Hearts On Fire (The Santiago Trilogy Book 3)

by Catherine Wiltcher

  “How the fuck do you know about those?” My voice is ragged with pain but still tinged with defiance. I’m down but not out.

  Sevastien leans down to whisper in my ear. “Because I gave them to her.”

  No.

  With a roar of rage, I lunge for the knife embedded in my hand but Viktor’s too quick. Smacking me away, he twists the knife in even deeper and I roar for a completely different reason. “You Russian bastard!”

  “She was such a sweet little thing, but that was one of my requests, you see?” he continues, his voice wrapping around my consciousness like a layer of toxic silk. “Myers was keen to join the organization and make money. He sold the most precious thing he had for two precious weeks with me.”

  “He sold you out too, asshole,” I rasp. “He’s working for the FBI.”

  The silence that greets this helps to even the score a little. Not a huge amount, admittedly, I’m still pinned to a fucking desk. But it gives me a certain amount of satisfaction to know that I just metaphorically punched the smirks off their faces.

  “How do you know this?” demands Sevastien. Not so smooth anymore.

  “Entrapment, assholes. Who do you think was wearing the wire that snared Eve?”

  The Russians all start talking at once and it’s an explosion of noise. My brain isn’t working at full capacity anymore and I can't translate. My blood loss is massive. It’s all over the desk and floor. Focus, Dante. Focus.

  Through a haze of hurt I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the French windows behind Petrov’s desk. Eyes wild. Fucked-up face. Who am I?

  A murderer.

  A husband.

  A father.

  Make the right choice for a change.’ That’s what Joseph wrote in that message in Amsterdam. So I am… I’m choosing Eve. I’m choosing my family.

  My eyelids feel heavy all of a sudden. Here it comes…so soon? I knew my darkness would claim me in the end but I can’t help feeling disappointed. I’ve fought hard these past few months with Eve by my side to contain the worst of it, but I guess you can’t fight the inevitable. It’s like punching air to vent your anger. You’re never going to hit enough to make a difference.

  I can taste her now. I can smell her. So beautiful… I’m sinking deeper and deeper

  Bang.

  You motherfuckers!

  Bang.

  Dante! Jesus Christ.

  There’s some kind of commotion happening up there. There’s a light dancing on the surface. Sapphires like blue flames, hair as fine as silk.

  I’m all hers when she shoots that fucking smile at me.

  37

  Joseph – Afghanistan 2002

  The first time I met him was five days before the M-ATV crash. Dante doesn't remember it, of course, but it’s a date that’s been stamped across the pages of my history in the kind of red ink that your teacher used to mark your homework book at school. He made me sit up and take notice of him. He had a look you couldn't ignore. It wasn’t crazy or anything, but it ran deep, like still-water-deep, with a past that he wasn’t keen on sharing.

  I know I wasn’t the only one who felt it. Soldiers talk late at night; they talk over beers. The general consensus was, if you caught his attention you’d know about it, and you’d feel the full weight of that history bearing down on you, which could be pretty scary at times.

  From that first moment I believed in him and I trusted him. Sometimes when you look at a person you can see the truth in their lie, hiding behind the veil like a bride on her wedding day. Dante told it how it was. When he said we were going to take down a Taliban camp by ourselves, there wasn’t a chance in hell that anyone was going to stop us.

  After it was over, we limped out of that place and left it burning, with fifty bodies inside. Riley had died by then as well. He passed away an hour after we found him, so our small army of three had been cut down to two, straight off the bat.

  We hot-wired a truck and drove it the six hundred miles to Kandahar. A chopper picked us up three hours later. By then he was back to being Captain Días, and I was back to being Grayson. He knew I’d carry his secret to the grave. I knew he’d kill me if I didn’t. They awarded us a string of medals for our bravery, but neither of us gave a shit about that. Our prize had been stumbling into the desert alive that day. It was there in the truths we shared inside that prison cell.

