The Assassin

by Tricia Andersen

  Sloan dropped his head. “She’s been rushed to emergency care. She was unconscious when I brought her in.”

  “Oh.” The young blond sighed. “I’ll keep her in my prayers. What’s her name?”

  “Abbey O’Riley.”

  “Please pass on my thanks to her. I’ll be shipping out tomorrow to a military hospital for more surgery on my leg. You should be very proud of her.”

  Sloan smiled. “Aye, I am. I’m very proud of her.”

  The soldier nodded his farewell then maneuvered his wheelchair down the hall. Sloan watched him go then looked to Gordon, Bartholomew, and Robert. By the smiles on their faces, he could tell they had heard everything. That’s my lass.

  “Quite the assassin we got, huh?” Robert commented.

  “She’s quite the lass,” Gordon agreed. “Why don’t we sit and wait? Abbey’s a fighter. She’ll be just fine.”

  Sloan shuffled to the waiting area and sank into a chair. He sighed as the other men settled into the seats around him. He hoped he didn’t have to wait too long. He needed his Abbey back.

  Two hours seemed to be an eternity. Sloan stood and paced more times than he could remember. He was a man of power. Nothing stood in his way. But right now, he was completely powerless, waiting on the report. He couldn’t fix this, and he hated every second of it.

  Finally, the doctor called for him. Sloan sprang to his feet, anxious to hear the news. The doctor pulled them into a side room then took a deep breath. “Mrs. O’Riley was in a dangerous situation when you brought her in. She must not have found much water. I’ve never seen someone that was that dehydrated and lived. The dehydration caused her organs to start to fail. You found her just in the nick of time. She has also taken two gunshots, one to her abdomen and one to her bicep. It had to have happened about two weeks ago. Neither is life-threatening, but we will need for Abbey to get stronger before we can operate to remove the shrapnel. It’ll be a few more days. I can take you to her now.” With a generous smile, the surgeon motioned for them to follow him to her room.

  Bartholomew grabbed Sloan’s shoulder just before they stepped inside. He glared at Bartholomew. Before he could speak, his friend cut him off. “Sloan, you need to realize…she isn’t your Abbey anymore.”

  “What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Sloan demanded.

  “She’s been taken captive. For all we know, she’s been living in those hills for at least two weeks. She’s been shot. She’s killed someone. She’s probably going to suffer some sort of PTSD. You need to be patient with her.”

  Sloan stared at him for several moments then nodded in understanding. With a sigh, he moved forward.

  Abbey lay in the bed with several tubes and wires snaked over and into her. She looked little better than a skeleton, her skin sunken and a darker bronze than Sloan ever remembered it being. Her weak hazel eyes locked on the bare wall and never moved. Gordon had already flanked the other side of her bed, beside the IV stand, and was holding her hand like a protective father.

  Sloan settled on the edge of her mattress and took her free hand in his. “Hi, luv.”

  Abbey didn’t answer. She didn’t flinch. She just stared.

  Sloan watched her, baffled. He tried again. “Do you need anything? Whatever you want, I’ll get it. Just name it, and it’s yours.”

  She lay stone-still, as if she had never heard a thing.

  Sloan frowned. “Abigail, please. I beg you. Talk to me.”

  There was no response. Sloan glanced up at Gordon before he turned to Bartholomew. Bartholomew just sadly shook his head. Sloan’s heart fell. He wanted his chatty, loving, fiery Abbey back. If this was what the future held, he was in for the fight of his life. He would have his woman back if it was the last thing he did.

  »»•««

  Three days passed before Abbey was well enough to have surgery. Sloan never left her side. He slept in the chair beside her. He held her hand. He talked to her. He told her just how much he loved her. Not once did she respond to him. She just lay in the bed, staring at the wall, her arm now tucked in a sling to protect the stitches.

  Gordon watched the two of them, his heart breaking. The doctor spoke to them all about the possibility of PTSD. The fact she hadn’t responded to anyone as of yet kept her from being arrested for shooting Torelli. That, and the fact that no one could understand how a supposedly dead woman had come back to life for the sole purpose of attacking him.

