by Ronie Kendig
Almost instantly, Khalid stood in front of her. “It's okay. It’ll be over soon, Miss America.” He massaged her arms, then her hands. “Just relax and let it pass.”
Fury shot through her. Why did she have to suffer this debilitating disorder? Hot tears streaked down her cheeks. Tears? When was the last time she cried? She could kill her father for what he’d caused …
“Hey,” Khalid whispered, wiping the drops away. “Shiloh, take it easy. You’re getting too worked up.”
Finally, she exhaled and slumped into his arms. “I hate it.” She groaned. “They’re getting worse, Khalid. They’re getting worse.”
“No.” Khalid crouched so they were eye-to-eye. “You’re stressed. That's going to increase the seizures. The neurologist told you stress will do that, remember?”
Half-nodding, half-shaking her head, she wanted to be … normal.
With his arm around her shoulders, Khalid led her toward her bedroom. “I think you should rest, and I’ll do the same. Our wonderful news has left me feeling a bit winded.”
She allowed him to direct her to the bed, then dropped onto the mattress. “Are you sure this is what you want for a wife? A cripple?”
Khalid sat next to her, his hand on hers. “You’re not a cripple. And without a doubt, you’re what I want, Shiloh. Every day that God has ordered for me, I want to spend it with you, with our family.”
Heart scalded, she could not bring herself to tell him the truth. She’d never told anyone.
He kissed her temple. “Get some sleep. I need to rest. See you in a couple of hours.”
Shiloh couldn’t meet his gaze. Would she need to tell him before they married? Would he cast her aside then? He’d vowed his love for her, but where was the line? At what point would he walk away? She pressed her palm to her stomach. He deserved a woman who could bear him a son or daughter.
Bereft, she eased herself against the mattress and bunched the blanket close. Getting engaged should be the happiest day of a girl's life. She batted the rogue tears and closed her eyes.
Nightmares invaded her sleep, taunting her with ghostly forms of Mikhail. She awoke with a start. Sticky and damp, she pushed herself from the bed. After a quick shower and a clean change of clothes, she wandered to the window that overlooked the courtyard.
Brilliant rays embraced her, permeating her with warmth and issuing an invitation to savor the new day. If only she could. She looked at the ring—the engagement ring.
What have I done?
A movement in the courtyard distracted her. She scanned the bricked area. What had caught her attention? A dark blur—there. By the alley. Seated at a table for four. Brutus.
Fuming, she sneered at him. Just then he lifted a glass and toasted her with a smile.
That no-good, low-down … He’d followed her! Adrenaline flooded her veins. He leaned back in the chair and sipped his drink as if this were just another day at the beach.
She’d love to kick the chair out from under the lug. Knock him flat on his back. Bring him down a few notches. How could he be so impudent? She needed to put an end to this right now. Her opportunity to drill him full of questions had presented itself.
Shiloh shot out the door and down the stairs. By the time she reached the ground floor, she wanted to pound some pain into the thug, but she had to play this cool. The heavy ring on her finger reminded her that she wasn’t her own anymore. If anyone saw her with the brazen idiot, her chastity could be called into question. While she didn’t give a shark's fin about that, she did care about how it would affect—and hurt—Khalid.
Stifling her rage, she crossed the open area and strode straight to the food vendor. Let Brutus sweat it out. She’d make him come to her this time. With each step, she felt his gaze boring into the back of her skull. At the vendor, she bought a platter of curried chicken and a bottle of water.
Seated at a table for two, she felt a haunting presence. She peeked up at the fourth floor of the hotel. Khalid. She waved, drawing a large smile from her betrothed. How could she confront Brutus in broad daylight with Khalid looking over her shoulder? Shiloh concentrated on not choking on the spicy curry, but it only agitated the acid boiling in her gut. Food finished and water mostly gone, she eyed the window. Closed. Curtain drawn.
Okay, enough.
On her feet, she strode straight for Brutus.
