Kiss the Sky

by MK Schiller

  He shrugged with modesty. “Because I’ve been through it with my mother after Drew died. Besides, grief doesn’t have language barriers.”

  “That was a lot of money you gave them.”

  “I had enough saved for two trips. Like you, I decided along the journey this would be my only try. I wanted them to have it. Rana was a good man, a hard man, but a good one. He was my friend and your friend. He deserved so much more.”

  Tristan was a good man too. He had been born of wealth, but wasn’t materialistic. He thirsted for adventure and had a heart as deep and rich as the Hunza Valley. She vowed to do everything in her power to keep him safe. They may not have been meant for this life, but she would never have these feelings for anyone else as long as she lived.

  They each spoke to the other families on the phone. Bjorn had a sister. Lino had an older son and wife. Farah was grateful none of them had young children. The calls had also taken their toll. They’d had to relive the descriptions and explain the situation. Farah still heard Lino’s wife’s soft crying. Edelweiss’s contact, a cousin, never answered the phone. They had tried numerous times to no avail. Malcolm’s next of kin was his brother. He took the news in stride. He seemed happy they were bringing him Malcolm’s pack. He suggested he meet them at the airport in Albany, but they were getting into the city late. Tristan said they could drive up to his house the next day.

  In the quiet of night, she lay in Tristan’s arms, and they would replay that devastating night. Neither one of them wanted to recount it, but they had to put together the facts they knew so they could make sense of the situation. Sometimes, it became too emotional and they had to stop.

  Tristan’s uncle had come through with Farah’s visa just three days later. She wore a scarf over her head, veiling her hair. She clutched it tighter as they headed through the airport. They waited in the long line at airport security until a short, spry man with a bushy mustache approached them. He introduced himself as Mr. Shah, a friend of Tristan’s uncle. He explained they were to follow him. He had airport security clearance and could get them through the lines.

  People glared at them as they bypassed line after line. The searches through their items were minimal too. She suspected part of the stares wasn’t just the line-skipping, but also due to shock and disapproval that she was with Tristan.

  “Cold?” he asked, pulling the wool airline blanket from the basket in front of them.

  She put her hand in her pocket and felt the small pebble there. For whatever strange reason, it always brought her comfort. Perhaps because, like he had said, it was forever. It would always remain a solid reminder they once had a perfect day. Even more than that, it made her believe there would be many more perfect days to follow. She laid her head against his chest. “I’m fine.”

  They arrived in Albany at midnight. Tristan rented a car at the airport and purchased prepaid phones for each of them. Tristan called Elliot to give him the number. They checked into a nearby hotel. The early autumn air was balmy.

  “Hungry?” he asked, quirking a brow.

  She wasn’t sure if he was being flirty. He stretched his arms, the fabric of his T-shirt coming up just enough to reveal the finely chiseled muscles of his abs. Her body longed for his touch. The greedy way he kissed her. The way his hands possessed her.

  She took a few steps toward him, fluttering her eyelashes and letting her hair fall over her face. She wasn’t practiced at the art of flirting. She was the kind of girl who just asked for what she wanted. Right now, she wanted to make his pulse race the same way he did to her.

  “Actually,” she said, keeping her voice low and husky, “I’m ravenous…for you.”

  He stared at her as if she’d grown a third eye. Then his cynical laugh echoed through the room. “Did you really just say…ravenous?”

  She dropped her hands in frustration. “Is that the wrong word?”

  “Very wrong.”

  “Too…” What was the word? “Corny?”

  “Sweetness, that’s got more corn than all the fields in Iowa.”

  She shrugged. “Read it in the regency romance I bought at the airport. I’ll have you know when the Duke of Wellington said those words to Lady Amelia, it melted her heart.”

  “Is that a fact?” He tsked, making his way toward her, his stance predatory. “They aren’t exactly a turn-on for me, and I’m definitely not Lady Amelia. By the way, it’s kind of emasculating that you’re using the guy’s lines on me.”

  “I’ll have to think of a way to make up for that.” She took off her shirt. For the first time in her life, she wished she possessed a bra that wasn’t utilitarian in nature, something with lace and a pretty pattern. But there was nothing in his expression that suggested anything other than lust—pure, unabashed, raw lust. She was sure her expression mirrored his.

  His gaze traveled down her face past her neck and over her chest. “That’s a nice start,” he said. He unhooked her bra. It fell off her shoulders. He circled her nipple with his tongue.

  “Just nice?” She slid down her jeans. Then she hooked her thumbs on the sides of her panties and slipped them down as well.

  “Real nice.” His voice croaked as he kicked off his shoes and pulled off his shirt.

  She headed into the bathroom and turned on the water. “I’m taking a shower.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Are you coming?”

  “Only after you.” His jeans and boxers came down in a single movement.

  Before she knew it, he was behind her, his hands clasped around her waist, his mouth on her shoulder. He twisted her hair and pulled it back. He sucked her earlobe. She moaned softly as the hot water pelted her skin. His hand traveled lower. He penetrated her sensitive flesh with his fingers. She leaned back against his strong chest and closed her eyes. He kissed down her jaw line and neck. She reached her hands back and roughed through his too long hair. He thrust inside of her while whispering the sweetest words. She turned her head, taking in the intensity of his green eyes, the strong tilt of his jawline, and the firm grip of his large hands. He kissed her, hard and long, except it was more than a kiss. There was no doubt in her mind that he claimed every inch of her with his mouth and fingers and words.

