Ford

by Susan May Warren

  As if she mattered to him, indeed.

  Please, no, she couldn’t fall for him. Because as soon as they landed back in America, he’d go back to his life as an active-duty SEAL, in and out of her broken life, and then yes, she’d turn into her mother, pitifully waiting for him to show up again, but…

  But, heavens, the man could kiss. He had slowed them down, his kiss long and languid, his mouth tasting like toothpaste, his shirt smelling of cotton, and when he wrapped his arms around her, the sense that she could just let go and trust him turned her weak.

  She softened her mouth and relaxed, winding her arms up around his neck, kissing him back, giving herself over to…

  Danger. Because with Ford, she conjured up way too many happy endings.

  Hello, she’d learned long ago, a girl like her got the right now, not the happy endings.

  But Ford did keep showing up in her life. Over and over and—

  He lifted his head, his breathing a little hard, and met her eyes. Swallowed.

  She couldn’t stop herself. “I want you too, Ford.”

  He blew out a breath. Met her eyes. “I couldn’t believe it when you took after that guy. I was angry and so…scared. I was really scared.” His voice turned hoarse. “Please don’t do that to me again.”

  Oh, uh. She nodded.

  He kissed her again. And this time, something lit inside him, a hunger perhaps, because he practically inhaled her, pulling her against him so hard she could barely breathe. He kissed her mouth, nudging it open, taking possession, then dragged his lips away and kissed her neck, his mouth trailing down, then back up to take her mouth again.

  Yes.

  And maybe it was the stress of the past three days, maybe just the terrible ache inside to let go, but she kissed him back just as urgently. Needing to forget her mistakes and the fact that she might end up in a Russian prison and just lose herself, right now, to this man. To tell herself that she wasn’t her mother and that this man wouldn’t destroy her life, and…and…

  Ford pressed her away, breathing hard, his forehead to hers. “Red, I’m… Oh…” He looked up, meeting her eyes, something of panic in them, and loosened his hold on her. “I really…” He blew out a breath. Met her gaze.

  What—?

  “Help,” he whispered, winding his hands through her hair. He searched her face. Then he lowered his mouth back to hers.

  The train lurched.

  Ford grabbed her around the waist, his other hand on the upper bunk to stabilize himself.

  She put her hand down, hit the picnic he’d set up on the table, and dumped over the coffee, hot water burning her skin. “Oh!”

  The train slowed, and he righted her even as he reached for a napkin. “You okay?”

  She shook off his hand, grabbed the napkin, then— “The passports!”

  But Ford was already ahead of her, yanking them up out of the mess of liquid, shaking them off. He placed them on the bunk and grabbed another napkin, wiping off the pages.

  “Oh no.” She picked up the visas, now saturated. Thin, two-sided pieces of orange paper. “They’re ruined.”

  Ford shook them out, then put them on the bunk next to his and began to wipe them off. “The type is smearing.”

  The train stopped. Scarlett picked up the cups, then headed into the passageway to search for more napkins.

  She spotted border officials at the end of the hall inspecting documents. “They’re here,” she said to Ford, creeping back inside.

  He nodded and shoved the wet visas into the passport documents.

  A knock came behind her and she turned.

  Her imagination might have had a little field day because the passport official was a young guy, early twenties, fresh-faced, and eager.

  Huh. “Privyet,” she said, calling up her memorization. She smiled at him.

  He started to smile but then turned to Ford. “Passports.”

  Ford handed them over. The man paged through to Ford’s front page, compared the picture, and ran the bar code through a scanner. Jacob Miller, if she remembered correctly. He turned then to Ford’s visa, and the paper sagged in the passport as he opened it, clearly soggy.

  “Shto eta?”

  “Sorry—” Ford started, but Scarlett touched his arm.

  “Vybachte.” She wrinkled her nose. “Coffee.” She then pointed to the pile of sodden brown napkins.

  The young man considered her, then reached for her passport.

