The Warrior

by Sharon Sala

  So he did.

  He began with her mouth, kissing those lush, sensual lips until they were pink and swollen from the pressure, stroking every inch of her with his fingers and his tongue until every pulse point on her body was throbbing. He heard her whispers and promises, and answered back with the old words, making love to Alicia in the tongue of the Ah-ni-yv-wi-ya. Healing his heart along with his soul. And when she took him into her body, it was, for John, a sense of having come home.

  Alicia couldn’t get enough of his kisses—of his touch. The passion in his greed to take more and more of what she gave heightened her senses. Every muscle in her body was focused on the fire building low in her belly. She wanted more, pulled him deeper and harder and faster until they were moving in sync.

  Her climax came suddenly, an urgent and nearly painful demand, sweeping what was left of her senses straight out of her mind.

  John felt the sudden onset of her climax, but it was the low, guttural moan near his ear that made him lose all control. The unexpected ejaculation of his seed into her womb came with all the force of a blow to the back of his head. His body was on autopilot as he thrust once, then again, then a third time, before he fell on top of her with a deep groan of satisfaction. His muscles were shaking from the exertion he’d put them through, and once again, instead of feeling empty and used up, he felt renewed.

  “Alicia…Alicia…” Then he rolled, taking her with him until she was lying on top of him, still clasped tight within his embrace.

  For a few quiet moments they just lay there, savoring the afterglow and the closeness. But when Alicia started to move, John slid his fingers through her hair, winding the long dark lengths around his wrists, then sighed and closed his eyes.

  Alicia was hovering on the verge between consciousness and sleep when she thought she heard him whisper one word.

  “Mine.”

  She sighed. It was true. For better or for worse, she’d given her heart to this man.

  Seventeen

  Dieter was sitting at a sidewalk café, having his morning croissant and a cup of cinnamon roast coffee, when his cell phone rang. It had been over two weeks since he’d settled in at his Austrian bed-and-breakfast, and he was developing a routine that suited him just fine. But hearing that ring quickly put an end to his peace of mind. He pushed his coffee aside, dusted the croissant crumbs from his hands and answered.

  “Hello, boss.”

  “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to answer,” Richard said shortly.

  “Sorry,” Dieter said. “I was eating breakfast. Had a mouthful of food I needed to swallow.”

  Richard still needed someone to bring the last of his plans to fruition and didn’t want to antagonize Dieter into quitting on him when it mattered most. “Yes, well…all right,” Richard said. “I suppose I’m just impatient to put all this to rest.”

  That sounded positive, which pleased Dieter. “As am I,” he said.

  “You will be receiving a FedEx packet at your residence today. In it will be some instructions and a plane ticket.”

  “Where am I going?” Dieter asked.

  “Correct that to ‘Where are we going?’”

  “You’re coming along?”

  “I will be meeting you in the Bahamas.”

  “That’s marvelous!” Dieter said.

  “It’s not exactly a vacation,” Richard reminded him.

  “Yes, of course, boss. I didn’t mean—”

  “Never mind. Just follow my instructions to the letter and don’t miss your flight.”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I’ll be there. How long do you plan to be there?”

  “Until the job is done,” Richard snapped, then hung up.

  Dieter sighed, dropped his phone back in his pocket and retrieved what was left of his croissant. Then he lifted his hand to signal a waiter and had his coffee refilled, determined to enjoy what might be his last peaceful day for a while.

  Corbin Woodliff was in the middle of an exposé regarding a doctor and a welfare scam when his phone rang. He answered absently, but when he recognized his caller, his attention sharpened.

  “John! Long time no word,” Corbin said. “What’s been happening?”

  “That’s what I called to ask you,” John said. “I’ve been thinking of going back to Georgia, but I’m not sure where the Feds are with their search for Ponte. What can you tell me that I don’t already know?”

  “No much, I’m afraid. There was a flurry of investigations in the Balkans a couple of days ago that proved to be dead end. It’s as if he dropped off the face of the earth.”

  John frowned. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but they weren’t really any safer in Arizona than they had been in Georgia. Both places had been located and infiltrated. The fact that Alicia was still alive was mostly due to timing and planning, and he could arrange that there as well as here.

  He hadn’t spoken with Alicia about the idea yet, but he knew she was feeling the pressure of being stranded in the middle of nowhere. They wouldn’t exactly be returning to a social scene, but the ambience and comfort of the Georgia house were more suited to good vibes than the severity of this desert hideaway. This was where John came to heal when he needed peace in his life. When he had brought Alicia here to hide, he’d had no idea that they would end up healing each other.

  When John didn’t comment immediately, Corbin followed up.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m going to run it by Alicia first. If we make a move, I’ll let you know. And if you get any information that would help, give me a call.”

  “Absolutely,” Corbin said, then added, “And don’t forget, when this is over, the whole story is mine.”

  “Yeah, sure,” John said, and hung up. But he already knew Corbin wasn’t ever going to get the whole story. Corbin could have whatever Alicia chose to tell him about her end of it, but that was where it stopped.

