by Cherry Adair
She hadn’t fared as well with other personal relationships. Hard to do when she was always braced for attack. Verbal or physical. The visions wouldn’t stop, so she was isolated by them. She usually went on the attack first which put paid to any hope of a romantic relationship. Romance just wasn’t in the cards for her. She lived just fine without it. She was unlovable anyway, so that worked out just fine.
Sin paused, the last bandage in his large hand as he listened. The tiny butterfly bandage crumpled between his fingers and he tossed it aside, unpeeling another.
Riva touched the back of his hand. “I told you I didn’t talk about it—”
“Tell me the rest.” He carefully stuck the last bandage across her wound, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. His eyes were filled with impotent rage.
It was as though he’d just given her a gift. She curled her fingers into his palm. Their knees touched, the smell of antiseptic hung in the air, and she’d never felt more in sync with another person in her life.
Just because the moment was fleeting and couldn’t last was no reason not to allow herself to experience a deep emotion she couldn’t name. Whatever it was, she’d enjoy the now of it.
Wanting to get the revealing over with, Riva talked a little faster as she got up and poured a mug of scalding coffee. “I could only find one m—”
He took it from her as she returned to her seat beside him on the box, and took a sip. “We’ll share.”
“I saw his violent past and made the mistake of telling him his future. He did his best to beat the visions out of me.”
“Jesus, Riva. I hope you killed the son of a bitch.”
She took the metal mug from him and drank. It was too hot, bitter as hell, it smelled a lot better than it tasted. “He was six foot five, and built like a Mack truck.”
Sin waited.
“I shot him with his own firearm.” Bloody and messy, that night had haunted her dreams for years. “The police called it self-defense. They had the records from eight different hospitals, a couple of psych holds because of these…” She held up her wrists as though he were about to handcuff her. The pity she read on his face almost undid her, making it hard to breathe. She shrugged. "Case closed."
Not nearly that neat and tidy. She was a child who’d grown up far too quickly. She’d been terrified, alone, and without resources. The many trips to ERs and clinics across the country had saved her from prosecution.
“Where was your mother in all this? A priest? A teacher…”
“My mother was the type of woman who needed a man in her life to feel beautiful. There was a succession of ‘uncles’ before Joe, and we moved a lot. She always took her lover’s side, because she was afraid I’d frighten him away with my crazy stories. Joe was no exception. I wanted to stop telling people what I saw, I honest to God did. But when the visions came I didn’t know how to keep them to myself. Believe me, I’ve learned how to, because otherwise someone else would’ve killed me over the years. Most people are freaking terrified when I tell them I just had a vision of their future. Even if it’s something favorable, they’re afraid.”
Beneath the scruff on his jaw, Sin’s jaw clenched. “Does your mother know what you do for a living?”
Riva shook her head. “After I killed Joe, she kicked me out. She still wasn’t speaking to me when she died of emphysema eight years ago.”
Sin lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her inner wrist. The warmth flowed from his mouth to her skin, then was carried by her veins in a dizzying rush through her body. His touch was a healing tonic. Odd, that this man would provide healing. No, not odd at all, because all of his microexpressions indicated a deep kindness. He was a paradox, because T-FLAC intel said something far different about Sin Diaz.
“I’m okay now. Plenty of ongoing therapy,” she murmured dryly, sifting her fingers of her other hand through his hair, but having no memory of lifting it to his head.
“It explains why you’re so fearless.”
Brushing her fingertips over the flexing muscle in his jaw, she saw she’d freaked him out, too. Riva dropped her hand into her lap. So be it. She was what she was. Her psychic abilities had built a damn nice career for her, where people depended on that skill when she did her job.
“I’m sorry.”
Oh, God. His words were exactly what she needed to hear. The fact that it was this man saying them was right, and so, so damned wrong. Enough soul baring. “Sin? I might bleed to death here,” she kept her tone light, but it was a little thick with pent-up emotion.
