Unexpected Vows

by Paige, Victoria

  No way was he giving her up. Kate had not experienced tenacity from a SEAL yet.

  And there was hope. Because although she avoided him by staying at her apartment, she had not abandoned her children. Each morning she picked them up when she knew he’d already left for TAC.

  He hated that and there were times when he wanted to foil her sneaking around. He wanted to wait for her right fucking here and watch her drive up. Then he’d drag her out of her car, toss her over his shoulder, and fuck some sense into her for daring to leave him.

  But he wanted her to continue coming to the ranch rather than avoid it altogether because of him. That wouldn’t be fair to the twins.

  Fuck, he hated her sometimes.

  Not her—the situation, he corrected.

  Three more days.

  He continued brooding, contemplated drowning this hole in his chest with a bottle of Jack.

  Colt groaned. No, he wasn’t going down that road again. Getting stupid drunk accomplished nothing and when the screen door creaked open and Josh stepped out, he was reminded of the two reasons why he needed to stay strong.

  “Colt?”

  “Hey …”

  “Can I sit with you?”

  “Sure.”

  Josh settled beside him, staring straight ahead at the starless night.

  “What’s Liv doing?” As expected the twins didn’t stay mad at each other and were back to normal the night Kate left.

  “She’s drawing.”

  “Drawing?” A niggle tugged at his mind. “She’s been doing a lot of that lately.”

  “She’s drawing Ms. Kate.”

  He nodded. They missed their mother at night especially. Somehow, he felt guilty that he had them and also worried that she was feeling unworthy of her kids. That was the most logical conclusion he could draw in the past few days because the alternative was, and the thought was like a physical pain stabbing his chest, she didn’t want them.

  No, Colt objected fiercely. He did not imagine the yearning in her eyes when she looked at them. She wanted them, their family.

  “How did it go today?”

  Josh blew out a breath. “I know you told me not to try and read people’s emotions anymore, but …” He glanced away.

  Colt frowned. “But …?”

  “Something’s wrong with her,” Josh said. “She’s so sad. She tries to hide it from us. She brings us to the diner so she’s never alone with us—”

  “But didn’t she use to do that anyway?”

  “Yes, but she was interested in what we did. Now she doesn’t seem to care. If we eat pie for lunch, she’s fine with it. Ms. Millie is more concerned with what we eat and what we would do during the day. Ms. Kate just goes along with everything we want.”

  Shit, maybe giving her space wasn’t a good idea. Kate didn’t seem to be sorting herself out, she seemed to be drifting further away.

  Colt sat up straight as a chilling thought crossed his mind. She was preparing them to live without her.

  Well, fuck that.

  “You need to do something, Colt,” Josh said urgently.

  “Oh, I will,” he stated grimly.

  Josh sighed again. “Liv told me everything will be okay and not to bother you.”

  He stilled. “What makes her say that?”

  “Yesterday, she was worried. Today, she said everything would be okay.”

  And what about tomorrow?

  Fuck.

  * * *

  Two days later, the admiral summoned Colt to DC and his intention to confront Kate was deemed unnecessary when Mac informed him that she had moved back to the ranch upon his departure. A week without her had shown him what kind of hell awaited him if Kate walked out of his life permanently. He was more determined than ever to find out what was bothering her. Maybe getting the truth out of Romanov was the key.

  The AGS Guardians—the admiral’s go-to team whenever he needed something done without having to deal with political bullshit—secured critical intel regarding Nikolai Zorin’s brain spindle enterprise. From what Colt had gathered during his brief conversation with the admiral, Romanov had been very helpful in filling in the missing pieces of the puzzle.

  When Colt arrived at a safe house in Silver Springs, Maryland the night before, Romanov was already there together with one of the admiral’s men, Cam Murphy.

  The morning after his arrival, Colt walked into the kitchen to see Murphy cooking breakfast on the griddle—eggs and pancakes and what smelled like bacon in the oven. Coffee was already brewed, so Colt walked over and poured himself a mug.

