And Krivi had to sit there and listen to the man try and be charming to Ziya. His Ziya.
Even though she really wasn’t his. She was perfectly free to fall for the man’s bullshit coiffed charm and surgically enhanced teeth.
He sincerely hoped Ziya knew better than to make that mistake.
But, wasn’t he the mistake? His mind mocked him.
Wasn’t he the one she should not have fallen for? Because he was the bad apple, the terrible monster? Why didn’t he want her to be happy with some preppy dude who didn’t play with death like others played Angry Birds?
Because she made him happy.
When that answer burst into his mind with all the hope and promise of sunshine on a cloudy day, he really lost it.
Especially when he saw that pretty boy VP trying to put the moves on Ziya while telling her she couldn’t sleep her way into a new job at the old firm.
It had taken everything out of him to just sit in that van and listen to Ziya gently but kindly rebuff the man’s advances and leave him panting for more. Which, she promised to deliver by making another date for the next day.
They all drove back to the hotel in virtual silence, because no one who even remotely resembled The Woodpecker or his associates had been found lurking for miles in town.
The day had been a waste.
But, there was always tomorrow. Or, failing that, the next night.
The big auction meet, near the international airport - so convenient and accessible for all the drug lords concerned - progress of which Harold had informed him at their last update was excellent. Tom Jones, his informant had confirmed the venue and the time, and was definitely sure the terrorist would show up, if only to ogle at the heinous bomb prototype.
That he would one day unleash on this unsuspecting world.
Krivi wanted The Woodpecker to focus on the meeting and leave Ziya alone, except he knew that this way was better. It was bloodless and it would not involve crossing international authority lines that were better left uncrossed.
He had his own set of rooms along with the resting B Company’s members at The Lhasa Hotel. It was on the thirteenth floor, while Ziya was on the twenty-second.
As he showered and paced restlessly around his room, hungry and not wanting a thing to eat, his skin itching as if there were ants crawling underneath it, he knew what he had to do. What was driving him so relentlessly, his vert insides were on fire.
So, he judged the length of the balcony to its height and decided it wasn’t too much.
Krivi wore his running shoes and, standing on the balls of his feet on his room’s balcony, he swung himself up to the next. And the next.
And the next.
Till he reached Ziya’s room on the twenty-second floor.
Nine floors up.
And he felt better than he had felt all day, standing outside her balcony, looking at the darkened glass doors, at peace and he and wanted her all the more for it.
~~~~~
Ziya didn’t know why she woke up all of a sudden.
She’d been drifting into a deep, drugged, uneasy sleep because no matter how lonely she was and how much she missed Krivi and how the super-comfy bed was designed to lull the most wakeful into slumber, she knew she had to rest. That tomorrow would be more of the same routine.
Wandering aimlessly, playing the eager tourist…fending off Jack Hagen’s well-meaning advances while appearing to enjoy talking to him.
It was exhausting.
Much more exhausting than the grueling physical training she had undergone the last few days. That had just sapped her body. All this playacting and pretending that everything was all right, that she was a bored corporate suit on the lookout for a change, a holiday… was harder. She wasn’t a corporate suit any longer.
She was a soldier, in however miniscule a capacity, in a war, that had no foreseeable end.
Ziya knew these facts and therefore knew how important it was to get a good night’s sleep before your mission.
And this was why she was so puzzled when her sleep was shattered in such an abrupt manner.
She groped for the light switch and found her wrist captured by strong fingers.
Ziya swallowed, heat coursing through her at his single touch.
Krivi.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered, afraid to speak out loud. Afraid to move. Strangely afraid of him.
What was he doing here?
“I wanted to see you,” came the almost soundless murmur.
“Oh.”
“I am sorry if I woke you up.” But he didn’t sound apologetic at all.
Ziya swallowed again, and knew he heard the shallow count of her breathing, with his superior hearing.
“It’s all right. I wasn’t that sleepy anyway,” she assured him softly.
His fingers moved upward, just his fingers in the heavy, stifling darkness and cupped her elbow, drew her forward on the bed and she went willingly. Eager to touch him, to feel him, missing him with a visceral intensity that had nothing to do with the comfort of the bed or how much she wished he loved her.
It had to do with pure want.
Want of his flesh and his heat and hardness.
Ziya put a hand out and came in contact with a hard chest. She spread her fingers over the expanse of skin and heard his harsh intake of breath.
He pressed one knee on the edge of the bed, she felt the mattress dip when he did so. She touched him with her other hand too, and felt his bicep tense.
Ziya smiled in the darkness knowing he couldn’t see her.
A strange, exhilarating power filled her because she realized he was here. He was here and he didn’t have to be. Not tonight.
“Why are you here, Krivi?” She trailed light fingers up and down his chest, feeling his muscles quiver under the light caress.
“Aren’t you glad I am?” He was leaning in, his nose touching the curve of her neck and shoulder, so that he surrounded her, engulfed her and between him and the darkness she didn’t know what made her more aroused, more scared.
