Absolute Doubt (Fallen Agents of T-FLAC Book 1)

by Cherry Adair

  The plane was still climbing, and a glance out of the window showed the fire beneath them visible as flicks of orange through a thick blanket of gray smoke. The sky was lit with swirling orange rain even at thirty thousand feet. "It's going to be a while before I even want to look at a cozy fire while I drink my hot chocolate."

  He gave her a faint smile. "You've held up well."

  "I wasn't given options," she argued, loving the way his pale eyes roamed her face, and the slight curve of his lips. Her face must be as dirty as his, but she didn't care. Sweaty and hot, they both smelled of smoke. She'd kill for a shower. Soapy skin. Clean hair. She’d rinse. Repeat. And do it again. If he could be in that first long, hot shower with her, she’d never get out of it. "Is your life always this exciting? It's freaking exhausting."

  "You'll come down from the adrenaline high soon. You'll sleep really well."

  "I figured, but right now I'm still wired. Oh. I almost forgot. I took pictures of those photographs of that redhead I found in Franco's study." Lifting her hip, she slid her phone out of her back pocket. The screen was shattered, but when she turned it on, the phone flared to life. "I don't suppose it matters any more now that he's dead."

  He held out his hand. "I'll take a look."

  Scrolling through her camera roll, River located the first of three pictures, then handed him the phone. Their hands brushed and her heart kicked into high gear with longing.

  As filthy and sweaty as they both were, she'd do him right now, right here. "I presume we're on our way to Montana?" A few more hours with Ash was an unexpected bonus, even if they were in a confined space with dozens of his men surrounding them.

  "Yeah. There'll be a briefing." He glanced over at her. "It will be brief, I promise; then you'll be on your way home." His attention returned to her phone. "It’s hard to see anything with the screen shattered. Wait! What the fuck! This is Catherine Seymour." His pale eyes glittered in the screen's light. He used his thumb to scroll to the next image.

  "Sending image for confirmation," he said, clearly speaking into his comm as he thumbed in a series of numbers and then hit send. "Yeah. Catheryn Seymour. For fucksake, she's Xavier's illegitimate daughter. Her involvement in this clusterfuck connects the rest of the dots and puts a whole other spin on things. Yes. ASAP. No doubt. It's her."

  Tangling his fingers in her hair, Ash pulled her in for a hard and fast kiss. His firm lips left her breathless and wanting more. The kiss, combined with the G-force as they catapulted through the sky, caused her stomach to jump and her heart to race.

  "Great job." Smiling, he sat back. The curve of his mouth and the way his gaze lingered on her face made River's heart pinch. "She’s the missing link that glues this entire goatfuck together.”

  Now that she didn't need the massive surges of adrenaline to deal with her body’s fight or flight responses, River felt the overwhelming urge to puke, or cry. Too much emotion and fear in a short amount of time had drained her. A good cry would relieve some of the tension that had increased exponentially with each hour of this long ass day. Folding her arms, she hugged herself tightly to stop the fine tremors that were starting to make her shake. “Who is she to you?”

  “A long-term T-FLAC operative. A rogue operative and a traitor. She was captured, sent to a super max and managed an almost impossible escape. She was killed on T-FLAC property several years ago. Tying her to Xavier puts a whole different spin on his motivation and his hatred for our organization."

  "She was also Oliver's girlfriend, I suspect his first." Oliver had been tangled up with not only a terrorist but with Xavier’s daughter, a rogue operative. Guilty or not. "You'll throw the book at him, won't you?" she said, hugging herself more tightly as she came down from her adrenaline high. Her trembling intensified.

  "He has a lot to answer for."

  The answer to her question was yes. She glanced out of the window. Black night, tinged with a rosy glow on the horizon, stretched as far as she could see as the plane leveled out. "We appear to be at cruising altitude. Is it okay if I go and talk to him now?" Before I fall apart.

  "How about a shower first?"

  "Of course, there's a shower on board," she said dryly with a quick glance to the front of the plane. She'd rather do just about anything right now rather than confront her brother. "I'd like nothing more. But I should really talk to Oliver first."

