by Ronie Kendig
“Just trying to figure it out.”
“Figure what out?” She raised her hands. “I’ve told you everything.”
“Have you?” His boots scuffed over the wood as he sidled toward her. “Have you finally told me all your dirty little secrets?”
“Yes!”
His thunderous expression exploded. “Then why in God’s name didn’t you tell me a week ago so my father didn’t have to die?”
Piper lowered her head. “Because I didn’t want my father to die.”
“Well, therein lies the problem.” Colton pivoted and walked to the door. Tried to open it. Banged on it. “Open up!”
Piper flinched each time he banged on the door, tears—the stupid, burning tears—streaking down her cheek. She swatted at them. “Forgive me for fighting for something as trivial as my father’s life.”
Colton rounded on her, slamming her heart into her throat. “Oh, want to try that on me? Try to make me feel guilty to appease your conscience?”
“That’s not … I didn’t … You haven’t exactly been the most forthcoming person either. You aren’t a saint, Colton.”
“Never claimed to be.”
“But you never bothered to tell me who you are, or what exactly you do. You deceived me, allowed me to think you were out of the military, knowing you were still entrenched in military actions.”
He held out a hand to stop her. “Wait.” He patted his chest. “Remember, you love me.” Head cocked, he eyed her. “So tell me, Piper—or whatever your name is—who am I?”
“Kelila,” she muttered.
Unbelievable. “Avoiding the question.” He shook his head. “Well, let me tell you about the man you think you fell in love with. I’m a sniper. I use a long-range scope and place bullets in the gray matter of terrorists all over the globe. I do it with such lethal precision that I haven’t missed yet.” He arched an eyebrow. “Last night, I put a .308 in the skull of the guy who killed my father.”
“And it didn’t help, did it?”
The words hit center mass. “We don’t have time for this.” He turned back to the door.
“I see it in your eyes.” Piper rushed around him and caught his arm. “You’re still livid; you’re still hurting.” She took a step closer.
She wouldn’t have if she realized how close he was to losing it.
“Killing … retribution doesn’t solve it, doesn’t help.”
The rush of his thrumming pulse roared in his ears. “Oh, it helped all right.”
Brows knit, she considered him. Then shook her head. “No, you don’t believe that for one second,” she said quietly. A fierce determination glittered in her caramel eyes. “I may not have known that you were a sniper, I may not have known about this team I’ve met today, but I do know the heart of the man standing before me.”
The storm brewing in his gut shifted. Enough for him to notice, but not enough to wave off the torrent of his anger. He didn’t back down. Towered over her, ready to pounce.
“That’s what I fell in love with, Colton. Your heart. The tender man who’s frantic when his daughter isn’t where she’s supposed to be. The son courteous enough to endure his mother’s nudging to get married and settle down, and the son humble enough to listen to his father even though he’s a grown man.”
Every beat of his heart thundered. He watched, disbelieving the way she faced his fury, the way she entered the eye of the storm without blinking. Her hand raised, clenched, then flattened as she pressed her fingers over his chest. Over his heart.
She raised her eyes to his. “I pray … some day … I can earn your forgiveness.”
The coolness of her touch seeped through the fibers of his button-down. Each breath felt like a thousand-pound weight beneath her fingers.
He removed her hand. “Forgiveness isn’t earned.” It’s given. Something he wouldn’t—couldn’t do.
But the team would be watching. Lambert was watching. He knew what they wanted him to say, what they expected him to do. If he didn’t go into this mission with his head in the game, they’d all back out. Despite harboring this anger against her, he knew the mission was somehow important—a whole country seemed to depend on Nightshade’s covert action.
He would play their game. Do the mission. Get it over with. Go on with his life … without her.
Only then did he feel her eyes assessing him, and it forced him to step away from her. She’d seen into his soul once already. He didn’t
need her figuring this one out.
“Colton?”
“We’ll go in,” he said, bending over the table and harnessing his focus. “Find your father and get him out.” He felt her at his side now. “You can trust the team; they’re the best. If anyone can get your father out alive, it’ll be them.”
