Soldier's Redemption

by Alice Sharpe

  “Do you always move this fast?” she asked, her cheeks even rosier as she touched his chest with one hand and the other lit against her own, a curiously intimate gesture that got to him for a moment.

  He swallowed hard, working now to get back the control he shouldn’t have lost in the first place. “Never,” he said, and that was the most truthful word he’d ever uttered. But this wasn’t love and romance. This was a skirmish in a battle, and control had to be taken quickly and firmly.

  “I see. I guess. Am I too late?” she asked.

  “Too late for what?”

  “Dinner, silly.”

  He smiled into her eyes. “No.”

  “Good, because I’m really hungry.”

  “So am I,” he said, closing the door behind him. He took her hand in his and led her toward the elevator. “So am I.”

  Chapter Four

  “What’s this for?” Cole asked as Skylar handed him a box she took from her handbag. She’d stopped by the gallery before coming to the hotel and presented her gift right after the waiter had taken their drink order.

  “Open it,” she coaxed. He met her gaze and then began peeling away the thick sage-green paper to reveal a tan box. The lid came next, and then a smile lit his face as he stared down into the box and back at her.

  “Skylar, you shouldn’t have—”

  “Thanked you for helping me?” she interrupted. “Oh, yes, I should.”

  He plucked the heavy paperweight out of the box and cradled it in his hand. Within the globe of glass resided a tree, its delicate branches dotted with white flowers and dark green leaves, a hint of blue for the sky and shades of rust for its roots. It was one her aunt’s most exquisite pieces, and Skylar warmed at the sight of Cole’s obvious pleasure.

  “This is beautiful,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “It’s one of her smaller pieces, but I didn’t want to give you something so big it would be a problem getting it back to the States. By the way, where do you live?”

  “Nevada,” he said. “Las Vegas.” He stared at her a second and added, “You look surprised.”

  “I guess I just never thought an import/export business would be based in Las Vegas.”

  “In today’s world, it doesn’t matter much where you’re based.”

  The waiter appeared with wine for her, a draft beer for him. As he disappeared into the polished woodwork, Cole and Skylar clinked glasses. “Here’s to chance meetings,” he said. “Although I thought for sure they’d card you when you ordered wine.”

  “I do get carded in the States a lot, but Europe is different.”

  He smiled again, and with that slight movement of his lips, the full memory of his earlier kiss swamped her. She quickly opened her menu, alarmed by her own lustful thoughts, her mind more on his bed upstairs than on the list of entrées before her.

  Maybe it was the awfulness of the day that had set her mind wandering like this. Or maybe it was his obvious attraction to her that seemed unexpected and yet genuine...and very reciprocated on her part.

  “What sounds good?” he asked, and she looked up to see him folding the menu and laying it aside.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “How about you?”

  “I’ve heard the chef is a master with pasta. I think I’ll try the clam linguine.”

  She folded her menu, as well. “I’ll have the same.”

  They gave their dinner order and then were alone again—or as alone as two people in a bustling restaurant can be. Still, it was an old-fashioned place, a little staunch and very respectable, and the tables were a discreet distance from each other. The empty table closest to theirs sported a reserved place card that Skylar hoped would remain as long as they were there.

  For a while, they talked about themselves in general, getting-to-know-you terms, comparing colleges and families, tastes in books and movies, ordinary things. She found out his mother was dead and his father and he were estranged. Skylar couldn’t imagine such a thing. No siblings, no parents—how could he stand being so alone? She also discovered he’d served in the military, but he didn’t mention his injury and she didn’t ask. He’d been out just a few months, he said, and there was a wistful sound to his voice that alerted her to the fact he hadn’t left because he wanted to but because he’d had no choice and that it hurt him.

  Their dinners arrived quicker than she’d anticipated. She stole candlelit looks at his face as he tasted the wine the waiter poured for him to approve, wondering how someone so young could come across so mature. Lots of the men she knew were a few years older than him, and they all seemed to be stuck in some Peter Pan perpetual youth thing while this guy was a grown-up through and through—the kind of man a woman could depend on. He’d proven that today.

  Whoa. Her thoughts were way ahead of her. Maybe the wine had gone straight to her head.

  She and Cole were expounding the virtues of the linguine when the party for the table behind Cole was seated. It consisted of a man and a woman, and to Skylar’s surprise, she recognized the male as her uncle’s pompous secretary and right-hand man. She ducked her head as he sat down, his back to her.

  Cole leaned forward. “What’s wrong? Do you know those people?”

  “Just one of them,” she replied, her voice little more than a whisper.

  “Which one?”

  “The man. He’s sitting right behind you.”

  “The guy with the slicked back blond hair and glasses? The one with the mole on his left cheek?” His voice was as soft as hers.

  “Yes,” she said, amazed that Cole had noticed so many details when he couldn’t have had more than a glimpse of him in passing.

  “Who is he?”

  “He works for my uncle. His name is Ian Banderas.”

  “Who’s the woman?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea. She’s very attractive, though.”

