So not months and years. Hours only, wandering toward death.
Somehow, while she was gone, Max had wrapped her in blankets, placed her in the sleeping bag, protected her from the cold night.
He was alive. Whatever else had happened last night, he had lived through it.
Now he knelt beside her, eyes closed, cradling her hand and crying as if each silent sob was an agony, as if he had never cried before.
Maybe he hadn’t.
He was afraid. For her. Afraid she had lapsed into a coma.
She lifted her hand and touched his cheek.
He opened his eyes, took a shuddering breath, kissed her fingers. “Eight years ago, I saw Fontina shoot you. I didn’t get there in time to stop him.”
She stroked his tears away. “I saw you running. Milliseconds, Max. I’ve seen men shot.” So many men. Soldiers she knew, soldiers she didn’t know, enemies and friends, in harsh foreign mountains and terrorist attacks in civilization’s heart. “I know about milliseconds, about the tipping point between life and death, suffering and thankfulness. You can’t blame yourself.”
“I saw him shoot you,” Max repeated. Apparently, he could blame himself. “I saw you fall. I hit him—I was already launched at him, I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t catch you in time.” Roughly, he wiped his face on his sleeve. “You hit the ground so hard the world shuddered.”
Her heart hurt for him. Slowly, so slowly, she lifted herself, leaned against the boulder. Her mind was stirring: that red light meant someone had aimed a sniper rifle at her.
Assassin...
“You saved me this time,” she said.
“Yes. This time I did.”
“What happened while I was unconscious? Did you kill the shooter?” She bumped the back of her head on the boulder and winced. “Head hurts,” she muttered.
“Don’t think about anything,” he said. “Stay awake. Stay with me. We have to get off this mountain as quickly as possible.”
She looked at him, kneeling beside her, wearing a black coat that didn’t quite fit, with shoulders too tight and arms too long. “That’s not your coat. Where did you get it?”
“It’s Zone’s.”
“He’s here?” She looked around.
“After he left to go down the hill, he didn’t like the way the facts were adding up. So he was close when he messaged us. He followed us down the mountain. He got to the sniper before me.”
She began the process of unwrapping herself from the blankets, exposing herself to the cold air, letting it clear any lingering gray mist from her brain. Zone had been here. Zone was weird, with an unsettling personality. “What did he do to the sniper?”
“He didn’t do anything except detain him.”
“The sniper got away unscathed?” She could hardly believe that.
Max pulled off his glove and showed her his knuckles, scraped, battered and bloody. “I promise you he did not.”
She had grown used to thinking of herself as a warrior, trained by the US Army and honed by battle into a weapon. She handled things like snipers who hunted by night. Max was a civilian, and everything she knew about him made her think he was a particularly kind, conscientious and generous one. Yet... “Max, what did you do?”
“I beat the bastard to a pulp.”
She wet her lips. “You don’t fight. You said so. You said you were clean as a whistle.”
“I said I didn’t fight, not that I didn’t know how.” In the predawn light, his brow looked black with anger and frustration.
“But you don’t kill people,” she insisted.
“I would have. I wanted to. Zone stopped me.” Max helped her hold the canteen to her lips and drink. “When Ettore Fontina kidnapped my niece, I didn’t kill him, and he destroyed you. Us. I swore I would never allow someone to destroy us again.”
This was not the Max she knew. He looked different, sounded stern, uncompromising, a man who had suffered through years of pain for his perceived sin—letting a man who hurt Kellen and his niece live to hurt again. He said, “Zone recognized the sniper. He was a professional, an assassin for hire. He said the assassin would never give up. He said he would handle matters, and he took the assassin away.”
“Took him away, like to law enforcement?”
“I doubt it.” Clearly Max expected Zone to handle the matter in a final way—and he was glad.
“Will we ever discover what happened to the body?”
“No.”
“Okay. Someone is trying to kill me.” Her brain clicked off the instances. “Roderick dropped a roof tile on me. If it had hit, that would have made my death look like a bizarre accident.”
“But an accident nonetheless.”
“Horst was after the Triple Goddess. So were his accomplices. But someone murdered Horst, and that’s when the game changed.”
Max helped her, solicitous and worried. “Those men chasing you up the mountain. They ignored the head when you offered it. Now they’re dead. All of them.”
“For failure? For knowing too much? Roderick is the first assassin. We need to talk to him.” She used Max and the boulder to get to her feet. Her knees wobbled, but she could stand.
Max rolled the sleeping bag and stuffed it into his backpack. “What did Roderick say to you? At the hospital when they were wheeling him away? What did he say?”
“He said...” In her mind, she saw him again: bulging blue eyes, focused on her, hand outstretched to grab her throat. For one moment, she felt faint. Not unconscious, but fearful. “He said, ‘Run, bitch.’”
Max looked up sharply. “You didn’t think to tell me that?”
“You didn’t think to ask? I thought he was a nutcase and an alcoholic. Climbing on the roof, throwing fit after fit, abusing everyone who tried to help him...” She pressed her bare palms to the cold, hard stone, letting the strength of the earth seep into her bones.
