Heart of a Hero

by Sara Craven

  Hunter stepped up behind Sarah’s chair, gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and then went to sit in the vacant chair in front of the window. Her chest cramped tight. Hot emotion seared her eyes, but she blinked it back. How could one touch do this to her? How could he feign casual affection like this? She had to fight not to look at him.

  “I’m fully aware of the time constraints,” Meyer said coolly, eyeing Hunter intently.

  “No offense intended, Doctor,” said Hunter. “Just stating a fact. We have exactly two weeks to D-day now and we’re no closer to the antidote.”

  The doctor shoved his delinquent glasses back up his nose. “On the contrary. There is one lab rumored to be working with something like this, and one scientist in particular. Her name is Dr. Paige Sterling and she’s with the Nexus Research and Development Corporation in Ham?n.”

  Rafiq tensed visibly. He placed his hands flat on the tabletop, his black eyes flashing. “How do we know this?”

  “A defector from Ham?n. He was brought to see me at the Leopold Institute by the French secret service two years ago. I do consulting for the intelligence community on certain biological warfare matters,” explained Meyer. “And this defector used to work in the Nexus compound. He believed the Nexus group was involved in creating bioweapons, and the Secret Service wanted to know if I thought his information was credible. But the man had no proof, and getting into the country to obtain any kind of proof is close to impossible. As you well know, Ham?n is closed to all travel and all foreigners. The European intelligence community did, however, put together a task force, including myself, that has kept a watch from a distance over the years. But so far nothing has hit the radar—until now.”

  “But how do you know the Nexus lab is working on TSEs specifically?” said Rafiq, pressing his hands even more firmly against the tabletop, as if trying to contain something.

  “I was given a list of the scientists stationed there. One of them is Dr. Sterling, an American. Both her father and mother used to work with that rare group of bonobos in the Congo I mentioned. And it was her father, Dr. Richard Sterling, who first told me about this rare form of TSE in the bonobos.” Meyer ran a weatherbeaten hand through his shock of white hair, leaving it standing on end. “Richard and his wife disappeared in the Congo Blacklands shortly after he’d spoken with me. No one ever saw them again. That was about seventeen years ago. Paige went on to graduate, and continued with her parents’ research. She was eventually recruited by the Nexus group. I presume they selected her specifically because of her controversial and cutting-edge work with TSEs.”

  December stood. “I’ve done some electronic digging,” he said, his deep voice reverberating around the room. “Nexus, through a convoluted system of shell and holding companies, is ultimately controlled by BioMed Pharmaceutical in the U.S.—”

  Sarah sat upright. “BioMed—that was the logo…the one I saw on the hazmat suits of the soldiers that attacked the Ishonga compound!”

  December nodded. “Yebo. And BioMed, through Dr. Andries Du Toit, also supplied the militia soldier with the corticosteroid nasal spray. Du Toit is an exiled military figure from South Africa’s apartheid days. He appears to have been on BioMed’s payroll for several years, allegedly marketing the company’s product to the African sector.” December paused, shuffling the papers on the table in front of him. He found what he was looking for. “And the company that funded Dr. Paige Sterling’s postsecondary education—Science Reach International—is indirectly controlled by BioMed as well.” He looked up. “Science Reach International is the same company that financed Paige’s parents’ Congo-based TSE research before they mysteriously disappeared.”

  “There’s a definite thread there,” said Sauvage. “We need to get into Ham?n ASAP.”

  “Do you think you’ll find an antidote in Ham?n?” Sarah felt a little awkward even asking the question.

  “I don’t doubt it,” said Hunter. “The Cabal needs to control whatever it has created to be effective in the long term. For that it needs an antidote. And all the arrows are pointing to Ham?n.”

  Sarah made the mistake of looking into his eyes as he spoke. The room and everyone in it suddenly faded to a blur and sound turned to a buzz in her head. She couldn’t break the gaze. Everything unspoken seemed to hang between them over the polished dark wood table.

