Wes dropped a hot kiss onto her neck before edging back to look at her, the emotion in his glowing amber eyes clear as day.
“You’re the first and only woman I ever loved, Sammy,” he admitted, a tender smile softening his face as he trailed gentle fingers down her spine. “I knew I missed you, but—” Wes dropped his head, mouth meandering along the column of her throat. “—I could swear my heart’s about to burst.”
Sam cradled him against her, trying to stay still in the moment, let the feelings and mess of emotion rush in and drench her. Who knew when she’d be able to do this again? To share love with someone who knew her so well.
“Say something,” he murmured, eyes closing as he laid his head against her.
Sam smiled, her body tender where they remained joined.
“Hi,” she whispered in the quiet of the room.
“Hi,” Wes smiled against her throat.
“I give you an inch and you take a mile, Wesley Elliott,” she teased. “Guess you really haven’t changed.”
“No,” he laughed against her. “Guess I haven’t when it comes to miles with you.”
Sam wrapped her fingers around her old dog tags, letting the plates rest in her closed palm. “You know we needed this, you and I,” she conceded. “We never really got the closure. It was always just sort of question mark between us, hanging out there.”
Wes pulled back, shooting her a surprised look. “If you thought that was closure, Sammy, then I ain’t doin’ it right.”
She let her hand drift down his jaw. “My team’s out in the desert, watching for my enemy, Wes,” Sam reminded him gently. “As much as I might wish I could stay here with you like this, now’s not the time to start anything up again.” She smoothed the frown from his mouth. “You understand that, right?”
She watched Wes debate arguing with her over taking what he could get.
“This isn’t an end, Sammy,” he announced finally. “I hear what you’re saying, but if you think for one second I’m willing to call this anything other than a homecoming, you’re kidding yourself—”
Sam cut him off with a kiss. Wes resisted at first, mouth stiff with the remnants of his argument, but then he relinquished, kissing her back with ferocity, like he was proving a point.
When she drew back, fingers running over the high angle of his cheekbones and the tawny wings of his brows, Sam felt her heart get it’s healing. A healing she hadn’t even realized she’d so badly needed with Wes. Now she had a beautiful ending to what had once been one of her most painful stories.
“Thank you for loving me, Wesley,” she whispered, touching his tattoo, their initials indelibly entwined in his skin. “It doesn’t hurt anymore to remember us,” she admitted.
Wes drew back momentarily, hearing the multiple meanings behind her words, his bright eyes clouding as he clasped her hand, pressing it against his heart.
“Why does that sound like a goodbye, Sammy?”
Sam lifted her head, glancing at her watch. “It’s time to go, Wes. We have to meet your contact in an hour.”
*
Dec 21st—3:06pm
Leviathan Risk International Headquarters, London
J A C K
Lightner’s guards relieved Jack and Mitch of their attachés, quickly frisking them both, confiscating their room keys, mobile phones, wallets, and Jack’s stash of Percocets. He felt high color burnish his cheeks as Lightner held up the pill bottle.
“What are these?” Lightner asked idly, shaking the bottle.
“Ambien,” Jack lied. “For the jet lag.”
Mitch raised his brows, sending him a look. He knew damn well those weren’t Ambiens. Christ, Jack did not want to have an intervention while Lightner was pointing a gun at their chests.
After Lightner’s guards dragged the bodies of Jack’s security detail into a storage unit off the parking area, Lightner led them back to a freight elevator in the bowels of the building, confusing the hell out of them and distracting Mitch from Jack’s obvious slip-up. As soon as the elevator door opened onto an empty floor undergoing construction, Jack was able to hear the throng of sirens and people clogging the streets below, though the sound was muffled through thick sheets of plastic tarp covering the windows.
Of course, he realized. Why would Lightner, armed and with two hostages, try to leave a building that would likely be evacuated? All roads were now being closed off, and the few arteries into and out of the city would soon be heavily guarded by police and military personnel. Keeping them in Leviathan’s office building was the perfect location to get what he needed from Jack, and he could then either leave him and Mitch to be found within a day or two, or worse, leave them for dead.
