by Misty Evans
Snow crunched under his boots as he followed the tracks to the dilapidated house. The front steps were crumbling, the porch leaned to the south. Several windows on the front were broken. He stopped on the porch and heard the sound of voices. Muffled. He’d used this place before for shelter on other missions. It was out of the way and unobtrusive. The perfect spot to hide.
Cautiously, he moved through the screen door and into a living area. Following the voices, he stopped just outside what appeared to be the kitchen.
“So you two worked together before?” Jax was saying.
Silverware clinked, the sounds of someone rustling through a drawer met his ears. “Our paths crossed about a year ago, yes,” Charlotte answered. “How long have you known him?”
Redirection. Typical Charlotte.
“We landed on the same Team more than once when we were both SEALs. Figured he’d end up running a team at some point. Would have if not for his bum ankle.”
“And since he joined Emit’s group? Have you worked with him much?”
“A few times. He’s solid.”
The clinking of utensils stopped. Charlotte must have looked at Jax for clarification. Miles moved slightly, catching a glimpse of Charlotte’s back, her hair.
“You know,” Jax said. He was across the room, out of Miles’ view. “Once he trusts you, he’s got your back forever.”
Charlotte’s voice was light, breathy. “Good to know.”
“I say that because I like the guy. He’s a valuable part of our team.” The creak of a cabinet door opening and closing suggested he wasn’t looking at her. Playing things casual. “Don’t want to see him get hurt.”
A pause hung in the air and Miles could almost see Charlotte’s head moving in a slight nod. “Message received. It’s not my intention to hurt him. Emotionally, I mean. The mission we’re on, however, is a dangerous one. I can’t guarantee he won’t be harmed physically. All I can assure is that I’ll do my best to keep him safe.”
“Good luck with that. He’s got a protective streak a mile wide. If bullets fly, he’ll shove you out of the way and take every last one.”
Her sigh echoed in the high-ceiling room. “It’s rather charming, don’t you think? Very manly, the way he tries to shield everyone. Safeguard them. I’ve never had anyone do that for me.”
Jax snorted. “Charming? Never thought of it that way, but if you say so, Charlie.”
Jax was calling her Charlie now?
Charlotte clasped her hands in front of her. “As long as we’re being forthright, I need to explain to you how the rest of the mission will go.”
Miles could hear the smile in her voice, but there was steel underneath it.
“Go on,” Jax said. Wary. Miles felt a bit wary himself.
“As I’m sure you realize,”—her voice was spun sugar now—“a woman traveling with two men is rather…out of the ordinary.”
Jax was quick on the uptake. Miles knew he’d worked with spies before and never had much use for them. Regardless of Charlotte’s sugary voice and pleasant smile, he wasn’t giving ground. “If anyone asks, you can say I’m your brother.”
Her chuckle was light and conveyed that was the worst idea she’d heard in a long time. “I appreciate your dedication, but I’m afraid no one would believe us.”
Jax tried the stepbrother angle and even threw in something about adoption. Charlotte shut him down on all counts.
Finally, he gave in. “You want me to hang back or bow out completely?”
“Could you stay here while we continue onto Romania? That way if we need help, you’ll be close by.”
She was good, he’d give her that. She didn’t want Jax knowing where her cabin was, or the spot she’d hidden the USB. Like she’d told Miles, the fewer people who knew, the less chance there was that someone would end up in Nico’s hands spilling their guts.
She turned her head slightly to look out a window. “Miles and I will return here, if at all possible, and we’ll all fly home together.”
Was Jax buying this? Miles doubted it. Home to Charlotte wasn’t the States. Once she had her file, she would head straight to her handler, or maybe back to Vauxhall Cross.
Sliding around the doorframe, Miles leaned one shoulder against it. “Am I interrupting something?”
Charlotte jumped. Jax gave him a chin nod. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Miles,” Charlotte said. She’d braided her hair and her lips were shiny with pink gloss. She pointed to a bag on the floor. “We were just gathering a few extra supplies.”
