Ford

by Susan May Warren

  “Let’s just get on the train, okay?” She glanced at RJ. “You okay?”

  “I still think we should go after him,” RJ said.

  Ford stared at her. “What? No! We’re getting out of here.” He looked over his shoulder, as if checking for an attack. “Now.”

  “He could be the shooter!”

  “And that’s not your responsibility!”

  “Yes, actually, it is.” RJ’s eyes hardened in his. “That’s why I came to Russia—to stop an assassination.”

  Behind them, the train coughed, as if gearing up to move.

  “You are an analyst, not an agent!”

  “Someone has to do something.”

  “Not you. We need to— Get. On. That. Train.” He reached out for RJ, but she backed away.

  “Please, RJ. Don’t be—”

  “What? You? Stubborn? A lone wolf? Reckless?” Her eyes shimmered, something hot in them. “You forget, brother, I am you.”

  “Please don’t make me put you over my shoulder.” He said it low, but he knew she heard it in the way her breath caught.

  “Don’t be a jerk.”

  “Don’t get us killed. Coco is already fighting for her life.”

  Her mouth tightened, and she turned away from him and stalked onto the train.

  He swallowed the bile in his mouth.

  “Nice,” Scarlett said.

  He looked at her. “What? I didn’t come all the way to Russia to have my sister take off on some crazy mission to apprehend an assassin. She’s in way over her head here.”

  “And you’re not? We’re not sitting in Siberia right now, running from the FSB and the Bratva and who knows who else? C’mon Ford, wake up. We’re totally in over our heads, and I’m shocked we’re not sitting in some FSB cell under the bright lights, getting our fingernails ripped off.”

  Her words slapped him. The train lurched, but Scarlett didn’t move.

  He barely suppressed the urge to grab her and drag her onboard.

  “I’m not sure why you thought you needed me—” Scarlett said. “Maybe so you could blame your mistakes on someone—”

  “Hey!”

  “No. I’m right, aren’t I? You’ve been blaming your mistakes on your sister and the way she ‘held you back’ in that stupid cave when you were twelve. Get. Over. It. You make your own choices in life, and no one holds you back but yourself. So if you screw up, it’s on you.”

  “I know that!”

  “Do you? Because it feels like either you’re a lone wolf or you find someone to blame.”

  The words blew through him. Seriously?

  “That’s not fair, Red. I didn’t blame you for anything. Not the visa snafu, not what happened in the hotel. Not even the fact that you just walk out of people’s lives without looking back. Without caring what it costs them.”

  She stared at him, and he didn’t know where any of that came from.

  Behind her, the train started to ease forward. RJ stood on the steps, looking like she might hop off.

  No—no—Ford caught his breath, reined in his words. “Listen—I know I asked you to come with me, but I didn’t do it so I could blame you. I…I need you, Red.”

  “Why?”

  He drew in a breath. And just like that, all the reasons simply left him. Or rather, piled up so quickly he couldn’t sort through them. More of a feeling than real answers. He needed her because…because shoot, he needed her. He didn’t have reasons.

  Maybe she saw the blank look because her mouth tightened. “I don’t need you, Ford. I don’t need you or your adventures and especially not your promises. Or lack thereof—”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the fact that you are just like every other man I know. You drag me into your life, use me until you’re finished, and then move on.”

  Used her? “I never—Scarlett, I’m not sure what you think, but I never thought of you as…as…”

  “My mother?”

  “No!” He drew in a breath. “In fact I’m so freakin’ scared that I’m going to hurt you—” He dropped his voice. “You were raped, Red. And that sits in my brain, and it hurts me, and the last thing I want to do is scare you. That’s why…” He shook his head. “As much as I want you…I also need you to know that you’re safe. You’re always safe with me.”

  His words seemed to cut into her anger, dampen it.

  He moved closer to her. “And I’m not moving on.”

  She gave him a dubious look.

  “I do need you. And I know there are reasons, but…”

  She just glared at him.

  “Okay, fine. I did drag you here. And the only reason is that I…I wanted you with me. And I still want you with me—and I don’t know why you’re so mad, but whatever it is—please, please, let’s fight about this on the train.”

  She sucked in a breath, then abruptly turned and headed for the train.

  He swung up right behind her, glancing behind him to verify that no one followed.

  They pulled out of the station.

  RJ waited for them inside the door. “What compartment?”

  He pulled out their tickets, then turned and led them back between cars and into the next train. Found their four-bunk private compartment darkened and half-way down the the hallway.

  RJ, then Scarlett, headed inside. Each took a lower bunk.

  He started in, but Scarlett put her leg up over the door.

  He frowned.

  RJ reached up and pulled the door shut, leaving him in the hallway.

  Oh, joy, he was back to the silent treatment.

  Six hours to Kazakhstan.

  He turned and looked out into the darkness.

  RJ locked the door behind her and briefly considered turning around to let Ford in. But she needed a minute to shake free of the smell of the attacker’s breath soiling her face, his words curdling inside her.

  RJ had heard the beginning of Ford’s fight with Scarlett and couldn’t agree more.

  They were in over their heads.