  Gordon sat at his stepdaughter’s bedside. Sloan was fast asleep in the chair, snoring softly. Abbey’s eyes were trained to the wall. Gordon sighed. “Little one, please. Come through this. We need to know what happened to you. We can’t protect you if we don’t know, lass.”

  Abbey closed her eyes. After several moments, she turned her head to him and opened them. “It was Torelli the whole time, Dad. He’s the one shipping the arms out of the camp. Lathrop had nothing to do with it. Torelli kidnapped me. He blew a hole in that transport.”

  Gordon gasped softly. “Abbey.”

  “Dad, I’m telling you the truth. Have the CIA track the manifests of the metal shipping containers that are north of camp. They leave camp with weapons to be destroyed, sure. But they don’t get back to the U.S. And this camp goes through a remarkable amount of weapons, don’t you think?”

  Gordon softly chuckled as he shook his head. “It’s not that. And I agree with you about the weapons. You’re talking.”

  “Yes. I’ve been able to talk the whole time, Dad.”

  “Why now? Why won’t you talk to your husband?”

  Abbey plucked at her gown as she sighed refusing to look at her step-father. “He told me it was a mistake to marry me. The biggest one he ever made. Now, he’s sitting beside me confessing his love for me and vowing to keep me safe forever. Really, what changed?”

  Gordon took her free hand and patted it with his. “Abigail, my child. He had to prepare to bury you. For several horrible, agonizing days, his reality was that he had lost the one person in this world he loves more than his own life, and she was never coming back. He broke down when he saw what your gravestone would look like with your date of death. Little one, the thought of losing you again is killing him. Please, be easy on him. Sloan is jealous. It’s not an emotion he’s used to. It made him irrational. I’m not condoning what he said, but I know deep in his heart he didn’t mean it.”

  Abbey gazed at Gordon for several minutes before she slowly turned to Sloan. She watched as he slept, his large frame sprawled over the small chair. Gordon could see a smile curve her lips as a tear weaved its path down her cheek.

  Sloan softly groaned as he stretched his long legs, yawning as his eyes slit open. He nearly jumped out of his seat at the sight of Abbey smiling at him. “Hello, luv,” he breathed.

  “Hi,” she squeaked.

  Gordon felt his heart warm as Sloan sat forward, gently caressing Abbey’s cheek as he gazed at her silently. She reached her hand to cover his, sighing at his touch.

  “Abbey, my angel, I’m so sorry for what I said. Marrying you wasn’t the biggest mistake of my life. Saying that was. You are my greatest treasure. You are every one of my dreams come true. You were right. I was a jealous, irrational fool. I should have trusted you. Complete trust is difficult for me. I lost it with Angelique. You constantly wait for me to leave you? You aren’t the only one. I’m waiting for the day I come home to an empty house because you’ve found someone younger, someone more emotionally available for you. The thought of losing you to another man drives me insane. Then, I lost you forever. Well, I thought I did. Having you here, looking into your beautiful eyes and seeing your sweet, sweet smile… I think I’ve died and gone to heaven, because that’s where angels like you are from. Please, forgive me.”

  Abbey looked away from him as she continued to twist her gown in her hands. “Saying that I was the biggest mistake you made was my worst nightmare coming true. You know that, right?”

  “I know, luv. I know.”

  “How
am I supposed to believe you now? Are you going to tell me you love me today and hate me tomorrow?”

  “No. Never. After the hell I endured thinking you had died, I could never say I hate you.”

  “The hell you endured? Live in the Afghani desert for three weeks with no food, water or shelter.”

  “This isn’t a competition.”

  “I know that.”

  Sloan slumped back in his chair and stared at her. “I can’t lose you. I won’t. I will lie, cheat and steal to keep you.”

  Abbey glared at him. “You don’t have to do any of those things. Never treat me like that again.”

  “Never, luv. I swear to you. I love you more than my life, Abbey.”

  She paused then smiled. “I love you, too.”

  “Is there anything I can get you?”