  “In that calculating I-eat-minions-for-lunch kind of way,” he said, which brought a smile to Skylar’s lips. His observation was true. The woman’s lips were the color of fresh blood, and she wore her hair in a severe wedge of glossy black that resembled a helmet.

  Cole sat back and studied her for a minute. “Why are you nervous about the guy?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Okay, I am,” she said, not sure what to add. She wasn’t a child and she didn’t need to ask permission to leave the mansion, yet there was no denying she hadn’t told her uncle her plans for the simple reason she had the weird feeling he would ask her not to go until his check was complete, and she didn’t want to openly defy him. He was unfailingly kind to her, but he was also a man of determination and power, and at times, she thought he might even be a little on the autocratic side.

  But how did she tell the confident, self-assured guy sitting across from her that she didn’t want her uncle’s secretary blabbing her private business? She would sound like an idiot. “I get the feeling he’s a bit of a gossip,” she said, settling on an abbreviated version of the truth.

  “You don’t want him telling your uncle he saw you here with me,” Cole said.

  “You have to understand...it’s hard enough living in the house with protective relatives without giving them every detail of your life.”

  “I can only imagine,” he said. “Do you want to leave?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think he saw me, and even if he did, I’m not sure he would recognize me. I only know him because I saw a picture of him with Uncle Luca in the newspaper one day, and the caption identified him.”

  “Your uncle doesn’t invite him to his home?”

  “No. He says he likes to keep business and home life separate from each other.”

  “I didn’t think politicians had that luxury.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. He told me once that letting underlings get too close could be dangerous—that he had firsthand experience with the fact that men in his profession could stab you in the back while they smiled in
your face.”

  Cole’s amazing blue eyes seemed to darken, or maybe it was just his expression. Maybe it was neither; maybe it was her imagination. “He sounds cautious,” he said at last.

  “You have no idea.” She took a deep breath and a sip of wine. “Let’s pretend Ian isn’t here. It’s not the end of the world if he sees me, anyway.”

  “I wonder if the woman works with your uncle, too.”

  “I have no idea.”

  He opened his mouth again, then closed it without speaking, leaving something unsaid, but what, she had no inkling. Seeking to change the subject, she speared a clam and asked, “Do you really live in Vegas?”

  “I really do.”

  “Do you go to the casinos all the time?”

  “Rarely,” he said, twisting linguine on his fork.

  “You don’t care for games of chance?”

  “Not that kind,” he said, smiling that way he had that seemed to impart a whole other layer of meaning to his words.

  They fell silent while they finished dinner. Skylar was sure Ian Banderas hadn’t yet noticed her, and she was anxious to leave but swallowed her impatience when the waiter showed up with a dessert tray and Cole asked her if she’d like to split something over coffee.

  The tiramisu arrived with coffee strong enough to fuel the whole town for an hour or two. Skylar forgot all about Ian as she and Cole scooted closer together in order to share dessert. Their confidences grew a little more intimate as they discussed past relationships and future dreams, and her head swam with compliments as he admired the dress she’d created and worn that evening: a short sheath made up of a half-dozen different black fabrics including lace and satin and velvet with a few iridescent feathers just for fun.

  They were in the process of polishing off their last sips of coffee when a woman came into the emptying dining room. She caught Skylar’s attention because of the furtive way she looked around and because her inexpensive clothes were so outdated and worn. She was unaccompanied as she stood near the door and searched the room, and then it seemed to Skylar that their gazes met. The woman started toward their table, sending waves of anxiety ahead of her that seemed to ripple through the air like something tangible and concrete.

  Skylar put her cup down so fast it rattled on its saucer. Cole looked up. He apparently discerned the same feelings of uneasiness that Skylar had. He squeezed her hand and then stood as if providing a barrier, but the woman didn’t even pause as she moved right past them both. Instead, she came to a halt at the table of Banderas and his dinner companion. Cole sat down again, his gaze connecting with Skylar’s.

  Standing over Ian, the woman spoke in a breathless, anxiety-ridden tone that was so soft only the emotion came through loud and clear. Cole sat back down and met Skylar’s gaze. When he opened his mouth as if to inquire what was going on, she shook her head, straining to hear what was being said.

  But it was almost hopeless. The words were spoken so softly and with such distress and urgency they blended together like an off-key song. A few words stood out, but mostly it seemed like pleading and begging with flashes of fear thrown in.

  Management showed up in the form of a tuxedo-wearing maître d’ with a pencil-thin mustache. Skylar turned in her chair to glimpse the man stopping beside the woman and speaking briefly with her. The woman looked trapped as she peered around the room, then the maître d’ clutched her arm and ushered her away. Her soft cries haunted Skylar as she departed—another sad, mournful event in a day that seemed destined to end in tragedy of one kind or another.

  Skylar’s gaze swiveled back to Ian, who had taken out his phone. Before she could look away, he’d risen to his feet and sped past her, talking hurriedly as he moved. He took the street entrance and disappeared into the night. The woman he’d been dining with took out a credit card and signaled their waiter.

  “I guess the floor show is over,” Cole said.

