Eternal Nights

by Patti O'Shea

  He went into the bedroom and reached for a clean uniform. His heart lurched as he saw the emptiness of the closet. Alex pushed aside the pain and grabbed his clothes. When he was dressed, he hooked his PDA to his belt and headed for the coffee.

  Mug in hand, he looked for somewhere to settle. The house was full of memories of her, though. Absently rubbing his chest with his free hand, Alex headed for the front porch, a place without any ghosts. No privacy either.

  “Chief Cantore.” Alex switched the mug to his left hand so he could return the salute. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to talk to you, sir.”

  Alex had opened his mouth to send the man on his way, when he remembered Thomas. If he’d listened to her, how much different would things be right now?

  “I want you to go into my house, grab yourself a cup and bring the coffeepot out here. If we’re going to have a serious conversation at this hour, I’m going to need caffeine, and you look as if you could use some yourself.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the man said, and Alex didn’t miss the quirk of Cantore’s lips before he went inside.

  Did he need this? The noncom was going to be a pain in the ass, Alex knew it, but he couldn’t fault the XO’s loyalty to his commanding officer. With a sigh, he sat in the chair on the far side of the porch, closed his eyes and took his first sip of coffee. He wasn’t sure how much he was going to say to Cantore. With no clue who was part of the smuggling ring, Alex had to be careful. Thomas had trusted Montgomery unequivocally—that was obvious in her notes—and she’d trusted Hunter because the kid had vouched for him, but she’d been wary of putting her faith in anyone else. Alex doubted that the XO was involved, but...

  But someone had taken out a Spec Ops officer and who better than another Special Forces soldier?

  When Cantore returned, Alex said, “Take a seat, Chief.”

  After putting the pot on the table, the man obeyed. For a moment, there was nothing but silence as they drank their coffee and enjoyed the quiet of early morning.

  Alex wasn’t going to let the silence last much longer; he wanted answers from Cantore about why he was waiting. It was early, even by military standards, and if Alex had been following his usual schedule, the man would have had another hour to cool his heels. After pouring himself another cup, Alex said, “Okay, we’ve both had coffee; what can I do for you?”

  There was a hesitation, and Alex tensed. “Colonel, we heard Edmonds and Wells went missing too.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.” The post was too small for something like this to remain unknown. Cantore raised the mug to his lips, delaying again. “Have I ever given you the impression that all I want is to share my morning coffee with you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then start talking.”

  Cantore put his mug on the table before saying, “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  It was tempting to tell him he could say whatever the hell he wanted as long as he did it soon, but Alex restrained himself. It wasn’t the chief’s fault that a sleepless night and a too-empty house had left his temper precarious. “Granted.”

  “Edmonds has a reputation for being a prick. Let me throw this out for a scenario,” Cantore said. “Marsh was worried about Captain Thomas; something—or someone—had her scared. Now the two of them disappear and so does Edmonds. Edmonds has a history of frightening those he can. Want to bet, sir, that he’s involved in some way with Marsh and Kendall going missing?”

  Alex pinned him with a glare. “Do I look stupid?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then be quiet before I take offense.” Cantore grinned and Alex ground his teeth. “I’ve been working under the assumption that Wells’s and Edmonds’s vanishing acts are related to Montgomery and Thomas’s disappearances since I heard the news.”

  With a pleased look, the XO nodded. “The team and I, we’ve been working on potential scenarios to explain what’s going on, and we decided that it’s nearly a sure thing that Kendall stumbled across something illegal. We came up with about a dozen ideas. I wrote them down.” Cantore’s hand disappeared below the table and Alex tensed until it came out again with a slip of paper. Given the state of things, he didn’t think he was overreacting. “Gambling is the most likely, but Kendall would just report it, so it has to be something much bigger than that.”

