“There’s been an unexpected complication.”
“Of what sort?”
“Riley has a protector now.” Nick could barely get the words past the acid eating away at his throat. After last night, the soldier was far more than her protector.
Lover.
“Who is he?”
“Coen Monroe. Beyond that, I don’t know.”
“I’ll do some digging around. But if he’s become an obstacle, take care of him.”
Oh, I will. “I can’t kill everyone between me and the journal.”
“Since when? You’ve never been squeamish about the dirty work before.”
True. He would have no problem disposing of the girl and that bastard Monroe. But Riley. Riley was different.
He’d wanted her since his first sight of her hunched over a wooden bowl, merrily stirring ingredients for a poultice.
The joy on her face and the unabashed enthusiasm with which she stirred her concoction had made him hard on the spot. He’d tried every seduction technique in his wheelhouse to lure her into his bed, and she’d refused him. Which only made him ache for her more.
No other woman—and he’d sampled them all within a ten-mile radius—could purge his need for Riley. She’d become essential to his existence. Like air. Only more necessary.
“What are you not telling me?”
He clenched his jaw. “I’ll get the journal. But I’ll do it my way.”
“See that you do. The foundation’s board and our most influential donors are pressing me for a status report, and the Costa Rican government has requested a meeting.”
“Why?”
“They’re investigating a complaint about the true nature of our research.”
Camilla. If he didn’t hate her so much, he would’ve admired her tactics.
“Has Young made any headway on recreating his research?”
“He’s hit a wall, which means we’re dead in the water.”
“What are you going to do about the board and the investigation?”
“Stall—until you do your damned job.”
Patronizing son of a bitch. One day Nick would be pulling all the strings.
“Twenty-four hours, Nick. You have twenty-four hours to locate the journal, dispatch the thief—and anyone else who knows of the journal’s existence.”
The few emotions he had left winked out. “I’ll have it taken care of in twelve.”
45
“Have you enjoyed your R and R?”
Coen’s pulse raced at the undercurrent in Colonel Walsh’s voice. “Yes, sir.”
“I have something brewing that could use your leadership.”
Rising, Coen widened his stance and squared his shoulders. “When do you need me?”
“I’ll know more in a few days.”
He met Riley’s gaze across the worktable. “I’ll be ready.”
“I understand you haven’t contacted her yet?”
He closed his eyes, allowing his silence to answer for him.
A stool scraped against the concrete floor, then a small, warm hand slipped over his forearm, and Riley’s fresh scent filled his senses. Though his chest continued to splinter into a thousand pieces, he took comfort in her presence and strength in her touch.
“Away from the unit for a few weeks and now you think you can disobey a direct order?”
“No, sir.”
“What am I missing? When we last spoke, I gave you two orders.”
“I’ve completed one.” Sort of.
“You sure about that, son?”
“Y-yes—” He cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”
“Take care of the other, Operator Monroe. Or don’t bother coming back to base.”
The line went dead.
Still holding his phone, he braced his hands against the table and fought the building panic. If he spoke to her, he’d have to face a truth he wasn’t ready to accept. A truth he refused to acknowledge during his waking hours. A truth that had the power to sever the thin fiber holding him together in his dreams.
“I remember the first time I set foot in Costa Rica,” Riley said, keeping a hand on his arm. “The small, twin-engine plane sputtered to a halt on what could barely be called a runway in the middle of the jungle.” She rested her cheek against the back of his shoulder and rubbed calming circles over his back. “When I stepped out of the plane, the equatorial sun sprayed my face and the humidity filled my lungs.” More lazy circles along his spine. “It was somehow thrilling and terrifying at the same time.”
“What happened next?” he asked, his voice thick.
“My guide led me up the mountain to a tiny village where I spent the next two years living among the villagers and learning everything I could from their healer.” She slid her palm over his arm, up and down, up and down.
“How did the people react to your questions?”
“Same way anyone around here would react to foreigners prying into their business. A good dose of suspicion, followed by an unhealthy curiosity, and ending with a generosity I wouldn’t have dreamed possible.”
He could visualize a bespectacled Riley Kingston flitting from village to village, sitting in someone’s home or around the campfire, with her recorder—and notepad, because she would have a backup—camera, and treats for the kids. Despite their reservations, the people would flock to her, welcome her, share their secrets with her.
Like he did.
She kissed his shoulder. “They needed to know whether they could trust me or not.”
Forcing the tension from his shoulders, he twisted to gather her in his arms. “Did you miss modern conveniences?”
“Not really, though I do love my daily shower. But after a while, I fell into a routine and had never felt so… settled before.”
“Settled?”
“Content to focus on what was in front of me and not chasing the hundred things plowing through my mind.”
He nuzzled the top of her head. “Thank you.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“Where it hurts,” she whispered.
Anxiety flooded his chest, though the temptation to share the burden of his fears and failures had him nodding into her hair.
