...She picked up the phone and dialed the number she had committed to memory. It rang once and she heard the sound of Roarke’s voice telling her to leave a message. She closed her eyes at the wave of need that rose in her just hearing him. She wasn’t a schoolgirl calling a boy she admired from afar just to hear his voice, then hang up. But she still missed him so much it seemed unfair. Trying to push the loneliness away, Betsy punched in the four-digit code that would directly link to either Roarke or his messages.
“Betsy, sweetie, if you’re listening to this, something has gone terribly wrong. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done this job alone, but it was personal.” Roarke’s voice was warm and solid. It was hard to rectify its sound with the dangerous picture his words were painting. “I wanted us to have a special holiday together, sweetie. My plan was to be back and take you and Bobby on a wonderful Christmas vacation. The three of us together, anywhere you guys wanted to go.”
Roarke paused.
Betsy could almost feel his anguish coming across in the digital hum of the voice mail.
“Anyway, I wish I could tell you to go talk to my boss Peter Melrose about this, but I was ordered to stay away from it. The higher-ups didn’t want to step on friendly toes. But I couldn’t let it go. Not after what we talked about our last night together. So, love, it’s all my fault, but I couldn’t let you think I’d just left without letting you know what happened.”
Betsy hung up the phone. She had to think quickly and be very careful. Roarke’s words had been casual and, to anyone else, perhaps a little sappy. But he’d told her if she ever heard that type of message from him, there was trouble. They had developed a code around the words “sweetie” and “love.” She knew she couldn’t write it down, so she pictured the code breakdown in her mind.
When that was only partially successful, she traced the letters on her palm. She was probably being over-cautious, but it only took a couple of times watching the forensic science shows to learn that paper left a traceable trail, as did the computer.
She took a deep breath and tried to concentrate. There were windows in her kitchen and, although she doubted anyone would be watching through them, she wasn’t about to blow the gig before they even got out of the gate. First thing she had to do was figure out a safe place for Bobby. Then she’d have to call her boss and tell him she needed some personal time. Betsy laid her head on her arms on the table as if in abject depression, just in case. The whole time her mind was spinning like a washing machine. How was she going to get across the border and to Roarke without alerting any watchers to her goals? How was she going to rescue her hero?...