by Eve Langlais
Please don’t let them have to scrape me off the ground and use dental records to identify me.
He knew enough from seeing videos and movies to put himself in a starfish, making himself larger to slow his descent. The rushing air buffeted him, and he heard Marina laughing. Fucking laughing. That was the only reason he opened his eyes.
She coasted under him, her stolen summer dress rippling around her body, her hair streaming from its ponytail with the wind.
She yelled, the words carried away by the breeze and almost unintelligible. “Pull your cord in five. Four.”
Fran got to one, and he saw her body twitch. Gyrate. She rolled, and he saw her yanking to no effect.
Meanwhile, he still held his cord. He let it go and called himself all kinds of stupid as he narrowed his body into an arrow. He gathered speed, aiming for her, knowing the ground rushed more quickly. Saw her watching him come for her without panic in her gaze. How could she not be scared? His heart raced a mile a minute, his mind screamed at him to save himself.
Darren held out his arms and tried to slow his descent as impact with her body neared. They still collided hard, knocking the breath from him as her body wrapped around him spider style, arms and legs cinching him. Then there was a jolt. She’d found and yanked the cord for his chute, and the fabric snapped out over them, catching the air currents, slowing their rushing descent, and preventing a dual splatter.
He heaved out a shaking breath.
Marina—not Fran, not this bold woman—laughed, her breath warm against the skin of his neck and ear. “Nice catch.”
“I’m going to kill you when we hit the ground.”
“Kill me with your mighty cock?” The dirty words tickled his lobe.
Shocked him, and aroused. “What the hell, Fran?”
“It’s Marina. And I like it rough.”
With those words, she sprang away from him in a flip, and a moment later, her chute emerged, a billowy white cloud springing from her back.
She’d played him.
Again.
He kept underestimating her. No more. It was time he caught up and entered the game. Time to show her who was boss.
Chapter Nine
There was something liberating and terrifying about free falling. The realization that you could smash into the ground and not walk away was the thing every skydiver thought about. Especially those afraid of heights.
Marina hated heights. Always had, which meant she fought harder than most to overcome it. The fact that flying made her nervous was why she’d learned to pilot. She made herself learn to parachute and even hang-glide because she refused to let fear control her.
Yet wasn’t it cowardice that had her fleeing Darren in Paris?
The man couldn’t hurt her, not physically, but she was smart enough to recognize there was something about him, about the way he felt for her, that could ruin her. He could be the chink in my armor against the world. The worm wiggling its way into her heart and changing her life’s course.
Thoughts of Darren kept her mind occupied as the winds tugged at her chute, slowing her descent. The land rushed fast to meet her, eager to say hello.
While expecting the jolt, it still caused her to grunt as her feet hit the ground hard, and she did a bit of a run forward to keep the chute from smothering her.
Darren had obviously never jumped before. She heard him cursing and looked back to see him covered in fabric, cussing and shoving and then glaring when she finally freed him.
“I don’t like you,” he muttered. “That was a shitty thing to do.”
“But necessary. And admit it, wasn’t it just the teensiest bit fun?”
“Worrying that I’m about to die is not fun.”
“Then you should try to avoid that. If it’s your time, then nothing you do will stop it. So…you might as well enjoy life.”
“How about I enjoy life on solid ground?”
“Where would the fun be in that? Grab your chute and bring it over here. We need to hide it from view.” The field they’d landed in didn’t have much cover; however, it did have a ditch overgrown with weeds and bushes that they could shove their gear in where a casual glance wouldn’t spot it.
Then they had to walk. Given that they’d dived out of the plane a few minutes later than expected—because Darren had balked at her orders—they didn’t land in the field she’d planned, forcing them to hike two miles to where the car Sergei ordered was waiting.
He grumbled the whole way. “I can’t believe you fucked with me like that. I thought you were going to die.”
It shouldn’t have warmed her jaded heart that he cared, but it did. Even worse, his disgruntlement over the prank she’d played—the old parachute-doesn’t-work joke—was cute. He acted as if she’d done something horrible. And maybe she had.
When she did it, a part of her had wondered what he would do. He hated her, or so he kept claiming. But despite his feelings, he’d tried to save her. Which said what about him? That he harbored a hero complex, or that he still gave a damn about her despite everything she’d done?
Does he still care? He’d better not, because she certainly didn’t. She pretended not to hear the lie.
She didn’t look at him as she said, “I’m surprised you saved me. I would have thought letting me die would have soothed your ego.”
“I should have let you splatter. I hear meat chunks make for good fertilizer.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“Neither is forcing me to jump from a plane.”
“Don’t be such a pussy. Live a little.”
“How about instead of living a little, we try living a long life?”
“I’d die of boredom,” she muttered as they finally reached the car, exactly where Sergei had said it would be. Marina reached under the wheel well, fingers dancing along the inside of the frame until she found the magnetic box. The key fob inside made the lights on the car flash, and the trunk clicked before it eased open on a mechanical hinge.