  When Cantore held out the paper, Alex took it and unfolded it. The team was inventive; he gave them that. Some of the options they’d come up with were pretty farfetched, but antiquity smuggling was near the top of the list. That wasn’t good. They’d try to narrow this down, and in the process, they might inadvertently tip off the wrong people. If it leaked that he was investigating the theft of relics, the ring might decide it was best to get rid of anyone who could testify against them and murder Thomas and Montgomery—if they hadn’t already.

  On the other hand, letting it slip that he had everything Thomas had come up with might help keep them alive. The thieves would have to realize that killing those two captains wouldn’t make a difference, not when security had the information.

  Alex finished his coffee. He thought option number one was more likely than the second. If the thieves knew they were up to their asses in alligators, he was certain they’d eliminate as many threats as they could—just in case.

  The only way he could keep Cantore and company from stumbling around on their own was to tell them what was going on. With a grimace, he put the cup back on the table and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. It meant trusting the XO for sure and probably the rest of the team. And he couldn’t put his faith in anyone right now.

  Cantore was waiting patiently for him to say something and Alex sighed. This was one of those damned if you do, damned if you don’t situations. He was sure the team would try to ask their questions covertly, and they’d probably succeed to a large extent, but he couldn’t chance them making a mistake. Shit, he couldn’t risk the lives of those two kids.

  Alex returned the paper and decided to go with his gut. “Gather your men and meet me at the firing range at the back of the royal residence in thirty minutes. Don’t ask questions; just follow orders.” It was the one place Alex knew they’d have complete privacy and he didn’t want anyone to overhear this conversation.

  After Cantore left, Alex slumped back in his chair. He hoped to God he hadn’t just made an error in judgment. If even one of those men were involved...

  Pushing abruptly to his feet, he gathered the two mugs and the pot. He wished Stacey were here. Alex rinsed out the dishes in the kitchen and sighed. She was good at reading people, good at knowing when he’d screwed up. He wanted to run this by her, to ask if she thought he was wrong. And he couldn’t.

  When had she pervaded every last corner of his life? When had he come to trust her so totally that he’d consult with her about decisions he made for his job? Shit, he knew not to let anyone that deep; he knew women left. She’d been insidious, flying under his radar so stealthily, that it was only now, when she was gone, that he realized what she’d done.

  That ache in his chest intensified again, and he rubbed at it. Hearts didn’t really break—he’d survived before, he’d survive again. He dried the clean mugs and returned them to their place, then turned to dry the pot.

  You’re a coward, Sullivan.

  Alex froze, looked around, but Stacey wasn’t there. He shook his head. Now he was imagining her voice. What next?

  He checked his watch, decided he had enough time to grab a muffin from the mess hall before he had to meet Cantore and company. Alex patted his belt, verified the PDA was there and headed for the front door.

  Coward!

  “Shut up,” he muttered, but he knew he was talking to his own mind—there was no one in the house but him.

  If you love someone, you have to take the risk.

  Great, now he was hearing his sister’s voice. That was what she’d told him when he’d voiced his concern that Brody might break her heart someda
y. This time, he didn’t bother looking around; he just walked out the front door.

  But he couldn’t help wondering if he was a coward. What if Stacey really did love him and he had hurt her through his own fears, his need to keep himself safe? Protecting himself was second nature, something he did as easily as breathing. It was more than his mother using him to control his father. It was more than her throwing him away when she’d met a man who wanted her but not another man’s brat. And it was more than his father and stepmother dying, or Lara dumping him for someone else.

  It was safer not to let anyone close. People died. People left. People said and did unforgivable things. Alex stopped short. Stacey might have left him, but he was the one who had said and done inexcusable things in order to protect himself.

  Did he think by not telling her how he felt, by denying his feelings, that it would hurt less if things fell apart?

  Maybe he had. Alex leaned against the building to his right and thought about it. He’d wounded Stacey. Repeatedly. Because he was too afraid to tell her how important she was to him. Too afraid to show her. She hadn’t left because she didn’t love him enough. Stacey had left because he’d hurt her so profoundly, she couldn’t bear it anymore.

