by Ronie Kendig
Love and relationships were just too messy. He didn’t want the trouble. Especially after the Sahara.
He pocketed his phone and stood, haunted by a dark thought: he might not want trouble, but he wanted her. And they seemed to come hand in hand.
CHAPTER 13
REAPER HEADQUARTERS, MARYLAND
Adam had screwed up a lot of things, but nothing as painful as his relationship with Peyton Devine. Damage pervaded his life, his past. He was like the notorious bull in the china shop trying to hold a priceless gem in hooves that crushed concrete.
But he’d had her. They’d been an item. Yet with every day that passed, he had known he’d never be good enough. He knew that. Heck, every guy back in A-stan told him that when he and Peyton hooked up. He knew he’d eventually hurt her, and that thought, compounded by the brutal reality of deploying and being separated—What if he got killed? Left her a widow?—killed him. Besides, she wouldn’t leave the military, and neither would he. It was impossible. They were headed to Heartache Central. So he had broken it off.
But hot dang, he’d kill the guy who tried to step in. Ghillie had about met his maker, which was why Adam had removed himself from RTB’s hub, where the intruder and Peyton were laughing and connecting. When they were on the roof, he’d gone up to check things out and found them entirely too cozy as they stretched out and peered through their scopes.
Flexing and unflexing his fist, he kept an eye trained on the deputy director’s closed door, where Pete was having a one-on-one. A steady drone of conversation filtered out, though words were unintelligible. Because she’d neutralized Kurofuji in China, the questions were detailed, the debrief more thorough.
Back at Bagram, when trips outside the wire resulted in her neutralizing a target, it always hit her hard. Every kill shot had. That was why he’d planted his hairy backside right here, waiting. She didn’t need him—Pete was tough as they came—but she had a good, soft heart. And maybe, if he showed he could be there for her, always would be, she’d listen. Give him that second chance.
Keep dreaming.
Out in that field beyond the Chinese mansion when he’d been grazed, she’d acted like she cared. Flashed those bright eyes, tangled in concern. Man, he wanted to believe that. A guy could go a long way on those truths. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his palms together.
Light bloomed, wakening him to the fact someone had turned off the lights in the hub and that Peyton was exiting the director’s office, her attention on the man behind her.
Adam rose slowly, watching. Anticipating.
When she pivoted, she spotted him. After a slight hesitation that jammed his pulse into his throat, she headed his way.
His heart did that jiggy thing it always did around her.
“You always sit in the dark?” she asked.
“Helps me think.” Adam scanned her face, then glanced at the office. “You okay?”
Irritation skidded through her features, but her jaw twitched, apparently restraining the retorts that had been so quick on her tongue since he’d messed things up. Instead, she shrugged. “It’s . . .” Her gaze skipped off.
“Yeah.” With a nod, he tried to let her know it was okay. That she didn’t have to talk. He got it. Though he guessed what she’d probably say, he still asked, “You want company?” He touched her elbow.
She tugged away.
Accepting that answer, Adam stepped back.
“Yes.”
He blinked. Froze. “Yes?” He wouldn’t let her rescind that yes. “Okay.”
She angled toward the exit. “Tomorrow I’m going over to Belvoir.”
“Why?”
“Found out Carsen Gilliam’s unit commander while he was in Afghanistan is there now. I have an appointment.” She chewed the inside of her cheek for a second, pausing. “I’d like a second set of ears on this,” she hurried to explain. “That’s all.”
“Sure. Makes sense. I can pick you up.” At least they’d be together.
“No, I’ll pick you up. I want to arrive in one piece.”
“You saying something about my driving?”
“I’m saying a lot about your driving.”
***
MCLEAN, VIRGINIA
“Hey, thanks for letting me barge in.” Leif tucked himself inside the foyer of his brother’s home.
Canyon shut and locked the door before guiding him back to the living room. “Glad to have you over. Doesn’t happen enough.”
