Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2)

by Stella Barcelona

  Closing the door to McDougall’s hotel room had been the final straw. Zeus relinquished control to Jenkins and the other members of the team. By midnight, he was in exercise clothes, running through the streets of London, weaving on and off the route they would take in the morning to bring the Amicus team to the proceedings.

  In the drizzly, almost freezing night, he’d run along the Thames River, crossed it via the Waterloo Bridge. He sprinted along the wide sidewalk of the Strand to the Royal Courts of Justice, where the ITT proceedings would be held over the next week. The Gothic building looked more like a cathedral than a courthouse.

  Once at the barricades that blocked the entrance to the courthouse, he’d stretched, and returned calls to both Sebastian and Gabe. Given the genuine concern he heard in their voices in the messages they’d left for him, Ragno had obviously been working behind the scenes and let both men know what had transpired between Samantha and McDougall. He kept the conversations with both his friend and his brother short. Two sentences with each were adequate to end the discussion on his personal issue. Thanks for the concern, and I’m fine. He focused on work issues with each of them, and ended the conversations.

  He ran back to One River Thames, a high-rise building that was partly exclusive private suite hotel and mostly private residences, where Black Raven would guard the Amicus team while the London phase of the proceedings were ongoing. Residence One attracted wealthy, international business clientele, who paid big bucks for discretion, safety, and anonymity. The sleek building boasted two floors of conference rooms that were equipped to handle business functions, and panoramic views of the London skyline and the Thames. Black Raven had consulted on the security of One River Thames and had, from time to time, provided on-site protection for various clients there.

  At 0630 on Monday morning, Jenkins, Miles, and Deal, had escorted Sam from McDougall’s hotel to One River Thames. Zeus hadn’t reappeared at her side until 0830, when it was time for her to leave for proceedings. The day had been full of necessary communication between him and Sam. There were directional instructions, mostly related to transit to and from the first day of proceedings in London, such as “second car,” “wait a second, we need clearance,” “ready?,” “there’s a bathroom down the hall for you” and “here’s the flight plan.” He’d kept those communications as generic as possible.

  Zeus also had to communicate with her on the security detail Black Raven was putting together for Stollen. The post-interview security detail, assuming the terrorist produced helpful information, was part of the package Sam would be offering the terrorist in return for credible information that led to apprehending Maximov.

  Planning the details of keeping the terrorist safe and protected, free yet isolated, for the rest of his life, in a manner approved by the Federal Bureau of Prisons and the trial court judge who was overseeing implementation of Stollen’s sentence, required a task force of agents at Black Raven headquarters to develop the project parameters and estimate. Once the site was selected, Zeus had directed the agents to provide Sam pictures. She’d need them in the interview.

  Now, with the darkness of the cold night outside, the jet window had become a mirror. She was watching him, waiting for his attention. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, her black turtleneck a perfect backdrop for the lightness of the silken strands. Her eyes were stark with seriousness. Her lips, neither a smile nor a frown, were perfect. She wasn’t wearing makeup. At least he didn’t think so. Her white-gold, creamy-complexion beckoned his fingers, looking soft and touchable.

  Bracing himself for a dose of bad-tasting medicine, he turned from the window to face her, because he didn’t think he could get away with ignoring her for the entire journey across the Atlantic. “Now that we’ve leveled off, there’s food in the galley. You should eat.”

  “Thank you. I will. Later.” Glancing towards the rear of the jet, she dropped her voice to a whisper and leaned his way, closing some of the distance between them that the aisle provided. “Zeus, I’m sor—”

  “Don’t.”

  Her brow furrowed and her eyebrows drew together. “But we need to talk about it. I’m trying to tell you how sor—”

  “Anything you have to say that starts with an apology, and ends with ‘but I’m going to marry him anyway,’ is a discussion we don’t need to have.” He had lowered his voice to a whisper, but the words were so painful he felt like he was shouting.

