“Where’s Davidson?” he asked still patching together how they got from the cave to the car.
Rebecca urged him down which wasn’t difficult since his head swam. “We lost him, Brandt. Just hold still.”
“We didn’t lose him. He—”
With expert skill, she prodded his wound, cutting off his words.
“He was killed in the cave-in, saving you, Brandt. He’s dead.”
But he knew that wasn’t true. He’d heard Davidson’s voice. Saw him aiming at Rebecca. There had been nothing he could do, but Brandt knew that he didn’t dream it. The private was alive.
Rebecca went to give him more painkiller, but he grabbed her wrist. “You know he’s alive, that fucking—”
She was way stronger than she looked and poked him deep in the thigh with the meds. “Just rest.” Then she whispered so that only he could hear, “I traded our lives for his freedom.” Louder, “Now go back to sleep.”
“You had no right,” Brandt growled, but she just smiled.
“Of course I did.” Then she kissed him on the forehead, then the nose, then on the lips. “You’re not a one-night stand kind of guy, remember? I had to make sure you lived up to your words.”
As their lips met, Brandt kissed her back.
For all his anger at Davidson, Rebecca was right.
Love was slightly more powerful than hate.
* * *
“He’s pretty messed up,” Lopez commented as he looked at them in the rearview mirror. “He’ll get his memory back once he’s patched up, right?”
“I’m sure he will,” she said, trying not to act too guilty. “How much longer?” Rebecca asked the corporal as she smoothed Brandt’s hair.
“Fifteen minutes to Naples, but I’m going to have to slow down as we approach the Navy yard, so make it twenty minutes.”
Lopez had done some first aid, but the bullet to the gut needed surgery. However, there was no way they could seek help in Rome. A guy coming in with knife wounds, burns, and a bullet in the belly was sure to raise alarms, so they were headed to the nearest US base. Which should have taken them over ninety minutes, but Lopez swore they’d be there in forty, and Rebecca hadn’t doubted him. And by her watch, they were going to make it in thirty-eight. The guy really should race cars for a living.
“‘Becca,” Brandt said. Whether he slurred her name or intentionally meant to use her nickname, it felt damn good. “Did you find Him?”
At first she was confused, but then she realized he was asking about Christ. “No. No, it wasn’t him.”
“Are you sure?”
The tremble in his voice nearly broke her heart. If she had any doubt to keep the Knot’s secret as her own, Rebecca now had none. “I’m sure.”
A wave of relief washed over his face, but then he frowned. “So it was all for nothing.”
“No, babe. No, it wasn’t,” she said as their fingers entwined.
It was for everything.
The Ending
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Jerusalem
AD 42
The man who was once called Jesus stood upon the hill, sheltered by a cypress tree, wishing with all his heart that it was he who had the strength to take that long walk from Jerusalem to Golgotha.
Instead it was his dearest friend, Judas, the man whom the Twelve looked down upon, that was nailed to the cross.
Mary’s words that had rung so very true last night now sounded feeble in his mind. To let Judas walk in his stead might ensure his resurrection, but Jesus knew he had only quickened to those words because of the fear that ate at his innards.
It was he who was destined for the cross, not poor Judas, but there his brother, who was not his brother, hung. That Jesus could undo the last day. God might have blessed him with insight into all men, but the heavenly Father forgot to gift him a window into his own soul.
As the sun began to set, Jesus saw movement across the wash. Judas must have called for water. He tensed. Would their ruse work? A man, Turvas, came forward and offered a waterskin. Judas took a drink, then spit as if it were vinegar, but it was a tincture of Magdalene’s herbs and a strong sleeping draught.
Within moments, Judas’ head lolled, and Mary sobbed.
Predictably, the Romans broke the other prisoners’ legs, but spared Judas. Was God truly favoring their gamble? Could he hold Judas in his arms the next morning and beg forgiveness?
One of the guards taunted the limp form on the cross, and then did the unthinkable. he stabbed Judas in the side.
