The chopper belonged to a very dirty Colombian politician, and they had to return it to his private home in Aruba. From there, they would catch a plane to Florida. Marc of course didn't have any of his own gear, but Kingsley had thought of that and had arranged documents for him.
There was a grumble that sounded somewhat like a “thank you”, but Marc remained cool towards the other man.
It was bizarre being around both of them again. Kingsley, practically her other half, looking as immaculate as ever in his designer suit. Marc, something else entirely to her, looking scruffy and rough, wearing a black t-shirt and some track pants he'd managed to find during their drive. And Lily sitting in the back, wondering what the hell was next for all of them.
Together again. Who would've thought.
*
Lily had assumed their pursuers were Damiano's men, probably told to keep an eye out for them. But they weren't.
When the trio landed in Barranquilla to refuel, Kingsley took off on his own and did a little bit of investigating before they made their way to Aruba. Word had come from Bogotá that a Russian man was looking for a redheaded woman and an infamous mercenary, thought to be on their way to the coast. They were to be apprehended alive, if possible, but dead was acceptable.
Turned out, Damiano Ledo hadn't wasted any time in searching for them. After Lily and Marc had escaped, he'd evacuated his home. He had a private plane and was flown to Miami. And he wasn't alone; a Mrs. Roksana Stankovski had flown with him. Stankovski had stayed behind and sent the hired thugs after Marc and Lily.
“Wait, wait, wait – how do you know that about Damiano? I mean, if he's already in Miami and he took his people with him. How would anyone here know that?”
They were sitting in coach seats on the earliest flight to Miami out of Aruba. Marc was scowling out the window while Lily leaned across the aisle to talk with Kingsley.
“You think I've been on vacation this whole time, darling? Please. I've been working very hard, squeezing all the information I could out of anyone who would talk. You'll never believe this, but Damiano has a nice little love nest right in Miami! Mmm hmmm. So I went there, and getting his maid – who is also his cousin – to talk wasn't very difficult at all.”
“She loves a British accent, turns out.”
Lily tried to keep her breakfast down.
Maria told Kingsley anything and everything he wanted to know. He now knew for a fact that Roksana and Damiano had been sleeping together. He knew that Roksana had been trying to talk Damiano into killing Stankovski, but Damiano had shot that idea down. In fact, Damiano had already decided to shoot Roksana down. He was bringing her back to the United States as a courtesy; she would not be staying in Miami with him.
Kingsley had also learned that there were uneasy feelings between the drug lord and the Russian. The deal wasn't as rock solid as they had all believed. Powerful people are often paranoid, but that wasn't necessarily the case with Damiano. He was a smart man. If he was nervous, it was probably for a good reason.
So some more digging, a couple phone calls to a couple friends, and Kingsley learned even more. According to Stankovski's second in command, his newest brigadier, Stankovski wasn't planning on sharing the drug trade with Damiano. After insinuating his own men into positions of power, he would take over Damiano's empire from the ground up, and dispose of the drug lord in the process.
“And Damiano knows this?” Lily asked. Kingsley rested his head back and closed his eyes.
“No. I only found this out because a friend of mine is sleeping with Stankovski's cohort.”
“A friend?”
“Someone who sleeps with me when she's not sleeping with that man.”
“Your dick is going to rot off.”
“I hope not before you get a chance to experience it.”
“So Damiano feels like something isn't right, but he doesn't know that Stankovski is planning to wipe him out,” she checked. Kingsley nodded and yawned.
“Sounds about right. Handy little piece of information to have, isn't it?”
Lily looked down at her broken fingers. Then she remembered Damiano's face when he'd told her he had no quarrel with her.
“Yes. Very handy.”
“I missed you, darling,” Kingsley blurted out, surprising her, and she glanced over at him. He still had his eyes closed and his head rested back. She smiled.
“I missed you, too. Doing a job on my own ... it was hard,” she admitted. He peeked open an eye at her.
“Well, it wasn't a complete failure. You got one thing out of it,” he said before yawning again.
“What?”
“De Sant.”
She went to argue, but Kingsley turned away and began flirting with the woman who was sitting next to him. Lily glared and sat back in her seat. But she wasn't allowed to rest. Marc was looking at her.
“Did you go to Colombia looking for me?” he demanded. She sighed.
“No. I mean ... yes, of course, I thought there was a possibility of running into you. You had said you were tracking Stankovski, I knew there was a good chance we would bump into each other. But I asked around when I got to Colombia, I tried to flush you out. I told people I was there to kill you, hoping that would make you curious. But you weren't there. I figured you weren't looking for him after all, so I continued with my own plan,” she was honest.
“Lily, that's all I've done. Followed every rumor, every whisper about that man. I knew that Stankovski would have to go through Damiano, so I started following him. He's from Brazil, I thought I would find him there. That's when I heard about the party,” he told her.
“Fate has some fucked up plans for us,” Lily chuckled.
“Ain't that right, sweetheart,” he sighed.
She was shocked when his hand covered her own, his fingers lacing through hers. Linking them together. He squeezed her hard, letting their hands rest on her thigh. She held her breath for a moment, staring down at them.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“You and Kingsley. You seem ... good together. You make a good team,” he said, his voice low. She laughed again, but really, she kind of felt like crying.
