The ghosts were gone.

The spirits of Gary and his staff, including Miguel’s parents, had been put to rest by the sacrifices everyone had made since that first day when Mercer discovered the bodies. There was no need to talk about it. It was as obvious as the heat and humidity in the tight little valley.

“Will you be happy with Roddy and Carmen?” Mercer asked when they found a comfortable place to sit along the river’s edge.

“I think so,” Miguel answered honestly. “They are very kind and I like their children.”

“What about school? Are you excited to go?”

He made a face. “They will tease me because I can’t read as well as the other kids my age. And I don’t know as much as they do about other stuff.”

“Don’t you think that if you study hard you will learn what they already know?”

“Maybe,” he hedged.

“Maybe, nothing,” Mercer said and laughed. “In a year you will be the smartest kid in your whole school.”

“You think so?” The boy brightened.

“I know so. And do you know what else?”

“What?”

“If you get good grades, you and Roddy’s family can come to my home in Washington, D.C., for Christmas vacation.”

“Wow! Will Mr. Harry be there?”

“Believe me, Mr. Harry is always there.”

“Then I will get good grades.”

He spoke as if merely saying it would make it true. Mercer suspected that with a kid as bright as Miguel that was probably the case. He was an exceptional boy, perceptive and responsible beyond his years. With the love and support that Roddy’s family could provide, he’d get past his trauma with the resiliency only a child possessed.

“What about Lauren? Will she be there too?”

Now it was Mercer’s turn to hedge. The two of them hadn’t discussed plans beyond this trip to the River of Ruin. In fact, he’d seen very little of her in the week since they’d ended Liu Yousheng’s bid to place nuclear missiles in Panama.

The final act of the drama had left dozens of unanswered questions and she’d been sequestered with officials from the CIA, FBI and the Department of Defense trying to answer them. It had taken two days just to learn the civilian Mercer saw murdered on the Korvald was in fact a highly placed general named Yu Kwan. No one yet understood what he was doing on the ship, nor did they understand why the missiles recovered from the ship’s hold by a crane barge were fakes. The outer casings looked legitimate, but inside was nothing but concrete filler to give them the weight of real ICBMs.

“I don’t know if she’ll be there or not,” Mercer finally answered. She was due to arrive this afternoon for a two-day stay at the lake. This would probably be the only opportunity he’d have to ask her.

Mercer himself had been at the lake for three days with Foch and his team. Rene Bruneseau had left for France soon after the coast guard rescued them from the sinking refrigerator ship and he’d flashed his diplomatic passport claiming immunity. Mercer didn’t blame him for avoiding the night in jail the others suffered through until the American and French embassies, along with representatives from the Pentagon, could wade in.

Before their rescue, Roddy Herrara was already organizing men to seal the broached lock doors. Because of the tremendous surge of water, the operators didn’t dare try to close the remaining ones, rightly fearing that the hydraulics couldn’t prevent the flow from twisting the steel and ruining the gates. That meant there was nothing they could do but let the water trapped between the earthen plug in the Gaillard Cut and Pedro Miguel continue to run. The spillway at the dam near the Miraflores Locks could handle the volume, but they needed to close the topmost doors there if they were to prevent Miraflores Lake from draining entirely.

That was where Roddy and a couple of other canal pilots came in. They commandeered a freighter trapped on the lake and ran heavy cables from its stern to hard points on the working gates. Using the ship as a giant sea anchor, they had better control over the inward-closing doors and managed to seal them without the two leaves slamming against each other and warping.

With water no longer escaping, the danger of losing use of the canal for years was past. There was only one set of spare doors kept in the zone and they would soon be installed at Pedro Miguel. A contract was about to be awarded to an American foundry to fabricate another set to replace the ruined doors at Miraflores. It would take several months to get them in position, though it would take much longer to dredge the debris that had collapsed into the Gaillard Cut. However, excavating equipment from the bogus Twenty Devils Mine was already en route to begin the arduous task of clearing the rubble. It would soon be supplemented by dredges and other machines kept by the Canal Authority.

That took care of the physical repercussions of what Liu had attempted. The political ramifications would take years to sort out, though at this stage Mercer couldn’t care less. For him, it was done.

What had brought him to the isolated river in the heart of the Darien Province was his hunch that he could find the Twice-Stolen Treasure. Foch and his men, including the driver who’d been released from custody, and Gerard, the soldier who’d lost part of a finger at the mine, had joined him. He needed their help because to get at where he thought the treasure lay hidden required some heavy blasting first.