They had the truck, weapons, the clothes on their backs, and some food. They could use a map and a few other things, but he was curious. “Like what?”
“A map for one thing,” Charlotte said, withdrawing a folded one from her back pocket and holding it up. She waved it toward the bag on the floor. “We also found some silver to sell or barter, extra batteries, and a couple pair of traction cleats to put on the bottoms of our boots for when we climb in the mountains. I think with our other supplies and the cash, we won’t need to stop at any stores.”
“I also grabbed a few tools I found in the barn,” Jax said. “A couple of knives and some oil for the truck, just in case. There’s a generator out back, but it’s not portable.”
They’d been busy. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You kidding?” Jax snickered. “After you almost shot me last night in the trees, we figured you needed some sleep, man.”
Charlotte walked to the kitchen table, spreading the map out on the linoleum top. “We have a long trip today. By my calculations we’re here.” She pointed to a spot on the map, then ran her finger along a winding line that crossed the border into Romania and skirted the mountains. “We’re heading to this area. I’ve sent the route and coordinates to your phone.”
She seemed chipper, ready to go. Almost excited. Miles wished he felt the same. He followed the line her finger had traced and mentally calculated the distance. A six to eight hour drive, depending on the roads and the weather. “We better get hauling then.”
Charlotte gave him a smile that made his lower gut tingle as she refolded the map. “I’ll gather some food from the plane’s kitchen and be ready to go shortly.”
She practically skipped out of the farmhouse, leaving him and Jax to haul the load of supplies back.
Outside in the bright sunlight, Jax broached the subject Miles had overheard him discussing with Charlotte. “Your girl wants to ditch me.”
Up ahead, she was already at the plane, climbing the steps. “I heard.”
“What’s she up to?”
He wanted to say nothing. She was simply going after this USB. Or maybe, his ego said, she wanted to be alone with him to fuck his brains out. He could get behind that. “The mission is to get to the caves and retrieve an item of intel she left there, take it back to London and give it to MI6.”
“So she says.”
“Nicolae Bourean kidnapped and tortured her after I left here nine months ago. She may have some revenge in mind.”
Jax shrugged, keeping his pace steady but slow so they could talk. “Can’t blame her for that. You?”
“I’d like to take some revenge on his ass myself.”
“As long as you know what you’re getting into and you’re cool with it.” Jax hefted the supply bag higher on his shoulder. “You want me to do as she says? Hang back and wait for your call?”
“The spot we’re heading to is pretty remote. If we get in trouble, I’d prefer you were a little closer.”
“That old Jeep in the barn needs a tune-up but I used the Land Rover to jump start it this morning and it purred like a kitten. I found a battery charger and hooked it up. Should be ready to roll by now. I’ll give you guys an hour head start, then I’ll follow.”
They neared the Land Rover and Miles nodded. “Let Beatrice know the plan, okay?”
“Damn straight. She scares the shit of me. It’s like she can read my mind, man. No way I’m cros
sing her or pissing her off by not reporting in.”
Smart man. Miles slapped him on the back and took the supply bag from him to shove in the truck. “You got any GPS trackers on this?”
“Two, and a couple on your girl. She doesn’t know it.”
His girl. The words made his pulse skip around. “You better not let her hear you call her that.”
Jax grinned. “She’s a hellcat, isn’t she?”
She’s something. “The ‘girl’ moniker will earn you a punch in the nose.”
They headed for the plane. “If you run into that asshole Bourean, make him bleed for me too. Make sure he can never hurt her, or anyone else, again.”
Miles bumped fists with him before he climbed the stairs. “Deal.”
Chapter Twelve
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THE LAND ROVER bumped over potholes, climbing the hill to the top as the farmhouse and barn grew smaller behind them.
Charlotte held onto the door handle, the rough terrain jostling her from side to side. Finally, they were on their way.