“Jealous?” she tried to make it a joke.
“Extremely.”
He wasn't laughing.
“I wanted to be on your team,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “You didn't want me. I had to find someone else. You're right, he and I are good together. But you and I ... we could've been great.”
He was silent for a long time, so Lily pulled her hand free of his and crossed her arms. She looked out over the backs of the chairs, ignoring the fact that he was staring straight at her. After about two solid minutes, he lifted his hand and grabbed a lock of her hair, pinching it between his fingertips.
“When I first saw you at that party, do you know what I thought?” he asked, surprising her with the subject change.
“Oh shit?” she guessed, and earned a chuckle from him.
“I thought, 'why the fuck did she ruin that beautiful hair'. I'm glad it was a wig, sweetheart. You were born to be a redhead,” he assured her.
“Good thing, cause I don't have a whole lot of say in the matter,” she agreed, then pulled her hair away from him.
“And you're right,” he added, before turning to look out the window again.
“About what?” she asked.
“We would've been amazing together.”
DAY TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN
“What's your plan?” Kingsley panted.
“Why do you think I have a plan?” Lily was breathing hard as well.
“Darling. I know you. You've got a plan for when you take a piss. You plan everything. What is your plan?” he asked again.
“UG, you're sweating on me!” she groaned, pushing at his bare chest. He smiled.
“Go on, you love it,” he teased, pressing more of his weight on her.
“Not even a little.”
“Stop trying to
change the subject.”
Okay, let's end this.
Lily drove her fist into his ribs and while he choked on air, she rammed her elbow into the side of his head. He rolled off her and she somersaulted backwards. By the time she got to her feet, though, Kingsley had also gotten to his, and he'd armed himself. As he swung a staff at her, she did one back handspring after another, working her way to the entrance of the room. When she got there, she spun on her heel. She could hear the staff whizzing through the air as he spun it towards her, but she ignored it and sprinted forward. There was a shoe rack by the door and she lept onto it before kicking off the wall. The new height gave her an advantage. As the staff missed her and struck the wall, she was able to plant her foot in Kingsley's chest. He went down and she went with him, sitting on his chest with her knees on either side of his head.
“Give?” she gasped for air, her arm cocked back, fist ready to hit him in the face.
“When did you get this good?” he asked, and she felt the tension go out of his body. She had won this round.
“Someone trained me,” she laughed, then got off his chest.
Kingsley had found an amazing vacation rental in downtown Miami. A large penthouse with floor to ceiling windows and hardwood floors. There were rooms for everyone, and Lily had slept better than she had in a long time. But at five in the morning, Kingsley had grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her out of bed.
“Kingsley's law: down time is training time.”
He'd moved all the furniture against the walls and stripped down to a pair of loose black sweatpants that hung low on his hips. The last thing Lily wanted to do was train with Kingsley, especially with two broken fingers, but he'd told her that was just all the more reason. Bad guys wouldn't wait for her fingers to heal!
“Kingsley, we're the bad guys.”
“Semantics, darling. Watch yourself!”
And then he'd knocked her on her ass.
An hour later, though, she was actually feeling good. A little bit of normalcy, after weeks of strangeness. And he was right, it was a challenge, working around her broken fingers. The back handsprings hadn't helped and she could feel the blood rushing to them.
“Alright?” he asked, getting up. She shrugged, looking over her hands.
“As I'll ever be. I should redo this,” she mumbled, pulling apart the gauze. He grabbed her hand and pulled it towards himself, looking over the fingers.
“You dressed it well,” he commented, running the tip of his finger over her bruised knuckles.
“Marc bandaged it up the first time, when we were running through the jungle. Right after it happened,” she said.
“He would. He's very good with anatomy. He could even stitch you up in a pinch, if he had to,” Kingsley told her. He stepped closer and turned her hand over, looking at the fingers from her palm side.
“Good to know.”
“Is that all he took care of?”
Lily paused and stared up at Kingsley. His hair had gotten mussed up during their fight, one lock hanging low over his forehead and brushing his eyebrows. He was concentrating on her hand, but she could tell that wasn't what he was thinking about.
“Law,” she sighed. “It's just ... a job. He has information we need. I need. He wouldn't give it to me. I tried, believe me, I did. I begged. Literally. This is how it has to be. I didn't go in there intending to carry De Sant out. But he knows where Stankovski is, so I need him.”
There was a long pause, then Kingsley finally looked at her, though he didn't let go of her hand.
“And he won't just give you the information. What kind of deal did you make?” he asked.
Lily frowned. She'd never told Kingsley about the diamonds. They weren't any of his business. It was something between her and Marc, even when Marc wasn't present. She felt awful, though, keeping something like that from him. He deserved better. Someone much better than her.
“I did what I had to do,” was all she said in response.
There was a coughing noise from behind them, and they both looked around to find Marc standing in a bedroom doorway. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants, borrowed from Kingsley, and nothing else.
“Coffee,” he croaked out, stretching and yawning. Kingsley smiled.