Legos and cars were strewn around five-year-old Owen in the den. Agitation scratched at Leif for coming. This was a bad idea.
His sister-in-law came around the corner with a little girl perched on her hip. “About to start dinner—tamales.” Dani cocked her head. “You staying?”
“Yes, he’s staying,” Canyon asserted.
“Leif!” Gray-green eyes brightened as the child on Dani’s hip reached for him.
Recognition registered. “Taissia.” Confused, he took her, and something corkscrewed when she latched onto him, tight. Hugging her, he gave a laugh he didn’t feel and shot his brother a look. “Is Isk—”
“Taissia’s having a sleepover with Tala,” Dani said. “The girls have had a tea party and been to a movie so far.”
Leif tried to hide his frown. Where was Iskra? Should he be alarmed that she still wasn’t answering his calls?
“Taissia,” Tala called. “Come play!”
“Guess you’d better hurry back,” Dani said as the little girl scrambled out of his arms and raced toward the bedrooms.
He swiped a hand over his mouth and turned to his brother. “What is that? Why is she here? Where’s Iskra?”
“Didn’t you tell Iskra being around our kids would be good for Taissia?” Dani challenged with a shrug. “She’s having fun, and it’s a pleasure to have her here while Iskra is doing something work-related.”
“Work-related.”
“What? Did she break some rule, not contacting you first?” Dani shot back. “Was she supposed to check in?”
“Check in?”
“You’re doing that annoying thing where you repeat my words.” Dani arched an eyebrow at Canyon. “Might want to intercept your brother before I ruin dinner by dumping it all over him.”
Leif scowled. “What—”
Laughing, Canyon stepped out the back door onto the deck. “C’mon. Out here.”
Dani had always been direct and forthright, which was the only way she’d managed to catch Canyon.
But Leif felt like he was walking over an IED. “What’s going on?” he demanded as he closed the door. “Where’d Iskra go? It’s unlike her to leave Taissia. She wouldn’t go on the mission with us because she was worried about leaving her daughter.”
“I don’t know,” Canyon admitted. “She had to leave for a few days and asked if we could help. If I didn’t know that Iliescu was aware, I’d have been reluctant.”
“Dru knows?” Leif squinted. “You’re saying Dru sent her out?”
Canyon held up his hands. “Whoa, chief. No.” He huffed. “You are uptight. No, my point is that Iskra can’t go anywhere without Iliescu knowing because she’s in his protective custody, right?” He sat on the back step.
Leif joined him. If Dru knew, why hadn’t he told Leif? “So you don’t know where she went?”
“If I did, I’d tell you.”
“Would you?”
Canyon’s lips tightened.
“Because it seems like you’re real good at buddy-buddy secrets with Dru.”
His brother’s eyes blazed. “We’re real good at watching your six, Runt.”
His brother had always been there for him and didn’t deserve the careless accusations he was throwing around, so Leif hauled his annoyance into check. “You’re right.” He nodded. “Things have gotten so whacked between me and Iskra. I don’t know what to do or how to fix it.” He ran a hand down the back of his neck. “She’s not talking to me or answering my calls. So to find Taissia
here—”
“She said you were gone for a while, wouldn’t answer her calls.”
Leif startled. “She told you that? Yet she won’t talk to me?”
“She might, if you’d told her what was wrong or where you went.”
But he couldn’t. He realized the truth, the inflection in his brother’s words. The subtle accusation, along with the hammering guilt over that trip. They didn’t want him looking for the past, but they weren’t doing anything to help fill the missing gap, though they’d promised they would.
“You’re digging again,” Canyon said quietly.
Leif let out a sigh. “It’s wrong. . . .”
Canyon studied him—something he was really good at, peeling back the exterior and finding what lay beneath. Mom had dubbed his brother her silent tormentor because he’d go quiet for such long periods and never complain. Yet he always called it like it was.
