by Wendy Byrne
"Patience. Maybe there's a hidden file somewhere."
She twisted to look at him. "This doesn't make sense. Why would he guard this thing so much if there was nothing on it? What am I not getting?"
"Let me have a look." He tried every trick he knew to get at something beyond the statistical info to secure names or even account numbers. Trinity. The name drummed in his head until he couldn't think straight. "What do these codes mean?"
"It can't be complicated. Marco wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed." She scooted back in her seat and took a long sip of the wine. "What am I missing?"
She still was in loner mode of thinking, feeling, knowing that everything she did, she did alone. He had to wonder about her and her brothers, and why the FBI didn't have more information about their entry into the US. There was a whole lot she wasn't telling. And rampant speculation on his part was serving no purpose.
"I can send the files we found to FBI headquarters and see if they can unlock it or figure out the code."
She shrugged. "Now that we've got the big dogs on the case, I'm going to take a long, hot bath. I need to wash the stink of Marco off me."
It probably was a little bit of wishful thinking when he thought she might invite him to join her. "Be careful about your back. Ron dropped off some ointment along with the clothes. I could put some on the cuts when you get out."
"I'll be fine." She gave him a cheeky smile. "Believe me, I've been through a lot worse."
Kane continued to work on the computer, anxious as she was to figure out what all the data meant. At first glance, it looked as if a series of random numbers and letters, but it had to mean something. But what?
She must have been in the bath for at least a half an hour when she reappeared wrapped in a fluffy white robe, looking more relaxed than she'd looked since he'd met her. Even the dark circles beneath her eyes seemed to have dissipated a bit.
"Figure out anything?" She peered over his shoulder.
"I've tried all the obvious ways to uncover the names behind the numbers but I'm still coming up with zero."
"Maybe the FBI will come up with something."
"Always a possibility." He closed the computer. "Why don't you lie down, and I'll take care of your back." Without waiting for a response, he opened the tube of ointment and pulled down the bed covers.
She loosened the belt on her robe, slipped out of the sleeves, and lay on the bed, her arms wiggling around until they found a comfortable spot buried beneath the pillow. "Time to work your magic."
Kane tugged at the collar of the robe until her back was exposed. "That glass really cut you up." He tried not to apply too much pressure as he put the salve on her back. Every time she winced, he couldn't help but think about payback. Marco was dead, but Trinity was the reason behind all of this.
"I hope I don't require stitches. Based on your handiwork with my hair, I'd hate to see you with a needle and thread putting together pieces of my skin."
"I've stitched up wounds before. They're not the prettiest, but in the middle of nowhere you do what you have to do."
She plumped the pillow beneath her head. "Is there anything you can't do, Mr. Hotshot FBI Man?"
He grimaced. "Can't dance worth shit."
She burst out laughing. "Well, that and you have a really soft head. A little tap and you're down for the count."
"Are you kidding? I think he used a brick to hit me." He rubbed her shoulders just because he could. "Now that we have all my spectacular achievements out in the open, I'd like to know a little more about your superhuman powers, Rambo."
"Apparently I'm hard to kill."
"I've been meaning to ask, did you work in one of those traveling carnivals or something? Because I gotta tell you, your knife skills are amazing. Maybe you could give me a few pointers. "
She chuckled. "No traveling carnivals in my past. And no to the free lesson."
"I'd pay you for it." He stopped a minute, letting his hand expertly work at the muscles in her back. "Somehow."
"First of all, I don't teach my superpowers to just anyone. You might not be worthy of the gift. I'd have to ensure you'd use it for good, not evil."
He quirked up one eyebrow and looked at her. "Hmmm. That's asking a lot. It does depend on the definition of good and evil. Although it might seem all black and white, it may not be."
To illustrate the fact he was in this to win, he rubbed his thumbs along the base of her neck then zeroed in on her shoulders. When he sensed an ease in the tension within her shoulders, he felt as if he were making progress.
"Oooooooh, that feels so good."
"I'm a master." He pressed beneath her collarbone. "A few minutes of this and you'll be my slave forever."
Swiveling her head, she glanced at him. "You know me well enough to recognize that would never happen."
He shrugged. "Thought I could plant the seed. Maybe get you under my spell so you could spill all your secrets. You haven't told me much about yourself."
"Not much to tell."
He bit off a laugh. "Yeah, right. I know I asked you this before, but why did you leave me in the middle of nowhere? And did I mention I was injured?"
"I work alone." Her smile looked forced. "Besides, you were cramping my style."
"Hey, I work alone too but I'd never leave a man behind."
"US military. I should have guessed."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing." She shrugged. "You have that way about you."
"So do you. But I suspect you weren't in the military."
"That's right. You're privy to all sorts of personal information about me and everybody else you want."
"Not really." He shook his head. "Besides, your file is buried so deep somewhere I'm not even sure the president could touch it."
The tension in her shoulder seemed to dissipate. "So you say." Her expression turned stubborn, as if whatever secrets she had, she intended to keep buried.
"It's true. What's your story? Where were you trained?"
