King's Ransom: (Tall, Dark and Dangerous Book 13)

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Is there ever a time in which a stick in the eye is needed?” she wondered, her voice muffled by her hands.

  His muscles screamed from being static for so long in the cold. He pushed himself away from her and sat up, continuing to sweep her clean. “Depends on whose eye and who’s holding the stick.”

  “True, but I was thinking my stick, my eye.” She sat up, too, brushing the dirt and debris from her face and hair, blowing air of out her mouth and even making little spitting sounds. “Yuck.”

  “Sorry,” he said. She had a clump of something on her shoulder, and he wiped it off.

  “No,” she countered. “I appreciated being even a half a degree warmer. I just... Please, can you make sure there aren’t any spiders on my face or in my hair?”

  Thomas looked at her. Her hair was a hopeless riot of curls.

  She correctly read his dismay, and added, “Forget my hair. Check my face. My hair’s a lost cause. When we get to civilization, I’m going to have to shave my head.”

  “That seems extreme.” He checked and... “Your face is spider-free.”

  She pulled back her lips in a wide grimace. “How about my teeth? Any spiders in my teeth?”

  Okay. That made him laugh—and brought back memories of the teeth-check he’d always had Tash give him whenever they’d had pizza at the mall, back when he was crushing on Smart Nina from his English lit class. “You’re good.”

  It occurred to him that in all of his thirty-five years, he’d never had a girlfriend who’d checked his teeth. He always dated girls and women that he’d checked his teeth for.

  And now he was sitting in a hide on the side of a silent, overcast mountain in the literal middle of nowhere, wondering what that meant both about him and the women he’d dated, and why it made him feel like he’d maybe missed out on something special—when he should’ve been leaping into Plan B, step two.

  “We should get moving,” he told Tash as he led the way out of the hide, wincing as he tried to work the kinks out of his aching back and legs.

  “Not before I pee,” she announced.

  “Yeah, see, that’s the unspoken part of We should get moving,” Thomas pointed out. “There’s an assumption that we’ll both find a tree.” He did quick check of the clump of heavy brush he’d assigned to her yesterday.

  “This morning I was hoping for a special tree,” Tasha said. “With a door and a flush toilet and a sink in which to wash my hands...?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “You know the drill.”

  “I do,” she said. “I’ll stay in my designated spot until it’s safe to come out. God, it’s cold.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “You don’t have to drop trow,” she reminded him from behind the brush. “At least one good thing is going to come from this: I finally understand penis envy. I never did before. I mean, maybe briefly in some hideously disgusting gas station bathroom, but...”

  She finally stopped talking as they both did their thing.

  He finished first. “All clear.”

  “Yeah, rub it in,” she muttered. “You keep your pants on, you stay standing, and—bonus—you get to say What’s taking you so long?”

  “Pretty sure I said All clear.”

  “Well, that remains relentlessly un-fun,” she announced as she finally emerged from the brush. “But at least now I can give my undivided attention to being cold and hungry. Here’s hoping the rescue team remembers to pack sandwiches. Where are they, by the way? I expected to wake to the melodious sound of helos.”

  “They’ll get here when they get here,” Thomas told her, leaving out the part where they might not get here in the near future as he led the way further up the trail. “The good news is we’ll hear them coming. But until then, we should—”

  “Get moving,” she finished for him, snapping off a crisp salute. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Don’t do that,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Tash agreed. “That was weird.”

  Rio drove the hybrid SUV, letting Dave navigate via a small mountain of paper maps.

  It had been well after zero-dark-thirty when they’d left San Diego, but they’d stopped only to switch drivers, and it was now dawn as they approached Tucson.

  Prep for a three-thousand mile trip by motor vehicle had been interesting.

  They’d decided to pull a large tank with gas behind them, leaving more room in the back for supplies and gear—although truth be told, the last truck stop they’d passed had been open for business, generator-powered lights blazing, gas for sale.

  Still, they didn’t have a clue what conditions would be like as they literally drove across the continent, so it was best to be prepared.