  A couple of months later he received a phone call on the base, all the way from Colombia. After that, everything changed and I knew that his past had come to claim him again.

  Two days later he was gone. He just slipped back into the shadows.

  Sixteen months later so was I.

  38

  Dante

  That fucking banging sound… What the hell is it?

  It ceases for a moment and then starts up again. At the same time it feels like someone is sawing my left hand in half.

  “Rick. You got a medic on speed dial? Get him round here, now!”

  Joseph?

  “Dante. Wake the fuck up.”

  “Can't we just wave a bottle of Bourbon under his nose?” drawls a voice, “I bet that would do the trick.”

  Sanders.

  I try to say something but my mouth is working at half-speed and my words come out as an unintelligible mess.

  “Take it easy, Dante.” It’s Joseph again. “I’ve just given you a shot of morphine.”

  “Still fucking hurts,” I rumble, and I sense their looks of relief over my head, even if I can't see them for myself.

  Another couple of minutes pass until I can force my eyes open. I’m still sitting in the chair, my upper body slumped over the desk. The universe is a haze of pain but at least my hand isn’t stuck to the goddamn table anymore. I try to lift my head but slide sideways instead and two strong hands grab my shoulders to right me again.

  “Give the morphine a few minutes to kick in.”

  “Joseph?” My eyes start to close again.

  “Yeah?”

  “What are you doing here? Thought you were in Nairobi?”

  “I'm saving your ass as usual.”

  “Thought that was Eve’s job? …Fuck, Eve!” I try to lift my head again.

  “Still in custody. We’ll deal with her in a minute.”

  “Sevastien.”

  “Tied up with a fucking bow and waiting for you.”

  “What?”

  He gives a sinister chuckle. “Figured you'd want to finish him for yourself. He’s right here waiting for you when you’re ready.”

  “Viktor?”

  “Gone to the big vodka distillery in the sky.”

  I raise my good hand in the air and he grasps it briefly. The fog of morphine is descending but my pain is contained in a tight bubble now.

  When I sit up, my hand is wrapped in a bloody white towel and Petrov’s dead mouth is still gaping open in surprise. Joseph is leaning against the edge of the desk next to me, arms folded, blue-grays flickering over my busted-up face.

  “How’s the blonde?” I ask him.

  The corners of his mouth twitch. “She’s doing okay.”

  “Thought you said you couldn't leave her?”

  “I didn’t. She’s here at a Trauma Recovery Center in Miami for a couple of days. We left soon after you did. I had an intuition you were flying back into the eye of the storm and I’m glad I followed it. I picked up the story from Rick and didn’t like the prose, so I decided to pay Petrov a visit myself.”

  I tip my head back and groan. “I’m giving your intuition a raise.”

  “Is that appreciation I hear?”

  “Don’t let it blow smoke up your ass. It’s a one-time deal only.”

  We both look up as Rick enters the library with a couple of vodka bottles in his hand. To the left of the doorway I can see the bodies of Sevastien’s men piled up like animal carcasses. Taking one of the bottles, I bring the neat alcohol to my lips. I savor the kick of about half a dozen more before I start to survey the annihilation of yet another room by f
irepower. I feel exhausted suddenly, but I haul myself to my feet regardless.

  “He’s over here,” says Joseph, guessing my intent straightaway.

  I’m unsteady on my feet. It takes me ages to follow Joseph across the library. Sevastien is lying unconscious on the floor, his face a bloody mess as well.

  I stare down him for a moment, a strange sense of calm washing over me. “I’m not going to kill him.”

  Joseph jerks his head up in surprise. He already has his knife out for me.

  “I’m not even going to cut him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Am I? My monster inside is begging me to rip this man apart. He killed my daughter. He abused Eve.

  “Dante, you’ve been working on this op for seven fucking months, the guy just stuck a knife through your hand. This is about as personal as it gets.”

  “It’s time to let the dead go,” I murmur, quoting his words. “Eve and the baby are too important. This man is my bargaining chip for her release. And I’m sure the CIA will be having some interesting chats about Jihadi training camps in North Africa with him.” I glance back at Joseph and I see the dawn of a new respect for me, eighteen years after the first.

