She didn’t even want to think that Ram’s parents were part of some unlawful trade. Yet, they seemed to be AWOL from his life, and others who had genuinely loved him as a little boy had taken on the job of raising him, instead.
“Dios,” she muttered, instantly wanting to reject that awful scenario. Ali didn’t want to believe it. If she tapped into the pain of Ram as a little boy, abandoned by his parents at such an early age, it would explain why, when she worked with him on their team, he had behaved stiffly, like a robot. She’d been turned off by his lack of feelings, his insensitivity toward others, and his lack of self-awareness. He hadn’t had a clue about how his actions impacted others around him—or so it seemed at the time. She’d been dead wrong about his capacity to be unselfish and sensitive to others. It just hadn’t show up over in Afghanistan, is all.
Scowling, she looked up at the wooden horse. Her gut grew icy the more she thought about the bits and pieces Ram had given her the past few weeks. If he’d been abandoned, it would explain why he was still so shut down emotionally, and so distrustful of others in general. If her parents had abandoned her, she’d probably be a carbon copy of Ram. A child’s tender, emotional being needed loving, nurturing parents and a safe place to give and receive affection. It seemed as though Ram had been given a terrible start in life, and the thought of what he’d endured almost made her ill.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Ali rubbed her face, combating her feelings over losing Ram for at least three weeks, maybe longer. She had no idea how Cara was going to progress with her healing. She could be here in Tucson a lot longer than three weeks and she knew it. People suffering from PTSD had huge setbacks sometimes, for no reason at all. She knew her sister relied on her being here; it was an unspoken promise between them. Ali sat down and stared darkly at the brick-red floor tiles.
She was torn and miserable. How badly she wanted to ask Ram more questions and finally learn the whole story about his childhood. She wasn’t privy to his personnel records where she might glean some insightful intel.
On the positive side, he was slowly opening up to her. Their budding personal relationship was based on mutual trust. Ali had never considered settling down with a man in her life until just recently, and Ram seemed like a good fit for her, and vice versa, which was a miracle in its own right. She had just never expected it to be Ram Torres.
Slowly rising, she heard Cara and Tyler talking out in the kitchen, their voices wafting down the long hall. She was unable to tell what they were discussing, but it sounded like a normal, everyday conversation. Cara wasn’t crying, so that was a good sign. If only Tyler could become a beacon of hope for Cara, transfer himself into her life so that Ali could leave and get on with her own.
Her mother and father were also showing the strain of dealing with Cara’s PTSD. Unlike Ali, she was unable to hide her razor-like, accelerating emotions. From the outside, Ali knew she looked “normal,” and that no one suspected that she went through raging storms of anxiety, tearing her up and making her feel threatened everywhere she turned—just like Cara.
Ram had known, though. After reading Cara’s debriefing report, he knew by just looking at Ali that she was ready to sob her heart out. That was the one event on his part that had changed their relationship forever: his unexpected act of humanity. Even more startling, he had comforted her and calmed her down. She had immediately responded to his ministrations, which surprised and relieved them both.
Ali’s heart ached for his arms around her right now. She had never wanted to kiss a man more than she did Ram once again. To feel his reaction, to absorb his masculine strength against her, to soar with him, seemed like an impossible dream. Oh, but how she wanted it to come true!
*
Ram cupped his hand around Ali’s elbow as they walked to her car. He’d already said his goodbyes to the Montero family this morning, and to Tyler. The early-afternoon November day was cloudy, with rain in the forecast. A Delos jet was flying into Davis-Monthan air field in an hour and Ali would drive him to the base so he could pick up his plane ride home.
He opened her side of the car for her, releasing her arm, and saw that she was pale beneath her golden skin. He appreciated that she was wearing her black hair down and loose, its silky tendrils dancing as the breeze lifted them now and then. He hungrily absorbed how she looked in the black wool trousers hugging her long, firm legs, and the bright-orange, lightweight wool tunic that fell halfway down her thighs. Cara had knitted that top for her a year ago, a Christmas gift for her sister. She was a stunning woman beneath the camel-colored raincoat that she wore over her outfit.
