The Spy's Love Song

by Kim Fielding

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I DON’T think you translated that correctly.” Jaxon shifted against the pillow and winced at the twinge of pain.

  “Stop squirming,” Reid said irritably. “You’ll reopen the stitches. And my translation was accurate.”

  Dr. Kozel understood more English than she spoke. She nodded her agreement with Reid’s statement.

  “But… the guitar saved my life?”

  “Probably.” Reid frowned. “If that bullet had hit you straight on, it would have punctured your stomach and spleen. You’d have bled out right in the square. But it hit the guitar first, and that absorbed most of the impact.”

  “So all I got was a little dent.”

  “Not so little. But not fatal.”

  Jaxon used to think that music was his savior, but he’d never intended it so literally. “My shoulder hurts more than my torso.”

  “That’s because you keep moving it. Stay still.”

  Reid left his bedside chair and crossed the room to Dr. Kozel. They talked softly, which wasn’t necessary since they were speaking Vasnytsian. Jaxon sighed and tried again to get comfortable.

  Four days had passed since the concert, and he was finally feeling good enough to be bored. The tiny hospital room offered little in the way of entertainment, with nothing but a few pieces of furniture, some beeping machines, and walls painted an ugly pale green. No television—not that he’d understand the programming anyway—and of course his cell phone was long gone. He didn’t even have a window. For protection, Reid said. Maybe so, but Jaxon was ready to crawl out of his skin.

  After several minutes of conversation, Dr. Kozel waved at Jaxon and left the room. Reid returned to his bedside, although he didn’t sit down. He looked rough. Tired. He’d been pretty beat up in the altercation on the way to the main square, and he’d been sitting vigil with Jaxon ever since. But a bit of the tension had eased from his shoulders and jaw.

  “The doc says you’ll be okay to travel tomorrow. They’ll have to dope you up a little, though.”

  “Hey, drugs. Isn’t that what being a rock star is all about?”

  Reid grunted. “I’d rather have you stay put a few more days, but things are unstable here. It’s best if you get out ASAP.”

  “Best if we get out.”

  “The State Department’s working on transport. We’ve been assured they’ll let us cross the border, but… like I said, things are unstable. If all goes well, we’ll have a nice short flight to Split.”

  “I like Croatia,” Jaxon said. “Played a concert once in Zagreb. And I partied on a couple of the islands.”

  “No concerts this time, and definitely no partying.”

  “Yeah. It’ll be a while before I can play anyway.”

  They’d performed surgery on his shoulder, and Dr. Kozel had assured him that with time and physical therapy, he’d recover well. But for now his left arm was mostly useless.

  “You’ll stay with me in Split?” It was more a demand than a question.

  “Don’t know,” said Reid. “I’m going to need to spend a lot of time debriefing, and—”

  “They can debrief you in Split. Or they can wait. I swear to God, if they try to drag you away from me, I will throw a celebrity tantrum of epic proportions.” Jaxon paused. “Um, unless you don’t want to be there.”

  “I do.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “But long-term, Jax, I can’t—”

  Jaxon stopped him with a raised right hand. “Forget long-term. I thought we’d both be dead days ago. I can take this one day at a time.” That wasn’t completely honest, but Jaxon was willing to postpone the issue. “Now, tell me what’s up with our pal Talmirov.”

  REID didn’t update him on Talmirov, not then. He tried several times to apologize for the shooting, until Jaxon was ready to take up arms himself just to make him stop. Instead he ended up guiding the conversation elsewhere by asking for details on what happened after they got off the tram. Reid tried to downplay his own actions, but the upshot was clear—he’d distracted two soldiers long enough for Jaxon to get a good lead, and when the distractions failed, he’d fought them. Both of them died from the blades he always seemed to be hiding somewhere.

  When more I’m sorrys seemed imminent, Jaxon demanded details about the hospital. He was certainly grateful to the soldiers who rescued him, but he didn’t understand how he’d received medical care without incident or arrest.

  “One of the soldiers has family who works here,” Reid explained. “And it turns out Talmirov’s not popular among medical professionals. They get shitty pay, and he’s refused them decent equipment and sufficient staff. We’re lucky you pulled through.”

