The entire altar wall of the cathedral, rather than continuing the form of the arches, was made up of the solid stone of the cliff’s face itself. The lamp shown on an image of the Mother Mary and the infant Jesus wearing mighty crowns of gold as Saints Francis and Dominic worshipped at their feet. The fact that the two saints had lived twelve hundred years after the shiningly Hispanic Mother Mary was the sort of thing that the Catholic Church was so good at ignoring. He was down with that—the little details were often best ignored.
Now he sat at the back of the pews, Tanya beside him and Silva across the aisle, while la Capitana confessed her sins to the priest. Chad had only tried that once or twice, mostly to see just what it took to shock the clergy. Once he made up a bunch of crap and the priest had practically yawned in his face through the little screen. The second time, he’d given the litany of a life on the Street—poor old guy had looked visibly shaken for days afterward. Chad had always felt a little bad about that.
How did la Capitana’s priest take her confessions? Amoral sins weren’t erased by a couple of Hail Marys and a spell as a missionary to darkest Detroit.
“Anything you want to be confessing?” Chad whispered to Tanya.
At her unexpected silence, he turned to look at her. She startled him sometimes. When she was quiet like this, it seemed that he was with a different woman entirely. The sarcastic, funny, all-the-way-to-the-bone warrior was familiar. That’s who was still front-and-center when they were snarled up in each other’s arms. It had been easy to imagine her expression in the darkness under the topiary—fiercely still herself.
But the quiet blonde who sat beside him with her hand lightly wrapped around his biceps, he was far less sure of. It was as if she should be the one shining in one of the glass windows. No hint of the lethal operator he admired so much. No sign of the lover who leapt into sex with such complete abandon.
Instead she was the sort of woman who made a guy actually consider the question of what did he want after Delta Force. He wasn’t like Kyle and Carla. They’d climb ranks, driving themselves upward. If they ever reproduced, he could easily see Carla leading one of the brutal qualification hikes with the kid riding on her back. The kid would be able to shoot before she figured out how to suck her thumb.
He wasn’t that, but he wasn’t sure what else he was. Being a Delta Force operator was the extreme sport of the military. Maybe in another decade, definitely by the time he hit forty, his body wouldn’t be able to hold the standard.
Old Delta operators didn’t die, they imploded. Old joke. Sad joke.
One day his time on a 20K, full rucksack march would be longer than the cutoff time, beyond his ability to recover it. His shooting score would fall from sniper to designated marksman to—god help him—standard operator. Who would he be then?
Shit! No wonder he didn’t like thinking about the future. Made him as depressed as all hell. Next thing, he’d be blubbering like a Navy SEAL ringing himself out of testing for the total failure he was.
He almost told Tanya they should just get out now. La Capitana was still in her ornate little priestly confessional booth. Silva wouldn’t stop them. Or live if he tried. This time he’d get a pair of rounds straight through the nostrils—never have breathing problems again.
“Confession?” Tanya whispered as if coming back from far away. “I miss the team.”
And that simply, she reminded him of everything he loved about being a Delta operator. Never boring. If home was the place you belonged, their team was just that.
“Fighting beside them is the best thing I’ve ever done.”
She was right, too. Serving with this team had been the best four years of his life. From the moment when they’d all qualified for the Operator Training Course, right through the addition of Melissa and Sofia—they were the best.
And if he left?
He’d probably lose touch with Duane, and that thought hurt and hurt bad. Even though Sofia was the newest member of the team, he’d already miss her brilliant insights and her bright laugh.
“Fighting beside you is the best thing I’ve ever done.”
Surprise rippled through him. That was true as well. He and the team had shared flow and mutual awareness born of their intensive training. With Tanya, he’d had that from the first second—ever since the moment she’d come up to them in the Venezuelan bar. She’d sat down with five Delta operators on a mission as if joining them for a tea party. Woman had balls the size of the Titanic and they’d totally sunk him.
He kissed her temple. Sitting here beside her, joined at the hip in an undercover operation with Colombia’s Number One drug runner, he couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be. Or anyone he’d rather be doing it with.
“You’re getting no complaints from me, lady.”
No complaints from him?
How about from her?
Tanya listened inside. Being a lone operator, it was where she was used to spending a lot of time.
Chad the warrior was impossibly attractive. She’d never operated so smoothly with another person—not in her Mossad training or even the micro-teams that Kidon used in emulation of Delta Force tactics. But she could picture more, better, longer associations with Chad.
She was a survivor. Tanya knew that much about herself. The surprise was that she cared enough about anyone around her to feel one way or the other about their survival. Feeling awful about the injuries and death of her UN team was just part of what happened. But she didn’t miss Carl. She could barely remember what he looked like. That he’d died while on her team was too bad and she’d have done anything she could have to prevent it, because that’s what leading a team was about. But the loss of Carl himself? All she could do was shrug.
She would care more about the loss of Melissa or Sofia, who she’d barely met, than she felt about Carl after months of serving together. That she didn’t understand it didn’t make it any less true.
