I’m not a spy. I’m an analyst.
RJ, dressed in those sexy leather pants and the off-the-shoulder shirt, her dark hair down and around her shoulders, just begging for him to curl his fingers through it.
He leaned against the wall as a nurse walked by and gave him a look. He nodded toward Kat’s room, but she frowned at him.
Maybe because he wore a strange grin.
Oh for cryin’ out loud, you’re a Sydney Bristow wannabe.
Big blue eyes staring at him, confused, and not a little hurt.
You call me sweetheart again and I’ll start referring to you as Sugar Pie.
He missed her so much his chest might implode.
Breathe. Just let her go.
She was simply desperate and scared, and the last thing sweet Ruby Jane needed was a jaded, broken, angry man like York following her home.
But maybe he should send her an email and tell her that Kat was okay.
And what if…
He blew out a breath.
What if he told her that she’d changed him. And that protecting her—what little he did—was the first thing he’d done in three years that felt like it mattered.
Was worth dying for.
And that yes, if he managed to find Gustov, maybe he would look her up in the States. Just to see how she was doing.
Oh brother.
The corridor, with its painted cement floor and exposed wire, had all the charm of a warehouse, but at least they’d given Kat a private room. Next door was a communal room, some twenty beds jammed together—post-op patients who received daily visits from their families bringing food and medicines.
He walked by it, and a green light under one of the cots caught his eye.
A laptop.
Sitting right there, for his use.
He crept into the room. Stood above the man for a moment, just in case he stirred. A young man—it looked like he’d gotten his appendix out, perhaps, the way he was sleeping, favoring his side.
York swept the laptop out from under the bed and strode from the room.
He just needed the internet.
He returned to Kat’s room, sat on the squeaky sofa next to her bed, and fired it up.
Password.
“Where’d you get the laptop?”
Kat had woken and was pulling the mask to the side.
“A fellow patient. But it has a password, so—”
“Don’t be an idiot. Give it here.”
“I don’t think—”
“Trust me, I’ll feel better if I can hack into something.” She looked up at him. “Sort of like how you’d like to hit something.”
“I don’t want to hit anything.”
She cocked her head.
Okay, maybe a little, but, “I’d rather eat something. I’m starved.”
He helped her sit up. She moaned, but swallowed it down. Took the laptop. “Does my father know I’m here?”
“The general? Not yet.”
She drew in a breath. “If we don’t show up in Vladivostok, he’ll come looking for us.”
“Maybe he should. You were shot.”
“But then he’ll imprison me at his house to keep me safe. He’s already worried—imagine what he’s going to be like when he hears I was shot.” She looked up at York. “And you’ll be in trouble.”
He hadn’t thought about that. “So, what if we go to Vladivostok, try and get you out of the country as planned?”
She nodded. “Wait until I’m off morphine, and then we’ll have this conversation. Here. You’re in.”
He took the computer from her and sat back on the sofa, bringing up the internet. “It’s a bad connection.”
“You’re just trying to log onto your email, right?”
He looked up at her. “How’d you—”
“I’m not blind. I saw you two, York. I know you have feelings for my sister.”
He just stared at the screen as he pulled up his email program.
“RJ is a good person.”
“I know—”
“And so are you.”
He said nothing. But he pulled up a blank email.
“You need to forgive yourself for something you had no control over—Tasha’s death. Just because she made a mistake doesn’t mean you have to spend your life paying for it. Come back to America with me. Start over.”
Start over.
Dear RJ,
The cursor blinked. Outside, the dawn had begun to dent the gray, the stars chased away.
Kat is ok. We are…
He looked up at Kat. She gave him a tight smile. He wanted to smile back, but he turned back to the computer.
…going to Vladivostok as planned.
He breathed out. Nodded.
Be safe.
He debated his valediction and finally decided on,
Your friend, York.
He sent the note.
“I can’t let Gustov go free,” he said quietly.
“Gustov won’t go free. The CIA will find him.”
“They don’t even know what he looks like.”
Another email had come into his account and he tapped it open.
Froze. Oh…he couldn’t breathe—no—
“What’s the matter? You look like you’re going to throw up.” Kat leaned over and winced. “Tell me before I rip my stitches out.”
He turned his computer around and closed his eyes. No, please—
“Is that—that’s RJ. And—is someone kissing her?”
So he’d seen it correctly. RJ shoved up against the cement entrance of the metro on the Yekaterinburg platform, a man pressed against her, kissing her.
His hand around her throat.
And right behind her, a blur—maybe Ford—but he couldn’t make it out.
“There’s something written beneath the picture,” Kat said.
He turned the computer back around.
Everything inside him turned cold.
“York?”
He could barely speak, the words like tar in his mouth, hot and sticky. “Are you…”—Oh, God, help—“ready to play…again?”
Kat stiffened, and when he looked up, her eyes were wide. “Is that…from—”
“Damien Gustov. And this time, he wants Ruby Jane.”