Mary’s wail was so great that Jesus was certain it carried to heaven itself. Ruth collapsed against John, his Beloved Disciple. Jesus fell to his knees, cutting them upon the sharp rocks as blood gushed from Judas’ side. All their planning. All their studies were for naught. Judas was dead.
Poor Ameil. The child would be unmoored. How could Jesus explain where his most-loved uncle had disappeared to?
An ache that reached to his marrow threatened to consume him. The pain of the cross was nothing compared to the agony that gripped his heart.
To shun his responsibility upon the cross was unforgivable, but to have Judas die in his stead? The guilt hung from his neck, bowing his head. Was this God’s punishment for Jesus’ betrayal?
Rising, he knew he must atone for his sin. He must trek into the desert, or cast himself into the sea. Whatever God wished, Jesus would do, but no amount of suffering would bring his friend back.
As he turned from Golgotha, Jesus found his brother rising the knoll.
“James?” he asked, surprised but glad to have kin near.
His brother opened his arms. Jesus did not deserve an embrace, but he went to James and was hugged warmly, then he felt a stabbing in his belly. Looking down, Jesus found a knife protruding from his skin.
“All those years,” James snarled. “All those years… You will die today, brother.” He jerked the knife upward, gouging open Jesus’ stomach. “How could you let another suffer in your place?”
“I was weak,” Jesus answered, then grabbed his brother’s hand. James must have thought he was trying to stop him, but Jesus intended quite the opposite. He pulled the blade even higher. “Thank you, brother.”
No longer able to keep his feet, Jesus slid to the blood-soaked ground, but he welcomed the pain. It was only fitting. This was God’s plan, after all.
James dropped the knife, kneeling beside him. “What have I done?”
“Only what I should have,” Jesus said, hearing a far-off song. The song of the angels. A chorus so pure that the angelic harmonies blended into one glorious voice. “Can you not hear it, brother?”
“Hear what?” James looked around, thinking it a worldly sound.
Jesus gripped his brother’s arm tightly. “God’s forgiveness, James. We are forgiven.”
The beating of wings stirred Jesus’ hair as the song built to a crescendo.
“Teach them. Teach them better than I,” Jesus begged as the world became nothing more than a white light, his earthly concerns given rest.
Soon Jesus would sit, as he had all those years ago, upon a riverbank with his friend Judas, and try, yet again, to understand God’s infinite wisdom.
# # #
TARGETED
CHAPTER 1
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Rebecca’s gaze drifted over the elegant dining room. Every table set with the finest of linens and sparkling crystal held bubbling champagne. She almost wanted to pinch herself, except she didn’t want to wrinkle her silk dress.
Weird. Her in silk. She was far more comfortable in field-stained khakis. But the Hotel Oberoi Amarvilas restaurant was a five star dining experience. And given that they were in India, most of the other women were dressed in elegant saris, draped in deep blue and shiny gold.
And for a woman who spent most of her time in a gray sterile laboratory, the wall length aquarium brimming with exotic sea life and walls han
d painted in scenes from India’s rich mythology was just a tad overwhelming.
She glanced across the table to Brandt. He too was dressed to impress. A tuxedo, even. But his jaw was as square as ever, and those dark eyes? No matter whether in a tux or battle camouflage, Rebecca remembered how Brandt’s eyes twinkled under the torchlight in that jungle clearing in Ecuador. Now they glistened in the candlelight. How far they had come.
Brandt smiled warmly, putting his hand over hers. She knew how he yearned to get back into the field, chasing down the baddest of the bad guys, but he hadn’t complained a peep since being assigned close-protection duty to her while the rest of his team tracked down and eliminated the remaining members of the organization that had nearly killed both of them, the Knot.
Granted, she and Brandt had explored the “close” part of his protection duties in great detail. Her cheeks flushed at just the thought of this morning’s “exercises.” Six months into their relationship, and he could still make her blush.