Mercer stood and brushed off the seat of his pants. “What do you say we head back up to wait for Lauren.”

It took a little extra time to climb the waterfall since an area where the Legionnaires had been working was strictly off limits. The bodies of the Chinese soldiers who’d gone over in the Zodiac had been removed by their allies, although the shredded remains of the rubber boat remained in a pool halfway up the hillside.

As soon as they reached the top, Miguel ran ahead to play with Roddy’s children under the vigilant eye of Carmen Herrara. They were currently skipping stones from the pier Liu Yousheng’s men had built during their occupation of the lake. All of the Chinese equipment had been left behind when Panamanian police units, backed by the Seahawk helicopters from the McCampbell, descended on the excavation site and arrested everyone.

The Chinese overseers had been deported without trial, while the locals had been allowed to return to their villages.

The children’s laughter dispelled the sense of desolation that had settled over the quiet tents and buildings. Several Panamanian soldiers remained as guards in case guerrillas tried to inspect what had taken place on the mountaintop, but they stayed to themselves mostly, leaving Mercer and the French to do their work. Carmen and Roddy had only arrived this morning with the children.

“There you are,” Foch called from a camp stool. He and his men sat around a dormant fire pit with Roddy. Everyone had bottles of beer. He offered one to Mercer. “Care for one?”

“Damned right.” Mercer collapsed into a canvas chair, winded from the long climb. “Where’s Harry?”

“Taking a nap. The heat’s killing him.”

“Me too.” Mercer rolled the cool bottle across his forehead. He checked the time. “Lauren should be here any minute and we can get the show on the road. Henri”—in a sign of respect, Foch had told Mercer his first name—“did you check the rope securing the boats?”

“Plenty long enough.”

“And you’ve double-checked the charges?”

“I did it myself,” Munz answered.

“In that case, we’re set to go.”

Ten minutes later, a low buzzing sound built into the deep thrum of an approaching helicopter. The SH-60 thundered over the lip of the volcano and settled a short way down the sandy beach, throwing up a fog of grit that swirled until the blades began to slow. Mercer was on his feet and running over when four men in khaki field clothes stepped from the chopper’s open door followed by the slender figure of Lauren wearing cut-off jeans and a cropped T-shirt.

The men were from Panama’s anthropology museum and were here to preserve any artifacts. With Lauren’s help they unloaded several suitcases and a couple of heavy-looking crates. It appeared everything Lauren required for her weekend stay fit in the rumpled knapsack she threw over her shoulder.

Unconsciously Mercer ducked as he stepped under the turning blades well above his head. “How was your flight?” he asked, accepting Lauren’s bag.

“Screw the small talk,” she said brazenly, “and kiss me.”

She put her arms around his neck and drew his mouth to hers, pressing her body full length against his. The scientists looked away in embarrassment only to glance back. Mercer’s hand had gone up the back of her shirt, hiking her tee enough to reveal one cup of the bikini top she wore underneath. None turned away a second time.

“Oh, hey,” Lauren exclaimed, a little breathless. “I want you to meet the pilot. She was the one flying cover for us. Jean Farrow, this is Philip Mercer.”

The pilot reached out her open window to shake Mercer’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” he replied. “Without you we’d all be a Chinese torturer’s personal pincushions.”

Farrow turned to Lauren. “I’ve got to get back to the McCampbell . I’ll be back for you on Monday at 0800.”

“Roger. See you then.”

The rotors began to beat again as the party trudged to camp dragging their gear. When the chopper vanished over the volcano’s rim, the jungle exploded in its normal chorus of animal screeches, screams, and calls.

A short time later, everyone was settled around the fire pit and beers had been distributed. Harry was there, surly from his nap, but slowly warming as he worked on his first Jack and ginger ale. No one knew where he’d gotten the ice for his drink since the beers came from a gas-powered fridge that barely chilled the brew. The assembly looked more like a picnic than a scientific expedition, which is exactly what Mercer had wanted. He considered this outing as his payment for stopping the Chinese.

Sitting so her chair touched Mercer’s, her hand in his, Lauren introduced the scientists, the leader of whom was named Hernan Parada.

“I knew your friend, Gary Barber,” Parada said in fluent English. “He’d come to me when he first arrived in Panama to discuss the legend of the Twice-Stolen Treasure. After five minutes I knew I couldn’t persuade him not to waste his time on a search.”

“When Gary wanted something, he was like a pit bull.”