  He positioned her hands flat against the tile. “Hold on for me.” His voice was deep and commanding. She’d made fun of his singing, but the truth was she could get lost in his voice. When he spoke, it caused a low rumble in her belly. The sound of their passion was a song she’d never tire of, one that called to her in every way. Whenever they were intimate, she felt as if she was discovering something new about him…something new about herself too.

  He entered her slowly, letting her get used to the position. He pushed gently at first, building as her moans increased. He placed his hands over hers, covering them completely. He had big, strong calloused hands. She’d never felt dainty or extremely feminine, except with him. She gave into every pulse-pounding sensation that was Tristan Sinclair. The pleasure hit. It drowned her in wave after beautiful wave.

  Chapter 31

  Tristan drove them to Malcolm’s brother’s house the next day. He watched as Farah unwrapped the snow globe and shook it. Tiny pink rocks floated around the mountain landscape. “I don’t remember the crystals in here. They’re pretty, aren’t they? They dance around the mountain like shooting stars.”

  He managed a half-hearted smile. Only she could find something lovely in the gruesome situation they were in. He loved that about her.

  It was a fairly large snow globe, almost the size of a cantaloupe. She shivered. Her mind was probably going back to the nightmares they shared.

  “You okay?” he asked, putting his hand on her knee.

  “Yes. Just nervous.” She folded the scarf. She carefully placed it and the snow globe back into Malcolm’s pack. “What are we going to say?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll
figure it out when we get inside.”

  They drove through a suburban area with look-a-like houses where the yards boasted signs advertising window and roofing companies. Tristan had to admit he was angry at Malcolm. The man had put them in danger. Put the woman he loved in danger. Tristan wasn’t going to write any songs for Malcolm or give his eulogy, but the man did have people who loved him. They lived here. A young woman, whose uncle had bought her special souvenirs from the other side of the world. Tristan tried to keep that in the forefront of his mind.

  “This is it,” Tristan said.

  He grabbed the pack with Malcolm’s belongings and the souvenirs. They had already looked through the luggage several times, searching for anything suspicious, but had found nothing. They hoped to get some answers, some type of clarity. Tristan wanted to believe the distance from the shooting kept them safe, but he wasn’t willing to place a wager on that.

  An older man with dark hair answered the door after the first knock.

  “David?” Tristan asked.

  David smiled and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Please come in.”

  It had been a long time since Tristan had been in an average American house. The kind of house where photo frames line the fireplace mantle and the China cabinets brimmed with trophies. They followed David to the living room and took a seat on the plaid couch he gestured to.

  “Our condolences,” Farah said. “We’re sorry for your loss. Malcolm was an important member of our team and an impressive alpinist.”

  Tristan had to commend her for the description. He himself was trying to search for the right words on his feelings regarding Malcolm. Even if he didn’t have anything to do with the shooting and it was a random act, the man was gruff, and the few times he did speak, it was to complain. But even if he had been injured and unconscious most of the time, the three of them had struggled in that snowstorm together. The idea he could survive all that and die senselessly from a gunman’s bullet left a bitter taste in Tristan’s mouth.

  David nodded. “It’s hard to believe. I told him not to go to such a dangerous country.” He shook his head. “Shot in a hospital, for God’s sake.”

  “Are you a mountaineer too?” she asked.

  He laughed. “Me? No. I like to keep my feet firm on the ground. He gestured to the pack in Tristan’s hand. “Is that his pack?”

  “Yes,” Tristan said.

  David held out his hand. “Thank you for bringing it all this way.”

  Tristan didn’t relinquish it. “May we ask you some questions about Malcolm?”

  “Actually, I have to pick up my kid from soccer practice. She’s taking the news hard.”

  “I’m sorry,” Farah said. “Are you having a service?”

  “My brother wouldn’t want that. He was a quiet man. I’m sorry I don’t have time to spend with you today. Perhaps another time.”

  “We’re only in town for today,” Tristan said.

  David checked his watch just as the phone rang. “Excuse me.”

  Tristan stood and stretched. He looked around the room, pausing to study the photos on the fireplace. Farah walked over to a table by the entryway. He watched her in his peripheral. Even though it was only a few feet, any distance between them made him nervous.

  Stop it. You’re acting like a fool.

  He turned back to the mantle. Most of the photos were of a girl at varying ages. The few with adults featured a stocky man with a toothy smile and a red-haired woman. He heard David moving around in the other room. He’d expected a token picture of Malcolm. Even Tristan, who had lived in a small shack in Nepal, had a photo of Drew. But even more disturbing, he did not see any photos of David. And the girl in the photo didn’t look anything like him. She had blond hair and Nordic features like Malcolm. In the most recent photo, she was in her early twenties. David acted as if she were a child.

  There was something missing. Some piece. He racked his brain, searching for it.