  Her cheeks became flushed. Good—his message was hitting home. “Save your breath. Marry McDougall. Gear your life for your career. Work hard, exercise hard, live a steady life with him. Sit in front of a fireplace together on winter nights as you both work. Watch your sunsets together. Share your ambitions. Help each other realize them. Talk about your days. Have your active vacations, get your two Golden Labs.”

  She flinched, as though he’d deliver a blow, and he immediately ground his teeth in frustration. Why, exactly, did he give a rat’s ass that he was hurting her feelings?

  “What’d you think? That I forgot any of the things we talked about seven years ago? I remember everything about you, Sam. Even the inconsequential crap. Why do you think the caterer provided ham sandwiches on white bread and barbeque potato chips in the galley of this goddamn jet? Because I know that’s your favorite late-night snack. There are even macarons in the galley, for God’s sake. I know you don’t sleep well on an empty stomach, and you skipped all the healthy stuff we had at dinner earlier. Tomorrow’s a big day for you.” He frowned, trying, but failing, to keep bitter petulance out of his voice. “And I’m willing to bet you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  Now she didn’t look like she was going to apologize. She just looked damn miserable, and the reading light directly over her seat bounced off her diamond engagement ring and shot a fucking prism of brilliance into his eyes. “Come on, Sam. Did you think we’d resume where we left off on Sunday, before you accepted his proposal? Sharing a bed? Me making love while you tell yourself all we’re doing is having sex? Well—”

  “Understood.” Her one-word interruption came with a cool nod. “You don’t have to say more. I’ve heard enough.”

  “Don’t think you have.” He was on a roll, and seething. Furious at her for fucking up both of their lives, he wanted to make damn sure that she understood his position. Glancing back at Jenkins, who was closest to him, and at Miles and Deal, who were further back, he saw that they weren’t paying attention. Or they were doing a damn good job of looking like they weren’t paying attention. Didn’t fucking matter. He was going to say what he needed to say, and after that he was going to damn well forget about it. And her.

  “Now I understand why you didn’t want to talk to me about what I did seven years ago.” He inhaled, almost laughing at the puzzled look and surprise that crossed her features, then realizing he was looking at both heartache and relief. “Yeah. I get it. You’re just doing to me what you think I did to you. Well, the reason why we don’t need to talk about it—what I did to you or what you’re doing to me—is that it hurts too fucking bad to talk about heartache with the person who is causing it. I get it now. Loud and fucking clear.”

  He had to believe heartache came for her before the relief. Heartache because he knew she had fallen in love. Relief because she never wanted to feel that much for anyone. Not that she was going to confirm it, or deny it.

  “Great,” she said, a punch of sarcasm delivered with the word. “You needed the insight. Glad I provided it to you.”

  “Thank you for that gift. Now, I also goddamn-well understand why we personally have nowhere to go from here.”

  “Your choice,” she said, her cheeks flushed red.

  “Not really a choice. I’m damn happy for the symbolism on your ring finger, because that big rock is a pretty constant reminder of things gone wrong. That goddamn diamond is my kryptonite. If you’re going to marry him, I’m done. Do your open marriage thing. I won’t pretend to understand that and trust me, I’m not lining up
to be a part of it. Got it?”

  She shot him a fulminating look. “I am marrying him.”

  “Fine. Done.” He shifted in his seat, pressed the arrow down button on his laptop, pretended to stare at words that could just as well have been Mandarin, a language he did not understand, and glanced back at her. “Stop acting like marrying him isn’t a choice. It is a decision that you’re willingly making.”

  “I fully realize I’m making a choice. Even you had a choice,” she said, her low whisper sounding more like a hiss than fully articulated words. She unfastened her seat belt, and stood. “You made a choice seven years ago.”

  “No. I had no choice. I had to marry her,” he said. “Especially since you weren’t asking me to stay. And especially when I was giving you an out, gift-wrapped with a fucking bow on it, so you didn’t have to claim responsibility for being relieved. Have you even admitted that to yourself? That you were relieved? Which means you have no right to feel wronged by what happened.”