Since when had he started referring to Nightshade as them?
“What just happened?”
He met her gaze, narrowed with suspicion. Who cared if she read past the false exterior and knew what he was doing? “It’s time to move on.”
CHAPTER 20
Ten rows, more than forty seats … roughly twenty-three feet separated them. But even from back here, Colton heard her laughter. He shifted in the seat, angling his booted foot into the aisle in the hopes of stretching his cramped legs. He glanced past the teen with the mullet and the woman cradling the infant and just beyond the flight attendant to where sandy blond hair barely touched the collar of Midas’s navy blue button-down. They’d chatted nearly the entire umpteen-hour flight.
“How’s your neck?”
Warning his partner to veer off with that stupid smirk, Colton cast a sidelong glance to Max, who sat squished between Colton and the overweight, middle-aged man sawing some serious logs.
“After eighteen hours of straining to see her, you’ve got to have a crick in that thick neck of yours.”
“How would you know? You snored louder than mammoth guy there for two hours.”
“Hey, can I help it if you don’t know how to relax?”
Colton snorted and slumped back against the seat. Pushed his shoulders into the thick cushion as he readjusted. “These stupid seats were designed with short people like you in mind.”
“Cowboy’s gettin’ cranky.”
Another burst of laughter snagged his attention. His gaze shot toward her seat before he realized it. Then started to look at Max and thought better of it. Which made Max laugh again.
“Sounds like they’re having a good time.” Max yawned. “That’ll be interesting. Far as I know, he only does first dates.” This time, he stretched across Colton and peered up the aisle. “Yep, they look pretty cozy.”
Colton glared at him. Curled a fist.
With a nod, Max shrugged, looking guilty—fake guilt, that was. “I’m sure Midas just wants to maintain cover.” When another laugh erupted from Piper, Max grunted. “Hm, never known Midas to be funny. They must be getting along really well.”
“Do you want my fist up your nose?”
Max busted up laughing. “You are such a sap. And you say you don’t care about her anymore?”
“Partner, you’re treadin’ some dangerous ground there.” Head tilted back, Colton closed his eyes and told himself to get some shuteye, but with the anger over Max’s teasing churning his gut and Piper’s voice and laughter plucking at him each time he’d start to drift off, it left him angrier … and exhausted.
By the time the plane landed at Tel Aviv International Airport, Colton had more cricks and aches than he’d care to admit. But it wasn’t the aches and cricks that antagonized his foul mood. It was the way Piper seemed oblivious to the sacrifices the team had made for her, the fact that his father died. That she’d ripped his heart out.
He couldn’t help but eye her when she and Midas crowded the aisle with dozens of passengers. The whole scene reminded him of a herd of cattle trying to wrestle their way out of the line-up pen on auction day.
He and Max waited for more passengers to fill the space, all
owing more distance and less cause to be noticed or connected to the supposedly happy honeymooners, before he stepped into the aisle and exited. As he glided through the airport, his gaze roved the crowds, searching for Piper. Just wanted to make sure they were following the mission, that’s all.
As he strolled past the fountain, a brightly lit set of arches snagged his attention. His heart chugged to a stop. Emelie.
“Look, Colton! Mickey-D’s in Israel. Who’da thunk it?” Her laughter had mingled with the throng of passengers. “Think a Big Mac will taste as bad here in the Holy Land as it does back home?” Her infectious giggle drifted through the planes of grief and death right into his chest as he remembered how she’d been so excited, commenting on everything, comparing. Like Christmas morning when she was a kid. So happy.
So much vitality and vibrancy.
Just like Piper.
“You okay?”
He blinked and darted a glance to his partner. “Yeah, sure.” Hitching his pack farther onto his shoulder, he navigated the sea of people.
