by Donna Young
“A protein bar?” she asked, taking the food with some reluctance.
Roman smiled. “It might not have a taste but it will give you back some strength.”
Kate’s stomach growled. Considering she hadn’t eaten anything except some vegetable soup in the past twenty-four hours, this would have to do.
She took a bite and grimaced. The texture was similar to cardboard and sawdust. Roman was wrong, it did have a distinct flavor. “This tastes like my meat loaf.”
He chuckled softly. “It tastes better than your meat loaf.”
Instead of being insulted, she swallowed and smiled, already feeling better. Her culinary skills—or lack of—made her the brunt of many jokes in her family. Everyone knew her forte was Bunsen burners, not stove burners.
“Why did they recruit you?” Now that she felt better, she couldn’t contain the questions any longer.
“Do you mean originally or to find you?”
Roman moved silently in the darkness, careful not to disturb the natural surroundings while he gathered pine branches, laying them in a large cleft between two boulders. She assumed it would be their bed for the next few hours.
“Originally,” she said, taking another bite of the bar. Kate already understood why they’d sent him for her.
“Because of my background.” He knelt down and started to rearrange the branches. “My father was an important diplomat over in Italy.”
He stared off into space for a moment. “One day when I was about eight years old, my parents decided to take a boat trip to an island off Sicily. A short romantic holiday of sorts.”
Abruptly he broke a branch over his knee and tossed it down away from the rocks. “My father had been working hard for months trying to expose a terrorist faction that had infiltrated the military. Once in, they had access to sophisticated weapons. Weapons they could use to kill innocent people in order to emphasize their warped political views.”
He walked back to her, grabbed another protein bar from the backpack and opened it.
“I remember he’d been in a good mood that day, light on his feet, laughing the whole time they were getting ready to leave. He grabbed me in a bear hug, telling me to be good for my bambinaia.” He glanced up from the bar in his hands. “My nanny.”
“I know,” Kate said softly, not wanting to disturb the moment. Never before had she heard such a loving tone come from Roman. Not even at their most intimate moments together. A dull ache spread under her heart at the realization that Roman might have shared this part of himself only with Amanda Salinas.
He sat down a few feet away and leaned his back against a tree. “I found out later that the reason my father was in such a good mood was because the warrant for the terrorist leader’s arrest had been dispatched.” He let his head rest against the trunk before continuing. “It was the last time I saw them.”
She watched him take a bite, chewing only a few times before swallowing, hard. Kate had to swallow hard herself, trying to dissolve the lump of emotion that gathered in her throat.
“What happened?” The question hung between them with Kate hardly aware she’d asked it until she became conscious of the fact she was holding her breath.
When Roman answered, his husky tones became distant. “Someone in the embassy betrayed my father, revealing his plans to the terrorists. They retaliated by placing a bomb on the boat. A few hours after they’d set sail my parents were dead.”
Kate didn’t know what to say. In her mind she could see the little boy he’d been. Suddenly alone and not understanding the reason why. She couldn’t imagine a loss like that at such a young age. No one could, unless they’d lived through it. She finished off the rest of her dinner, deliberately not pushing him for further information.
For a distraction she took off her shoes and began rubbing her feet, paying special attention to the areas where the shoes had left her bare skin raw.
“How are they?”
“Understandably sore,” she said, the soft concern in his question making it hard for her to respond.
“Do I need to look at them?”
She shook her head, grateful the darkness masked the stilted movement. “They’re fine.” She replaced her shoes, not really wanting to think about anything but this moment of closeness.
“I’ll check them in the morning to be sure,” he decided.
When they’d been together, Roman had mentioned both his parents were deceased, but he’d never given the details. Only that they’d died in a boating accident when he’d been too young to really remember them. In retrospect she realized he did that with most of his past, telling her enough to appease any curiosity, but not enough to reveal any hints of the true person.
