by Zoe York
Elena tugged at his arm as the bustling bus station came into view. “We have thirty-two minutes.”
“What?”
“Now, thirty-one. Start running. Follow me.” She took a flying dive out of the taxi and leapfrogged through unforgiving traffic.
He expected her to run straight to the station, but instead, she ducked behind a series of buildings, deeper and deeper into an alleyway. He kept his eyes on the back of her head, but she was only so tall, and soon he found himself lost in a sea of glossy black haired women.
Kent jumped, turning and hissing her name. “Elena? Elena? I...whoa—”
Something magnificent had happened and very quickly. His partner—must remember that—emerged at his side in a red and gold salwar kameez, the flowing, brightly colored pants suits so popular in Southeast Asia. Her thick hair still hung loose over half of her face, and a nose ring he was certain hadn’t been there earlier, completed the picture.
“Stop gawking and—”
“That’s what men do when they see beautiful women.”
“That’s what men do when they want to be sued. Besides, I’m hardly beautiful. Now, our story is that we’re a couple.” She shoved a thin gold band into his hand. “I think—”
“I think you are beautiful, and I’m sorry you don’t believe it. I’m also sorry I can’t tell you that without earning that look—yep that one right there—so, I’ll drop it.”
“Ri-right.” Confusion marred her face. But that was the only thing. The scar around her eye? It didn’t obscure the cut of her cheek, the gut-checking defiance in her chin, or the arch of her eyebrow. She could have had any man on the street before her accident. Problem was, she didn’t know she still had that power.
Elena turned away, shaking her head, but after a few huffs of air, got back to the heart of it. “We’re married and visiting my family in the northern part of Bhutan.”
“Near the item, I presume.”
“Exactly. We’ll have to plan things as we come to them. I have all the necessary documents for myself, including our marriage record. It should match the passports you received.”
It did. As did everything else she handed over. “Weaponry?” he asked. “Tell me you at least have a nine-millimeter.”
She patted both hips. “The Dragon said you were proficient on the forty, so I changed up.”
“Good girl.”
“That is to say, I downgraded from the forty-five.” She sported a shit-eating grin.
“Cute. Got it out of your system?”
“I do feel better about things, yes.”
“Okay, smartass. Let’s go.”
— FOUR —
“We should have hired a car,” Kent grumbled as he stepped onboard.
“The bus avoids too many questions.” She let him get in first and took the aisle seat for herself.
“The spring of the seat is digging into my left butt cheek.”
“So take your jacket off, and sit on it.” More and more, she was going back to her first assessment: that this man’s presence was some sort of test.
His glib attitude toward, well, everything, infuriated her, but she couldn’t help wondering if early Elena—pre-injury Elena—would have fallen for a man like this. She looked over, and he winked.
Nope, even early Elena knew better than to trust a wink and a smile.
Kent leaned over, his minty breath in her ear. “How am I meant to seduce a woman in a place like this?”
Well, maybe.
“She smiles? My god,” he said, leaning closer.
“That’s enough. The last thing we need to do is bring more attention to ourselves.” Not that he hadn’t already turned the head of every woman present. The man was literally too beautiful to work. She could better envision Kent tracking down jewelry thieves in the casinos of Monaco or going deep undercover in the glittering halls of Dubai. A man like him had uses and could seamlessly melt into places lesser mortals couldn’t.
He had a casualness about him too. Approaching people as if he’d known them for years, skipping over the pleasantries and diving right in. Yes, agencies did need men like him, but why her, and why on this mission?
As the bus lumbered on, the chattiness of the other riders dulled into snores and hushed conversations. She looked over and found her face on Kent’s phone. “What are you doing?”
“Looking you up.”
“You could ask.”
“You’re mean. See? I knew that look was coming,” he said, tracing a blazing line down her chin.
She smacked his hand away. “If you were anyone else, asshole, I’d cut off your fingers and throw them out the window.”
Kent turned over his phone and grimaced. “You hurt my feelings, and here I was just about to tell you what the Dragon wrote in your file.”
“Wh-what?”
“But I’m an asshole so... ” His fingers wiggled in the air, waving her on. The jerk wanted an apology, and she was almost desperate enough to give it.
Of course, this could be a test too, a temptation of a different sort. If she asked to see it, Kent could truthfully report that she could be easily tempted. If she ignored it entirely, Kent might report that she was unwilling to take risks.
“Kent?”
“Yes?”
“I accept your apology.”
“No, you’re doing it wrong. You apologize to me. See? The action flows to the injured party not—”
“And now that I’ve accepted your apology...”
Kent’s perfect face crumbled in hilarious confusion. One hand turned up, and he rocked back in the seat with wide eyes set on her. A grin played at his lips. “Say please.”
Somehow, impossibly, she found herself grinning too. Still, she took time with her words, playing out how they might be interpreted. “I...is it good? Just yes or no, is he looking at me favorably?”
Kent’s grin dropped, and the bottom of her stomach twisted. Not good then. Perhaps he hadn’t known about her injury? “Go on. I’m a big girl. I can take it.”