  Malcolm had only mentioned one niece. She was in college. Why would she need a ride home from soccer practice? He reasoned his mind was searching for an explanation, so he didn’t trust his conclusions fully. Still, it was possible.

  He turned to Farah, about to open his mouth. She was already facing him across the room. “We need to go,” she said.

  “I know. Something’s off.”

  They had both come to the same end.

  He tightened his hold on Malcolm’s pack and headed for the door. His heart beat in his chest, a warning drum. He practically pushed her out of the house, keeping her in front of him. They had reached the car when an angry David came barreling out of the house.

  “Where the hell are you going?”

  “We’ll be back,” Tristan said, having no idea what else to say.

  “Stop right there.”

  Tristan fumbled for his keys, giving David just enough time to pull out a black metal object from his pocket.

  Shit.

  Farah got into the car. Thank God, he had left the doors unlocked. His normally steady hands shook as he held up the keys. Then he dropped them. “Fuck!”

  He arched his back as sharp pain emanated from his shoulder. He bent to retrieve the keys and then practically dove into the car. Something loud and menacing whizzed by his ear. He reversed, his foot bearing down on the accelerator. The tires squealed, leaving behind the caustic scent of burnt rubber in their path.

  Her breaths came loud and harsh. He took her hand and squeezed. “Are you okay?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Farah.”

  Her eyes widened as she took him in. “He shot you.”

  Tristan had suspected the sharp pain was a bullet. They had no time to pull over. He moved forward in his seat. “How bad does it look?”

  “I don’t think the bullet is in there, but I can’t tell for sure. We need to wash out the wound.”

  “Not right now.”

  “Tristan…”

  “I’ll stop as soon as I feel it’s safe.” He had no clue when that would be.

  Tristan sped through several blocks of residential homes until he finally came to a four-lane divided main street.

  “What tipped you off?” he asked her.

  “I was just thinking about Malcolm. I remembered the conversation that night I told the story of Koh-i-Noor. He said his brother was supposed to go with him to Kala Patthar. But this man said he didn’t climb.”

  “Good memory. Yeah, he wasn’t in any of the photos on the mantle either. Not to mention his daughter was older.”

  “I’m fairly certain Malcolm told me his niece was in college on the west coast. Could he have more than one niece or one brother?”

  “I only heard him mention the one and just saw the one in the photos. Do you think that was their house?”

  “Yes. The mail was all addressed to David Ball. The same name as Malcolm.”

  Except, that man, the one with the gun, wasn’t David Ball.

  Tristan checked the rearview mirror. He switched lanes.

  “It was strange to me that he didn’t seem very interested to hear about his brother.”

  He turned right onto another busy street. “Put your seatbelt on, Farah. And hang on. I need to make some quick turns up here.”

  “Why?” She slid on her seatbelt.

  “Because he’s following us.”

  The black SUV with tinted windows had been behind them since they’d come onto the major street. It had stayed a few cars back, but moved with them in each new direction. Tristan wasn’t familiar with the area, but he wagered David, or whoever the fuck he was, had the same handicap. He wished the rental place had options for a manual transmission. He didn’t feel enough control driving an automatic, nor was he used to it.

  He inched his foot down the accelerator. Farah screamed as the car in front of t
hem slowed down to stop for the yellow light ahead. Tristan veered right and passed four lanes of traffic as the light turned red.

  The black SUV, having no choice, screeched to a stop.

  Tristan took the ramp onto the expressway. Once he was sure they had lost the SUV, he pulled out his phone. He thought about calling Elliot, but he had no idea what to tell him. Help, random people are shooting at us…again. He’d banked on the idea that the distance would keep them safe. Whatever was going on in Pakistan followed them to Albany. Elliot would be here soon anyway. It seemed better to have the conversation in person.

  He thought about his father too, but that would require a lot of explaining and listening to a chorus of well-intentioned lectures.

  He squeezed Farah’s hand. “We’re okay now.” He said, as much to confirm it for himself as her.

  “We’re not okay. What are we going to do? A man shot you.”

  “We need to find shelter. I know who to call.”

  Tristan almost lost hope at the fourth ring. Then a groggy voice answered, “Who the hell is this?”

  “Hello, mate.”

  “Sinclair? What the bloody hell is wrong with you? Do you know what time it is here? Oh wait, you’re here too.”

  “Actually, I’m not. I’m back in the States.”

  “Yeah? Then like I said, what the bloody hell are you doing calling me at this hour?”

  Tristan held the phone away from his ear. “Long story. Look, I don’t have time to explain, but I need a favor. Can I use your apartment for a day or two?”

  A few more choice words were exchanged before they disconnected.

  “Who was that?” she asked.

  “A friend. He has an apartment in the city. We can hide out there for a bit.”

  “What city?”

  “New York City.”

  Chapter 32

  Farah had searched through their luggage until she found a jacket for Tristan to wear over his shirt. After all, walking in with a large blood stain on your arm would draw suspicion. She tried to pretend that she belonged and this was all normal. But this was as far from normal as the moon was from the earth. When Tristan had said an apartment in the city, she’d expected a few rooms in a building, not a luxurious high rise in the city center with multiple floors, including one with just a swimming pool.