He thought it sounded romantic, but she looked away, a sad resignation on her face. “I’m not the girl on the sidelines either.”
He wanted to wince. Yeah, nice, Ford. Because he knew that about her too. Probably, her courage and desire to be in the fray were what drew him to her.
Not easy when the woman next to him stirred up his own broken places.
“I know you’re not, Red. I just…you scared me today.”
He didn’t know why he said that, and he now glanced at her.
She was grinning at him. “Big tough Ford had to sit on the sidelines. It killed you, didn’t it.”
His mouth tightened.
“I just…I hate being helpless.”
“Hence the sneak and grab into the former Soviet Union to save your sister, who may or may not need your help.”
“She needs my help.”
Scarlett raised an eyebrow.
“Listen, Ruby Jane is my twin. Fraternal twins, of course, but we’re a lot alike. Or we were, once upon a time. She thinks like me—or at least she used to, and that’s what has me so scared.”
“What, that she’s invincible?”
“I don’t think I’m invincible.”
“That is not true—”
“It is. Believe me, I’m keenly aware of my own stupid impulses, the fact I can easily get in trouble. RJ and I nearly died because of me when we were kids.”
“When you got sucked into a cave?”
Oh, that’s right. He’d told her the story the night Reuben got married, when he took her out to the river to watch the stars. But maybe not all of it.
“It was my fault. I wanted to go swimming in the river. I told her that we’d be fine—the river wasn’t that deep, normally, and I’d been swimming there plenty of times with Rube and Tate…but never alone. But that’s the thing—I was always watching my brothers, learning from them, emulating them—or trying to not make their mistakes. I figured if I just did everything right, then nothing would go wrong. I told RJ where to swim—there was this shallow area without much current, and she was supposed to stay there. But I underestimated the current and the fact that she wasn’t a good swimmer, and suddenly, she was drowning. I caught up to her, grabbed her, and we managed to stay afloat, but the river took us about a half mile downstream, into a gorge. The river pushed us into this alcove, and RJ realized it was a cave, with tunnels. I found a ledge and we climbed out and wandered back to a dry area. We were just supposed to catch our breaths, but then it started to get dark out. By the time I tried to get her to leave, it was pitch dark. RJ was terrified. She begged me not to leave her, and she refused to move. We were cold and wet and I…I was afraid. I thought if I left her, I might get lost in the cave or maybe under the water. But if I didn’t go, we could freeze to death. And the worst part was, no one knew where we were.”
They’d come out onto the square. Lights bathed the cathedral from the bottom. Overhead, the sky was velvet, thick and brilliant with stars.
“It’s hard to tell the passage of time in darkness. We huddled together, and every time I said I should go—I’d decided I probably needed to leave her there and get help—she begged me not to. And if I’m being honest, maybe I was a little relieved because…”
“You were a kid and afraid.”
“It was very dark.”
She slid her hand into his.
“It took them three days to find us. By then, RJ was really sick, hypothermic and near death. I’ll never forget the moment my dad showed up. Shined light on us in the darkness and I felt naked and dirty and yeah, relieved, but so horrified that I had done nothing. Nothing to save us.”
It seemed like the right thing to say nothing more. To not try to soothe it and somehow add to his wounds. Which felt achingly deep for a man who spent his life being the tip of the spear, doing everything he could to save lives.
Save, really, the world.
“I vowed then that I wasn’t going to do nothing ever again.”
“Mmmhmm,” she said. “That explains a lot.”
He wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but… “And it also explains my sister’s stupid independence. She felt so guilty that she made me stay, that she’d clung so hard to me that she pushed me away after that. And she’s still trying to prove that she doesn’t need us. Especially me.”
Scarlett made a small noise beside him, and he looked at her. “What?”
“They say that fraternal twins are always solving each other’s problems. She doesn’t want to depend on you, and you want to show her she can.”
“She can.” Oh, he wanted his words to be true.
“I know.” She turned to him. Touched her hand to his chest. “But who do you depend on?”