  “Mornin’,” he mumbled and sat on a stool behind the breakfast bar while sizing up the man before him.

  Murphy flipped the pancakes and barely acknowledged Colt’s presence. Murphy was a couple of inches shorter than Colt’s six-three, but his build was massive. Boulders of muscles stacked his arms and back. His cropped salt-and-pepper hair exposed the ridges of his trapezius. He’d seen him face-to-face and what features that were not covered by his generous beard revealed a person who’d experienced life. Lines creased the corner of his eyes, but it was his gray orbs that told the story of love, loss, regret, pain, death, and maybe even rebirth.

  One thing was for sure, the older man wasn’t there to babysit Romanov or to prepare them breakfast. He was there to make sure Colt and Romanov didn’t kill each other before the admiral arrived.

  Movement at the corner of his eye signaled the entrance of the man in the center of this controversy. Romanov walked to the coffee station and poured himself a cup as well. Their eyes met and the other man lifted his chin; Colt gave a curt nod.

  “Admiral will be here within the hour,” Murphy told them as he turned from the stovetop and plopped down a mountain of pancakes and a platter of eggs. Then he skillfully pulled the tray of sizzling bacon from the oven and set it on a couple of tiles on the table.

  “Plates are over there. Utensils in the drawer below.” He thumbed the cabinet behind him and then stalked off, leaving an awkward silence behind.

  “Not very chatty, that one,” Romanov commented.

  Colt wasn’t in the mood for small talk either, so he grunted and got up from his chair and walked to get plates. He pulled four plates and equal pairings of knives and forks. If the admiral was bringing people with him, they could damn well get their own plates.

  Romanov raised a brow when he set the plates in front of him.

  “I’m not petty,” Colt sighed. “If we’re going to survive the next hours without murdering each other, food helps.”

  Romanov grinned faintly. It wasn’t exactly a peace offering, but if the Russian was sincere about helping them capture Zorin and stopping the mass murders, he could set aside his distaste for the man.

  For the greater good.

  Fuck. Was he becoming like the admiral?

  Colt layered a stack of pancakes on his plate and dropped a generous amount of butter on them.

  “You Americans have very unhealthy eating habits,” Romanov informed him, taking a single pancake and two strips of bacon.

  Colt grabbed a piece of meat and crunched down on it. “Now why do you say that?” he asked even as he drizzled maple syrup over his flapjacks. If Murphy stocked up this house, the man didn’t scrimp on food.

  “That.” Romanov pointed his fork toward him. “I hope you’re not feeding my children junk food.”

  What the fuck?

  The greater good momentarily forgotten, Colt scowled at him. “Hope you’re not implying that Kate and I are not taking care of the kids.”

  “Taking care is different from making sure they grow up healthy.”

  “What? By feeding them pre-measured meals? You should have seen the look on Josh and Olivia’s faces when they ate pizza,” Colt shot back. A driving force inside him believed he could be a better father for the twins than this man could ever be. “And you’re one to talk. You put a brain spindle in Liv—”

  “I was helping her.”

  Colt sn
orted.

  “I love my daughter—” The other man was flustered, going red in the face.

  “Fine way of showing it.”

  “I was trying to save Kate!” Romanov roared.

  Dead silence.

  “What do you mean you were trying to save her?” he whispered finally.

  Romanov’s mouth flattened into a straight line.

  Colt slowly rose from his chair, eyes sharp and zeroed in on the twins’ father.

  “I’ve already said too much.”

  “Start talking,” he growled, leaning menacingly over.

  “Goddammit,” Murphy boomed, striding into the kitchen, taking the chair between them and inserting himself like a brick wall to keep them apart. “Can’t leave you motherfuckers for five minutes without going at each other’s throats.” He gave an impatient sound. “Admiral is ten minutes out.”

  Then Murphy picked up a plate and stacked his own pancakes and started eating as if oblivious to the tension around the table.

  “I’m not leaving here without answers,” Colt said. “Does Porter know?”