“How the hell did you manage all this?” he said. “This took planning.”
“Sergei is a good handler.” He made sure Marina had what she needed before she even knew it was required. It was why she made sure to buy him the biggest, most expensive bottle of vodka she could find every holiday season. It didn’t pay to be cheap with the man who often held your life in his hands.
Inside the trunk, she found clothes, cash, and identification with credit cards. There was even a box packed with food.
Darren shook his head with each item she gave him. “This is ridiculously efficient,” he said, looking at his likeness on a driver’s license calling him Stewart Brown.
“Doesn’t your academy teach operations?”
“Yes. But this”—he shook the driver’s license bearing his face—“is faster than I’m used to seeing.”
“That is because your friend running Bad Boy Inc. is too nice. He should push his people harder.”
“What do you know about BBI?”
“I know plenty. But the basics are that they are an agency like the one I work for, but one more caught up in following rules than we are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We don’t mess around when we need something.”
“Neither do we, but we’re also not stupid or dicks about it.”
Marina shrugged. “And that is why you’re not as efficient. Sometimes, you have to be a dick.”
“At what expense, though? Some things can’t be bought.”
“In life, there is a price for everything.”
“Bullshit. You can’t put a price tag on morals or doing the right thing.” Darren changed clothes as they talked. He poured water from a bottle onto the shirt he’d removed, using it as a rag to wash himself. Sergei had thought of everything, including water, protein bars, and toothbrushes.
Darren rubbed the wet shirt over his face, scrubbing it, the growth of an overnight beard adding a rugged dark line to his jaw. “Well?” h
e asked. “Do you have any? Morals, that is?”
“I have lines.” She didn’t elaborate. His jaw tightened. She almost smiled.
“BBI and all the academy students abide by a certain code. For one, we don’t kill innocent women and children.”
“Which seems rather shortsighted. I’ve known some pretty violent women in my time.” Children, too. Those raised to think killing was okay were hard to bring back from the edge. She’d never intentionally gone out to kill a child. However, she wasn’t averse to dropping them off at a place that knew how to rehabilitate boys and girls. They made the best soldiers for the state.
“A violent woman isn’t what I’d call innocent.”
“What if circumstances shaped her? Where do you draw the line? Who gets to decide?”
His lips flattened. “You’re twisting my words.”
“No, merely pointing out the inanity of them. Very few people are innocent in this world.”
“Is this your way of justifying murder?”
“I don’t need justification if I’m getting paid.” She copied Darren’s wipe-down trick, stripping to her bra then slathering the wet shirt over her skin. She caught him looking. He quickly turned, pretending disinterest.
The key point being he pretended. Much as he tried to hide it, she could tell that Darren found himself attracted. His semi-erection pointed to that fact. Literally.
She swapped into more familiar clothes: black jeans, turtleneck, and boots. “You can stop hiding. I’m decent now.”
He turned and eyed her. “I hope that’s not supposed to be inconspicuous. You look like a cat burglar.”
“That is a very sexist thing to say, considering this is proper bodyguard wear. All black.” She skimmed her hand down her body, drawing attention to the holster that hugged her rib cage, making her left breast appear more prominent.
“A guy with a bodyguard is going to stick out, especially a guy with a girl protecting him.”
“That wasn’t an issue when you brought Kacy with you to the island.” When she’d first seen Darren with the petite Latina, she’d felt a hot surge of anger. A how-dare-he moment that went away once she noticed that Kacy was there to guard—not sleep with—Darren. She didn’t care to examine why she experienced jealousy.
“No one knew Kacy was my bodyguard because she pretended to be my girlfriend.”
“Is that your subtle way of asking me to climb into your bed?”
“Would you?”
She eyed him, and he boldly stood there, arms crossed over his chest, his jaw squared.
“Keep looking at me like that, and I will climb you right now.” She winked, and he might have growled. Very sexy.
“This is not the time to play games.”
“Because you know I’ll win.”
“Were you always this argumentative?”
“You mean assertive. And, no, I wasn’t in Paris. For you, I was a simple girl, basking in your attention.” She batted her lashes. “Very annoying.”
“Depends on which side of it you were on,” he muttered. “We’re getting off track. We were talking about your very public display of protection. I thought you wanted the fact that I’m still alive kept a secret. This…”—he gestured to Marina and then himself—“people will notice.”
“Probably, but it will take time to filter through channels.”
“You talk like you want the person after me to find us.”
For a smart man, he seemed to miss the whole logic of it. “Of course they have to find us. How else will we stop them? But this way, I can control the how and when of it.”
“By using me as bait.” He paused in the midst of putting on his new shoes to scowl at her.
“Yes. A big, strong man like you surely doesn’t mind.”
“Don’t you pull that shit with me.”
“Are you going to say no?” She smiled, the taunt in it clear.