  A solar panel topped this vehicle, which was an efficient use of space, but the equipment they’d need to charge their batteries took up a shit-ton of real estate in the way-back. Not to mention their rather bulky and fully secured arsenal, their cold-weather wilderness survival gear, and enough food to feed a small army for two-plus weeks. Plus a big-ass radio that Admiral Francisco had insisted they take.

  “I always figured I’d work for the FBI eventually,” Dave mused as the miles continued to pass beneath their tires. “I just didn’t realize it would be today.”

  While they were still in his office back in San Diego, the admiral had introduced them to the FBI team leader who was officially in charge of this little rescue mission, because Navy SEALs—even dressed in jeans and sweaters as they currently were—couldn’t go crashing about on their own on US soil. Although, truth be told, Rio fully expected that, long before they finished the cross-country drive, Thomas King would call in. Probably from the tiny town near the airfield into which he and Tasha had flown. It was hard to imagine that the SEAL lieutenant didn’t have everything completely under his very careful control.

  Still, if the power was out locally, and both cell phones and landlines were down...

  Rio had been lucky. Before leaving San Diego, he’d successfully connected with his family via text and social media, despite the widespread blackouts and cell tower goatfuckery. Everyone from his troublemaker of a little sister to his newly-moved-to-California cousin to his great-aunts still living in Staten Island were accounted for and safe.

  Dave’s family had all checked in, too. But his recent cheater of an ex, some loser named Jon-without-an-H, hadn’t yet turned up, which was clearly bugging the shit out of Dave.

  Rio could only imagine how worried Admiral Francisco must’ve been.

  There were also powerful potential political ramifications to the niece of a high ranking U.S Navy Admiral being out of contact and free-floating at a time when very bad people were trying to achieve chaos and disruption.

  So even though there were dozens of places closer to the ongoing action that Rio would rather be, he took this current assignment very seriously.

  He glanced at the younger SEAL sitting beside him. “FBI, huh? Not CIA?” Most SEALs, after leaving the military, liked to use their expertise and training in the international arena. The FBI was generally bound to CONUS. Sure, there were exceptions, but they were rare.

  “Nah,” Dave said as he checked his phone for messages for the thousandth time since they’d left. “There’s enough bad shit happening here at home. This past day is Exhibit A. I want to help clean up this kind of mess. So yeah, I got my eye on the FBI. It’s part of my seven-year plan.”

  Seven years...? Jesus, Rio had no clue what he was doing next Tuesday. Other than go wherever the hell SEAL Team Ten was being sent.

  “Don’t you have to be, like, a lawyer or an accountant or...?” Rio asked.

  “It helps, but they like STEM degrees, too. Plus fluency in languages.” That was one of Dave’s superpowers. “The list is pretty long.” He sifted through his bag for his water bottle, took a long sip. “You thinking CIA?”

  Rio shook his head. “Noooo.” He drew the word out.

  “Private sector, then.”

  “I’m not really think
ing anything,” Rio admitted. “I guess I just figure I’ll be a SEAL until I die.”

  “Drinking from which fountain of youth?” Dave asked. “Share your source, because I want some, too. Unless...” He gasped. “You’re gonna go full-career and become an admiral, like Francisco. Ooooh! You’re secretly planning to go to OCS, aren’t you? I knew it!”

  Rio shot him a WTF look. “Jesus, God, no, I’m definitely not. In fact, that’s the dead last place I’d ever secretly plan to go, thanks so much.”

  Officer Candidate School. God damn. He’d barely survived community college, only pushing through because he knew that without that basic undergrad degree, his chances of getting into the BUD/S program were slim-to-none.

  OCS, his shiny ass. The big prize upon enduring that hellscape was to emerge as a newly minted officer, with endless paperwork and report-writing bullshittery clogging up his pathetically desk-driven day.

  “You’ll be a great admiral,” Dave insisted.

  Rio scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m serious. Why stop there? You stay in long enough, you could be the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Admiral Rio Rosetti is in the house!” He grinned at Rio. “The White House.”

  Rio rolled his eyes and loudly changed the subject. “ETA to Queen Wila’s little ski lodge?”