The brush rustled somewhere close. Instantly alert, Roman tapped his finger to his lip. Kate watched in silence as he slipped into the darkness, pistol in hand. A rising wind whistled through the aspen trees, sending a flurry of goose bumps across her skin. Mentally she ticked off the seconds while focusing on the fact that the government had trained Roman well.
Minutes later he reappeared, his gun tucked back in his waistband.
“A coyote didn’t take too kindly to our company,” he said, then hesitated. “You okay?”
“I will be in a minute.” Kate let the breath ease from her chest. “Why don’t you tell me how the government recruited you.”
“At the time of his death, my father had many friends and even more connections.” Roman’s voice was sharp, cutting through the night air and startling Kate.
“Connections that were easily extended to the son of one of their most trusted.” He shrugged with an air of cynicism. “Naturally our government kept track of me. Hoping to use my legacy to their advantage. My chosen careers, first with the Navy, then in computers, cemented their interest, so when the time was right they made their offer.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “You know the rest, Doc. Shortly after my parents’ funeral, I came back to the States to live with Uncle Joe, my father’s brother.”
Although Kate had only met Joe D’Amato once, she’d loved him on sight. In his late sixties, bald but still trim, the ex-military man had welcomed her with a big hug.
As far as she knew, the former Green Beret was Roman’s only living relative. Retired from the military, he owned a small bar in the heart of Little Italy in New York City.
“How is he?” she asked, her voice reflecting her affection.
“Fine.” Roman responded gruffly. “Still complaining about how tough it is to own a business these days and threatening to retire.” Roman shot her a sideways glance. “He asks about you. If I didn’t know better, I would think he has a thing for you—”
Roman bit off the sentence. If she hadn’t known better, she would’ve sworn he’d almost said “also.”
Neither, for a long while, moved nor spoke.
“Time for bed, Doc.”
At first the firmness of his words didn’t penetrate. She blinked, struggling to connect with Roman’s swift change in attitude. No, not Roman, she corrected, focusing on the hard set of his mouth. Cerberus.
Kate stood using the tree for balance. Other than some stiffness in her one knee, both limbs did their job holding her upright. “I need some privacy,” she said coolly, trying not to let the hurt from his rejection show.
“Right there,” he answered with a tone the same temperature as hers nodding toward some scrub bushes behind the tree.
It took Kate only a few minutes to relieve the pressure in her bladder, all the while, trying not to think of the empty void that seemed to overtake her.
When she returned, she discovered Roman hadn’t moved.
“Hell, Doc, I—” He lifted his hand as if to touch her face but stopped in midair. “I didn’t mean to tell you all of that.”
She didn’t want to hear what he had to say. “You mean you didn’t want to reveal one of your secrets,” she replied in a low, tormented voice. By sheer willpower, she swallowed her emotions
.
“How did you get the scar on your hand?” The hand in question dropped back to his side. Sensing, rather than seeing, Roman’s hesitation, she forced a brittle laugh. “Don’t tell me, a paring knife slipped while you were peeling potatoes.”
“It’s just a scar, Doc.” He massaged the back of his neck. “It doesn’t matter how it got there.”
“It matters to me,” she said, quietly.
He stared at her for a full minute, the dark orbs of his eyes glowing in the darkness, ordering her to back down. She crossed her arms and waited.
Annoyance made his movements jerky as he picked up the rifle and, in doing so, broke the contact. “A knife fight in Mexico.”
“A knife fight,” she repeated unnecessarily, and placed her hands on her hips. Feeling a sudden thrill of victory, she nodded toward his chest. “And your shoulder?”
“A grappling hook from an unhappy poacher in the Arctic.”
The gruesome image flashed through her mind, almost causing her to balk.
Determined, she clenched her jaw. “The broken ribs?”
With an impatient sigh, he answered. “I fell from a ledge while chasing a Mossad agent over the rooftops of Paris.”