“You know I won’t.” A grumble in his reply. “But I think we should call in my team to help.”
“What if they’re compromised?”
“What if your people are?”
“Then we’d already be dead.”
“We almost did die.” He glanced at the sky.
She snorted. “People skydive every day.”
“I don’t.”
“Your loss.”
“You crashed the fucking plane.”
“I had to. If someone does figure out that we made it to shore alive, they’ll be looking for us. They might trace us to that airport. The fiery remains will keep them guessing for a while.”
“And you don’t think that’s a little extreme?”
She gave him a most serene, “No.”
“What else do you have planned to muddy our trail? Going to torch this car when we’re done?” He slapped the trunk. “Maybe bomb a hotel?”
“We could if you want to. Sergei can quote you a price.”
He frowned. “I’d better not be paying for that plane. That was your idea to crash it.”
“To protect you. You’re welcome.”
“There were other ways we could have handled that.”
“My way is best.”
“I am going to kill you.” A threat he kept repeating and yet hadn’t acted on.
“If that is a euphemism for sex, then we should probably wait until we reach the hotel. There are mosquitoes out here. I wouldn’t want your delicate skin harmed.”
The dark look Darren shot her way had Marina replying with a wink.
“I am going to kill you twice.” A quietly voiced threat without heat said a moment before he slammed shut the passenger door of the car.
At least he didn’t try and take the wheel. Most men had a thing about women driving them because, apparently, they saw the road better. Utterly false. A survey by some insurance group said that men were much more likely to die in a car crash than women.
“Where are we off to?” he asked as she put the car in drive and got them away from the deserted area.
“Somewhere.”
“Could you elaborate?”
“Probably.”
He waited before growling, “Would you stop doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Being deliberately fucking obtuse. Tell me where we’re going.”
“To a hotel.”
A sigh left him. She expected him to freak out, yell at her, and demand answers, but he surprised her. “What are you trained in? Any more hidden skills I should know about?”
“You should ask, Sergei. He has a list.”
“Give me the basics.”
She began to tick them off. “Hand-to-hand combat in numerous styles, knife throwing, heavy artillery, including tanks—”
Darren interrupted. “As in a great big, metal tank?”
“Is there any other kind?”
“Why the hell would you need to know how to drive a tank?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, but if it is required, then I can handle it.” It was also extremely fun. “I can pilot a helicopter, parachute, hang-glide—”
“Knit. Cook. Surf.” He rolled his eyes.
She held up a hand. “No surfing.” Stupid sport was only about balance. She had great balance on the beam, but put her on a floating plank, and she fell over every time!
“Do you like working for your agency?”
“Is this another ploy to try and get me to defect to Bad Boy Inc. or some other agency?”
“No. I doubt you’d be a good fit.”
A truth that, for some reason, stung. “Good, because I’m not interested. Why all the questions about my skills?”
“I’m just curious. You obviously had a different education than what we offer via the academy.”
“I am slightly more educated than most. I was an apt learner.”
“And do you enjoy the job?” he asked. “The majority of our graduates seem to like their field of work. We have a pretty good retention rate, considering what we do.”
“Th
ere is much I like about it. Some things, not as much. Keep in mind that my feelings on the matter weren’t ever really considered. I had no choice. This is what I was trained for. People put in time and money to give me these skills, which means there is a debt to be repaid, a debt that needs more than Russian minimum wage.”
“They set a price for your training?”
“Someone has to pay for it.”
“Surely by now, with all your missions, you’ve paid it off.”
“It is a very large obligation.” The kind that had interest compounding it. “Don’t your students pay to learn?”
“My students owe the academy nothing. Most are handpicked from the streets. We look for potential, not people with deep pockets.”
“If they don’t pay, then how does your academy stay in business?”
“Private donations by certain investors who want to ensure that there are quality people out there they can hire. The agencies like Bad Boy and others also pay per diem when they take graduates.”
“So, your students don’t have to pay anything at all?” She scoffed. “No wonder they don’t work as hard.”
“They work plenty hard.”
“I work harder.”
The noise he made wasn’t quite an I’ll-kill-you sound, but it was close. She reached over and turned on the radio, cranking it. She needed to pay attention to the road and not argue with him—because it was too fun, and distracting.
Darkness fell quickly this time of year, early spring. Her headlights provided the only illumination on the country road. The car had a built-in navigation system, but she didn’t need the GPS to guide her. She knew the place they were going because she’d used it before. Just shy of ten o’clock, after doing a series of turns that kept them off the main roads—where cameras might be watching—she pulled in front of a many-storied luxury hotel. She stopped under the portico, the kind with a valet.
The servant in uniform attended Darren—who fit the part of rich owner with his casual shirt and slacks, both expensive. Marina took her time exiting the car, eyes scanning the darkness past the bubble of light. She did it mostly out of habit, as she doubted anyone would have picked up their trail already.