  Standing in the aisle, Sam folded her arms, and glanced down at him. “Fine. I admit it. I was relieved when you left me. I’ll also be relieved when this damn trial is over so we can both get on with our lives. And…” She drew a deep breath, her eyes glistened with moisture that he knew she was going to will away before the first tear fell, and said, “I’m sorry that it has to be this way.”

  “Save your apology. Don’t need it. What you’re not understanding is I’ve given up. Get it? I’m going cold turkey. I fold. Understand? I’m done. Giving up on you, on us, on what we could be.”

  She had the fucking nerve to look surprised, cheeks flushed red, before she turned away from him. But for the gut-wrenching feeling of regret that came with things that had gone wrong, he almost laughed as she strode down the aisle to the small galley. Dammit, but she’d gotten her apology in, and she didn’t seem to care whether he accepted it.

  He closed his laptop, stood, found a pillow and a blanket in an overhead compartment, and reclined in his chair. He needed sleep and he was damn well going to get it.

  Before shutting his eyes, in his peripheral vision he watched as Sam returned to her chair, nibbling on finger sandwiches and barbequed potato chips as she opened her laptop, and settled in for work.

  Gabe is right. She’s a goddamn velociraptor. The twenty-first century version of the man-eating monster, giving new meaning to the war cry of ‘I am woman, hear me fucking roar.’ In control of everything, even her emotions, and determined to thrive in a world where old-fashioned notions of love were meaningless.

  He shut his eyes tight, blocking out the vision of her, and pushed his head deep into the pillow.

  She might love me with every fiber of her being, but she isn’t going to admit it. Not to herself, not to me. The reasons why? Goddamn irrelevant, because the rule of survival of the fittest created this highly evolved, modern-day version of a female with a cast-iron will that will allow her to fight anything she feels.

  I fully understand—because, damn Gabe, correct again—I’m just like her. Except with her. Thanks for the reminder, Gabe, because I’m cured.

  I’m fine.

  I’m over her.

  He promised himself that the beautiful monster sitting across the aisle from him had taken the last bite he’d give her of his bloody, ripped-to-shreds heart.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Aboard Raven One, over the Atlantic Ocean

  Tuesday, February 8

  A not-so-gentle shake on his shoulder roused Zeus. “Sir.”

  The captain was in the aisle next to his chair, crouched down to eye level. Most of the lights in the cabin were off. Floor lights were on. A reading light had been left on midway down the aisle. It made the entire cabin dim, not dark. Sam was in her fully-reclined chair, head on a pillow and nestled under a blanket, turned towards the wall. Only her sleek ponytail was visible.

  Sitting up, he glanced at his watch as he stretched his arms over his head. He’d been asleep for two and a half hours. The jet was steady. No turbulence. The low hum of jet engines sounded normal. It was climbing, though, and banking left. There was no need for a mid-Atlantic course change, or for the captain to be waking him, unless something was wrong. “Mechanical problems?”

  “No.” The captain—Agent Phillip Canwell, five years in Black Raven—had a look of concern in his eyes that was serious enough to tell Zeus there was big trouble.

  “But we’re altering course?”

  “Yes. Miami.”

  No!

  ‘‘Ragno’s on the satellite phone.” Canwell placed the satellite phone receiver in Zeus’s hand, then continued down the aisle, rousing Jenkins, Miles, and Deal.

  “Ragno?”

  “Zeus, brace yourself.” The concern in her voice pinged off of his spine, sending shock waves that reverberated in his brain.

  He watched his team go from dead sleep to instant attention as Canwell’s words registered. Jenkins stood, and walked up the aisle with the captain, to Zeus. They flanked him in the aisle, one on either side, a show of support for the bad news that had yet to be delivered.

  Zeus knew.

  Maximov’s organization was cherry picking. Going after families of those involved in the ITT proceedings, and twice over the last week, Zeus had been the star of the goddamn show—first, when cameras had caught him running through the streets of Paris with Sam in his arms and then when he’d thrown the suicide bomber off the bridge.