  But it was hardly Ford’s fault.

  She scrubbed her hands down her face, exhaustion humming through her, and leaned back on the sofa-slash-bed.

  Please let Coco and York be alive. Her stomach churned, and she pressed her hand against it. What she wouldn’t give for a computer or even a cell phone.

  Ford hadn’t meant to be cruel, she knew it.

  Still.

  She sighed. “We should let him in.”

  “We will. In a minute.” Across from her, Scarlett stared out into the darkness, something hollow on her face.

  “You’re in love with my brother.” RJ didn’t have to be an analyst to figure that out—but saying it aloud put a fine point on exactly why Ford had freaked out when Scarlett vanished from the metro. Why he’d morphed into a spec ops soldier right before her eyes.

  Her heart had stopped in her chest when the assailant took her brother to his knees with a punch. Granted, a hit to his solar plexus that had propelled the air out of his body, shut down his diaphragm, but then the man hit Ford and threw him off the platform and—

  She shivered, the memory a cold slice through her.

  “No. Yes.” Scarlett looked at RJ, answering her question. “I don’t know.”

  Petite yet tough, with short brown hair and huge brown eyes, the woman had a fierceness in her stature that RJ recognized. Ford liked women who could keep up with him. Whom he didn’t have to protect. Of course, that didn’t stop him, his natural Marshall instincts kicking in, usually driving the women around him crazy.

  Scarlett’s eye had begun to bruise up, red streaks darkening her eye where she’d been hit. But her attack had startled the man and loosened his grip on RJ’s throat.

  “Why didn’t you go after Ford instead of me?”

  “Because that was the mission. And I knew he’d want…” She didn’t finish. Instead she drew up her knees, curled her arms around them. Set her chin on top. “I’m in over
my head too. And not just because we’re in the middle of Russia.”

  She turned back to the window. “I wish I could skip ahead, know that I wasn’t going to end up with my heart and my life in shreds.”

  “Ford is a good man. Drives me crazy, but he’s got a good core. All my brothers do.”

  Scarlett looked at RJ. “I know. Probably better than you realize. I served with him, was his eyes and ears when he went out on ops. He has steely nerves and never lets down his team.” She ran her hand across her cheek. “So yes, I might be in love with him.”

  “He’s definitely in love with you.”

  Scarlett gave her a hard look. “No. I don’t know what he feels, but it’s not…he says he needs me, but I have no idea why…and then I saw him with you…” She made a face. “I was actually jealous.”

  The train had picked up speed now, the finest edge of dawn turning the night to gunmetal gray.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I guess…I felt left out. He had someone already, and I was clinging so tightly to him and…” She sighed. “My mother died a couple weeks ago.”

  Oh, wow. “I’m sorry.”

  Scarlett looked away, ran a hand across her cheekbone. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I didn’t cry at her funeral. She was completely messed up. She drank all the time, never kept a job. Went through men like animal crackers.”

  “I don’t think I realized how strong she was until right now. She kept getting her heart broken, and yet she’d try again. And again. And I used to think it was weak to keep believing that some man would make you happy. But what if it was strong—to hang on to hope that hard?”

  She met RJ’s eyes. “I don’t get it. How do you trust something you can’t see? Can’t know will turn out?”

  “I don’t think it’s about everything turning out. But knowing that if it doesn’t, everything will still be okay.”

  Scarlett said nothing.

  “You know what you said about Ford—about him blaming me?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t think it’s as much about blame as control. He’s always trying to figure out how to get it right. He was never a great student, but he excelled in sports. He’d spend hours critiquing himself, get up early to lift weights. He broke records in school for his weight training, and later, in track. If he doesn’t get it right the first time, he keeps trying and trying. But he’s not a great communicator. And he doesn’t ask for help. But when we were lost in the cave? He climbed up on that cold rock next to me and held us tight together, trying to keep me warm. I was skin and bones back then, and I am sure I would have died if he hadn’t stayed. So yeah, maybe I am to blame. But Ford never blamed me…he carried it all himself.”

  RJ softened her voice. “None of my brothers are great communicators. But I promise you, what I saw out there was Ford communicating.”

  Scarlett’s eyes glistened. “I shouldn’t have yelled at him. I was angry and…scared.” She sighed. “Truth is, I spend most of my time scared. Or at least, trying not to be.”

  “You’re in Russia—”

  “No. I’m not scared now.” She glanced at the closed door. “It’s what happens after we get home. My mother left behind a seven-year-old son—my half brother—and he’s in foster care right now, and I promised him I’d get him back. But I…I don’t have the first clue how to be a parent. Or how to take care of him. I just got accepted into the Rescue Swimmer program, and—”

  “You feel like you owe it to your brother to take care of him.”

  Scarlett lifted a shoulder.

  “So, what is best for your brother? You or this home he’s in? Because maybe it’s not about you, but him. That’s what love is—doing what’s best for the other person, even if it’s hard, right?”

  Scarlett drew in a long breath. Glanced at the door. Nodded.

  “By the way, I think hope is also about who you hope in. Maybe you don’t trust the circumstances, but the source.”

  I could find you when this is over.

