Dark Memories (The DARK Files Book 1)

by Susan Vaughan

  Cole rubbed his bruised sternum and thanked his instincts for making him don a Kevlar vest that evening. He might have a couple broken ribs and bump on the noggin, but he was alive. He’d swum to consciousness imagining he heard an angel calling him. The angel was Laura on her phone alerting him to her danger. Her words froze his veins, but propelled him to his feet. Moments later Byrne and Ward had found him as he staggered from the storage area.

  “He’ll be expecting his henchman. We’ll use that.” He waved them to positions beside the crooked old door.

  He edged closer to the opening and peered inside.

  “My dear, you have caused me an intolerable amount of trouble.” The importer seized Laura’s arm and yanked her to her feet.

  Dirt smeared her shirt, and blood and dirt streaked her jeans and the white braided rope binding her wrists. And she had a new purpling bruise on her left cheek to match the cut on the other.

  Another chunk he’d take out of Markos’s hide.

  Otherwise, she looked beautiful, just scared and angry. He allowed a second to feel relief. Then he concentrated on finding an opening, some vulnerability in his enemy.

  “You’ll be in a lot more trouble if you hurt me,” she spat at the importer.

  Yeah, sweetheart. Rile him. Distract him.

  “I think not. Eliminating you once and for all will give me such satisfaction I won’t mind having to leave this country for good. After a slight detour to my house. Too bad you can’t accompany me.” He pulled her close to him and caressed her bruised cheek with the pistol barrel. Used it to tuck stray strands of hair behind her ear.

  Cole gripped his weapon tighter. If the bastard didn’t have a gun at her head…

  She averted her face. “What are you going to do?”

  Markos dragged her closer to his employee’s body and kicked the dead man’s head. “The fool. He was supposed to be the best, but he failed at every turn. He would have permitted you to escape. However, his plan for this evening was sound. Time wasted on the confusion of one extra body will give me the time I require.”

  “You won’t escape.” Outrage burned in her eyes. She struggled, but the grip on her arm held firm. “Government officers are here. By now they’ve surrounded the shed.”

  Cole’s jaw clenched. Damn. He ducked back an inch.

  Markos roared with laughter. “Ingenious of you, my dear. If your friends arrive, my man outside will alert me.”

  The maggot thought she was bluffing. Cole grinned.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you certain of that?”

  “You have not forgotten my colleague Kovar, have you, Laura?” When she blanched at the name, Markos nodded. “I see you recall his dexterity with a knife.”

  Pale but with fire in her eyes, she lifted her chin.

  Markos turned away to examine the dead man’s handiwork. “Ingeniously simple. A tip of the lantern and — poof!”

  He was going to incinerate the place.

  Cole backed up another inch. Uttering indistinct mumbles to mimic Markos’s gorilla sidekick, he bumped the hanging door.

  “Come in, Kovar,” the importer said, a smile in his tone. “You’re in time to watch me set off the pyrotechnics.”

  “Hurt,” growled Cole, banging heavily against the door. He had to get the bastard to move away from the damn lantern. Come on, come on.

  But Markos hadn’t cozied up with terrorists without developing know-how on the subtleties of treachery. He clamped Laura against him with one arm. Together they stepped cautiously toward the door.

  “See, I told you.” She continued to strain against her captor. “The Feds are here. They’ve jumped your thug and wounded him. He can’t help you. Give yourself up.”

  Markos didn’t respond to her assertion, but tugged her around in front of him as a shield. He pressed his Ruger to her temple. “Wounded or not, show yourself or I won’t wait for a fire to take care of her.”

  To Laura he said, “To Kovar, shooting you now will not matter, but to your friends…”

  Cole sagged. He stepped into the door opening, his sidearm ready. His finger twitched at the trigger. “Federal officer, Markos. The lady was telling you the truth. You’re surrounded. Put the gun down and let her go.”

  “Cole!” Relief lit her face like the sun coming out. “You’re alive.”

  The importer took a step back, but quickly recovered his aplomb. “Ah, the lover. I should have known this piece of offal—” he spat on the hit man’s body “—would also fail at eliminating you.”