  "It's a twelve hour flight." Ash rose. "He'll be available when you've had a chance to freshen up and get some sleep."

  "Believe me, putting the conversation off won't make it any more palatable," River said dryly. "But maybe I will clean up first. Then I'll talk to my brother. Perhaps by then, I'll feel more civil." It would probably take several years for her to feel anything other than livid. But half an hour would just have to do. "Which way?"

  Twenty-One

  Daklin reached down to help her unsnap her seat belt. Fuck, she was shaking like a leaf. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold on to her, to assure her everything was okay now. But he couldn’t keep her from talking to her brother, and he admired her for rising to the unpleasant task.

  Up front, his men talked quietly, the soft sound of their voices mingling with the hum of the Challenger’s powerful engines.

  River got to her feet, and he didn't move out of the way, leaving them just a couple of feet apart. She scratched her face with a trembling hand, leaving a pale smear in the dirt. "Is the water in the shower hot?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “Is there room for two?”

  Daklin touched her cold, dusty cheek, then slid his hand around the back of her neck to draw her closer. Her grey eyes were as clear as water, despite the glimmer of fear in them. And even though the danger for her had passed, he knew just how fucking close he'd come to losing her. Cupping the back of her head, he murmured, "How're you holding up?" Just because the things he wanted to say were dammed up in his chest, and he needed time to process them, that didn't mean he was going to hold off touching her.

  Her tired smile sliced into his heart. “Ask me in a week.”

  In a week she’d be home, and he’d be on to his next op. “I have a more immediate solution. Come with me.”

  "Anywhere."

  They both fucking well knew he had nowhere to take her. Nor should he. He had bugger-all to offer her, except these last few hours. They'd have to last him a lifetime.

  He selfishly and helplessly gave in to the overwhelming need to make love to her one last time. Sliding open the door that was immediately behind their seats, he nudged her inside the aft cabin. “Come in here.” He slid the door shut with a final thunk, followed by a decisive click of the lock. The small room enclosed them in darkness and privacy. Gathering River's face between his hands, he crushed her mouth under his with a hot, open-mouthed kiss. Sweet. Moist. Delicious.

  As he wrapped her in his arms a little too tightly, Daklin wanted to give her everything, but the best he could offer was a few hours. He wanted to warm her with the heat of his mouth, soothe her with his body, free her mind by consuming her every thought with his touch.

  She was his. For now.

  He’d take what he could get. Savor it.

  Turning her in his arms, he closed his mouth on hers as he reverse-walked her to the foot of one of two single beds. With one knee on the mattress, he lowered her down, still kissing her, because he couldn't not kiss her.

  "We really need that shower," she murmured, breathless when he let her up for air. Her fingers were tangled in his hair, and one slender leg was wrapped around his hip as they lay half on, half off the narrow bed.

  "Eventually. Going dark," he said, before turning off and removing his earpiece. He'd almost forgotten he was still broadcasting to his team on board and his support team on the ground. That had never happened in all the years he'd been an operative. Jesus. She consumed him. Made him irrational.

  He tossed the comm in the general direction of the built-in table between the beds. "I love the taste of y
ou," he whispered against her ear, nuzzling the swirls and making her shudder. "I love the smell of your skin." He trailed his tongue down the tendon of her throat, making her neck arch, and her fingers tighten in his hair. "Here." Across her collar bone. "And here." The soft upper slope of her left breast. "And here." He nibbled her nipple through the cloth of her shirt, as he bunched the fabric for better access.

  She smelled of smoke, and the underlying, achingly familiar floral scent that would always remind him of her. Of this.

  It seemed forever, and almost magically quick before they were both naked. Her skin, warm and resilient, seemed to melt into him as if they were two halves of a whole. A living, breathing entity dependent on the other for survival.

  When he slid into her, her body opened, wet and welcoming to receive him. It was perfect, so fucking right that he had to freeze for a moment to relish what he held in his arms. To treasure this miracle of a woman. "You're perfection, River Sullivan."