She chewed her lip as her eyes narrowed. "Why should I be the one spilling secrets? How about you?"
"Ah, you're one of those. You show me yours and I'll show you mine." He smiled and hoped she'd let down her guard at least a little.
"In that case, you need to strip naked, because you've seen everything I have." She smiled, and that tension eased a fraction more, as evidenced by the slow, easy smile tweaking the ends of her lips.
He shook his head. Where this was headed was written in neon colors. Instead, he played along—at least for the time being. "Babe, you do not want to see that. I have scars."
"In case you weren't paying too much attention, I do too." She turned on her side and pulled up the edge of her robe to reveal a long, smooth leg. "I got six stitches in my calf, broke my arm a couple of times and they had to put in a pin the second go round, the usual appendix scar, and a nick right above my heart—the list goes on and on."
"So this is a competition now." He stood and ripped his shirt over his head. "Caught a bullet with my chest. Found out I wasn't Superman after all."
The wound had puckered and diminished over the years. She fingered the scar, then trailed her fingers up his chest. "Is that all you've got?"
"I have more, but they're inside." He brought her fingers to cover his heart. "Just like yours..." He trailed off as she sat up in bed, wiggled out of the robe, grabbed his shoulders, pulled him against her, and kissed him. A full-on kiss involving tongues. Not one of those little pecks she'd laid on him before.
A straight-up diversionary tactic for sure.
* * *
Sabrina felt the rapid beat of his heart as his naked body slid off hers. He nuzzled the spot on her neck that he'd already discovered drove her crazy before he drew her body against his. As far as trying-to-avoid-the-inevitable conversation, the sex was an excellent diversion.
"I like your way of avoiding the subject." He rubbed his hand up and down her arm, as if he'd noticed the sudden
uptick in her pulse.
Sabrina turned to face him. She wasn't ready for this. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Instead, she kissed behind his ear and down his neck, hoping maybe he'd settle for round two. "Don't tell me you're one of those psych majors into analyzing everyone and everything."
"Matter of fact I was, but even if I wasn't, a blind man could see what you're doing here."
She harrumphed her disapproval. Why couldn't he be like any other red-blooded American man and get laid, go for round two, and then move on. But noooooo, he had to get all new-age sensitive on her. "I don't like to talk about myself."
She wanted to say something clever and funny, but at the moment the only thing more frazzled than her body was her brain.
Push. Pull. Push. Pull.
The universal truth: disaster was around the corner. But she had no ability to stop it. Knowing and wanting were at opposite ends of the sanity spectrum.
She knew every inch of his body now, if not by feel, by sight, and erotic thoughts zinged through her bloodstream. It had been a long time since she'd given in to pure lust. But compromising what they had to do weighed heavy on her mind.
Intimacy between them would screw up this mission only if she allowed it to. She could keep herself detached like she always did. Besides, if things got a little too close, she could always shake him loose.
Push. Pull. Push. Pull.
And maybe, just maybe, she could gain a little perspective. Because right now she didn't want to think about caution. She didn't want to contemplate going slow. She wanted to be with him—skin on skin. To feel the touch of his hands on her, which was one more un-Sabrina-like thought to add to her growing list. But being with him had made her feel alive for the first time in a long while.
Damn, she needed something to clear this muddled mind of hers.
"I told you before I had scars inside as well. My dad beat my mom for as long as I can remember."
She drew in a breath. After their casual conversation, his revelation had been unexpected. "I'm sorry."
He shrugged. "I'm over it. That was a long time ago."
"You have a sister, right?"
"Yeah, she's in med school. We've both dealt with what happened in similar ways. While she threw herself into her studies, I threw myself into risk-taking as a profession. I never met an impossible mission I didn't volunteer for: deep into enemy territory with a three percent chance of getting out of there alive and I'm your man. It was as if I wanted to go back in time and save my mom from what had been brewing for as far back as I remember."
"I …don't…know…what to say."
"Nothing to say. My dad's an asshole and there's nothing I can do about that." He drew in a breath. "My mom never tried to run away from the bastard. In fact, when he found a new woman, she begged him to stay. I signed up for the Army ROTC my senior year of high school, and they put me through college. I had a knack for languages and figured, what the hell? Became an Army ranger, got shot up, and went to work for the FBI. Haven't talked to my dad in more than fifteen years and don't intend to. My little sister escaped most of the crazy. My mom sits by the window and hopes for the day my POS dad will come back. It's sick and twisted, but that was my screwed-up barometer of family life. I thought I could separate my personal experiences from my undercover job when I went to work for Marco, but found out pretty quickly that was impossible."
"I…" She thought about responding, but couldn't get the words to form through the clog of emotion inside her throat. He'd shared something of himself. Could she do the same? Getting comfortable is never good. Even as she pushed away the memory, the words bubbled on the edges of her lips. "My parents died when I was seven. My brothers and I lived on the streets, foraging for food, begging for places to stay, and then hiding out in caves, barns, anything that kept a roof over our heads."
He wrapped his arms around her. "How did it happen?"