Already, he felt his decision to come trembling beneath Piper’s betrayal and the all-too-fresh memory of Emelie’s death. It’d been five years. He should be over it by now. Not her death—he’d never be over that—but hearing her voice so clearly. Remembering things as if they were happening in front of him. Right now.
Had all the makings of a bad flashback. A really bad one. He’d all but kicked them since joining Nightshade. At least the big ones that left him feeling as stupid as Guernsey’s hogs.
When he stepped into the arid early morning, he paused at the long line of limos and private drivers loitering nearby.
Emelie had squealed as he pointed her to the sleek black vehicle. “You got a limo?”
With a shoulder nudge, Max started toward a blue sedan with a TAXI sign. “Let’s grab that one.”
As Colton turned toward the car, Piper and Metcalfe stepped from the terminal, dragging their bags … and holding hands. Like the happy couple their passports said they were. She pointed to something out across the road and jabbered on.
Only then did it really hit him that this was her home. Her country.
Midas tapped a stranger, handed him a camera, and asked him to take a photo. Colton gripped the straps of his bag tighter, knowing full well it was all for appearance, but also knowing that Metcalfe was probably doing this to rub it in his face. The idea to pair the two had come from Lambert, said it was for the best considering Colton’s feelings.
Colton hadn’t argued. Because he agreed. Mostly. Though he hadn’t said anything, it bugged him, the thought of her with anyone else. He shouldn’t care.
Yet seeing them together—Midas’s arm around her—did things to Colton. He ground his teeth as they strode toward a limousine. For a woman who’d declared her undying love to him just days ago, she sure seemed content to be on another man’s arm.
Furious, he gripped the padded strap of his pack tighter and strode toward the car. The driver shuttled them to a hotel. After they checked in and dumped their bags in the room, they headed down the back stairwell.
“Hey, let’s grab a bite for the road,” Max said. “Nearby, I saw a café.”
Colton’s boot slipped out from under him and nearly landed him on the concrete steps. A café … Israel … He recovered but descended the stairs a bit slower. “Not hungry.” He punched open the door and stepped into the warm, arid day.
“Well, I need to eat.”
“No time,” Colton said, nodding to the black SUV parked along the curb.
They climbed in and were greeted by a man in a suit. He extended a hand. “Daniel Ben-Haim, deputy foreign minister. Welcome to Israel, gentlemen.”
“Thanks,” Max said with a quick shake. “Got any food around here?”
Colton grimaced at his partner’s request, and introduced himself.
“Sure, I know the perfect place,” the minister said as he barreled through the city.
Focused on their surroundings, Colton tensed as they pulled to the curb of an indoor/outdoor café. Patrons sat at tables along the street, laughing and eating. His gut roiled. He searched the crowds on the street for hostiles. The cars appeared normal, but how could one pick out a suicide bomber just by looking at the outside?
“Be right back,” Max said as he leapt out and rushed into the place.
Fist over his mouth, Colton remembered how thrilled Emelie had been to be in the same country where Jesus had walked. He brought her here so she could have fun, celebrate the huge accomplishment of earning a full merit scholarship to Harvard. He’d never been prouder of his kid sister. He was young and had money from his career with the Marines. So he treated her to the all-expenses-paid trip ….
Straight to the grave.
“Just one more rugelach. Please?”
She’d loved those stupid little pastries with nuts and fruit. And just like that, she’d disappeared into the café once more to buy another … Thud!
Heart jack-hammering, Colton flinched. Snapped out of the memory by the slamming passenger door … door … not the bomb that had ended Emelie’s life.
A pair of dark eyes considered him. “You okay?” The question held no mirth, no lightheartedness.
Colton could tell Max thought he’d had a flashback. Maybe he had, although to him, it was just a bad memory, a nightmare. “Just want to get there. Get it done.” Stretching his neck, Colton roughed a hand over his face. Glanced at the driver, who was watching him, too. “How long to rendezvous?”
“About an hour.”
Closing his eyes, Colton leaned back. Anything to get Max off his back and give his mind time to breathe. The jouncing felt familiar and almost comforting, reminding him of riding in the back of a Humvee and barreling through desert.
