Talon

by Ronie Kendig

  In a rush, Dane stood over her, hands gently on her shoulders. “Don’t go there, Angel.” His voice was soft, gentle, like her favorite down comforter. “Don’t give up on him.”

  “He’s not better, Dane.” Her voice cracked. Suddenly aware that her hand was on his side, heat flared through her and she removed it, wiping her fingers along her face to make the removal seem innocuous. “I keep thinking he’s getting better, but he’s not. How are we going to find out if Austin is here, if he’s alive, if Talon can’t keep it together?”

  “Slow down there,” he said, craning his neck to look into her eyes. “Think about it. When Talon barked, what was he looking at?”

  “The boy.”

  Dane started to shake his head then slowed then gave a firmer shake. “Think—”

  She drew in a hard breath as the memory spilled over her. Aspen widened her eyes as she drew in a breath. “You’re right.” A bubble of laughter trickled up her throat. “He was looking down the hall.” Her heart beat a little faster. “I think he saw something or someone.”

  “Which means he had a hit.”

  “He didn’t break behavior.” Relief warmed her belly. She laughed. “Thank you!” She tiptoed up, threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him. “You’re right.”

  Awareness lit through her as his arms encircled her waist and tightened. Aspen stilled, the realization sudden that she’d thrown herself into his arms. Then it coupled with the intense exhilaration that blossomed.

  But…would he take it wrong? Would he…?

  Slowly, she eased back to the ground, her hand resting on his shoulder then onto his bicep. He must think her stupid. Or—loose.

  She flicked her gaze to his.

  And froze.

  His fingers swept her cheek. The spot where they’d banged heads earlier. And trickles of electricity shot through her face and neck at his touch. “I was afraid it’d bruise.”

  Unable to keep her gaze from his for any decent amount of time, Aspen tried to maintain a smile, but everything in her felt ablaze. “I…I’m not as soft as I look.”

  Dane’s eyes lowered to her lips.

  Oh… Her breathing shallowed as his head dipped toward hers.

  “No!”

  Startled, Aspen drew up short.

  Dane swallowed and turned toward the bed, reaching for something.

  “No,” Timbrel repeated as she stomped toward them. “You stay away from her!”

  Indignation squirmed through Aspen. “Timbrel!”

  “You don’t know this guy, Aspen.” Timbrel wore a mask of outrage and protectiveness, but something else was there. “I warned you—told you I didn’t like how he was looking at you. Can’t you see it? He’s working you.”

  Dane swung around. And what Aspen saw in his face pushed her back a step. The rugged face, the gentility, the quiet powerful presence—gone. In their place, a terrifying fury.

  SAFE

  Nevsky Prospekt, St. Petersburg, Russia

  Age: 14 Years, 3 Months

  Back in St. Petersburg, Nikol disembarked the bus. As soon as his foot hit the cement, he stopped. My backpack. Breath jammed into his throat, he stared out at the bustling city. How would he explain that to the colonel? Fear swirled through his body, deadening him to the din around him. Was there anything in it that would identify him?

  No, of course not. Another thing he had been trained to protect—his identity. Besides his national identity card, he carried nothing with his name or residence on it. The colonel vowed he had sworn enemies who would do anything to get to him.

  Believing that was believing in Mikuláš.

  A grimy window blurred his reflection—but also reminded him of the cut. Need to remedy that. But how? Rounding another corner, he made eye contact with a police officer then veered left and headed down an alley. Skirting a three-story building, he heard the heavy footfalls behind him.

  Nikol continued on. Left, then right, he searched. Farther into the darker sections of the city. Should not be too much farther—

  “Hey, you lost?”

  Perfect.

  Nikol turned. “What is it to you?”

  The brawny kid came toward him. “This is my territory, that’s what.”

  “As if you could stop me.” Showing his back to the guy should be enough.

  A gust of wind and a foul smell warned him of the attack. He let it come.