  “Peters isn’t going to let her go easily,” he warns. “There will be serious consequences. He wants your head, just as much as Sevastien’s.”

  “Then maybe it’s time for me to lay it on the chopping block. It’s the best chance I have for Eve, and she’s fucking worth it. Hand me your phone…”

  I can feel his eyes raking over my face as I take the device from him. He’s trying to figure who the imposter is, and what I’ve done with Dante Santiago.

  “You sure about this,” he says finally.

  I nod as the call connects, and then clear my throat noisily. If I’m going out in a blaze of glory, there will be no trace of weakness in my voice when I do. “Agent Peters,” I say smoothly. “I hear you’ve been expecting me.”

  39

  Eve

  Agent Peters marches me out of the building and into a red saloon that's parked up front by the curb.

  “I thought you said I was free to go?” I protest, as he pushes me toward the passenger seat, tutting impatiently as my heel catches between the cracks in the sidewalk.

  “Sit back and enjoy the ride, Mrs Santiago,” he mutters, moving around to the driver’s side. I watch him pull out his cell before climbing into the car, punching in a number as he does. “Rendezvous point is all set.”

  There’s something weird going on. He’s acting like he’s been dropped into the middle of a conflict zone and he doesn't know whether to run left or right. If he hadn't been such a duplicitous bastard to me earlier, I would almost feel sorry for him.

  “What’s the rendezvous point and what does it mean?” I ask, watching him fasten his seatbelt and slip his cell back into his inside jacket pocket. “Oh hell, what does it matter… Just drop me off at the nearest Metrorail station and I’ll take it from there.”

  “Did you enjoy your time in jail?” he snarls suddenly. “Because if you don't shut the fuck up, I’ll find some other way to put you back there.”

  “Professional façade slipping again, Agent Peters?” I say, glaring at him. “And jail was about as enjoyable as listening to you lie your heart out in that diner in front of all your sniggering colleagues. You were so slimy and convincing… I almost believed you myself when you said your father died thirty years ago.

  “Actually he died two hours ago,” he says brusquely, “but what’s a couple of decades between people like us?”

  “Petrov is dead?” After the initial one-two punch of the shock, I find genuine sadness in the aftermath. He and Dante had their issues but I’d grown to like and respect him after the night of the party. He had gone out of his way to help the other girls to safety.

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter, aware that my stunned silence is lingering on for too long. “I know how close you were.”

  “Don’t be,” he says tightly. “He doesn’t exist, remember?”

  “Those were your words, Peters, not mine.”

  It’s two am. The traffic lights change from red to green as we make our way across town. I can tell we’re close to the shoreline. The night is a headlining act and the stars are out in full support. The ocean’s surface is coated with a silver light, and it ebbs and flows to a gentle tide.

  We pull into a small parking lot near a deserted beach and Agent Peters hits the brakes. “Wait here,” he orders, and I can sense his tension is reaching a fever pitch.

  I watch him walk toward a man standing next to a two-bar fence overlooking the ocean. I can’t see his face, he’s gazing out at a ship in the distance that’s balancing on the edge of the horizon, but there’s something about the slope of his shoulders and the way his arms hook so casually over the top rail that catches my attention. It’s only when he turns in part-profile to greet Agent Peters that my suspicions are confirmed.

  Dante.

  Before I can stop myself, I’m out of the car and hurtling toward him, tearing off my heels as I go and calling out his name to the sea breeze. He turns at the sound of my voice. His face is badly beaten, jagged streaks of blood cover most of his skin, but there’s still the same authority oozing from every broken pore, and the same mocking smile that lifts only for me.

  I stop a few meters out and shoot worried glances between the men. I’ve interrupted an uneasy exchange and my heart clutches in fear for him, for me, and for the life we’re so desperately clinging to.

