by Kaylea Cross
He released her arm but snagged her hand to make it look like they were a couple, and held on tight in case she had other ideas. Once they were clear, he was going to get some answers. “We’re gonna have to scale the wall.”
She didn’t say a word, just hurried toward it with him. Twenty feet from the eight-foot-high structure, she broke free of his grip with a practiced move that took him off guard, and ran toward it. He watched, stunned, as she jumped up to catch the top, then nimbly swung over it and dropped down on the other side like a pro. Zack quickly followed suit, half-expecting to have to chase after her when he landed.
But she was standing there scanning the road instead. “We’re clear, but we need to hurry.”
The contrast between this tough, capable woman and the one he’d thought he’d been falling in love with was jarring. Just who the hell was she, really? Not the flight attendant she’d pretended to be when they’d met in St. Petersburg all those months ago, that much was clear.
And he was really, really concerned that she might be a whole lot worse.
“This way.” He grabbed her arm again, his mind still reeling, and hurried them to his car. Cops had been stationed near the mansion for extra security. They were just coming down the road as he pulled away from the curb and got them away from the estate. But he wanted answers, and he couldn’t hold back for another second.
“Who are you?” he demanded, a sinking feeling taking hold in his gut.
The night they’d met in St. Petersburg he’d been posing as an American businessman trying to get in with an arms dealer. He’d seen her sitting at the hotel bar in that tight skirt suit uniform, and her welcoming smile had made his brain short-circuit. Her cover story had checked out, and he’d been so sure the attraction was mutual that he’d invited her to be his date to an event with the arms dealer the following night.
Throughout all their time together she’d never done or said anything to make him suspicious that she wasn’t who she claimed to be. Not once, for that entire three-day weekend they’d been glued to each other, and then every time they’d met afterward over the next seven weeks.
Until he’d woken alone in that Moscow hotel the last time and found the note she’d left, leaving him bewildered and crushed. Now it all made a horrible kind of sense, and he was a fucking idiot for ever falling for her ruse.
“My name’s Eden,” she said quietly.
He shot her a sideways glance as he sped down the darkened street. She looked the same as Nina had, but there was a hard edge to her now that hadn’t been there before. He had no idea if she was telling the truth or not, but he’d be a fucking idiot to trust one word that came out of her mouth. A mouth he’d known intimately not too long ago, and still dreamed about it moving over his skin.
“Did you kill Terzi?” He couldn’t believe he was asking that, but it was impossible to ignore the evidence before him. Because this was the second time the man he’d been trying to gain the trust of had died of probable poisoning while she was around.
She didn’t respond. And that was all the answer he needed.
Goddammit. He bit down hard to stifle the expletive that threatened to burst out of his mouth. She’d used him to get an intro to her previous target. Had made him think she felt something for him. But he’d been a means to an end, nothing more, and now she’d just fucked-up a five-month-long sting to nail Terzi and his inner circle.
But then why spend all that time with him after the job was done in St. Petersburg? Why pretend she’d felt something for him for so long? Unless she’d been hoping to kill someone else he was connected to, and when she decided he was no longer of use, she’d ghosted on him.
“Who are you, really?” he ground out, pissed off at himself as much as her.
Her gaze was fixed on the side mirror as he drove. “Just drop me off at the next street.”
“No way. I have to take you in.” His CIA contacts would want to question her—right after he did.
She snorted. “That’s not happening.”
Anger punched through him, surprising him with its force. “Oh, it’s happening.” He turned right at the next light and sped through the light traffic. He wanted to get her some place safe so they could talk in private, find out what the hell was going on and who she was working for. “In the meantime, you need to explain what—”
He broke off at the sound of the door opening, gaped in astonishment as Nina/Eden dove out onto the road and rolled away from the car.
“Jesus Christ!” He hammered the brake, wrenched his gaze up to the rearview mirror as “Eden” rolled to a stop on the pavement behind him, then popped up like a seasoned stuntwoman and darted for the sidewalk.
Zack threw the car into park and jumped out to chase her. He bounded over a hedge and tore after her, his shoes pounding against the pavement. Just as he rounded the corner he caught a flash of her as she veered from the sidewalk back toward the road, then lost sight of her in the traffic waiting at the light.
Cursing under his breath, he searched frantically left and right as traffic passed by. Where the hell was she? She couldn’t have gone far.
He glanced back at his vehicle—
Just in time to see her hop into it and drive away.
Swearing, Zack whipped around and raced after her, urgency screaming through him. He couldn’t lose her. Not after all this time, not after what she’d done. But his efforts were useless. Within seconds she’d blown past him and had vanished from sight.
“You gotta be shitting me,” he muttered, pulling out his cell phone to report it, even as he knew it was a waste of time. By the time anyone located his car, she would be long gone.
Who the hell was she? Who had sent her after Terzi tonight?
Whatever the answers, there would be hell to pay for what she’d done tonight. Zack had to find her and bring her in before she got herself killed.