“Yes, exactly. We spoke many times after that and I was convinced he wasn’t just another adventurer hoping to strike it rich. He knew the legends better than I and much more of the actual history of El Camino Royal, the King’s Highway.” The middle-aged scientist sucked life into an ornate pipe and combed stray bits of tobacco from his beard. “However I never thought he would actually find it.”

“He didn’t really. He came close but he never saw the last piece of the puzzle.” Mercer paused. “Nor did he understand the geology of this mountain to see the anomaly.”

The word sent a ripple through the circle of people. “Anomaly?”

“The waterfall. It’s artificial.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean that it isn’t a natural geologic feature. It was built, I assume by the Inca warriors, to dam up this lake and completely flood the caldera.”

“Please, you must start from the beginning.” Parada had let his pipe go out.

“Okay, where the River of Ruin meets the Rio Tuira was a shallow falls that prevented idle boatmen from paddling up the tributary to this mountain. Gary discovered that the falls weren’t natural. It was actually a dam constructed of dressed stone that flooded part of the valley and raised the level of the River of Ruin by about ten feet. During the time of the Spanish rule, the only way to move around the jungle was to stay on the navigable rivers. By building a dam like they did, the Incas made sure the conquistadors wouldn’t pay much attention to the little river.

“Gary was sure this trick meant the treasure was buried somewhere below us on the river. He never considered that the Incas, master builders that they were, took their plan one step further. When they discovered this area, they were confronted by a ringlike mountaintop partially filled with water. But a cleft in one side prevented it from filling completely. By my calculations, that fissure was about forty feet wide at the top and nearly fifty feet tall.”

Despite his desire to hear the rest of the story, Professor Parada interrupted. “How did you calculate this?”

“The angle of repose,” Mercer answered. “The downward slope all around this mountain is a constant thirty-four degrees. Same with the valley flanking the River of Ruin. That is the natural angle that these soils settled into after a few million years of erosion. But the waterfall, at least the top fifty feet, is at a much steeper angle, nearly seventy-three degrees if taken in its entirety.”

“How’d you figure that?” Lauren asked.

“Basic trigonometry. It seemed unlikely that when this volcano grew over the course of countless eruptions that a plug of harder, and thus not easily eroded rock, could be perched like that on top of the gentler lower slopes. It had to be man-made.”

“A dam like the one down below,” Roddy exclaimed.

“Only much bigger.”

“So the Incas who raided the gold caravans built these dams to hide their treasure someplace inside this caldera.”

Mercer gave Lauren’s hand a squeeze. “Exactly. Once they’d stored away the gold, they sealed the fissure with their dam and let the lake fill up. No way anyone without modern diving equipment could find it.”

“Once the lake was filled, how would they hide the additional loads of treasure they stole?”

“I’m guessing that at the end of the dry season, when the lake level was already low, they would risk pulling a keystone from the dam to discharge enough water for them to cache it.”

Parada seemed satisfied with the answer to his question. “Once the keystone was replaced and the rains started, their hiding place would be hidden again.”

“And since rain in this country pisses down more regularly than I do,” Harry quipped, “I’d guess the lake filled quickly.”

“So where is it?” Roddy sounded like he’d already caught gold fever.

“The clue came from the journal I bought in Paris.” Mercer retrieved it from the waterproof bag under his chair. “Godin de Lepinay spent several months in Panama as a scout for the French canal effort. One of the things he wrote about was a volcanic lake in the north. It was the dry season and he was fascinated by the warren of caves in the island located in the lake’s center. He’d never seen anything like it. I think our island is also riddled with caves and that’s where the Incas hid their treasure.”

As one, all heads turned to the small island a quarter mile from shore, the spot where Mercer, Lauren and Miguel had spent the night surrounded by suffocating carbon dioxide. “We were camped on top of it,” she breathed.

“What do we do now?” Parada asked through a cloud of aromatic smoke.

“We blow up the dam, let the lake drain down to its natural level, and see if I’m right.” Mercer looked at the faces around him and had never seen such eagerness. “Lieutenant Foch’s men have already planted the explosives and we’ve got authorization from the government to drain the lake. They’ve alerted everyone living downstream on the Rio Tuira to expect a bit of a flood this afternoon.”

“By God, sir,” Parade said, slapping his leg as he too caught the fever, “what are we waiting for?”

“Well, permission from you to blow up a dam built by the Incas. I was afraid you might consider it an important artifact.”

Parada thought about it for a moment and conferred in Spanish with his companions. “Had you come to us a week ago I would have said no. But with the canal out of commission and little money to repair it other than what we can borrow from your country, Panama is going to starve. I think the loss of scientific knowledge is worth the benefits.”