  “Thank you, Sarah.” Sauvage’s voice jerked her back. She looked up sharply. His eyes were cool. He made her feel like a kid who’d been caught out in class.

  “That’ll be all for now,” he said. “We appreciate your help.” He turned to December, lowered his voice. “Get that Hamānian defector’s name and get him onto São Diogo by nightfall tomorrow. We need to know everything he knows about the country and the lab compound. And we need to see if we can get to Du Toit without alerting the Cabal.”

  This was it. She was being dismissed. It was all over…in more ways than one. With a strange sinking sensation in her heart, she stood, pushed her chair back. Hunter rose, too. Sarah moved quickly to the door. She couldn’t face him now. She reached for the door handle, just as Hunter leaned across her, barring her way. She caught her breath, stared at the tile floor. She couldn’t look up, couldn’t let his eyes suck her in again. He was too powerful and she was feeling too weak.

  “Sarah,” he whispered against her cheek. “Meet me at the coffee shop down at the bay at seven this evening. Okay?”

  She glared at the floor tile. No, it was not okay. Staying on this island was going to be sheer torture. Three days had gone by and he hadn’t even come over to the clinic to see her. Did he have any idea how much she missed him? How much her body ached for his touch? She slid her eyes slowly up to meet his. And her heart stalled. She suddenly couldn’t say no. She’d known he would suck her in. Perhaps the dark and defiant and illogical part of herself even wanted him to.

  “Okay?” he insisted, his breath warm against her face.

  She nodded in spite of herself.

  “Irish!”

  He ignored Sauvage. “See you at seven, then.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against her ear before turning to join his colleagues.

  Sarah shivered, yanked open the door and stepped quickly out of the room. The heavy door swung closed behind her with a thud, suddenly alienating her from what was going on inside. She was not welcome, not part of the group even though she’d played such a vital role. And why should she expect anything different? This was their job. Not hers. It served as a stark reminder of why she couldn’t live like this—on the perimeter of Hunter McBride’s existence. She needed to forge a future of her own. For her and Branna.

  She fisted her hands with resolve and marched down the stone corridor, knowing in her heart she would not—could not—show up at that café.

  18:30 Alpha. São Diogo clinic.

  Monday, September 29

  Hunter found her sitting in a chair by the window, watching their baby sleep in a white hospital cot. The setting sun was turning Sarah’s hair copper and painting a soft gold glow over Branna’s skin. He stood in the doorway and watched in silence for a moment, a voyeur savoring a vignette of Madonna and child. Purity and peace, he thought, fingering the pouch in his pocket—a picture of life and hope and future. His future.

  He swallowed the hard knot of emotion in his throat and stepped into the room. Sarah glanced up and shock flared in her features. Hunter could immediately see in her eyes that she’d never had any intention of coming to meet him.

  He’d feared as much.

  That’s why he’d come here first. To save himself the disappointment, to cut rejection off at the head, to not give her a chance to say no. And he’d come as soon as he could get away from the war room. He’d been planning this moment for the last three days, but now, looking into her eyes, he had a sinking feeling she had already slipped from his grasp.

  He nervously fingered the soft pouch in his pocket again. He couldn’t seem to think of the words he needed. Hell, even guerilla warfare didn’t d
o this to him. He was actually afraid. And he knew why—he had something to lose now. If he hadn’t lost it already.

  He said nothing, mostly because he was worried he was going to say the wrong thing. He moved over to the crib, kissed baby Branna on the forehead, aware of Sarah watching his every move. Then he stood to his full height, squared his shoulders, sucked in his breath and turned slowly to face her. He held out his hand.

  She stared at it.

  “Come,” he whispered, careful not to wake Branna.

  Sarah hesitated.

  He leaned forward, grasped her hand and coaxed her to her feet. She resisted, her brows lowering in confusion.

