by Zoe York
“I am.” She croaked out a yawn and wiped fog away from the window with her sleeve.
Kent leafed through his passport when the bus lights flipped on, and Elena swore in his ear. “What? Something wrong with my documents?”
“Nope. They’re perfect,” she whispered back, fingering the edges of a cream-colored sheet. “Way too perfect. You shouldn’t have this one yet. Not until after reaching Thimphu. Look, first, there’s the general entry visa.”
“Yeah, got that.”
“Right, but that only allows you in at this border town. Then there’s the paperwork that allows you into the capital. I have that for you in my bag, along with our marriage certificate. Next, there’s the one from Thimphu that lets you go everywhere. You have it, and you’re not supposed to. Not yet.”
“We can’t risk ripping it out.”
“Agreed.” Elena kept her hand around his arm until they got off the bus. “See that big gate? It’s the entryway into Bhutan. Tomorrow morning, it’ll be filled with Indian nationals. We’ll get in the middle of them and hope for the best.
“I’ve got a better idea.” He dragged her with him toward the German travelers. “We stay where they stay. We leave when they leave. When the time comes to cross the border—”
“They’ll be the ones getting hassled. That was my plan all along.”
Kent knuckled away non-existent tears. “We’re so cute. Finishing each other’s sentences.”
“Oh, stop.”
The group moved to a modern-looking hotel within eyeshot of the gate. Kent and Elena hung back, letting the Germans pay first and only then asking to be put in a room close to theirs.
Upstairs, she dropped her bag on the queen-sized bed that occupied most of the space in the beige, dimly lit room. It was utilitarian, but that’s all that it needed to be. Previous guests had likely been just like them, waiting for the first crack of the sun’s rays to cross the border into Bhutan.
Elena rummaged through her bag, coming up with a small black object and waving it around the room.
Well, shit.
Her hand dipped at his laughter, and he waved his own recording device detector. “You got the drop on me, again. Everything good?”
“We’re clear.” She put away the tool. “Be faster next time.”
That’s one for the records books and something no woman had ever said to him before.
Elena kept fumbling in her bag, pulling out fabrics of every color and walking them over to the small closet for hanging. She might not know his purpose on the mission, but clearly, hers was to keep him on his toes.
“You want to get in the shower first?” she called.
“No, go ahead.” Kent turned on the television to give her a little privacy and did another walk around the room. Elena’s bag was open and still on the bed. He didn’t look inside. Much.
On top was a black case. Poisons? Some innovative surveillance device?
Attached along the bottom was a long cylinder, also black and giving off vibes just as lethal as the woman herself. He reached for it but drew back at the memory of her face when she’d danced on the street. Later. It probably wasn’t a big deal anyway. That’s what being a knight did: kept you paranoid for no damned reason.
Rather than piss off his wife-not-wife, Kent fumbled through the brochures on the side table, coming up with a splotchy room service menu. Unsure of her palette, he ordered a little of everything before toeing off his shoes. He smelled Elena before he saw her. “Honey and lemons.”
“You’re about to smell like it too, buttercup,” she laughed. “I question their toiletry supplier.”
Elena plopped down beside him, coating him with the scent. He didn’t hate it. Not on her. She’d kept her hair mostly dry and piled atop her head—all except for the overly long bangs that swept over her eye. He twitched, wanting to brush them back and see her as she truly was and not a woman in a constant state of hiding. If he knew her better, he’d tell her all that. Only one solution then. “Elena?”
She froze, arm half covered in lotion. “Yeah?”
“We’re going to be friends.”
“Okay.”
“Good friends.”
“Are we going out for ice cream?”
“I’m serious.”
Elena bit her lip and rolled her eyes, but her jaw didn’t clench, and she hadn’t turned away. She didn’t know it, but she needed him. Her look asked what she was too afraid to voice. What kind of man was he, if he didn’t step up to the slightly unrequested plate?
New mission: get this woman to understand her worth. “Best friends.”
“That’s cute, but I need this job, Kent. I can’t screw it up.”
“And I’m going to make sure you accomplish it in record time and with flying colors. Then you’ll be kinda obligated to go out to dinner with me.”
“I thought you said we were going to be friends.” She dragged out that last word with a grin and crossed arms. Was that meant to make her look tough?
He had no doubt she could kill him via any number of inventive methods, but crossing her arms to lift her breasts heavenward was having a result of another sort. He was tired, cold, wet, and the blood in his brain was on the march southward. “You finished in the bathroom?” He took off his shirt.
“Uh, yeah...sure”
“You don’t have to turn away. We’re both adults here.” He tossed his shirt onto the bed before working his belt buckle. “I’m allowed to take a shower too.”
“Are you trying to scare me off?” she asked through lips that had gone flat and unreadable.
“I thought it’d make you happy.”
“Oh, god.”
“Close. I’ve been called an Adonis, heaven’s gift to women and—”
“An annoying prat? No? That hasn’t come up yet? Ritchie Rich? Prince William?”
“What did you just call me?”