  A protracted pause, and then, “Yes.”

  Colt pushed his plate away, his appetite gone. His stomach twisted in knots. The admiral didn’t call him here simply to give him an update on the mass shooters. They’d discovered something about Kate. He stared stonily at Romanov who had abandoned his breakfast as well. The Russian colonel kept critical information from them about Kate.

  Critical information he was sure that would make him lose her.

  * * *

  Ben Porter arrived before Colt lost all patience and pounded the truth out of Romanov, although he was sure Murphy would’ve had something to say about that. The admiral set down a huge Pelican case on the dining table and opened it. He retrieved a Getac laptop and a binder of documents.

  “All files have been scanned and processed at the AGS datacenter,” Porter said. “Crosschecked all data with what the FSB have.”

  “You’re cooperating with Russian Intelligence now?” Colt muttered.

  The admiral grimaced. “They have Pavel Repin.”

  A new name, but that could only mean … “The Oligarch?”

  “Yes,” Romanov said. “The FSB picked him up five days ago.”

  Colt crossed his arms, waiting for one of them to say more.

  Porter booted up the laptop and displayed a diagram on the screen.

  “Where this all began … Hamid Shah … the Phoenix bomber and director of Syntripro. He and Repin had been bitter rivals over an oil refinery five years ago. Repin needed that deal. He lost and nearly went bankrupt. It took him four years to build back his reputation and he did so mostly through Russian organized crime.” Porter glanced briefly at Murphy before returning his attention back to the screen. “He had a glut of files on Shah. From his family, his business dealings. Pictures of him going on trips, on the golf course. Repin was obsessed with taking him down. From interviews with Shah’s wife, I’d say Repin—or rather—Nikolai got to him about six months ago, but he didn’t start acting strangely until two months later.” Porter turned to Aleksey. “Romanov says this is normal.”

  “What is normal?” Colt asked.

  “The spindle taps into its host’s memories and the learning process begins, but it can take a while,” Romanov said.

  “But how do these men know what place to target? Do they do this on their own?”

  “Nikolai has what he calls the Beacon. He uses this to call the spindled subjects to him.”

  “This Beacon. There’s got to be an effective radius?”

  Porter nodded. “We’re thinking it needs to be around two miles for activation. After that, it doesn’t matter where the Beacon is, the spindle will find it.”

  “Let’s back up a bit.” Colt straightened his stance and rested his hands on his hips, staring at the screen and mulling the dozen questions firing around in his brain. “None of them … Shah, Colbert, and Johnson … they don’t remember the spindle being implanted in them?”

  “The injector comes with an amnesiac drug,” Romanov said. “Shah’s wife said she remembered distinctly there was one time her husband was troubled because he woke up in his car in his company’s parking garage.”

  “Surveillance footage?”

  “None. The Guardians combed through it. The company only keeps two months. I doubt Nikolai would have left a trace anyway.”

  Romanov nodded in agreement.

  “Colbert and Johnson?”

  “This is where the other perps come in. There is a chat room on the Dark Web that Repin set up. From the intel we’ve gathered, Nikolai was the brains of the entire operation. Repin was just the financier. People who logged on to that chat room have PTSD or have family members with PTSD and they were enticed by promising treatments that would ensure privacy. We’ve managed to connect all our perps to that chat room,” Porter said. “The only ones who’ve never been on there are Johnson and Shah.”

  “We’re thinking Johnson had never been on their radar for the spindle, and he and Colbert were infected together. Their wives mentioned a camping trip in June, but we figured it was Johnson accompanying his friend to the promised PTSD treatment.” Romanov leaned against the table. “Repin didn’t have an extensive file on him. Probably because he was just collateral damage they’ve decided to exploit, and they only began collecting his information after he’d been injected with the spindle.”

  “This explains why Nikolai used Johnson before Colbert. He had no history of PTSD and that would throw the investigation off. They were careful to pick their hosts making sure they didn’t fit a single profile.” Porter clicked on the rugged laptop and several metric graphs appeared on screen. “That’s why the feds were stumped.”

