He should be happy. The job was done, and he was on his way home. But a pit of remorse had opened in his gut, and he was tired down to the roots of his soul. If a soul had roots. He didn’t know. Didn’t really care anymore. He’d stayed awake last night, making sure Bree kept warm and safe, that her feet stayed covered. But that was the job, wasn’t it? Just that. Nothing more. Black operators were the hardest men on the front lines; they had to be. And he was the loneliest.
That must be why he felt as if he’d lost something inexplicably precious this time around; why he wasn’t satisfied with just a successful mission. What was it about Brianna Banks that made him want to spend more time with her? They’d only kissed, nothing more, and he’d kissed a helluva lot of other women, done more than kissed most of them.
His head cranked back to Bree, his sharp eyes searching her profile for one more—something. Damned if he knew what it was.
Chapter Nine
Bree didn’t dare look at Kruze, not even in his direction. She could feel his gaze boring into the side of her head, though, and her heart begged for just one more glance at the capable black operator beside her. But she couldn’t give in. Wouldn’t. Not even for one last peek. The second this noisy helicopter touched down, she planned to get away from him, as fast as possible. Which shouldn’t be hard, given how quickly he’d dumped her in Paris.
He was the one who’d set those rules in motion that long-ago morning. This wasn’t revenge for what he’d done, not in the literal sense. She didn’t wish him harm or evil. She just needed her very private life back. He could afford to take risks; she couldn’t. He was a past mistake, not her future. Was wanting him to stay out of her life wrong? Maybe. But she wasn’t the infatuated fool she’d been then. Her entire world had changed with that one night of too much trust and reckless abandon.
A tear blurred the landscape. Another slipped down her cheek. Bree sniffed, striving to be tough. God, she’d be glad to leave this country and this man behind. But as quickly as the thought ran through her mind, guilt lifted its all-knowing face and stared back at her from the helo’s tiny side windows. What she was doing to Kruze now, was worse than what he’d done to her those years ago—three and nine months, to be exact. He had used condoms. They had been careful.
But none of that mattered. A mother did what had to be done. No exceptions. Robin, her sweet little baby bird, would cry when she saw her. Bree and her parents would cry, too. As always, they’d welcome her home, and at last, Bree would be warm and fed and clean again.
But… but what about Kruze?
Her traitorous head turned, and she found him watching her, his gorgeous black hair tossed around him, his beard split at his chin by the blustery wind pouring through the open doors. What she could see of his face was as dirty as hers. Did he deserve to know? Yes. Would she ever tell him? No. She would definitely tell Robin someday, when she was old enough to understand. But Bree planned to never tell Kruze Sinclair.
Yet the need to stroke him, to draw him into her arms, comfort him, and tell him the truth, was a hard impulse to deny. Surely he knew their time together would end with them going separate ways. They’d made no promises, and there would be no tender goodbyes. She’d make sure of that. These crazy, mixed-up feelings were just the fading effects of adrenaline and surviving and…
You. Still. Love. Him.
Yes, and I hate him, too. He. Left. Me! No goodbye. No note. No nothing. Why should I care about his feelings, just because he dropped back into my life?
Err, because he saved your life? Because he is Robin’s father? Her daddy?
Guilt could be such a bitch. Bree turned to the window without saying anything. She’d soon have to give his jacket back, and that’d be their final contact. Once she stepped off this chopper, she’d be the same calm professional she’d been before. Once again, she’d be Brianna Banks, single mother, loving daughter, and upcoming celebrity journalist. She wasn’t sure she’d go back to work for Harvey Lantz in NYC, though. That very much depended on finding out who had sent Kruze to rescue her. Damn. Every thought ended with him.
Aggravated for even considering telling him the truth, Bree stiffened her arms and stuck her hands deeper into his jacket pockets. She ran straight into his wallet again. She’d forgotten about it. Most military operators carried cash, not plastic. Maybe there was a way he could pay her back.