“Camilla,” she called, threading her fingers through his.
“Yes?” Camilla poked her head around one of the large shelving units.
“Coen and I have some things to discuss. Will you be okay for a few minutes?”
“Sí.” She held up a tray of unruly plugs. “I can repot these for you.”
“You’ll get your pretty yellow dress dirty.”
“Not if you let me borrow that old work shirt.”
He followed Camilla’s nod to a well-worn shirt draped over a stool.
Riley smiled. “I’ve missed you.”
Camilla winked. “And I you.”
“The four-inch pots are in the storage shed around back. The key is hanging by the back door. Feel free to use the utility vehicle.”
Turning, Riley gripped his hand tighter and guided him to the dilapidated couch in her office. Rather than face him head-on, she sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, and laid his hand on her thigh, covering it with hers.
Reaching between them, she unsnapped her leather-encased multi-tool from her belt and tossed it aside before snuggling closer. They sat in silence for several seconds; he, scrambling to collect the least appalling parts of his story and she, no doubt, practicing patience.
“What I’m about to tell you is highly classified and can go no further.”
“I understand. You can trust my discretion.”
“Three months ago, my unit was assigned a detail in South America.” She lifted curious brows in his direction. “I can’t share the exact location.”
Her inquisitive expression fell.
“Bear with me, Riley. I’m sliding out on a very long limb by telling you any of this.”
Aft
er a moment, she nodded and asked, “What sort of detail?”
He hesitated. Of course her first question would stab at the heart of his mission. Like many other Delta Force Operators, he’d perfected the art of evasion. It had become second nature for him to steer a conversation away from inquiries about his assignments.
How far should he let her in?
Studying their clasped hands, he realized the answer came to him much more easily than expected.
“We were sent to dispatch a bomb maker. Not just any bomb maker but one who has been linked to at least five catastrophic incidents on US soil.”
“Dispatch, as in kill?”
“Yes.” He glanced at her profile. “Should I go on, or have you heard enough?”
Her fingers tightened around his. “Go on, please.”
The weight sinking into his chest lifted a little. “Our intelligence revealed that the bomb maker was utilizing an abandoned mine to test his masterpieces. Although he staggered the days and times of testing, he didn’t alter the logistics of how he gained access to the mine.”
“Allowing you to put a plan in place and bide your time.”
Despite his growing sense of dread, he sent her an appreciative glance. “That’s right. Like clockwork, four guards would exit a shanty at their compound and surveil the area. Thirty minutes later, three SUVs would fly up to the bomb maker’s home. He and his entourage would pile in, and the convoy would set off for the test site.”
“How many were on your team?”
K-THUNK.
K-thunk.
K-thunk-thunk.
His heartbeat deafened him for several seconds while he regained his equilibrium. When he was certain he could get the words past his teeth, he answered. “Five, including myself.”
“You, Kendra. Who were the other three?”
“How do you know about Kendra?”
Her attention shifted away. “You’ve mentioned her a time or two.”
“No, I haven’t.”
She leveled a look on him. “Then how do I know the name?”
Night terrors.
During the evenings she’d stayed with him, reading for hours, he must have cried out Kendra’s name. His jaw hardened. What else had she heard?
“Paul, Freddy, Miller.”
“Five against?”
“A few more.”
Concern carved into her brow.
“We’re trained for that exact scenario.”
His statement did nothing to ease her worry. “What happened next?”
“A small stretch of the road leading to the mine provided the perfect cover for us to disable the vehicles and dispatch our target. We waited three days for the bomb maker to arrive.” Moisture pebbled at the back of his neck, and a cold heat flushed his body. “As planned, our sniper took out the three drivers, halting the convoy. The rest of my unit moved in to eliminate our target. And that’s when everything blew up.”
“The bomb maker blew himself up?”
“No, my mission.”
The muscles along his spine locked down as the scene replayed in his head. As he’d done a thousand times, he assessed and reassessed the situation, searching for the flaw in his plan. He never found one. What came next was simple, shitty bad luck.
Rather than ask him more questions, she waited for him to continue, showing her support, her encouragement, through the small, settling circles she finger-painted on his arm.
“The bomb maker had picked that day to invite a client to view his latest invention. The client’s caravan of killers arrived minutes later.”
“Trapping your team between the two.”
The speed at which her mind processed complex, unfamiliar situations was amazing. She would make a great operator. Intelligence more than brawn was the common theme in Delta Force.
“Taking advantage of the distraction, one of the bomb maker’s men tossed a grenade behind Miller.” He could still see the shocked realization on his teammate’s face before the blast ripped him to shreds. “My warning yell came too late.”
“How long had you known him?”
“As big as the Army is, you come across the same people, over and over, especially when you get selected for and receive training in specialized units.” Coen pushed back the nostalgia of better days. “The five of us had known each other for years, but when we joined the counterterrorism unit, we became an inseparable team.”
