edge of the Atlantic trough near Grand Cayman.
The research foundation running the operation had kept it as quiet as possible, but a small article had appeared in the local George Town paper.
The sub had been down long enough for everyone to die from lack of oxygen, but when the craft was brought up, one of the expedition members had miraculously revived. A guy named Noah Fielding.
According to the article in the local paper, Fielding had apparently financed the development of the sub, but he’d left the expensive craft on Grand Cayman and headed back to the States. Address unknown.
Jarred reached for his laptop and sent an e-mail to one of his special assistants, asking the man to find out everything he could about Noah Fielding.
Was the guy hiding some secret? A secret that could cure Jarred of his deadly disease.
Jarred had to know. He’d try charm and persuasion first, but if Fielding didn’t want to talk to him, there were ways of getting the information out of him.
A man might escape death, but he couldn’t escape pain—not at the hands of the right practitioner.
LAS VEGAS REMINDED Noah of the Middle Ages. Of course it smelled a lot better; you didn’t have to worry about someone dumping garbage onto your head as you walked down the street, and penicillin was a reliable cure for the surge of syphilis. But life in this desert playground was reduced to basic human emotions. Desperate people risked a fortune on the roll of the dice or the turn of a card. And other people waited to pounce on their vulnerability.
He had encountered every one of these types before and he had experienced all the emotions they displayed. From love and triumph to desperation and despair. He’d tried to kill himself more than once. It had never worked, of course, and finally a French woman named Ramona had made him see the light. Maybe that was too strong a way to put it, but he knew she had changed him. When he’d met her, he’d lived too long and seen too much to feel anything but contempt for the human beings who thought they were better than slugs and worms.
Ramona had convinced him that humans had a core of goodness, and if he helped them expand that core, his generous spirit would be rewarded.
He wasn’t sure how well he’d done in changing the equation for humanity. The world was simply too big and too complex for one man to make an enormous difference. At least where good was concerned. Evil was another matter.
Still, over the last two centuries, Noah had poured money into various charities and had reached out to many individuals on a personal level.
He wandered through the casino of the Calvanio Hotel, watching old women with dyed hair, cups of quarters and glazed eyes trained on the spinning symbols of slot machines. He knew the odds on the machines, so he bought five hundred dollars worth of chips and won a thousand at blackjack, then quit while he was ahead.
He strolled toward the bar in the front of the building, where he could watch the dancing waters of a fountain in the artificial lake that fronted the strip.
As soon as he walked into the bar, he spotted a curvy blonde wearing a shimmery gold dress that dipped low over her cleavage. The short skirt revealed long, tanned legs. Her wavy hair brushed her shoulders, and her makeup enhanced her natural attributes.
She was well-proportioned and attractive but not beautiful. Yet something about her features drew him. Her eyes were light and set wide apart. Her face was rectangular, with a jaw that spoke of strength. But the haunted look in her eyes and something about the way she held her full lips told him she was in a world of trouble.
Could he help her? Did she want his help? And would starting something with her count as giving back to Ramona?
He’d loved Ramona and lost her two hundred years ago. She hadn’t even lived into old age in normal human terms. She’d died of what he later found out was breast cancer before she reached her fiftieth year.
Her last days had been full of pain. Hers and his, as well. He’d wanted to flee the inevitable, but he’d stayed by her bedside, giving her what comfort he could and taking comfort, too. Since her death, he hadn’t gotten close enough to anyone to fall in love.
The blonde sitting at the table looked nothing like Ramona, who had been a striking brunette. Yet some indefinable quality of this woman called to him.
The sudden attraction he felt toward her reminded him that he hadn’t taken anyone to bed in a long time. If he got emotionally involved with a woman, leaving her would be painful, and if his emotions weren’t engaged, then the sex was meaningless.
Sometimes he was lucky enough to find a middle ground.
While he was debating whether to cross the room, she glanced up and their eyes met. A smile flickered on her lips, only to vanish almost as soon as it appeared, the bleak veil descending again.
Even more intrigued, he started toward her, but the sound of someone calling his name interrupted him.
“Noah Fielding?”
He stopped and turned to find himself facing a portly man with wiry salt-and-pepper hair. He was wearing chinos and a slightly rumpled Hawaiian shirt.
The man’s face registered confusion. “Sorry,” he said, “I must be mistaken. The concierge said you were Noah Fielding, but you can’t be.”
“I am,” Noah answered.
The other man shook his head. “You’re sure?” He laughed and slapped his palm against the side of his head. “What kind of question is that? I’m Sidney Hemmings.”
Ah. Hemmings. Actually, the man looked older than the picture he had on his Web site. Apparently vanity had frozen his image.
“We’ve been corresponding for years,” the doctor continued. “I expected you to be my age.”
Noah shrugged and called up his most innocent and open look. “I was pretty young when I became interested in your field. And I guess I age well.”
“You certainly do. How old are you?”
Noah had a lot of practice in sidestepping that question. “Old enough to know better,” he answered lightly.
Hemmings shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Well, it’s wonderful to finally meet you. Can I buy you a drink?”
Noah glanced toward the blonde. He’d come here to meet Hemmings, but at the moment, he would rather have a drink with her, which said something about the pull he was feeling. Still, he had no intention of being rude to a man he’d corresponded with for years.
“Of course,” he said, leading the way to a table in the corner of the room.
OLIVIA watched the man who had been standing in the doorway looking at her. He was tall like her, with dark hair and eyes and a trim athletic build. As she’d pretended not to study him, she’d fought off a zing of awareness. That attraction was unnerving, because she hadn’t planned on being interested in anyone here.
It wasn’t just a sexual pull, although that was certainly part of it. Strange as it might seem, when their eyes had briefly met, she’d thought maybe the guy was going to offer to help her.
Could he? Could anybody get her out of the mess that her brother had cooked up?
What if she went to the police? She sighed. They might believe her, but Pearson’s scheme was hardly a big deal in a place like Las Vegas. The cops weren’t going to protect her from him.
Her gaze flicked toward her brother, who was as far away from her as he could get in the room, watching the action.
For the hundredth time, she wondered what had turned him into the kind of man he was. They’d been raised by the same parents, yet somehow he hadn’t absorbed their middle-class values. Instead, he was completely selfish. Unfortunately, he also knew how to be charming, which fooled a lot of people, including Mom and Dad.
The