“Kitchen, already have some made. Right, I'm off for a shower. You two play nice,” he instructed them before striding off into the bathroom, chucking his staff onto a couch.
“What were you two doing out here? It sounded like a herd of elephants,” Marc complained, shuffling across the floor.
“Kingsley thought it was a good idea to kick my ass for an hour or so,” was all she said. He glared, but didn't respond. Just grunted as he made his way into the kitchen.
Lily had won the coin toss for the master suite, and so she got the en suite bathroom. She showered and when she finally emerged back into the living room, she found the place deserted. Kingsley's room was empty, as well, his shoes and jacket gone, his pack of cigarettes missing from the dresser.
“Law!”
The yell had come from the bathroom. Lily made her way towards the door and Marc yelled the name again.
“He's out smoking!” she shouted back. There was a pause.
“Get me his shaving kit.”
Lily glared at the door for a second, then went back into Kingsley's room. She opened his army style rucksack and dug a small, leather bag out from the bottom of it. It was one item Kingsley was never without – he would ditch his guns before he'd leave behind his shave kit. She'd learned that long ago, and had been using that knowledge for her own means. She carried the bag to the bathroom and knocked on the door.
“Here. And try learning to say 'please',” she snapped.
“Shut up and bring it in here,” he snapped back.
Lily pushed open the door and a cloud of steam enveloped her. It was like walking through a jacuzzi. She waved the steam away and began to root around in the kit for the razor, then froze in place.
Marc was standing in front of the sink, rubbing shaving cream all over his scruffy beard. A towel was wrapped around his hips and his skin was flushed a dark tan, with water droplets running over every inch of him. Her mouth went dry at the sight.
She really had forgotten how good he could look.
“Thank god,” she grunted, taking the razor out of the bag and handing it to him. “You looked like a homeless person.”
“Your flattery won't work on me,” he teased. She stood there for a moment longer, watching as he ran the blade in a smooth sweep down the side of his cheek. Then her eyes wandered down to his shoulders, his arms.
When her eyes landed on his chest, her breath caught in her throat. There was a network of white lines, tracing down the front of him. Scars. Scars that had not been there in Africa. She remembered his flesh very well. Remembered the bullet wound in his side. A scar from a knife, near his shoulder. A shitty stitch job over his ribs. And that had been it. Now, there were thin scars everywhere, from his collar bone to his waist. She flicked her eyes to the mirror and looked at his reflection.
“Want to tell me about it?” she asked. He stared at her for a second, then went back to shaving.
“Bad weekend in Kiev,” was all he said.
“Rough prostitute?”
“I had the pleasure of spending a few evenings with Roksana Stankovski.”
Lily was blown way.
“She did this to you!? That tiny blonde … thing!?” she exclaimed, stepping closer to examine his chest.
“What can I say? She has a thing for me. She also has a sadistic streak that makes Stalin look downright cuddly, as well as a penchant for whips and blades.”
Seething red anger, washing over Lily's vision. It was ridiculous, she knew – she'd had her own uncomfortable encounters during their time apart. A target had fractured two of her ribs with a couple lucky punches, and of course, she had a wonderful reminder of Ivanov, right in the middle of her forearm. A nasty scar, almost five inches long. So Marc got hur
t, so what. Big deal.
But she couldn't help it. She really did still care about him. She worried about him. She hated the idea of someone hurting him. And she particularly didn't like that it was Stankovski's wife. Was there any area of that man's life that wasn't tinged with evil!?
“That's a lot of marks, must have been a hell of a date,” she tried to joke, but she didn't find it funny.
“That's putting it mildly. I'd probably be pig food right now, if she wasn't so easy to distract.”
“Distract?”
“She likes sex even more than she likes causing pain.”
“You had sex with her!?”
“No. Close, but I decided to take her hostage instead and I escaped.”
Lily's anger elevated another level. Anger at Roksana, for hurting Marc, for wanting him. Anger at Marc, for thinking it was funny, something so dangerous. Anger at herself, for not being a part of it. She took a deep breath to calm herself down and watched as he wiped off the last of the shaving cream, revealing a smoothly shaved face.
“Are they going to be permanent?” she asked.
“Some of them. They bother you? Am I hideous now?” he questioned her, rubbing his hand over the scars.
“They don't bother me,” she assured him, and he finally looked over at her.
“Good.”
“Well, maybe a little,” she corrected herself.
“Really?”
“Yes,” she sighed, then slid her hip along the edge of the sink, moving till she was almost next to him. He held still, and she could've sworn he held his breath. “They bother me because I never got a chance to leave a permanent mark on you.”
She turned and walked out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her before he had a chance to respond.
She was beyond high strung. Marc's presence, how badly Colombia had gone, being back with Kingsley, a phone call she'd made last night ... Lily felt like her blood pressure was through the roof. That feeling was back, of being in a sprint. Of being so tired, she didn't want to move.
He said he didn't sleep with her. Do you believe him? I can't believe I'm worried about that when she carved her initials into his chest. What a bitch. I should kill her, too.
Out of Plans (The Mercenaries #2) Page 12