He dropped another kiss to the scars, then released her hand. “Let me take a look at your leg.”
“You just want to get my pants off.”
He smiled. “That, too.”
Since she was commando, Riva yanked down her shirt to cover herself. He grinned as he bent his head. Her leg looked fine to her, but he wasn’t distracted by her semi-nudity. Focused, he applied antiseptic, and called it good.
She angled her head to look at his handiwork. “That looks great,” she pulled up her pants. “Now I’ll do you. You have a pretty bad cut over that eye.”
He allowed her to clean and dress his slashed eyebrow. The cut was small-head wounds bled a lot, but Riva liked touching him. Liked the feel of his prickly jaw against her palm, liked the feel of his humid breath on her wrist as she worked over his eye. “Good as new.” Reluctantly, she started putting away the first-aid supplies.
“We’ll eat inside the tent, it’ll keep insects out of our food.”
Fair enough. Dozens of small, assorted bugs flew around the light.
After filling their plates and grabbing his canteen, they crawled inside the tent. Sin reached back for the lantern, doused it, zipped the flap closed, then set the Mag light on the edge of the thick sleeping bag.
Sitting cross-legged, Riva picked up her spork and lifted it to her mouth. “Why are your men trying to kill you?”
The one-man tent wasn’t that big. Sin took up most of it. It was a tight fit, with their knees touching. “I have no idea.”
“They don’t like you?”
“They like Mama even less. Apparently she scares them more than I do. Or they’ve switched allegiances, and are now working for Maza.”
“In which case they would’ve been trying to separate us to take me to him, not trying to kill me. And they won’t kill you. Not in the next few days anyway.”
“Is this speculation or a vision?”
“Visions.”
“That’s comforting at least.”
“God, I really am starving. This tastes like ambrosia even though I know it isn't.”
Finished with his meal, Sin placed his empty plate near the tent flap and twisted open the lid on the canteen. “Are you really here to kill Maza?” he asked, taking a swig.
She figured he was taking the psychic part of her sorry tale at face value for now. “If I answer you, will you answer a question for me?”
He hooked an arm around his bent knee. “Hell. Why not?”
“I’m going to kill Maza before he does something irreparable. And to answer your earlier question about who commissioned me to do the job? I’m an operative with T-FLAC- Terrorist Force Logistical Assault Command. A privately funded counterterrorist organization.”
“Not a hitman?”
“In this case, yeah. I will hit him. But that’s not my job, usually. No.”
“Makes sense. You’re neither weak nor vulnerable. You give as good as you get. Plenty of training there. How did you hook up with a counterterrorist group?”
“I was working as a jury consultant. I was good at reading people’s microexpressions and body language, plus—” Riva shrugged. T-FLAC had appreciated her skills, wanted them, honed them. “The organization liked my skills and recruited me.”
“That’s why they sent you in to take Maza’s psychic’s place. You really will be able to tell him his future.”
“It’s not that easy. I don’t always see visions, and I can’t do
them on command. I have them or I don’t, but my training has allowed me to be able to fake it when necessary. Like I said, I’m damn good at reading people. That part of my skill is proven science.”
He gave her an assessing look. “Fascinating.”
She wasn’t sure if he was talking about her job, or her personally. “We’ve been monitoring calls between Escobar Maza and a psychic named Graciela Estigarribia for months. We’ve also been monitoring chatter worldwide. There’s a BRICS Summit in Santa de Porres in eight days—”
“BRICS?”
“It’s an acronym for an association of five major emerging national economies.”
“Brazil, Russia, India, China, and South Africa. Yeah. I know,” he said dryly. “For months I’ve been trying to expand our sales into those countries.”
“We believe Maza plans to either take the principals hostage, kill them, or— Shit. We have theories, but no definitive proof of what he has planned.”
“And this–T-FLAC-sent you in alone to protect the BRICS delegation, and take out Escobar Maza? What the fuck’s wrong with them?”
