of them seemed capable of completing a sentence. Slowly, he once again became aware of his surroundings. The ping of rain against the tin roof. The crackle of a fire in the hearth. The smell of bread and wood smoke and woman. His leg ached dully, the way it always did when he overexerted himself, but he barely noticed the pain. And for the first time since receiving the injury, he was glad for the distraction.

“C-come in,” she said.

When he only continued to stare at her, she stepped back. “You’re getting wet.”

“I’m already wet.” But Robert knew the weather no longer rated on his list of concerns.

His heart raced with his pulse as he stepped into the cottage. Warmth and a startling sense of comfort he didn’t quite trust embraced him. He looked around, seeing immediately that whomever lived here had somehow managed to turn a ramshackle hovel into a home.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Robert watched as she crossed to the fire and tossed another log into the flames. Before he even realized he was watching her, his eyes swept over her, taking in every detail. She’d lost weight, but the curves he’d once known intimately still defined her shape. Even through the thick cotton sweater she wore, he could see the outline of her full breasts. Her jeans were snug enough so that he could see the gentle roundness of her hips. And in those fleeting seconds her beauty made him remember all the things he’d tried so desperately to forget in the twenty-one months since he’d last seen her.

Robert cut the thought short with practiced precision. He wasn’t exactly sure what was going on but knew he couldn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t let himself think of her in those terms. Not when he’d worked so hard to get her out of his system.

“I could ask you the same question,” he said.

“I—I live here.” She glanced at him over her shoulder as she walked into a small kitchen area. “Were you looking for me?”

“No,” he said quickly and held his ground at the door. “I was supposed to meet someone here.”

He watched her pour Rebelian black tea into two mismatched cups. She looked cool on the outside, maybe even a little tough, but her hands were shaking, and for the first time he realized she was merely hiding her shock better than he was.

She carried both cups to the wooden chairs in front of the hearth. “Your contact?”

That she knew about his contact shocked him all over again. Lily didn’t know he was an ARIES operative. No one did, aside from his counterparts and other ARIES personnel. There was no way in hell he would ever tell her. The less she knew about him, the safer she would be.

Because he wasn’t quite sure how to respond, he didn’t answer. Instead, he followed her to the hearth, keenly aware of her scent, that her essence filled not only the room, but the entire house. “I’m doing some missionary work for the French government.”

She looked at him oddly, a student perplexed by a particularly difficult math equation. “I was supposed to meet someone here tonight, as well.”

A sinking sensation swamped his gut. And suddenly he knew this was no coincidence. “Jacques brought me here.”

Her knowing eyes met his. “Jacques is…with me. He’s part of the movement.”

With me. Of all the words that stuck in his brain, he hated it that it was those two. He stared at her, torn between turning around and walking out and forgetting this had ever happened, and shaking her until she told him how it was that she was alive and he’d spent the last twenty-one months dying a slow death because he’d thought her gone.

“There’s got to be some kind of mistake,” he said.

“There’s no mistake.” She handed him one of the cups. “I don’t have any sugar. That’s one of the many things we no longer have in Rebelia.”

Amazed that she could be thinking about sugar when his world had just been rocked off its foundation, he took the cup and sipped the strong, dark tea, trying desperately to rally his brain into a functioning mode.

“I just can’t believe it’s you,” she said, sipping her tea. “This has been planned for months. We need your help.”

“I’m here for information,” he said. “Not to help you.”

Holding her cup between her slender hands, she looked at him through the rising steam. “I’m your contact. And if you want information from me, you’re going to have to earn it.”

Chapter 2