“Want something?”
“No, I’m stuffed. “
She planted a kiss on his cheek, her hands resting on his shoulder, which she squeezed. “You are the best big brother I have. “
He chuckled. “I’m the only big brother you have. “
“Case in point. “ With another kiss and pat, she said, “I’ll be right back. “
Behind him, brakes squeaked. He glanced over his shoulder as a hefty woman emerged and walked toward the café. His gaze shifted to the café.
To the car driving away.
Instinct pushed him out of the iron chair. He checked the café as the woman entered. Through the small crowd and dim lights, he saw Emelie smiling at him. She waved.
No. The woman. The woman in the burka. He saw her reach beneath her head covering—a bomb!
He surged forward, but his legs felt like jelly. “Emelie. No!”
Something hit Colton in the gut. He jerked and blinked.
Black eyes stared at him again. “We’re here.” Max’s eyes darkened as the driver—the deputy foreign minister—pulled into a large, gated facility. “Are you?”
Colton didn’t answer. They were just memories, bad ones, right? It wasn’t a flashback. Not a real one. Right? Swallowing hard against his thundering pulse, he tried to shake off the adrenaline still zinging through his veins.
When the car stopped, he climbed out and grabbed his bag. Trailed the deputy through the open level toward a door and stairwell. His heart hadn’t evened out, but at least the effects were fading.
“Hey.”
He ignored Max’s hissed word. Hopefully he’d leave him alone.
A hand clapped onto his shoulder. “Hey.” Max tugged him around, scowling. “What was that back there?”
“Nothing.” Colton tried to shrug free, but the hand only tightened on his shoulder.
“Bull!” Max gave him a light shove. “You came to like you were on another planet.”
Colton clamped his jaw, stared at the pile of dirt collecting in the corner under the stairs. Just like the memories that had collected at the back of his mind. If only he could sweep them into a bin.
“What happened?”
“A bad dream.”
Dawning cleared the fury from Max’s face. “You mean a flashback.”
Looking away did nothing to ease the guilt and dread pooling in his intestines. He wanted to argue, rationalize, but he couldn’t.
“Is this going to be a problem? Because I have a team out there that I’m responsible for—and you’re part of it. So tell me, Cowboy. Is this going to be a problem?”
How could he answer? There hadn’t been a flashback, not a bad one, in more than two years.
“Answer me!”
“No! I’m here. I’m doing this.” Colton shouted, his voice ringing off the high well of concrete they stood in. He grabbed the rail and propelled himself around them and up the stairs. “Get off my back.”
“I’ll ride your tail from here to kingdom come if you quit!”
Quit? Colton was quitting? Agape, Piper stood at the entrance, watching Colton jog up the stairs.
Metcalfe trotted toward the team leader. “What was that about?” Piper joined them. “He’s quitting? He can’t quit out here, can he?” The little muscle at the corner of Max’s jaw twitched as he broke his gaze from Metcalfe and completely avoided Piper. “We have an AHOD meeting upstairs. We’re late.”
Stumbling back didn’t distance her from the roiling hatred she saw in Max’s dark eyes. Somehow, she had a feeling she would never gain his approval.
Metcalfe touched her elbow. “Hey, don’t worry.” Kindness in his tone buffed out the smear of hurt. “Cowboy isn’t going anywhere but on the mission.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s what we do—the mission. Tensions are high. Words are gruff. We do the job and get it done, no matter how much we hate it.”
“He hates me?”
Metcalfe smirked. “Sorry, wrong choice of words. I meant, no matter how we feel about it. We’re soldiers. Our priority is to the mission. And I know for a fact that’s Cowboy’s priority, too.” He bobbed his head toward the steps. “Come on. Before Frogman starts yelling again.”
Upstairs, the team had gathered around a long counter. A man in a navy suit removed a folder and set it atop his briefcase.
“Bout time y’all showed up,” the Kid teased as he straddled his backpack.