Carefully, so as not to draw attention to her movements, Bree pressed what was left of her fingernails along the pocket’s inside seam, searching for a way to the wallet. When that failed, she feigned an itch, reached deep inside the jacket’s collar and made a show of scratching that itch. In the process, she located an inner pocket sealed tight with Velcro. Deftly, she forced the pocket open, latched onto Kruze’s wallet with two fingers, slithered it out of its snug hiding place, then into the outside pocket between her and the inner wall of the helo. Getting away with this once the chopper landed was another problem, but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
For now, Bree leaned back into her seat, closed her eyes, and planned a cookie party with balloons when she was finally home. Robin would love that, and by then, Kruze would be just a memory.
The ride to Incirlik ended quickly. The moment the choppers touched down, the waiting team of Air Force medics boarded the Black Hawk. The first one in knelt at her side. Dark-skinned with the standard military haircut, he immediately began assessing her condition. He unzipped the leather jacket enough to press a stethoscope over her heart, then signaled her to remove her headset while firing questions at her. Was she allergic to anything? How long had she had heart arrhythmia? Did she require special medications for her heart problem?
Bree lifted the headset off and clutched it on her lap to hear him better. “I have a heart problem?” That explained the irregular heartbeats. “How serious is arrhythmia?”
“Ma’am, I need to get you out of your jacket.”
“Okay.” Now she’d see how good of a pick-pocket she was. While the medic explained how an arrhythmia could easily be treated with various medications, another medic bumped fists with Kruze and motioned him out of the helo. He jerked his headset off and jumped onto the tarmac. Bree watched them standing beside the open door, laughing and talking like men did. It was easy to slip out of his jacket and slide his wallet into the folds of her skirt.
But while that airman on the tarmac was clean-shaven, slender in the ways of younger men, and handsome in his BDUs, Kruze was the one she couldn’t take her eyes off. He stood a good six inches over his friend, and in every way that mattered, he was so much bigger. Between his wide shoulders and girth, that beard, his dark emerald eyes, and the way he listened attentively, he made the airman look like a star-struck little boy. And maybe he was—like Bree—taken in by the charisma of this professional black operator, with his arms crossed over his magnificent chest and that wide-open smile on his handsome face.
Kruze was breathtaking, standing there with his feet spread, his forehead and cheeks lit by the morning sun, and the warm breeze off the tarmac ruffling his hair. She saw it then, the red slash on his left biceps. He’d been shot? Oh, my Lord, he must’ve been wounded when he’d rescued her, while all those guys were shooting at the sniper.
Yet he’d never said a word. And there she was, stealing his wallet and taking her most precious secret home, not giving him a chance to know his daughter. Heat rose like a wave up her neck and face. Who was the bitch now?
Guilt gave the merry-go-round she was on a mighty heave-ho. Her confidence faltered. Was she right to protect Robin from this man? Should she tell Kruze he’d fathered a child or not? If she did, he’d have a tough decision to make: Deny his child or give up the career he seemed made for and settle into domesticity. Could she do that to him? Make him choose between his child and his God-given talents? Could she even persuade a man like him to leave his adventurous life behind? It’d be like caging a jungle cat with white picket fences and PTA meetings.
/> Never mind the very real fact that Kruze killed people for a living. Should a man like him even be around children? No. A resounding N.O. Gunslingers were not family men. Decision made.
Bree forced her attention back to the very kind medic still at her knees. He’d brought a gurney with him. Soon, she would be whisked off to sickbay, or whatever they called the clinic here, and who cared where Kruze went? Not Bree. She truly did not.
Yet when the medic gestured for her to exit the helo, she couldn’t help herself. She looked for Kruze, hoping for one last word, one final glance, one more—something.
But he was already gone.
Chapter Ten
Kruze leaned against the warm metallic skin of the mighty Black Hawk that had saved his sorry ass. God, he loved the Air Force. The sun radiating off the metal bird would soon be hotter than blazes, but for now, after that chilly ride, it was damned comforting.