  Alex looked squarely at his own behavior and realized it had been deplorable. If Brody had even once acted that way with Ravyn, he would have kicked his brother-in-law’s ass from here to Earth and back again, yet Alex hadn’t thought twice about doing it to Stacey. She’d deserved better. He knew how difficult he was, that living with him was a challenge, but she’d fought to hold things together. And he had taken that for granted until he’d come home to find her gone.

  He resumed walking, shaking his head as he considered what an idiot he was. Too bad he hadn’t realized just what he had until it was too late.

  Was it too late? He stopped short again. What would happen if he fought for her? Tried to convince her to stay? What was the worst-case scenario? That she’d leave him? Shit, that had already occurred.

  Alex thought about it. Would he walk away from a battle because he might get hurt? Hell, no. If the objective was to take the hill, he took the hill—no ifs, ands or buts.

  Stacey might not believe it after years of his idiocy, but she meant everything to him. He couldn’t allow her to simply stroll out of his life, because she’d take his heart—and a piece of his soul—with her. If she wanted to go, she’d have a fight on her hands. Alex Sullivan never quit, and no little five-foot-five redhead was going to make him wave the white flag. Not yet.

  She said she loved him, and he was holding her to that. Until that damn transport lifted off Jarved Nine with her aboard, he was going to do everything in his power to convince her to stay. To quote an old movie, “never give up, never surrender!” Filled with determination, he headed off to meet his men.

  *** *** ***

  Walking hand in hand with Kendall felt so damn right, Wyatt wished he could simply enjoy it without worrying over their situation. He was going to get his chance, he knew it—if they got out of this alive. Bug’s wall was eroding. She was stubbornly resisting, but the more of her protection she lost, the faster the remaining fortress seemed to be coming down.

  He knew better than to become overconfident, however. Once she realized just how vulnerable she was, Bug would pull back hard, try to restore a safe distance between them. Wyatt figured he had yet to fight the biggest battle in his war to win Kendall.

  For now, though, her fingers were laced with his and she wasn’t trying to get away. Maybe it was only coincidence, but he believed that it had been Kendall wrapping her arms around him that had ended the mind trap he’d been caught in. That was the reasoning he’d used when he’d suggested she hold on to him. Bug had appeared skeptical, but she hadn’t argued.

  Wyatt scowled. The idea that Zolianna’s ties to the temple might have been reborn in Kendall concerned him. He had vague memories that didn’t make sense, but they suggested there was some kind of unusual connection between High Priestess and pyramid. Berkant hadn’t been able to tear Zolianna from this damn heap of rock and Wyatt refused to lose Bug the same way. His hand tightened around hers.

  “Wy, are you drifting again?”

  He heard the note of fear in her voice. “I’m okay, darlin’, just thinking about things is all.”

  “So which thing had you frowning so fiercely?”

  It didn’t require much thought to come up with a substitute. “Water. It’s been over twenty-four hours now since we ran out.” It was rehashing ground they’d already covered, but it was critical.

  “I’ve been thinking—” She stopped talking abruptly when they rounded a curve and faced another spoke of hallways.

  “Which way?”

  Kendall sighed and looked around. Wyatt knew she was tired of being asked, but what could he tell her? Gee, darlin’, you don’t remember this, but three thousand years ago, you were High Priestess of this whole shooting match. I’m counting on you to have some kind of instinctual knowledge of the pyramid. Which of course, would lead her to ask why he thought this, and if he told her he knew because he’d been her lover, she’d break land-speed records trying to get away from him.

  “Come here.” She tugged him to the mosaic. His hand tingled where she touched it. “See this?” She pointed to an iridescent pearl-colored crystal. “It’s selenite. Look how it forms a line at the ten o’clock position in this circle. Remember how I said the stone is formed from water? What if it was used to guide others to a source?”