  And that was when Jaxon realized that not only was Reid blaming himself, he was exhausted. He might not have been shot, but he was pretty beat up and, unlike Jaxon, hadn’t been given a chance to loll around in bed.

  “Hey, Reid? Would you do me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “Lie down next to me.”

  Reid rolled his eyes. “Jesus. You’re in no shape to—”

  “No touchy-feely or hanky-panky. I’m feeling a little overwhelmed and I need some comfort.” It wasn’t even a lie.

  “I’m not a teddy bear,” Reid grumbled, but he didn’t hesitate to kick off his shoes. Taking great care not to move Jaxon too much, he settled onto the mattress. When Jaxon began humming a lullaby, Reid didn’t even complain. He was asleep within minutes.

  Jaxon dozed through the following morning, but as soon as he’d finished his bland lunch, a rush of activity began. People who were not hospital staff tromped in and out of his room and talked with Reid in Vasnytsian and a smattering of other languages. Jaxon knew they were discussing him, but he decided to stay in the background. It was like when he was on tour—he showed up whenever and wherever he was told.

  Eventually a pair of orderlies lifted him onto a gurney.

  “Can’t I do a wheelchair? And real clothes?” he asked plaintively. Being wheeled out while flat on his back and wearing a hospital johnny wasn’t his idea of a graceful exit.

  “No unnecessary jostling,” Reid answered firmly. But he didn’t stop Jaxon from pausing to sign autographs or pose for selfies with members of the hospital staff, gurney and all.

  Leaving the hospital required a roundabout path through various hallways before reaching a side door. An ambulance waited, and the orderlies quickly bundled Jaxon into the back. It appeared as if Dr. Kozel wanted Reid to ride up front, but he flat-out refused and got in the back with Jaxon.

  The ride to the airport was short but bumpy. Jaxon wished they’d given him better drugs.

  He was soon being wheeled toward a jet. But before he figured out how he was going to get inside, several figures came running across the tarmac. At first Reid tensed, but he relaxed as they came closer.

  “Halyna!” Jaxon exclaimed when he recognized one of them.

  She wore jeans and a lightweight sweater, not one of the uniform-like suits he’d seen her in before, and she was smiling. “I hoped I would get here before you left.”

  Jaxon had no idea what side anyone was on—or even what the sides were, exactly—but Halyna had been nice to him and didn’t appear to be a threat now. The people accompanying her were gaping like fans, not getting ready to shoot him. They were in street clothes too.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her.

  “Yes, I think so. This is exciting time for my country, yes?”

  “Yeah. But I think I’ve had enough excitement to last me awhile.”

  Her expression turned serious. “Thank you. For everything.” She gave him a careful hug and kissed both his cheeks. Then she did the same for Reid.

  The plane was nothing like the one that had brought them to Vasnytsia. In fact, it appeared to be a cargo plane, or maybe a military transport—Jaxon didn’t get a good enough look at the outside to tell. The entry ramp was much easier for him than stairs would have been, and soon h
e was secured in the no-frills hold with Dr. Kozel and Reid in seats nearby.

  “Less than an hour,” Reid said, patting Jaxon’s good shoulder.

  As soon as they were in the air, Dr. Kozel fixed her gaze outside a window. Jaxon wondered how long it had been since she’d left the country—if ever. He was glad his injuries had given her the opportunity. She seemed swept up in the adventure.

  True to form, however, Reid was uptight. He rearranged Jaxon’s pillow several times, tucked and untucked the blankets, and kept asking him if he was okay.

  Finally Jaxon grabbed his wrist. “Tell me what’s going on in Vasnytsia. Politically, I mean.”

  Reid sighed and settled back in his seat. “Chaos, mostly. The videos from the main square went viral instantly. Thousands and thousands of hits within minutes. News agencies scrambled. It was still daytime back in the States—still working hours—and members of Congress popped up all over to speak out against Talmirov. It was a big deal, Jax. People across the world hanging on to their seats, waiting to hear if you were alive.”

  “Yeah, but what about Talmirov?”