  “You have to hear me out before you turn me down, Sarah,” he whispered. “Will you come?”

  Her eyes flicked nervously to Branna, then back to him. She nodded.

  He led her outside, sat on a stone bench and drew her down beside him. Dry pink bougainvillea petals rustled in the evening breeze and the Atlantic in the distance looked like beaten copper under the setting sun.

  Hunter felt awkward, unsure of where to start. He had a sense he was only going to have one shot at getting this right. But Sarah spoke first.

  “Hunter, I’ve put in adoption papers for Branna.”

  This was already getting away from him. “You’ll just have to redo them, then.”

  Possessive passion flashed in her eyes. “I want to give her a home, Hunter, a future. I want her to be my child.”

  Everything he’d dreamed of was unraveling right in front of him. “She’s ours, Sarah. I want my name on those papers.”

  She faced him squarely, lifted her jaw. “Look, I understand you brought her into the world and that you—”

  Lord, he was hopeless at talking. He’d already walked into a minefield of his own making. He groped in his pocket, pulled out the pouch, shoved it into her hands, cutting her off.

  Her eyes flicked between the pouch and him. “What’s this?”

  “Don’t talk. Enough talking. Just open it.” His heart slammed hard against his ribs. “Please.”

  Sarah studied him for a moment. Then she looked down at the velvet pouch he’d pushed into her hands. Slowly she peeled back the midnight-blue fabric to reveal a small translucent, golden pebble. She rolled it slightly in her palm and it caught the bronze light of the setting sun. She knitted her brow. “What is it?”

  “Diamond. I got it in Luanda. That’s where I’ve been these past few days.” He reached out, closed her hand tightly around the stone, not giving her the opportunity to hand it back. “I wanted you to decide on the cut. I…I want you to decide on the shape, Sarah.” He paused. “Like I want you to decide on the shape of our future. I…” He swallowed hard, took the leap. “I want you to think about being my wife.”

  Sarah’s stomach bottomed out. Her jaw dropped and her head began to buzz. Her mouth went completely dry, words defying her. She couldn’t even begin to articulate the thoughts that raced through her brain. She could literally feel the heat of the raw stone trapped in her fist. A diamond in the rough—like him.

  “I want you to marry me, Sarah,” he said again, as if she hadn’t heard the first time.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he placed his fingers over her lips. “Before you say anything, you need to know that I’m not going back into the field. I’ve already discussed it with the guys. No more fighting. I’m going to requalify as a surgeon—”

  “You…you can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “You can’t…just change. I mean…” She looked into his eyes. “Hunter, what I mean is that your job is who you are. You belong out there. I can’t even begin to expect you to change who you are for me. I don’t want that. You’d regret it in the long run, and if you’re unhappy, I’d also end up regretting it, too. I can’t let you to do this for me.”

  She tried to hand the diamond back to him, but he tightened his fist around hers, pressing the stone into her flesh. “It’s not for you, Sarah. It’s for me, for us—for me, you and Branna.”

  She studied his face, bewilderment swelling in her. “You…you’re dead serious, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am.” He took her shoulders in his hands. “See, Sarah, I’m not changing, I’m just going back to who I was—who I really am. And you helped me get there. You forced me to face something in myself. You showed me there’s something inside of myself that I just cannot hide from anymore. You made me pick up that scalpel again. You made me feel what it’s like to save a life again.”

  His eyes glistened. “You showed me how to stop running, Sarah.” His grip tightened on her shoulders. “Do you understand how dead serious I am about this? I’m forty-three years old next month. I want you. I want Branna. I want to be a family. I want to be a doctor again. I want you as my nurse, as my wife—by my side. And I want to eventually work here, at this clinic. I want to be here for the islanders, for the FDS troops.” His mouth twisted with emotion. “Nothing in the world is going to change my mind, so please don’t turn me down, because then I’m going to be lost as all hell—and a bloody danger in the field.”

  She couldn’t talk. Tears streamed down her face.