“What is wrong, Leif? What is going on with you? I don’t need Iskra to tell me something’s off with my little brother.” Canyon’s blue eyes, so like his own, pinched. “I can see it. Have seen it. What’s got you lit?”
Peering across the yard the family called the back forty, Leif shook his head. Eyed the green grass and shrubs that lined the fence. “Something’s going on with Iskra, and when she bailed on me and the team, that”—another shake—“wasn’t right. Then this book . . .”
Canyon had been there after they’d retrieved it and captured the infamous Viorica. Crazy how things had changed. “Still haven’t found it?”
“Nope.” Leif studied his shoes. “And Dru’s not sending us to look for it. Instead, he’s having us track down people.”
“People mentioned in the book.”
Leif started. “I shouldn’t be surprised you know that.”
“Neither of us can change what DIA is doing.” Canyon smirked, another Metcalfe trait. “But the power is in your hands regarding Iskra. You need to fix it, or it’s just going to get bigger. It’s like potholes in the road of your relationship. The longer they’re ignored, the bigger they get, the more damage they inflict—and that will infiltrate the rest of your life, including your job.”
A gnawing started in Leif’s gut. “I know. I just . . .”
“You’re scared.”
“Yeah.” Something zipped through him. “But not for me,” he clarified. “For her. I don’t—” He hated talking about this. “I don’t know what happened to me before the Sahara, and I don’t want that hurting her somehow. Just . . . I have this feeling it will.”
“You assume it was bad.”
“Are you kidding?” Leif snorted. “Six months of my life are missing, like someone erased them. How can that not be bad?”
“We don’t know for sure that someone erased them.”
Why was Canyon arguing this? “It’s the only answer,” Leif countered. “The markers in my bloodwork with interferons, the scans—my parietal lobe was altered so that pain—”
“Which”—Canyon cut in—“the specialists said could have been from a head injury.”
“Or from an experiment.”
“Leif,” his brother said with a heavy sigh. “I hear you, man. I do. You want that gap to make sense. You want it to have significance, but we have no proof.”
“I am the proof!” he snapped. “And what if—”
“Dad?” came a small voice from behind.
Canyon looked over his shoulder. “What’s up, bud?”
Beneath a shock of blond hair, Owen was blessed—cursed?—with the Metcalfe blues. “Mom said she needs your help, and I’m stuck on my homework.”
His brother tapped Leif’s shoulder. “See if you can help Owen? I think I’m on KP.”
Kitchen patrol. “Yeah.” Sure. Why not? There wouldn’t be answers out here either. And he wouldn’t have to endure more of Canyon telling him to leave it alone. Tucking away his frustration and questions, Leif moved toward the door and flipped his nephew up over his shoulder. “What’s melting your gray matter, squirt?”
After depositing Owen on the kitchen floor, he followed him to the living room, where a folder waited on the coffee table with a pencil. He eyed the worksheet. “Math.”
“Yeah, Mom says I’m good at it, but I hate it.”
“You and me both,” Leif muttered. “Wouldn’t you rather learn about tactical—”
“No!” Dani snapped from the kitchen, where his brother was setting a steaming casserole on the island. “Do not corrupt my son, Leif.”
“Corrupt? I’m training him up in the way he should go—”
“And he won’t be able to calculate how far and fast he has to hoof it to safety without math,” she said with a warning smile. “It’s dinnertime anyway. Owen, go wash up and tell the girls to do the same.” She pointed a spatula at Leif. “You too, Runt. No arguing.”
After a delicious meal gathered around the table with family and Taissia, a constant reminder of her missing mother, Leif played a game of catch and then football with Owen before his mother declared it time to finish homework, then bedtime.
Canyon skillfully avoided continuing their conversation. Leif guessed it didn’t matter. There were only questions on top of questions, and he knew answers weren’t going to magically appear. He’d have to extricate them from the past, out of whoever was hiding them.