She shook her head, even while sensation shuddered within her. "I was young. I don't really remember. I can feel the fear." She rubbed her hands down her arms. "Then they were gone. My brothers and I have never talked about it. At first, Max convinced me the whole thing was an adventure." She shook her head. "We developed some survival skills along the way."
"Yeah, I could see that. I spotted you pickpocketing Arte's knife in the rearview mirror when we drove into town." He took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. "But there's more, isn't there?"
She drew in a deep breath. No one outside her brothers knew the truth. "Have you ever heard of Goren Petrovich?" Saying his name out loud took every ounce of fortitude she possessed. For years she'd worked so hard at obliterating his name from her vocabulary, but she'd failed to erase the memories of what he'd made her become.
"I don't think so. Who is he?"
"My brothers and I had an especially bad night. We had crawled into a cave. I remember being cold and hungry, shivering and crying, asking for my mama. I think I had a fever. It's all kind of fuzzy now. Max went out to get us some food but returned with Petrovich. That's when the real adventure began."
"What do you mean?" Although he said the words as a question, she could see by the set of his jaw and the pity in his eyes he already knew the answer wasn't pretty.
"He trained us. To…well, that's where I learned to take down a man like Marco." Rather than feeling weighted down by telling her secret, she felt better for some inexplicable reason. It was almost as if that blackness inside of her had become a dark, dingy gray instead. "Petrovich took on contracts for hire, and he trained us to do his dirty work. To carry out the…hits."
"But you were just a kid."
Sabrina shrugged. Trying to shrug off the emotion his words of sympathy stirred. "He told us they were bad men. Maybe some were, I don't know."
"It's not your fault."
"I know that," she snapped back, more intensely than she'd intended. She paused, took a deep breath. "I guess it's why I'm taking this case to heart. I know what it feels like to be used like that."
"Ah shit…did he…" He winced. "You know…"
She held up her hand, even though she couldn't help but be touched by the absolute fear she spotted in his eyes. "No, it was never sexual. On one hand he offered us a roof over our head, food, and an education. It was what he expected in return that gives me nightmares. Of course, he always somehow convinced us we were ridding the world of evil, but I'm not so sure about that."
She turned so that her back was to him and relished in the comfort for once in her life. Somehow he intuitively got her. And that frightened the hell out of her.
CHAPTER TEN
Kane was sound asleep when Sabrina made her decision. After last night, she needed to make a clean break. He was getting inside her head, acting as if he knew what she was thinking, how she was feeling, and she didn't want that to happen.
Besides, going alone was what she did best. Having a partner had never been part of her makeup, and hooking up with him had been a mistake. Now that she had a direction and a way to go, she wasn't going to allow him to hold her back, even for a second. She needed to find Caitlyn ASAP and not get mixed up in his official investigation into Trinity. Not her problem.
Antonio wouldn't ask questions. He knew the score, and was an expert at ferreting out codes. Screw the FBI. She had her friend to help her, and he wouldn't feel he needed to tag along for the ride as well. He wouldn't make demands or have any expectations.
After grabbing the memory stick and laptop, it was bittersweet when she snuck out of the room after stuffing the few things she had in the bag, and headed for Antonio's. Kane naively thought he could trust her, but trust was something she'd never been able to commit to in her life, and she wasn't about to start now. As her brothers used to say, "Trusting is for sissies," and she wasn't about to become one of the tragedies of her own stupidity.
She scribbled a note because she felt the sting of obligation after everything he'd done for her. Guilt crept up her back as she pushed the motorcycle—and his only mean
s of transportation—to a spot where she could start it without waking him.
Within moments she was on the road, handling the situation the only way she knew. Alone.
* * *
Kane felt the sun on his face as it filtered through the window and couldn't help but smile. And it had nothing to do with the sex—okay, maybe a little. He patted the bed next to him, searching for Sabrina. When he came up empty, he opened his eyes and jumped to his feet. Even though he searched both inside and out, he knew she'd left.
Reality took about five seconds to slap him upside the face. He spotted the note where the laptop had been.
Sorry, I have to do this my way.
After biting off a litany of curses, he called Ron. "She bailed but still needs firepower. I'm pretty sure she's headed to a friend named Antonio. I have a feeling he might be somehow connected to Goren Petrovich. I don't care who you have to bribe, find out who he is and where he lives. ASAP." He jumped up and looked out the window. "And get me transportation."
* * *
The front door swung open, and Antonio swept Sabrina into his arms. Taller than Sabrina by several inches and solidly built, Antonio had been one of the many orphans who'd been under Petrovich's tutelage while she'd been there. For the most part, she and her brothers stuck together, but at times Antonio would invade their threesome.
"Sabrina, your hair. I hardly recognize you." The man fingered through her short locks with a sense of familiarity she wasn't quite comfortable with. "I like it. You look Italian." He laughed, swinging her around in a circle. "You should have called. I would have prepared a feast."
She laughed even while thoughts pinged around her brain. Guilt. Caitlyn. Instead she focused on a means to an end. "I tried once, but you didn't answer, so I thought I'd surprise you."
"You're not here for a social visit. What can I do for you?"