Closing her door, Ram walked around to the passenger-side door and slid in, pulling on his seatbelt. The car started up and Ali backed it out of the driveway as the first splatters of rain hit the windshield.
“Even the sky is weeping because you’re leaving us, Ram,” she said, turning on the wipers.
Ram reached over, pulling thick strands away from her cheek. “It’s only temporary, Ali. You watch, the next three weeks will race by.”
She pulled out onto the avenue, heading east toward the Air Force base. “I emailed Wyatt earlier and asked him to get Human Resources at Artemis to send me all the official forms to fill out. That way, I won’t have to spend hours doing it when I arrive for the interviews.” She already had the job. Now she was playing catch up with the paper trail to complete her new career with Artemis.
Brightening, Ram said, “Good tactic. There’s enough paper to fill out to choke a horse.” He saw her lips pull up slightly. Ali never wore makeup and he supposed that was because she’d been in the military for so long. One couldn’t wear makeup, lipstick, or perfume when out on an op because the Taliban could smell it, recognize it as an American scent, and start firing. To Ram, Ali looked beautiful whatever she wore—or didn’t wear.
“What will you be doing when you get back, Ram?”
“Wyatt has two new missions in Central America that he needs me to weigh in on. He sent the encrypted info to my laptop this morning and I’ve already started to work on them.”
“Will you have to go on one of those missions?”
“No. I’ll remain in the office.”
“Good to hear.”
“You know, in your new job, you’ll be pretty much an office person yourself. You okay with that? You’ve been doing field work for nearly a decade now.”
“I’m fine with it. I guess Cara was right: my biological clock is ticking and I’m not married and have no kids. I need to look at the whole of my life, not just live in a slice of it like I’ve been doing.”
“Is that the Hispanic mantra I hear? Get married. And oh, by the way, give us a dozen grandchildren while you’re at it?”
She grinned a little. “Mama and Papa are dying for some grandchildren and they’ve made no bones about it to Cara and me.”
“Like every Hispanic family does,” he agreed amiably. “They’re family-centric. It’s a good way to be.”
“Have you ever thought of settling down, Ram? Having a family?”
Ordinarily, he would instantly close up on that question, but Ram realized that Ali’s need to know was genuine. He tried to answer it honestly. “I love kids. All kids. But I worry about what kind of father I’d be, if that should ever happen. I don’t think I’m good father material, anyway, and I worry about hurting my child or children. I’d never want to do that.”
Frowning, Ali digested his unexpected reply. “But why would you think that you’re not good father material?”
“The past,” was all he said.
“It doesn’t matter where you came from, Ram. What matters is that you try to be a compassionate, caring human being as you grow up and get older.” She gave him a quick glance. “You’re certainly all of that now. I’ve been on the receiving end of your caring nature, and I think you’d make a terrific father if you gave yourself half a chance.”
He sat back, watching the wiper blades pushing more and more rain off
the windshield. “Funny. I never thought about being a father, Ali.”
“Most people do, Ram.”
“I guess because of my own past, I just never considered myself good parent material. I would never want to stunt a child’s growth, make them afraid of me, or not be there when they needed to be comforted or held.”
“You were there for me when I needed you here at my parents’ home. And you were there for Cara. I guess I don’t see you as you see yourself, Ram.”
He decided to turn the tables, and asked, “What about you, Ali? Do you want to be a mother someday?”
She laughed. “Ask my parents? They’re all for it.”
“Of course. But what about you? What do you want or see yourself becoming as your life moves forward?”
She opened and closed her fingers around the steering wheel. “I’ve always wanted kids, Ram. I love them, as you well know. I was always up to my eyeballs with them at any Afghan village we visited.”
“Yeah,” he murmured. “And remind me, I want to show you something once we get to Ops.”