  “Put the gun down and move away from her,” Cole repeated. An ice cube’s chance in hell Markos would surrender. He held his weapon steady.

  The pulse beat frantically in Laura’s throat. She was clearly terrified, but kept her gaze on him. He could see the trust in her eyes. He had to make this work.

  If this madman shot her, killed her… But he wouldn’t let himself think it. Couldn’t.

  He stared into her eyes, willing her to remember, willing her to understand his next move.

  “Surrender? Hardly.” A sneer on his snotty aristocratic mouth, Markos jabbed the gun barrel hard against her temple. “But I do have a change in plans. Laura and I are leaving together now. You will allow us to depart, or the lady will have a new hole above her lovely ear.”

  “You kill her, and you’re a corpse.”

  The man’s lips lifted into a cold curve as thin and deadly as a scimitar. “Then we both have much to lose.”

  Cole raised his pistol. “Laura,” he said, his gaze on his target, “Samla. Samla!”

  The wind howled, and the rain pounded at Cole’s back.

  Markos tilted his head. The hand with the gun wavered. “What trick is this?”

  Laura’s exhausted mind turned over Cole’s cryptic word. Then she knew.

  Samla. Get down. She went boneless in her captor’s arms. Folding, she dropped to the floor. She tackled his knees.

  Above her, gunfire exploded like thunder.

  Cole dived at Markos. The two men crashed into the wall. As they fell to the floor, they bumped the stool.

  Laura rolled away from flailing arms and legs. She stared helplessly as the fuel inside the sputtering lantern sloshed.

  The stool rocked once…

  Twice…

  Over the edge crashed the lantern onto the shredded cushions and bunched sails.

  A monstrous whoosh, and flames burst upward. Like a live creature fleeing the grappling men, the blaze leaped to the back of the shed. In seconds a raging wall encompassed everything. Her eyes and nose stung with the acrid fumes of the flaming synthetics.

  Her eyes streamed, and she couldn’t see Cole clearly. Was he all right? Had he been shot? The thunder outside was no match for the pounding of her heart. She rubbed her eyes to clear them.

  The two men rolled and pummeled each other amid the burning cushions. Blood smeared them both.

  One pistol lay beneath the fallen stool, out of reach. But where was the other?

  “Cole, oh God.” What could she do? How could she help with her wrists and ankles tied? Scuttling across the floor, she searched for the other gun. Heat from the blaze seared her skin. Smoke sent her into a coughing spasm. “Help! Please help!”

  Cole reared up. She could barely see through the smoky haze. He landed a solid right on Markos’s jaw.

  The importer sagged to the ground. He lay still.

  “Get her out of here,” Cole shouted, his voice a harsh croak.

  And then strong arms lifted her up and out into the night. Someone deposited her on the rain-soaked grass and ran back to the blazing shed.

  The door was flung wider. People rushed in.

  “Please,” she gasped. “You have to save him.”

  Lifting her face to the dark sky in prayer, she didn’t know if the welcome wetness was rain or her tears.

  Chapter 29

  BY THE TIME Cole finished with ambulances, the Alderport
Fire Department and various law-enforcement agencies, it was morning. He’d be buried in reports for weeks.

  But Laura was safe, thank God.

  And Alexei Markos was in custody.

  As soon as the fire started, Cole’s fellow officers had called 911 and raced inside to pull everyone to safety. His shot found its target in Markos’s shoulder, but the bastard’s bullet grazed his arm. They grappled in the dirt and blood and flames until he knocked the crook out. Byrne and Snow dragged them outside.

  Because the hit man was failing on his contract on Laura, Markos and his henchman Kovar had arrived that evening to spur him to action. Or to kill him.

  During Snow’s regular walk-through of the resort, he spotted their black Volvo parked behind an unoccupied cottage. He alerted Ward at about the same time she and Byrne found Cole in the theater basement. Snow then followed Markos and his muscle to the boat shed. Luckily Kovar hung back far enough for the DARK officer to jump and hog-tie him.