  “Not right now. Just sit here and hold my hand.”

  Sloan rose and stepped to her bedside. “Only after I kiss you, my sweet.” He gently pressed a kiss to her lips before he settled back down in the chair and took her hand in his.

  Gordon stood and rested his fingers on Abbey’s arm, a huge, proud smile on his face. “I’ll call Dunham and have him look into those shipping containers. Rest. Heal, little one. I’ll give you two some time alone.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Gordon nodded to them both before he strode from the room, taking one last look at his children before he left. He barely made it out the door before he was met by Bartholomew.

  “Torelli’s gone,” the younger man breathlessly reported.

  “He’s been discharged?” Gordon questioned.

  “No. He just disappeared. Ground floor room. He wedged the window open and hopped out. The guards weren’t too vigilant on watching him.”

  Gordon cursed under his breath. There was no doubt in his mind that Abbey was telling the truth. He motioned to Bartholomew. “We need to go find Agent Dunham. We’ve found our smuggler. Unfortunately, he just took flight, and I doubt we’ll find him again.”

  »»•««

  Life was far from back to normal in Minnesota. Abbey glanced around her living room, distressed. It seemed more foreign to her than the deserts of Afghanistan. The kid’s shrieks were louder than any explosion. To make matters worse, the doctor still wouldn’t let her use her arm and demanded it be left in the sling. The entire two weeks she had been home, she had been on edge.

  Even though he tried, Sloan was no help. He refused to talk about the mission or Torelli with her while she was healing. He was gentle and caring. He bailed on important meetings at Sloan Enterprises to help her with the children. At night, he held her tight in his arms, never once touching her, arousing her. Sloan followed what all the psychiatrists had told him to do with a spouse suffering from PTSD. He was the perfect, devoted husband.

  But all she wanted was her strong, powerful, dominating, intimidating Irishman back. She needed the man who didn’t take no for an answer. He was the one who made her feel secure and protected. And that man would want to find Torelli as bad as she did.

  Torelli was the only thing Abbey thought of. Bringing him to justice was her new obsession. She spent hours reanalyzing what they had learned in Afghanistan while she cooked and cleaned and played with the children. Revenge burned in her heart like it never had before. She wanted revenge for the humiliation and torture he had put her through in that shipping container. She wanted revenge for the lives lost on that plane. Most of all, she wanted revenge for the hell Torelli had caused the man she loved.

  She could see the pain still in Sloan’s eyes, even though she was alive. Abbey hadn’t wanted Torelli dead. If she had, she would have fatally shot him. Let the U.S. government take care of him, she had thought. She never had any idea that he would escape and disappear.

  After three weeks in Minneapolis, the doctor released Abbey from the sling. With a sigh of relief, she tossed it in the garbage as they left the clinic. Sloan stopped her as he took her hand. “Let’s celebrate,” he crooned.

  A smile crept onto Abbey’s face. “What do you have in mind?”

  Sloan cupped her cheek in his hand and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Just leave it to me.” With his sensual, devilish grin, he led her to the Hummer and helped her in.

  Abbey wondered all day what Sloan had up his sleeve. It certainly took her mind off Torelli for a while. Did she see a hint of her sinfully sexy husband? When a white box arrived at the door for her, her heart hammered twice as fast. Inside was a floor length, blood-red satin gown with spaghetti straps accompanied by a pair of matching stilettos. Abbey sighed in delight. Oh yes, Sloan was back.

  At exactly seven o’clock, Gordon and Mary arrived to babysit. Sloan was on their heels, dressed in his Armani suit, the one that made him look like a Greek god with an Irish bent. With his trademark sensual grin, he took her hand and led her to the Hummer parked outside. For nearly everyone else, the Hummer was a gas-guzzling beast. Since Abbey had seen Sloan step out of it years ago in New York City, it was only one thing to her—foreplay.

  Sloan drove through downtown, weaving from one interstate to the next, until they reached Abbey’s favorite restaurant. The moment they stepped inside, they were shown to a private room. Filled glasses of champagne perched next to the most perfect table setting of ivory white dishes. Candles softly flickered, giving the tiny room an intimate glow.