Jack glanced around. There was only a smattering of construction equipment, paint cans, and a work table with a couple of folding chairs on the broad expanse of the floor. The guards tied him and Mitch to chairs while Lightner watched, sitting lightly at the edge of the table, gun resting on his leg as he watched them.
“Where is Samantha, Jack?” he asked casually, like they were discussing football scores or the performance of the market.
Jack smiled grimly. “Didn’t you hear? She broke up with me.”
“And yet you buy out her top competitor?” Lightner’s brows lifted in mock surprise. “That either makes you one hell of a sore loser or a poor sod willing to do anything to get his woman back.”
“Oh, I’d say I’m probably a bit of both,” Jack conceded on a shrug, testing the tightness of the ties keeping his hands bound together.
“And you’re his business partner and de facto consigliere, Mr. Gartner,” Lightner said as he transferred his gaze to Mitch. “You must have had some thoughts about Jack’s rather radical departure from the property development industry.”
“At first, I was against it,” Mitch admitted. “But I understand what he’s trying to do.”
“And what exactly are you trying to do with my business, Jack?” Lightner asked, glancing back at him.
“It’s my business now, Lightner,” Jack pointed out. “There’s no way you can get it back. And even if you did, what are you going to do?” he asked. “Miraculously rise from the dead to run it again? You said yourself that you burned your identity—”
“No, you burned my identity,” Lightner snapped, his temper and hostility flaring briefly.
“Bullshit,” Jack retorted. “I may have bought you out, but I didn’t play dirty to do it. Any other bad luck you’ve been experiencing is entirely on you, Lightner. I had nothing to do with that.”
Lightner leaned back, crossing his arms. “Now why don’t I believe you?”
“Believe what you want,” Jack shrugged. “The fact remains, the only thing I took that belonged to you was your business. And the way I see it, all’s fair in love and war. In my case, you got dealt a bit of both.”
Jack felt movement behind him, sensed rather than saw Lightner’s men step closer to him and Mitch. Lightner held up a hand to stay them.
“What did you do with the money, Jack?” he asked in a silky voice.
“Your stocks?” Jack replied. “I thought that was obvious.”
“No,” Lightner shook his head. “The Swiss accounts. The Caymans, Singapore—”
“Got no idea what you’re talking about,” Jack answered.
Lightner moved quickly. Even though Jack managed to shift his head to avoid the full blow of the hit, he still received a good hammering with the butt of Lightner’s gun. The blow was just shy of stunning. Thankfully, it didn’t knock him out, but Jack felt blood trickle down the side of his face. He glared up at Lightner standing above him. He could feel the flush on his cheeks, the anger shooting sparks from his eyes even as his head throbbed.
“Look at me, Lightner,” he spat out in a low voice. “I. Do. Not. Know. What. You’re. Talking. About,” Jack enunciated through gritted teeth. “That clear enough for you?”
Lightner’s lip curled. He extended his hand and shot Mitch in the t
high. His best friend hollered out in pain, crumpling over as Jack stared at the bloody wound in abject horror, unable to do anything.
“I want my money and I want Samantha Wyatt, Jack,” Lightner said smoothly over Mitch’s pained bellowing. “That clear enough for you, Jack?”
*
Dec 21st—3:24pm
Three blocks away from Leviathan Risk International Headquarters, London
R O X A N N E
Her disguise was gone. Rox managed to staunch her bloody nose, but she knew she looked like a goddamn mess. To top it off, she couldn’t locate Lightner’s phone, so he must have left it in the car when it blew up.
Rox trudged past the burned-out remains of businesses and storefronts, dense black smoke still billowing from the wreckage as people mulled about; some helping, others hysterical, many lost. The damp London sky was filled with thick gray dust, the air scented with the heavy, dank scent of wet char, burnt rubber, and human remains.