“I know that wasn’t easy.” Mercer tossed him a sealed plastic sandwich bag loaded with 35mm film canisters. “Those are all shots of the dam. I also took about an hour of digital video when we planted the charges. That might ease your conscience a bit.”

Parada nodded. “Sí, gracias.”

They found a vantage spot several hundred yards from the waterfall that allowed them to see the bottom of the dam as well as part of the river valley. No one argued when Mercer handed the radio detonator to Miguel. The boy was solemn when he took it, sensing that it would forever wipe away the spot where his parents were killed. Miguel looked to Roddy for guidance. The Panamanian dropped to a knee and held Miguel’s trembling hands in his and together they pressed the button.

The explosion was muffled by distance and the way the charges had been pressed into fissures in the rock. A gout of dust and rock shards blew from the face of the dam and water glinted like diamond chips as it flew away from the detonation. The blast wave shocked hundreds of birds into flight and caused a riot of shrieking animals as it boomed down the valley. With the rolling thunder dying away, the party could hear the earth groaning as tremendous weights shifted inside the stone façade.

And then they noticed that there was more water flowing at the base of the falls than was going over its top. It was negligible at first but grew steadily until water gushed from the hole cleared by the explosives. As they watched, the force of water expanded the gap by clawing away more loose boulders. And by increasing the hole, more water was allowed through, which eroded more of the stonework. A large section of the dam cracked, geysers of water spouting from around its edges, and then it collapsed completely, sweeping away tons more material.

The carefully placed stones next to the rushing torrent were sucked into the maelstrom and swept down the valley. The banks of the River of Ruin were overwhelmed. Everything that once lined it was caught in the flood and uprooted. Trees were smashed down and stands of jungle were ripped away by the unrelenting flood. More of the dam broke away, huge crashes of stone and water that shook the earth.

Like stormwater flowing through a drain, the water gushed through the opening, allowed to follow its natural course for the first time in hundreds of years. It was mesmerizing to watch, the force of that much water released all at once, and the party stood rooted for nearly an hour just to absorb it.

The deluge drew down the level of the lake much faster than Mercer had predicted. He’d used the Manning hydrology formula to determine that the billion-plus cubic feet of water in the lake would need about eight hours to drain away, but it appeared his resistance figures were off. Water flow was greater than the fifty thousand cubic feet per second he’d estimated.

He shot a furtive glance back at the little island in the center of the vanishing lake. As the level dropped and the shore of the lake seemed to retreat, more of the island was exposed. Already the spot where he had hidden Gary’s boat that fateful night was ten feet from the water’s edge.

“There’s no sense standing here,” he said at last. “Why don’t we take the boats out to the island to wait.”

They headed back. Where once the lake lapped just feet from the camp, they were confronted by an expanse of mud flats that dropped sharply to the retreating water. Much of it was so unstable that sheets of it oozed downward. The pier looked oddly out of place sitting alone on its pontoon barrels high above the shoreline. The three boats had drifted at the end of their tethers as the current tried to suck them down the ruined dam. Had Foch not lengthened the painters, the little craft would have been high and dry by now.

He and Rabidoux drew the boats back toward the shore and helped the party into them. Carmen had no interest in joining them so she remained behind with her children, although nothing could keep Miguel from the adventure. They motored out and circled the island once looking for evidence of a cave. That they didn’t see anything didn’t dampen their expectant mood.

The boats were beached and everyone was forced to wade through the clinging mud to reach high ground. Harry had the worst of it because of his fake leg and needed Foch and Mercer to help him. More beers and a Coke for Miguel were dispensed from the cooler they’d brought. Roddy also passed out sandwiches that Carmen had made for the occasion.

The conversation drifted from a recount of what had happened to the canal for the benefit of Parada and his companions to the possibility of finding the legendary treasure. Every half hour or so one of the group would excuse themselves and walk around the island, keeping clear of the mud by stepping along its old shoreline. As the sun sank toward the horizon, Mercer announced he would make one last circuit and that afterward they should head back to the camp to wait out the night and return in the morning. Lauren got to her feet as Mercer set off.

“Mind some company?” She grinned, taking his hand.

“Not one bit.”

They got no more than a minute from camp when Mercer stopped suddenly. Lauren turned to him, tilting her head, expecting to be kissed. She opened her eyes after a second, piqued that Mercer hadn’t gone through with it. He wasn’t even looking at her. His attention was riveted to a strange rock formation slowly emerging as the water receded. “What is it?”