  RJ looked away, her breath catching. Please, God, let them be okay. Probably she should have been praying a long time before this, but she closed her eyes as they burned. Ran her hand across her cheek. If you want to stay alive, you need to keep your mouth shut and do everything I say.

  Sorry, York.

  She caught her lip before she made a sound, and when she felt a touch, saw that Scarlett had leaned over and reached out, her hand on her knee. “I think I’m not the only one who lost her heart in Russia.”

  RJ forced a smile. “I don’t know. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment—the crazy chaos— it doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Nope. It’s my job to notice things. And I saw York’s expression when he thought you were the one shot.”

  “He was just worried. He promised to get me out of the country.”

  “He kissed you like he meant it. Not that I was watching…” Scarlett winked.

  Oh. RJ could still taste him on her lips, the power of his touch vibrating through her. “And I left him for the FSB.”

  Scarlett’s mouth tightened. “How much trouble is he in?”

  “I don’t know. He has a visa and papers, so…maybe none. But Coco…” She shook her head. “I’d give anything for a computer. I don’t have his cell number, but I can contact him by email.”

  “Ford has a cell. He used it to call Ham, our contact in Ukraine. He’s the one who is setting up our transport in Kazakhstan. He could send the email.”

  “Maybe we should let him in.”

  Scarlett smiled. “I’ll get him.”

  She got up and eased out into the hallway to go after the man she loved.

  And RJ leaned over onto the bench, drew her knees up, cradled her face in her hands, and resisted the painful ache to do the same.

  York stepped back in time every time he entered a Russian hospital. And not just because the smells brought him back to the antiseptic odor of Betadine and chlorine bleach, but whenever he closed his eyes, he opened them again to the sight of Tasha’s body, bloodied on a ratty gurney, the docs trying desperately to pump life back into her veins.

  The cold had slowed her death, turned her body into an ice cube, and when York found her, he’d hoped desperately that modern medicine might do miracles. Modern Russian medicine. It was like walking back seventy years to an era of thick needles and soda bottles for IV containers.

  Still, he couldn’t erase the stench of her blood being warmed, his own bile eating at his throat as he watched her body turn from blue to gray to pale white.

  But all the same, lifeless.

  A moan emerged, drawing him from his memory, and he let out a long breath, sat up, and pushed to his feet.

  “You okay?” He walked over to Kat and put his hand on her leg, squeezed.

  She lay pale and broken under layers of wool blankets, an IV running into her veins, another for morphine. Her red hair fanned out over the pillow, an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. Her eyes butterflied open, rolled once, then closed.

  “You’re in a hospital. You had surgery to remove the bullet.” He moved in close to her ear. “I told everyone you were my girlfriend, so don’t start babbling and turn me into a liar. And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t die.”

  She made another sound, and this time her eyes opened longer. Her mouth moved under the mask, and he leaned down to hear. “I’d never be your girlfriend.”

  He grinned. Squeezed her leg again. “I wouldn’t date me either, sweetheart.”

  She whispered something else, and he moved the stupid mask away.

  “RJ?”

  “She and her brother escaped to Kazakhstan.”

  “No visas…”

  He recognized the panic in her eyes as he replaced her mask. “I know. I was thinking about that.”

  A lot.

  In fact, it was all he could think about—how RJ was going to get past border control. Maybe her brother had a plan, but he seemed to be making up their so-c
alled rescue as they went along. And why couldn’t he have left well enough alone? York had had it in hand.

  Maybe.

  Okay, so the Bratva had put a snag in his plans, but he would have figured it out.

  Would have kept his promise to RJ to get her out safely.

  I could find you when this is over.

  Why he’d said that, he didn’t know—all the emotion boiling up to spill out of him, maybe. The chaos of the moment.

  The way she was looking at him, so much trust and worry and—

  Shoot. He said it because she’d broken through something and made him feel again. Made him ache and groan, and like an awakening limb prickly with feeling, he realized just how numb he’d let his heart become.

  Until RJ showed up, he’d liked it that way. It was safer.

  No need to protect something that couldn’t hurt.

  He should have never downloaded her email. Never let curiosity—okay, concern—cajole him to the meet.

  Should have never scooped her out of the FSB’s net and sent them on the lam.

  Never kissed her and found himself a hungry, thirsty, lonely man.

  You could.

  Let go.

  You could.

  Go home.

  You could.

  Find her.

  You could.

  Live again.

  Kat’s eyes closed again, and he got up, walked out into the hall, and stood at the window. The night was still heavy upon the city, the finest edging of gold along the horizon. The hospital overlooked the river, still black, the fading stars dying in a last wink upon the water.

  The militia had released him almost immediately after seeing his papers and confirming his story with a few bullet casings. Thankfully, he had the foresight to discard the gun under the truck before the militia arrived, and his visa was in order—thank you, FSB. He did, however, wish he’d gotten his hands on the shooter.

  He had a sinking feeling he would have found a star tattooed on his neck. Should have checked that out.

  So, what did the Bratva want with American “assassin” Ruby Jane Marshall? What had she said about a shadow government trying to upset the balance of power in Russia?