Chapter Two
Eden didn’t stop her rental car until she reached her destination—a mid-sized town six hours away in mainland Ukraine. She found a nondescript hotel and paid for a room in cash, interacting with the innkeeper as little as possible before hobbling up the stairs to her room.
In the bathroom she gingerly peeled her jacket and pants off, exposing the raw, scraped mess of her knees and elbows that had gotten stuck to her clothes. Jumping out of that car had been her only shot at escape. She’d rolled to minimize the brunt of the impact, but at that speed, she’d lost some skin.
She winced as she stepped under the spray of the shower and the water hit her abrasions. Blood dripped down her skin, forming pinkish rivulets as the water swirled down the drain. The pain centered her, drove away some of the numbness she’d been encased in since running into Zack Maguire seven hours ago. He’d gone by the name Zack Mitchell back when they’d first met, but she’d already known who he really was.
Of all the things that could have happened tonight, running into him in that hallway was the last thing she’d expected.
She’d only gone with him in the first place because it helped her get out of the estate faster. He was a contract officer for the CIA, and must have been there tonight on some sort of operation. Maybe involving Terzi, but maybe not, as there were plenty of other potential targets in attendance. Sticking around any longer would have been disastrous for her.
Seeing him again had shaken her to the core. She’d spent the better part of a year doing her best to forget him and move on, but that had been futile. He was even more gorgeous than she remembered, and she remembered plenty because she still thought about him every day. Wondered where he was, what he was doing. Whether he’d tried to look for her after she’d left. She wasn’t sure if it would be better or worse if he had.
Eden knew exactly when things had shifted between them. The night before the op to kill her target in St. Petersburg. She and Zack had gone to dinner together again. Up in her hotel room later, rather than moving straight to sex as they had been, he’d led her out onto the balcony instead. Gazin
g out at the lights of the city below them, he’d wrapped his arms around her from behind and held her in total silence, just absorbing each other’s presence. When he’d finally spoken, he’d asked her about meaningful things like her hopes and dreams while wrapping his jacket more tightly around her and angling his body to shield her from the cold breeze.
That was the moment he’d ceased being just an asset and became something far more important. Something that had made her question everything.
He was a liability to her now, and her for him. She’d risked too much by continuing their relationship for as long as she had, and had wound up almost paying the ultimate price for it when she’d left him that morning. That was all the reinforcement she’d needed to cut ties with him forever.
An empty ache filled her chest as she got out of the shower, dried off then dressed her wounds with antibiotic ointment and bandages. No one had ever gotten to her like he had. She’d never let anyone in that far before. She’d shown him parts of herself that she normally kept hidden—even if she’d lied about who and what she was. He still knew her better than anyone else ever had.
With Terzi dead, she had to go to ground. The pressure was higher than ever before. Invisible enemies were closing in, and she still hadn’t received word from her handler, though Eden had reached out again days ago asking for help. Now Zack would be searching for her too, along with whomever he answered to within the CIA.
At least with Terzi gone, it would disrupt that organization for a while. It would also disrupt the shipments of weapons and women sold off to fund more arms deals and criminal or terrorist activity all over the globe.
Dressed in shorts and a loose-fitting top to give her bandaged knees and elbows some breathing room, she carefully stretched out onto her back on the bed, every bump and bruise protesting. Using a secure phone she checked her messages.
Zero.
Worry ground in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t like Chris to go this long without responding.
She turned on the TV to see if the story about Terzi had hit the media yet. A local news station was talking about his death. It was already being reported as a murder.
She’d leave before dawn and get out of the country using a disguise and a fake ID. But this time…she was concerned. She’d never felt so isolated and alone as she did right now.
It made her think of the woman she’d been in contact with a few times several months ago regarding a shipment of women being transported from North Africa by Syrian crime boss Fayez Rahman. Eden was almost certain the woman had been another Valkyrie.
Could it have been Kiyomi? She’d wondered about that all this time, and had been tempted to ask. They hadn’t been roommates when they were in the Valkyrie Program, but they had been trained in several areas together. Had spent countless hours studying and sparring together. But Kiyomi had been the femme fatale of the Valkyrie world, and chances were good she’d died long ago.
Picking up her phone, Eden accessed some old emails she’d saved in a protected account, and reread the ones from the suspected Valkyrie. Eden didn’t have proof to back up her theory, it was more of a gut feeling. And right now, it was her best chance of getting help, because she needed to drop off the grid immediately.
After debating it for another few minutes, she decided it wouldn’t hurt to reach out and see if the woman was even still active on that email account. If she was and things felt right, Eden might consider asking for assistance.
She had no idea if she’d get any, but now more than ever she was desperate to find and connect with the sisters she’d lost so long ago. They were the only ones who would understand her. The only ones she could trust to help, rather than hunt her down.
The time had come. If she wanted to stay alive, she couldn’t operate alone anymore.
****
Sunlight gleamed on the surface of the water above her, beckoning to her with its warmth.
Kiyomi pushed hard off the bottom of the pool and propelled herself toward the surface, giving her tired arms and legs a break. She’d been doing laps several mornings a week for more than a month now, to help rebuild the muscle tone she’d lost during her recovery.