  “I’ll give you a few minutes to say goodbye,” I hear Agent Peters say as he turns away. There’s a solid wall of flashing red and blue behind us now, but it’s something I don’t want to acknowledge. My head snaps back to my husband.

  “What’s he talking about, Dante?” I whisper. “What’s going on? What happened to your face?"

  “It’s all part of the deal, my angel.” His steady gaze softens. He can see how hard this is going to be for me to accept.

  “What deal…? No!” I shake my head violently as the truth hits me like a bullet. He’s sacrificing himself for me. “Please don’t do this! Now isn’t the time to grow a conscience, not with our baby…” I grasp at any crazy plan that will make this go away. “Jump over the railings with me,” I beg him. “We can outpace them. I’ll call Rick… He can send his boats again.”

  I can’t stop staring at his mouth. The mouth that has brought me so much pleasure, the mouth that I will never feel on my body again. The mouth that is whispering “no” at me so softly, over and over, and shattering all my dreams.

  “Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?”

  He shakes his head again and turns back to face the water, shattering me with his resignation. “The ocean is my kindred spirit, did I ever tell you that, Eve? Governed by no one, feared by everyone, capable of unrivalled devastation.” He’s not running. Why isn’t he running? “But in all my life I never appreciated the true beauty of it until now. You opened my eyes to so much, mi alma. I should feel guilty about how I stole your love, but I don’t, and I never will.”

  Tears are streaming down my face. My heart is an aching empty hallway. “But–”

  “Sevastien can’t hurt you anymore.” He leans over and cups my cheek in his palm. I close my eyes briefly and for the last time I feel his strength bleeding into my skin. “He was the second part of the deal with Peters.”

  Acceptance is creeping up on me too now, but I kick it away fiercely. I don't want to give up on us. I can’t. “Don't try and tell me you’re not a good man after this,” I say, forcing a smile that’s breaking me to make.”

  “Maybe I’m finally living up to my promise?”

  “If I hadn’t agreed to meet my father, none of this would be–” My voice catches in my throat as my guilt overwhelms me.

  “Don't you dare do that,” he growls, his dark eyes flashing. “You brought me in from the cold, and I’d rather live a hundred lives in a prison cell with that acceptanc
e, than another hundred in the place where I was before.”

  I can feel the baying crowds gathering behind me. Dante glances at them and I watch his face take on a guarded expression, as the hunter finally becomes the hunted.

  “Kiss me one last time, my angel,” he says huskily. “Like that first kiss, the one that changed everything… The one that made me want to live again.”

  I step into his embrace and curl my arms around his neck as I feel his slotting across my shoulder blades and locking us together so tightly, they’ll have to prise us apart. Our lips touch and I taste metal, and then him. Our mouths part together and it feels like we’re pouring our aching souls into one another. When he bleeds, I feel his pain. When we kiss, I taste his tragedy. When he kills, my heart is stained with all the colors of his vengeance… But it’s a vengeance that is weakening with every fresh beat of his heart. Sevastien and his legacy of evil are gone.

  “Joseph is waiting for you,” he says, breaking away, but his eyes remain shut as if he’s committing every second of our kiss to memory. “He’s taking you back to the island with Anna. If you don't look after yourself, he’s going to kick your ass.”

  My arms tighten around his shoulders. “I can't let you go.”

  “You must.”

  “I can’t!” I drink in as much of his scent as I can, until I’m giddy on it.

  A loud voice starts speaking over my shoulder but I can't hear the words. I don’t want to, so I focus all of myself on him instead.

  “My angel.”

  “Dante Santiago….”

  “My devil.”

  “You have the right to remain silent.”

  His arms start to loosen around me but I grab them and tug them tighter, like he’s a coat slipping from my shoulders on a cold winter’s day. “Let me go, Eve,” he murmurs.

  “If you do say anything, what you say can be used against you in a court of law…”

  “I will love you until the end of time,” I whisper. “Until the stars crash into the sea and the sun turns me to dust. And I will find you again, Dante Santiago.”