  He wiped them away with the rough pad of his thumb and snorted softly. “I just realized how that must sound. This is not only about me. I think I can offer you something, too. I can offer you a home. Love. Hell, I’d give you the world if I could.”

  Sarah stared into his eyes. Was this really possible? She’d gone into the heart of Africa, found the courage to stare death in the face, and she’d come out with the child she’d dreamed of having. A man who loved her. A sense of home.

  “I love you, Hunter,” she whispered.

  He smiled with such relief that she could feel it in his limbs. “Well, at least that part is sorted out. Now will you have that diamond cut and set, and wear it while you think about when you’d like to get married?”

  She laughed through her tears. Then cried, and laughed again. She opened her hand and looked at the pebble in her palm. Rough. Rare. Precious. She wiped her face, stilled, looked up at him. His face was all raw emotion—a rough sculpture of power and vulnerability. She closed her hand around the pebble. “You know something, McBride?” she said softly. “You’re damn good at keeping your promises.”

  He raised a brow. “I am?”

  She sniffed, wiped a tear from the end of her nose. “You made me a promise back on the Shilongwe. You promised that if anyone could get me home, you would.”

  He smiled. “And you told me you had no home.”

  She smiled back happily through her tears. “That didn’t stop you from getting me there.”

  “No,” he laughed. “I guess it didn’t.” Then his face turned serious. “Would that be a yes, then?”

  Sarah kissed the man she loved. “That would definitely be a yes.”

  Epilogue

  Sauvage set the bottle of brandy and two glasses on the table. “So, Irish is leaving the field.”

  Rafiq said nothing and the darkness hid his expression. But Sauvage didn’t need to see his face. He could sense the brooding intensity in his colleague. He felt it in himself.

  He sat in silence, staring at the twinkling lights of the island homes up on the hill, and he smiled wryly in the dark. So there was redemption for some. If Hunter had found it, where did it leave men like himself and Rafiq?

  Out in the shadows, that’s where. He knew nothing about Rafiq, but he did know redemption was not possible for a man like himself. Not with his past.

  Sauvage poured himself a glass, set the bottle down carefully. “You okay with going into Ham?n?”

  Rafiq’s eyes flashed in the dim light. “Yeah. Why?”

  “You’ve been quiet.”

  Silence.

  He sipped his drink, welcoming the warmth of its caress down his throat. “You’re the only one for the job,” he offered, unnecessarily perhaps. “You speak the local dialect. You look the part. We wouldn’t be able to get anyone else
into the country without raising suspicion.” He paused, took another sip. “You’re more than perfect.”

  “I know. I am from Ham?n.”

  Sauvage stilled, held the brandy in his mouth for a moment. This was the first clue he’d ever had about Rafiq’s past. He said nothing, the weight of the revelation somehow reverent. Finally he spoke. “Will this be a problem for the mission?”

  Rafiq’s eyes glittered in the moonlight.

  “No. It will not.”

  STRAIGHT THROUGH

  THE HEART

  LYN STONE

  About the Author

  LYN STONE is a former artist who developed an avid interest in criminology while helping her husband for his degree. His subsequent career in counter-intelligence and contacts in the field provide a built-in source for research when writing suspense. Their long and happy marriage provides firsthand knowledge of happily-ever-afters.

  Dear Reader,

  The operatives who work behind the scenes, gathering and analyzing information and acting on it on behalf of our country, deserve much more praise than they get. We hear about their mistakes and failures but never do we learn much about the extent of their success. I would like to thank them here for their contributions to our security.

  My fascination for the various agencies grew out of a close association with individuals involved in the intelligence community. I witnessed firsthand how their jobs, frequent travel and the secrecy required of them impacted on the agents and on their families. I saw the courage of spouses who wait and the ones who go out, the camaraderie between those who watch each other’s backs in the field, and the personal and professional pride in a job well done even when they aren’t allowed to discuss it.