Her arms locked around his neck.
“That’s a good girl,” he whispered in her ear, and rose with Ann secure in his arms.
With his foot he pushed the door as close as it was possible. Not much, since the doorknob had rolled somewhere and the entire side was cracked. It would keep away curious eyes, and they weren’t going to stay long, anyway.
He sat with her on his lap and pulled the comforter around both of them.
“Can’t breathe,” she wheezed against his neck. “Something… on my chest and… I can’t–”
He never stopped rubbing her back, stroking her hair. “I know, angel, I know. Try to relax, it’ll go away.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.” He kissed her forehead, pushed her wet hair away from her face with gentle fingers, and kept rocking her, back and forth, back and forth. “Just keep breathing.”
“Is he dead?”
“Yes.”
Her head bumped against his chin when she nodded.
“I’m happy. I’m happy he’s dead,” she admitted, panic rising in her voice again. “What have I become? What kind of person’s happy if another human being died?”
“Stop and look at me.” When she didn’t move, he took her chin in his hand, slowly turned it until he could see her eyes. “He threatened your life, the most precious thing you have. He lost, you won. Be happy about it.” He pushed her face back to his chest and held her. “God knows I am.”
He took time they didn’t have and used it to nurture the fictitious feeling that nobody could hurt her there.
Slowly, adrenaline wore off and the world settled into a quiet reality made of the gentle pressure of his hand on her arm, on the skin of her shoulder. Her nakedness hadn’t mattered before, she was alive and everything else a detail, but now that detail ruled his head and body. Which was bad news. His brain had to function properly, others might come and he had to be ready.
She smelled like bubble bath, some fruity vanilla scent. Drenched from her wet body, his skin came alive with a mind of its own. She was warm and soft and, damn it, naked.
They had to go. He had to go before he did something very mean like taking advantage of the state of her nerves. “Come on,” he said, so roughly he had to clear his throat. “We have to leave and take care of our guest.”
She nodded, sliding away from his arms.
He kept his eyes firmly into hers as he secured the blanket around her. He even smiled. “Don’t look at him. Walk into the bathroom and wait. Can you do that?”
She nodded again, compliant, and walked into the bathroom without a single glance at the dead man laying six feet away.
Mark waited for his skin to cool down, waited until his senses cleared from her scent and his mind shut down what his body demanded. Then he got up, knocked on the bathroom door. “I’ll be back in few minutes. Get ready.”
* * * * *
Ann stared at the reflection in the mirror, stunned at how normal it looked. She’d nearly died.
Leaning closer, she scrunched her nose. Maybe she wasn’t as normal as she’d thought. Her pupils were bigger than usual, her skin paler, and the lines of her mouth a little tight. But she was alive, unlike her sister.
Her head swirled when the image of Mary’s face popped into her mind and switched the trembling button on again.
She sat on the floor before it could twist out of control, crossed her legs and closed her eyes. She bent her head backward; it was easier to squeeze back tears that way. Her fingers quivered as she combed her messy hair.
Ann straightened her head, but didn’t open her eyes.
Understanding the reality of her sister’s death had been the darkest feeling she’d ever had to accept. God knew she’d wanted to call Mark a liar, wanted him to be wrong, but he wasn’t. Painfully, she’d owned the loss, but not even that had prepared her for what boiled inside her heart now – guilt because she was happy the man who tried to kill her died, vengeance for her sister. These feelings clashed with the brightness she normally carried in her heart.
Was she strong enough to take all that darkness in and still be herself?
She chanted a mantra as old as time until, finally, the hectic chattering in her mind surrendered and let her focus on nothing. Her feelings cleared, and peace flowed through her, leading to a light she could reach.
She was alive, and she would seek justice for Mary and Mouse with Mark at her side. This wasn’t her world, she would have to work hard to adapt, but she was ready. She wanted to be.
Certain of her resolution, she put her clothes on. They were still wet, but at least they were clean.
When she walked into the bedroom, the dead man had disappeared, to her relief. Mark was counting some money, then dropped the bills on the bed and asked, without looking up, “Are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He gave a curt nod and turned around. “Let’s go.”
She followed him out the door. In a twisted way, it made sense that he would kill a man without a flinch but feel threatened by a display of affection or sweetness.
When he pointed to a black sedan, she whispered, “We stole another car?”
“I did, not us,” he corrected her flatly as he got into the car. “They found us once. They’ll do it again, but I don’t want to help them. Get in.”
His coolness would have easily hurt her, but the way he jammed the key into the ignition, how he hammered on the gas, betrayed him.
He cared, she thought as they drove, once again, into the night.
Chapter 7
Ann tried to rest as they drove. She needed some sleep, but nightmares chased her as soon as she dozed off. Her sister’s face–not her smile or her voice, but a warped sneer and rotten words. Or something holding her down–not a man, but a ghost shoving her under the water. Mouse’s blue lips and red blood.
So she fought her heavy eyes, tried to keep awake when her head bobbed under the power of tiredness.