  “I guess so,” Skylar said, turning to face him. “I wonder what that was all about?”

  “You couldn’t tell?”

  “No. They spoke too softly. It sounded like she was pleading for her life.”

  “I obviously couldn’t understand her, but her manner triumphed over language barriers,” Cole said. “She was terrified.”

  “Yeah.”

  He signed the check, then helped Skylar with her coat, and they left the restaurant, exiting into the lobby. They paused behind a trio of potted palms. “Will you come up to my room?” he asked quietly, gazing down into her eyes.

  She wanted to. She wanted to forget about Aneta’s blood and the forlorn woman’s begging, forget about sadness and doubt....

  But then she remembered the kiss with which Cole had greeted her that evening and the resulting flare of passion and desire. All evening their gazes had locked as they ate and chatted and danced around the flaming heat that seemed to unite them. She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Pity,” he said, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, his gaze consuming her.

  “You may not believe me,” she added, “but normally I don’t kiss men I just meet.”

  “I hope not,” he said.

  “Well, I could see how you might get the impression...” Her voice trailed off as she realized she’d painted herself into a corner.

  He smiled. “Don’t worry, Skylar. It never crossed my mind.”

  “I don’t know why it wouldn’t,” she said. “I haven’t exactly been pushing you away.”

  His smile turned speculative. “You don’t honestly think I go around kissing every pretty girl who will let me, do you?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “But—”

  “But you’re different,” he said. “Today has been different. Accelerated, kind of. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right from the start,” he added, and the way his voice dipped and his eyes burned into her made her reconsider his offer.

  “I’ll call you a cab,” he said, and releasing her shoulder, he walked over to the desk and put in a request. When he returned, he took her hand and walked out to the curb with her. The cab arrived within minutes, and he opened the back door, ushered her inside and then followed.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Seeing you home. I’ll take the taxi back to the hotel.”

  “That’s not necessary—”

  “Why don’t you tell the cabbie where you live?” he said, the smile back.

  After she leaned forward to give the man her address, she sat back against the seat and turned her head to look up at Cole’s dark profile. “It’s been a lovely evening,” she said. “I’m glad I came.”

  “I’m glad you came, too.”

  “My uncle’s estate isn’t far. We should be there within minutes.”

  His fingers brushed her face, tilting her chin up, his lips so close she felt them move when he spoke. “Then we better start saying goodbye right now,” he said. The heat of his breath made her quiver as his mouth closed over hers.

  * * *

  COLE RETURNED TO HIS ROOM a little uneasy about the evening. Where had his noble intentions gone? How could he justify finding out the truth and exacting justice for himself while taking those very things away from someone else?

  Especially from someone he was beginning to care about?

  Not that kissing Skylar had been anything but genuine on his part. Who wouldn’t want to kiss her? But his motives were complicated—even to him—and he knew if he was honest with her about his intentions and goals, she would be as likely to push him under a bus as ever look at him again. And he couldn’t chance losing her because then he would be worse off than before, his very presence a red flag to Luca Futura. At that point, his best bet would be to get out of Kanistan as quickly as possible.

  There was a saying his adoptive father had uttered at times: in for a penny, in for a pound.

  As he unlocked his room door with the swipe of a card
, he wondered again about Ian Banderas and the sad woman who had come up to him in the public venue of a restaurant. From her demeanor, it was obvious she wasn’t the kind to cause a stir, which in itself underlined a desperation to her action. Skylar had picked up on it immediately as had he.

  The door closed behind him, and he paused for a second, reviewing, in his mind’s eye, the sight of Skylar seated across from him, her expression as soft as her lips, her eyes glowing in the candlelight, so young and pretty and such a world away from anyone and anything he’d ever experienced that he felt as drawn to her, in his way, as that woman had been drawn to Ian Banderas.

  But there had been a somber note to their parting that had been unexpected. At first he thought the hurried way she left the cab had to do with the accumulation of too many unexpected and overwhelming events of the day, but on the way back, he’d speculated it might be that he was rushing her. Hadn’t she mentioned him going fast the minute he kissed her?

  He took a deep breath and, out of habit, checked the small case he kept atop the dresser, positioned just so with the image of a compass on top pointing one degree south of northwest.

  It was off by that one degree. Someone had made it line up just right, which meant it was wrong.

  And that meant someone had been in the room.

  His gaze swiveled to the bed, which was turned down with a candy on the pillow just as it had been the night before. The maid had been here. She could have been intrigued by the case and tried to open it. Hell, she could have set something down on the dresser that scooted it out of position. Time to check the other safeguard—this one the felt bag he kept in the back of the bottom drawer.

  The bag was where it was supposed to be, and he retrieved it, carrying it to the bed where he sat down to examine the loose knot in the beige cord. It looked exactly as it had when he left except that the extra beige thread that he habitually threaded in the knot was missing. Someone had untied the cord to uncover a wad of euros folded inside. As he expected, the money was intact...and that meant his searcher hadn’t been a thief. He’d been after something else.

  Who else but Luca Futura or, more accurately, one of his henchmen?