by Ronie Kendig
Two chairs? Why were there two chairs at the table? The colonel never allowed him to eat with him. “You must learn to depend on nobody, to see nobody’s company. To be self-sufficient like me.”
“Why are you standing there like an idiot?”
The booming voice jolted him. Good for him that he did not drop the plate or glass. “Sorry, sir,” Nikol said as he set the table as he had done every morning, noon, and night—and without looking at the colonel and proving he was the aforementioned idiot. How had he not noticed the sun that had escaped from the only window on that side of the apartment—the one that was in the colonel’s bedroom?
“Set two.” With that, the colonel stomped down the hall to the bathroom.
The light beams flickered and danced, drawing his attention to the room. Someone was in there. Nikol dropped his gaze. It wouldn’t be the first time the colonel had brought home a woman to have his way with her.
Still, it ignited Nikol’s fury. The colonel had tossed his mother out like a prostitute, shouted profanities at her. Beat her. Shamed her. Berated Nikol for crying for her. Then beat him, too. He had not seen her in three years. He dreamed of her but never told the colonel.
“Nikol,” came the soft, feminine whisper.
With wide eyes he looked to the bedroom. Wrapping herself in a robe, the beautiful form took shape, wrapped in a halo of light. “Mama!”
She waved him into the room.
He stood there, mute. Terrified. And shook his head. “I’m forbidden,” he whispered.
She darted a look down the hall, then hurried across the small dining area to him and drew him into her arms. “Oh, my sweet boy!”
In his mind, he clung to her. Cried against her soft chest. Savored her love that he could sense. She pulled back, cupped his face, and wept. “You have become such a young man.”
“I am nearly ten.”
More tears.
“Please.” He darted a nervous glance toward the hall. “Do not cry. It will make him angry.”
She brushed away her tears then nodded. “I am so proud of you, Nikol.”
Then the panic started. The thoughts of what the colonel had done to her last time. “Why are you here?” His heart thundered. “You should go. Hurry. Now, before he comes out.” Frantic, he tugged on her arm, drawing her toward the door.
“No, Nikol, it is well. He…we made a deal.” Her smile was small and did not make her eyes sparkle the way he remembered. “It is okay. It is worth it to see you.”
“No! You must go.”
“Nikol, be calm, my son. He only has the power we give him.” She held him again, then knelt in front of him so he stood over her. “Besides, he said if I…if I”—her gaze darted to the bedroom and her voice trembled, but she smiled up at him—“if I came, I could see you.”
“See but not speak to.” The venomous voice melded with the words as the colonel appeared, dressed only in a pair of pajama bottoms. “I will not let you poison him, make him weak!”
His hand came down hard on his mother’s face. Her head. Curled on the floor, she cried, “You promised! I did what you wanted. You said I could see him.”
“Shut up, you whore!” His fist nailed her nose. Blood spurted over her cream-colored robe.
Something in Nikol died that day.
Fifteen
The plane hit cruising altitude, and Aspen settled back, her mind and finger still weighted with the ring she bore. Timbrel had vowed bodily harm against Dane if he made one wrong move. Warned them as soon as they were back in Djibouti they would have eyes on them, and she’d find a sniper to take him out.
Though Aspen warred with the thoughts that she’d somehow violated her belief in the sanctity of marriage, she knew this was a logical path to finding Austin. They wouldn’t do anything immoral. Candyman and Watterboy threatened intense personal pain if Dane crossed lines.
And Rocket alluded to something he’d seen the two do to terrorists who’d kidnapped another special-ops comrade.
It’d taken her the six hours from the time they’d left the others, boarded a military jet, and then made their “connecting” flight back to Djibouti to relax.
Which she couldn’t say for Dane.
He hadn’t spoken a word.
“I don’t remember you two,” the Middle Eastern man next to them said as he pointed to Dane’s face. “I would have remembered that mess.
I’m a plastic surgeon.”
Dane smiled, the swelling still obvious. “Like my trophy?” He grinned wider. “Got this when a guy tried to hit on my wife.”
