The Bequest

by Hope Anika

  “The ones she screwed over?”

  “I didn’t say it made sense.”

  “None of it makes sense.” Cheyenne shook her head. “Why would Malik risk everything for her? His Ambassadorship, his marriage, his whole life… He has everything to lose. If he did this…it was about ideology. Because there is no upside. What about your senior chief?”

  “That asshole.”

  “People have secrets, Will. Sex is often one of them. That doesn’t mean he’s the one who put you in firing range.”

  “Don’t defend him.”

  “You feel betrayed because he screwed her?”

  “Yes, I fucking do.”

  “Well, get over it. This isn’t about you. This is about that cache and whoever reached out to her. Your senior chief…until now, you refused to believe he was involved—even when you found him in her book.”

  Will shook his head. “He’s married to a Senator’s daughter; they have four little kids. He’s the most logical, levelheaded man I’ve ever met. That he was a part of this makes me question everything I thought I knew about him.”

  Cheyenne squeezed Will’s arm, thinking. “Who else knew about the weapons? You said kids found them…surely they told someone besides the US military?”

  “Undoubtedly. I’m sure they told their families, their friends…but there’s no connection to Georgia. She wasn’t stationed in Afghanistan. And once the intel had been brought in, it went from the Rear Admiral to my Senior Chief, to my team. No one else knew.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “There’s no way to be sure. But the only connection we found to her was Malik. And now…Ethan Scott.”

  The pain in him made Cheyenne slide her hand down his arm to spear her fingers through his and hold tight. “I’m sorry.”

  “Back to square one.”

  “No. The picture is filling in.” She paused. “You should talk to him.”

  “I’d like to do more than talk.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Start with words.”

  Will’s hand turned over and swallowed hers. His palm was rough and callused, and the rasp of it against hers made awareness prickle through her. It never ebbed, that bristling, steady hum of energy between them. Every move he made, his heat, his scent, the strength he wore so easily, all of it made her hyperaware of his proximity, of her attraction to him. Of the desire to have him closer.

  “They arrested Frank James,” he said.

  “Her CIA partner? What for?”

  “Treason.”

  “Her patsy.”

  “Yes.” Will lifted her hand and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss against it. “Poor, stupid bastard.”

  It was ridiculous, how good he made her feel. That such a simple touch could send an arrow of blistering white heat through her and make her want to crawl into his lap.

  Hopelessly, utterly screwed. No doubt about it.

  “I want something from you,” he said quietly.

  Alarm prickled through her. “What?”

  “A promise.”

  “Which is?”

  His gaze met hers. “No more going it alone.”

  Cheyenne stiffened and tugged at her hand. “I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

  “We fight together, baby. That’s how this works.”

  Cheyenne stared at him, her heart beating furiously, the awareness that had prickled to life earlier flaring in alarm. Being alone was all she knew; she relied on no one and never had—not even Hank. The knowledge that she could fight any battle had been the only belief in herself she’d had for most of her life. To act together instead of alone…to trust him to be there to help…

  Was she even capable of that? She didn’t know.

  For a long moment, she said nothing, and Will waited, patient, his eyes glinting in the moonlight, his hand warm and strong around hers.

  “I will if you will,” she said finally.

  “Done,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Badlands creation began 69 million years ago, when an ancient sea covered what is today the Great American Plains. The buttes, pinnacles and spires of the Badlands were created by sediments left when the sea retreated, and with the further succession of rivers and floods across the land which deposited more sediment, the geologic formations continued to grow in size. While the sediment accumulation halted approximately 28 million years ago, the erosion which shapes the Badlands did not begin until 500,000 years ago. Erosion continues steadily today and ultimately, the Badlands will wear away entirely.

  That thought struck Rafe as he stood before one of the large buttes with its striations of pale pink, dusky orange and violet touched by gray. His gaze traced the lines as they stretched along the row of formations, and he tried to imagine what the land looked like before the erosion began, how big this odd mix of rock and prairie had once truly been. Last year in science class, he’d learned that the planet was always changing, that there was no such thing as “forever” when it came to the Earth. Once upon a time, it had been covered in nothing but ice. At another, all of the continents had been one. Everything had, at some point, morphed into something else. What was now desert had been rainforest; what had been ocean was now desert. And on and on it went.

  The idea of it fascinated him. Nothing stayed the same—not even the planet. Things were meant to change. Evolution didn’t stop just because everyone walked upright. Nothing stopped—ever.

  Energy can be neither created nor destroyed.

  It simply was; constant, continuous, everlasting.

  He liked the idea, and as he adjusted the screen on his phone in effort to film all of the formations without losing their grandeur, he thought it was comforting to know that change was normal. That things weren’t supposed to be written in stone, because eventually that stone would wither away just like the buttes before him. Nothing was permanent.

  The sun was just above the horizon, and the colors in the formations were brilliant where they were hit by the golden rays. In the shadow of the western faces, they were dark and muted. He tried to film both and do them justice, but knew he failed.

  There were some things you just had to see to believe. He had a feeling this was one of them.

  “You about ready, Mr. Spielberg?” Will asked from behind him.

