He stood, watching her enjoy the lowering sun. The view was stunning, the reason he kept an eye on her was honourable and, for a brief moment, Kaine could relax.
Reluctantly, he broke the spell, and stepped forward.
“May I ask a question?” she said without turning or looking up.
Damn it, she’d sensed his presence, and there he was, so proud of his ninja skills of the silent approach. Either he was slipping, or she’d picked up more from their fieldcraft sessions than he’d realised. He couldn’t work out whether to be disappointed in his failing abilities, or pleased with her improvement.
He sank into his recliner and raised the back to match the level of hers.
“Ask away. Though I can’t promise to answer if it’s operationally sensitive.”
He winked as she turned her head and frowned at him.
“Try to be serious for a minute, will you?”
Kaine snapped her a salute. “Will do, Doc.”
She grumbled and shook her head, then took the drink from his hand and sipped.
“Vodka?”
He shrugged. “Just a dribble. The sun’s well over the yardarm.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“No idea, but it sounds vaguely naval.”
“Oh, Dear Lord,’ she said, shaking her head in exasperation. “I’m going to slap you in a minute.”
Promises, promises.
He straightened his face. “Sorry, Lara. I’ll be serious. You have my word.”
“I’ll hold you to that, but coincidentally, the navy is one of the things I wanted to ask you about.” She waved an arm towards the ocean. “We’re living right by the sea. Why have you never taken me sailing?”
Kaine paused, took in the vast expanse of water little more than a grenade’s throw from the edge of the deck. He took a second to decide. Taking her away from the secure confines of the villa and the local village always carried a slight risk, but, given enough time to scope out the nearest boat hire shop, he might be able to work something out.
“You fancy hiring a speedboat to explore the coast?”
“No, I mean proper sailing. You know, yachting. With canvas and ropes and winches and stuff. Wind in the hair. That sort of thing.”
“Sailing?” He coughed, slapped a hand to his chest, and signalled for her to hand him his glass. “Oh dear, oh dear. The very idea.” He knocked back a mouthful. “Damn it. Should have added more vodka. Or maybe a tot of rum.”
He coughed again, this time into a hand.
“Lara, I have to be honest with you. I don’t know the first thing about sailing. Couldn’t tell you the difference between a jib and a jibe.”
“You can’t sail? But you were in the Royal Navy, for goodness sake.”
He lowered the glass to the table and twisted at the waist to face her square on.
“I joined the navy as a Royal Marine and transferred into the Special Boat Service after five years. Marines are waterborne soldiers. Think of us as highly-skilled infantrymen, but working from boats. Give me a RIB with a Mercury outboard, a canoe, or a kayak, and I’m your man. Underwater? No probs. At one stage, I could cite the dive tables from memory. Strap a compressed air cylinder on my back, or an oxygen rebreather, and I’ll show you a good time in the water, but sailing? No way. Not a chance.”
“That’s disappointing. I’d love to try. Looks so … exciting. Romantic even.”
Romantic?
“Try it in a force ten gale with fifty foot waves. Nothing romantic about it.”
“You said you didn’t know anything about sailing.”
“I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been stuck in a small boat in heavy seas, swallowing mouthfuls of salt water and throwing up over the side. Happy days. No, love. I want my boats powered by a big strong engine, not a bedsheet.”
Christ, did I really say ‘love’?
He stopped ranting long enough to take another drink and hand her the glass. She accepted it and sipped delicately. Perhaps she hadn’t notice his gaffe. He cleared his throat once more.
“Seriously though, if you’re that keen to sail, perhaps we could learn together. There’s a marina along the coast in St Marcel. We could take a drive over there one day and try enrolling in a course.”
A smile lit her eyes. “That sounds lovely.”
“I’d have to vet the place thoroughly, though,” he said, sharing her excitement internally. “I could maybe send Rollo on a fact-finding tour. Have to make sure it’s safe.”
“Of course. We don’t want to risk exposure.”
“No, we don’t,” he said, happy she fully understood the challenges. “And there’s an equestrian centre inland. You must miss your horses.”
“Oh, Ryan. You have no idea.” She sat up and turned towards him, her face alive. “I grew up around horses. My father taught me to ride almost as soon as I could sit up on my own. Magnificent creatures …”
Kaine watched her eyes light up, amazed at how animated she became when talking about the hooved beasties. Her infectious excitement swept him along and, at one stage, he convinced himself it might be fun to learn to ride. They spent half an hour making plans like carefree and excitable youngsters.
For those few brief moments, Kaine allowed himself to dream of a future that, deep down, he knew could never happen.
Chapter 5
Thursday 22nd October — Evening
The Villa, Aquitaine, France
After barbecued steaks, jacket potatoes, corn on the cob, tossed salad, and a fiery sauce—eaten during a glorious orange sunset—Kaine and Lara settled back to watch the sea extinguish the last of the sun’s flames.
Lace ribbons of stratus cloud, backlit in red, orange, and purple, hovered above the pale horizon. The sea was as flat calm as it would ever be.
“Breathtaking,” Kaine said, offering Lara the last of a full-bodied Bordeaux.