Feeling disoriented and sore, Rox looked up at the few once manicured trees lining the road, now just skeleton silhouettes hovering over the tragic scene of people staggering, faces dirty, clothes torn. Police, medical and military personnel arrived, swarming the scene in triage, carrying stretchers out of ambulances along with medical supplies. She saw one soldier holding an assault rifle in one hand, a first aid kid in the other. The surge of inappropriate laughter that came out of her mouth snapped her out of her malaise.
She had to get out of here. And she had to find Lightner.
But first she needed to become invisible again.
Rox watched as a fire truck pulled in closer to the rubble. Saw the face masks and reflective stripes on the men’s uniforms. She moved in closer as they surrounded the crater, water shooting with incredible force from massive hoses. Rox shed her dirty puffy coat, wrapping it around a disoriented older woman who was talking to herself in shock. She murmured soothing sounds to the woman, leading her closer to the fire truck.
“Miss, you can’t be here—”
Rox allowed crocodile tears to fill her eyes as she looked up at the fireman who’d intercepted them as they neared the truck.
“She’s lost. I didn’t know where else to go,” Rox told him brokenly, gesturing at the older woman. “I didn’t know what to do. I’m an American here on vacation…” she trailed off as the fireman’s eyes gentled.
He took in the older woman, who was still mumbling to herself and clutching Rox’s jacket around her thin frame. Putting his arm across the older woman’s shoulders, the fireman led her to a nearby medic. Rox used the opportunity to weave through additional firefighters who were rushing past in the opposite direction. She found what she needed in the opened side compartment of their truck, quickly shrugging on the jacket and grabbing a spare hat and mask. She thanked her stars she was wearing black pants and boots already. The rest would be easy to fake.
Rox made it down the block inside a minute, picking her way into an upheaved and abandoned coffee shop. She stumbled into the cramped restroom, washing the soot and blood from her face, wincing a little at the bruising already forming over the bridge of her nose, thankful she hadn’t broken it again. The cut on her lip could use a couple stitches but nothing that couldn’t wait. She felt around her rib cage—sore but not broken.
Rox upended her bag: phone, gun, keys, wallet with a fake ID but real cash. She tucked what she could into her cargo pants before she checked the magazine of the gun she’d procured the day before. Ten rounds. Satisfied, she tucked it into the back of her pants before sliding the fireman’s jacket back on.
Tying her dark hair back, Rox donned the fireman’s mask, watching her face disappear in the dingy bathroom mirror. She made sure everything was snug and secure before she slid on the fire helmet. Now she’d be able to move freely around the disaster zone while she tracked down Lightner.
Rox had a strong suspicion he was hiding in his own building. Why go through all the trouble of blowing up his own identity so close to Leviathan HQ without capitalizing on the distraction in some meaningful way?
Rox left the café, turning down the road in the opposite direction of the blast.
She was dealing with a ghost now, but maybe that was better. She’d already been a ghost for years. He’d have to think like her. At least in that sense, they were playing on her turf now…
Chapter 30
Dec 21st—Evening
Herat City, Afghanistan
W E S L E Y
Wes sat in the tired, dusty old restaurant of the Mowafaq Hotel, tucked between the Old City of Herat and the blandly-named New Town. He drank a decent cup of coffee, looking out of the restaurant windows at the towering minarets, partially silhouetted against the fading sunset. Women hurried down the wide avenues in full, flowing chadors. He noticed a couple of them wearing Converse, smiling to himself at the subtle hint of encroaching modernity in this ancient trading city. Glancing at his watch, he noted that he still had a few minutes before his contact was meant to arrive.
“Stop fidgeting,” Sam drawled through his earpiece.
Wes chuckled her bluntness, resisting the urge to glance at Avi and Henri sitting a few tables away, dressed like wealthy Middle Eastern businessmen. They pulled on apple-scented shisha pipes, their low-hum conversation punctuated by the occasional chuckle.
Wes lifted his coffee cup, hiding his mouth behind it as he replied, “I’ve been meeting contacts for years, Sammy. Just never had anyone in my ear before.”
“Would you prefer Simon or perhaps Rush?” she replied, humor tinging her voice. “I can go get them if you’d prefer.”