“Pay dirt.”

“A cave?”

“I think so. It might take another hour to be sure. The water’s still hiding a lot of it.”

Even before they could return to tell the others, Professor Parada and Roddy had come out to see what was taking so long. A minute later they all made their way down the muddy shore. The morass was thick and stunk of rot.

They had to circle around the projection of rock that hid the cave and wade through water up to their knees to reach the entrance. The cavern was roughly thirty feet wide and about six tall, a black mouth that led into the earth. The rocks were cool and slick. Mercer was the only one to remember a flashlight.

Holding it in front of him, he stepped into the entrance, feeling along the stone floor with his feet to make sure it didn’t drop away suddenly. Water dripped from the ceiling like rain. Lauren joined him, keeping behind him to step where he stepped.

The floor vanished. Mercer probed out with his foot, feeling underwater, and found a step six inches down. He found another and another. He was on a staircase that disappeared into the murky water. He stopped when he was chest-deep.

“We might need diving gear after all,” Lauren remarked.

“No, the water’s dropping. I think there’s a subterranean outlet below us that will drain the cave. We just need to give it a little more time.”

In just a minute the water was down to his waist again and Mercer took another couple of steps. Lauren stayed a few stairs above him, shivering in the cold water. When he could, Mercer took another step.

“I think I reached the floor.” He turned to look back. The cave’s entrance, forty feet behind them, was ten feet over their heads. The others were silhouetted against the dim light filtering down the passage.

Somewhere in the darkness he heard water rushing through a small side passage, draining away as he’d predicted. The cavern was larger than the beam of his small light could reach. Mercer and Lauren moved to the right, trying to find a side wall. The water was still above their knees so neither saw the obstruction. Mercer hit it awkwardly, groped for balance and ended up knocking Lauren off her feet too.

He hit on his shoulder but the ground didn’t seem solid. More like landing on a patch of loose gravel than volcanic rock. He felt around under the water and picked up a handful of the pebbles.

“What is it?” Lauren asked.

Mercer shook water from the flashlight, cursing as it dimmed because it wasn’t waterproofed. He flashed the dying beam onto whatever he’d recovered from under the surface. Even in their rough form and shown in the poorest light there was no denying the green fire of the palmful of emeralds, the smallest of which was the size of an acorn.

“Oh my God!” Lauren felt around and came up with a double handful, letting them trickle from her fingers like marbles.

She scooped up more and let them fall across Mercer’s head. He did the same to her, twining mud and the precious stones into her wet hair, laughing.

He swiveled the beam and it just caressed a stack of small wooden casks. He half swam, half crawled over. The wood dissolved when he touched one of the crate’s lids. He worked it a second, opening a hole large enough to fit his hand. Inside, he recognized the soapy feel of the metal disks. He grabbed a bunch and tossed them to where Lauren was scooping mounds of emeralds over her legs. One of the coins landed on her lap. Like it was angered at being kept in the dark for so many centuries, the gold coin flashed harshly, a gilded spark like a mirror.

Lauren cried in delight. “It’s all here, isn’t it?”

The flashlight finally died, though neither cared as they hugged each other in the chilly treasure store. They finally made their way back to the surface, crawling up the stairs until they could see by the surface light spilling down from the entrance. They were soaked, covered from head to toe in mud that glittered where emeralds and other gems stuck to them.

Parada met them at the top of the stairs. “What have you found?”

Like a dog, Mercer shook himself. Mud flew from him and splattered the group. Miguel laughed, Parada gasped, and Roddy whooped when he caught an emerald. “What we have found,” Mercer proclaimed, “is success.”

With the rest of their flashlights on shore, the group had no option but to return to the camp in the waning light. Carmen had started a fire to guide them, although they had to hike several hundred yards through the mud to reach the camp. The lake continued to drain through the shattered falls. By morning, it might be possible to walk to the cave, though they wouldn’t know until dawn.

Carmen had also had the foresight to recruit the two Panamanian guards to gather water in drums, one of which she’d placed near the fire to warm. Taking a five-gallon pail with them, the expedition members retreated to private tents for a quick sponge bath before returning to the fire for dinner and a great many celebratory drinks. The party went on long after midnight, with sleeping children curled on various laps.

Mercer helped Roddy gather his brood to take them to the tent he had commandeered for his family. Standing at the flap, Mercer took Roddy’s hand and held it palm up. Into it he dropped seven of the best emeralds he’d found in the cave. He’d hidden them in his pocket when he and Lauren were crawling for the surface.

