Ford

by Susan May Warren

  He opened his eyes and looked at her.

  Said nothing.

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, met his eyes.

  His gaze fell to her lips. Back to her eyes, a little wariness in his gaze. “Ruby?”

  No, really, she shouldn’t…didn’t even know why she thought of it except he kept standing there, his body warm and radiating such a male scent, and suddenly she thought of how he’d held her hand as they walked into the general’s place, turned to her and said Stay close to me.

  Yes.

  She touched his chest, laying her palm on it. Felt his heartbeat there, thundering.

  “RJ.”

  He covered her hand with his, and she thought it might be to move it away, but he didn’t. Just drew in a long breath. She looked up.

  He was looking at her just like he had in the park, a sort of hunger in his eyes that ignited something not so dormant since she met him.

  “I think—” he said.

  “You think too much,” she said and stepped up to him. “Stop thinking for one moment and—”

  He kissed her. Leaned down and simply kissed her. And it wasn’t like the park, because she didn’t have to coax him into responding. Nor did she have to pretend to want him.

  He braced one hand against the railing, curled his other arm around her, and stepped close to her, devouring her, sweeping her mouth open, diving in, and taking hold of everything that had been churning between them.

  Or at least what had been churning inside her.

  No, him also because he groaned against her mouth and pulled her tight against him.

  Still kissing her.

  She’d never been kissed like this before.

  But then again, she’d never been on a train in the middle of Russia, running for her life, in the care of a dangerous and yet safe man.

  York. She twined her arm around his neck, her fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. He tasted of the sweet frosting from tonight’s cake and the bite of tea and smelled of the night breeze on his skin and…her body was turning into a sweet mess of desire and warmth under his touch.

  He drew in a breath and leaned back. His breath came out hard as he stared at her. Silence.

  He looked at her again, something almost raw, even panicked on his face. “I’m not…I don’t…” He shook his head. “What is it about you that I can’t seem to shake?”

  She stilled.

  “You drive me crazy. And yet…” His eyes found hers, and he traced the pad of his thumb along her lips. “This is probably a very bad idea.”

  “Probably,” she whispered, nodding.

  “Definitely,” he said, moving back toward her, his lips brushing hers.

  “Absolutely,” she whispered and took his mouth, daring to be the one to pull him close. To be brave and invincible and—

  He stiffened in her arms and yanked away. Glanced up past her.

  She turned. Oh—

  A man stood at the door of the other car, illuminated in the light. Dark shirt, dark pants. But the light glinted off a knife.

  He opened the door to the other car.

  York pushed her behind him. “Run, RJ. Run.”

  And heaven help her, she obeyed.

  The hurry up and wait was killing him.

  It had taken the FSB six painful hours to issue them new visas. Scarlett’s matched the alias on her new passport.

  Yanna had taken them to a secure flat where Scarlett had showered and changed clothes. Meanwhile, Ford had gotten hold of Ham, still in Ukraine, and they’d mapped out possible escape routes. One involved taking a train to Kazakhstan, another mapped them through southern Russia, another continued the trip all the way to Vladivostok.

  None of them contained the urgency Ford wanted.

  Ford had showered too, but it only set his body on edge, awakened to the frustration of being so close and having RJ fall from his hands. He felt like he was trapped in the dark cave with his sister, knowing escape was close and just couldn’t seem to find it.

  Now, the plane shook as it hit a pocket of turbulence, and next to him on the Aeroflot flight, Scarlett grabbed his hand.

  “Are you sure this thing is going to stay in the air?” She looked over at him with a sort of wide-eyed panic.

  No. Not in the least. But the Aeroflot flight was their only option this late at night. They’d be cutting it close to meet the train in Yekaterinburg. They’d have to race off the flight, grab a taxi, get to the train station, and board the Trans-Siberian train all in less than an hour.

  He’d seriously debated leaving Scarlett in Moscow.