  “Thirty-nine hours, assuming that the roads remain clear, Admiral Rosetti, sir.”

  Rio shook his head. “Dave, knock it off, you’re wearing me out.” But then he realized, as his teammate checked yet again for new messages, that having a conversation wouldn’t just help him stay awake while he was driving—it would help Dave out a little, too. “So, are you secretly planning to go to OCS? I wanna hear more about this seven-year plan...”

  “Should we be worried?” Tasha broke the silence to ask.

  They’d been hiking for hours. They’d long since crested the mountain, and were heading back down the other side, which was a different kind of hard from hiking up a trail. The muscles in the backs of her legs were screaming, and she had a ginormous blister on her foot.

  She wouldn’t dare complain—Thomas was doing this without proper footwear—although, damn, she was hungry, thirsty, and a freakish mix of both sweaty and cold.

  As he glanced over, she saw him weighing his words before answering her, and she braced herself for some attempt at humor or distraction. About climate change? Absolutely.

  Instead, he said, “I am a little worried, yeah. I’d expected Uncle Navy’s rescue team to be here by now.”

  “So... we’re heading to the ski lodge, then.” She guessed correctly, because he nodded. “Will we make it before nightfall?”

  “If we can keep up this pace,” Thomas said, “we should arrive just in time for the Queen’s Tea.”

  “You’ve done your homework on Ustanzia,” Tash said.

  “Type Queen Wila into Google, and one of the first things that comes up is Queen Wila’s Tea. She’s unflinchingly consistent in her need for afternoon caffeine.”

  “It’s not the caffeine,” Tasha told him. “Ted says she drinks chamomile. Or sometimes just hot water with lemon. You know, Tea is strictly immediate-family-only, no exceptions. I hope they don’t make us wait outside.”

  “If they do, you may want to rethink this whole Ted thing,” he said.

  Believe me, I already am. She didn’t say it aloud, but God, she was thinking it so hard it was echoing inside of her head. Of course, his idea of the Ted thing was vastly different from the reality.

  She also didn’t say, So. Teenaged fantasy unlocked—we finally slept together. Although last night had been a thirteen-year-old’s-fantasy of sleeping together rather than the racier eighteen-year-old version. Thomas’s touch had been about as impersonal as he could manage. His goal had clearly been to keep her warm, period.

  But oh, a woman could dream.

  After he’d carefully arranged himself around her, then covered them with brush, Tasha had thought that she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. The tension had been so damn high and weird. The warmth of his breath on the top of her head, the heavy weight of his arm around her ribs, his broad chest against her back, his knees tucked up behind hers, his solid thighs closer to her than the seat of a very comfortable chair...

  Despite the fact that she’d spent considerable time fantasizing this exact scenario—through the darkness of the night, they huddled intimately close together, body against body, sharing warmth with every wild heartbeat—she couldn’t bring herself to make a move.

  She couldn’t even make herself speak: What are you thinking, because frankly, I’m thinking about that bullshit I forced you to shovel your way out of when I climbed into your bed that stupid night, then puked all over your bathroom floor. I’m so sorry I disrespected you like that. I promise I won’t make the same mistake again, but if you ever change your mind about you and me, please let me know.

  Instead, last night, she’d somehow fallen asleep. In doing so, she gave herself the gift of waking up in Thomas’s arms.

  It felt as good as she’d always dreamed.

  Now, as they continued their awkward scramble down this mountainside, she said, “Imagine, pretty much out of nowhere, your brother and father are both dead, and you’re suddenly the queen. Everyone and their hanger-on cousin is demanding a piece of you. Important meetings, lunches, dinners are now mostly obligations and public events—and most of the time you and your husband are forced to go in separate directions. I think it was a genius move on Queen Wila’s part—establishing the ritual of afternoon tea, immediate royal family only. Bite me, Uncle Hendrake. I mean, she didn’t say it, but she said it. Tea became her red-M&Ms-only diva demand, and most people didn’t get it. But Ted told me when he and Sebastian were younger, Tea was the only time in their day—usually only about twenty minutes when things were crazy-busy—that they got to see their parents. Now they’re older and out of the, you know, castle, but the family still uses it to reconnect.” She shook her head. “Not just that, but it’s their only chance to be completely safe. Or at least it was.” Okay, don’t go there.