  “That night, people marched in the streets of Starograd. In some of the other cities too. And the military didn’t do much about it. I think they weren’t getting clear orders, and anyway, they didn’t want to cause bloodshed. The marchers were their friends and relatives. Plus Talmirov didn’t exactly inspire loyalty among the troops.”

  Jaxon sighed in relief. “So nobody else died.”

  “No. But by morning the prime minister’s palace was under siege from protestors, and so were most of the government buildings. Talmirov gave a speech on TV denying everything, but nobody believed a word, and most of Europe was already denouncing him.” He chuckled. “Russia issued a statement that denied any scheming.”

  It was kind of a shame Jaxon had missed all of that. He would have liked watching his new friends have their moment in the streets. “So then?”

  “By the second night, all attempts at government control of the people had ended. People were playing music everywhere—folk songs, your songs, everything—and dancing. They’re calling it the Dancing Revolution because it started with your song, sort of.”

  Shit. “Revolution?”

  “Talmirov was gone by the next day, along with a bunch of his cronies. Now everyone’s trying to figure out what to do next, but reasonable voices are prevailing. They’ve already freed some dissidents from prison, and those men and women seem to be organizing things. I think it’ll turn out okay.” Reid nodded to emphasize his point.

  It wasn’t the good drugs making Jaxon feel warm and fuzzy now—it was the knowledge that he’d helped bring about something good. Fedir and Lera, Halyna, even that ever-scowling barista from the Black Cat, they wouldn’t have to hide out in basements any longer.

  But that raised a less pleasant thought. “Albina’s dead. And Mariya—”

  “Mariya is fine. She was in a holding cell when the shit hit the fan, but she hadn’t been harmed. She was one of the people freed. She’s in hiding now, and I don’t know where, but she managed to get word to me that she’s safe.”

  Jaxon let out a long sigh of relief. “Does anyone know where Talmirov went?”

  “Russia, probably, although they won’t admit it. Other governments are going to put a lot of pressure on Moscow to hand him over for trial. And once that damn chip is out of my arm, the proof will be out there. Moscow’s going to have a lot of incentive to play nice.”

  If Reid sounded a little smug, Jaxon couldn’t blame him. In fact, picturing Talmirov in prisoner orange was damned satisfying.

  Jaxon must have spaced out on that image for a time, because before he knew it, the plane was bumping to a landing.

  The confusing scene on the tarmac involved Croatian police of some kind, Croatian medical personnel, and Croatian and American officials. Reid stuck close to Jaxon and refused to allow anyone to badger him.

  After another brief ambulance ride, Jaxon rejoiced to discover that instead of a dreary hospital, his destination was a lovely villa with a view of the sea. Although medical equipment flanked Jaxon’s bed, the room also boasted large windows overlooking a pool and garden. There was a flat-screen TV. And, one of the Americans showed him with pride, a new smartphone to replace the one he’d lost in Starograd.

  “It’s like I won the showcase on a game show. Where’s my brand-new car?”

  The Croatians seemed confused, but Reid snickered at the joke.

  Eventually Jaxon settled in his temporary new home and the officials cleared out, leaving him alone with Reid, except for housekeeping staff and some nurses. Dr. Kozel pronounced the new arrangements satisfactory, and Jaxon thanked her. She left, presumably to enjoy a nice little seaside vacation.

  “I’m wiped,” Jaxon said. “I’m usually cool with travel, but—”

  “But you’re not usually shot full of holes.”

  “I’m not full of holes. That’s an exaggeration.” Jaxon yawned hugely. “But it’s still tiring, apparently. Shit. It’s not even dinnertime. Hey, do you think we can get squid ink risotto here? I love that stuff.”

  Reid shook his head. “Rest. A lot of people are eager to talk to you.”

  Yeah. Among other things, Jaxon figured he and Buzz needed to have a long conversation. “Fine.” He patted the other side of the bed. “Join me.”

  “I have to get the chip out. And then debriefing, and—”

  “Yeah, yeah. But come join me.”

  Reid gazed out the window as if he were fascinated with the landscaping. Somewhere along the line he’d gotten his hands on jeans and a white button-down. The look flattered him, but then what didn’t?