Her question found his bones, shook him.
His team, of course. He’d learned that early on, in BUD/S. But beyond that, he just didn’t want anyone to get hurt because of him. So he showed up, did his job, and okay, sometimes he was a little lone wolf. But only so others didn’t get hurt because he did nothing.
Who do you depend on?
You.
Ford looked at Scarlett, and the answer took root. He hadn’t realized how much he depended on her. She had an uncanny way of making him believe that everything was going to work out.
But he couldn’t tell her that. Instead, “I don’t know.” They had reached the square, with shop lights and cafés lighting up the night, the cathedral rising like a mythic beast. A bell rang out—the astronomical clock ringing out the hour. Midnight.
He walked over to a bench near the hotel entrance. A linden tree nearby was in full bloom, fragrancing the night. Scarlett sat down next to him.
He stared up at the heavens.
“My dad and mom raised us to believe that God loves us. I always believed that if we did what was right, He’d protect us. Somehow, somewhere in there I started to also believe that maybe I needed to show up, in case He didn’t. Funny, right?”
When she didn’t comment, he glanced at her.
She wasn’t smiling. “God abandoned me a long, long time ago, Ford. And He hasn’t shown up since, so no, I don’t think that’s funny at all.”
Although he’d meant his words in sort of an experimental jest, her solemnness speared him with a pain he couldn’t place. “Scarlett. That’s not true. God does show up. He doesn’t abandon us. The Bible asks, how can God forget his own children?”
“My mother forgot her own child. Trust me, it can be done.”
He swallowed, hating her broken expression. And since he had no words, he reached out and pulled her to himself.
Her body relaxed against his.
He closed his eyes. And he didn’t know why, but words swelled inside him. I know I haven’t depended on You much, Lord. But maybe there’s a reason You brought Scarlett into my life. A reason I can’t seem to shake her. And if that reason is to show her You, then…
She put her hands to his chest and pushed away, lifting her face to his, her beautiful eyes searching his. “We’re going to get your sister back, Ford.”
She smelled so good, and suddenly all he could think about was the taste of her lips, the feel of her hair. The way her body fit against his.
“Aw, Red,” he said softly. “I’m really trying hard here not to cross a line, but I so want to kiss you.”
She drew in a breath. Lifted one side of her mouth. “Who’s gonna know? It’s not like we’re on duty, right?”
Right.
So right.
He wasn’t going to ask her to leave. He’d watch her back, keep her safe, and everything was going to be fine…
Ford slid his hand to the back of her neck, drew her close, his lips whispering against her—
“I’d know,” a voice said behind him. “And that’s exactly the kind of thing we don’t need if we want to get this job done.”
Ford stiffened. Turned to the voice.
A man stood in the shadows, near the door of the hotel, a backpack on his shoulder, and no
w walked off the stoop toward them. A black hulk in the night, he was built like a frogman, the outline of his body impressive. Ford put him over six feet, and as he passed through the puddle of a nearby street light, he noticed dark blond hair curling out from under a baseball hat, a black jacket, and an equally black pair of jeans.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Hamilton Jones said. He held out his hand to Ford, who was finding his feet. “Let’s keep the kissy-face until after we get your sister home.”
Scarlett had nearly fled from his arms and now stood a few feet away.
Ford nodded, met Hamilton’s grip. “What took you so long?”
“I took a detour to nab these.” He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. “New passports and visas.”
Ford opened the envelope and found three semi-worn but freshly minted American passports inside.
“Just to stay under the radar,” Ham said.
“Do you know where my sister is?”
“Nothing from my contacts, but I’m still looking.” Hamilton leaned past Ford to hold out his hand to Scarlett. “This must be our backup.”
She smiled. “Scarlett Hathaway.”
“Hamilton Jones. My friends call me Ham. Sorry I missed the meet with Roy.” His mouth tightened around the edges. “But I’d like a detailed report when we get the chance.”
“He said he’d try and contact his man in Russia,” Scarlett said. She wouldn’t look at Ford.