Elena doubled over with deep, rich laughter as Kent lunged across the bed, half-naked, toward the scuzzy mirror on the other wall. He fluffed his hair and twisted from side to side, dragging his palms up to check his hairline. After her giggles died down, he stepped back and let out a whoosh of air. “That wasn’t funny, Elena. I try to make you happy with my best talents—”
She leaned over and patted her guns. Not the desired response. “These make me happy.”
“That’s—”
“Admirable?”
“Creepy.” He winked. “As you are rude and unappreciative, I’m going to go cry in the shower. When I’m back—”
“It never once flittered through your pretty-boy mind that I’m not interested in you or that this verges on sexual harassment?”
No. Not until just now. He’d called this flirting, heavy yes, but nothing more.
Shit.
He’d shoot himself before making a woman feel uneasy. Kent’s gut twisted, and he swallowed back the stinging taste of shame, all the while covering his chest with crossed arms. “No. I thought...Elena, my god, I’m sorry. It’s just after what happened on the bus—”
“You assumed we were closer than we actually are.”
He did. But instead of saying that, he apologized, again and again and again, only stopping when he finally looked up to see her grinning. “You’re not mad?”
“You know the difference between you and other men?”
Sure he did. His looks, his money, his power, and his brain, but he left it at a shrug to be safe. “No.”
“Other men wouldn’t have looked so damned repentant. Don’t get me wrong. You need to be humbled and taken down a peg or two, but you’re all right. Just don’t get so hung up on your looks.”
“Too late.”
Elena clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Life happens. Looks come and go. My sister has three adorable boys. Each one added another fifteen pounds to her figure. Do you think she’d trade them in or that her husband loves her any less?”
“Not if he’s a real man.”
“He is. There�
�s not a better husband or father on this planet. And my mother, she lost all her hair in chemo. Twice. Yet I’ve never seen a more beautiful or stronger woman in my life.”
Kent put back on his under shirt and sat on the end of the bed, careful to give her space. “I have this friend. She’s smart, a little mean, but in a warrior’s way, you know.”
“One of the knights?”
He cracked his wrist and bypassed the question. “She’s tough and doesn’t fall for any of my talents.”
“Are you sure she’s into guys?”
Now that’s something he hadn’t considered. “Immaterial to the story, mainly because I don’t know. The thing is, this woman, on top of everything else, is beautiful, and I don’t think she can see it. Somewhere in her amazing life, she had an injury to her face.”
“That’s enough.”
She tried to rise, but he latched onto her hand, needing her to hear him out. It was an easy hold. She could break out of it in a second and snap his wrist in the two seconds after that. But she didn’t.
“This woman—”
“Kent, you’ve made your point.”
“She hides her face, as if a scar mars her magnificence in any way. I want her to see that—OW!”
Elena twisted and pivoted, stopping just short of doing him lasting damage, but did manage to roll him on his back, landing with her knees on his neck. “Forget we had this conversation. You’re not my counselor and—”
“I know a great one.”
“Oh? What? I’m crazy now?”
“I’ll respond when you get off my neck. Thank you,” he said, rising. “Not all battle scars are visible. I’ve seen things, honorable men and women changed by their duty. I didn’t leave my government job because the money was hard. I left because, every single day, I saw the worst of humanity. So I’m irreverent and maybe a little flirty...”
“A little?”
“People in this world have it far worse than me. Why should I go around angry or sad? And by “I,” I mean, “we.” There’s no glory in being miserable, Elena. You’re alive and strong and brilliant. A beautiful woman. You have no reason—”
A knock stopped him from saying more.
Elena’s body sagged in visible relief, and she damn near ran to the door. Kent hated himself that he’d contributed to it. Hell, he’d caused it. She was right. He had no training in human behavior. He’d only seen a woman hurting and tried to stop it. He’d back off...well...for a while.
Elena spoke softly to the man at the door, returning with a massive metal tray of food. “Good choices.”
“I’ve got a little culture in me.”
That same sad smile crossed her face. “Do you know what all these are?” She put the tray on the bed and waved her fingers over the smaller metal bowls inside.
He pointed to the rice mixture first. “Biryani. Actually, dear, mutton biryani to be precise. And that’s potato curry, boras and...uh...cooked leaves?”
“Pora,” Elena said with a weak smile. “Vegetables wrapped in leaves and cooked. Still, you did a pretty good job.”
“Thanks. Are we not going to talk about that other thing?”
“No, we’re not. We are going to eat, prepare for tomorrow, and get what might be our last good night of sleep until this is over.”
He didn’t push her. He didn’t have the heart, and for once, didn’t have the words. It was an unsettling feeling. A person he couldn’t charm. A woman whose good graces he’d have to earn. He wasn’t a magician, just a man, and here was Elena to painfully remind him of that. “Right. Here’s what I have so far.”
They ate as they worked, throwing ideas back and forth, wiping sticky fingers against towels and plotting as a team of equals. Although the hotel provided silverware, he followed her lead of using the food itself as a utensil to sop up bits of this and that.
Elena sipped her lassi and reached for her bag and tablet. “My visas are here. Once we get into Thimpu, I’ll add it in, and we can bypass the next registration place. The government has checkpoints all along the Lateral Road—the only way to get where we need to be without a yak—but if we stick to our story, we’re fine.”