“First of all, I’m a trained field operative. This is what I do. And I didn’t come alone. I came in with two fellow operatives. They were two of the men killed in the chopper crash. Plus, I have a team waiting for me in Santa de Porres and another in Abad. There was no intention of sending me in alone. Although I’m well trained for jungle combat.”
“They aren’t able to help you here, are they? Don’t they know who and what that fucker is? A sadistic psychopath. While I hear and compute what you’re saying about your people having intel about the BRICS Summit, I have to wonder just what it is that he hopes to achieve. Maza does nothing unless it benefits himself, or the SYP. How will doing anything benefit them directly? These people, while powerful in their own rights, are merely appointed by their respective countries to form this alliance. Kill them, more will pop up. It’s a renewable resource, right?”
She shrugged. “My people are gathering more intel. They may have even answered the very questions you’re asking now. I just need to communicate with them.”
“He works for someone. But I guess you know that. Kill him, and his boss will just send in someone else. It’s like cutting the head off a Hydra.”
“How does a guy raised in a jungle know about a Hydra? That home school nun?”
He shrugged. “Maza’s boss—”
“His boss is Stonefish. Yeah, we know. We caught him a year ago. He’s in a supermax, so his wings are clipped, if not cut off. No human contact makes playing phone tag impossible. Maza isn’t crying about his boss being incarcerated and having the key thrown away. He’s aiming for top spot. Why do you think he moved into Cosio? I’ll tell you. Because he wants to take your job. He’s been working diligently to take over all of the ANLF business worldwide, as I’m sure you know. He’s taken you in South Africa, he’s taken you in Spain, and also in Portugal. Having a hard time ousting you in Great Britain, France, and North Africa, but it’s only a matter of time.”
“Not news. The son of a bitch has been breathing down my neck for months.” He paused to offer her the canteen. Riva shook her head. “Is he working with Mama?”
She shot him a startled look. “Not that we know of, but of course anything’s possible. Why?”
“She doesn’t like me. Understatement of the year.”
“Aw. That’s not very maternal of her. But if it makes you feel any better, I doubt she likes anyone.”
“Believe me, people feel the same way about her. What do you know about me?”
“What do you mean?”
“What does T-FLAC know about Sin Diaz?”
Dropping her hand from the top of her head, she counted off on her fingers, “Terrorist. Extortionist. Kidnapper. International arms and drug trafficker…” She ran out of fingers and switched hands. “Violent. Ruthless. And those are your good qualities.” She flashed him a smile.
“My reputation has preceded me, then. So you recognized me when you saw me?”
“We don’t have any images of you, if that’s what you mean.” She gave him a considering look. “But when I first saw you, you did look vaguely familiar, so I guess I saw a picture of you somewhere. Or you remind me of someone I know.”
“Who?”
“No idea. Probably the villain in some movie franchise.”
“Shit.”
“Shit? Awwwww. You wanted to be the hero?”
“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me what I was doing prior to five months ago.”
She gave him a startled look. “You really don’t know what you were doing half a year ago?”
In the iffy light, her tawny skin looked dewy and touchable. He could smell her. Hot, musky woman. She ran her hand around the back of her neck, then lifted the braid on top of her head as if that would cool her neck. All it did was shift her breasts, and make him want to bury his face in the crook of her damp neck. God, she was pretty—no, exotic with those patrician features, long-lashed dark eyes, and creamy, pale olive-toned skin. The black tank top showed off her streamlined biceps and the upper swell of her breasts. Fit, healthy, and in her prime. Riva Rimaldi was a siren song.
But it was the intelligence and compassion he saw in her dark eyes, the belief that she saw him, that made Sin draw in a breath, then take the plunge. “Apparently I had a run-in with Maza. The injuries I sustained kept me in a coma for months. When I woke, I’d lost my memory.”
She cocked her head, causing her long braid to slither over her shoulder and snake against her breast. “You know that only happens to people in soap operas, right?”