“Hell, no,” Wes muttered, sipping his coffee. “The last thing I need is Simon whispering sweet nothings in my ear.”
“Oh? You two got something going I should know about?” she replied, and Wes could just imagine her smirk.
“Michaelson’s got a massive crush on me. It’s getting kind of embarrassing. He really needs to stop.”
“Been throwing himself at you, huh?” she replied, amused.
Wes smiled out the window. “I only want one person throwing herself at me.”
Sam laughed softly, but said nothing else. Wes pushed down his worries and with it the shard of self-doubt that had wedged itself like a splinter under his skin since they’d made love that afternoon. Sam’s withdrawal was infinitesimal but there… first emotionally, then physically, as she stepped away to get cleaned up and ready for the meet. She’d squeezed his ass playfully as he slid back into his jeans, but Wes knew her—knew she was creating distance. It was a good shield, but he’d known her since before she knew how to play those games. Hell, he’d taught her how to play at least half of them.
He was so lost in his thoughts about Sam and the intimacy they shared that afternoon, he was a little startled when an Afghani teenager with café au lait skin and toffee-colored eyes sat down in front of him, exhibiting all the cocky belligerence only youth could afford. The kid was dressed in jeans, a long traditional jacket, and a white kufi hat. Wes could tell he thought of himself as a tough. He was still young enough to be bold—bold enough to meet with an American journalist anyway.
“You’re not exactly who I was expecting,” Wes drawled, sitting back.
“I am Reza,” the boy answered, his English fairly strong if not heavily accented. “I am Ajmal’s eldest son,” he said, referring to Wes’s contact inside Nazar’s processing facility.
Wes lifted a brow. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
Reza extended his hand, showing Wes the piece of paper he’d given Ajmal with his contact number when they’d first met a couple days ago.
“Where’s your father?” Wes asked, sipping his coffee.
Reza glanced around the restaurant, his nervousness and inexperience showing for the first time. “My father could not come,” Reza explained, his eyes darting to the passing waiter. “Nazar has all the men working tonight. He must make the shipment ready for the plane in the morning.”
&
nbsp; “Do you know what time the shipment’s going out?” Wes asked.
Reza shook his head. “I took my father his dinner, and he tells me to come here and tell you ‘tomorrow morning.’ He does not know when, but they must work fast tonight. Nazar said they must make ready.”
Wes sat back, evaluating the boy.
“Do you believe him?” Sam asked in his ear.
Did he believe him?
It could very well be a trap. No real way to tell. But if he didn’t fulfill his end of the bargain, they’d never know.
“Under the table, there’s an envelope,” Wes told him. “Half now, half later if the information is good.” Wes took another casual sip of his coffee.
Wes watched the boy feel under the table, peeling off the envelope that was taped to the bottom before tucking it into his pocket. His eyes darted around the room furtively.
“Well try not to look so sneaky about it,” Wes drawled into his cup.
The kid shot him a look.
“If this information is bad, I’ll find you, Reza,” Wes continued. He lifted the camera sitting next to him and took a rapid succession of shots at the kid’s surprised face. “I’ll post a story in newspapers and on the internet calling you out as a snitch. How’ll that look?” Wes remarked as the kid shot him a surly look. “I won’t even need to kick your ass, Reza. Your so-called friends’ll do it for me.” He considered the kid with lifted brow. “Got it?”
Reza stared at him hard, his mouth working as he struggled not to talk back.
“Go on now,” Wes told him. “Time’s a wastin’.”
Reza nodded once before sauntering out of the restaurant with all the attitude he could muster.
Wes glanced outside again. Night had fallen over Herat City, washing the buildings and wide avenues in an eerie, hazy gold from the fluorescent street lights.
“What do you think?” Wes murmured as he looked out the window.
“I think that was a nice try, but we’re keeping that kid for insurance,” Sam replied.
“You’re in the kidnapping business now?” Wes’s brow furrowed.
Complicated Creatures: Part Two Page 31