by Zoe York
“So that’s why I can’t go to the embassy?”
He nodded.
“I could tell them it was you,” Nola said. A shiver of unease racked her body at the thought of doing so, but Cruz seemed nonchalant.
“You could, but then they’d think you were a liar and a murderer. I’m a legit private security contractor here with the official blessing of the Vietnamese government. My denial would be backed by my two equally legit and equally welcome colleagues. Not odds I’d want to play if I were you.”
Laid out in that almost unassailably logical way, Cruz’s story rang so true Nola herself almost believed it. The statement had been more than halfway a bluff, but his retort clarified, or rather, reclarified, how totally screwed she was. And how dependent on Cruz she was.
Nola rubbed her hand across her chest as if doing so would slow her rapidly beating heart or stop the knowledge she was likely an international fugitive.
“Would you have?” he asked quietly.
“What?” she responded, focusing on him again.
“Said it was me?”
Nola pondered the question, but didn’t need to ruminate long. She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t have.”
And as nuts as it was, she wouldn’t have. Sure, Cruz had killed those men, but for her benefit, and Nola wouldn’t sacrifice him to save her own skin.
He flashed her a quick smile of approval, eyes going bright for a moment before a more serious expression returned.
“Please tell me you have a plan,” Nola whispered, her voice trembling.
In response, he graced her with the most breathtaking smile she’d ever seen.
“Always. You’re going to eat breakfast, and then we’re going sightseeing.”
— NINE —
Nola gaped, looking at him as if he had two heads. It was so adorable, he wanted to kiss her.
“Sightseeing?” she repeated, shaking her head in disbelief.
He snorted out a laugh and nodded slightly.
“So I’m likely a fugitive wanted for murder by the police and for who knows what by God knows who else, and we’re going to go sightseeing?”
“Yep.”
“That’s the worst fucking plan I’ve ever heard.”
He barked out a laugh at the little O of surprise that shaped on her mouth.
“Don’t sweat it, Nola. You’ve earned a bad word,” he said.
“I’ve earned at least two,” she replied as she grabbed the bread again, which made him laugh harder. “So why are we going sightseeing?”
“We’re not. I’m taking you straight to the safe house until we get this figured out.”
“So… Why…? Argh…!”
Cruz easily dodged the banh mi that sailed in his direction and laughed again. “Those are good. Don’t waste them,” he said.
“I’m glad you find this funny, but you’re not the one whose ass, I mean bottom, is on the line here, Cruz,” Nola said.
He sobered then. “You either. I promise, Nola, I’ll get you out of this.” He held her gaze with his, hoping she could understand how serious he was. After a moment he grinned. “But that was pretty funny. I thought you were going to pass out.”
“Ha-ha,” she said, turning back to her plate, “I’m glad my life-or-death struggle amuses you. But just because I’m going along with this, don’t think I won’t make this as hard as I can for you if you push me. And what’s your full name? I need to know it for the hex I’m putting on you and all your progeny.”
He snorted. “You’re too nice for that. I can tell. And I’m Duarte Cruz from Seattle.”
She stopped and looked toward him. “Duarte?”
“Yep. It means ‘guardian’ in Portuguese.”
She nodded and then eyed him warily.
“Well, Duarte Cruz, I hope you live up to your name because I’m trusting you with my life.”
••••
“You’re doing a heck of a job showing me the sights for this not to be a sightseeing trip,” Nola said a little after they’d set off.
“It’s not, trust me. I wish I could transport you in a tank, but that’s not an option, so I have to make the best of it,” Cruz said, scanning the crowd around him.
He didn’t like this, not even a little, but he needed to get Nola to the opposite side of the city, and with traffic, that could take hours, hours that would leave her exposed. By foot was the best way.
“I—” She stopped and jumped back, moving out of the path of a cyclo that zoomed past them and began weaving between the slower-moving cars and buses.
Cruz, who was already close, moved closer and put his arm around her shoulder. “Watch out,” he said, squeezing her tightly for a second.
She huffed a sigh of frustration and then seemed to wilt before him, eyes wet with tears.
“Nola,” he said, capturing her gaze with his own, “I’m with you, and I’ll get you there. Let’s go.”
He slid his hand down her arm and rested his fingers atop hers. After a heavy pause, she lifted her hand and settled it in his. Her fingers were small, delicate-feeling in his, and he couldn’t stop himself from imagining them trailing across his body. Cruz shut that down as fast as he could, and lifted his mouth into a quick, and hopefully comforting, smile. She returned it, hers tentative, unsure, but streaked through with threads of hope.
Cruz wouldn’t let her down.
He squeezed her hand, and then they again set off.
They walked at a fast but not too fast clip, Cruz keeping her hand in his as he scanned the crowd. He’d known they would stick out at least a little, but Cruz wanted to blend with the tourists and crowd as much as he could, so he couldn’t move too hastily, tried to keep up the front of two Americans out for a visit.
But every second they spent outside had him on the edge.
“It’s very impressive, and so much different than home,” Nola said, breaking into his thoughts. Her usually quiet voice was raised because she had to speak loudly to be heard over the crowd. Her eyes were bright, some of the tension and stress that had crowded her eyes fading, even if only slightly.