His buddy, First Sergeant Bacchus had moved away from the side-door with him, but Kee-rist. How Bacchus could talk. The man was one steady monologue after another. No dialogue, just output. It was impossible to get a word in edgewise. Hence Kruze’s need for something to lean against while he listened to yet another tall tale of high adventure here in the middle of no-damned-where.
As the man droned on, Kruze sucked in a long satisfying breath of a job-well-done. She might not appreciate it, but Bree was free now. She might need a few months or years of professional counseling, and she’d always suffer with PTSD, but she had her life back. All that was left was for him to tell her goodbye and maybe get her phone number. That’d be nice.
When at last Bacchus took a breath, and before he launched into another installment of Air Force life at Incirlik, Kruze pushed away from the helo and said, “I need a few words with the lady. You mind?”
Both Bacchus’s hands came up. “Oh, no, sure. No problem. See you inside for the debrief.”
Kruze shook his head. “Not likely. I don’t debrief anyone. All I need from you guys is a seat on the next plane to Istanbul. I’ll see you around.”
With Bacchus out of his way, he turned on the ball of his foot, ready to climb back inside to speak with Bree. But the helo was empty, its rotors completely powered down. The only thing she’d left behind was his leather jacket. Well, damn. The PJs had already taken her inside. Okay then. Kruze snagged the jacket and his gear and hoofed it into the nearest hangar. He asked the first airman he met where she’d been taken.
“Sure thing. That must be the lady the guys from the 39th Medical Group are treating. See the marked walkway to the rear exit?” The airman pointed to his far right. “It’ll take you out of this hangar into an adjoining admin building. The ambulance is parked at their front door.”
“Treating her for what?”
“I heard something about a heart problem, but…” He shrugged. “Privacy rules. You’ll have to ask her.”
“Excuse me, Agent Sinclair!” First Sergeant Bacchus yelled from the wide-open hangar door. “Got a C-130 coming north from Israel for a quick pit-stop. My buddy’s part of their flight crew. They’re on their way to Ramstein, but they’ll drop you off in Istanbul.”
Kruze yelled back, “I’m good going to Ramstein. What’s their ETA?”
“They’re landing now, and they’re not staying long. You in?”
Kruze looked to the door that led out of the hangar, wondering if he had time to speak with Bree. If he could even find her. He didn’t usually linger once he delivered his HVTs to safety, but Bree? She was different. He needed to see her again. Wanted to see her.
“How much time do I have?” he called back at Bacchus, who was now gesturing for him to hurry up and get going.
“Twenty, maybe thirty minutes, tops. They’re just dropping off a few pallets of equipment. Won’t be on the ground long.”
“Great. I’ll be right back. Don’t let them leave without me!” Kruze yelled. Determined to have one last minute with Bree, he exited the hangar and ran through the adjoining admin building. At the far end, at another open doorway, strapped to a gurney lay Bree. They were wheeling her out. Kruze ran. He just needed a few gawddamned seconds.
By the time he made it down the hall, the doors were shut. He shoved them open in time to see her being loaded into the base ambulance. His heart skipped up his throat.
“Wait! Wait up!” Kruze ran. He arrived at the ambulance just as the medic clamped a hand on the rear gate to close it. “Kee-rist, I said wait!” He would have this last moment with Bree, damn it.
She was on her back, bundled in a blanket with a cannula stuck in her nose. She looked so damned small and pale. Kruze knew he was in the way. Bree was thoroughly exhausted, dehydrated, and terribly underweight. She needed medical help. He’d done his part. He should leave. But he couldn’t.
Lifting her head, her pale-blue eyes widened when they landed on him. She slipped the cannula away from her face. “Kruze? What’s wrong?”
“I have to leave,” he told her, breathless from the run, his heart racing, why, he wasn’t exactly sure.
“Yes, I know,” she said tiredly. Her head fell back on the pillow, and her gaze hit the ambulance ceiling. That sounded so cut and dried, so final.
“I just wanted to tell you…” What? God, he felt like a snot-nosed schoolboy with a crush on his teacher. Kruze had no idea why he was standing there, only knew he’d needed to see Bree one last time.