The night took its darkest breath when they stopped in front of another safe house, a take two of the same scene: a small house in a silent suburbs on the outskirts of Tallahassee. But this time, Ann had a clear idea of what could happen. Was death waiting for them there, too? Completely awake now, her heart a hammer in her chest, she focused on breathing and kept her eyes on Mark’s back as they walked in.
“Bastards didn’t come here,” he said, cleaning the air from the worse of her fear.
He walked into the basement, grabbed two bags. “Passports and cash,” he told her.
And off they went again, driving in silence until Mark left the interstate and took a back road full of bumps and moonlight. The landscape silently changed, and now the silver light lay on short bushy vegetation, bounced on the water of a creek running along the trail. For Ann’s dulled mind, it was a gulp of fresh air.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Lake Taloahta.”
“Oh,” she nodded. “Where’s that?”
“North Florida.”
The road bent and twisted. Mark stopped the car in an opening between thicker bushes. She rolled the window down, eager to breathe in the subtle scent of a southern night. It would have been so romantic: a man, a woman, a creek, the stars.
“Close it,” Mark said, checking the ammo in his gun under the opaque car light.
“Why? Without AC it’s going to be hot in no time.”
“Mosquitoes.”
She scoffed. What were a couple of silly bugs compared to the lazy breeze?
Her riot against Mark’s order was short-lived, though. An army of bugs invaded the car, buzzing close to her ears, looking for naked skin, biting, biting. Within seconds she had killed a couple on her arms, one against the now rolled up window, one on her neck and she still heard the droning. “Where are you going?” she asked, trying to detect other flying enemies.
“Feeding the gators.”
That stopped her. “What?”
“Our passenger.”
“Are you serious?”
“We need to get rid of him; gators need food. It’s a win-win. Stay here.”
Without thinking she slapped her cheek, killing one more insect. “Okay.”
Out of words she sat foolishly proper, trying and failing not hearing the trunk opening and closing, the meaning of it.
Mark would feed a man to the alligators. A human being with family, friends. Not many, given his job, but he must have had some, and he was about to become food.
Ann shut her eyes against nausea. And if the alligators were there, and if he had to get close enough to feed them fresh food–God–then he could be in danger. Alligators never struck her as overly clever animals, so they might lose the difference between Mark and dinner, and he had enough meat on him to be considered a delicacy.
The relief wrenched her gut when he opened the car door. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“Of course.” He pushed the seat flat, crossed his arms on his chest and closed his eyes.
Ann wriggled in her seat, again and again, trying to find a way to sit comfortably despite the pangs of conscience.
“He’s not worth your guilt,” Mark said.
“I guess.”
Dark, unapologetic eyes bore into hers. “He wouldn’t have felt any. Remember why he died in the first place.”
Only part of the guilt flew away with a shiver but she settled down, tuning in with his quiet breathing. Sleep still eluded her, but as long as she kept her eyes open, everything was fine. Even better, if her gaze didn’t budge from the giant at her side. She twisted, managing to lay her head on the headrest and still see him.
He’d saved her again. Sure, keeping her alive was a job for him, but he did so much more than that. He could have killed the guy, made sure she was still breathing and said something like ‘okay, time to go’. Instead, he stole time for her, took care of her. He’d washed her invisible wounds with honeyed words and a cotton touch. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He barely nodded.
“Why he didn’t shoot me?” she asked. “I’d be gone by now, and all their trouble would be over.”
Mark finally opened his eyes, stared at the white moon in front of them. So much tension brewed in his stillness she regretted the question.
“My guess is, it’d be too complicated to explain,” he said, his voice hard. “You’re alone, your sister just died. Faking a suicide’s easier.”
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. If I hadn’t, I would have heard him.”
He looked at her, a long, angry look she didn’t understand. “And then what?”
“I had your gun.”
The answer seemed to vex him even more. His jaw clenched, the muscles of his arms stretched the cotton of his shirt. “You’re not shooting anybody, understand?”
“You left me the gun for what?”
“It’s not happening again. I’ll make sure you’re somewhere safer next time I have to leave you.”
Ann hated when he used that tone with her. She also hated the thought of him leaving her alone again. She picked the easier fight. “Don’t talk to me like that. And I can defend myself, you know? It doesn’t take a lot to pull a trigger.”
“I do the killing. Period.”
“And while you do the killing for me, what am I supposed to do? Crosswords?”
“Why don’t you shut up so I can sleep?”
He closed his eyes again but his face and his body didn’t relax.
Ann frowned. It seemed like a too strong of a reaction for their squabble.
Maybe he was tenser than what he wanted to show, maybe the ghosts of friends he’d lost tormented him. Like she’d had to do with Mary, he had to abandon Mouse. At least she knew her sister was innocent, that her involvement was nothing but a terrible mistake. Her memories of Mary were pure, but a stain soiled his team. He had to face the ugly doubt of their guilt, or their death. Maybe those hard lines around his mouth, the constant frown wasn’t anger, but sadness.
“Tell me his name,” she asked, trying to be gentle without hurting his pride.
“Whose?”
“Mouse’s. What was his real name?”
“Not relevant.”