Swimming was far more enjoyable than running, and she liked the peace and quiet of being beneath the water, of shutting out the world for a little while. Her body had healed since her rescue in Syria. The twice-weekly remote therapy sessions and meditation were slowly helping the rest of her heal too.
Breaking the surface for a breath, she swept the water out of her eyes with one hand and turned onto her side to swim for the stairs, only to stop when she saw the man standing motionless at the edge of the pool. Marcus Laidlaw, master of this beautiful estate.
He wore swim trunks and a T-shirt he’d been in the act of pulling off, but quickly yanked it back down to cover his chest. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were here,” he said quietly. She loved his Yorkshire accent. He sounded just like Sean Bean, only deeper. Darker.
Damn. She’d come here early specifically to be gone before he showed up so as not to interrupt his morning swim, but he must have changed up his routine for some reason. She frowned at him, not liking that he felt the need to cover up in front of her. As if he was embarrassed by his scars, or maybe afraid of disgusting her.
“Don’t do that,” she admonished, treading water.
He frowned a bit. “Do what?”
“You know what.” She nodded at his shirt, now covering the burn scars he’d suffered from an explosion while on a combat mission in Syria a couple years ago during a mission gone awry with the SAS. They marked the left side of his chest, shoulder, neck and face, and around his left eye. His short, dark beard covered most of the damage on his face, except for the spots where hair no longer grew on his cheek and jaw.
But those marks weren’t even close to the worst things he’d survived.
His features were tense, his expression broadcasting his discomfort. “Habit,” he muttered, and broke eye contact.
“They don’t bother me. And you’ve already seen mine.”
That deep brown gaze swung back to hers. Held. And in that moment, she knew they were both thinking about the day she’d arrived here months ago, after fellow Valkyrie Amber and her boyfriend Jesse had pulled Kiyomi out of that prison in Damascus.
Without them, Kiyomi would have been subjected to a living hell, and she bore the marks on her back to prove it. Lash marks that had cut deep into her flesh between her shoulder blades. Marcus had seen them as Amber and her sister Megan had tended to her wounds when she’d first arrived at Laidlaw Hall.
Kiyomi had a lot in common with her Valkyrie sisters, but she and Marcus shared a connection that none of the others did. Against all odds, they had both survived a brutal captivity. So no, he had nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about with her.
She cocked a challenging eyebrow at him. “You coming in?”
Marcus held her stare for a long moment, unmoving. It was strange that she still couldn’t read him.
Even after living under his roof for this long, even though she was an expert at reading people, he remained a mystery to her. A quiet, intensely private man, he was close with Megan, who had pulled him from a certain slow, agonizing death at his captors’ hands. He didn’t say much and rarely socialized with any of them except Megan, but there was something about him that drew Kiyomi with a strength she couldn’t deny.
He was watchful, almost standing guard on the periphery to ensure she and the others were safe here at his home. After the things she’d done in the name of duty and all she’d endured, feeling safe was foreign and unthinkable. But somehow Marcus gave her that sense of security.
“Well? Are you?” she prompted, a little unnerved by her train of thought.
He cleared his throat. “I was going to sit in the Jacuzzi awhile,” he said, nodding to the raised hot tub at the corner of the pool area. “Leg’s stiff today.”
His left one. Megan had told her his hip and thigh had been shattered when
the vehicle he was riding in hit an IED embedded in the road. His captors had subsequently crushed what was left of the joint. After he and Megan were finally extracted, surgeons had done what they could to repair the hip joint and femur, but he would walk with a pronounced limp the rest of his life.
Kiyomi felt a keen empathy for what he’d been through. And she was glad the men responsible for his torture had been sent to hell where they belonged. Most of the people responsible for her suffering had been killed, except the man who still haunted her nightmares. But he would die for what he’d done someday, and by her hand. She’d vowed it to herself.
“Any luck finding your friend?” Marcus asked.
Eden, he meant. “I wouldn’t say we’re friends.” They had been once, however. “I haven’t seen or spoken to her since we graduated from the Program. But no. We haven’t found her yet.”
Kiyomi remembered her vividly. Eden was beautiful, with flawless light brown skin, light brown eyes, and a mass of black curls. For a time the cadre had contemplated making her an intimate assassin, like Kiyomi. Instead they’d moved her into toxins, where she could use her expertise, beauty and body to make kills up close in a different way. “The truth is, I don’t have many friends.”
Just as he opened his mouth to respond, the bleating of her cell phone dragged her attention away from him. She got out of the pool, completely unselfconscious of her body and the scars on her back, aware of Marcus’s eyes on her as she bent to pick up her phone. She was used to men staring, lusting, spinning sexual fantasies about her. The difference here was, part of her wanted Marcus to look, yet she couldn’t tell if he was interested or not. That was a first.
“It was Chloe,” she said as she turned to face him, the cool air raising goosebumps across her skin and beading her nipples tight. He hadn’t moved, and to his credit his gaze remained on her face, rather than her breasts. He quickly offered her his towel.