“He was warning you.”
“Not much of an assassin then.”
“You climbed up to him. You saved his life.”
“So...repayment? Morals from an assassin?”
“Yes. Maybe.” Max continued to pick up, clean up, delete the marks of their presence. “We have to get out of these mountains. I can carry you.”
“Not easily. I weigh a ton.” She punched at her ribs. “Solid muscle.” She smiled at him, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
Didn’t work. He was grim and intense. “You were unconscious for hours. You shouldn’t be—”
“I’m conscious now.” She put her hand on his arm. “Really, Max. My head hurts—I hit pretty hard, but death hasn’t come for me yet.”
He took her hand and held it.
She gently stroked the scabs on his knuckles. “I can do this, Max. It will be faster if I do.”
“All right. But you’ll let me know if you need help.”
“Yes. Anyway, this whole assassin thing doesn’t make sense. Who would want to kill me?” She half laughed. “Wait a little and—” She stopped, but not soon enough. Guiltily, she looked up at Max.
Max stopped his hurried packing. He looked at her.
She looked at him.
That was it, then. Max knew. Kellen supposed she realized that had to be true, but when she tried to put that fact into the cluttered half memories and tragic events of eight years ago, she couldn’t make it fit.
Max said, “Ettore failed. Somehow...somehow the bullet didn’t do what it was supposed to do. It didn’t kill you. You survived and recovered. You’re a miracle. You have the scar on your forehead—” he brushed her bangs aside and touched the scar with gentle fingers “—and no exit wound. I was there. I know what the doctors said. I know what you’re afraid to say. You have a bullet lodged in your brain.”
38
Kellen woke when the vehicle bumped from the gra
vel onto the asphalt. The ride smoothed out and sped up—and Max’s phone started squawking and pinging and making every noise of which it was capable. She crawled up off the bench seat and straightened up.
He handed her his phone. “You want to see what that’s all about?”
She watched messages and texts scroll past. “Everybody has called you. Everybody has texted you. Everybody’s concerned.”
Without a bit of irony, he said, “It’s good to be loved. Any word from my mother?”
“Rae is fine and back in day camp. Your mother is fine. She wants to know where we are right now and what’s going on right now.”
He grinned. “You want to call her?”
“Good God, no. I mean...there aren’t enough bars on the phone for a clear call. I’ll text.” She sent a reassuring message with the promise to call later. “Birdie’s pretty upset. We text all the time, and I told her I had a security job. Mind if I...?” Kellen didn’t wait for permission, but texted her best friend, It’s Kellen. I’m alive and well. Coming back to civilization.
The return text was funny and stern. When I see you, I’m going to kick your ass.
“What did she say?” Max asked.
“She said she loved me.” Kellen looked around. The late-afternoon sun was in her eyes, and she knew this area. “We’re going to Yearning Sands Resort?”
“Yes. It’s a good idea.” Max glanced at her. “How do you feel?”
“Better.” She yawned. “That going into a brief coma thing is tiring.”
Max didn’t laugh.
All the way down the mountain, as they hiked along, he had worked at not being solicitous and worried. He wasn’t very good at it; he took care of everyone, family and friends, and to hover over her after her bump on the head had been instinct. But she gave him points for trying. Their only real fight had occurred when she insisted on the detour to get Rae’s bag.
“I promised,” she said.
“She’ll understand,” he answered.
“Don’t be silly. She would never understand.”
He couldn’t argue about that, so they got the bag, took it to the truck and headed out. The last she’d heard before she went to sleep was they were going to the Portland hospital where Roderick Blake had been recovering.
“Why the change?” she asked.
“We’re not related to Roderick, so the hospital wouldn’t and can’t give us word about his condition.”
She hadn’t thought of that. “Right. Damn.”
“But I have connections with the Virtue Falls sheriff’s department.”
She knew exactly who he meant. “Sheriff Kateri Kwinault. She can get us information relating to Roderick and his current whereabouts.”
“Exactly. Also, we need to find out who wants you dead and why. Most obviously, you served time in the military.”
“Yes. I was a soldier. I killed the enemy. I directed the transport of men and goods across enemy territory. In some places, I offended by the mere fact I am a woman.”
“A woman who tried to help other women.”
The hard cold mountains of Afghanistan. The smell of charred wood and burned flesh. A metal coil melted in the dirt and the knowledge of young lives ended too soon.
At the memory, she teared up. “Am I endangering Rae by the fact I’m her mother?”
“It’s possible. That’s why we have to find who is doing this and stop them.” Max had taken over the hunt. “Are soldiers often tracked by old enemies into the US?”
“Not that I know of.” A chilling thought. “But in many cultures, vengeance is a long tradition and a deadly act.”
“Another reason to visit Yearning Sands Resort. We’ll talk to your Army buddies, find out if any of them have suffered from accidents. What else?”
Her mind swerved to the dark times during the previous winter. “There’s Mara Philippi.”
“She’s confined in a high security prison.”
“I know. But she was so smart, so corrupt, so cruel, so good at manipulation and camouflage.”
“Between you and me, we destroyed her operation and put her away. She would love to hurt us both.”
