Cara kept her distance the rest of the day by putting the men in charge of moving the furniture and big boxes, while the girls focused on unpacking boxes and item placement. By the time it was all said and done, the sun had slipped toward the other half of the world. They all looked bedraggled and felt it too.
For a moment, Cara thought about bidding Tyler good night and staying behind. At least until he’d left and she could catch a cab or get one of the others to take her home. But who the hell was she kidding? She didn’t have a home. She had a shabby room in a shoddy motel, a bag of clothes, and not much more to her name. Besides, she needed to get rid of him once and for all. No more leading him or herself on.
She tried to do it on the interstate and then again at a streetlight while he was in the middle of a story about his, Oliver, and Hunter’s first mission. Every time, a thick lump formed in her throat.
The truck rumbled into the motel parking lot.
Cara’s heart pulsed in her belly.
“Isn’t it about time you found your own place,” he said.
Simultaneously, she cursed and thanked God. Cara narrowed her gaze and cut him with it. “One roll in the sack and you think you can—”
“Whoa.” His hands came up and settled her as if she was a skittish horse. “All I think is you’re racking up one hell of a hotel bill that you could use for a down payment or to put away to pay for a wedding venue.”
Why did he have to be so sensible and make this so hard? Why couldn’t he get pissed at her getting pissed and leave? Because he was analytical and not a hothead.
“If you’re not going to take the Bureau’s offer, I know people outside the industry. We could find you a job in a minute if money’s a problem.”
Money and the Bureau hit on sore subjects. She used the angst from them and the pain of knowing she couldn’t have what she wanted so desperately.
Cara iced out every emotion but anger.
“Look, Tyler. You’re a good lay. You’re even easy to talk to, but if you’re not man enough to blow a madman to bits and sleep better knowing you’ve done your part for your country, then you won’t be able to handle me. I kill first. And usually don't ask many questions. But thanks for everything and good luck.”
She wound the long, thin strap of her purse around her hand, squeezed as hard as she could to keep the tears at bay, and opened the passenger door. Before he could say a word, she’d slipped her thighs off the leather. Her heart bore the brunt of the impact with the asphalt. Cara slammed the door and bolted to her room without looking back.
After fumbling with the key, she let herself in, closed the door, and double locked it. Her breaths caught in her windpipe. The short, hiccupping pants stung almost as much as the tears that streamed over her cheeks, blurring the dim room. She slid down the door, covered her face, and cried.
15
Each sob fractured Tyler’s heart. For all the fucking analytical skills in the world, he’d never understand women. Especially not one as complex as Cara was. He wanted to, though. He sat with his back to hers. A door between them. A door and something else that had nothing to do with his tenderhearted tendency toward taking lives.
When he’d confessed what he’d only ever whispered to himself, her vibrant blue eyes had locked on him with something far from repugnance. He didn’t know what the look meant, but nothing could top the way it wrapped around him like a full body embrace.
The shift in her had come after he’d made the comment about safety. Immediately, she’d quieted, and then when made to talk about the subject, she had shifted away from her to him, or the move, or Rin, or Luck, or anything except what truly ate at her. He should have forced her to face him, it, whatever she needed to battle before she could be free. Had he, there wouldn’t be an ever-widening gap between them.
But really, before he could expect her to face her demons, shouldn’t he face his?
“Growing up on a farm, I learned to nurture life. I bottle fed calves whose mothers died in labor. I spent nights in the barn with sick baby goats. Sure, some of them didn’t make it, and then later, I realized what my family did with the cows after they came of age. I also learned animal CPR and worked on everything from horses to cats. When I was in junior high, I worked illegally in our family veterinarian’s clinic, knowing that’s what I’d do with my life. Then the perfect storm hit.”
He didn’t know if she could hear it all or if she’d even care. It didn’t matter. “Half our herd came down with Bluetongue. We spent a fortune properly quarantining, making enclosures, subdividing fields, and creating boundaries. And then there was the cost of spraying to eradicate the ugly little bug infecting them. Next, Oprah announced to the world she’d never again eat beef because of the outlandish practices of some factory farms and the cattle market took its biggest hit since the Great Depression. Then the fucking test came along.”
Her sobs had stopped.
“Suddenly, my parents were up to their eyeballs in debt, and I had the option to have my education paid for and a job that assured my future. I never realized how much I resented everything about how it went down. I hate killing, but maybe I hate that it wasn’t my choice more.”
Tyler scrubbed a hand down his face and took a deep breath. “Huh.” His head bobbed. A bit of the weight lifted from his chest. “I know what I have to do, Cara. What do you need to do?” When he stood, rocks and dirt scraped under his boots. He looked at the door for a long minute, hoping it would open but knowing it wouldn’t.
“Figure it out, darlin’. See you in the morning.”
16
“Seems we need to do a better job of disorienting people when they have on those black bags.” Vail Tucker exited a bleak conference room, all hard, cold surfaces, and strode down the hallway toward her. A striking woman in kickass leather pants, vivid red lips, and a fuck-off scowl departed behind him. Her aggressive pace overtook the Base Branch director in three long strides.
Cara’s heart rate kicked. Her breathing evened, and her muscles loosened, ready for anything.