11
CONFIDENCE OOZED FROM HER BLUE-GREY ORBS. INDIGNATION TOO. Maybe outrage. Amusement trickled through him as Shiloh sat down across from Reece. If Shiloh Blake hadn’t been so enigmatically clever and perceptive, he might have chalked her up as a spoiled brat. But there was a method and decisiveness behind every move she made. Intriguing.
“I’m sorry.” Reece leaned forward and motioned toward the rickety wooden seat she occupied, toying with her. “That seat's taken.”
“Yes, actually, it is.”
Undaunted. How admirable. He pressed his spine into the spindles of his chair and lifted his soda from the table. It had taken two bottles of water, a lime soda, and a cola to drag the siren from her pen. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Leave me alone.”
“Excuse me, but aren’t you the one interrupting my fine afternoon?” Arms held wide, he looked up at the sky. “Here I am, enjoying a drink under the glorious Mumbai sun, and you barge in.” Reece clicked his tongue. Then with a serious look, he paused. “You aren’t following me, are you?”
Eyes narrowed into slivers, she scooted to the edge of her seat. “What do you want with me? Just go back to your hole and climb in!”
He widened his eyes and opened his mouth to speak.
“Don’t!”
He almost grinned.
“Look, I know everything you’re doing. I knew you were down here. I knew you were watching me.” She swiped at a loose curl the wind had tossed into her face. “Your actions and methods scream the obvious—you’re a spy.”
He laughed.
“Just stay away from me and my—Khalid. We aren’t hurting anyone, we didn’t do anything wrong, and we aren’t in any danger, so back off !”
His humor vanished. Elbow resting on the tiled table, he set down the bottle with a clink. “That's where you’re wrong. Dead wrong.”
She scowled, hesitant for the first time. “You’d like me to think that, wouldn’t you?”
Leaning to the side, he hunched closer. “Shiloh, you’ve got instincts, good instincts. So, you tell me. Would I be here, consuming a disgustingly warm drink just to lie to you?” He tipped the bottle and guzzled more. “Besides, I thought you knew what was going on.”
She glowered at him, but he saw her uncertainty too. That was more like it. Quick study.
“Who am I in danger from now? I’ve escaped three incidents, so I’m not exactly worried. It's getting a bit old, actually.”
“Just take a short walk with me. I’ll show you.”
“You must think I’m an idiot.”
“Quite the contrary.” He nudged his head toward the alley. “Take the walk.”
“Why, so you can kill me and then dump my body somewhere?”
“Do I look like the type?”
“A killer?” She arched her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t know. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself to whoever murdered my friends.”
Reece considered her as he finished his soda and chucked the bottle in a nearby trashcan. “If I wanted to kill—”
She held up a palm to him. “Don’t feed me some lame cliché.”
“It's about as cliché as you marrying Khalid.” Touché.
Her lips snapped into a hard line. Though he kept his eyes on her tightly controlled expression, he caught her turning the gold and ruby addition to her finger. Good. Get her thinking. And mad.
From his pocket, he withdrew a small plastic bag. Rubbing it between his fingers, he debated handing it over. Was it ethical? He chided himself, remembering the way she froze up on Jail Street and nearly got herself killed. What if she locked
up in the water? Or driving? He tossed the bag on the table.
She glanced at it.
“A drug not yet available to the public. It’ll stop the seizures. It's designed to combat your frontal lobe paralysis.”
No matter how good she was, Shiloh couldn’t hide her surprise this time. It rippled over her face, and her lips parted ever so slightly. She blinked. Her nostrils flared. For a second he wasn’t sure, but he thought her chin quivered. Then lightning-bolt fast, her encased, tight control clicked back into place. She hadn’t thrown the pill back at him. That he could work with.
Reece knew how to play her game. “Get up, walk down the alley behind you, and turn right. I’ll meet you at the end of the street in five minutes.” He stood and strolled away. Don’t give them time to refuse. Don’t give them time to think. Thinking killed instinct. Just like all the thinking she’d probably done convincing herself it was a good idea to marry Khalid Khan.