She refused, and he set the bottle aside. Two glasses was his limit when on duty and, with Lara under his care, he’d never be truly off duty.
“The seascape’s pretty special, too,” he added.
She winced.
“Too cheesy?”
“Like a camembert left too long in the sun, but I’ll accept the compliment. What girl wouldn’t?”
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome, and I’ll have my coffee now, since you were about to offer.”
“A mind-reader? But your wish is my delight.”
Her musical laugh lifted his spirits and, coffee brewed and poured, they chatted like comfortable friends for hours, relaxing to the sound of the waves lapping the sand and the gentle wind sighing through the dunes.
By midnight, they’d emptied a carafe of coffee, and covered Lara’s life history from growing up on a Hampshire farm, through her early childhood, and all the way up to her first proper date. Kaine felt an unreasonable pang of jealousy when Lara described her first serious kiss.
“Okay, Ryan Liam Kaine,” she said, pulling a blanket over her shoulders. “That’s more than enough from me for one night …”
“Oh, you’re turning in? Are you too cold?”
“No, no. It’s not that. I’m having a lovely time and you’re being very attentive. Charming, even.”
“Uh-oh, I sense a ‘but’ here.”
Her smile hit home. Would he ever grow tired of seeing it?
“But …” she said, raising a finger and dragging out the delay, “I’ve been talking more or less non-stop for hours. You know so much about me, but I know next to nothing about you or your life. And, before you fall back on that terrible old cliché that if you told me you’d have to kill me, I don’t want to know any military secrets. I want to know about you. The real you.”
He shrugged. “You’re right, of course. I can’t talk about my military activities, not that I’d ever do anything to harm you. Wouldn’t even joke about it. As for the rest of my life, there’s nothing much to say other than it’s too boring for words.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
She scrunched up and tucked her legs under the blanket.
“You are cold, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “A little, but don’t think you’re getting out of it that easily. I need answers to some questions.”
“Okay, hold that thought.”
He jumped up, rushed into the villa, and emerged with a sweater for him and another blanket, which he draped over her shoulders and tucked under her legs.
“Thank you, my hero.”
“You are more than welcome, my damsel-in-a-lovely-dress.”
“Nice line, Ryan. I’ll give you bonus points for that one.”
“Thank you.”
Kaine dragged the sweater over his head, but pulled up the sleeves, keeping the smart watch exposed. He didn’t want to ruin the vibe and make it obvious when he kept checking its readout.
“So?” she asked. “Ready to come clean?”
“Okay,” he said, with a degree of apprehension. “I’ll give you three questions and promise to answer them to the best of my ability. But choose wisely, you only get three.”
“I’m honoured.”
“And so you should be.”
“Ready?” she asked.
“Yes, and that’s one. Only two left. Fire away.”
“Hang on, that’s not fair.”
A hand shot out from under the blankets and slapped his bare thigh. He made a show of rubbing away the sting.
“I demand a recount.”
“Okay,” he said, smiling at her pout. “Just this once.”
Christ, she was stunning. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed.
“First question, where did you grow up?”
“Seriously? You have three questions and that’s your first? I’m a little disappointed.”
“Why? And”—her hand pushed out from under the blankets again—“don’t you dare count that as another of my questions.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve learned my lesson well.” He rubbed his thigh again. “No, what I meant was, I’d have asked a more open-ended question and maybe added a rider or two. Something like, ‘Would you please tell me all about your childhood and your family in particular?’ Technically two questions, but I’d have given you a pass for ingenuity.”
“Getting information out of you is like pulling impacted teeth in a Shire horse.”
“No idea what you’re talking about there, but I’ll take your word for it being difficult. So, you want to know about my childhood?”
“Of course.”
“Fancy another coffee first?”
“Yes please, but stop hedging. I can hear you from the kitchen if you talk up.”
He sighed and dragged himself out of the recliner once again. “At your command, my lady.” He opened his arms and bowed expansively while backing towards the villa. “I was born at a very early age—”
“Ryan, I’m warning you! You promised.”
Amid a rumble of the boiling kettle and a rattle of cups and saucers, Kaine started his story. “I was born in Pompey, Portsmouth, and brought up in a small village north of the port. My mother ran a grocery store and my father was an officer in the Royal Navy.”
“So, you’re a military brat following in his father’s footsteps. And before you start, that’s a statement, not a question. Your father must have been very proud when you joined the Marines.”
Kaine emerged with a tray full of the makings and a plate of dark chocolate biscotti, her favourites. He deposited it on the table separating their seats and poured. She had creamer, he preferred his black. Neither had sugar. Still snuggled deep inside the blanket, Lara cupped her hands around the mug, blowing across the top.
“Your father? Was he proud?”
Kaine shrugged. “I guess he would have been, but Dad died when I was still a kid. Falklands War. He was one of the casualties aboard HMS Sheffield.”
“Oh I’m sorry, Ryan.”
He allowed himself a sad smile and shook his head. “Why? You had nothing to do with it. You would have still been in nappies at the time.”