And now they were here to celebrate the news that Brandt’s team had taken down the last of the Knot. They could breathe easy again. Tomorrow, after a quick sightseeing trip to the Taj Mahal for her and Fort Agra for Brandt, they headed back to London. A part of her was thrilled to begin her research in earnest again. To have a fully equipped and staffed laboratory at her disposal? It was a DNA paleoanthropologist’s wet dream. But another part of her feared for what would happen to their relationship.
Brandt was scheduled to go back out into the field in just three days. Could their bond stand the test of days, weeks, and even months of being apart while he was on classified assignments? Would he meet another damsel in distress, far thinner and used to wearing silk dresses?
“Well? Romantic enough for Valentine’s Day?” Brandt asked as he nodded to the bay window.
Across the street lay the massive gates that led to the Taj Mahal. The red brick structure was lit against the night sky. In her mind’s eye, Rebecca could see beyond the walls to the treasure they protected. The long, narrow pool reflected one of the modern seven wonders of the world. The Taj Mahal’s huge white domes and minarets glowed brightly, reminding the world of Shah Jahan’s love for his wife. Of course she was his third wife, but the monument had become a symbol of everlasting love, nonetheless.
Many may argue that Paris was the most romantic spot on earth, but with all the reconstruction going on after their last visit there, the Taj Mahal was absolutely the most romantic for her and Brandt.
Rebecca squeezed his hand. “You had me at ‘Let’s go to India.’ “
Brandt leaned over and whispered. “You had me at ‘Are you a moron?’ “
Oh, God. He remembered the first words that she had ever spoken to him. In her defense she was tied to a stake in the rain forest with an anaconda wrapped around her chest. But still. Brandt was anything but a moron. How many times had he saved her life? In Ecuador, Paris, Budapest, Istanbul, and half a dozen other locales.
“Brandt, I am so sorry for—”
He leaned in and kissed her, interrupting her apology. His lips, tender yet firm against hers, asked her to stop talking and start kissing. Brandt’s fingers interlaced with hers as his thumb stroked her palm. Rebecca could swear that steam shot out of her ears. Her body lit up as brightly as the Taj Mahal. Luckily, Brandt pulled back before someone asked them to go up to their room. Although the way her legs quivered, that might not be such a bad idea.
“Rebecca,” Brandt breathed out.
“Dessert?” their waiter asked.
Brandt snapped back into his chair as she folded her hands on her lap. It was so easy to forget that they were in a crowded restaurant. For a moment it had seemed like only the two of them existed.
“Sorry, I’m going to need the menu again,” she murmured. Anything that happened before that kiss, long forgotten.
As the waiter moved off to fulfill her request, Brandt whisked the napkin from his lap and rose. “I will take this opportunity to use the restroom.”
Rebecca’s eyebrow shot up. “Everything okay?”
“Absolutely,” he reassured her, but his eyes didn’t register reassuring.
This was the third time to the restroom for Brandt since they arrived at the restaurant. For a guy who didn’t allow for a single potty break on a five-hour hike out of the rain forest, he sure was liberal with the latrine visits tonight.
She was about to rise and follow him, but then caught sight of his rear tightly outlined by his black pants as he walked away. Maybe, on second thought, she’d just sit here and enjoy the view.
* * *
Brandt kept his pace steady passing the elaborate saltwater tank filled with coral, sea urchins, and clown fish until he turned down the hallway. Then, he broke into a trot. He hit the bathroom door at a run. Bursting in, he found only the attendant. Brandt wasn’t quite sure what these guys in swanky hotel bathrooms were supposed to do for you exactly, unzip your fly maybe, but he needed him gone.
Pulling out an American five-dollar bill, Brandt offered it to the guy with a nod to the door, but the attendant only frowned. Fine. Brandt pulled out a twenty. The man accepted it and left. If Brandt didn’t button it up these bathroom excursions were going to cost over a hundred bucks.
Brandt stared at his reflection in the mirror. “Damn it, Brandt, pull it together.”
But as he brought a small, red velvet box from the inside pocket of his tux, he couldn’t pull it together if he tried. Slowly Brandt opened it. A diamond ring stared back at him. Was it too small? Would Rebecca be insulted by a ring less than three carats? What could he do, though? He was on a military man’s budget, and he wanted to still save up for a house. Those things were more important than the bling, right?