  He looked down at the computer screen, noted that one of his stocks was starting to plummet and picked up the phone and called his broker.

  John made arrangements to sell and hung up, then scanned the stocks for a few more minutes. After that he checked his e-mail, answered what he needed to and deleted the rest before pushing back from his desk to go look for Alicia. She’d made herself scarce right after breakfast, and he wasn’t sure why, or what she was doing.

  Alicia stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. As she dried herself off, she kept glancing out the arched window by the shower door. The day was clear. By noon the sun would be scorching. But she felt stifled. She’d never been inside this long in her life, unless she counted the winter she’d broken her leg on the ski slopes and been laid up for almost six weeks.

  She dressed slowly, thinking about how she used to spend her days. If she died today, no one but John would really care. Oh, there would most likely be a media circus made out of the actual funeral, but no one would cry for her. No one would remember for long that she’d even lived. She felt the lack of conscience with which she’d lived her life. Why hadn’t she done more, like volunteering in places that really needed help? God knew she had the time and money to do it.

  She paused, then leaned her elbows on the windowsill and looked at the vastness of the landscape. Mountains, desert, cacti and scrub brush abounded, and while she knew it came with its own set of wildlife, there were no other people in sight. On the surface, this place was a mirror image of her life: barren and empty.

  She ran her fingers through the thick, wet length of her hair and then wrapped a towel around it to catch the drips before going to dress. Even then, she was still caught up in retrospection. Maybe her life would have been different if her mother hadn’t died when she was so young. Maybe her father would have turned out to be a different kind of man.

  She sighed.

  Thinking about what-ifs and maybes got her nowhere. And she wasn’t going to allow her father any excuse for what he’d done—what he was
still trying to do. Some males in the animal world killed their own offspring to get to what they wanted. Her father was no better, and she was sick and tired of being scared.

  She went back into the bathroom to use the hair dryer, then changed her mind, picked up a hairbrush, pocketed a scrunchie and headed for the terrace.

  With the scorpion sting foremost in her mind, she kept her eyes on the flat, sun-bleached tiles as she walked outside. The sun was up. The sky was clear, and there were no creepy crawlers in sight. She chose a seat near the patio table, unwrapped the towel from around her head and draped it over the back of another chair. Then she unloaded the scrunchie from her pocket, turned her back to the sun and began to finger comb her hair.

  As it began to dry, Alicia alternated her fingers with the brush, working with the long, silky length until it was smooth and shining. She slipped the scrunchie over her wrist to have it at the ready, then began to gather her hair into a ponytail. Just as she began, a turkey buzzard flew into her line of sight. She watched it circling overhead, slowly widening each loop to cover more territory in search of prey. Distracted by the scavenger’s hunt, her mind lost focus as her fingers continued to weave the thick strands of her hair not into a ponytail but into a single long four-stranded braid.

  John had been through the entire house without a sign of Alicia, but when he got to the dining room and looked out through the terrace doors, he saw her. His anxiety settled as he started toward her. Then he focused on her hands and what she was doing with her hair. And he forgot to breathe.

  All of a sudden he was back in his village watching White Fawn braiding her hair. Instead of separating her hair into three separate lengths, she separated it into four, ending up with a flat plait instead of a fat braid, all without being able to see what she was doing. She was the envy of many women for that simple ability and had been quietly proud of it.

  But that was White Fawn’s skill, not Alicia’s.

  His heart was pounding so hard he could barely think as he started out the door. Was this really happening, or was this yet another hopeless dream from which he would wake? He walked up behind her just as she slipped the scrunchie off her wrist onto the end of her braid, wrapping it around over and over until it was securely fastened, then let the braid fall. Just as she was about to get up, she saw John’s shadow coming up from behind her.

  “Hey…I was just about to come inside.” She turned toward him with a smile.

  John cupped the side of her face, tracing her smile with a thumb, then touched the crown of her head, his fingers trembling as he ran them down the length of her braid. There was a knot in his throat as he lifted her hair in his hand.

  “Alicia…baby…how did you do that?”

  “Do what?” she asked as she stood up and began gathering her things to take back inside.

  “Fix your hair like that.”

  “It’s just a ponytail. My hair is heavy, and it keeps it off the back of my neck. Why? Is it a mess? Did I miss some bits?”

  She reached for the back of her neck, searching for loose strands, only to discover something wasn’t right.

  “What on earth?” she mumbled, and then pulled her hair over her shoulder. She gasped, then slung it back behind her as if it were a snake.

  “I didn’t do that. I don’t know how to do that,” she whispered, and then touched the braid again, unable to believe what she’d done.

  John took her face in his hands, staring at each feature as if he’d never seen her before. She looked frightened, and he felt as if he was sleepwalking.

  Alicia’s voice was shaking. “What just happened? Is this another one of those Sedona moments I’m not supposed to understand?” She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let go.

  “Look at me, Alicia. Look. At. Me.”

  She stopped. Something was going on that she didn’t understand.

  “I am looking. I see you,” she said.

  “Is it you…is it you, my love?” John whispered, letting his fingers trace the shape of her face—the curve of her hairline, the breadth of her brow, the cut of her cheekbones—then down her face all the way to her chin.