Kat leaned back, stared at the ceiling. “We’re not going to Vladivostok,” she said.
She might not be. But he said nothing as he composed a new email.
Outside, the fingertips of dawn ran red down the pewter waters.
Please, please, be awake.
11
That’s what love is—doing what’s best for the other person, even if it’s hard, right?
RJ’s words hung in Scarlett’s head as she eased out into the hallway of the train car. The sun streaked through the window in the palest of rays, washing over Ford’s profile as he leaned against the railing along the corridor, staring out the window.
The man looked wrung out. Dirty from where he’d scrabbled out of the way of the train, and her stomach clenched at the thought of it.
She’d been scared enough to retch. And yet, when he showed up, she’d turned on him like a crazy person, spewing out all her fear into a mess of emotion and confusion.
I don’t know why you’re so mad, but whatever it is—please, please, let’s fight about this on the train.
His desperate plea could cut her in half, leave her in pieces.
She’d nearly derailed them, again. Because…
Truth is, I spend most of my time scared.
Yes. Scared.
Scared that she’d mess everything up. Scared that she’d end up with a broken heart. Scared that she wasn’t worth the fight of peeling back all her messy layers to find…
That’s what she needed to know. What did Ford see? What did he need? Because if she could figure it out, then maybe she could—
What? Become the person he needed?
But yeah, it made sense. She’d spent her entire life molding herself into
the right person. One her mother would want. Or the Navy. Or even, yes, Ford.
What would it feel like to be wanted just for whatever was inside.
Ford picked then to look up and meet her eyes. They were reddened, probably from fatigue, but maybe unshed emotion too. He drew in a breath, then looked away, back to the landscape, the darkness lifting to reveal farmhouses and cattle and dirt roads and prairie grass. And in the distance, the jagged haze of mountains.
Kazakhstan.
She drew in a breath, found the truth, and held on. “I’m sorry.”
He glanced at her, back to the window. “It’s okay. I get it. You’re probably right.”
She frowned, scooted up next to him. “I don’t think—”
“I keep rolling what you said through my brain. About me blaming RJ and you, and…” He shook his head. “I don’t.”
“I know—”
“But I am angry.”
Oh.
“I’m angry at my own stupid pride. The arrogance to think that I could just come to Russia and rescue my sister—as if she needed rescuing. She was just fine before I showed up to ‘save her.’” He finger quoted his words with one hand. “She’d figured out how to get out of the country on her own, and I just made a mess of it.”
Scarlett wanted to interrupt, but he didn’t stop. “I am a lone wolf, reckless, and I get people in over their heads.” He shook his head. “I charge in without thinking, and yeah, some might call it brave, but it’s just pride. The idea that I can do it better than my team, or…God, I guess.”
He leaned his forehead onto his arms. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.” His jaw tightened. “I’ll get you out of Russia and back home, and I promise never to knock on your door again.”
Oh, Ford. She touched his back, took a breath. “But what if you need me?”
“I need you all the time, Red.” He said it softly, then turned to her. “I don’t know if I can put it into words that make sense, but having you with me—and I don’t just mean in my ear, but in my life—it makes me better. It’s like I’m smarter or stronger…just better. And it’s different than the way I need the team. They have my back. You…you have me.”
Her throat filled. “I do have you. And it scares me so much I… You nearly died, Ford. Again. And again. And the thought of you…” She swallowed, looked away before his gaze on her could devastate her, could make her throw herself into his arms.
He made to reach out to her but pulled back, his hand a fist. “I know you’re scared, Red. Honestly, I scare myself sometimes. But see, that’s the thing. I’ve gotten used to you being there on the other side of the exfil. I don’t think about myself or getting hurt. I just think about getting the job done, then coming back to you. You and your smile and the way you listen and…and if that’s all you ever want, I…get it. I’m sorry if I pushed you too far.”
She stared at him, the words ringing inside her.
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.
Oh.
As much as I want you…I also need you to know that you’re safe. You’re always safe with me.
No wonder he never made the first move. No wonder he never acted like he really wanted her unless she acted first.
She touched his hand, eased open the fist, and wound her fingers through his. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
His eyes stormed with emotion. “Red…”
“I’m sorry I yelled at you. I just…I’m afraid...” The words stuck in her throat. That I’ll need you more than you need me.
He turned to her then, as if reading her mind. “I know you’re scared. And that you have no reason to trust me, to think I won’t hurt you. And I know you try and mask it by telling me that you don’t need promises. Try to act like it doesn’t matter by saying you’re just a right now girl, but I know you, Red. You’re not a right now girl, and you never have been.”
He took her other hand. “You act so tough and cool, but inside there is a woman who wants more—I see it in the way you look at your little brother. At the way you went to help your mom. I saw it in the way you interacted with my family. And you don’t have to be scared of that. It’s a good thing to want a home, a family. Love. It’s not crazy or selfish or even weak to need someone. Or want to be needed.”