  Scarlett Hathaway, from San Diego. She smiled again, a Yep, that’s me. Tourist.

  He opened to her visa. It tore in half.

  She winced, her expression a little overexaggerated, but it could still work.

  The man closed it. Handed it back to her. Glanced at Ford as if sizing him up, then nodded once and moved past them.

  Ford blew out a breath and closed the door. Sagged against it.

  Smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Huh?”

  He pulled her against himself, his heart beating hard. “Just. Thank you.” Then he pushed her away. “I’m going to get more coffee. And then, partner, we’re going to learn Russian.”

  7

  This just might be the longest seven days of his life.

  York lay in the cramped bottom bunk of the train compartment, watching central Russia slide by as morning broke in the east. They were passing a river banked on either side by thick pine, elm, and maple, and the dawn skimmed off it in glorious reds and golds.

  He’d never been this far east. North to St. Petersburg, yes. And west to Finland, for a conference Tasha dragged him to, but east had always meant Siberia, and no one willingly went to Siberia.

  But they weren’t going to Siberia—but beyond it, to Far East Russia, where apparently David Curtiss had a friend who would get RJ and Kat on a ship and point them even farther east, to Alaska.

  The whole thing sounded old-school. But he knew the CIA would be looking for them on a plane. The CIA and the FSB and who knew who else.

  Damien Gustov.

  In the bunk above him, he heard typing—Kat, awake and working on her computer. She’d barely spoken to either York or RJ since being kidnapped, as she deemed it, although no one handcuffed her to get on the train at the station.

  Okay, maybe a little because the general had sent a couple of his men with them—thankfully not the ones York had tussled with, or there might have been a do-over.

  His ribs still hurt, his lungs chafed from the dunking in the pool.

  Never mind that it had been for naught because RJ hadn’t obeyed anything he’d said. Had instead gotten herself pulled into the pool and used as leverage against him.

  This is why he worked alone.

  He blew out a breath.

  Across from him, RJ groaned and rolled over in her bed. Pocketed her hands under her head. Sighed.

  “You okay?” he whispered, and her eyes opened.

  She looked at him. With the dawn breaking through the window, it cascaded over her body, turned her skin a warm hue. She wore Coco’s runners, along with a sweatshirt she’d borrowed and with her dark hair in bedhead tousles and no makeup, she looked about seventeen.

  At thirty-two, he felt ancient next to her, his body protesting every position of comfort he’d tried to find.

  “Yeah. Just a little sore from saving your hide yesterday.”

  He stared at her.

  She smiled.

  It lit up her entire face and drove light into the darkness inside.

  He refused to smile, however, and turned away.

  “Really? Nothing? Not even a little nibble? No ‘Sorry schweetheart, but I had it all under control’?”

  “You were told to run.”

  She sat up. “And leave you to drown? Hardly. Besides, what was I supposed to do once I got away? Hope that nobody thought it was a little weird to see a disheveled American tied up and wandering around in the woods? Although, this is Russia, so who knows what secrets other people are hiding. Maybe they’d just think…V
at do you know? Another Russian spy escaping from Uncles Boris’s place…” She affected a Russian accent, rolling her Rs.

  He looked up at her, fighting a grin.

  She glanced to the upper bunk. Back to him. “She’s not listening. Got her earphones in.”

  “This just as easily could have gone the other direction,” he said. “General Stanislov could have tracked you down and right now you’d be in front of a firing squad.”

  “Naw. He’d want to use me for leverage with the CIA. You, however…” She raised an eyebrow. “You’d be on your way to a Siberian gulag. Oh wait…” Her mouth opened, her eyes widening in feigned realization.

  Okay. Fine.

  “I knew there was a smile in there.”

  “This isn’t funny, Bristow. We still have an assassin after us. And we have to get you and Kat out of Russia in one piece.”