  “Will you be allowed in, when you and Ted get married?”

  “If we get married,” Tash corrected Thomas, adding, “I don’t know. I won’t take it personally if I’m not.”

  He glanced at her, eyebrow elevated.

  “Really,” she said. In truth, she’d be relieved. The idea that she’d be allowed into Ted’s family’s inner sanctum was not a happy one. It felt wrong on so many levels.

  But then again, the closest in years that she’d come to feeling right had been last night.

  In Thomas’s arms.

  But it was crystal clear that he didn’t feel the same.

  Chapter Ten

  The muscle in Thomas’s jaw got tighter and tighter as the smell of smoke in the air got stronger. He’d always been a teeth-clencher, even when he was a teenager, but at this rate he was moments from spitting out broken shards of enamel.

  Tasha could feel her own heart racing, and it wasn’t from the physical exertion of the close-to-over hike. The smoke—probably started by that explosion they’d heard in the SUV yesterday morning—surely came from the Ustanzian ski lodge. Or whatever was left of it.

  What else could it be? There was nothing else out here.

  “Thomas,” she said, “This smoke...? Is it...?” and she didn’t have to go any further. He was already nodding his head, the absolute Yes to her unspoken question right there in his dark brown eyes.

  She had to sit down, and he came toward her immediately, crouching down beside her to say, “It’s a good time to stop. We should assume there’s trouble ahead.”

  As she sat there, trying to breathe, she was actually impressed by his ability to downplay the potential horror of what they didn’t yet know.

  Because she would’ve gone with, I’m already assuming that Ted and his entire family have been brutally murdered and left for dead by terrible people who broke into the compound with rocket
launchers that blew the place up before burning it down.

  He knew exactly what she was thinking. “We don’t know that anyone’s dead,” he said.

  “We don’t know that they’re not,” she countered. “Although I guess maybe that’s true anytime you’re not in the same place with someone. And not talking on the phone with them. Or in the middle of texting, or... You never know for sure. I mean, people step in front of buses or get struck by lightning...”

  Thomas put his hand on the side of her face, his palm and fingers somehow warm, and Tasha leaned into it, into him, before she realized he hadn’t done it to comfort her. Oops. He was making sure she hadn’t gotten too cold. For most of the afternoon, the temperature had been dropping steadily.

  Still he didn’t pull his hand away until she leaned back and essentially released him.

  “I’m okay,” she said, managing to meet his eyes and force a smile. “We should keep going.”

  He shook his head. “I’mma build another hide, dig another fire pit, light it and let us both get warm. Okay?” She nodded. “After I put the fire out, I’ll make sure this area is secure before I go—alone—to surveil the compound.”

  Tash felt her eyes widen. “You’re gonna leave me here?” God, she couldn’t’ve made herself sound more like a seven-year-old if she’d tried. Her voice had actually squeaked. “That’s okay,” she quickly added. “I’ll be okay.”

  “Just so I can move more swiftly and silently,” he said.

  “I know,” she said. She’d practically grown up with the teams of SEALs and BUD/S candidates on the Coronado Navy Base. She’d been completely aware, all day, that Thomas would’ve been moving much more quickly if she hadn’t been slowing him down.

  “I’ll be back,” Thomas said.

  And this time her smile was a little less forced. “I know. Come on, Terminator, I’ll help you build the hide.”

  “Don’t you dare English Patient me.”

  Tasha’s last words echoed in Thomas’s head as he headed back to the hide where he’d left her. He knew exactly what she’d meant, because they’d watched the DVD of the classic movie together—must’ve been when she was around fifteen. They’d both had the same reaction to the Oscar-winning film—the main romance felt weird and the hero read to them as stalkerish, but the secondary storyline was worth the time-investment, mostly due to Naveen Andrews, the actor who played the explosives expert.