  Cole speculated that the importer had planned to eliminate both Kovar and Isaacs —unnecessary and dangerous witnesses — before he flew out of the country. That little bit of information might induce Kovar to sing like a northern loon. Too bad the hit man wouldn’t be able to talk.

  Isaacs. A government turncoat. Cole had found no hint in his check of the DARK team. He tumbled to the man’s identity as Janus too late. Too late he realized that the only person who had access to all their plans and to all the buildings could only be another DARK officer.

  All of the miscommunication and absences were contrived by Isaacs. A former ATF agent who claimed no tech expertise but who knew how to mess with phone apps. After both Cole and Laura had disappeared from the theater, Byrne noticed the disabling on his phone and fixed it in time for Laura’s warning to get through.

  Coincidence, some might way. Cole called it good surveillance by the good guys on the DARK team. General Nolan would spit a brick when Cole informed him that one of his officers was the notorious Janus.

  He kicked at a drift of ashes. The shed was a dead loss, only a pile of rubble by daybreak. Turning from what was left of the structure, he strode to his cabin.

  Insisting insurance and a supplement from DARK would take care of the loss, Stan Hart was more charitable toward the new mess. He’d announced to the local press, present to review Diner, his undercover role in the “sting.” He would spin what might have been negative press into positive publicity for Hart’s Inn Resort.

  Cole entered the cabin as Laura was emerging from the bedroom. After the medicos had pronounced her fit and at least one set of cops had taken her statement, Cole insisted she get some rest.

  Showered and dressed in borrowed jeans and a resort polo, she made his heart soar. The twin contusions on her cheeks couldn’t mar her beauty. The shirt collar lay flat, no longer flipped up to conceal the knife scars.

  Badges of courage all.

  “Going somewhere?” He hoped she didn’t notice the hitch in his voice. He stood in the kitchen, unable to move a step closer to her without snatching her up in his arms. He doubted she was ready to accept his desperate relief and need.

  “To my parents’ in Maryland. They flew home last night. I have no ID for a plane ticket, so my father’s sending a car.” She walked hesitantly toward him, her gaze on his bandaged arm. Her lips forming a moue of sympathy, she reached out as if to check the wound, then drew back her hand. “Does it hurt much?”

  It throbbed like a thousand killer bees had stung him, and he wanted her to cluck over him and pamper him. He shrugged. “It’s not bad.”

  “You look red. Did the fire burn you?”

  “A few places. My face, one arm. No worse than a sunburn. Rolling around in the dirt probably kept most of the flames away. Markos got it worse. Second-degree burns on his hand when he tried to grab his gun. Not nearly enough damage to make up for his sins.”

  External burns were nothing compared to the fiery need Cole had for her. How should he begin?

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” She darted to the bedroom and returned. She passed him a black mesh garment. “Here’s the body armor you made me wear last night. Later when I thought about Janus shooting you, I remembered there was no blood. I should’ve realized you were wearing one too. At first I thought you were dead.” Tears pooled in her eyes and she turned away.

  He longed to hold her, but they had to settle things before he let his desire for her cloud his mind. His gut twisted with the suspicion she might not forgive him for his carelessness, for putting her in jeopardy. “I thought the vest would protect you. You went off with Isaacs the hit man, and I didn’t even notice. Damned lousy protection.”

  “It protected you, thank heavens.” She offered him a small, sad smile. “And if I hadn’t gone with Isaacs-Janus, who knows what he would’ve done next. He … he threatened to shoot you if I didn’t go or if I warned you.”

  He breathed again. Just like her, not to blame him for making a hash of things. He didn’t mention that Isaacs probably wouldn’t have risked a shot in the crowded theater.

  “You heard me on the phone, so you know what he admitted. Still, it’s too bad you can’t question him.” Her chin came up. “But I’m not sorry he’s dead.”

  “Sweetheart, you grilled him as thoroughly as a cop. I heard all his bragging. What you didn’t know what that my phone recorded his every word.”

  She smiled, shaking her head. “You have it all!”

  “And Markos’s every damning word.”