Nielsen had insisted Reece hand over the potential cure that her father had secured. Even sent a special courier with the tablet. But Reece was smart enough not to mention that little detail. If he had, she’d probably stomp the tablet to dust. He’d done his job and delivered the medication, but it niggled his conscience like an aneurysm. Bartering for her cooperation with a way to potentially cure her …
God, help me. Although he wasn’t sure what, Reece knew something was different about this mission. Of course, here was his deep-seated suspicion that the powers behind the dead-drop site had to be bigger than what Langley suggested.
As Reece slipped through the hotel, he lifted a baseball cap from his back pocket. He slid it on and tugged it down to shield his face. He’d take a diversionary path to the coordinates. Couldn’t afford to have the lackeys who were tailing Blake figure out his identity. Of course, she wasn’t the most discreet person he’d ever met. Her little stunt in the courtyard could have cost both of them their lives. However, his internal radar told him they weren’t compromised—yet.
He waited in the door well of a shop. His mind played over the recording taken from the hotel suite she shared with the Khan men. She’d agreed to marry the guy. How did that happen? Would he ever figure her out? He shrugged. Why did it bug him so much?
It didn’t matter. Shiloh would be on the first plane back to the States as soon as he could solve this little riddle. He would have sent her back sooner, but she seemed to be a magnet for trouble—the trouble he’d been trying to extinguish for the last five months.
With a glance at his watch, he tucked himself into the shadows. It had been five minutes. He wasn’t worried. Shiloh Blake was tough; she’d try to assume control by arriving later than he’d instructed. Two minutes more. She probably needed that long to figure out if she should trust him and take the pill.
How could he win the confidence of a woman who didn’t trust anyone? He could relate. Better to keep the invisible walls erected than to get a little too close and end up dead. Like Chloe. Roughing both hands over his face only heightened his frustration. Keep thoughts on positives. Thoughts on positives. If he chanted the mantra enough, maybe he’d flush the images of that disaster from his brain.
Exactly two minutes and twenty-eight seconds later Shiloh stood on the corner of the street, checking out a rack of scarves. If he’d played his cards right … Yep. A dozen paces behind her. Across the street … two men followed her. But who controlled these puppets? Who called the shots?
Shiloh remained where he’d told her to meet him. Reece strolled up beside her. Facing the opposite direction gave him a view of the other two thugs.
He leaned against a pole. “Take your time, but sight the two guys by the papaya vendor.”
Shiloh ran her fingers through those long, auburn tresses and played it cool as she searched the street. “Tan shirt and pants.”
“They’ve been following you since you left the hospital.”
“I’ve seen them.” Unruffled and borderline arrogant.
“Behind you, two dozen paces, an older woman and a young man.” Reece bent and tied his shoelaces. “I believe she cleaned your room this morning.” He heard Shiloh's sharp intake of breath. “Keep it easy. Cross the street.”
Without a moment's hesitation, she obeyed.
Good. She trusts me. He trudged in the other direction, stopping at a vendor and smelling the mangoes. Lifting one fruit and then smelling another, he caught her staring at him from a half-block away. Purposefully, he stepped around a man and his son, pausing next to them. Would she notice? The two had stalked her for days.
Her chin dropped as she shifted back toward the hotel. Yep, she recognized them. She had yet to let him down. Then again, why was she walking so fast?
Reece pressed a rupee into the vendor's hand as he bit into a mango. Having her out here involved a tactic he’d never reveal to her—luring out the real bad guys. The people following her now were only henchmen; they weren’t the firepower. If he got her into the open, then perhaps he could force the real threat to show their hand.
Bingo! With a careful flick of his wristwatch, he snapped photos of the two men emerging from a shop. Men in dark suits. Men with poorly concealed M16s.
Reece eased himself out of sight, sprinted down a side alley and through one intersection, narrowly avoiding a rickshaw. He banked left, heading straight for the hotel. Another intersection. He slowed. Around the corner, he spotted Shiloh approaching.
Their gazes collided.
“Are you trying to scare me?” she said.
The men were far enough away. “You said you weren’t in danger. I thought you should see what you’re up against and why I’m not leaving until I know you’re safely out of this country.”
“That's not happening. Not without my fiancé. If morons like you would just leave me alone, we’d be fine.”