  He, RJ, Kat, and the general had put together all their information about Damien Gustov and left the general’s staff to work out Stanislov’s personal protection. “Gustov is well connected and very good at his job. Let’s just hope he’s frustrated at his misses and is lying low for a while.”

  He’d stopped hoping about an hour after they’d boarded, right before the dead of night, that the man would make this easy and show up on the train. Mostly because York was tired and hurting and really needed a night’s sleep.

  And angry. Angry at Kat and at being ambushed and even angry that…that he’d actually appreciated the fact that RJ saved his life.

  Gutsy move, that.

  She reminded him way too much of Tasha. Heedless. Driven by some idealistic motivation to change the world and make it safer and better. Even if it cost her.

  Except, while Tasha had been an idealist, she was also deeply moody, a romantic driven by her emotions and passions. RJ seemed smarter, driven by a mix of logic and practicality, less emboldened by her passions and more willing to listen to common sense.

  And while Tasha had made him curious and gotten under his skin in a way that fired up all his protective instincts, RJ made him wonder what it might feel like to stop buzzing all the time. To slow down and breathe. She roused his protective instincts, sure. But maybe not in a way that drove him crazy with worry.

  She wasn’t foolish.

  In fact, she stirred something deep inside him. A thirst for something he’d forgotten.

  Or maybe just denied.

  A friend.

  Tasha had never been a friend. Exotic. Passionate. A cure for his loneliness, color for his rather stale world. But he never truly had his thirst slaked with her. Had often felt like she didn’t even truly see him.

  Perhaps, if anything, Tasha only made him hungrier.

  Maybe he’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone care for him.

  No. That wasn’t it. He didn’t need anyone to look out for him. He’d been a loner his entire life.

  Liked it. Really.

  It would have helped if RJ hadn’t kissed him. Maybe he could stop thinking about it. About holding her in his arms and kissing her back, and—

  RJ sat up and reached for a bag under the tiny table between the bunks. Pulled out a thermos. “God bless Coco and her love of coffee.” She filled her glass cup with coffee, set it in the podstanika, a metal Russian holder, then brought it to her lips. “Do you miss America?”

  Oh. So this was the part of the seven-day journey where they got to know each other. Yippee. Still, he hadn’t exactly brought a book to read. He sat up and clocked his head on the upper bunk, made a face. “No. Sometimes. I miss watching live football.”

  “Really? What’s your team?”

  “The Packers. My grandparents lived in Milwaukee.”

  “Of course. I never had a pro team, but we were huge Bobcat fans, from Montana State University. How did you end up in Russia?”

  “Long tour of duty. I started as a Marine, right out of high school, then went into FORECON for a number of years.”

  “Marine Force Recon? Wow. My brother was a Ranger.”

  “I thought you said your brother was a SEAL.”

  “A different brother.”

  “That’s right. Five brothers.”

  “Five amazing, over-the-top brothers.”

  He poured himself a cup of coffee too. Sipped it. Yeah, that could wake him up. “My uncle was a Marine, and he visited my grandparents whenever he was on leave. He felt like a big brother, in a way. Took me to football and baseball games. Told me stories. Career Marine. Retired a few years ago. He lives on a farm outside Racine.”

  “Hence your career choice.”

  “Yes. When I left FORECON, I transferred to the embassy in Russia—all the embassies have marines protecting them—and took over as one of the heads of security.”

  He stopped there because, hello, that was diving too deep. There were some wounds that simply shouldn’t be reopened. So he simplified. “When my tour was up, I stayed in-country as a private contractor.”

  “Like Roy?” she said.

  He shook his head. “No. Not like Roy. I’m not with the CIA. I work on my own terms.”

  “Doing?”

  He shrugged. “Deliveries. Diplomatic protection. Screenings. Training.” He looked at her. “I’m not an assassin, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  Her eyes widened, and then she shrugged. “Just wondering if I should start calling you Jason Bourne.”

  “York will do.”

  “York what?”

  He shook his head. “Just York.”