Perfect. But maybe she was right.
Focus on the mission.
Sort out the what-ifs with Scarlett when they were back on American soil.
No kissy-face.
Ford handed Ham back his envelope of contraband passports as his phone vibrated in his back pocket. He pulled it out.
“Wyatt is calling me,” he said, glancing up at Scarlett as he answered. “What’s going on?”
Wyatt’s voice came on the line. Passionate and straight to the point as was his brother’s way. “So, I got a message from Coco.”
If his hockey goalie brother had said that he’d been drafted by the Broncos to play football, Ford would have been less surprised. “Coco? Our Coco?”
“No, my Coco, but yes.”
“Are you sure?”
Scarlett had stepped up to Ford, frowning.
“I’m sure. She referenced something that only she would know.”
“Huh. Where…why is this—”
“She’s in Russia. With RJ.”
A hammer came down on Ford’s chest.
“Bro?”
Ford found his breath, his voice. “Yeah. I’m here. Is RJ okay?”
“Yeah. She’s fine.”
He looked at Scarlett, then Ham. “We found her.” He directed his voice back to Wyatt. “Okay. So—where in Russia?”
“Moscow. She’s hooked up with a friend of Coco’s, and they’re headed to the consulate.” A pause, and Ford imagined him running a hand through his long hair, maybe trying not to hit something. Wyatt, more than all of them, lived with his emotions outside of his body. His voice turned hoarse when he said, “She’s going to be okay, Ford. Coco said this contact at the consulate is going to get her out.”
Ford closed his eyes, listening to the thunder of his heartbeat. “Yeah. You’re right. Can you get a message back, tell her we’re on our way?”
“I’ll try, yeah. Be careful though.”
“Copy. Thanks, bro.”
Wyatt hung up.
Ford looked at Scarlett, then Ham. “So. How are we getting to Moscow?”
Ham glanced at his watch. “By train. Get your gear—it leaves in an hour.”
Scarlett watched the Polish countryside travel past as Hamilton—Ham—Jones’s voice lifted from where he sat on the bottom bunk of their train compartment, explaining his grand plan to get them into Russia. A map of Eastern Europe and Russia was draped over the tiny train table between the bunk beds of the private compartment.
“They don’t check passports and visas at the border of Ukraine and Russia the same way they do on flights coming in, especially from the West.” He was drawing his finger along the train route he’d suggested they take into Russia.
“Even flights from Warsaw?” Ford said. “It’s going to take us two extra days to get to Russia.”
“Two more days for officials to think she’s left the country already. Two more days for them to find the real shooter—”
“Or two more days for the FSB—or the assassin—to find her.” Ford’s tone turned clipped and hard. “Or the CIA. For all we know, they’ll ship her out of the country before we even get there.”
“No. According to my contact, she’s lying low at a safe house,” Ham said. “He’s going to get a message to them and tell them to wait for us. We’ll take her out of the country the same way we come in, through Ukraine. I have contacts there—we’ll be able to secret her out of Ukraine to America.”
Ford leaned back, his head on the worn vinyl of the seat-slash-bunk bed of the private compartment, his expression clearly pained.
And she hurt down to her bones for him.
Ham had hustled them into the station last night, bought their tickets, and clearly, they were in good hands. Ham spoke enough Polish to get them across the border last night, showing their new passports—her name had suddenly become Marcie Billings—without a hiccup.
Yes, she was definitely chin-deep in a spy novel.
And she’d nearly kissed 007.
Nearly turned into a Bond girl.
Wow. She lay on the top bunk, feeling useless, watching from above as the two spec ops guys planned their mission, wondering exactly why Ford had thought he’d needed her.
“We just need to stay together and keep a low profile, and we’ll get over the border without any trouble.” Ham was a handsome man, mid-thirties, dark blond hair, blue eyes, a grim slash to his mouth. He was built like a warrior and exhibited the sparing conversation, so far, of all business, no room for trouble.