“Bloody time you came to your senses, Lee. Welcome aboard.” The woman’s barbed British accent took its prick of flesh and blood, while she maintained the stormy stride past Cara down the hall and around the corner.
“Don’t mind Khani. She’s looking for her brother, after just finding him and losing him again.” Tucker skirted the corner and headed toward his office. The flick of his head stood as her formal invite.
“I imagine she’ll find him before long. She’s determined.”
“Among other things,” he agreed.
“I also imagine I’m not the first to find their way back after the black bag roundabouts.” Cara followed Tucker into his office and closed the door behind her.
“The good ones, the ones we want, always find their way back.” He placed a stack of files on his desk. She read each label in a quick glance. US Elite. Anosov Sadovsky. Classified. What an interesting combination, especially the one without a label that was stamped classified. Tucker lowered his head, catching her curious gaze in the act. “Can I get you anything. Coffee? Water? A pillow? It’s moved past late to pretty damn early.”
“And you’re still here.” She looked around the sparsely decorated space.
“I am. And I’ll catch hell about it from my girls, but cooking them a big breakfast should save my hide.”
“Do you usually stay ‘round the clock?”
Tucker folded his arms and propped a hip on his desk. “I’m not going to lie. There have been weeks when I haven’t seen the light of day. Most of them were because I didn’t care to. Now, it’s easier to leave. I have something to go home to.”
“How long am I going to have a babysitter?” Cara braced her legs apart and folded her own arms. “Until I accept the job? What if I decline?”
“Khani is heading back to London, and we need someone incorruptible with field experience, undercover prowess, and socio-political understanding.” A smile tugged at the corner of
his mouth.
Basically, yes. She was stuck with Tyler until she agreed or fled. Not much of a choice now was it.
“The last time I was here, you told me to live my life.” Cara swallowed the emotion creeping into her voice. “I don't know what that is anymore.” Anger shored up the edges.
His arms uncoiled and folded at his waist.
“I’m still figuring it out. Nearly fifteen years ago, my wife and unborn child died as a result of the work I did.”
“So I’m S.O.L.?”
“No.” His salt and pepper head shook. “It takes time…signing a truce with your past and looking at the future.” He stopped for a minute and then swallowed. “The truce is a real bitch.”
“Pull Grace off me. I’ll work for you. I just need some time to handle something before I start, and I need distance from this organization to do it.”
“Fair enough.” Tucker stood and offered his hand. “Just know, if you need anything, we protect our own and are at your disposal.”
“Thank you.” She took it, not at all surprised by the strength behind the gray hair, proper suit, and blue tie.
Cara’s phone vibrated in her pocket. Nausea gagged her with every vibration. The only person who would call her at this hour wouldn’t call because she’d hurt him deeply. Two other people had her number. If they were calling in the middle of the night, the news couldn’t be good. She whipped the phone from her jeans and checked the screen. A blocked number. For a split second, she thought about not answering, but this was no telemarketer. This call was deliberate.
“Until our upgrade, our phones didn’t work behind these thick walls. The new system allows us to funnel the calls, detect any tracking software, and reroute it.”
“Fancy.” Cara said the word but didn’t hear anything except the insistent vibrating. She initiated the call and placed it on her ear. “Hello?”
“I’m sending you an email. You’ll especially enjoy the attachment,” an enhanced voice said over the line. “I’ve been waiting for you, Cara. Don’t make me wait any longer.”
Someone found her. When you live in the open and have as many enemies as she’d gained over the years, what else could you expect?
The room chilled twenty degrees, freezing her to the marrow.
Please God, don’t let them have found Rin.
If only the cold brought with it an anesthetic. It didn’t. Every breath scalded her lungs. The simple act of depressing the screen to disconnect the call hurled a surge of caustic terror through her body. Nerves clattered together, creating chaos out of calamity.
She swallowed fetid saliva. The haunting email sat boldly unopened at the top of her inbox. Something so innocuous held such power over her. She reviled the feeling so much that it lent her strength enough to press the subject, My Shame.
Inside, the body blinded with its static white. The two attachments lanced her heart.
17
The file attachments next to one another at the bottom of the email showed no thumbnail image. Each had its own label.
Tyler. Marina.
Cara clicked on the first. A small window appeared with an opaque play button. Behind it, Tyler hung in the dark barn. His hands coiled with a rope stretched above his head. A floodlight illuminated his taut expression, the rage in his gaze, his naked body, and the blood coating his skin.
The impact knocked her back, forcing her to plant both feet on the ground and face the devastating reality.
She loved Tyler. And she might never get the chance to love him.
“Everything okay?” Tucker stepped forward.
The action kicked Cara out of her petrified stupor. Her gaze tore away from the grim scene, and it met Tucker’s knowing eyes.
Was Marina a victim in all this or the orchestrator? She didn’t know. The two possibilities spelled out two very different ends for the girl.
“I have to go make peace with my past…or kill it.” She headed for the door. “Call me in ten minutes. I’ll know more then. I’m borrowing a car. A fast one. You can have one of your guys bring me the keys, or I’m wiring the thing. Oh, and drop that security wall. I don’t have time to screw with it.”