“Then this is a particularly bad one. I think I remember flashes of things. Maybe I’m having hallucinations. Whatever they are, a recurring one is me thrashing through the jungle. Running like hell. Shots being fired—”
“You just spent the better part of today doing that.” She rested her elbows on her knees. “In your line of work, I imagine there’s lots of jungle running, and people shooting at each other. You’re a terrorist in a friggin’ jungle, for God’s sake.”
“Yeah, that one mostly makes sense and reflects my day-to-day existence. I get it. But a lot of the memories or flashes I see— Shit. I don’t know what the hell it is I think I remember. I could be stitching together a bunch of random events and making them into something else entirely. But skydiving? Parasailing? Volcano boarding… Paris? SCUBA diving in Greece? Where do those images come from? I don’t have that good an imagination.”
“Welcome to my world. Are you sure you’re not psychic? How about this: Playing tennis? Wearing a tux at the theater—”
He pressed two fingers against the throbbing headache centered on the cut over his eye. “No,” he corrected, dropping his hand because pressing didn’t fucking help. “I don’t have those memories at all.”
“Maybe not. But those are at least two things you’ve done. I know, because I ‘saw’ you.”
Sin wasn’t sure he bought into this psychic crap. But then he wasn’t sure what the hell he believed any more. “Do I look like a tennis player type to you, or a man who goes anywhere necessitating wearing a tuxedo?”
If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck…
“Why do you believe you haven’t done those other things? You could’ve gone to Paris or done any of those extreme sports before you were injured. Gone to the theater, mingled with the jet set…” She gave him a considering look. “Are your people telling you something different? The same people who just tried to kill you?”
“From the moment I woke up, Mama has regaled me with somewhat terrifying stories about my past. Paris and parasailing were not included in my list of nefarious past activities. And what she was telling me didn’t feel…right. Most of the events were downright horrific. I can’t imagine myself doing most of them. And yet, if none of them were true, why the fuck lie to me?” Sin paused, trying to formulate thoughts he’d had for months into something even he could believe.
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br /> It all sounded surreal. The fact that he was entrusting this woman, whom he barely knew, with his deepest, most terrifying secrets was probably as unwise as hell. “I considered the possibility that the blow to the head had scrambled my brains and that my personality had drastically changed.”
Riva didn’t say anything, yet her steady focus on him encouraged him to continue.
“At first I went along with what everyone was telling me. It made sense to do so and I didn’t have to think about it too much. I couldn’t. I had debilitating headaches. Mama gave me medicines to help with it. The meds made me feel…off. I stopped taking that shit, and over the next several weeks my head became clearer, and I started questioning what everyone had been telling me.”
“She was drugging you to keep you compliant. The question is—why?”
“Yeah, I figured that out as my brain came back online. Why is just one of many questions I have. Who is another.” It had to be said. “If I’m not Sin Diaz, and the best thing about that scenario is that I am not that woman’s son, then who the fuck am I? None of this makes sense.”
“If we had a computer I could take a picture of you and send it in to my control. He’d ID you in a minute.”
“Not if no one has ever seen an image of me. I could be anyone.”
“What about your friends? Andrés has known you forever, right?”
“He says we were raised together and he has encyclopedic knowledge of everything I’ve ever done. He’s extremely convincing. But if Mama isn’t my mother, he’s lying, too.”
“Where was he when your men attacked us earlier?”
“Dead, maybe.”
“Do you really believe that? There’s a strong possibility that you’re being gaslighted.” She chewed on the corner of her lower lip, and gave him a considering look. “That you aren’t who they tell you you are. Still, it’s pretty far-fetched to think that there is such an enormous and far-reaching conspiracy to make you believe you’re someone you aren’t. And that you’ve done things in your past that aren’t true. If that is the case, it’s a fantastical, complex, and elaborate hoax perpetrated by a lot of people. What do they gain from it?”