What if she said “no?” How could he leave for a mission not knowing if she was waiting for him?
God, it was sappy and stupid, and his men teased him endlessly about it, but his stomach lurched at the thought of not having her arms to wrap around him at night. Well, and her legs too, but that was a different kind of yearning. The ache he was talking about went far deeper than his groin.
Brandt snapped the box closed. This was ridiculous. He’d step in front of the president to take a bullet, hell, even the secretary of education, easier than he could ask Rebecca to marry him. A narco-drug lord? He’d simply throw an elbow to his nose. But this… this churned his stomach like none other.
How many times had already tried to ask her? He was going to do it after they sat down at the table. Then he was going to slip the ring into her glass of champagne. Then after the salads came. Then forget about it after the chicken satay.
And now, dessert? He was running out of meal to make this happen.
No. It had to be now. This mission was time sensitive. He was not going to let this window slip by. Rebecca may not have the largest ring to brag about, but by God, he was going to give her an engagement to remember.
* * *
Rebecca waved the waiter off. He was determined to keep their champagne glasses full. And he wasn’t even their waiter. Five-star restaurants, man. They did service with a capital “S.”
She sipped the nearly overflowing glass of champagne as she glanced around the room. Was this what her life could have been like if she had applied her skills to the commercial sector? Being able to splice DNA fifteen different ways was an extremely well-paid career in the pharmaceutical world.
Could she dine like this every night? Forget what Top Ramen tasted like and learn when lobster was best in season?
Rebecca chuckled. That was so not her. Sure, tonight was grand, but tomorrow, she and Brandt would pick up some street food off a camel-drawn cart and be all the happier for it. Opulence was great, but a well-worn pair of jeans was much more her style.
Brandt came around the corner, straightening his jacket. He looked so sophisticated. But was that water dripping off his nose? Rebecca frowned. Was he sick? He had been acting a little odd all night. She had just assumed that hi
s tuxedo’s cummerbund was too tight. Lord knew that the silk dress had gotten itchy after the first five minutes. And the static from the garment? Rebecca feared she’d look in a mirror and find her hair standing on end.
He sat down rather abruptly, placing the napkin back on his lap like a little boy might at his first cotillion. She waited as he stared down at the white tablecloth. Finally his jaw bunched and he looked up, reaching for her hand.
“Your dessert menu,” the waiter announced in a clipped British accent.
“Not now,” Brandt rumbled.
The poor man’s eyes dilated as he awkwardly placed the menu on the table, then scurried off.
“Sorry,” Brandt said as he gripped her hand. “But if I don’t say this now…”
Rebecca kept a cheerful smile even though her heart sank. They hadn’t really discussed life post-Knot. Had Brandt realized he wasn’t up for not just a long-distance relationship but a transcontinental one? Had he brought her to the shadow of the Taj Mahal to soften the blow of a breakup?
“Rebecca,” he said nearly pained. She hated seeing the crow’s feet at the edge of his eyes pinched in worry. She hated it even more when it spelled the bad news that was about to come her way.
“I, I…” Brandt stammered.
You what? She wanted to scream but also didn’t want to hear the words that followed.
“Rebecca, will—” Brandt stopped, dropping her hand. “Crap. I almost forgot…
Seriously this was going to go down as the worst break up speech ever.
But then Brandt pulled something out from his pocket. A box. A red velvet box. A box just the right size for a ring. Breath caught in Rebecca’s throat. Brandt wasn’t breaking up with her. Not at all.
Was he really going to propose?
As Brandt fumbled with the box, he asked, “Rebecca Sasha Monroe will you—”
Yeah, that’s about when the first explosion sounded.
* * *
Brandt slammed the box closed shoving it into his pocket while his other hand found Rebecca’s and pulled her down, using his elbow to knock the table on end so when the car right outside their window blew, the wood took most of the damage.
The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection Page 48