It scared her sometimes how much he knew her. “Ford—”
“By the way, I’m not a right now guy either—”
“I know—”
“What you don’t know is that I…” He took a breath, and his eyes turned almost fierce in hers. “I love you, Scarlett. And not just because I need you, but because…because you’re brave and beautiful and you know me, and you said yes anyway.”
She couldn’t move.
“The truth is, I don’t know why I need you. Or why I love you. But I don’t need a reason to love you. I just do, and that means I’m in. I’m calling it. And I can’t do anything but show you that I love you for the rest of my life. And if that’s too much for you, I get it. But I’m yours if you’ll have me.”
He wore so much emotion in his eyes, so much hope it made her want to weep.
And suddenly, she got it. The thing that had made her mother hang on, believe.
Love.
The fullness of it reaching in, finding Scarlett, seeing her, and Ford still offering himself to her.
It was both power and weakness, fullness and a great pouring out of herself into something bigger. Something better.
Something whole.
“I love you, Ford.” Scarlett wasn’t sure she actually spoke the words aloud, but maybe she had because a slow smile crested over his face.
“You do?”
She nodded.
And still he didn’t pull her toward him. Didn’t kiss her.
So, “If you don’t kiss me, frogman, I’m going to start getting a complex.”
He whispered his fingers across her face, a smile breaking through. “Just so we’re clear, I do blame you for this.”
Then he kissed her, cupping her jaw, weaving his fingers into her hair.
Ford. His touch was gentle, yet a power banked in it that trembled through her as he pulled her to himself, finally, to secure her against his body. To hold her there.
He smelled rough—oil and dirt and blood—as if he’d fought his way to get to her, and it made her love him even more.
Then she tasted salt as he deepened his kiss, his whiskers rough on her chin, and she realized that he was crying.
She leaned back and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close, holding on. “I’m going to get you home safely.”
He whispered in her ear, his voice soft and shivering her entire body. “I’m counting on it.”
He kissed her again as the dawn poured over them, chasing the chill from the train. She finally broke away. “Your sister sent me out here. She needs your phone.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, that was sort of an excuse, but she wants to get a message to Ham, to send an email to York and check on Coco.”
He seemed reluctant to leave her embrace but took her hand as they walked back to the compartment.
She found RJ curled up on the bench seat, her hands tucked under her cheek, eyes open. She sat up when they came in.
A smile tweaked her mouth, her gaze running over their clasped hands.
Ford glanced at her. “Are you going to throw something at me?”
“I’m fresh out of pillows, but I could find something…”
Scarlett frowned.
“Family joke,” Ford said. “My mother would throw pillows at my dad when she was angry.” He sat down next to Scarlett. “I’m sorry, RJ. I shouldn’t have been so abrupt about Coco. I’m sure she’s going to be okay.”
Her jaw tightened.
“How about I call my guy and we check on them?”
RJ nodded. She gave him the secure email address, and he dialed up Ham, stepping out into the hall
way to talk.
“I take it you two made up,” RJ said.
“Someone told me recently to open my eyes and see that Ford was holding on to me as hard as I was holding on to him. I guess I decided to believe it.”
Ford closed the door behind him, sat down and took her hand. “Done. He’ll send the email. Let’s try and get some sleep.”
Probably Scarlett should let go of his hand, let him climb up on the top bunk.
Instead, she let herself hear him. It’s not crazy or selfish or even weak to need someone.
And maybe it wasn’t crazy to believe in Ford and his promises either.
He let go of her hand and fished a clean shirt from his pack—the last of his shirts, probably—and then reached for her hand again.
Like she belonged in his arms.
Yanna’s words crept into Scarlett’s mind as she curled up on the bench beside him. I didn’t have to be the strongest one in the room. That maybe God had sent David. And that got my attention. David reminded me that maybe I wasn’t alone.
Not alone.
She settled her head on his leg, drawing his arm around her.
Somehow, she dropped off into hard sleep, and only the knock at the door from the conductor woke her up. That, and the way Ford eased her up. “Coffee?”
“Heaven?”
“Nearly.”
The conductor gave them instant coffee and hot water.
Good enough.
Across from them RJ was sitting up, watching the terrain.
Outside, the landscape turned into side by side Russian houses with blue or green roofs, unpaved roads, and the occasional fence, water pump, or milk cow. The city formed in the distance—century-old buildings, and a Russian Orthodox cathedral rising from the center, its gold dome glinting in the dawn.
By the time the train started to slow, Scarlett decided she probably could live another day.
“They’ll check our passports when we get off the train,” Ford said. “Ham said he’d have a guy there to wave us through.”
They pulled into a station, and it looked like every other Russian-built complex—orange-washed building, white pillars, a network of tracks, and a long platform with passengers waiting to board, most of them clutching duffel bags.
Ford hiked up his backpack. “Stay close to me.”
As if she would be going anywhere else.
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