“Cara.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it demanded her attention.
She didn’t want to give it. It took time, and she had to hotwire a car and drive a distance that a few weeks ago had taken her and Tyler more than an hour. Her hand landed hard on the knob and jerked the door open, but she spared Tucker a glance.
“I have a chopper headed to base with two agents. If you’ll wait, it’s yours.”
“How far out?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“Does it have to refuel?”
“Yes.”
She calculated the numbers. If she pushed, she could get there faster. The drive might kill her, but it would be hard and fast. Sitting around would turn life into a torturous series of milliseconds.
“No go,” Cara decided.
“Then take this.” A key fob sailed through the air in her direction. On instinct, she snagged it before it hit her.
“Thank you.”
“Thank me by bringing it back in one piece. Take a right out of the bank of elevators. It’s next to the red truck.”
If she needed to drive—what was apparently Tucker’s personal car—through a battlefield to save the people she loved, she wouldn’t hesitate. Instead of making false promises or wasting any more time, Cara sprinted to the staircase. She gripped the rail and leaped. The balls of her feet grazed every third step on her climb up three levels to the parking garage. Reverberations of her labored breaths echoed off the concrete.
The metal door smacked into the wall from the brunt of her exit from the stairwell out onto the lot. Her feet didn’t slow. She depressed the unlock button and ran full tilt toward a sleek black Audi parked next to another monstrous truck. What was it with people in this country and their hulking automobiles?
Her thumb held the phone’s center button until it beeped. “Call Luck.”
“Did you mean call Luck?” the robotic voice asked.
“Yes! Mother fuck.”
“What’s wrong?” Luck answered after one ring.
“Gear up and meet me at the coordinates I’m texting you right now. And don’t bring Rin.” She hung up before he could ask questions. She didn’t know answers yet anyway, but she needed him moving toward the location.
Cara threw open the driver’s door and dove inside.
Once belted in, she put every rumbling horse to the test. The suspension got its workout too. The engine growled, and the tires screeched, but it weaved through traffic like it was in a Nascar race—bumping other cars, boxing them in, and pushing hard toward the finish line. When the wheels hit the highway, her furious grip on the steering wheel loosened enough for her to grab the phone that had skittered onto the floorboard during a particularly stunning maneuver that left a mark on Tucker’s car she’d be paying back a long, long time.
Her hands—so sure moments ago playing chicken with her life—quaked. The slender metal phone shook with each command her fingers gave. Finally, the email opened. Cara diverted her gaze from Tyler’s video and clicked on the second attachment.
It wasn't a video, but a still shot of Marina bathed in a pool of light. The same kind of rope Tyler had used to truss up Nate bound her hands above her head. A length of the rope coiled twice between her parted lips. Tears soaked the girl’s lashes. Mania plagued her eyes.
The sight of Marina in pain twisted Cara’s guts. Betrayed or not, she cared about the young woman.
Cara gripped the phone between her thumb and index finger, hooked her other fingers around the leather wheel, and clicked on Tyler’s attachment. Too soon and, somehow, too many stilted moments later, the screen burst to life.
A car she dashed past—a little too closely—blared its horn. The driver probably gave her the finger, but she didn't see it. Her gaze locked on the image of Tyler’s face, and it ate up the entire display. Lines
creased his brow. His full lips stretched thin over blood-coated teeth.But he didn’t make a sound. Not the breaths puffing his cheeks nor the agony pouring from his expression let loose a note.
“He’s so tough, Markus.” The deep voice, so close to the camera, shook the speakers in her phone. Then the camera panned right.
“No,” Cara barked, willing the large man that stepped into the full frame to be anyone but Markus Royan.
The sick son of a bitch didn’t kill people. He destroyed them. He stripped them limb from limb until he bared their soul and then crushed it from existence.
Cara had made the unfortunate acquaintance of Markus and his brother, Tor Royan five years ago in Sweden. They’d been Marina’s pimps and none too happy with Cara for stealing away their best girl. Never mind that one of their customers had left Marina for dead. They’d have preferred it that way. With her death, they’d have owned the rich bastard for the rest of his miserable life and replaced Marina by day’s end.
On Marina’s behalf, she’d forced a bargain on the brothers that had left them pissed but, ultimately, hog-tied…as Tyler would put it. Forget Marina or have their every foreign and domestic bank account drained and donated on their behalf to various battered and underserved women’s groups across the world.
Tor, in particular, had taken the news hard. He was accustomed to being the deviant, dismantling people’s lives with blackmail and manipulation.
As it turned out, he’d gotten the last laugh.
A year to the date of Marina’s final liberation from the Brödraskapet backed brothers, she’d turned on them without warning.
Cara had followed through with her promise, siphoning six million dollars off their accounts. She’d distributed it through world organizations that helped women and kept enough to bankroll her own cause, keeping Rin safe. In essence, she’d had the last laugh. The second knife wound in her back made it hard to breathe, much less find the humor in the situation. Duplicity—first, from her country, and then, from the broken girl she’d looked upon as a daughter—ruined her ability to trust once and for all.
Virtues (Base Branch Series Book 8) Page 10