He balanced the rifle barrel on his shoulder, grasping the butt with his hand. “Look, Doc. Injuries go with the territory.” He tilted his head. “What do you want to hear about next? My dislocated shoulder when a drug lord decided to use me for a hood ornament, or the bullet scar on my thigh?”
“You were shot?” Kate couldn’t control her horrified intake of breath. “By whom?”
“A bad guy, babe,” he said. “Only bad guys shoot me.” He let his head fall backward as if asking the stars for patience. “Are we finished?”
“Not yet.” There was still one more secret. “But we will be after you tell me about your broken nose.”
He jerked his head back toward her with surprise. “Not bad, Doc. You’ve got a good eye.”
She stifled the smile that threatened. No use getting a big head over one compliment. She’d caught a glimpse of the ridge before he kissed her in the kitchen, but the minute imperfection didn’t register until she started listing his other injuries.
Whoever worked on Roman was a master. Her mother, Christel, was one of the leading plastic surgeons in the country. Kate knew the amount of skill required for results of this caliber.
“Noticing details is part of my profession,” she said drolly, emphasizing the intellectual slant in her voice. “So?”
“So what?”
“So,” she went on relentlessly, “how did it happen?”
Roman grabbed the pack and headed toward the pine branches, tossing the answer over his shoulder. “Playing racquetball.”
She followed, curving her lips into a saccharine-sweet smile at the obvious lie. “Don’t tell me—your partner mistook your face for the ball.”
“Something like that.”
“More like a fist in the face, I’ll bet.” Something her own hand was itching to do.
It was his turn to smile as if he could read her thoughts, before he pulled a thin roll from the bag and snapped it open to reveal a thermal blanket. “More like an Uzi to the face, I’ll bet,” he said, mimicking her voice.
She refused to let him see the truth—that she couldn’t stand the thought of him suffering the least pain. “Ouch, that must’ve hurt.”
The lack of sincerity in her response made him laugh outright and shake his head.
“Only after I regained consciousness.”
She studied his profile in the darkness while he placed the backpack into the crevice. “They did a good job repairing it.” The words came out unwillingly.
“She.”
“She?” Kate asked, not understanding his meaning.
“She did a good job.” He maneuvered himself onto the branches until he was leaning against the pack in a half-reclined position, the rifle propped beside him.
“The surgeon was a woman.” His hand snaked out and pulled her down on top of him. Kate landed with an unladylike thud against his chest. “A very beautiful woman.”
Her mouth made an O before she snapped it shut.
“Now I understand.” The jealousy hit Kate unexpectedly, keeping her from stopping the hurt that laced her words. She squirmed, intentionally using her elbow to work into a more comfortable position. The sting of jealousy eased a bit when she heard his grunt of pain.
He smiled against her forehead as he adjusted her to fit the length of him. “No, you don’t understand,” he said, and wrapped his arms around her, successfully spoiling her attempt to move again and locking her head under his chin. “But because I want some sleep, I’ll clear it up for you. What you’re looking at is some of your mom’s handiwork.”
That stopped her. “Mom?”
“She wouldn’t have had it any other way,” he said with a chuckle. “Didn’t trust anyone else to do the job.”
That sounded like Chris MacAlister. She supposed her mother had no reason not to operate on Roman. After all, she’d never discussed their breakup with her, not that her mom hadn’t given Kate the opportunity. Kate just didn’t want to put her mother in the middle. Chris was fiercely protective of all her children, which had included Roman for some time now.
Besides, her mom was the best. Chris MacAlister specialized in reconstructive surgery, mostly with children born with deformities or ones that had suffered from catastrophic injuries. Kate grudgingly admitted to herself she wouldn’t have allowed anyone except her mother to touch Roman.
“Does Mom know?”
Roman grunted. “No. She believes the racquetball story.”
But Kate knew her mom. It took quite a lot to fool Christel MacAlister. “I wouldn’t be too sure,” she murmured.