“Okay,” she murmured, perplexed.
Once at the Ops terminal, the Delos jet was scheduled to arrive in the next fifteen minutes, according to the flight desk. There was a light, misting rain outside the glass doors, and Ali walked over with Ram to a far wall. She saw him pull out his wallet. Leaning against the wall, she watched him, his demeanor serious as he opened it and dug into it. As he pulled out what looked like a very beat up looking photo, his eyes lightened, and his entire expression turned softer.
“Here, this is what I wanted to show you. It’s a photo I took of you the first year you were on our team. When we rescued those Afghan children from the Taliban who were taking them across the Pakistan border to be sold as sex slaves. I know you didn’t see me take this photo, and I didn’t want you to know it, either.” He handed it over to her.
Ali’s lips parted as she held the small, well-worn photo up to see it clearly in the light. Its edges were soiled and frayed, with two corners bent, and she could tell the photo had spent a lot of time in his wallet. She was sitting on the back of the Unimog military truck holding Husna, her favorite child, just shortly after they rescued the fifteen of them from the Taliban.
Ram cleared his throat. “I . . . uh, kept this picture to remind me that you weren’t the witch I made you out to be when you first came into our team. I felt a lot of walls around you, Ali, and I figured out it was because you were the only woman in an all-male team. But when you were with the kids in the villages, you changed so damned much that it just blew me away. I needed to get that photo of you to remind me you were a good person, that children loved you, and children are never wrong about who they can trust. That’s why I think you’d make one hell of a mother. And any child you had would be the luckiest kid in the world.”
Tears stung her eyes as she stared at it, the implications flowing through her. She looked up at him, her vision blurring for a moment. Then, she handed the old photo back. “I didn’t know you’d taken this, Ram . . . ”
He gently deposited the frayed photo back into his wallet and shoved it down into his rear pocket. “Even then, I was attracted to you, Ali, but I couldn’t get past my own shit to appreciate you on so many important levels—not until now.”
He looked away, searching for words. “Look, I know this relationship thing between us is new to both of us, but I don’t want to leave here today without telling you how I really feel about you.”
She wiped her eyes with trembling fingers. “What do you mean?” There was turmoil in Ram’s eyes, in the harsh line of his mouth, the struggle she saw and felt around him. He bent his head toward hers so their conversation could remain private, his voice low.
“I don’t know what to call what we have, except to say that you make me happier than I’ve ever been. When you come to Alexandria to pick up that job waiting for you at Artemis, all bets are off, Ali. I’ve had dreams about you since I met you years ago. That’s why I kept that photo of you, even after your enlistment was up and you left the military.
“I didn’t know where you went for those three years and I tried to find out, but I never could. Later, I learned that you were a CIA case officer out in Mexico and were undercover. That’s why I couldn’t locate you.” He took a deep breath and then said, “But that didn’t stop me from wanting to get together with you again and wave the white flag of surrender. I knew by looking at that picture that there was something damned good between us that had never been explored. There always had been something, but looking back on it now, we both had to grow up a lot in order to appreciate one another.”
Stepping forward, he lifted his hand, cupping her cheek, nudging her chin upward so he could look into her wide, tear-filled eyes. “You make my heart smile, Aliyana. I wake up happy when I’m with you. I like our talks. I know I’m a mongrel dog in your life, but even mongrels can dream, can’t they? I want a chance to know you a lot better. I want to open up to you, Ali. I want to let you see all of me. I’m not anything special, I know that. But whatever I am, it’s all yours, and I will cherish the ground you walk on if you’ll let me.”
Stunned, her heart soaring, she stared into his eyes. Ram’s black brows were drawn together, as if he were in pain. She closed her eyes, feeling the roughness of his calloused palm against her cheek. Pressing her cheek more deeply into his palm she wanted to burst into tears.
Ram had nothing to apologize for. Why had he used the word “mongrel” to describe himself? Who had called him that? Who had made him feel like an outcast without a family?