  "Silly man."

  Daklin made love to her slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. He drew it out, loving her, imprinting her on his synapses for all time.

  Afterwards she lay on top of him, lazily playing with his hair as she pressed small soft kisses all over his face. "I don't want to sleep, but I might anyway. Will you keep me awake?"

  "You can sleep when you get to Portland." God, his voice was unrecognizable. Harsh. Cold. Everything he wasn't feeling.

  He felt the subtle change in her body as she responded to the tone of his voice. "You're right." Her voice was brisk as she rolled away from him. "But you need sleep more than I do. You have a big day ahead. I'll grab a quick shower, and come back to join you."

  Daklin grabbed her hand when she stood beside the bed. "It's against T-FLACs policy to shower alone on board. Waste of water."

  River laughed softly. "You and Ram in the shower together? I can't imagine it."

  "Us in the shower." He rolled off the bed to lead her by the hand into the small bathroom. Not turning on the light he cranked on the shower, and while the water steamed up the room, he pressed her against the wall to kiss her. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. He'd never be satisfied, never be satiated.

  But this was all he could have.

  #

  "Can I talk to him alone for a few minutes?"

  After a leisurely shower, he'd found her some clean clothes, black on black on black and a pair of boots that almost fit. River wasn't going to quibble. With her hair finger-combed, her cheeks flushed and her mouth tender, there was no mistaking she'd been having wild monkey sex for the last hour. But she didn't give a damn who noticed.

  "You can talk, but not alone." Ash smiled.

  "What?"

  He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. "You look like a bad-ass…until anyone sees this soft mouth."

  "This soft mouth is about to tell my brother some hard truths."

  He unlocked the door and pushed it open. "You'll have a captive audience."

  "Good. That'll give me better odds of him actually listening."

  They headed to the front of the plane where Oliver slumped at the window seat, hemmed in by three operatives. Others were stretched out in comfortable chairs, footrests up, their eyes closed. River had never seen more unrelaxed men pretending to sleep in her life. They all looked as though they were poised to jump to their feet any moment, guns drawn. She couldn't imagine living on the edge like that. Constantly alert for danger. Perpetually knowing that their job would kill them, probably sooner than later.

  She swallowed regret.

  The warmth of Ash's hand on the small of her back reminded her that he was alive, and here. And she'd better not waste a single one of their remaining hours together.

  "Give River and her brother a few minutes."

  The men who had Oliver hemmed in rose and passed them in the aisle. They didn't go far, and they all had the steely-eyed focus she recognized as de rigueur for operatives.

  River shot them a smile, then skirted the aisle seat and coffee table to stand near her brother. She had no idea where to even freaking start.

  He hadn't had the benefit of a shower, and he smelled pungently of smoke and dust. Only his eyes showed some life as he swiveled his head, slowly, to look up at her.

  There was total disinterest in his gaze. "What do you want, River?"

  Even though his attitude didn't surprise her, it still hurt. "To see how you're holding up."

  Red-rimmed eyes, a darker gray than her own, telegraphed his annoyance. "How do you think I'm holding up, for Christ sake? My life's work just got blown to hell."

  Striving to keep her tone moderate, just as she always had with him, she gave him a steady look. "Your life's work was creating explosives for terrorists, Oliver. I would think that's a small price to pay to save the rest of the world."

  "Neurotic people like you don't grasp the complexities of what someone like me is capable of. I'm not wasting my time discussing my work with someone who can't even grasp the fundamentals. Go away. You're hovering."

  Telling herself that it was the Asperger’s making him sound so abrupt and that he didn't mean to be insulting, she swallowed her anger. Just like she’d done all their lives. Any reciprocal rude retort would fall on deaf ears. "As far as these men are concerned your life's work was criminal."

  Oliver's face was pale under the smudges, but nothing could hide his closed, mutinous expression. As much as she loved him, she wanted to smack that intractable attitude right out of him.

  "Still hovering. No. Wait." He got unsteadily to his feet, holding out his arms. "I'm sorry, Riv. This whole situation--it's stressful for both of us. Give me a hug. That'll make us both feel better."