  The guy grabbed his jacket, swung him around. In the fraction of a second it took to see the fist coming, Nikol angled his face so the guy would hit his cheek. Crack.

  Pain shot through his head. His neck whipped back. Stupid kid missed—busted his lip instead.

  Nikol drove a hard right at his opponent.

  The kid stumbled but came at him again. Nailed him straight on.

  Fire streaked through his face and jaw. About time. Nikol threw a flat-handed slice right into the guy’s throat. The kid dropped to his knees, clutching his throat.

  “Stop!” The police officer raced toward them, aiming a weapon. “Step back.”

  Hands up, Nikol shuffled away from the thug.

  In the minutes it took another police officer to show up, Nikol closed himself off. Mentally compartmentalized. He had accomplished his mission, covered his mistakes.

  “You belong to Colonel Tselekova.”

  Hands behind his head, Nikol merely stared at the officer through a knotted brow.

  They laughed as the fatter officer stuffed Nikol’s national identity card into his pocket. “He’ll get enough punishment at home.”

  “But you saw—”

  “Do you want to explain to Tselekova why he had to come down and pick him up?”

  “I’ll return him to the colonel,” the younger officer said.

  Silently, Nikol thanked God for the reprieve. Taking him into custody would have made it worse. Having documentation, having to experience the humiliation of retrieving him from a jail, the colonel’s fury would be heard throughout the city. It had happened once, and though Nikol had been willing to endure it again this time, he had always done everything in his power to avoid another lesson.

  “I ask not for a lighter burden, but for broader shoulders.” HIS mother had said that a thousand times and then would clasp his shoulders and say, “You will have broad shoulders.”

  Nine hundred heartbeats passed before he stood at the door to the apartment, under the control of the officer who announced their presence with two hollow yet booming thuds on the door. Though Nikol tasted the blood from his lip, he cared not.

  The door swung open.

  Cold dumped into Nikol’s stomach as the colonel towered over them both, darkening the doorway. Darkening life. Fury smudged a scowl into the steely features.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant Kislik.”

  Chest puffed, the police officer relinquished control, gave a curt nod, then stomped off.

  The colonel moved back without a word. Stood straight and stiff, demanding with his silence that Nikol enter.

  Pushing every ounce of contrition into his face and posture, Nikol trudged inside. He paused as the door closed. There would be no dialogue—no excuse was good enough to bring shame on Colonel Tselekova. Or to arouse his anger. The offense didn’t matter. A beating would commence. Always had.

  Nikol did not care. He had accomplished his mission, and the colonel was none the wiser. Remembering the face of an angel, he turned.

  Swift movement tensed him. The butt of a Tokarev collided with his temple.

  The blunt force thrust him backward. He hit the wall. Blood sped down his face. As his vision ghosted, he had one thought: At least Kalyna is safe.

  Thirteen

  Camp Lemonnier, Combined Joint Task Force—Horn of Africa Republic of Djibouti, Africa

  Tame the fury.

  Gaze locked on Aspen, on the widening of her eyes, the tension radiating through her frame, Cardinal hauled in the hurricane-strength storm that erupted at three words: “He’s working you.”

&n
bsp; “I know your type.” Red-faced, fists balled, and in a fighter stance, Timbrel stood between Aspen and him. “I know how you work on softhearted women—”

  “Timbrel—” Aspen moved to the side, closer to Dane.

  “No!” Timbrel whirled toward Aspen, who’d moved closer. “No, I’m not going to let this go. I won’t let him hurt you. You’re too good of a woman.”

  “And a strong woman capable of making her own decisions,”

  Cardinal said, his heart pounding at her accusations, at the way she portrayed him to Aspen. “Give her some credit.”

  “Oh, I do, Slick Snot. But not you—and don’t think you can put a wedge between me and her with your smooth talk and rugged good looks. Because it’s so not happening.” Her eyes narrowed. “Step off where she’s concerned, or I promise I won’t be so nice next time I see you moving in for the kill.”