Yawning, he watched the news with Canyon for a while and let the negativity of the world drown out his own chaos.
About midnight, his brother slapped his thigh. “Guest room’s yours, if you want it. Thought maybe we could head to the range in the morning, work off some steam.”
It was an invitation for more family time, more talk. Or was it more avoiding the elephant in the room? “I think I’ll head back. Want to get a workout in before I crash.”
His brother gave him a sidelong glance. “You avoiding me?”
“Pretty sure that’s your tactic.” Leif stood. “I’ll catch you in the morning. Thank Dani for dinner for me.”
Back at his place, he changed into workout shorts, shed his shirt, and blasted music through the open-concept space. Of the two-thousand-square-foot flat, he used one-third for living and the other two-thirds as an obstacle and workout area. He started with jumping rope, then burpees. From there, he worked on tic-tacking the corner and the salmon ladder. A good hour in, he was back to the salmon ladder and had reached the top. His hand cramped, and he was tempted to release.
“Chief, let go!”
Leif blinked. Shut out the memory. The cleft. Krieger. His face, sweaty, dusty, tangled in panic.
“Let go!”
The words slapped his ears. His concentration broke. He dropped to the floor with a grunt. Hung his head, eyes closed. Fought back the memory. He staggered back to his bed and fell against it. Cupped his hands over his face, waiting for the memory to recede.
“We got trouble.”
“I think we crashed.”
Gunfire. Shouts.
“Call it in!”
The incident refusing to leave him alone, Leif flopped back against the mattress with a grunt.
“Grenade!” Krieger shouted and ducked.
It thunked against the large boulder protecting them, then clattered around the rocks. The explosion punched Leif’s chest. Pitched him forward. He caught himself and felt the shower of rock and debris. Dust clouds plumed.
As the air cleared, Krieger grinned. “I’m too pretty—”
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Krieger froze. Eyes wide. He glanced down.
Leif realized a fraction too late what was happening. He lunged as a chasm opened below Krieger, who clapped arms with him. Rocks rumbled beneath his feet. Easily fifty to seventy feet yawned below Krieger, who saw it, too, then swung back with bulging eyes.
With both hands clamped onto him, Leif tried to haul him up. Rock cracked and surrendered, widening the chasm. The more Krieger fought for a toehold to push up to safety, the more rocks fell away. The massive boulder that had provided protectio
n groaned, as if its burden was too great to bear any longer.
“Let go. Let go!”
Metal clanged. “Always remember”—a voice came through, tinny, uncertain—“I will rise.”
“Taking fire! Taking fire!”
They were on the valley floor, fleeing insurgents. Avoiding eating lead.
“Chief, it’s no use,” Krieger shouted, struggling on with Harcos, who now had no legs. Blood draining out.
Leif strangled a shout.
“Do it again. Over and over,” that tinny voice said.
“I will rise.” Leif swung around, aiming his carbine down the plain to the barreling fighters. This didn’t make sense.
Now Guerrero was falling. Falling. “Let go.”
“No!”
“Not worth it. We can’t save everything. Let go.”
“Leif?”
“No,” Leif ground out, turning to the voice. Kappi. He was walking, tripping because a lone tendon held his leg together. He reached a broken hand toward Leif. “Nooo!”
“Leif?”
Someone tackled him with a primal shout. Leif shot out his arm. Cuffed the throat. Flipped the guy.
“Leif!” Frantic eyes.
But it was no good. He wouldn’t be weak. “I won’t let you kill them!”
“Leif, please! It’s me!”
The eyes . . . familiar. He knew them.
He blinked. Sand and rocks gave way to a gray blanket. Soft bed. Black hair and wide, beautiful eyes. Throat in his hands.
“Iskra!”
Thoughts slingshotted through the dark. His apartment. He was in his loft. On the bed. Leif threw himself off her, heart jamming. Mind burning with the image of his hands strangling her.