“Don’t worry. This place is consistently ranked in the top ten happiest countries in the world.”
“So? I can’t trust a country that only allowed its people to have televisions a few years ago.”
“We’re talking about an absolute monarchy where the king voluntarily allowed his people to draw up a new government. The place has a constitution and—”
“Yeah, as of 2005. That’s not good.”
“It’s better than it was in 2004. Progress takes time.”
“Did your little info card tell you what they did to my mother’s people? Why she had to run? Was that progress too?”
No, but it could have been worse. He’d seen it in Sudan, the mission that had almost broken him. Word had come through of a cache of ancient Kushite jewelry. Along the way, he’d stumbled upon a camp of refugees escaping near certain slaughter. He’d never found the jewelry, but he’d called in backup and rushed in, evacuating people to safety. Later, he hunted down a small camp of rebels and slaughtered the bastards as they slept. It had taken months to wash the blood from his hands.
Elena waited expectantly, but there was no point in measuring evil or having a contest to see who won at pain, so he dropped the issue and pivoted back to the mission before them. Kent walked on the mahogany carpet to the heater and punched it up another few notches. “We rent a truck—”
“Steal a truck.”
“Because it’s less dangerous?”
“Because it’s Bhutan. Everything here is done in the name of preserving culture. Tourists can’t drive anywhere they please. Nationals, Bangladeshis, and Indians can rent—”
“There you go!”
“Cars. We can rent cars. But if I say that I’m here to take you to my family, why would I need a truck?”
“Fine, but we can’t steal it too soon. We do, and it might tip off the authorities.”
She turned on her tablet and pulled the comb from her hair, letting loose those dark tresses. He coughed at an unexpected vision of her hair, dangling above him as she rocked...
“Hello?” Elena snapped her fingers in his face. “Still there?”
“Sorry.”
“Internet activity is monitored across the border, so we’ll have to use this.” She tapped the elaborate ruby hair comb. “Our Wi-Fi.”
“Neat trick. I’ll stick with my phone though.”
“Suit yourself.” Elena pulled up several maps of Bhutan then overlaid the images one over the other. Towns—of which there were few—and roads—of which there were less—were marked with purple exclamation points that clustered close together in the northwestern part of the country. “Our target is a guy called Xiàng. He’s a cigarette smuggler out of China. The Bhutanese government outlawed tobacco in 2004, and the market is desperate. Recently, he’s gotten into moving artwork.”
“More specifically, our Amber Room.”
“Exactly. Once we get here,” she said, pointing to a mountainous road, “there’s nothing. No villages, just a road that leads to Xiàng.”
“Good. We can work without worrying about authorities or civilians.”
Elena nodded and lowered her tablet. “Bad. In that if things go wrong, we’ll never be seen again.” She palmed her eye for the third time since they’d started eating. “Mind if I turn down that heater? It’s not that cold, is it?”
It couldn’t be more than fifty degrees. On the other hand, that was probably T-shirt weather to a Swede. “I can bundle up tonight. On the freezing floor. Alone. Shivering.”
“Enough with the theatrics. I never expected that. We’ll share a bed. I’m perfectly willing to shoot off any part of you that touches any part of me without permission.”
“I’ll take the floor,” he said with a laugh. “Seriously, I don’t mind. I’m forward, but not a jerk.”
“We’ll
share the bed, and I don’t mind. Not at all.” She crossed the room and headed for the heater. She didn’t return directly to the bed, stopping to fiddle with something in her bag in between the now constant rubbing of her eye.
He grabbed a handful of naan and shoved it in his mouth. “I’m going to hit the shower.”
“Yeah,” she said, still digging, still rubbing that eye as he walked away.
He didn’t expect The Ritz, but the shower started lukewarm and cooled from there. He was out in less than five minutes and returned to find Elena already in bed with the comforter pulled tight over her shoulder.
Despite her earlier words, he pulled on his sweater and settled into the floral print armchair.
“What are you doing?”
“Sleeping.”
Her sigh was more annoyed than anything else. “Get in the bed, Kent. I need you at your best to complete my mission. That means rested and un-cramped.”
It felt weird to thank her, almost as weird as getting into bed with a woman and not saying anything at all. “Um, good night.”
“Yeah.” Elena faced the wall, and it wasn’t until he slid under the sheets next to her that he noticed the thin, black piece of fabric around her head. An eye patch?
The small strip of black damn near ripped out his heart. There was no point in wearing that at night. Hell, no point in wearing it at all. Was she so worried that he’d see her face? His sadness snowballed into anger before withering into misery. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her that none of it mattered. Tell her that...
“Kent, you can turn the heat back up if you want.”
He thought back to the minutes leading up to his shower. The heat of the room. The dozens of times she’d rubbed her eye. He eased up on his elbow. On the table next to her, was a small, white bottle that could only be eye lubricant. The heat or dryness in the air created by the heater had caused her pain.
Worse, to make him comfortable, she’d taken out her eye so he could kick up the heat.
Double worse—or was it triple now? —the damned woman was willing to sleep with something wrapped around her head just to avoid him accidently seeing something that wasn’t a big damned deal to begin with.
