by Joss Wood
She wanted to love him. She knew, she just knew, that this was what he needed.
Tonight she wanted to give.
Chapter Thirteen
SawyersFutureWife: Bereft. He’s gone again.
WaynesBikes: Pass me the sick bag. At least with those three out of town, it gives us mere mortals a fighting chance.
BoredWife: Hate to break it to ya, but you never had a chance.
***
Kai’s fingers traced patterns on Flick’s lower back, enjoying the way his fingers slid across her skin, the huffs of her breath against his neck, the way she curled around him, fast asleep. Sex earlier had been more than just sex, more than Part A slotting into Part B. He wanted to believe that it was just a mutual way for them to get their kicks, but he couldn’t. It was . . . Crap! Kai rubbed his free hand over his mouth, his face.
It was as if they’d taken their earlier conversation into bed but words were replaced with actions. Lips sipped and approved, hands touched and worshipped. Compliments were exchanged, reassurances given. All done silently, but it had been so damn powerful.
He’d never known such unqualified approval, a dismissal of his past and complete acceptance of who he was today, right now, this minute. No one had ever pushed past his barriers to see who he was beneath his hard surface, and while a part of him liked the idea of someone seeing the person he was beneath the bullshit, another part of him loathed the idea. What was he supposed to do with Flick’s approval, with the emotion he saw blazing from her eyes? He didn’t know what to do with love, with a partner, with someone who wanted to know him inside and out. There were too many dark places inside of him that he preferred to keep hidden away, to keep in the shadows . . . Would she want him to shine a spotlight there? