Storm Rising

by Ronie Kendig

  She gave a strangled whimper when he crunched her bare foot.

  “Sorry,” he whispered. He adjusted and so did she, allowing him to watch that sliver and cradle the gun at chest level, pointing down and out. The repositioning put his shoulder roughly center mass to her chest, but he tried not to think about that.

  Her pale pink top grabbed the light, and he couldn’t help but notice the rise and fall of her chest—each breath dousing him with her smell. Light, floral, with a sweetness of fruit. Eyes out, he chided himself.

  Shapes moved up and down the street. The tenacious buggers weren’t branching out but were instead clustering where they’d lost their prize.

  Her hand came to his shoulder. Probably, again, to keep him from crowding her.

  A stream of Russian flew outside, a command to search the shop.

  Viorica’s other hand grabbed his forearm. Tightened.

  Understanding, he wanted to nod and allay her fear. Reassure her they’d be okay. But he couldn’t, because there was very little chance they’d get out of this intact.

  * * *

  Iskra clutched the book she’d retrieved from its hiding place, relief flooding her veins. Quickly, she tucked it in her satchel.

  Braced behind the American, she tried to vanquish her smothering fear. Running from Hristoff would not work. Never had. Yet some piece of her trusted the man crushed against her. He’d known. In the hotel, when she had looked at him—that instant when Viorica fell away and Iskra lay bare her soul—she did not have to utter a single word. Then, in the corridor, she had moved in front of him to pose as a hostage, and he seized the idea. And it had worked, making Ruslan pull his weapon.

  Now, more than ever, she had to side with the Americans, or Veratti would kill her. And if he did not, Hristoff would. But dread tightened her stomach as she imagined Hristoff returning to the Volga District, to Bisera. At the thought, panic threatened to overwhelm her.

  What have I done?

  The American shifted, looking up and around. Each move allowed the light to scrape his face. Intensity radiated from him. He was handsome. He was also an operator, always looking for an opportunity. Who was he? How did he know her thoughts as if they were his own?

  When he glanced over her head and around her shoulders, she had one thought: Hristoff will kill you. Brutally. Furiously. Because of me. A part of her wanted to warn him. Tell him to break out of here and run as fast and far as he could. Before it was too late.

  His eyes traced the wall behind them and then came to rest on her. Something about him seemed to wrap around her like a warm blanket. Embedded in her wounded soul, vulnerability skated out and attached to him.

  He had gone still, too. Watching. His gaze bouncing around her . . .

  Wait. Not around you, idiot. Behind you. “What?” It was more air than word.

  “I think it’s a door.”

  “Find them!” Ruslan barked outside.

  She couldn’t see faces through the gap in the door. Only legs below the knee. Shoes. Coming closer, then wandering away. A breath staggered from her.

  “Hey.” His word huffed against her cheek. “It’s okay.” More of that confidence. “Don’t move.”

  She froze, wondering what he’d seen. What worried him.

  Without a sound, he rotated. Though he only covered half her body with his own, it was too much. She could feel the rocks and dirt beneath her feet and worried the crunching would alert Ruslan or that she’d step on something sharp. Already, stickiness slushed between her toes. She’d cut her foot somehow, and she cursed that she’d had to ditch her pumps in the lobby. They would have slowed her down, so she’d kicked them off and fled.

  The American’s focus and hand drifted to the ceiling. He tracked where the ceiling met the wall. Both arms came up and his chest pressed toward her face. His shirt tickled her nose. She looked away, but the scent of him encircled her mind.

  “Found a handle,” he grunted. “Be ready.”

  “For what?”

  “Light. Trouble. Dunno. Just be ready.”

  She gave a nod. Neither could know what was behind this wall. “Wait.” She touched his side, and his abs jumped. “Are you sure?”

  He eyed her. “Never.” Then he smirked. “That’s half the fun.”

  Fun? This was his idea of fun?

  Click.

  Iskra sucked in a breath as the door popped. Though prepared, she still lost her balance and tumbled backward.

  He caught her, his hand slipping to her waist. “You okay?”