  Sloan pulled her chair out for her then circled the table to his seat. Once he was settled, he took her hand and caressed it. “You look exquisite, luv.”

  “Thank you. You look pretty sexy yourself,” she breathed in response.

  “Not nearly as incredible as you. You look good enough to eat. And I plan on taking a bite later on tonight.”

  Abbey shuddered at his playful threat. She was distracted by the waiter delivering their salads. Sloan stabbed the greens with his fork and took a healthy mouthful. Abbey just stared at hers. The thought of sex with Sloan sent delicious shivers up her spine. She was ready to skip dinner and head right for dessert.

  Sloan put his fork down. “Is everything all right, Abigail?”

  “It’s just fine.” She sent him a weak smile. “How is everything at work?”

  “Everything is how it should be. Don’t fret your beautiful head. You’ll be back next week, and I’ll catch you up on everything.”

  Abbey watched him eat in silence for several moments before she spoke again. “Have you heard from Agent Dunham recently?”

  Sloan frowned at her. “Why would I hear from him?”

  “To give you an update on Torelli.”

  “Abigail, we’re done with the CIA and Torelli. Let it rest.”

  “You might be done. I’m not.”

  His ice-blue eyes were full of fire as they locked on hers. “Yes, you are.”

  “Who are you to tell me that I’m done?”

  “Your husband,” Sloan snorted.

  “Not good enough.”

  “All right. I’m your husband, your lover, your master, your god, your father, your very soul. Good enough now?”

  “I’m not done until I find Torelli and stop him.”

  He sat back in his chair and glared at her. “Drop this nonsense. Now.”

  “You have no desire to stop Torelli?” Abbey accused.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Sloan’s eyes pierced her. “Because the bastard took my life, my home, away from me. It was almost for eternity. I sure as bloody hell am not going to give him a chance to do it again. We’re done discussing this. Please eat before the entrée arrives.”

  Abbey watched, baffled, as Sloan returned to his salad. The Sloan she knew wouldn’t sit passively by. He would want revenge, and he would want it by his own hand. She scooped the napkin off her lap and stood. “Thanks for the incredible surprise. I’m not hungry.” She spun toward the door of the private room and slipped through it before Sloan could get to his feet.

  She was almost to the front of
the restaurant before a vise took hold of her wrist.

  “Where the hell are you going?” Sloan growled.

  “Not here,” Abbey answered, as she turned back to him.

  “You’re going to stop making a scene. You’re going back to the table. And we’re going to enjoy a delicious meal. Do you understand me? Non-negotiable.”

  “I believe I’ve told you where you can stick your non-negotiable.” Abbey tore her arm free from his grip and stormed out and down the street. She didn’t stop until she reached the first available cab. If she had to, she would walk.

  Abbey was home hours before Sloan. He announced his arrival with the crash of the front door being thrown open followed by the slam of his office door. She huffed. If he wanted to act like a spoiled child, let him. Granted, she knew she had hurt his feelings, rejecting his intimate night out together. But if he refused to listen to her as far as Torelli was concerned, well…he could choke on his anger.

  When bedtime arrived, Abbey crawled into Ame’s trundle and tugged her daughter’s extra quilt over her. She met Ame’s curious eyes with a simple “go to sleep.” With a shrug, the little girl rolled over and snuggled into her sheet. Abbey laughed to herself. If Sloan wanted her in his bed, he’d have to carry her there. And most assuredly, there would a battle. She dozed off to her daughter’s soft snores.

  Morning came too early for Abbey. She had tossed and turned all night, waking up to one nightmare after another. She sighed. Some days she really didn’t think she was cut out to be a soldier. She had not asked to be one.

  Slowly lifting herself off the thin mattress, Abbey slipped from the room so she didn’t wake Ame. The silent house told her the boys were still sleeping also. She took a deep breath. Once the argument started with Sloan, they wouldn’t be much longer. She stepped into the living room to confront her husband.