  From the back of the plane, Miles and Deal, both standing, cast him glances that were full of unmasked concern. Sam stirred, turned over, and rested her eyes on him. She sat up, immediately, without a trace of sleepiness.

  “Goddammit. Tell me.”

  “Ana’s been kidnapped.”

  “GPS?” He choked out the question. He’d chipped his daughter with the same type of chip he’d put in Sam.

  “Not detectable.”

  He gasped for air. Whoever had her knew what the fuck they were doing.

  “Are you with me?”

  “Yes,” he managed the outright lie. Being able to utter an automatic response wasn’t the same as being ready to handle the news with his usual equanimity, his unparalleled ability to park his emotions and feelings on a back burner.

  “At 1955 Eastern time—”

  As though self-control hadn’t ruled every single fucking day of his life after his father’s death—except those days involving Sam—as Ragno spoke, Zeus’s world became a chilling blur of horror. His vision narrowed until all he could see was a pinhole, which gave him nothing on which he could focus. Mentally, he was alone and in darkness, lurching and tumbling in the ice-cold, ink-black night that covered the Atlantic. A place where Ragno’s words had no meaning. Where nothing had meaning.

  He didn’t know when he stood, but knew when his knuckles punched into the hard wood that lined the cabin of Raven One, a sleek and beautiful landing for the fury that came with his fist. Again. And again. He tried hard to feel the pain that each hit caused, because it gave him something to focus on that was different from the horror that was playing out in his head.

  “Sir.” Jenkins’s plea wasn’t enough to stop him, because when he looked into the man’s eyes, and the eyes of his other agents, they mirrored his own abject fear.

  His agents knew how much could go wrong. They, like him, had seen too much evil in the world and knew that a six-year-old girl was no match for it. Thinking of the countless jobs where things went wrong, no matter how perfectly Black Raven performed, he punched harder at the wall, throwing his body into the effort.

  Captain Canwell, Jenkins, and the other agents spoke words designed to calm him, but the words had no meaning, because he was lost, free-floating in space to a time where he was holding his baby girl in the palm of his hand, minutes after her birth, wondering how he could’ve been involved in creating such a tiny miracle. Knowing, that if he only did one more thing in his life that amounted to anything, it was to make sure that his girl grew into an adult who could stand on
her own two feet and handle whatever life threw her way.

  He’d failed.

  Oh God.

  Is she already dead?

  Bile rose up from his gut and choked him. If not dead, she had to be terrified. His baby. He had to get to her. Had to. But he was hours away from landing and he didn’t have the capability of sitting on the jet, waiting to land, powerless to take action.

  Strong arms tried to restrain him. They couldn’t. He threw them off of him. Hammer fisting into glistening wood, he pushed Jenkins away from him. Howling with fury, his mind snapped to his last sight of her. She wore a party dress with a red ribbon in her inky-dark hair. They were at Sebastian and Skye’s wedding in New Orleans. He’d left from there on Raven One and gone directly to Paris, leaving Agent Martel to get Ana safely home. When he’d finished the hiring call from Ragno for Sam’s job, he’d gone back into the reception hall.

  Ana had been sitting at a table, waiting on him, so she could give him the piece of chocolate cake she’d gotten for him. She’d gotten a slice for herself and had waited to eat with him. As his fist connected, once again, with shiny wood, he could taste the lush sweetness of the dark cake.

  He remembered telling her not to eat too much icing, but gave up when he tasted the creamy, smooth richness of it. After all, good chocolate didn’t give his baby girl a stomachache. He could see the light in her eyes when he’d played dueling forks with her for the last bite of her piece. He’d let her have it, along with the final forkful of his. Her skinny arms had wrapped around his neck for their goodbye hug, her soft lips had kissed his cheek, and she’d promised in her best good-girl voice to do her homework, right before she’d said, “I love you, Daddy.”

  Ana. Gone. Ana. Taken.

  Darkness swirled around him, with octopus-like tendrils of fire becoming rope that grabbed hold of reason and logic. Someone placed a light, but firm hand on his shoulder. It felt different than the hands of his agents.