“Go to sleep, Doc. We’ve got a long day ahead of us,” he ordered, and draped one of his legs over both hers before covering her with the blanket.
Hiking, along with the quilted lining of the hunting shirt, had kept her from noticing the chill in the air until now. She shivered as the warmth from his body seeped into hers.
“Cerberus?”
“What?”
A slight smile curved her lips over the irritation in his voice. Kate relaxed against his body, absorbing his strength, enjoying the feeling of security before giving in to the fatigue. “I want to thank you for all you’ve done.” She let out a sigh and shifted, moving her head into the curve of his chest. “Believe it or not, I am grateful.”
“I don’t want gratitude.” A sound that hovered between irritation and laughter rumbled under her ear. “But a little obedience wouldn’t hurt.”
Within minutes, comforted by the rhythm of the heartbeat under her cheek, the warmth of the body under hers and the gentle rocking of the man who held her close, Kate finally obeyed Roman and eased into a deep sleep.
Chapter Eight
The humidity washed over him in slippery waves. Roman drew a shallow breath, fighting against the thick, oppressive mass threatening to liquefy what little air he had left in his lungs.
It had taken him hours to get into position. Hours of crawling through the mud and stagnant water slime, through the insect-and snake-infested brush. Hours of listening to agonizing screams that eventually turned into guttural lamentations reverberating through the jungle. Like tiny splinters, they pierced into the marrow of his bone, generating sharp jabs of pain with every movement that drew him closer to Amanda.
As team leader, it had been his decision to send the other three, including his spotter, back to the rendezvous point. It meant he had to get closer than usual for his shot, but he refused to involve anyone else in his plans.
Once in position, he waited, not feeling the oozing earth against his skin or the tickle of the creatures that found the gaps in his clothes. He only felt the burden of his decision. The screams ceased, which meant her tormentors had backed off, not wanting her to lose consciousness. By now, he knew the routine. A little respite, then a lot of
suffering.
He tucked the butt of the high-powered rifle into his shoulder, wrapping the strap tight around his forearm. She loomed unobstructed within his crosshairs.
With every shot, the heat of the barrel threw off the weapon’s accuracy. The need for retaliation raked against his gut, but he couldn’t take the chance of wasting the first bullet on the enemy. He owed Amanda that, he thought as he ground his teeth. Afterward he’d send them all to hell.
Roman blinked the sweat from his eyes, allowing a few precious seconds for the salt sting to fade. Her face, clear through the lens, was severely battered and caked with congealed blood, her hair matted. Tension griped his gut while his finger tightened on the trigger. He held his breath, choosing not to struggle against the weight in his chest.
She looked up then, directly into the scope. Almost as if she saw him several hundred yards away, hidden in the brush. He forced himself to look into her eyes, begging silently for her forgiveness. But the eyes were no longer the dark color of rich, Columbian coffee. Instead, they were light, resembling the stormy sky he’d witnessed many times over the Atlantic Ocean, swirling with torment. Bile thickened on his tongue.
Amanda was no longer the woman strung up in the compound, broken and battered. It was Kate.
“Do it,” she whispered, her swollen and bloody lips forming the words clearly in his sights, her red-rimmed eyes pleading with unshed tears. “Please.”
Even as his heart screamed in denial, Roman couldn’t fight what made him who he was. Duty before all else. A sob escaped his throat and he squeezed the trigger.
The explosion startled him awake. With an effort he let out the air that clogged his lungs, but it didn’t relieve the pressure in his chest. How could he do it? How could he kill Kate? The heaviness became unbearable, and he jerked his hand down in a desperate attempt to alleviate the weight, only to find Kate sprawled across him. Living, breathing, beautiful.
Unaware of the tension that held him in its clutches, Kate continued to sleep. Roman forced his muscles to relax, but he was unable to stop the reflexive shudder that passed through his body. Her face was soft with slumber. Not restless as he expected but serene and peaceful, like the first time they’d met.