Let’s keep the kissy-face until after we get your sister home.
Scarlett wanted to wince every time her own words replayed in her head. Who’s gonna know? It’s not like we’re on duty, right?
Although, in her defense, Ford had looked at her with a very thirsty look in his eyes.
Maybe they were both intoxicated by the romance of Prague.
When his voice had turned low, and he’d admitted that he wanted to kiss her—okay, she was already there, deeply, dangerously stuck in the memory of kissing him in Montana. Could still feel the way he’d wrapped his fingers into her short hair, had kissed her with a sort of abandon that felt very rare, very unleashed.
Until, I’m not that guy, Red.
Of course he wasn’t. Because, sure, he put himself all out there for the people he cared about—his family, his teammates—but he’d found his common sense in time to walk them back from danger, both emotionally and physically.
Ford knew how to keep his emotions tightly wrapped.
Not her, apparently. This is how women lost their common sense and ended up in over their heads—they gave in to the dark needs of their heart.
In short, she’d wanted him.
But he hadn’t wanted her, at least not enough. Or not in that way. She hadn’t really acknowledged how his words in Montana had made her feel until Ham walked up and Ford let her go—again—as if she might be toxic.
She’d wanted to run in full-out mortification.
Kissy-face?
Nice.
Ford had barely looked at her the rest of the night, finally settling into his bunk, his arms folded over his jacket, eyes closed. Ham had sat up, watching the world slide by out the window.
And she had stared at the ceiling, vowing not to let Ford harbor the idea that bringing her had been a colossally bad idea.
Now as the train headed toward the dawn, Ham rolled up the map and put it back into his backpack. “We’ll have to change trains in Warsaw and again in Kiev. Stay close, and hang on to your bags.
Warsaw and Kiev train stations are both known for their pickpockets.”
A knock came at the door, and Ham unlocked it. It slid open, and a conductor stood there, pushing a cart with hot tea and coffee.
Scarlett climbed down as the woman gave them three coffees.
She had never tasted anything so glorious.
“We’ll grab something to eat in Warsaw,” Ham said, drinking his coffee black.
Outside, the dawn was giving way to light, a lining of rose gold upon the landscape of Poland. Beautiful country with rolling hills and pine trees and provincial farmhouses painted blue or orange, cattle lounging in the green pastures.
Ham set down his coffee on the skinny table jutting from the wall. “Whenever I’m in Poland, I can’t help but think about the fact that when Hitler invaded, the Poles fought him off with pitchforks and axes, mounted on horseback. Brave people, big hearts. Not unlike the Russians.”
“Isaac White said you worked in Russia,” Ford said.
“I was on Team Three,” he said. “We had some familiarity with Ukraine and a few neighboring countries. Partnered with the UN on a couple of operations.” He looked out the window. “Partnered with a few Russians, too, back when the cold wasn’t quite so chilly.”
“Is that where you picked up your Russian contact?” Scarlett asked.
Ham looked at her. Nodded.
“When did you ring off?”
“Three years ago. We had an op that went south, and it was time for me to step out.”
“I heard the story.” Ford poured himself another cup of water. “It’s legendary.”
Ham ran a thumb down the rim of his cup. Was quiet for a long time. Looked out the window when he finally spoke. “We did what we had to.”
Ford nodded, and silence pulsed between them.
Scarlett stared at Ham, and he glanced at her.
Finally, quietly, “We were in Afghanistan. It was late October, and the CIA got a tip about a Taliban stronghold in Kunar Province. They wanted to dig them out before winter set in, so we went in.”
He drew in a breath, swallowed. “We were ambushed. Bad intel. We took cover in some nearby caves, but we had two guys go down, and called in for reinforcements. They sent in PJs, but…two died fast-roping down to us, and then a chopper was hit with an RPG and…it all went south. A handful of PJs made it out and evaced with us through the tunnels, but there was a cave-in, and a couple PJs got separated. A guy named Thorne and my buddy Royal. We were eventually evaced out, but…”
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