  But it felt a little like taking his heart out of his chest, leaving it behind.

  Although as he glanced at her now, her eyes closed, her head back, enduring the turbulence, that’s what it would be like, wouldn’t it? Leaving her behind while he deployed?

  It was one thing to leave his family. Another to leave the woman he loved—

  His throat dried, and he closed his eyes.

  He loved her. Shoot. He should have figured that out when he nearly lost it after she’d been attacked.

  Ford probably hadn’t needed David’s help to take out the two goons—his rage at seeing the one push her into the elevator had been enough to take on an entire goon squad.

  Yanna had been the one to shout Down!, giving him directions as he’d taken off toward the stairwell.

  He’d arrived just as the doors were closing, and he’d let out a shout of fury and panic that they’d push a button, end up on one of the upper floors.

  But the doors opened once more to a sight he never wanted to see again in his lifetime—Scarlett grappling with the two men. And she wasn’t winning. One of the men held her wrists, while the other had a grip around her neck and was pulling back his fist.

  The goon might have broken her jaw with that hit. Definitely crushed her nose, her pretty face, and even now the thought of it made Ford jerk, inhale hard.

  He opened his eyes.

  He glanced over at her. Yes, she was fine, except for a couple bruises on her neck.

  She met his gaze and frowned.

  “I need to hit the head,” he said, just needing space.

  The plane wasn’t full, but the lights were dimmed, people sleeping in the two-by-two seat configurations. He made his way to the back and into the tiny bathroom.

  The light burned his eyes, and he stared at himself in the mirror. Red-eyed, gaunt—he needed a decent meal, probably—unshaven. Unkempt and not a little over the edge.

  Sheesh, pull yourself together, Ford. He ran water, splashed it over his face. Used a paper towel to dry it.

  If he were with Nez, they’d be considering all the scenarios, the contingencies, making a plan, working the plan. They’d have support and resources and…

  David knew that the only way to victory was to let God lead him into battle.

  Ham’s words, spoken what felt like ages ago.

  We always think of God as our reinforcement…but He’s our breacher.

  Maybe Ford didn’t have to know what was ahead…because God did.

  He didn’t know why Scarlett picked right now to walk into his brain, but in a moment, he was standing in Prague, the starlight glimmering against a velvet sky, her face lifted to his, those beautiful eyes drinking him in. You can’t count on anything but right now.

  Yes, she could. She could count on one right now after the next.

  And you’re not a right now guy, are you?

  Yes, he was. Right now he wanted her safe. Right now he wanted her in his arms. Right now he loved her. He loved her resourcefulness and her courage. Her loyalty and her amazing smile.

  And he always would. One right now after another.

  Life is…unpredictable.

  Maybe. But with God at the helm, it wasn’t out of control.

  He dried off his hands and opened the door.

  Scarlett stood in the tiny hallway.

  “Hey,” he said.

&nb
sp; “I was worried. You looked sick earlier.”

  Oh, when she was nearly taken from him? Um, yeah. He shut the door behind him. “I’m okay.”

  She nodded, offered a tiny smile, then her face crumpled.

  Huh? He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to her, pulling her into his arms. “What’s going on?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m just…I’m just tired.” She wrapped her arms around his body, and he was okay with not moving ever again. Just standing here, holding her in the darkness of the plane as it hummed around them. She smelled of the fresh cotton shirt that Yanna had given her and the shampoo she’d used in her hair, and he closed his eyes before he did something stupid and kissed her.

  Except, maybe it wasn’t stupid. Maybe it was exactly what they both needed. Something to hold onto. A right now, the first step to forever.

  He leaned away from her, and she lifted her face to his. Tears glistened on her cheeks.

  “Don’t be scared,” he said quietly and reached up to draw a tear away with his thumb.