  “We talked about this, Jax.” Still facing away. “We can’t do this. Our lives are on different tracks.”

  “I can change my track. I wasn’t all that satisfied with where my train was going anyway.”

  “I can’t ask you to give up being… Jaxon Powers.”

  “I’m always gonna be him. I could move back to Peril, work in my dad’s insurance office, maybe farm some acreage, and I’d still be Jaxon Powers. With an x.”

  Reid finally turned around. “And your music?”

  “I’ve proved I can be a superstar. Look, I could do a weekly gig for friends in Terry Holcomb’s barn and be just as happy as in an arena somewhere.”

  Rubbing his chin—his stubble was becoming a beard—Reid crossed the room and sat beside him. “You’re not what I expected. I thought you were a spoiled, rich brat. I thought you didn’t care about anything but getting high and throwing money around. And fucking anyone who came near.”

  “Yeah?” The words didn’t hurt. A lot of people probably thought the same. Hell, to some extent that had been him, once upon a time.

  “That’s not you at all. You’re brave. Stupid about it sometimes, but brave. You care about people, and I don’t mean the kind of people who get awards and show up in gossip columns. Regular people. And your music…. You’re not some lucky poser who’s been groomed to meet marketing algorithms. When you sing you’re offering your soul, naked for the world to see.” He sighed. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Then why is this a problem?” Jaxon asked softly.

  “Because I’m not the man you deserve.” His eyes filled with tears that didn’t overflow.

  Jaxon’s throat felt tight and his next words came out choked. “You’re more than I deserve. And you’re exactly what I want. More. You’re what I need.”

  After a pause, Reid stroked a curl away from Jaxon’s forehead. Such a tender touch from a hand that had been trained to be so strong. “I’m finding myself wondering how I lived all these years without you,” he said. “But I need some time. Not to decide how I feel about you—I know that part. I need to decide how I feel about myself.”

  Jaxon grasped that hand with his own and brought it to his lips for a soft kiss on the knuckles. “I can give you time. I’m not going anywhere. Whenever you’re ready, we’ll catch that met
aphorical train together.”

  Instead of replying, Reid returned the kiss, this time a tender brush against Jaxon’s knuckles. Then he let go, stood, and crossed to the door. After one long look over his shoulder, he was gone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  WAKING up in a Croatian villa should have been wonderful. The air smelled of lavender and the sea, Jaxon’s breakfast was a variety of fresh fruit, and the nurse, who was a handsome man with dimples, helped him walk to the bathroom instead of making him use a bedpan. The sun shone brightly in a sharp blue sky. Jaxon’s iPhone was close at hand, ready to connect him to the world. The setting was infinitely nicer than anywhere he’d slept for the past number of days—forests, ruined castles, basements, oppressive hotels, rabbit-hutch apartments, and boring hospitals.

  But Reid wasn’t here.

  Oh, he was alive and well, which was enormously comforting. But he wasn’t in Jaxon’s room. That hurt worse than getting shot, even though Jaxon held out hope he’d return soon.

  Still, Jaxon tried to behave himself. He spoke at length with some friendly people from the State Department. Although he had some negative opinions to share about their colleague Diana Chiu, who’d dragged him into this mess with half-truths and lies, he couldn’t really blame her or any of them. The mission, right?

  He ate a lovely lunch of grilled fresh sardines. Then he argued with one of his nurses, who didn’t want to open the windows in case Jaxon got a chill.

  “It’s warm enough and I want fresh air. If you don’t open them, I will.”

  The nurse made a face, but she opened the windows. With a breeze ruffling the curtains and playing over his skin, Jaxon took a short nap.

  After he woke up and had a bandage change and sponge bath, a woman from the US Embassy came to his room. “Are you feeling well?” she asked in a Croatian accent. She was a grandmotherly sort, short and plump and cardiganed.

  “I am. Everybody here’s treating me amazingly well.”

  “We are happy to have you as a guest. We’ve obtained a new passport for you, so you’ll be able to leave when you’re ready. But no hurry. Enjoy Dalmatia while you recover.”