  “Oh, we’re being mysterious.” She looked over the top of her cup. “Maybe I should have a code name. Like—”

  “Dory.”

  She cocked her head. “Dory? From Finding Nemo?”

  “Yeah, wasn’t that about a fish?”

  “Yeah, an airhead fish who kept forgetting where she was going. Is that how you see me—as a confused fish?”

  She wasn’t smiling now, and he couldn’t help but grin.

  “In what way am I a confused fish—wait, don’t you dare answer that.”

  “Doesn’t she go on a mission because she thinks someone needs her help?”

  “When did you see this movie?”

  “One of the kids of a diplomat I guarded used to watch it. ‘Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.’”

  “I don’t swim.”

  “You did yesterday.”

  “I got knocked into a pool. I splashed. That is not swimming. I can’t swim.”

  “Really? Not even a dog paddle?”

  “I can barely float.”

  She didn’t seem like she was kidding. He put his coffee on the table. “You mean to tell me that you attacked someone in a pool, even though you had to know you’d go in, and you can’t swim?”

  “You were drowning.”

  He just stared at her. “That was stupid.”

  “Well, thank you. Thank you very much. I sort of thought it was heroic.”

  Hmm. It was. “Don’t do it again.”

  “Now we’re back to giving orders?”

  “I don’t know why, you don’t listen to me anyway.”

  She put her coffee down. “That’s what this is about. I knew it. You’re angry at me for saving your life.”

  “You didn’t save my life, honey. I was doing just fine on my own.”

  “Listen, sugar, I did save your life. That guy was choking you. I got him off you—”

  “And then you were taken hostage, toots! Which you wouldn’t have been if you’d just— Obeyed. Me.”

  “Wow.” Kat leaned down from the upper bunk. “You two are really hitting it off, aren’t you?”

  RJ looked away, leaning back on the bench.

  Kat must have put down her computer because she climbed off the bunk, landing on the floor in front of him. “Okay, you two lovebirds, I’m going to hit the head, then grab some grub in the dining car.”

  “I should go with you,” York said.

  “I’ll be fine, Rocky. Besides, I think you two
need to work this out. Seven days is going to be a loooong time to pout.” She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

  Silence, and when he looked over at RJ, her eyes glistened.

  “Sorry.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “No, you’re right. Maybe I should have run, but I couldn’t just…I couldn’t leave you there.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me…Ruby.”

  She looked at him. “I haven’t let anyone call me Ruby since I was a kid.”

  He frowned. “Why not? It’s your name, right?”

  “It’s the name of someone who is weak and scared and needs to be protected.”

  Oh. Huh.

  She looked out the window. “I’m not scared.”

  “I know.”

  “Or weak.”

  “Agreed.”

  She left out the last one, which meant she was at least practical.

  But she sighed, and he hated that he’d let his pride make him stupid. “Maybe you did…contribute.”

  Her gaze shot his direction, then back to the window. “I may have panicked.”

  “I was getting the snot kicked out of me.”

  “You were making creepy drowning noises.”

  His mouth tightened.

  She drew up her knees to her chest and leaned back, looking at him now. “When I was twelve, I nearly drowned in a river with my brother. I panicked because the current caught me, and he had to rescue me, but we ended up downriver quite a ways, and after the current pushed us into a cave, we took refuge in it. Only, we went in too far and ended up trapped for three days. Nearly died from hypothermia.”

  He tried to imagine her, skinny, wet, scared. “Which brother?”

  “The SEAL. My twin. He wanted to swim out for help, but I was…I was too scared. I made him stay with me. Nearly cost him his life.”

  And suddenly, it all made sense. “Are you trying to prove you don’t need to be rescued?”

  “No. I know I need to be rescued. I just want to do it myself. And I don’t want anyone to die while doing it. Most of all, I don’t want my fear to hold someone back from doing what they know they have to.” She met his eyes. “I am sorry that I didn’t run. I was afraid that you were going to die.”