Even so, it had been ridiculously hard to watch Miles sleep and not wake him up and get him going. The light covering of snow on the ground was a harbinger of what was to come. Winter in these parts was harsh and any day now could bring a sudden and violent storm. She had no intention of getting stranded in those mountains again.
They crested the hill and headed west, Miles quiet. Was he still tired?
Watching him sleep in the plane had given her a sense of calm, reminding her of the nights when he was injured and she’d stayed awake to watch him sleep in case his fever got too high or he woke and needed a drink. He was normally restrained, quiet, except in bed. There, he was anything but subdued. Outside of sex, though, he kept things to himself. Behind his eyes, she could see the wheels in his head turning. Always analyzing, always planning his next move.
Of course, he’d insisted on driving today. Such a man.
They drove a good half hour or longer before he finally spoke. “You going to tell me what you’re up to?”
“Up to?”
“Why’d you want Megadeth to stay behind?”
“You can stop calling him that. He told me his name is Jaxon.”
Miles quirked one brow, his gaze never leaving the road. “He told you that, did he?”
“He may not trust me completely, but he trusts me with that. Also told me a bit about his childhood. We had a nice conversation in the farmhouse. He thinks quite highly of you.”
“Why did you want him to stay back at the plane? The real reason you wanted to leave him behind?”
“I have a plan and it will work better if it’s just the two of us.”
“Don’t you think you should share that plan with me?”
“When the time comes.”
Miles braked. Hard. Charlotte flew forward, her seatbelt locking up. “For goodness’ sake! What are you doing?”
“Tell me the plan now or we turn around and head back.”
She stared at him, narrowing her eyes.
“Now, Charlotte. I’m not kidding.”
Was it possible he knew her better than she’d thought? “I told you. We cross the border today, get to the cabin later tonight. Tomorrow morning, we hike to the caves, retrieve the USB, and start back.”
“You’re leaving out details. Why?”
So maybe she was. It was too early in the journey to tell him everything. “The details may change. No sense locking them into stone at this point.”
“I know you’re afraid Jax will get hurt if he’s with us. That’s why you asked him to stay behind, isn’t it?”
Of course, she didn’t want Jaxon to get hurt. “That’s why I tried to talk you out of coming, if you’ll recall. I’ve survived a lot in my life. I know how to endure pain and soldier on. And while I’m sure both of you can handle quite a bit of danger and such as well, I also know both of you have something to go back to. You started your lives over, found the right job for your skill set. You have a life in San Diego and a future with SFI.”
“You have a life to go back to. Your parents, your brother.”
She really didn’t. “My mother is dead. My father and brother couldn’t care less about me.”
“Your file didn’t state your mother had passed.”
The whole thing had been covered up. Her father had forbidden her to talk about it. Not that that had stopped her. “She was murdered.”
Miles’ face clouded with concern. “Charlotte, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
One of the conditions of her agreement with MI6 was that she could look for her mother’s killer in her downtime. A lot of good that had done her. Four years later, she was no closer to finding the bastard than when she’d been eleven and strapped to a bed at the looney bin. “That’s because someone doesn’t want it known.”
His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
She hadn’t spoken of it in years. When you told people your mother had been murdered but there was no proof—and that your father had had you committed—they tended to look at you differently. She hated that look. Another reason she’d stopped talking about it a long time ago.
What would it hurt to do so now? It was a long story, but they had a long drive ahead of them. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yeah, I really do.”
He thought that now, but once she told him, things would change between them. She was sure of it. It always did.
But the cat was out of the bag. At least he wasn’t asking her to go into detail about her op.
Settling back in her seat, she motioned for Miles to drive. He took his foot off the brake and they once more started forward.
Only for Charlotte, she felt like she was being sucked backward, at least in time. “My mother was a good seamstress, as I mentioned. So good, in fact, she opened a small shop in a strip of businesses not far from Embassy Row that catered to the international community. She worked with everyone from Vietnamese to South Africans. Word got around, and soon she had some pretty impressive clients. Duchesses and other royal ladies. Everyday after lessons, I would go to the shop and help out.