Sitting beside Chad made her feel safer and more capable than she ever seemed to on her own.
And if something happened to Chad the man? Well, she could only hope that she went down in the same mission so that she’d never know about it. Bit by bit, she held his arm tighter, as if that would keep him safe and by her side.
“You a wine or a beer person?” Chad asked quietly.
“Beer. Why?”
Chad shrugged. “Me too. Just thinkin’. Don’t look so surprised. I do that sometimes, you know. Sofia is like a super-wine heiress. Someday she and Duane are gonna settle into that big winery of hers and squish grapes together. Wouldn’t want to compete with them or anything, but I could see setting up a brewpub in the heart of the Oregon wine country just to keep Duane and Sofia on their toes.”
“What do you know about brewing beer?”
“Squat. But I like the idea of us doing something like that together someday. Sounds like fun.”
And Tanya’s ears started buzzing until they drowned him out, though she could still see his lips moving.
Chad was talking about…after.
No one ever talked about after. Not at their level. Especially not Chad. And absolutely not her. Even if she was the one who’d started the whole conversation back in Ecuador.
“What is going on in that tiny brain of yours?” She cut him off in the middle of some weird-ass fantasy about stone walls and aged wood beams, with a fireplace and who knew what the hell all.
Chad opened his mouth, then closed it. For a moment his eyes crossed as he considered her question.
“Damned if I know,” he finally answered.
“You picturing me with a couple kids in that backwash you keep inside your skull?”
“Huh!” Chad gasped as if she’d just sucker punched him. Then he unleashed that killer smile of his. “It’s weird. But I think I’ve gotta answer that one with a big ‘Roger that!’ A little-girl version of you is a damned awesome image, Tanya. Bet you were tough as hell—ready to take on the world—and damned cute.”
Ta
nya tried to think back to her younger self. It was hard. In some ways, the Tanya Zimmer she was today had been born the day her sister went into the ground and her father “stumbled” into traffic—a speeding garbage truck had appeared at the perfect moment. (It was so perfect that it still counted as Tanya’s sole evidence of the existence of the Bible’s Old Testament vengeful God.) Who had she been prior to that? Had she had friends? Jumped rope or played kickball on the streets of Tel Aviv? Or had she gotten into schoolyard fistfights? She honestly couldn’t recall. But she knew how she would raise a daughter herself. Tanya would show her the real, often cruel world, but make sure she knew that there was one place where she would always be safe and respected—that she’d always have a home.
She could feel the ache. Home. Only the vaguest images clung around that word. Nothing concrete. Nothing definite. But so real that she could feel the sweet pain of it in her chest where such thoughts didn’t belong.
Tanya spotted Daniela stepping out of the confessional and coming their way.
It helped Tanya get her thoughts back where they belonged. Surviving the mission. Taking down la Capitana and her cartel.
Picturing Chad with a kid tucked under each of his massive arms like sacks of grain as he was surrounded by their giggles had absolutely no place in any reality. Not even in her imagination.
Time to go?
Good!
She rose to follow Daniela and Silva outside, leaving Chad to trail behind.
But she couldn’t seem to leave behind the image of Chad playing with children. With her children.
16
Daniela dropped them at a small hotel after breakfast at one of the tourist shops. Daniela’s money for the meal was refused.
“It is run by a friend,” she’d explained.
The same was true at the hotel—a friend who had eyed them as if they were DEA agents and he might sneak up and kill them in their sleep. It wasn’t their rifles; it was them. Without Daniela vouching for their safety, Tanya might have tried fighting her way out here and now.
Tanya tried a smile, but it didn’t make any difference. She supposed that was fair, she didn’t feel it much inside either. Exhaustion rippled through her system in indeterminate waves that threatened to take out her knees as they ascended the narrow stone stairs to the second floor. There was no third floor.
Multiple near-death experiences on too little sleep had taken it out of her.
“Alone at last,” Chad said the instant the door closed.
She tapped her ear to indicate that anyone could be listening.
He offered her a “Duh!” eyeroll. “Conversation isn’t exactly at the top of my list right now, lady.”
She turned to see if the attached bathroom included a shower, but Chad snagged a hand around her waist and hauled her back against his chest.
“No.” There was no way they were going to have sex while images of children were dancing through her head. Children had been everywhere since the moment they’d left the church. Families arriving for the morning service had included children of all ages rubbing sleepy eyes. The young boy who had served their coffee at breakfast. The small group playing soccer in the road as they walked toward a tiny schoolhouse. Normally she never much noticed children and now she couldn’t seem to see anything else. Tanya wanted nothing to do with that either.
Much to her surprise, Chad let her go right away when she protested. His release caused her to stumble forward into the room. It wasn’t much. On the double bed, a woven wool bedspread in brown and white appeared to illustrate serpents and flowers. She looked for an apple, but it was no Garden of Eden. Three walls white, one dark blue. Floor of half-meter squares of white ceramic tile. A dresser that wouldn’t hold more than a few clothes, but it didn’t matter—they only had what they were wearing.