  Irritated—with herself or with him, she wasn’t sure—Iskra shouldered into the exit. She eased aside and peered through the two-inch gap. “Dark. Can’t see . . . wait.”

  Aisles sat in silence, stocked and clean.

  She nudged the door a little farther, palming its cold surface. She inspected one aisle. Peered around a freezer case. “I think it’s clear.”

  “Nice and easy,” he muttered and widened the opening.

  Slipping out and using the end of the aisle for protection, she checked the windows littered with flyers and advertisements. Beyond them, night owls clubbing and partying sauntered down the street. But the figure who made her want to jump back into the cramped space had broad shoulders and an ominous stature.

  A shadow spirited across the windows. Her breath caught, then released as she realized it was her partner in this crime. How he’d gotten to the front of the store without a sound, she couldn’t fathom. But he was there, hunkering behind a rack of crisps.

  He crouch-ran back to her and straightened in the shadows. “No good.” They stood close, warily scanning the activity on the street. “Too exposed.”

  Ruslan jogged by. “He will not stop until I’m found.”

  “Especially since he thinks I kidnapped you.”

  Guilt hung from Iskra’s shoulders like an anchor. It would be nice to think he cared about her, but this was about the book. Her hand fell to her satchel.

  He frowned, eyeing her bag. And in his gaze she saw that he knew what she had. “Where’d you get that?”

  Iskra stared at him, unwilling to divulge her secrets.

  With a nod and a huff, he headed back down the aisle. “C’mon.”

  She hurried to catch up. “Where?”

  “Stairs.” He snaked through the shop. “If we can get to the roof, we might have options.”

  Most places like this didn’t have access to the upper levels through the shop. Only through a separate, inner hall. They should have just stayed in the storeroom.

  “Here.” Hands working the knob, he winced and grimaced. A stream of light from a car stabbed through the glass and slid over his face.

  Click. Snick.

  He flicked open the door and motioned her into a dank, well-lit stairwell. She hesitated at the cast-iron steps. The iron traction nubs would be painful against her cut and chewed-up feet.

  “Hang on.” He vanished back into the shop.

  “I—” Iskra watched him go, a new fear tearing through her. What if he left and she got caught? She’d be beaten, but maybe she should make that happen. At least that way, he’d live.

  Like a specter, he reappeared. “Here.” He handed her a pair of cheap canvas shoes and a black T-shirt.

  She frowned. “I have a shirt.”

  “It’s pink, and everyone can see it. You need camouflage.”

  Surprised she hadn’t thought of that, she threaded her arms into the shirt. The shoes were too small, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Leaning against the wall, she mashed her toes into them. She started climbing.

  They made it to the roof, and she remembered the last time she’d encountered this man—on the roof of the Greek facility.

  He gave her a cocky grin. “Like old times, eh?” He glanced around but frowned.

  “What?”

  “I was hoping you had a hang glider up here, too.”

  She couldn’t resist the retort on her tongue. “It’s invisible. Trust me. Just hold out your
arms and jump.”

  “Sounds deadly.”

  A rumble of laughter in her stomach startled her. She swallowed it. “Can we get out of here? I don’t want to die.”

  “Booyah,” he muttered, then nodded behind her. “That way. Alley’s narrow enough for us to jump to the other side.”

  They made the first leap without incident. Then the second. The third trapped her breath into her throat, because it wasn’t an alley. It was a road, if a small one. She visually measured the distance and backed up.

  “Well,” she said, bouncing on her cramped toes, “if this kills me, Hristoff will never stop looking for you, and that will be my revenge.”

  With a hop, she sprinted toward the edge. Toed it, then launched into the air. She wanted to scream. Wanted to shriek. As she hung in the air, she had the morbid realization that she wasn’t going to clear it. She landed, her left shin whacking the edge. She rolled, pain blinding her. Slid across the tarred roof. Arched her back against the pain, knowing if she let that cry escape, Hristoff would hear. Somehow he would.

  A soft thump, and the American was scrambling to her side. “You okay?”