  Colt patiently digested all this information, but there was one explanation he’d been waiting to hear. “And Kate?”

  Porter cast a disapproving look at Romanov whose face had turned stony, clearly not pleased that the admiral had gotten hold of the information.

  “The spindles were created using nanotechnology which concerned me, so I had an AGS analyst dig into the research files that Repin maintained of Nikolai’s work. If Shah was Patient 0, Kate was Patient Alpha,” Porter said. “There was a problem with the first spindle. Romanov here said it was merely problematic, what he didn’t say was it could introduce toxicity to the brain.”

  The ground shifted beneath him. Blood drained from Colt’s face.

  “Kate could die.”

  The next moments were a blur, but when the rage receded from Colt’s mind and the frame of his body released its tense hold, he saw Romanov’s mouth was bleeding.

  Only a thread of restraint kept Colt from killing him. That, and the fact that Murphy had him in an armlock.

  “I’m going to end you, motherfucker!” he snarled. His chest heaved from the anxious worry that seized him, and his body shook from the receding adrenaline.

  “Why?” Colt roared. “Why put it in Kate in the first place?”

  The other man’s face was anguished. “Nikolai promised he could make Kate love me.”

  Stunned silence met Romanov’s confession.

  Colt looked to his side, addressing Murphy. “Let go.”

  “As long as you promise not to kill him.” Murphy’s hold slackened and Colt shrugged him off. Still breathing hard, he backed away from Romanov. The urge to kill the bastard was overwhelming but he couldn’t murder the twins’ father.

  “Are we certain it will poison her?” he asked quietly. Kate’s withdrawal from him, from the twins—it all made sense. She was on borrowed time and she was distancing herself, so if she died, it wouldn’t be as painful. Didn’t she know it was too late? Colt and the twins already loved her. Losing her would devastate them.

  Romanov shook his head. “Kate’s a wildcard. She’s been fighting the control of the spindle for a while.” He blew out a breath. “The spindle in Olivia is the master spindle. It was designed to control all other spindles.
Through her, I hoped to learn more about the one in Kate.”

  “She’s only eight,” Colt snarled.

  “And she stopped your shooter,” Romanov countered. “I still believe my scientists can teach Olivia—”

  Is this man for real or delusional?

  “No,” he and the admiral said in unison.

  “There is a neurosurgeon in Russia—”

  “No,” Colt and Porter repeated, again in unison.

  “I already have a shortlist of the neurosurgeons who can perform the surgery to remove the spindle,” the admiral said. “They’re considering several detoxing protocols. We can take care of our own, Romanov.”

  Goddamn right, Colt agreed.

  Romanov nodded. “We agreed, Admiral, that the choice will be up to Kate.” There was a smugness to the Russian’s face that made Colt uneasy and judging from Porter’s expression, he wasn’t pleased as well.

  “There are remnants of Chrysalis we’ve missed.” The admiral explained what the AGS analysts had inadvertently uncovered in addition to the intel on the spindle. Colt listened with mounting dread at what this could mean.

  “Revenge for Piper, that’s what I’m offering Kate,” Romanov said.

  “She’s already moving on,” Colt gritted out. “Instead of revenge, why not give her another chance to love again? The twins give her that.”

  “I agree.” Romanov swallowed hard. “I’m just giving her what I’d taken away from her in the past. What everyone had taken away from her.”

  23

  Kate

  Choices.

  Something I longed for all my life, but in the past few days I wished someone else would tell me what I should do, what I really needed. When Colt left for DC, I stayed at the ranch with Josh and Olivia. I tried so hard to push them away, but I finally made a choice of my own. I finally admitted to myself that the twins had ingrained themselves so deep in my soul, the torment left by Piper’s death didn’t haunt me anymore. What haunted me then was the sadness in Josh and Liv’s eyes every time I refused to interact with them. What haunted me then was the devastation on Colt’s face when I hinted that I couldn’t be with them.