“What’s this?” Roddy asked, a little drunk.

“For you.”

“No. I can’t. I have my job back now. I can provide for my family.”

“Then take them for Miguel. Use them to give him the kind of life he deserves.”

Roddy was subdued by alcohol and emotion. “I will take them for when he and my children go to college.” He put his arms around Mercer, hugging him tight. “You will always be like a father to him too, you know?”

“I know, but I can’t give him the stable home life you can, the love, the sense of family. This is the least I could do.”

Walking back to his tent, Mercer felt pride tinged with regret. He doubted he’d ever have children, but if he did he hoped to be as good a father, as good a man, as Roddy Herrara.

Lauren was waiting for him in his tent. She sat cross-legged on the bed, her back to him. With her T-shirt bunched at her hips, he was afforded a view of her bare backside where the beginning of the cleft divided the two hemispheres.

“If you’re here to turn down the bed,” Mercer said, startling her, “could you leave a few extra mints?”

She turned, peeking over her shoulder, her magical eyes glowing in the gauzy light thrown from a hurricane lamp. “I’m sorry, sir, only one per customer. I can get you extra pillows.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I’m a deep sleeper. I never notice my pillows.”

“You really think you’re sleeping tonight?”

Mercer kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head. He went to her, leaned close and kissed her mouth, pressing something he’d palmed against her lips with his tongue. Lauren recoiled and reached for the object. The stone was wet from their saliva, glinting and glittering. She sucked a quick breath and held it up to the light.

“I can’t keep this,” she asked in a little-girl voice, “can I?”

“I just gave a bunch to Roddy. I think you taking the best one we found is only fitting. You can make it into a ring.”

“Ring? You might know how to mine gems but you don’t know the first thing about setting them.” She continued to examine the fifty carat stone, delighting in the flashes of light that sparked through it. “For God’s sake, I could use it as a paperweight.”

Mercer kissed her again. “You can use it for anything you want.”

She drew him down to the bed so that he was next to her where she sat. Even without support, her breasts were perfectly formed and strained her shirt. “By the way,” Mercer said, “I’m inviting Roddy and his family to Washington for Christmas. Miguel wanted to know if you’d be there.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Just Miguel, or do you want me there too?”

“Well.” He drew out the word. “I was also thinking of inviting Foch and his boys. If you didn’t come the reunion wouldn’t be complete.”

She gave his shoulder a playful slap. “Is that the only reason you’d want me there?”

“I can’t imagine another,” Mercer deadpanned, and she struck him again. “Seriously, would you like to come?”

Lauren’s eyes clouded. “As much as I’d love to say yes, I can’t.”

Mercer blinked, stunned that she’d say no. “I thought you’d . . .”

“You forget I’m not like you,” she said softly, knowing she’d hurt him and wishing she hadn’t. “The army takes a dim view of soldiers who take off whenever they like. They even have a word for it: AWOL.”

“Yeah, but you do get vacations, and besides I think they’ll cut you some slack after what we’ve been through.”

She looked away. “Just the opposite is true. Army intelligence is already swarming this country helping the locals look for others involved in Liu’s operation. Felix Silvera-Arias is cooperating but it’s going to take a lot more than just him to take down President Quintero. I doubt I’ll be getting away for a long time.”

“Come on, Lauren, Christmas is months away.” Mercer couldn’t understand why she was being so obstinate.

“I managed to get away this weekend so we could spend some time together. We’ve both earned it, but after this I can’t make any promises.”

Mercer thought he understood. As strange as it was, and as much as it hurt, he was grateful for her honesty. This wasn’t about her job. It was about them needing time to put the past weeks into perspective. The roller-coaster ride was coming to an end, and both were too shaky to commit to ride another one together. He’d been in this situation before. However, he was usually the one making the excuses to get away. He understood a little better the pain he’d caused other women, but that didn’t make him think he’d made the wrong call then or that Lauren was wrong now.

“Then if a weekend is the best I can get from you,” he said more brightly than he felt, “I have no choice but to take it.”

She touched his cheek. “Are you hurt?”

“A little,” he admitted. “But I’ll get over it.”

Her hand drifted down to his bare chest, and lower still. “I know just what to do to speed your recovery.”

“Why, Miss Lauren,” he said in an atrocious parody of her Georgia accent. “I thought fine antebellum women such as yourself don’t do such things.”

Throwing one leg over his waist, Lauren stripped off her shirt and purred, “Now, Mr. Philip, hasn’t anyone ever shown you what they really mean by Southern hospitality?”