  Pride forced her to peel herself off the rooftop. She reached for her leg.

  “Let me see.” His hands were warm against her cold ones. He slid up her pant leg and hissed. “That’s going to be wicked painful, but I don’t think anything is broken.”

  Except her pride.

  “Can you walk?”

  “Yes.”

  His lips pulled up on one side, and he eased off. “Hang tight.” Crouched, he slunk around the perimeter of the roof. And one by one, she recognized the buildings. Alarm hit her—they were right across from the Misyon now! They would see him!

  She wanted to call his name but still didn’t know it. He knelt at the corner, head seemingly plastered to the surface. Then he pulled back and returned. Slumped against the wall.

  “Are you an idiot?” She glowered.

  “Most times,” he said with an unrepentant grin. “He’s still there. Last chance.”

  Iskra eyed him, her heart agitated. She thought not of the abuse, the rapes, the psychological torture. Only of one—

  “Okay. We’ll head north a few more buildings, then I’ll contact my team.”

  She was doing this. Really doing this.

  Bisera.

  Her stomach squirmed.

  “Ready?”

  Before she could change her mind, Iskra nodded. As she came to her feet and her shin throbbed in protest, she knew it would be the least of what she’d endure. Flee with him and obey Veratti. Or face Hristoff’s reprisal for defying him. She would not even let herself think of Bisera. Not right now.

  This was the only way. She must risk herself to buy the freedom she desperately wanted. She limped across the roof.

  “You able to jump still?”

  “Yes,” she bit out.

  “Hey,” he said quietly, hovering close. “It’s not a challenge, just a question. If you’re in pain, we find another way.”

  Could they? “We need what is fastest, da?”

  Though he hesitated, he nodded.

  “And that is?”

  He looked across the city roofs.

  “Then we go that way.” She lined herself up to make the leap to the next northern building.

  “Why?”

  Iskra scowled at him. “You said it was—”

  “No,” he said, closing the gap between them. “Why’d you come with me? Why are you leaving him?”

  She dropped her gaze. Just make the jump. She turned to the roof.

  “I’m not going any farther until you tell me.”

  “You want me to lay it all out, but you will not even tell me your name.” She hopped, shutting off the stab of fire in her shin, then sprinted at the ledge. Sailed into the air and over to the next building.

  He landed almost simultaneously with her. “Runt.” He didn’t even sound winded. “I told you before—they call me Runt.”

  She curled a lip. “Like a rat?”

  “No,” he said, drawing it out in confusion. “Like a runt, you know—smallest of the litter.”

  Hobbling to the other side of the roof, she said, “You don’t look small.”

  He grinned. “Feel free to keep those compliments coming.”

  Iskra felt another smile coming on, so she forced herself to make the next jump. With each one, it seemed her leg improved. Or maybe it was so injured that it had gone numb. She really didn’t care, as long as she was able to put distance between herself and Hristoff.

  “Two more, then we climb down,” he said, indicating a narrow building that lined the river.

  Exhaustion taunted her, threatening to yank her down each time. But she wasn’t going to quit. They made the jumps. He hustled to the edge of the final building and stepped over the ledge, gripping the fire escape handles. It looked as if he were walking on air.

  He gave her a wink. “See you on the ground.”

  He dropped out of sight. His hands sliding along the rails, his booted feet toeing them and slowing his descent. She smiled. Though she could easily do the same, she knew that final landing would wrack her shin. So she took hold of the first rung, glanced down, and released. She plummeted, free-falling, then grabbed the rung a half dozen feet below. The escape rattled and jarred her shoulder, but it held. She did it again. Her canvas shoes hung just over his head now.

  She caught the last rung and eased herself down, landing softly. Perfectly.

  He wore an all-out wide smile, and his eyes glittered. “Crazy awesome.”

  A trill of victory rang through her, a strange giddy feeling. Dusting off her hands, she felt weird. Light. She smiled.

  He touched her back. “How’s the leg?”

  “Oddly, I can’t feel any pain.”