“There were Gypsies, too, some from Romania, others from neighboring countries. They all knew each other, even though many didn’t get along. The Roma women brought my mother business. One of the men—he was said to be a tinker from Ireland with some Roma blood in him—regularly stopped by to help her with maintenance on the building when my father was away. Dad was away a lot.”
She told him a few of the little things, details that came back to her about her mom and the shop. Like how every Wednesday, the women would gather in the backroom to drink tea with rum and spices and rokker—talk. How she never liked the tinker even though he fixed the plumbing when it backed up and installed better lighting in the backroom where her mother sewed.
“One day, I was late getting to the shop. A violent storm had broken out right before the school bell released us and I stayed under some shelter until it was over. By the time I got to Mum’s shop, it was dark. The front door was locked and the sign said closed. I thought she was angry with me and had closed up early. Or maybe the storm had scared her and she was hiding in the back.”
In her mind, she saw the cobbled street, wet from the rain. The gas lamps springing to life. “I went around to the alley. A gunshot echoed from my mum’s shop. I started running, but I slipped on the slick pavement and went down. When I looked up, there was a man hurrying out of the back entrance. He took off down the alley as I got to my feet and I saw black smoke coming out one of the windows. I ran to them and peeped in, saw my mother lying on the floor. Blood blooming on the front of her chest.” Her words sounded dispassionate, but inside, she felt the enormous weight that had always been there, choking her. She had to swallow past it, past the peach pit lodged in her throat. “They said the explosion that followed was caused by a gas leak. It threw me back a
couple of meters and slammed me into the opposite wall. It took out the shop next to hers. My mother’s body was nothing but ash and bones when they finally dug through the debris and found her. I suffered a concussion and some scrapes and bruises.”
“Who was the man you saw running from the shop? Did they catch him?”
“They told me I made it up, that my concussion caused me to remember the situation wrongly. I didn’t see his face and couldn’t make a solid ID, but I know it was him. The Gypsy man. I’ve been looking for him ever since that night.”
“You think he shot her and then tried to cover it up with the explosion.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I think my father does, but he’s always refused to discuss it. I wouldn’t shut up about it and I caused quite a stir. My father had to be out of the country a lot and finding anyone to watch after me and my brother was challenging. Losing our mother, our father being out of the country so much, and me running around claiming our mother was murdered was too much for my brother. He retreated into his head, which caused my father to blame me. The doctors put me on drugs, but they messed with me to the point I was a zombie, so I quit taking them. I ran away from home, tried to find the man. Finally, my father had me committed. For six months, I lived in an institution. Drugs in my veins kept me zombie-fied. They strapped me down any time I raised my voice or asked a question because they said I was upsetting the other patients.”
At least this time, when Miles slammed on the brakes, he’d already yanked the truck over to the side of the road. Before she could protest, he pulled her across the shifter and into his arms.
“Jesus Christ, what an awful life you’ve lived,” he said into her hair.
One hand was on her back, the other on the back of her head. She took a deep breath, enjoying his scent and sunk into the embrace. It was good to be held.
“I’m okay,” she said, chin on his shoulder. The quiet, forest road had been mostly empty, but now a car buzzed around them. “I’m not one of those people who dwells on the bad stuff, and like I told you before, my parents and my brother made me the agent I am today. That whole incident changed my perception of the world and how to live in it. I realized on the anniversary of my mother’s death that I either had to become the daughter my father needed and the sister my brother needed, or I’d end up in a facility until I turned eighteen. By then, I’d be so brain dead from the drugs, I’d never be able to live on my own. I straightened out, and even though I secretly never gave up my quest to find out what happened that night, I quit talking about it. I righted the ship, as they say. I went back to school, learned how to manage my brother and his condition, and behaved myself when Dad went out of town on assignments and we had a live-in nanny.