Kellen confessed, “Sometimes I find myself looking over my shoulder for her. Then I think I’m being paranoid. But maybe not.”
“A sociopath and a serial killer. Yes. Let’s put Mara Philippi high on the list of suspects, and I’ll use my connections to make sure she’s still in custody and not extending her talons toward my family.”
Kellen put her hand on his thigh. “You’re brave and smart, and I love your connections.”
He swerved a bit. “You’re in no condition to have sex.”
“I am, too. Anyway, I merely touched your thigh. That’s not hinting for sex.” No one else drove along this narrow two-lane road, so she inched her fingers a little higher.
He put his hand over hers, pressed it briefly, removed it and placed it firmly in her lap. “We have to get you checked out by a doctor.”
“We can’t do that at Yearning Sands Resort.”
“I also have connections with a Virtue Falls doctor.”
She laughed. “Do you have connections everywhere?”
“If I don’t, someone in my family does.” He wasn’t bragging; he was making a flat statement of fact.
But he worried for no reason. There was nothing he could do about her eventual fate, and it was fruitless to agonize. “Max, for the moment, I am well. I shouldn’t probably bump my head again, that’s all.”
He nodded judiciously, his gaze fixed on the road. “Once you’ve had the doctor’s okay, I’ll make sure we don’t move too close to the headboard.”
“Where I would thump my head continuously?”
“Maybe not continuously. But frequently.”
“You, sir, are obnoxiously sure of yourself.” She would let him thump her against the headboard anytime.
“Obnoxiously?” He had a hint of a smile around his mouth.
“That’s the word.”
Abruptly, he was serious, watching the road while talking intently. “You know I’m Catholic. Fairly devout.”
He was going to talk to her about raising Rae in the faith. “I know. I’m going to take classes so Rae won’t be confused. I’m glad to do it—if there’s one thing being in a war zone teaches, it’s faith and prayer.”
“That’s great. But actually, I’m talking about this thing we Catholics do called marriage.”
“What?” What?
“It’s when two people—say, me and you—lust after each other... We do, don’t we?”
She crossed her arms. “Yes, we do that.”
“And love each other.” Eyebrows raised, he shot a look at her.
“Yes. Yes, I love you.” Way to finagle it out of her.
“Then we go in front of our friends and relatives, make vows and become one heart, one soul.”
She should have known he wouldn’t give up on the marriage thing.
He gave her about thirty seconds and a quarter of a mile. “You’re speechless, aren’t you?”
She might be speechless, but she could glare.
He seemed unworried. “For all the above mentioned reasons, shall we be married?”
“No!”
“Why not?” Now he pulled over onto the shoulder of the road, turned off the engine, unsnapped his seat belt and faced her, arm across the back of the bench seat.
“You know why not.”
“The bullet thing?”
“Of course, the bullet thing.” He’d seen her unconscious, lost to the world. How could he doubt it? “When I was wounded in a bomb blast, I was unconscious and the Army discovered the bullet. They said I was a walking time bomb and discharged me. Surgery to remove the bullet was unlikely to succeed. I would go into a coma and die. And that was the go
od part. The other was—I’d be unable to move, to speak, to think, to be. I’d have to be on a ventilator, fed intravenously. The Army said... I didn’t have long.” The clock was ticking. It had always been ticking, but in her mind, the sound grew louder and louder.
“I know.”
“Then why do you want to marry me?”
“I love you. I’ll live a lifetime every moment we’re together.”
“But with so little time—”
“No one lives forever, and I’ve already lived without you. It sucked.”
She liked that. Blunt. Honest. Male.
He continued, “When happiness is offered, grab with both hands. If you marry me, all I can promise is an arm to hold when we walk together, one lifetime of love in each season that is given us, warm nights and long days, and a child—our child—to love you, too.”
So much for blunt and honest. That was poetry, sentiment, yet still male and damned if he didn’t make her see things his way. Maybe he was right. And really, wasn’t she already up to her eyeballs in the quicksand of this relationship? She took a breath, let it out, took another and said, “If you really feel that way, then... I would be honored to marry you.”
He hugged her, suddenly, fiercely, holding her close enough to absorb her skin, muscles, bones into his. He tilted her head up and looked into her eyes. “What exactly is the name of the person I am marrying?”
39
Max’s audacity took Kellen’s breath away. She shoved at him. “Damn you! You could have told me you knew I wasn’t Kellen Adams!”
“I didn’t know you weren’t Kellen Adams. Not for sure.” He didn’t grin or gloat. “Not until this moment.”
She would have had to tell him. It wasn’t a secret to be kept between a husband and wife. She had wanted to tell him...but this confession would hurt. She eased away, out of his arms. “What do you know?”
“It’s not a matter of knowing. I’ve suspected, surmised, done investigations. I would like to know, to hear it from you.”
Kellen had been Kellen for so long, she didn’t even know how to explain what had happened, why it happened, how it happened. Briefly, she supposed, was best, and without a display of grief and tragedy. “I was married. He beat me.”
What Doesn't Kill Her Page 21