“There you go again trying to be funny. I meant, I’m sorry to have made you talk about it. Forgive me?”
“Nothing to forgive. Dad was a hero who died fighting for what he believed in. I’m okay with it now. Tore me apart at the time, though. I went off the rails for a while, but Ma was a rock. Strong, you know? Irish stock. A feisty auburn-haired Colleen. Real name Myra, by the way. Used to take me by the ear and frogmarch me to Father Angelo for confession every Wednesday evening. I hated it and soon pulled myself together.”
He smiled at the memory of the overly-aggressive eight-year-old, wailing and scrambling as his mother dragged him to the church. If he’d been any stronger he’d have lost an ear.
“Would you believe I did a couple of years as an altar boy? They tried to make me join the church choir, but apparently, I’m tone deaf. A long time ago, someone told me my singing reminded them of a plumber cutting a pipe with a hacksaw. If you ever see me opening my mouth in preparation to sing you have my permission to shoot me. Okay?”
“Okay, it’s a deal,” Lara said, laughing. “By the way, your mother sounds wonderful. I’d love to meet her.”
Again, he shook his head sadly. “Mum passed in ’07. Her big Irish heart finally gave up. I’m glad neither is around to read what they’re saying about me. I wouldn’t be able to contact them to explain—”
“And bad people might use them to get to you? The same way they might try to use me?” she asked.
That question, he refused to answer. He’d never opened up to anyone before, and although he enjoyed talking to her, he couldn’t make a habit of the process. It turned out to be a little too painful for an old military man, and anyway, she’d be gone soon. The way she’d come alive when talking about her old life made it clear. At the first opportunity, she’d want to go home, leave the villa. Leave him. In fact, he was surprised she’d been so patient. Every morning, he expected her to demand he do something to make it right. It was only a matter of time.
“Hang on a minute,” she demanded. “If it concerns me, I have the right to know.”
Kaine shook his head. “Nope, sorry, that’s it. You’ve used up your final question.”
“No I haven’t!”
He studied her for a moment before responding. “Now, let me see,” he said, counting off the points on his fingers. “‘Your father?’, ‘Was he proud?’, and ‘Forgive me?’. Yep, that’s three questions all right. Sorry, you’re out.”
She shook her head and huffed. “Insufferable man. Okay, you win, for now. But I reserve the right to resume this interrogation at another time,” she said and finally broke out a wry but overwhelming smile.
Crisis avoided, he returned the smile, but dropped it when her hand appeared from under the blanket to hide a yawn.
“Tired?”
“Nope. Not really. I could stay out here all night, just chatting. Getting to know my guardian. This is lovely.”
Yes, it is.
“Cold?”
“Really, Ryan. I’m fine.”
“Look,” he said, pointing up high over the Bay.
A cloudbank shifted and the waxing gibbous moon, ninety percent visible, threw enough light on the sea to do without the floodlights. The gentle glow from the kitchen provided plenty of illumination, and he’d developed enough natural night vision to pick out the silvery detail of the coastline.
Lara’s skin glowed under the soft silver light. Christ, the clichés were true. There was something wondrous about moonlight. The lyrics of an ancient song ran through his head.
Good job she’d reminded him about his singing voice or he’d likely have made a complete tit of himself.
Lara took his hand.
Kaine jumped, surprised by the contact. He jerked his hand away and instantly regretted his reaction when he saw the hurt in her eyes.
“Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t me
an to upset you.”
“No, no, it’s my fault, I was miles away. Thinking about … well, things, you know. Please”—he opened his hand and laid it palm-up on the table—“forgive me. Can we start over?”
She smiled and put her hand in his once again. He squeezed gently and she replied in kind.
“Gorgeous,” she said, nodding at the moonlight dancing over the water.
“Can’t argue with that. The moon’s nice, too.”
“Ryan, you really are so very corny. Nice though.”
“I do try.”
“Agreed. Sometimes, you are very trying, but, as I said, nice.”
Her hand was small in his, but strong from working with animals. She was tough, as well. The way she’d reacted to danger, to their escape from the gunmen in the helicopter, and a dozen times since, showed a determination and an inner strength few civilians would have been able to muster.
It would be great to have Lara as more than a friend, but that was out of the question. She deserved better, and he didn’t deserve a comfortable life after what he’d done to the plane. He had so many victims on his docket and felt responsible for their families, The 83. Protecting them was the least he could do, and it would be a lifelong mission.
No, forget it, Ryan.
A romantic relationship between him and Lara couldn’t work. His job was to protect her and, if possible, return her to her old life and do it safely. It’s what she’d want, what she needed. It’s what he’d do.
But why had she reached for his hand?
She squeezed again and turned to face him, her expression serious.
“Ryan, I need to tell you something.”
Yep. This is it. She’s had enough. She wants to leave.
He waited, not really wanting to hear the words he’d been expecting ever since he’d brought her to the villa.
“This is really difficult. I’ve been trying to find the right words, but …”
“It’s alright, Lara. You don’t need to say—”
Ryan Kaine: On the Defensive: Book Three in the Ryan Kaine Action Thriller Series Page 5