The doctor tsked. “Are women worth such a price? How did you get to sit up here? It was full.”
Dane thumbed toward the back. “We were in business class. They had an opening—something wrong with someone’s papers—and since my wife wasn’t feeling well, we upgraded for the last leg.”
The passenger leaned forward and peered at her. “Ah, she does look pale. Between your black eyes and her sickness, it’s a wonder you are traveling.” He grinned. “First class is better, no?”
“Much. It’s nice and quiet.” With that, Dane closed his eyes.
Aspen wanted to laugh, but she was supposed to be sick. She looked out the window and placed her hand on her stomach, which caused the heavy wedding ring to thump softly against her fingers. Weird. So very weird.
“I don’t want this. I’m not the marrying kind of guy.”
The words had startled her and crushed her at the same time. She had been interested in Dane, was willing to explore things. They seemed to have faith in common. And he was handsome. He seemed to like her, too. But apparently not.
Her mind whirred at what lay before them. Convincing the missionary they were a couple. That would be interesting, considering they’d never even held hands, kissed, or—well, anything.
But she kept coming back to one thought: Dane had tried to leave the mission.
Had she done something wrong?
Or was it because of the near kiss?
She snorted. That’s what she got for reading romance novels with arranged marriages. The romantic notions of falling in love with the unlikely man had her going places she’d better not. Dane had wanted to kiss her, then tried to get removed from the mission. And he wasn’t the marrying the kind. He’d said so himself.
That made him the last man on earth she’d ever marry.
Hmm, except that you are married to him.
Aspen Markoski.
She shuddered. That didn’t sound right together at all. Not the way Sam Herringshaw’s name had sounded with hers in fifth grade. Oh good grief. She was doing it again.
Timbrel was right—she was a hopeless romantic. Even though this was the most insane thing she’d ever done.
Was it so wrong that she was willing to do anything to get her brother back? Faking a marriage wasn’t a sin. Okay, it was lying, so maybe it was. Pushing the damning thoughts from her mind, she focused on finding Austin. Bringing him back home. Reuniting him with Talon. Life would be normal.
Maybe not normal, but a new normal. He’d go into law the way he’d talked about after their parents’ deaths. To bring justice. That’s what he wanted. She’d been so proud of him. Talon would live out his days happy, and she…
What? What would she do? She’d never really had any goals. And working with A Breed Apart had infused her with a sense of purpose. With Austin taking Talon back, what would she do? Would ABA cut her off?
Life without the saucy Timbrel? Heath—oh heavens, what would he say about this?
Forget Heath. What would her nana say? Oh that would be a sight—and sound!
The plane began its descent and delivered them into the tiny international airport. Even as they disembarked onto the tarmac, she searched for the crate carrying Talon. He was lowered from a pressurized cabin, and she saw him lift his head.
Warmth wrapped around her hand. She stilled and found herself staring up into Dane’s blue eyes. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the sens
itive spot beneath her ear. Heat flared through her chest at the intimate gesture. “Your two o’clock. About a klick out.”
Shuddering as he straightened from his whispered words, she let her gaze traipse that direction. A vehicle sat idling. ODA452 and Timbrel?
“Let’s get our bags.”
Tripping mentally to keep up with Dane’s natural strides, she chided herself for the visceral reaction to his kiss, which still felt like someone held a torch to her jaw. But he led her into the terminal. She waited with Talon while he grabbed their bags. Whatever was packed in there, she didn’t know. She’d only brought a rucksack to Lemonnier.
As they gathered their things, she spotted a man holding a sign that read Markoski. She stilled.
“Ready, babe?” Hearing those words out of Dane’s mouth…the same mouth that kissed her…
God, help me. I can’t do this. I really can’t.
Dane was with her in a second. His arm around her waist.
She pressed her hands against his abs. “Don’t.” Their eyes met as she stiffened. “Let’s…let’s just get to Santos’s home.”
“Relax.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Ah!” He waved. “Here we are.” He released her and lifted their luggage.
Drawing on the remnants of her courage, she pushed the dolly with Talon in his crate toward the man.