  “Hey.”

  Cardinal wouldn’t dare remove his gaze from this little nymph staring him down. But as he looked at her, he saw the truth. “I am sorry you’ve been hurt—”

  “No! You don’t get to get in my head. And don’t even try to get on my good side.” Her lip curled. “I don’t have one. And if I did, it’d be booby-trapped to take your head off.”

  “Hey!” Candyman moved into Cardinal’s periphery. “Are you people deaf?”

  “Back off.” With a shove against Cardinal’s chest, Timbrel turned. When Candyman grinned at her, she glowered. “Did you have a reason to be here besides…?”

  Interest piqued, Cardinal watched Hogan and the Green Beret. A silent conversation seemed to carry on between the two.

  Finally, Timbrel raised her arms. “What?”

  Candyman nodded. “Sat chat with the good general.” He shot a piercing look Cardinal’s way. Then it softened. “Looks like we got a lead.” He turned to Hogan. “Can I talk to you?”

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Though there was an edge to her words, it wasn’t as caustic as before.

  “Outside.” The soldier’s face betrayed nothing as he stood a step back, eyes linked with hers, and waited for her to move. With one more disapproving glare at Cardinal, he trailed Hogan out of the bunkhouse.

  Aspen shifted to face him. “I’m sorry about that.” She took Talon’s lead. “She means well.”

  “I know. There’s a lot of hurt beneath that explosion she just unloaded on me.” He understood more than anyone could believe. But he’d been trained to conceal his anger.

  As they started for the door, she hesitated. “Is it true?”

  His world slowed into a painful rhythm. Cardinal wouldn’t insult her by playing dumb, but he also would not lie to her any more than he had to and only where absolutely necessary for the interest of this mission and the safety of his asset.

  “Are you playing me?”

  “Don’t we all do it?” He pointed to the bunk Talon had occupied a second ago. “Isn’t that why you happened to be in here with Talon, so we could be alone and talk?”

  “That’s a pretty jaded perspective.”

  “It’s realistic and logical. Just because we arrange situations to suit our interests does not mean it’s bad.”

  Disappointment lurked in her eyes, but she said nothing. She knew as well as he did that he’d called her hand. But it’d hurt her. And that stabbed his conscience. Hand on the door, he stopped. Shifted toward her, noting that Talon sat.

  “Thank you for playing me so we could be alone and talk.” The words were meant to tease her, to reassure her—through a roundabout lie that creased his attempts to be honest and direct with her—not open a chasm of hope that lingered in her eyes and tempted him to fall in and never regret. But that’s what happened. Especially when she flashed him a coy smile and slipped out into the sunshine, light ringing her white-blond curls in a halo.

  Angel.

  And you’re the Angel of Death, Cardinal. Trust implicit, she had no idea who she was falling for. And falling she was. What made it worse, what made him want to cut out his heart with his own knife was that he wanted her to fall. He wanted the kiss Hogan had stolen. He wanted Aspen to believe in him. He wanted…her.

  The thought slowed him. Sickened him.

  Fists balled, he stowed those feelings. Those misguided hopes. And reminded himself of the venom that ran in his veins.

  Pentagon, Arlington County, Virginia

  Lance Burnett popped the top of his Dr Pepper, took a slurp. As he let out a slow belch, he spotted Lieutenants Hastings and Smith hustling his way. Hastings held a laptop and papers, while Smith juggled what looked like maps and a phone pressed between his shoulder and ear.

  They burst into his office.

  “What in Sam Hill is going on?”

  Smith turned the blinds and shut the door as Hastings delivered the laptop, her expression hurried. “Cardinal got a lead.”

  “And why are we hiding?”

  “Because, apparently, so did General Payne—on Cardinal.” Hastings set down the laptop and pointed to the embedded window. “He’s going to call in, but we only have thirty seconds before Payne’s team leeches.”