  Rafe looked at him over his shoulder. “Almost.”

  Will walked over and halted beside him. “Pretty spectacular.”

  Yes. Rafe had woken early and crept quietly from the tent. He’d watched the sun rise while Lucky explored their campsite. The chill of night had gradually been replaced by the creeping warmth of the sun, and as it slowly crawled across the land, the critters had come alive, birds singing, insects buzzing. More than one prairie dog had stood up from a safe distance and checked him out.

  “What you did yesterday,” he said to Will, because he’d been thinking about it ever since, “was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

  Will only shrugged.

  “No, really,” Rafe said. “Most people just keep on walking. But you didn’t. You saved her, Will. Changed her life. That’s a big deal.”

  Will looked down at him. “It was the right thing to do.”

  Rafe shook his head. “I wouldn’t have been that brave.”

  “You are that brave.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Will crouched down to pet Lucky. Sunlight reflected off the lenses of the mirrored sunglasses he wore, but Rafe knew he was looking at him. “That night, when I was dreaming and I grabbed Cheyenne, you acted. You weren’t thinking about yourself, you were thinking about her. That’s what bravery is, Rafe. Putting yourself out in front of someone else. Nothing more.”

  Rafe thought about that. “That’s different.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…I didn’t think you would hurt me.”

  “But I could have. You knew that.”

  Rafe shrugged.

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Rafe. There
are enough folks out there who will do that for you. Besides, you were pretty awesome yourself.”

  “I was?”

  “You gave that girl comfort in a way Cheyenne and I couldn’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re adults,” Will said simply. “Like he was. But with you, she could be the scared kid she was, and you didn’t hold it against her. She felt safe with you, Rafe.”

  He stared at Will. Amanda hadn’t moved, not until the cops put her into their car. She’d sat beside him on the curb, huddled under his coat, her head on his shoulder. His t-shirt had grown wet, and his arm had begun to ache where he held her, but he didn’t protest, didn’t move. Not a muscle. Because he knew she needed it. And it was little enough if it made her feel better.

  “Not everyone would do what you did,” Will told him seriously. “Not everyone could. Be proud of that, Rafe. I’m proud of you for it.”

  Rafe’s chest tightened as he looked up at Will. “Yeah?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Rafe nodded. He wanted to ask Will if he was going to stick around, if he and Cheyenne were going to be…together, but he didn’t. Mostly because it wasn’t his business. That, and he wasn’t sure he wanted an answer. He liked Will. He wanted to keep Will. But that wasn’t his call, and thinking about it just made him want it more, which pretty much guaranteed it wasn’t going to happen.

  So he just turned off his phone and stuck it in his pocket. He reached down to pick Lucky up. She licked his chin and snuggled closer and smiled at Will, who scratched her ears and made her groan.

  “She’s a sweetheart,” Will said. “She’s going to be a great dog.”

  Rafe hugged her tight. “Yeah.”

  “I need coffee,” Cheyenne yelled suddenly, from where she stood next to the Jeep. “Or I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

  Will grinned at him. “At least she warned us.”

  Rafe took one last, lingering look at the Badlands and told himself it wouldn’t be the last time he saw them. Then he turned to go. Will fell into step beside him and put a hand on his shoulder, something that made Rafe feel…safe. Cared for.

  Will was his friend. With any luck, he would always be a friend. That didn’t have to change.

  No matter what happened.

  “I have two words for you, boss: Georgia Humboldt.” Will tilted his head back and stared into the blanket of stars that hovered above Devil’s Tower. He didn’t see them. Instead, he was imagining the look on his senior chief’s face. “Care to explain?”

  It was only because he’d always respected Ethan Scott that he was even presenting this opportunity. The sight of Ethan in that video had knocked Will down. Flummoxed him.

  Infuriated him.

  “Jesus Christ,” Ethan muttered, and Will could almost see him, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, mouth tight. “How the hell did you find out?”

  “You’re very good,” Will told him. “Straight-As-An-Arrow-Scott.” A rough, ugly laugh. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

  “Fuck,” Ethan whispered.

  “In Technicolor.”

  “That bitch.”

  “You get into bed with dogs, boss, you get fleas.”

  “She was blackmailing us.”

  “Us?”

  “Everyone who was…involved.”

  “Is that why you told her about the cache?”

  Silence. The wind lifted, and the scent of sage and pine and faint wood smoke filled Will’s nostrils. He could see Cheyenne through the trees, Rafe’s shadow in the tent, the flicker of their fire against its metal enclosure. Next to him, the stark, arresting tower of phonolite porphyry that was Devil’s Tower rose from the Wyoming landscape, alien and powerful even in the moonlight. The campground had only two other vehicles in it, a couple of Winnebagos parked on the other end, lightless and silent.

  “It shames me,” Ethan replied finally. “That you think I would betray my people like that.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “No. I fucking did not.”

  Outrage quivered in Ethan’s voice, more emotion than Will had ever heard from the man. It meant little. “Then who did? Because it was her in that desert, boss. Her and a team of mercs who knew exactly where we were—when we didn’t even know until we got there—and her smoking bullet they pulled out of me…but you already know that. Don’t you?”