“You are Mr. Mar—”
“Markoski.” Dane lowered a bag and offered his hand. Then he angled back. “This is my wife, Aspen.”
The man raised his hands. “Ah, so much like your brother.”
Aspen hauled in a breath. “Austin, you saw him?”
Santos’s face softened. “Not in a while, dear girl. I am so sorry to say.” He waved them toward his beat-up Jeep-looking vehicle. “Let’s talk at the house.
At the two-story home, Dane carried the bags up the steps to the upper level, where a beautiful master suite spread out before them. It must have taken up half the second story. Aspen stood by the window, Talon whimpering in his crate.
“Come on downstairs after you have refreshed. We will have lemonade.” Santos backed out and closed the doors.
Dane set down the luggage as Talon was freed from his crate and watched Angel. Aspen.
Curse, curse, curse Burnett. That kiss on her neck had been a huge mistake. He’d tried to make things appear natural, but she’d reacted so…thoroughly. So had he. It’d taken every microscopic ounce of control he had not to pull her into his arms and kiss her the way he’d wanted to two days ago. Instead, he’d forced his fingers to release her, his feet to move away, and his voice to remain cold and unattached.
The way he should be. Cardinal rules—enforce them or become mastered. Now, he couldn’t clear his mind of that or her smell. Light and floral. When he’d noticed her panic at the airport and tried to intercept, she’d gone stone cold.
Talon whimpered and paced then sat down. Whimpered again. Paced.
“Think he can still smell Austin’s scent? Santos said he hadn’t been here in a while.”
He ripped out a piece of paper and scribbled two words on it—listening devices—then moved behind her. He stuffed the note in her hand. Then he held up a pen and clicked it once. “We can talk when it’s depressed but only for a few seconds.”
Her eyes widened as he came closer. She twisted to face him. “You think someone is listening?”
“Never underestimate the enemy. Listen, take Talon and have him check the rooms. I’ll keep Santos busy.” Click. “Fair enough, Angel. But tonight…” He laughed and hated himself for the flirting he’d added to the tone for the sake of anyone listening in on them. And hated the fear in her beautiful eyes. Hated that this whole thing would make her wary of his every move. He went to his suitcase and unzipped it. He stared at the clothes. Jeans. Cotton shirts. Underwear. Burnett had been prepared. This wasn’t something he’d done on the spur. He’d been planning this.
With a soft thud, her suitcase landed on the bed. She unzipped it and lifted the flap. A soft gasp preceded her gaze ramming into his. Her face brightened to a deep red.
He couldn’t help the laugh trickling through his throat. He well imagined what they’d provided for her, especially to make it appear that they were truly newlyweds should anyone rifle through their things while the bags were unattended.
“There’s a screen, if you’d like to freshen up.” He pointed to the antique hinged panels that stood guard in the corner and raised his eyebrows, indicating that was her out to staying here with Talon.
She hesitated then looked to the screen. “Perfect.”
“I’ll see you downstairs then in a few.” He slipped out and closed the door.
As he stood in the hall, he took in the layout. Two rooms, one to the right, one left. Both sparsely decorated. Bathroom downstairs, most likely. This wasn’t the Sheraton, but it would provide shelter and get them answers…hopefully.
Cardinal moved down the shadowy stairs and slowed when he heard voices. He angled to look around the corner.
Santos stood talking with another man. Tones were low, hurried.
He strode into the open. “Room’s great. Thanks, Mr. Santos.”
Santos spun. The door came out of his grip.
Cardinal met the brown eyes of a man who stood about six feet with dark brown hair. “Afternoon.” He greeted the man.
“Afternoon.”
Could be from anywhere with that British accent.
“Ah,” Santos said with a shaky smile, but Cardinal pretended not to notice. “Mr. Markoski, this is Joshua, one of the missionaries who works in another village. He stopped by to warn me of a new flu strain hitting the villages there.”
“Sad.”
Joshua stared at him. Hard. “Indeed.” He gave Santos a smile. “If it weren’t for his mad medical skills, we would be hurting a lot worse than we are.”