“I will always be glad if you’re there,” she admitted on a sigh, as he lay her back on the bed and followed her, their bodies tangling together like broken puzzle pieces.
Ziya linked her arms around his neck, her shadow lover of the night and caressed the soft skin there. Running wondering fingers through the ends of his hair.
“Me too,” he said, against her mouth.
Then he covered her mouth with his, in a deep and gentle kiss that seemed to spin out into eternity.
It wasn’t sexual at all, just a meeting of mouth, of lips, that said, Hello, I missed you. I need you.
His breath expelled inside of her, as she moved her hands under his tee shirt, inching it up, traveling gentle fingers over the scars of war on his back. Touching each and every one of them, healing them by the simple action of holding him close, holding him to her heart while she did so.
~~~~~
Krivi’s desire took a new turn, a dangerous turn because of it.
Now, he wanted to show her gentleness, tenderness and all the feeling that came rushing out of him whenever he thought about her.
Ziya Maarten.
He wanted slow, he wanted forever, and he wanted to bury himself in her hot silken depths and never emerge. He wanted her seduced and submissive, flowing as hot wax under his hands, open to him in a way he hadn’t wanted another person. He wanted her to belong to him.
And tonight, he wanted to belong to her.
He raised his soft lips from hers and kissed her eyelids closed. She trembled at the unexpectedly tender gesture.
“Let go,” he whispered in her ear. “For tonight. Let go for me.”
He moved his lips to her temple, to the side of her jaw, pressing gentle, undemanding kisses, content to just kiss her, hold her, and cherish her. Content for this moment in time to just let her know what he was beginning to think could exist between a man and a woman.
Feeling.
“I...I—" Ziya’s breath broke on a moan.
He went further down on her torso and captured one nipple in his hot mouth through the think cotton top she wore. She clutched at the back of his head, hard, arching into his sure touch, his hard warmth. Wanting more, wanting all.
He came back and kissed her quiet, settling her harsh breaths again, wanting her calm and surrendered to him.
~~~~~~
Later, Ziya would think he was a maestro and she was a violin he had played to perfection. His hands were so skillful, his mouth was so perfect against her skin that every touch, every sensation was heightened a thousand times over because she knew this was something that he had never given her.
He had never asked this of her.
Complete and utter surrender.
So she gave it without question.
He kissed and caressed every single, satin inch of her, discovering through touch and feel everything he couldn’t see. And that heightened the pleasure too, the fact that she couldn’t see where he was, what he was doing.
She could only feel.
Feel his hot breath as it blew against her belly button, making her stomach muscles quiver under the tender assault. Feel his hands run up the outside of her thighs to cup her hips and mold her more intimately to him. Feel his teeth gently nipping at the crest of her breast as he removed her tank top and loved her with everything he had.
Drove her mindless with nothing but his breath and his hands and mouth.
By the time, he had discarded her flimsy panties, she was drenched in a haze of sensation and desire where time was suspended, it moved slower than molasses so that her hands felt like lead-weight, when she lifted them to cup his strong shoulders. When he slipped insider her, all she could do was sigh, and breathe brokenly, not breathe at all…
Because lovemaking was beautiful when you made love with someone you loved.
And when he loved her back, all she could do was gasp his name out loud, over and over again, grateful and mindless and so his that he had no choice but to crash into her as he emptied himself inside of her.
Krivi and Ziya, together. At last.
~~~~~~
The next morning, Krivi got into the communications van, a goofy grin on his face that he couldn’t get rid of, no matter how much he tried, knowing that Ziya might be going to meet Pretty Boy VP for brunch instead of drinks.
Jack Hagen didn’t know and own the heart of her like Krivi Ieyer did, Agent Maitland of Bravo Company, gave him the worst possible news.
Ziya disappeared off the face of the earth.
Just like that.
And the bottom dropped out of Krivi Iyer’s world.
Forty-Four
The Woodpecker waited for the perfect moment.
Wood had learned, after making many mistakes that the perfect moment mattered. Whether it was sex, or flipping the detonator switch on an IED for maximum blast fallout, or the simple art of meeting your sister for the first time, timing was everything.
The perfect moment mattered.
You had to judge, to plan ahead, to have all the pieces in place and finally, move in when the moment was just right. When the universe aligned the planets and stars just so to give you everything that you ever wanted.
Whether it was an orgasm…or a beautiful bomb blast.
Or meeting your sister for the first time.
Wood had followed Ziya yesterday, on foot, watching with amused contempt as she attempted to play the interested tourist. The Potala Palace tour, the walk through the Buddhist Institute and buying useless souvenirs she didn’t need, chatting up the locals and smiling like the dumb blond that she was not.
Wood understood all of that, though there was contempt in the understanding.
Ziya looked…pretty.
Wood had seen the pictures, but the pictures didn’t do her any justice. She had great cheekbones and a perky ass, and her smile was genuine. There was a little bit of the punk chick in her because of the red-tips in her hair, but the pixie cut only heightened her prettiness. She made the most of clothes and her figure.
Wood understood and appreciated that. Dressing right was the best disguise there was.