She felt her emotions bubble up until she was barely coherent. Ram was inches away from her, his body so strong and comforting against her own. She felt no threat, just that wonderful sense of protection coming from him and swirling around her.
“Tell me you want this as bad as I do, Aliyana. I have to hear what’s in your head and heart before I step onto that plane.”
Lifting her lashes, beaded with unshed tears, she could no longer hold back the words. “Y-yes, I want the same thing, Ram. I do. I feel the same way about you.”
Ali felt all the tension leave his body as his hand stilled on her shoulder, his fingers gripping her firmly, as if finally claiming her for his own.
CHAPTER 11
November 20
Washington, D.C.
Ram desperately wanted to lean in those scant inches and kiss Ali until she melted into him. He saw raw yearning in her golden eyes. Finally, they were both on the same page with one another. After all these years.
“Mr. Torres,” the man at the flight desk called, “your ride is here.” He pointed out the window toward the tarmac.
Cursing silently, Ram moved his hand from Ali’s cheek and looked in the direction the man at the desk was pointing. Outside was a white, Gulfstream jet with a simple nose to tail yellow and red stripe, signaling it was a Delos company jet.
“Be right there,” he said. Turning, he saw Ali, now leaning against the wall, her hands clasped in front of her, watching him. So many feelings arose within him. He wanted to kiss her, hold her, and never let her go. None of that was possible now. He heard the baggage handler taking his equipment out the doors to the jet.
“I have to go,” he said roughly. “It’s the last thing I want to do right now.” He dug into her softened golden gaze. “I’m as close as a Skype, as your cell phone, Aliyana. Call me. I need to stay in touch with you.” I need you, he wanted to add, but the words never left his lips.
“Yes,” she whispered unsteadily, forcing a slight smile. “I promise, I will. Get going, Ram. You have people’s lives to save. I’ll see you when I can.”
Hesitating, he took a step back, reaching out, grazing her cheek. “Then hold this in your heart. Eres mi todo, you are my everything . . . ”
He saw her lips part, saw the impact of his words meant only for her ears. Never had he seen Ali so vulnerable as in this unfulfilled moment. But he couldn’t. Not here. Not now. And
then, he saw Ali rally. It wasn’t obvious, but he saw a glimmer come to her eyes as she studied him in that heavy, warm silence strung between them.
“I’ll be in touch, Ram. That’s a promise.”
Nodding, he turned away. To stay would mean crushing her into his embrace, taking those lips of hers that he longed so much to kiss, melting her into him and becoming lost in the heat and ache of one another.
As he strode toward the opened doors that led out to the rainy tarmac where the Delos jet sat idling, he recalled Shakespeare’s saying: Parting is such sweet sorrow. Now, he really understood what that meant.
As he cleared Ops, the light rain misting around him, wetting his face and the black nylon jacket he wore, Ram couldn’t steady his feelings. How badly he wanted to turn around, race back into Ops and hold Ali. His mouth tightening, he hurried toward the opening where the co-pilot stood at the top of the stairs, waiting for him to board.
Somehow—and Dios only knew how—he wanted Ali to need him as much as he needed her. As he took the stairs, he nodded his thanks to the co-pilot, who then pressed a button and the stairs ground upward and folded back to lock the cabin securely once more.
Ram silently promised Ali he would kiss her again, and it would seal their future with one another. But he didn’t know how or when it would happen. He didn’t have a clue. Yet, something good and beautiful had been created by them in the time they’d had together at her parents’ home. It was like he’d shed his old skin for a new one, learning how to wear it, feeling the room within it and getting comfortable because he wasn’t the same man he’d been before.
He sat down in one of the dark-brown, leather seats and buckled his seatbelt. The Gulfstream was a working office for Delos missions and their people. He pulled out his laptop, placed it on the desk, plugged it in, and launched the Wi-Fi. The two missions he’d been working on earlier popped up on his screen.
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