“I can’t. The wrath that comes from sharing privileged information isn’t something I want to bring down on me,” he said with a face shadowed by something she couldn’t place.
“I see.”
“I’ve known you for three seconds. I’ve known many knights of Ambra for years. But I can tell you with all sincerity, Elena, that if you were to join our number, we would be stronger for it.” He patted her hand and it wasn’t smarmy or condescending, not annoyingly paternalistic either. Rather, it was a warm and tactile reassurance of his words.
Charming was right. The man had gone from positively infuriating to giving her the first bit of hope she’d been able to sink her teeth into for years.
“Catch a nap. I slept on the plane. We have a long road ahead of us, and we’ve got to be prepared and rested to conquer it.”
“True enough.” She got comfortable or at least, as comfortable as she could. Indian busses didn’t exactly have tray tables and reclining chairs. For the most part, they were the equivalent of Western school busses—only decades older and with far fewer security measures.
A coating of grease and dust peppered the window. The air was thick with scents of petrol, sweat and warm momos. Noisy German tourists snapped photos and chatted endlessly. Elena draped the shawl of the salwar kameez around her head and turned away, sinking low into the seat. The tourists were annoying, but she was grateful for their presence. If folks were going to get pulled by the authorities at the border, at least she and Kent wouldn’t be first on the list.
Soon, the gentle rocking of the bus lulled her to sleep, as they climbed up the mountains toward the Bhutanese border. It was over a four-hour drive on a good day, but when she woke up an hour or so later, blinding rain had transformed the tricky road into a dangerous one. Every so often, they’d scrape the side of a truck traveling in the opposite direction on the narrow road.
“There’s a straight billion mile drop outside the window,” Kent said.
“Mountain roads are a way of life here. You can’t avoid them unless you’re willing to go hours outside of your way. Most times, you can’t avoid them at all. Don’t tell me you’re nervous.”
“Hell yeah.” He laughed, but he was handling it a lot better than the Germans at the front of the bus. A couple of them giggled, and the rest howled each time the bus veered close to the edge in the hairpin turns, waking the glaring Indian passengers.
The broken, wooden, half-painted, and way-too-low guardrail was a bit of a joke. It wouldn’t stop a bike, much less a bus from tumbling hundreds of feet down.
Another turn yielded more screaming Germans, to the visible annoyance of local passengers. The driver’s hand flicked above his head as he told them to shut up. His Bengali had no affect on them. Elena opened her mouth to translate, but a kind girl in a faded blue school uniform was happy to oblige in perfect English. The tallest of the Germans whispered to the others—perhaps another translation—and the bus fell quiet.
Temporarily.
One female tourist stood up, screaming in broken English about paying her money and safety. She berated the driver, the young girl, and India at large. But her biggest mistake was doing this with her finger pointed directly at the now quivering child.
Kent whistled low beside her. “This won’t end well.”
“No kidding.”
Two young men came to the pig-tailed girl’s defense. That of course led to two of the foreigner’s companions entering the fray. The driver joined in, and soon, the entire bus filled with shouts in no less than four languages. The driver kept turning around, hand flicking as he screamed to the riotous lot behind him.
Not the smartest thing to do on a road like this. In a bus like this. On a rainy day.
The driver rounded another corner with one hand but slammed on his breaks when a team of oxen came into view. The bus fishtailed and yells of rage morphed into high-pitched screeches of panic.
“Hold on!” Kent screamed as the back of the bus jumped the railing with a good quarter of the vehicle dangling off the edge of the cliff.
Panic advanced to pure horror. Some scrambled to the front of the bus while others beat and kicked at windows.
Elena’s heart thudded in her ear drums. She looked around for something to cling to.
Think.
This far in the back, they didn’t have time to wait for everyone else to get off. By the time that happened, the weight distribution would send the whole thing toppling over.
What next? What to do?
Her mind scuttled through options until Kent’s loud whistle echoed through the rickety, metal seesaw.
“Tell them I’m an engineer,” he said in a voice as steady as the rain that beat the roof.
Heads turned at his command, not moving as she translated his words. Kent was the picture of calm, arms outstretched as if he had a sea waiting to be parted. “Okay, now listen. Only I speak and only through her. Driver, set the parking break.”
The driver nodded.
“Everyone else, clear the aisle. The people behind me need to get off first. If at any time, the bus rocks, you will not scream. You will not do anything. You will stop where you are.”
Some eyes widened, and jaws dropped, but Kent’s air of certainty left no room for debate as his plan was put into action.
“That window there? Hand the small children out of it. That’s it.”
The driver told one of the men in Bengali about a wench under the grill. Kent let out a huff of air, her only indication that he’d been anxious at all.
Twice, the bus rocked as passengers skittered off. Each half-scream was cut off by Kent’s “Enough!” When the bus rocked a third time, no one said a word. Orderly and one by one, the bus emptied until just she, the driver, and Kent remained.
“The driver says he’s not leaving his bus. He means to drive away from the edge.”
Kent licked his full lips. “Figured as much. Get off the bus.”
“I’m not leaving you behind. That’s not how we do things in Sweden—or Bhutan, for that matter.”