  Alicia was beginning to get scared. What the hell was going on?

  “John? What’s wrong? Please. Talk to me.”

  He shook his head as if coming out of a trance, then leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers. For a few silent moments they were nose to nose, breath mingling, hearts pounding with shared uncertainty over what had happened.

  Finally he just wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close against his heartbeat.

  “Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

  “No. I think you just did something right. Something you’ve been trying to tell me ever since the day we met, but I couldn’t see it for the hate in my heart. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t understand,” Alicia said.

  He looked down at the plait lying across his arms and then hugged her. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but that you’re here.”

  Alicia frowned. “You’re not making sense. Of course I’m here.” Then she pulled out of his arms and looked up at him with her hands on her hips. “Are you about to freak out on me? If you are, just tell me now, so I can figure out how to help you. I’ve already come to terms with your…uh…shall we call them…beliefs. It’s okay with me if you want to be five or five hundred. I just don’t want to lose you.”

  John leaned down and kissed her. He was so shaken by what had transpired that he could hardly think. There was no way he was going to try to explain this to her, too.

  “You aren’t going to lose me, baby,” he said softly. “And I am not going to lose you. Ever again. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, and then ran her fingers over her braid again. “What on earth is this, anyway? I wasn’t really paying attention. I was watching that buzzard. I probably couldn’t do this again in a million years.”

  “Probably not,” John said, and then took her by the shoulders. “Hey. I’ve got an idea.”

  Interest lit her expression. “Tell me.”

  “What do you say we go home?”

  She frowned, then pointed over his shoulder. “Uh, John…sweetheart…turn around. We are home.”

  “No. I mean back to the ocean…to Georgia.”

  She gasped. “Can we? I mean…this place is beautiful, but it’s so…so…”

  “Far?” he offered.

  She smiled. “Yes. Far. It’s far. Very far. From everything.”

  “Well, initially, that was the reason we came, remember? But I’ll keep you safe, no matter where we are.”

  “You think?” she asked, suddenly nervous.

  “I know,” John said. “The Old Ones didn’t send you back to me only for me to lose you again.”

  She frowned. Here they went again. “The Old Ones?”

  “Never mind,” he said.

  It sounded like a good idea to her. “Right. I’m going to pack. When can we leave?”

  “I need to refuel the chopper. In the morning we’ll fly into Sedona, refuel there and then head east, okay?”

  “Definitely okay,” she said, and then she lifted her arms above her head and did a little victory dance before heading back into the house.

  John watched her go, the long black plait flying out behind her, just like it used to do when she’d been small and brown and worn a bluebird feather in her hair.

  Richard was standing at baggage claim in the Nassau airport, wearing white shorts and a blue polo shirt tucked in at the waist. For shade to protect his bald head and nearly healed face, he’d chosen a wide-brimmed Panama hat and aviator sunglasses. He looked like a well-to-do businessman on holiday.

  He checked his watch, as he had every few moments since his arrival. This was where he and Dieter were to meet. Dieter’s plane had been on time, which was good. He hated waiting.

  Richard had arrived yesterday, giving him time to settle in. He had yet to recover his
full physical stamina, so the extra time had been a good idea. He hadn’t wanted to fly with his precious metal box, so he’d shipped it earlier to the Nassau hotel, with a fresh supply of dry ice to keep the contents safe and instructions that it was to be held there until his arrival. He’d had a few nervous moments after he’d arrived, while the hotel staff searched their mail room before it was finally located. After that, Richard tipped them handsomely, carried it to his room and secreted it at the back of the closet.

  Tomorrow, or maybe the day after, Richard Ponte’s death would become a fact. He would make sure it hit the worldwide news. It was important that the authorities have access to whatever it took in the way of DNA for them to believe his death was real. He thought himself a genius for having come up with the plan, and wished he had someone besides Dieter with whom he could share it. Unfortunately for his ego, this was one coup that would have to stay secret.

  As he waited, a flurry of travelers began coming into baggage claim. Finally, he thought, and quickly turned his attention to the newcomers’ faces. He didn’t have long to wait and recognized Dieter within seconds of his appearance.

  Dieter had dyed his hair to match his new identity papers, and he’d grown a mustache, which looked a bit affected, but it didn’t matter. As long as their identities passed muster, he didn’t give a damn if the man opted to dress in drag.

  Richard started to wave, then decided to wait until Dieter retrieved his luggage and see if he could recognize Richard on his own before he made himself known.

  Dieter was travel-weary and dealing with a two-hour headache when he reached baggage claim. He quickly located the correct carousel and looked around for a place to sit. As usual, there was none. He swiped a hand across his forehead, quietly wishing he’d chosen different clothing. It was hotter than he’d expected, and he wanted something cold to drink.

  He looked around to see if he could spot Richard, then realized he would also be in disguise. Still, he should be able to recognize him. He’d worked for him for almost fifteen years. He knew the coldhearted bastard as well as he knew himself, but after a couple of minutes of searching, decided he had yet to arrive.