  Very much doubting it, River hesitated. She didn't want a hug from the adult Oliver, who was someone she didn't know or particularly like. She wanted a hug goodbye from the tall, gangly boy who'd taught her how to ride a bike, who'd taught her to hot-wire a car, who'd been a part of her life when things had been sane and happy. When their parents had been alive.

  As she looked at him now, she saw his outstretched arms for what they were. Not a hug. Nothing sincere. Only manipulation, pure and simple. Just like every smile he’d ever given her as a young boy. It was goddamned time for her to say goodbye to the person she’d created with wishful thinking, and see him as the man he was now.

  Fatally flawed. And in reality, she knew he’d always been.

  Yet she couldn't remember when he'd ever requested a hug from her. Her chest ached as she stepped into his arms and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face against his bony chest. Only because she needed the closure. He stank of cigarettes and smoke from the fire. His stiff posture indicated how little he wanted the physical contact.

  “Goodbye, Oliver.”

  The hug was brief and uncomfortable. For both of them.

  Surprisingly, he reached out to take her hands in his when she stepped out of his hold. "Don't worry, Riv." He pressed something into her palm, then dropped his hands to shove them back into his pockets, his shoulders hunched. "Everything's going to be okay."

  "Everything's always okay if someone else fixes it, Oliver. I can't fix this for you. You're in big trouble." Understatement of the century. She didn't say international terrorism, but surely he must be aware that that was what his actions were? "Just cooperate and answer all their questions."

  He sat down, turning his head to look out of the window. "Give me some space."

  Shoving the small leather pouch into her front pocket, River circumvented the table, and sat across from him. "Better?" she asked.

  "Acceptable."

  Asher settled on the arm of her chair, his hip against her arm. She loved the physical contact, and leaned against him just a little as she dragged in a determined breath. "You understand that you’re in a boatload of trouble, and your story that you were being held captive doesn’t make sense?”

  Narrow-eyed, her brother glanced at Ash. “According to who? Your boyf
riend? It would make sense to anyone with half a brain.”

  “Let’s start with the basics," Ash said, his tone moderate. "Why don't you tell your sister how you knew she was in Los Santos and not in Portland when you texted her. And why did you let her come? You knew she'd move heaven and earth to find you?"

  "I'd never put her in danger. She did that to herself."

  "She traveled all the way to Cosio to find you. You knew damn well she wouldn't stop until she did just that. You knew damn well she'd come herself to get you after that S.O.S. text."

  Oliver shrugged. "I guess."

  River's elevated blood pressure throbbed behind her eyeballs. "You freaking guess? The mine was stuffed full of explosives, soldiers were everywhere, you dropped all phone communication with me, and you guessed I'd come for you? Jesus, Oliver! Did you not care that the chances of me getting killed were freaking astronomical?"

  His lips tightened.

  "You knew you weren't going to die tonight, didn't you? You knew the soldiers had gone. Talk, Oliver, for God's sake! Franco paid you blood money, and you in turn put it in my account. Why? To salve your conscience? Do you even have a conscience?”

  Ash rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. His warm fingers provided an anchor to her wildly swinging emotions. Oliver’s bland expression was both maddening and terrifying. Ash and his people didn't understand her brother as she did. They hadn't grown up with his detachment. It was who he was, but that didn't make it any less frustrating. Especially now, when so much depended on him being transparent.

  Somehow she had to impress upon him, in a way he'd understand, just how much trouble he was in. Her duty of taking care of Oliver, a lifelong obligation for her, was a hard habit to break. Answering her basic questions truthfully and freaking immediately would go a long way toward mitigating the irritation she read in the eyes of the operatives who surrounded them both. So far, Ash was allowing her to ask questions, but she guessed that pretty soon that option would be taken off the table. "What was the plan, Oliver? That I'd come to get you, drive you to wherever and then you'd disappear again. Pretend to be dead? Start up somewhere else? Different name, different place, same damned terrorist activities?"