“It is fortunate timing.” Santos looked toward the stairs. “Is your wife well?”
“Yes. She wanted to freshen up. A terribly long trip, and a bit daunting, too.”
Santos turned to Joshua. “They are looking for her brother.”
“Say.” Cardinal stepped into the sunlight that crossed the threshold of the open door. “You haven’t seen an American, black hair, brown eyes?”
“I’ve seen a lot of men fitting that description in Djibouti,” Joshua said with a laugh.
“Of course.” He sighed long and hard. Swiped a hand along his jaw, noting the stubble that had grown to a five o’clock shadow. “My wife has her hopes pinned on this trip.” He shook his head. “If Aspen can’t find Austin, I just don’t know how she’ll keep going.”
Though there was no change in body language, a look in the guy’s face flashed in and out like a bolt of lightning. So fast, so sharp, Cardinal almost didn’t see it.
Voices carried up the dark stairwell as Aspen led Talon from the room. She went to the right, to the one with pink walls. The bed cuddled the corner with a pink floral rug at the side and a chest at the foot. A dresser with an oval mirror sat near the small window. Talon walked in and returned to her side.
Nothing.
“Yeah, I’m not crazy about the color either.” She turned around and hurried past the stairs, listening to the voices…and stopped. She backed up. Laughter, the voices lowered. That was weird.
Talon trotted ahead, sniffing like mad. She followed him and froze.
Cold dread spiraled through Aspen as Talon let out a high-pitched whimper. He paced back and forth in the yellow room, whimpering. Sniffing. Licking. Paws on the edge of the bed, he leaned up and sniffed the pillow. Barked.
The sound felt like a gunshot through her gut. “Talon?” Her heart raced. But Aspen couldn’t move. Her eyes traced the setup of the room. The headboard and footboard were at the wrong ends.
Tentatively, she entered the room, feeling the tug on the lead as Talon sniffed and whimpered and yelped over and over. At the wall where the footboard sat, she reached toward a spot in the middle, just a few
inches above the board. Slightly darkened spots. It can’t be…
She should get Dane up here. But she couldn’t talk just yet. Couldn’t bring herself to give credence to what was happening. She turned to the dresser. Glanced at the bed. Then the dresser. Less than an arm’s length apart.
It’s just a coincidence.
Right. The bed. The wall. The dresser. And—
Talon. The Lab nosed her hip then sat down, peering up at her expectantly. “I did good, now show me where he is.”
She took in the room once more. Empty mostly save the dingy curtains, the rug…
“I like to feel the cold floor when I climb out of bed. It wakes me up.”
Talon paced more. Whimpered. Dropped onto the rug.
Oh man—the rug. Curled up in the corner. Shoved aside.
Certainty rang through her. Austin had been there. So recently the beds hadn’t been rearranged. She walked the room, memorizing, imagining—
Why? Why would he be here and not contact her? It didn’t make sense.
With a whimper, Talon rose and started wearing a path in the floor as he tread from one wall to the next. Sniffed the rug. Pace…pace…sniffed the bed. Whimpered.
This wasn’t a jail or a prison or a jungle where he’d been taken hostage. Santos had a phone, electricity. If Austin was here, he could come and go as he pleased.
“Talon, come.”
He complied. For a minute. Then took up his trek again. Whimper-pace-pace-sniff-whimper.
“Talon, stop.”
Why? Why would Austin do this? Leave Talon, leave his friends…She shoved her fingers into her curls and fought back the confusion, the tears.
Dust had accumulated on the dresser, save in one rectangular spot. She noted a thin line a few inches from the larger one. A picture frame. What picture had been moved, and recently?
Talon’s whimpers grew louder. He dug into the carpet. Settled on it.
What picture had been there? Why was it gone now?
Talon barked, sniffed, then sat back down. Mission accomplished. Whatever he thought he found was here.
She turned 360 degrees, searching, begging for a reasonable explanation. Nothing came to her. Nothing sated the panic swimming mean circles around her mind.