Wood knew Ziya could be taken at any moment, that there was no one on earth who could stop Wood if Wood so wanted, but where was the fun in that?
Because, obviously, Wood had also spotted the comm-link van that followed her discreetly and the bevy of agents who strolled the cobbled streets of Lhasa, keeping Ms. Maarten in sight. Even the sniper team that could be seen in the far distance, ready with their scopes and rifles for Ms. Maarten to be taken at any moment.
So, she was bait.
Wood felt a little bad that the worst suspicion was confirmed.
Ziya had been turned against her own family.
Family and blood: the one thing thicker than water. Stronger than the most powerful bomb created.
Family, which Wood craved as much as the perfect explosion to leave a mark on the world.
Wood supposed it had something to do with their bitch whore of a mother who had first stayed with Wood’s father, putting up with an endless cycle of abuse and degradation that had forever colored a young child’s view of what family was…what love was.
And then, she had obviously left Ziya to fend for herself, dying on her, right after giving birth to her.
The father was an asshole, of course, as most fathers were, and Ziya had not had Tom Jones. She did not have protection or been taught survival skills with an education that was superlative in every sense of the word.
Wood knew the world was to be blamed for what happened to Ziya Maarten.
The world, which believed Wood to be a monster, a mass murderer. A goddamn terrorist!
But Wood was just a professional.
Good at a job that not many people on this earth were. And Wood was being blamed for being good at blowing people up. That was like saying, the American president was a terrorist too. Didn’t he send drones into third-world countries and take them out piecemeal?
All the vitriol and villainy didn’t make any sense… it never had.
And, poor Ziya, she had been deluded into thinking she was working for the good guys, she was helping the good guys by being bait. By being brave and noble and sacrificing her personal well-being at the altar of moral duty and doing the right thing.
Wood had once asked Tom Jones: Who were the good guys?
The guys who blew up the world, in order to clean it up, or the ones who caught these guys by any means possible, that included blowing up the world? Which was right and which was wrong?
And Tom had had no answer, because, there was no right answer to this ethical question.
One man’s right was another man’s wrong and always would be.
So, Wood and Ziya were both right and both wrong, this much Wood knew.
But what poor Ziya didn’t know was that Wood had no intentions of being trapped by family. Of being sacrificed on the altar of love.
So Wood waited, in the cold January night.
Following the sister as she went to meet an ex-colleague, a blond preppy type who would bore someone like Ziya in minutes. The agents sat there too and looked bored as they blew up honest, tax-paying citizen’s money on ginger tea and local delicacies.
A bunch of fucking losers.
Wood watched as Ziya made plans to meet the Prep Boy again the next morning and then went back to her expensive hotel room to crash and sleep the night away, as she put it.
The comm link van also trundled and parked itself for the night, so Wood fantasized about breaking into it and double tapping every one of those motherfuckers who had so misinformed and messed up Wood’s sister that she was willing to let herself be used as a pawn in a war that was not her own.
But, common sense prevailed and Wood strolled back to her hideout and planned the perfect moment and the taking of Ziya Maarten.
And then, after long and lengthy conversation with the
‘sister’, her inevitable death.
It was a pleasant way to spend the night.
~~~~~~
Ziya knew that no other morning had meant as much to her as today did.
The birds were singing, colors were brighter and life looked rosy-glassed when she opened her eyes. Her skin bloomed, her eyes glowed and there was a lovely sheen to her face that she could only attribute to a night of being loved thoroughly and beautifully and well.
But, none of it meant as much to her as the slight indentation on the white pillow next to her: evidence of her lover having spent the night with her.
Krivi had stayed the night with her, climbing up and down nine stories of a hotel room just to be with her. He couldn’t stay away from her for one night, because he wanted her so much, needed her so very much.
And she hugged that knowledge to her heart.
She bathed and had her morning cup of coffee, standing at the very balcony through which he had made his way into her room. A contented smile on her face that she hoped was captured by the satellite which tracked her every movement through the GPS chip.
It was important that the world know Ziya Maarten was happy today.
Then, she dressed in much the same clothes as yesterday, smart jeans that hugged her legs like a second skin and sexy, suede flat boots. With it, she wore a red shirt that buttoned down demurely to her waist and was flattering to her figure, carried a light sweater for later.
She wanted to look as good as she felt today.
Ziya wore gloss, lined her sparkling eyes with black kohl, using makeup for the first time in ages.
She wanted to look pretty.
The happy, rosy-cheeked woman who stared back in the mirror was pretty.
Then, she grabbed her map and her camera and her sling purse and left the room, not realizing that she would never return to it again.
A spring in her feet that complemented the way she felt inside.
~~~~~~
Wood waited in the tourist rental Ziya had called for the day.
It was ridiculously easy to subdue the driver, borrow his uniform, and wait pleasantly for the guest to show up. Easier still to place a call to Jack Hagen’s cell phone and inform him that Ziya Maarten wished to meet him for lunch, instead of brunch if that was okay.
Warrior Knight Page 29