The idiot had the nerve to wink. “Attagirl. You tell the Dragon that I fully endorse you.”
“Stop talking like that.”
Kent shook his head. “We don’t have time for this, Elena. The mission. Always focus on the mission. Don’t get me wrong. I want to live, and I’ll try my damndest.”
“But—”
“Thanks for being my wife,” he said with a weak grin. “There’s a reason you’re here, and it’s not me. You can get into Bhutan alone. I can’t. It’s all on you.”
“No, Kent. I think—”
“I think I want to live, Elena, but I’m not running off this bus until you’re clear of it. Help a man out. Get off the fucking bus. Gimme a shot at least.”
So she turned and walked.
Cheers went up as she stepped off the vehicle, but they weren’t for her. Another car, a twenty-or-so-year-old Tata, ambled up the road. The bus passengers rushed it, carrying the winch along with them, hooking the bus to the back of the tiny car. It was a long shot and a hell of a gamble. But as the car pulled and a dozen people behind it pushed, the bus roared to life and the wheels screeched, digging for purchase on the gravel.
Rain plastered hair to her face. Her clothes were soaked through. She shivered, but from effort, not the cold. Through grunts and cries and shouts, arms of every shade pushed the little car. The smell of burning flesh singed her nose. She turned around. Men—brave men—with hands barely protected with strips of fabric, pulled on the winch itself.
The bus groaned, and so did the crowd, but cheers soon split the air as the back wheel thunked back onto the road. Strangers, minutes earlier at each others’ throats, locked their arms around each other in jubilant embraces to the sounds of a cheerfully honked car horn.
Kent and the driver stepped off the bus and were immediately thrust onto the dancing shoulders of the passengers. Those who had cellphones were on them. The family in the sedan cranked up the radio and there —in the middle of a rain-sogged death road —Elena danced for the first time in years.
— FIVE —
Kent eased off the men’s shoulders and made a beeline for Elena. Her arms kicked back and forth like a sprinkler as her wrists twirled in time. She stopped when their eyes locked and gave him two thumbs up.
He leaned over, all the while being patted on the back. “A thumbs up? I think I did pretty good.”
“For an engineer,” she added drolly.
“I’m assuming you didn’t add in the computer part.”
Elena’s deep laughter blocked out things, including good sense.
“If I kiss you and blame it on the adrenaline rush, will you shoot me?” he whispered.
Before she could answer, horns blared. Their impromptu party was rudely being infringed upon by upcoming cars.
The laughing driver waved his passengers back to the bus, and the family who had saved them all piled into their Tata and drove away.
So, no, he didn’t get his kiss. But as they got back onto the bus, Elena’s hand snaked through his, and she brought his knuckles to her lips for a light peck. “Sorry. This will have to do for now.”
“Elena, if you knew the power of your lips, you wouldn’t sell yourself so short. I get it. It takes a lot to impress a woman like you.”
“Saving a couple dozen lives on the first day is a good start. Oh, what the hell.” Elena’s chin tilted up, and he dove into her, tasting her hard-won lips.
Cheering riders leaned out the windows, beating on the side of the bus, and women of all ages giggled when they finally got on. Everyone bought their story of being newly married, hook, line, and amusing sinker. The man in front of Kent handed over a folded newspaper in the thin space between the seat and the window. Kent unfurled it, finding a small offering of rupees inside. It wasn’t much, twelve dollars perhaps, but judging from the man’s torn and ragged clothes, it was money he’d worked hard to earn.
>
Kent nodded, not daring to embarrass the gentleman or his gift by not taking it. Instead, he waited until the man turned around and slid a hundred dollar greenback into his satchel against the window. This didn’t go unnoticed. When Kent turned again, he caught the gaze of a leather-faced Hindu priest in orange robes. Kent whipped around to stare out the window, but the robed man eased his way back toward them anyway.
The priest’s hair was long and matted, his beard, thick and unkempt. His voice was creaky, like an old door, but as he spoke, the bus fell quiet.
“He’s a pandit.” Elena cleared her throat and steepled the palms of her hands together. “He wishes to bless our trip and, um, our union. That we will have many sons.”
“I’ve got some money in my—”
“Shh.” She pushed Kent’s hand away. “It’s not like that.”
Bus passengers scooted to the edges of their seats, and women dabbed at moistened eyes. Whatever this was, it didn’t take long. The man said a few more words and moved his hands around a bit.
“What’s he saying now?”
“I told him earlier that we were married in America. He says, now we’re a proper couple here.”
Kent almost made a joke. Something about consummating the marriage or getting real proper tonight in the bed, but the moment was too sacred and not his to ruin.
Kent laid a chaste peck on Elena’s temple, wrapped his arm around her, and settled into his seat as the bus thundered along the wet mountain roads.
*****
They arrived around ten that night, exhausted, shivering, but not miserable. They’d all come close to losing everything, and it seemed to have left a mark. For all the coarse words earlier, a peace had long settled over the crowd.
Elena’s head bobbed on his shoulder. He pulled her ponytail and nudged her forearm. “We’re in Jaigaon. Wake up.”