“Then you won’t have any trouble telling me.”
The breath he took wasn’t lost on her, and neither was the subtle change in his voice. Wounded. “Benjamin.”
“Tell me about him.”
“If you want to know about every man I’ve lost, we’ll be here for too long. Sleep.”
“Tell me about him.”
“You never quit, do you?” he snapped. “Fine. Twenty-two years old, born in Milwaukee, 5’ 9” and 175 pounds. He joined the Team a little over one year. He was the last one.”
She kept quiet, waiting for him to be ready to share.
“He was a computer geek, a weirdo. What kind of moron’s afraid of guns but wants to do this job?” he said with affectionate mockery. “When he started out, couldn’t tell a Beretta compact from a Glock. Smart kid, learned fast. He taught me some computer stuff. I trained him personally, and he’d gotten good. Not Marine good, but enough to defend himself.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Isn’t it? I’m in charge. It’s my responsibility to protect them. When shit lands, it’s always my fault.”
“You can’t protect everybody.”
He slowly turned to her. “I protect my own.”
The fire in his eyes burned with so much fierceness it consumed her for a second.
She smiled. Of course he did. It was in his DNA as much as the color of his hair. It didn’t matter how many men he’d lost; one or a hundred, he carried their shadows and mourned their death every day. And every day his heart would blame him, against reason and better judgment.
She reached for him, her hand running free through the soft spikes of his hair. He didn’t move. Even when her touch grew stronger on the muscles of his neck, he didn’t waver. “We have to let them go,” she told him. “I don’t want to, believe me, but I have to. So do you.”
In the fierce sadness of his haunted eyes, she found her own grief, deep and dark. He understood her heart because the pain stifling it was the same. Pent up tears found their way up, filled her eyes and finally, ran free.
“Don’t do that,” he pleaded, rubbing his tired face with both hands. “I can’t stand crying women.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to be strong for the next few minutes.”
Defeated, Mark let his head fall back. “Aw, hell,” he grumbled.
She was so small it took him one swing to pull her into his lap. He held her as she cried, wishing he could do the same. He’d do anything to forget all the deaths he had on his conscience. Of course it wasn’t his fault – with their job, they all gambled their lives to save others. And yet, he felt blood on his hands, as real as Ann’s soft, damp skin.
He stroked her hair, patiently waiting for the sobs to lose intensity, for the loss to run its course out of her and, maybe, a little out of him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice thick and swollen. Her hand rested where his heart beat, the soft weight as sweet as the shyness on her face. “Your shirt’s all wet now.”
“You okay?”
She nodded, trying to force out a little smile.
Brave, he thought. His brave little angel. “Your face’s all wet, too.”
His hard, scarred hands and her soft, sweet cheekbone met, her skin alien and enticing. Tears had given a sapphire luster to her blue eyes and a new ripeness to her mouth. He kept brushing her jaw line and neck, where her heart beat fast.
He’d seen so much death. Never the machine type, the one who went into battle for the sake of it, for the thirst for blood, Mark believed in the cause, in the reason why he fought: protect the innocents and protect his men, his brothers. But year after year, battle after battle, he’d grown to hate the loss. Faces of fatherless children, of red-eyed widows piled up on his conscience, and he couldn’t stand it
any longer. He’d started to overlook details, to make mistakes. That was when he knew it was time to leave
So he left, and a part of him had died because being a Marine was more than a job. He needed to protect, he needed the brotherhood, and he needed to know he was making a difference. He’d joined the Boss, found Snake, Falcon and Mouse, and started fighting again. Started dancing with his demons again.
And after all that dirt, there she was, all soft and cute, alive in a way that had nothing to do with breathing.
She would understand. She seemed to understand this kind of thing, so if he let go, just this one time in that darkness, it wouldn’t be a big deal. “I’m tired, Ann.”
“Sorry, of course you need your sleep.” She tried to scramble back to her seat. “I’ll be quiet and–”
His hand held her in place as he struggled to unlatch his heart. “I’m tired of this.”
She understood. He saw it in her eyes, in the sad, little smile.
“I know,” she said. Then shrugged a little. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
Ann pressed a hand on the side of his face. He leaned into her palm, absorbing whatever she gave him as new tears gathered in her eyes. Those were his tears, and as they fell from her eyes he felt something beside anger, beside guilt. He couldn’t have named it, and didn’t care to.
When she smiled again, that emotion grew stronger. Pushed by it, he moved closer. Slowly, inexorably, until there was no other place to go but her lips. Just her lips and their soothing softness still carrying the salty flavor of tears.
A chaste kiss, one that didn’t want to go anywhere but where they were; a kiss that had no room for fast heartbeats or hunger, but asked for healing tenderness and comfort.
The moment lingered, the warmth of her lips a lullaby for his soul.
He eased away but didn’t go far, afraid the darkness would close in on him again if he did. “I’m sorry,” he lied to her lips.
“I’m not.”
Mark nodded, touched her lips to his one more time to fix the smell of her on him, and cradled her into his embrace until her breathing quieted, her body softened and surrendered.
Guns For Angels Page 5