  “Yes. Will, there was nothing I could do without—”

  “Exposure. I know. I get it. My career for yours.”

  “I never meant—”

  “Save it.” Will shook his head. “I don’t give a shit.”

  “I do.”

  Will ground his teeth together. The rage that had flared to life the night before as he’d sat watching Georgia Humboldt’s homemade porno caught flame, turning the calm that had settled over him in the last few days into ash. He wanted to smash something—preferably Ethan Scott’s bland face. Earlier, he and Red had argued about having this conversation, Red being afraid it would somehow tip the scale, but Will didn’t care. This man was someone he’d trusted. Someone he’d believed in. He wasn’t going to pretend.

  “Have you found the cache?” he asked, just for kicks.

  “No.”

  “And the investigation file?” That he’d never delivered. “You lose that, too?”

  “The file has been heavily redacted. It’s useless. I didn’t want to waste your time.”

  The darkness stirred, impatient and angry. “And your last message, the one that indicated you’d found something ‘important’?”

  “Yes. Georgia and Malik…they had a child.”

  Will stiffened. “I know.”

  “You do?”

  He looked over at Rafe’s slight shadow. “Yes.”

  “I’m afraid that could be a problem.”

  “For Malik,” Will said coldly.

  “And for the child.”

  Fury licked at the periphery of his vision. “He touches that child, he’s a dead man.”

  “Malik isn’t someone to make an idle threat against, Will.”

  “I don’t do ‘idle’, boss.”

  “Damn it—”

  “You knew. He knew. Who else knew? Another one of your fuck buddies?”

  “Will—”

  “She’s going to bury you. You know that, right?”

  “It doesn’t have to happen that way.”

  Another raw, angry laugh. “Even dead, she’s still playing—and winning.”

  Ethan swore softly. “Where are you?”

  For a long moment, Will said nothing. The thought that Ethan had thrown them all under the bus because of an indiscriminate fuck enraged him. Even if he hadn’t been the one to contact Georgia about the cache, he’d sat on his hands while the investigation was aborted and buried his men in treasonous silence. He’d protected her in order to protect himself. And was still doing so.

  “What a fucking disappointment you are,” he said.

  He hung up and fought the urge to smash his phone against the asphalt beneath his feet. Blood chugged through his veins; in his ears, the drumbeat of his heart pounded with violent force.

  Memory flickered. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. A spattering of gunfire. Screams.

  Pain.

  And he wanted blood. Violence. Death.

  “Hey,” Cheyenne said softly from behind him, and Will turned on her, the phone falling to the ground as his hands lifted to wrap her arms even as he knew he shouldn’t touch her, knew he should run in the other goddamn direction as fast as he could. She didn’t deserve his wrath, his damage, his pain; he didn’t deserve her.

  But it didn’t matter. Control wavered, a mirage in the far distance. Illusion.

  Will lifted her from the pavement and stepped from the walking trail into a cluster of lodge pole pines, where there was darkness and silence, nothing but her heat and her scent and the cacophony in his head. She made a sound—of consent or protest he did
n’t know—but her hands curled around his shoulders and held tight. She didn’t fight as he pushed her against one of the rough tree trunks and took her mouth. When he freed her arms, she thrust her hands into his hair and held him tight as he slaked his thirst for blood with her taste, her heat, her sweet, eager welcome. She moaned into his mouth, and the endless hunger that lived within him overtook his need for carnage, turning it into another animal, one just as starved, but less bloody. He wrapped his arms around her in a hold she couldn’t escape and squeezed her ass and hissed when she wrapped her legs around him and arched against his cock, a hot, wild feminine demand that threatened to undo him.

  Blood roared in his head; he told himself to ease up, to cage the beast.

  Give, not take.

  But that only inflamed him, that idea, and the need to give back what she shared so selflessly consumed him. He ran his hand up her side, shoving up the t-shirt she wore, only vaguely aware of the ridged scars that rippled beneath his palm. Her bra annoyed him, but it only took a moment to destroy the small clip at the front that kept her from him, and then he held her perfect, beautiful breast in his hand. Such soft, succulent weight; he wanted her in his mouth.

  Yes.

  “Oh,” she said, and he fucking loved it, because she always sounded so surprised, like she’d never before felt what he made her feel, like it was always an awakening.

  He thumbed her nipple, tugged and twisted and then pinched, just a tiny bite, because he knew she liked that, and she hissed into his mouth and clenched him tighter, digging her fingers into his scalp. He felt the exquisite pull of it in his cock. She rose against him, her mouth a raw, wet demand, and sounds purred from her throat into his. He knew, if she let him, he could take her right there and pound them both into mindless, excruciating pleasure.

  Fucking ecstasy.

  But now was not the time; he wanted more from her than a quick, furious mating. No matter how tempting, how damn good it would be.

  He tore his mouth from hers and lifted her higher, until he could see the filtered moonlight gilding her in pale silver, fingers of light that laced her breasts and tipped her nipples and shown white against the faint scars that traced the slope of her left breast. The sight of those scars made him ache, and he touched his mouth to them, a gentle, reverent press that made her tremble against him.