  Lance gulped his sugary addiction then sat forward. As the Dr Pepper splashed down his throat, he watched the screen activate with an incoming message. He accepted.

  “Sir,” Cardinal said, his brevity dictating he knew the call would be traced. “Local feelers report a missionary couple named Justin and Camille Santos sheltered a man matching our asset’s description.”

  Lance grunted. Missionary. Often a cover story for spies.

  “Got it,” Smith said as he scribbled, his feet already carrying him out to research the names.

  “On our last trip into Peltier,” Cardinal said, his voice staticky in the connection, “we came under fire.”

  “An attack?”

  Cardinal’s gaze was direct and confident. “We’re on the right trail.” He glanced to the side.

  “Agreed. How’s the dog and handler doing?”

  A flicker on the normally rock-solid face. “They’re fine.”

  Lance frowned. “Good. We need them.”

  Hesitation lurked through the grainy feed. Then, “Agreed. I’m going dark for a while.”

  Dark?

  “I’ll code-in within fourteen days. Cardinal out.”

  The connection zapped. Lance stared at the screen. What was that about? Cardinal hesitant? Was it because of the girl, the dog, both? Mother of God, if something went wrong and Payne—

  “What’d you see?” he asked Hastings, who sub-monitored the video feed and analyzed as the transmission progressed yet recorded nothing.

  “A shadowy figure”—she angled the laptop toward him and showed him a reflection in the glass—“is just outside the room. A woman.”

  “The handler.”

  “Yes, sir.” Hastings straightened, her lips pulled tight.

  “Why’s he going dark?”

  “Most plausible scenarios—”

  “No.” He hadn’t meant to speak that question out loud. Lance didn’t need ideas. Cardinal felt it was necessary. Lance would give him the requested two weeks. “What else did you notice?”

  “There were others, but they stood too far away for the reflection to be clear.” Hastings swallowed. “And Cardinal wasn’t himself.”

  Lance laughed and slumped back in his chair. “Himself?” He muttered a curse and shook his head. “Hastings, if you know what ‘himself’ means when it comes to that man, then you’re a better soldier than any one of the twenty analysts who examined, interrogated, and psychoanalyzed him.”

  Her face tightened. “I know a man when he’s distracted by a woman.”

  Laughing even harder, Lance reached for his soda. “If you believe that, you definitely have no idea about our Mr. Cardinal.” He waved her toward the door. “And don’t let your feelings for Cardinal cloud your judgment next time.”

  She widened her eyes.

  “Oh, give me the benefit of the doubt, L-T. You don’t think
I know what’s going on under my own nose? With my own dadgum team?” He shooed her with his hand. “Go on. Do the research on”—he glanced at the transcript that autoprinted from the call—“the Santos couple.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “Dismissed,” he growled. At the click of the door, he dropped back against his squeaky chair and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Another rotten nightmare. Embroiled in international chaos.

  Hastings was right. Something was off about Cardinal. On his computer Lance coded in, bypassed several security protocols, each one more advanced than the next, till he came to the file he wanted. Time for light reading. About a man he’d met in a cathedral in New York City eleven years ago. A man who’d refused to cooperate. Who refused to become a liar and a stealer of lives.

  In espionage terms, in terms of recruitment, he’d been ideal—young, burned by idealism, a burning rage that drove him. Controlled him. Those types of people believed they controlled the anger. It was that illusion of control that men like Burnett turned on their ear to capitalize for the benefit of the United States.

  Took a year to lure the guy in. But Cardinal had proven to be a brilliant asset. The kind movies and books were written about. That was exactly why Payne and Morris had vehemently objected to him. If that man went rogue, he could bring down everything. If he wasn’t truly turning against his own country to spy for America…the damage would be unfathomable.

  With the man’s fiery conviction and determination to topple one of the most powerful Russians, Lance never worried that Cardinal would betray his trust.

  Until now.

  But maybe…just maybe Lance had a wild card. One that would ensure the loyalty and control of this asset.

  Fourteen