“Different from anywhere,” he said as he guided them through a narrow street. “What do you think so far?” Cruz asked.
“Circumstances aside, it’s pretty incredible,” she said.
But she wasn’t paying attention to him, instead watching one of the card games that was taking place in a shop entryway before moving to the coconut vendor who dragged a bundle of fruit down the crowded sidewalk.
Good.
He wanted her to be as comfortable as possible, and if the excitement of the city distracted her from her plight, he could stay sharp and on the lookout until they reached their destination.
They were getting closer, but Cruz wouldn’t relax until they were where they needed to be.
“Nola, do you want to—”
An unmistakable boom drowned out his words.
Chapter Ten
Nola heard the loud sound and the others that followed it and turned toward the noise. But all she saw was the crowd scattering, the group descending into chaotic screaming and running.
She squeezed Cruz’s hand and stared at him, confused, but he was not. As he’d been at the hotel, an icy calm seemed to overtake him, and his face was set in a determined mask. His gaze swept over the crowd, and then he moved.
But Nola was stuck, confusion and fear sealing her feet to the ground. Not even when another series of small booms sounded, closer than the last, did she move.
“They’re shooting at us, Nola, and we have to move. Now.”
Cruz spoke calmly as if this was an everyday occurrence, which for him it might have been. But when he clamped his hand down around hers, she felt his urgency, and it snapped her out of the haze that had cocooned her. He started to run, pulling Nola behind him. She kept up as best she could, his hand tight around hers, and the whizz of bullets buzzing past her leaving her no choice but move forward. Despite all evidence to the contrary, she�
��d lulled herself into thinking this wouldn’t be so bad. A grave error on her part, she saw now.
“Oh!” she exclaimed.
Chips of concrete from the building that they ran past shattered off and Nola jumped and grabbed her cheek.
When she felt warm stickiness coating her fingers, she ran harder.
••••
Fuck! Fuck!
He’d fucked up. He hadn’t thought that whoever was after Nola would come to such a public place, but he’d been mistaken, and now he and Nola were running for their lives.
The safe house was a couple of miles away. He would have made it easily on his own, but there was her to consider. He turned to her, noted the smear of red on her cheek, saw eyes wide with the terror that had only so recently left them.
Their pursuers seemed to be falling behind, the swarming crowd making the approach difficult. This was their chance. He ran faster and then ducked into a side street, pulling Nola behind him as he ran through even more card games, ignoring the vendors who called to them. And Nola kept up, but he knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up the pace indefinitely.
“It’s not too far,” he called back to her.
She nodded, and breathed deeply, chest heaving with exertion, face wet with sweat. But she didn’t stop moving. With each step, Cruz anticipated more bullets, but none came. Still, he didn’t slow, didn’t even think about it, wouldn’t until they’d reached their destination.
When he spotted the building, he finally slackened the pace, but stayed alert for any sign of trouble. He didn’t see anything, the sleepy neighborhood typical of the apartment blocks assigned to midlevel Communist Party and military officials. In fact, it was almost idyllic, and Cruz hoped it would hold.
Using the key that Ace had left him, he entered the building.
— TEN —
Nola heard the loud sound and the others that followed it and turned toward the noise. But all she saw was the crowd scattering, the group descending into chaotic screaming and running.
She squeezed Cruz’s hand and stared at him, confused, but he was not. As he’d been at the hotel, an icy calm seemed to overtake him, and his face was set in a determined mask. His gaze swept over the crowd, and then he moved.
But Nola was stuck, confusion and fear sealing her feet to the ground. Not even when another series of small booms sounded, closer than the last, did she move.
“They’re shooting at us, Nola, and we have to move. Now.”
Cruz spoke calmly as if this was an everyday occurrence, which for him it might have been. But when he clamped his hand down around hers, she felt his urgency, and it snapped her out of the haze that had cocooned her. He started to run, pulling Nola behind him. She kept up as best she could, his hand tight around hers, and the whizz of bullets buzzing past her leaving her no choice but move forward. Despite all evidence to the contrary, she’d lulled herself into thinking this wouldn’t be so bad. A grave error on her part, she saw now.
“Oh!” she exclaimed.
Chips of concrete from the building that they ran past shattered off and Nola jumped and grabbed her cheek.
When she felt warm stickiness coating her fingers, she ran harder.
••••
Fuck! Fuck!
He’d fucked up. He hadn’t thought that whoever was after Nola would come to such a public place, but he’d been mistaken, and now he and Nola were running for their lives.
The safe house was a couple of miles away. He would have made it easily on his own, but there was her to consider. He turned to her, noted the smear of red on her cheek, saw eyes wide with the terror that had only so recently left them.
Their pursuers seemed to be falling behind, the swarming crowd making the approach difficult. This was their chance. He ran faster and then ducked into a side street, pulling Nola behind him as he ran through even more card games, ignoring the vendors who called to them. And Nola kept up, but he knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up the pace indefinitely.
“It’s not too far,” he called back to her.