  “I don’t see anything remotely resembling a line.”

  Kendall looked at him quizzically, then shrugged. “Sure, right here. See?” She ran her index finger along the wall.

  “To call that a line,” he told her, “is stretching the definition of the word to the breaking point.”

  “That stone isn’t anywhere else in the inlay, just here.” Kendall traced it again. “It’s a line, like a hand on an antique clock, and it’s aimed there.” She gestured.

  “That’s dang farfetched.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re a trial to me, Marsh,” Bug told him with a smile. “You’re the one who asked me which hall we should take, and I picked one. Besides it doesn’t hurt anything to see if I’m right.”

  He nodded. She had a point. Wyatt headed in the direction Kendall wanted them to go, her hand still securely linked with his, and tried not to let the fact that she’d called him Marsh piss him off.

  She only used his handle when she was trying to put distance between them, and he hated it.

  “I’ve been thinking more about the smugglers,” Kendall said suddenly. “What if Dr. George isn’t the leader?”

  “It’s possible,” Wyatt said slowly. “What makes you think it might be someone else?”

  Bug was quiet for a moment, and Wyatt guessed she was organizing her thoughts. “George isn’t smart enough to run this kind of operation,” she said, “but he’s too arrogant to take orders from just anyone. That rules out just about anyone in the military—even officers. He refers to us as simpletons.”

  “On the assumption that anyone who risks his life is too stupid to know better.”

  Bug nodded.

  “Okay, so the boss is a civilian. Any thoughts on who?”

  Kendall bit her lip, then shook her head. “Not really. At first I thought it must be another archeologist, but I decided that was unlikely. If the head thief was someone who already knew artifacts, they wouldn’t need George.”

  “What if he caught them red-handed and the person brought him in to keep him silent? Or George could have discovered the thefts and blackmailed his way in.”

  They rounded a curve and hit another intersection of corridors. Wyatt felt that tingle again in Kendall’s hand, and he looked at her, trying to read her reaction. The vibration increased as they closed the distance to the gem mosaic.

  “This row of selenite points toward one o’clock.”

  “You still want to follow the rocks?” he asked
.

  “Yes. Give it a chance, Wy, you never know.”

  He nodded, unsure why he was resisting her idea. It wasn’t like he had a better plan. She tugged him along.

  “I suppose,” Kendall said, returning to their topic, “that George could have caught on. He’s nosy, so it is possible that he stumbled on the thieves.”

  Wyatt picked up on something in her tone. “But you don’t think that’s what happened, do you?”

  “I’m not sure why, but that just doesn’t feel right.”

  “If it wasn’t another archeologist, that narrows the list some more. Any other people we can eliminate?”

  “Yeah, anyone he considers beneath him, which would leave only the top level of civilian researchers.”

  That meant about fifty people, he estimated, maybe less, depending on how top level was defined. Wyatt didn’t know most of them, though, and he doubted Bug did either. “Can we cross anyone else off the suspect list?”

  Kendall shook her head. “I can’t. The only group outside the military that I’m familiar with are the social scientists I work for. Not that it matters. We can’t do anything right now, and once we’re out of here, Sullivan will take over.”

  “Yeah, the Big Chill will take immediate control, but he’ll listen to you and consider what you tell him; don’t think he won’t. And it does make a difference who’s in charge,” Wyatt told her. “The personality of the boss will affect what kind of orders our hunters have. If we can figure out who it is, and if we’re lucky enough to know something about him, we might be able to predict what these underlings were told to do.”

  “Point taken.”

  He started thinking of the civilians he knew. Like Bug, he wasn’t familiar with many. His list included the group he’d escorted outside the city walls, but even then, they’d segregated themselves, geologists in one group, Spec Ops in the other.

  They came to a corner. Wyatt slowed, checked things over. They only went about a hundred yards before they hit another corner and he made sure that one was clear too. It was, and he and Kendall turned it before they stopped short.