  “I’m not. Mostly.” She drew in a breath. “It’s just…weird. I keep thinking about my mother. And how she made me take this self-defense class when I was thirteen years old, and how I thought it was so stupid but…”

  “But today you used some of those skills?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “And that she might have been a little proud of me. And how crazy is that, to think about her in the middle of Russia…”

  “Not crazy at all. Sometimes I hope that my dad is looking down from heaven, watching…well, most of it. Not everything, but…yeah. He never got to see me get my Budweiser.”

  “Your trident pin. I thought you got that after hell week.”

  “No. You don’t get it until you pass all the SQTs—it takes about a year after you make it through BUD/S. I called him when I made it through hell week, though. Told him I’d see him in a year, with my pin, on the beach. He never made it.”

  She palmed her hands on his chest. “He would have been proud.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Your mom would have too. I know I was.”

  She gave him a soft smile. “You know what I said about right now and you not being able to make promises?”

  He nodded.

  “I’d let you make me a promise, if you wanted.”

  He couldn’t stop the smile from nudging up his face. “Oh, I want.” He touched her face, her skin soft under his fingertips. “Yes, I want.”

  Then he leaned down and kissed her. Tender, the kind of whisper kiss that made him want to linger, breathing her in like a fragrance. She took a step back and leaned against the wall, curling her fingers into his shirt, pulling him along with her. He braced his hand over her shoulder, taking a step closer.

  And then, in his kiss, he promised her his heart.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, sinking into him, softening her lips against his, and he drew his other around her waist, catching her up.

  Red.

  He always knew it could be like this. She’d been the woman in his ear, her voice the calm he needed against the storm of his adrenaline during an op. His eyes when he couldn’t see behind him. The touch of sanity when he arrived back on base edgy and needing to talk. She’d believed in him, showed up for him, and most importantly, kept up.

  Even now, she was kissing him back with the tender ardor that told him that she wanted their tomorrows too.

  He drew away, met her eyes. She smiled, her eyes rich, the fear flushed away.

  He swallowed a second before he took the leap. I love you—

  The plane shuddered again, and a light flickered on in the cabin.

  A voice came over the speakers, something about landing soon, he thought, but he just might never land again.

  Hoo-yah.

  “We’d better get back to our seats,” she said quietly.

  Yes. Find his sister, get her home.

  And figure out how to live happily ever after with the woman he loved.

  They had to get off this train.

  And not just because York had dropped a body over the side in the thick grass of western Russia, just outside the city of Yekaterinburg, but because they’d been found.

  Maybe Boris had a snitch. Or David Curtiss. Or perhaps Gustov had been watching all the trains. York didn’t know, but whoever York had just dispatched, the man knew his game.

  “Bristow—let me in.” York knocked on the door to their compartment, grateful to see that it was locked. “It’s me.”

  The door slid open, and RJ stood in the gap.

  He wanted to pull her to himself, kiss her all over again, but—

  “You’re bleeding.” She grabbed his ripped shirt and pulled him into the compartment, down onto the bunk. “Are you stabbed?”

  He shook his head. “Just a slash on my forearm. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  But it burned, the slash probably deep enough for stitches. He’d had nothing else to protect his body as he deflected the stab, but was fast enough to grab the man’s wrist, to move it back onto the attacker.

  Two puncture wounds, one in his gut, the other in his chest, and York had simply pitched him off the fast-moving train.

  Stood there breathing hard. If he hadn’t seen the flash of light reflected off the knife…

  He didn’t do emotion, and this near miss was exactly why.

  He shouldn’t have been kissing her. He told himself he was just checking on her, making sure she was okay. But he’d turned into a liar, as well as a sap, because he’d been dreaming about that kiss in the park. He’d opened his eyes, found her gone, and followed his stupid heart all the way down the hall.

  He’d found her standing in the wind, and when she turned, she looked at him again like he was some kind of freakin’ hero, so much admiration in her eyes. It reeled him in and made him stop thinking. Forget who he was.

  RJ just had this way of reaching inside him and making him feel, however briefly, healed. Worthy. Not dark, broken, and deadly.