She nodded, and breathed deeply, chest heaving with exertion, face wet with sweat. But she didn’t stop moving. With each step, Cruz anticipated more bullets, but none came. Still, he didn’t slow, didn’t even think about it, wouldn’t until they’d reached their destination.
When he spotted the building, he finally slackened the pace, but stayed alert for any sign of trouble. He didn’t see anything, the sleepy neighborhood typical of the apartment blocks assigned to midlevel Communist Party and military officials. In fact, it was almost idyllic, and Cruz hoped it would hold.
Using the key that Ace had left him, he entered the building.
— ELEVEN —
For the second time in as many days, Nola thought her heart might explode out of her chest. She’d never run that far, that fast in her entire life, had never had reason to. But the way she felt in those moments after they entered the apartment, she wished she had kept going. Maybe if she ran hard enough, long enough, she’d find a way out of this mess and back to her real life.
She’d been shot at. Shot at!
She cursed herself yet again for her foolishness. Ice-cold papaya smoothies and back massages and maybe a resort-sponsored hike had been on her agenda, and instead she’d gotten crazy soldier guys, dead bodies in her hotel room, not to mention being shot at! Clearly, the universe was trying to tell her something, the first message being that she couldn’t trust her judgment.
Seven years with Carl, gleefully oblivious to the joke that was their relationship. Then, her stupid brain had told her to branch out, see the world, live! And here she was, lungs burning with exertion because she was running for her life from a band of gun-toting killers.
“Nola.”
The gravely whispered word drew her attention to Cruz, and rage strong enough to shake down the building erupted through her.
His eyes widened slightly, and she wondered what he saw. A rage-filled woman intent on taking out some of her frustration on whoever was closest? A meek, pathetic rat who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time? But the other part of her, the part that was making it possible for her to keep a hold on the last vestiges of her sanity, didn’t give a shit. Because this was all his fault.
Nola wasn’t prone to violence, couldn’t recall the last time the impulse had struck her, not even when Carl had discarded her like last week’s trash. But Cruz with the slight strain of worry and sympathy on his otherwise-calm face, inspired near-homicidal rage. She clenched her fist, ready to strike, and pictured her hand connecting with that chiseled jaw.
Quick as a viper, Cruz approached and grasped her hand, his bulky form towering over her, intimidating enough to make anyone sane cower. But sanity had left the minute Nola had switched seats on that damned airplane.
“Don’t touch me!” she screeched, trying to pull her hand from his iron grip.
“You’re not hit, are you?” he asked, voice so soft it was as if it was threaded through with satin. As he spoke, he used his other hand to grip her face and swiped at the scratches on her cheek, seemingly oblivious to the way she struggled.
“Take your hands off me!”
He didn’t respond, and instead stroked her cheek yet again, then captured her gaze with his own. The softness and concern she saw there was her undoing. How dare he look at her like that, like he cared? He had no right, not when he’d done this to her.
The rage spiked until Nola thought she would pass out. She tugged, trying to free her hand, but his grip didn’t slacken, and before she could even think to strike out with her other, he’d grabbed it too, trapping her.
“It looks like you got a couple of scrapes from shrapnel,” he said, the easy tone of his voice completely at odds with his tight hold on her hands.
“Let me go, Cruz,” she said. She wanted to scream, wanted to cry, but she couldn’t do either, didn’t think she’d be able to stop if she started. But the rage, she could focus on that. It would ground her.
<
br /> “Nola, I know how you feel, but you’re safe, okay? Just hold it together a little longer for me.”
His voice was even softer now, and the words, earnest and brimming with conviction, and so soothing that they flowed over her frayed nerves like a caress, made her want to fall into them, were almost enough to make her forget that she’d been shot at.
Almost.
“Get your hands off me!” Nola exclaimed, pulling against his grasp with all her might, not recognizing the voice that came out of her mouth.
Cruz recoiled, his eyes widening, but his grip didn’t loosen. She tugged even harder this time, her body quaking with the effort, her frustration rising with each breath.
“So this is what you do! Almost get me killed and touch me when I ask you not to!”
He abruptly let go, and she ignored the cold feeling that came over her at the loss of his touch and instead stayed focused on that rage.
“Come on. Let’s get this over with,” he said, his voice unreadable.
“W-what does that mean?” she asked after the momentary shock passed.
“Exactly what it sounds like,” he said. “Punch me, yell, do whatever. I need you focused, and if hurting me, or trying to, anyway, is going to get your head back on straight, let’s go.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, emphasizing how massive it was, how solid he looked. She curled her fist, torn between excitement and fear. She lifted her hand, ready to release at least some of the rage that still flowed through her like lava.
And then she waited.
And waited.
She dropped her hand, and when her fist slapped against her thigh, the contact set off a shock wave of tremors. They rolled through her body, and she worried that she herself might fall apart.
Cruz hadn’t looked away, didn’t even seem to have blinked, and Nola could see the concern in his face, the way his expression morphed into sympathy. But she couldn’t stop shaking, and Cruz’s face faded behind the blur of tears that sprang into her eyes.