“Goodbye, Kruze,” she whispered.
Like an idiot without a single working brain cell in his head, he climbed up and knelt at her side. Wordless. He was an idiot with stage fright, his mouth dry, and his heart pounding.
Bree raised one slender, chapped hand and cupped his jaw. The tiny pad of her thumb stroked his bearded chin. God, he could’ve knelt there all day worshipping her if she kept doing that.
Until she asked, “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
Her voice was so small and so faint, he had to lean in to catch it. He took careful hold of her shoulders. “What’s wrong, Bree? I mean, I know you’re in bad shape, but… but… you’re not dying, are you?” She looked so small against the Air Force blue blanket. For her to die now would kill him.
Her hand dropped to his wrist. “I’m just tired. Go. Save the world. Be who you were meant to be.”
“But…” He had no idea who he was meant to be, except alone again. Gawddamnit, for a moment in the cave, he’d had something elusive, but precious. It was crazy, but he’d felt like he’d had Bree all to himself, and he wanted her back. With her came a sense of finally belonging. That he mattered. Not just because of his job and reputation, not just for his skill set or abilities, but because he was just gawddamned him. Bree had the knack of looking at him and seeing the real Kruze. She made him feel that elusive something else.
Trembling, Kruze lifted her slender hand to his lips. He closed his eyes and kissed it, wishing he didn’t have to let go. What the hell was wrong with him that he couldn’t form the words he’d come here to say? Goodbye. Seven letters. How hard could it be? Gawddamned hard. This really was the end. He’d never see her again, and he had no idea why that hurt like it did.
Shit! Man up and get the fuck out of this vehicle and let these guys save her or… or… tell her what? You love her? Do you?
“I… I…” By hell, that’s it. I think I do. Kruze blinked and shook his head. He was embarrassing himself and Bree, too. “I guess this is goodbye,” spilled out of his dumb mouth.
“Goodbye, Kruze Sinclair. I’ll never forget you.”
“I… I…” What was wrong with him?!
Bree patted his hand. “You should leave. They’re taking me to the base hospital for a complete physical, then I’m going home. I’ll be fine.”
But I won’t be. Kee-rist, his heart felt like it was crawling out of his chest. It took everything Kruze had to let Bree go and back his ass out of the ambulance. The second his boots hit the pavement, the medic closed the gate, and it was ha
ppening. Bree was going one way; Kruze was going the other. He’d never see her again.
Which shouldn’t matter. This was just the end of another successful mission, nothing more. He couldn’t count the times he’d done this exact same thing. Save the HVT. Wave goodbye. See ya later. Adios. It was no big thing.
Only this time… it felt like this HVT was taking his heart with her.
Chapter Eleven
“Mommy!” Robin smacked the red balloon left from her Monday morning cookie party to make it go higher into the sky, “It’s flying! Look! I made it fly.” The shiny, black curls around her plump, rosy cheeks shone in the early afternoon sun. But every time Bree looked into that adorable child’s pretty green eyes, she saw Kruze looking back at her. Which didn’t do anything to ease her melancholy.
“I see it, honey. Good job. Hit it again. Let’s see how high it’ll go.”
Bree had been home three months. Today, she’d dressed in white shorts and a lime-green halter-top. Summer was already warm. She was sitting at the patio table in her parents' backyard, dressed for warm weather, but wearing a bulky, gray sweater. Since she’d come home, her internal thermostat had failed. She couldn’t get warm enough, not even sitting in bright sunshine. The dank chill of that hole in Turkey had followed her home. The sweater also made her look, well, bigger. Larger. At least, better fed. And that was another problem. She had no appetite.
Robin, on the other hand, was dressed for summer in an adorable, yellow-striped, one-piece sun-suit with white ruffles around her chubby legs. Bree had just slipped off her new flip-flops, cheapies she’d gotten from a local big-box store. Robin had a pair just like them, but wasn’t wearing anything on her feet this afternoon. She said shoes and flip-flops made her toes ‘itchy’.
Damned (SOBs Book 4) Page 8