  He couldn’t help it. He needed to touch her, to know she was okay. He stepped closer and rubbed her upper arms. “You don’t know how afraid I was last night that I’d lost you. When I heard that gunshot in the boat shed…” The memory clogged his throat, and he couldn’t go on.

  She pressed her hands flat on his chest, but the reason worried him. He didn’t know if she was moving closer or pushing him away. “I—”

  He shook his head to stop her words. “No, it’s all over now. This nightmare brought us together, and it’s given us a new beginning. Even when I thought you left me, you were embedded in my heart, part of me. I love you more than ever. I can’t lose you now.”

  She averted her gaze and pulled away, walking to the kitchen. She glanced out the window, possibly looking for her ride, then went to the sink. She picked up a dish towel.

  He let her fidget, but she would hear him out. She had to. “At first, I didn’t believe we had a chance together. But the past doesn’t have to govern our future. We’re not the dumb kids we were ten years ago. What we have now is deeper, not a thin-layered infatuation to be easily pared away.”

  He could see she was fighting tears as she put away the plates from the dish drainer. Anything to keep busy. He knew the feeling.

  She turned to face him, her eyes bleak. “Yes, I’m glad we could put the misunderstandings and judgments of the past to rest. But are friendship and intimacy enough?”

  “Intimacy. That’s an understatement. Between us there’s magnetism I’ve never felt with anyone else, and more fire than in that blaze last night. I want you more than I believed it was possible to want a woman. When I saw you last night all bruised and wet, I wanted to hoist you over my shoulder and carry you off to my cave, bad guys or not.”

  “Cole, don’t.” She clasped her hands together. Her tortured gaze roamed his body, as if drinking in her last sight of him.

  He had to convince her to cease lying to herself. “I saw the crown charm on your bureau. You kept it all these years and even brought it with you when you fled for your life. You’re wearing it.”

  Her hand flew to the chain at her neck.

  A black limousine pulled up outside. The uniformed driver stepped around it and opened the rear door.

  She turned away from Cole. “My ride is here. But I need to tell you something first.”

  Desperation was burning a hole in him. Fear set it aflame. He scrubbed at his chin scar. “What is it?”


  Laura twisted her hands together. She had to calm herself and get control before she began. “It’s about the tennis lessons with my community center girls.”

  Unshaven and sexy, he was so strong, so confident and rugged in his black T-shirt and jeans. Except for the reddened skin on one side of his face and the white bandage on his upper arm, he looked invincible. His nearly dying had forced her to reexamine her heart and her fears. She had to make him understand what she’d figured out during the long night. She couldn’t blame her white night on nightmares.

  Only on squandered dreams.

  Her heart pounded against her rib cage, fluttered like a wounded bird and sank. Regret was an ache in her chest so huge she could barely breathe. She prayed he’d give her this last chance.

  “The ghetto kids,” he said, his brow furrowed into a fierce glare. His hands clenched and unclenched. He looked ready to pounce.

  A nervous laugh bubbled up. “I want to tell you the lesson they taught me. I finally learned it because of you. Do you remember Jamila and Desirée?”

  “Is Desirée the one who wants to be Serena Williams?”

  “That’s Tanisha. Desirée has trouble at home, and Jamila’s gangster brother keeps bringing trouble home. For a while last year, both girls went to live with Jamila’s grandmother, who already cares for two others. Only Jamila is the old lady’s blood relative.”

  He edged forward, his blue gaze riveting her. “And what did you learn from that?”

  She drew a deep breath. Here goes nothing. Or everything. “The grandmother tells the children she takes in that they’re her family now, that love is thicker than blood. Jamila said she read it in an advice blog. Waiting for you to come in last night, I had a long time to think, and I remembered. That saying is like what you tried to tell me — love, not blood makes a family.”

  Cole headed toward her.

  “No, let me finish. I’ve made a terrible mistake, and it may be too late. I need to say this. So you understand.”

  Ignoring her protest, he cupped her shoulders in his cool hands. His gaze roamed over her features. The emotion in the depths sent fire racing across her nerve endings. “Say what you have to say, but I need to hold you while you say it.”