  “Normal—it’s swollen and fluid’s protecting it,” he said, already moving away from the city. “Between that and adrenaline, you’ll be okay for a while. When we get there, Saito will check it.” He tugged a phone from his pocket. Though it activated, the screen remained black. He keyed in a number and lifted it to his ear as they wound up a street and crossed into a vineyard. “Hey . . . yeah. No, about a klick out.” He nodded. “Yeah . . . cool. See you in ten.”

  The softer ground helped with the heaviness of her leg. “You did not tell them I was coming.”

  “They saw us on satellite,” he said.

  Which meant Hristoff could do the same. He’d be furious, fighting to get her back. He’d put all his resources to use. It was more important than ever to get out of here.

  “Don’t worry. They’re cleaning up the feed. Altering it.”

  She eyed him, wondering who they were to have access to satellites. That spoke of a large entity. Yet despite her attempts, she hadn’t been able to dig any information out of him. And who was he, that he read her so well? Anticipated her needs and concerns? Why did she trust him?

  “I can’t do it.”

  He glanced back, his face damp with sweat and concern. “Why? I thought—”

  “I can’t call you Runt.”

  His consternation shifted, morphed into a smirk.

  “It’s too much like rat.”

  “I told you—not rat, Runt,” he said slowly. “Besides, I think we’re both stuck with code names we don’t like, Viorica.”

  How did he know she didn’t like that name?

  “What do you want to call me?” he asked.

  “I think idiot would not go over well with your men.”

  “Psh. They use it all the—” His hand flung out toward her. “Down!”

  Only as she instinctively followed his command and searched for a threat did she feel the vibration rumbling the soft dirt of the vineyard beneath her hands. Helicopter.

  He scanned the air. “Stay below the vines. Keep moving.”

  She did as he instructed. About thirty paces later, with the thunder of the chopper closing in, she saw its spotlight. Clinging to the vine, s
he silently thanked him for the dark shirt. Her pale blouse would have been a big white surrender flag beneath that explosion of light.

  In the sparse gaps between the thwump-thwump-thwump of the rotors, the air carried his voice to her. He was on his phone again. Calling in reinforcements, she hoped. But even as the thought entered her mind, the fields to her right flared brighter and brighter. The sound grew deafening. Her fear terrorizing.

  Runt looked back at her. Something in his expression slowed Iskra. Uncertainty darkened his eyes. Then determination as his gaze shifted to her left. She turned. Another incoming helo. He straightened, shoulders and head above the vines as he moved past her. He would be seen!

  “No!” Her shout was drowned out by the rotors.

  The spotlight homed in on him. And in that moment, he pivoted behind her. His arms encircled her throat.

  “Stop.” She gripped his arm, then relaxed—he was playing the part again, da?

  His forearms flexed, squeezing her throat between the corded muscles and his chest. He forced her head forward, cutting off her oxygen.

  Air seeped from her lungs, but she could pull no more in. Her chest ached. “Stop!” She couldn’t breathe. She slapped at him. Pawed. Thrashed.

  His chest was a wall of muscle, crushing her. Forbidding her from moving, from getting away. From breathing.

  No. No no no.

  Why had she trusted him? Why had she thought him different?

  Bisera! She’d hoped for freedom. Now Bisera would be alone with Hristoff.

  Her vision ghosted. The spotlight arced away.

  Faded. Fade . . .

  SIXTEEN

  UNDISCLOSED LOCATION NEAR CUBA

  Hand over his fist, Leif bent forward in his chair and pressed his knuckles to his lips, staring at the gurney where she lay strapped. Padded restraints cuffed her wrists. Wider straps held her chest, hips, and ankles.

  What he’d done made him sick. But the order had been given to bring her in—unconscious. Never would he forget the way she’d screamed. Thrashed. That moment when her trust in him collapsed into sheer panic. It had ripped into him, gutted him.

  Is this what I’ve become?

  Whatever it was about him that she’d latched on to, that made her decide he wasn’t an enemy, he would take it. But he felt like instead of biting off more than he could chew, he’d stolen the whole freakin’ cow.