  But he needed dark, broken, and deadly if he hoped to get her home alive.

  He wasn’t letting her out of his sight again.

  RJ grabbed a sheet and was ripping it into strips while Kat examined the wound.

  “It’s deep,” she said.

  “It’s fine. Get your stuff together. We need to get off this train.”

  RJ stepped up to him and put a folded strip of sheet against his wound. “Hold that there,” she ordered.

  Her mouth was set in a dark line of—anger? Worry? But she said nothing as she wrapped the bandage with another strip.

  “You could have been killed,” she whispered, meeting his eyes.

  “Don’t wander off again,” he said.

  Her mouth tightened, and he was a jerk. But if he didn’t snap at her, he might do something stupid and pull her against himself again, and there would go all the tightly packed emotion, bleeding out everywhere. Which, in the end, would only get them all killed.

  “I ran.” She tore a strip down the middle and tied it around the wrap. “I hope you saw that.” Her voice was trembling.

  “Yeah, I saw it.” Then because he couldn’t bear to see her trying not to cry, he grabbed her wrist. “Ruby. Thank you.”

  She gritted her teeth and nodded.

  For some reason, he remembered what she said about her brother. About not letting him go for help because she was too afraid. “You were very brave.”

  “I was very stupid.” She stepped back. “I’m so sorry, York. You’re going to get killed because of me.” A tear dripped onto her cheek.

  Oh. He stood up and pulled her against himself, one arm around her shoulders.

  She leaned into him, her arms around his waist. Let her breath shudder out.

  “We’re going to be okay.” He kissed the top of her head, not caring that Kat was watching. Then he let her go. “Get your stuff. Like I said, we need to get off this train.”

  “We can’t jump of
f a moving train in the dark!” Kat’s voice raised, and he lifted his hand.

  “Shh. Of course not. We’re going to work our way down the cars, just in case they know where we are—”

  “Who’s ‘they’?” Kat said.

  “I don’t know. This guy had skills, but he wasn’t polished, so he wasn’t military. Or at least not Spetsnaz. He could be with the Bratva.”

  “The mafia? What—why?”

  “I don’t know. It was dark, but I thought I saw a star tattoo on his neck.”

  “Can you check?” Kat said. “Take a picture—they all have different tattoos.”

  “I threw him off the train.”

  Silence. Kat raised her eyebrows.

  RJ’s eyes widened.

  “We can’t wait around. We’ll get to the last car, and when we pull into Yekaterinburg, we’ll get off. It’ll be after midnight, so we’ll hide in town until morning. Then we’ll get on another train, maybe going south.”

  He looked at RJ. “Just trust me a little longer. I’ll get you out of the country, I promise.”

  “I’ve trusted you from the beginning. I’m not going to stop.”

  He didn’t kiss her again. But, he wanted to.

  They gathered their bags, and he slung his over his shoulder. “Stay behind me. And if I say run…”

  “Yes,” RJ said. She had hold of his shirttail.

  He opened the compartment door and looked out, surveying the dark hallway, then motioned them to follow him.

  RJ stayed right on his tail. Good girl.

  He was still on edge from the fight, his arm pulsing with pain that he tried to ignore, as they reached the end of the car. Opening the door, he stepped out between trains, then grabbed the railing of the opposite car and hopped over the coupling. He glanced behind him and saw that RJ and Kat were doing the same.

  They entered the next car and walked swiftly down that corridor, changed cars at the end, and kept going all the way to the final car. Only the caboose trailed them. He stood just inside the door of the final car.

  They’d entered the city of Yekaterinburg, edging toward the center of the city. As in every other Russian city, the ancient Soviet-era buildings mixed with the new, street lamps illuminating the wide streets, the stately buildings. Somewhere in the darkness, the Iset River dissected the town, but he’d only read about it in his research of Russia. That and something about the town being the place where the Romanov family, the last of the ruling czars, was executed.