The view out the one window made up for everything else. The hotel perched at the edge of the cliff. To the right stood the Gothic spires of Las Lajas Sanctuary. Opposite was a high, thin waterfall spilling down into the deep canyon. And when she moved close to the window, she could look down at the river they’d been told to jump into. It was now light enough to see the hard rapids that ran toward the church’s arching bridge. There might be smooth water directly below the bridge, but it still didn’t look very survivable.
She leaned her forehead against the glass and only slowly became aware of Chad leaning his shoulder there as he looked at her.
“Why no wrestling match?” She’d have expected him to let her go when she asked, eventually. They’d been through enough together that it would be a playful moment rather than a threatening one. But still, the instant release had surprised her.
“Not sure. You’re definitely worth wrestling with.” In her peripheral vision she could see his friendly leer. “But it doesn’t seem to be what I’m after.”
“What are you after?”
He shrugged those nice big shoulders of his uncertainly. “You talking about the future, and what comes after all this, and kids…That’s not shit I’m used to thinking about. Probably not any more than you are. Makes my head hurt.”
Hers too. She went back to staring at the scenery to avoid leaning into Chad’s personal magnetic field. The July sunshine struck down from the north. Their view faced south, so she could watch the shifting shadows on the scenery without the sun beating in the window. It left their room cool and shadowed.
Chad harrumphed to himself. “Tricky bit of it is, I gotta admit that I like the way some of that stuff we were talking about sounds. Wasn’t kidding about it either. I figured joking about the future—settling down and all that other crap—was unkind. Used to do it as a kid, but Wollson taught me that there was such a thing as a code of honor. Must say, you’re confusing the crap outta me.”
Tanya had liked the way it sounded too, which bothered her at least as much as it was bothering him.
“I’d much rather that we just screwed each other’s brains out and moved on. Simpler. At least I’d understand that.”
“And now?” Maybe the exhaustion rippling through her wasn’t exhaustion. Maybe it was crashing waves of uncertainty that made her feel flipped upside down. Warning! Bad rapids ahead.
“Don’t know what it all means, but I’m still in a mood to lie down with you, woman. I’ve got a real bad desire to do that.”
It was good advice. Live in the present. It’s what they both did the best.
He slid a hand around her waist. Not aggressive. Not suggestive. As if it was just where his hand happened to belong. She allowed herself to be pulled slowly against his chest.
She knew that he could make her forget. Forget herself. Forget the mission. Forget the hundred close brushes with death. The round that had found Carl could just as easily have found her. The fall from the helo should have killed them both. And the waterfall. Chad shooting her. The motorcycle crash. Had she actually aimed her gun at la Capitana, the sniper would have taken her down.
Was she willing to let go for long enough to forget?
He’d done it to her once.
Did she want that again?
She leaned her head against his chest and felt his arms come around her.
Yes.
It seemed that Tanya was melting against him one little piece at a time. A hand touch. A shoulder lean. Resting her cheek against his chest.
And with each tiny bit of giving in, he held her more and more gently. His past experiences with Tanya had been wild romps. Up against the front door. On the kitchen floor, their entire bodies well lubricated with cooking oil. The bed used only as a place to collapse when they were finally spent.
This odd gentleness was new, but he didn’t want to break it either. Ever so slowly he undressed her and then carried her the three steps to the bed. He looked down at her as he undressed himself.
Yes, she was a warrior in her prime.
Yes, she was exceptionally beautiful.
Yes, they had roughly the same number and severity of scars.
No, he couldn’t quite believe that she lay waiting for him. Watching him with those shining blue eyes.
When he lay down beside her and pulled her against him, she didn’t attack. No grabbing, teasing, tickling—none of that. Instead she curled back against him and snuggled into his shoulder.
“You’re snuggling.”
“No, I’m not.” She found some way to move even closer.
“You do any more of not doing it like that and we’ll be sharing the same body.”
“Do you always talk at moments like this? I do not remember you doing such things.”
“Maybe because I don’t.” Sure, while still in the bar or spinning a line. Once he’d helped a woman get him exactly where she wanted him wasn’t a moment he’d ever felt called for a whole lot of words.
“Then why are you doing it now?”
“You don’t seem to be escalating the situation much yourself.”
“No. I’m not.” From what he could tell, her voice sounded puzzled from where she murmured against his collarbone. “Why do you think that is?”
He had no better answer for why she was acting non-Tanya-like than why he was acting un-Chad-ly. While he was thinking, he traced his fingers over the round scar at her hip of a bullet she’d once told him came from a Hamas shooter when she was still serving in Israel. Then up the long slice over her ribcage from a Mexican machete—a Sinaloa enforcer who hadn’t lived out the next ten seconds. Finally the lightest brush over the slight puckering where he’d shot her.
“I’d take that one back if I could.”
She nodded her belief of that.
Down over her back, to the lovely curve at the base of her spine and a line—not on the skin, but beneath. He could feel the deeper scar tissue there.
Midnight Trust Page 15