Reece trained his attention on the two men coming fast from the southeast. One reached for his weapon. “I think I know a couple of guys who wouldn’t agree with you.”
Shiloh hesitantly glanced over her shoulder, then yanked back to him. “Who are they?”
“Bad guys.” He grabbed her arm and tugged her aside. “Step into the alley.”
“Maharashtra police! Stop!”
“Run!”
Brutus's words propelled Shiloh down the packed street. She whipped through families and mothers with children perched on their backs. Around cars and carts. Over dogs. In her periphery, big guy kept even with her. His hand reached toward her, and instinctively, she grasped it. He jerked her right, through an alley. Faster.
Thunderous steps. Her heart matched the noise. A metallic taste—the bitter aftertaste of the pill—filled her mouth. She pressed on. Behind them, shouts.
Brutus darted down another narrow street. Skidding on the dirt road, Shiloh nearly missed the turn. Her fingers dusted the ground, and her knee scraped concrete. She used the building to launch herself after him and quickly caught up. Almost as soon as she did, he broke off in another direction.
Wood erupted around her. She ducked and yelped. Shooting! Sirens wailed.
“Here,” Brutus said, once again snatching her hand and pulling her into darkness.
Flattened with her back against stucco, she steadied her breathing. He stood next to her with his back pinned against the wall too. She tried to peek past him but couldn’t see around his broad chest. Head tilted up, she gulped air. The big guy pressed a warm palm against her stomach. Gently, but firmly, he urged her farther into the dank recesses.
Running footsteps approached.
A beam of light struck his navy shirt. He tried to lean away. If they didn’t move, they’d be caught.
Her fingers slid along the wall, searching for an escape. The texture changed. She craned her neck left. A door! With care, she twisted the knob, hoping it would open. Creaking.
She checked Brutus. He watched the street.
Despite the noisy riot of the city, silence pervaded the street. Her skin crawled. Turning. Click. Her fingertips
pushed back the door until she eased out of the stoop. He didn’t seem to notice but scooted closer to her as if searching for a hiding place. Shiloh gripped his arm and tugged him into the dark space.
Brutus spun, apparently searching for his bearings. Their hands brushed. Nudging the door closed, she focused on the imprint her two-second recon afforded. Light evaporated less than a foot from him. Blackness. A lone streak of sunlight sliced into the abandoned shop. He lurched toward the opening, watching through the tiny slot between the door and jamb.
“Who are they?”
“Quiet.”
The beam fractured. Someone was coming!
He reached for her, made contact, and shoved her into the blackness of the corner. His arms wrapped around her as he tucked them both into the tight space. Dust tickled her nose, and plaster dug into her shoulder blades. The gentle creaking of boards seemed as loud as foghorns. Taut arms pushed against hers. A fresh, crisp scent filled her senses like a cool night on the beach.
He pulled up the hoodie on his sweatshirt and ducked his head. Hot breath swept her cheek and neck. Face-to-face, he let out a barely audible “shh” and nudged her head down.
Seconds later light erupted but never reached the far corner that concealed them. She gripped his arms. What if they were discovered? Would their pursuers kill them?
Sweat trickled down her spine. Shouldn’t it be weird—creepy, even—being this close to a man she barely knew? Though the darkness hampered her sight, Shiloh peeked at him. His profile seemed exaggerated with the light from the door. Head ducked, he watched as two men rushed in, shouting.
Shiloh stiffened.
The men mumbled something.
Brutus didn’t move, still monitoring their pursuers.
A salty bead dribbled down her face, over her neck, tickling and itching at the same time. She ground her teeth, demanding her body not twitch or freeze. Wouldn’t that be great? A seizure. During the paralysis, it would be fine, but coming out, she nearly always collapsed.
Gentle rubbing—his thumb along her forearm—awakened her to the fact Brutus was trying to calm her. How could he think with such dual purpose—preserving their lives and calming her? Maybe he figured she’d give them away. She considered him. Is that what this was about? His strong, angular jaw stood out against the dark material. A straight, slightly hooked nose added to his intensity.