“I envy that level of friendship.” The half smile she mustered reflected a deep-seated longing. “I’m too much of an odd duck for most people.”
He looped a finger around her chin and lifted her face up to his. “You’re not odd, Riley. Driven, fearless, loyal, funny, compassionate, smart, and beautiful down to your very core, yes. But not odd.”
Tears trembled in her eyes. She anchored her hand behind his neck and kissed him softly, slowly, thoroughly, clearing the darkness from his mind, his heart, long enough for him to savor the moment. To savor her.
When she finally drew away, she left him stronger than she’d found him. And he wondered if she’d given him a glimpse into her heart to give him time to collect himself, to pull himself together.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, marveling at the bounty of brilliance contained beneath his lips. He smiled, despite the heaviness floating in his chest.
“The blast stunned Kendra, Freddy, and Paul, giving the second convoy an opportunity to push their advantage. I leveled half their numbers, but it didn’t stop Paul from taking a bullet to the head or the rest of my team from getting separated in the chaos that followed.”
“Where were you when all that was happening?” she asked in a measured tone.
So she’d picked up on the nuance of his references.
“On a ridge with a sniper rifle.”
“Oh, Coen. How helpless you must have felt to watch your team fall into trouble.”
A long silence followed while he struggled all over again with the knowledge of how badly he’d failed his team.
“You don’t have to go on,” she whispered in an emotion-clogged voice, “if it’s too painful.”
Petal-soft fingertips sifted through the hairs on his arm, the rhythmic motion somehow easing the muscles in his throat.
He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, a swell of love for this woman making him speechless.
Love.
A new kind of fear socked him in the gut. Then the earthy, fresh scent he always associated with her pierced through his paralyzing thoughts and allowed him to continue.
“I eliminated several more of them before hauling ass down the ridge. By the time I’d reached the bottom, Freddy had taken a bullet to the heart. I got to Kendra, but we were overwhelmed by sheer numbers.”
“They took you and Kendra prisoner?”
An explosion of images sprayed through his mind like shards of broken glass. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fought to control the nausea rising up his throat.
Unable to sit still any longer, he surged to his feet, knocking Riley off-balance in his haste. He couldn’t find words of apology, not past the swirling abyss of memories sucking him down, down, down. Memories he’d spent the past several weeks locking behind a steel trap.
The greenhouse suddenly became too confining, too close. He couldn’t suck in a large enough breath to satisfy his lungs, and a wind tunnel had taken up residence in his ears.
Beyond the thick, clean windowpanes, the open meadow beckoned. Freedom.
“I need some fresh air.”
46
Frozen on the couch, Riley’s gaze followed Coen’s rigid back. She didn’t know whether she should shadow him or give him time and space to collect himself.
In truth, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the rest of his tale. Already she’d struggled to hold back her tears, and he had yet to hit on the really terrible part. Whatever happened to him and Kendra had destroyed bits of his spirit, night after night.
Twisting back around, her gaze dropped to her disc
arded Leatherman where it rolled into her thigh. Absently she snapped and unsnapped the case. Was she strong enough to learn what horrific event had the power to break a warrior like Coen Monroe? The answer resounded in her head.
Bolting upright, she ran after Coen. Even if he wasn’t ready to share that part of his story with her yet, she would be there to hold his hand or tell him another silly story. Whatever he needed until he realized he didn’t have to fight his past alone.
The moment she cleared the door, a hand clamped over her mouth and a strong arm wound around her middle. She craned her neck to see a pair of stunning golden eyes staring back at her.
“Hello, Riley,” Nick whispered. “I think you’re hiding something I want very, very much.”
When she began to fight against his hold, he lifted a pistol and pointed it at Coen’s retreating back. Coen stalked along the edge where the meadow met the tree line, fighting off the demons she’d forced him to dredge up.
“Calm down,” he said against her ear. “Or I’ll add your”—he gave her head a hard shake—“lover to my collateral damage collection.” He nodded toward a tangle of lifeless limbs and a bright yellow dress, peeking out from beneath a patch of fern fronds.
Camilla.
A sob caught in the back of her throat, the sound muffled by the hand over her mouth.
“Shhh-sh-sh-sh,” Nick warned quietly. “Do not draw your lover’s attention, or he dies.”
Her mind splintered in three directions: Protect Coen. Mourn Camilla. Stay alive. Every instinct she possessed screamed not to go with him. To fight Nick and alert Coen.
But the gun aimed at Coen kept her rock still. How would she ever forgive herself if Nick killed him? A soldier who’d survived the evils of war only to lose his life over a damned research journal. On American soil.
When Nick began backing away, she didn’t resist.
47
By the time Coen reached the far corner of the meadow, his hands no longer shook and the compulsion to flee from the threat—from Riley—no longer drove him away.
He dug his thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets as if he could scrape Kendra’s battered body from his memory.
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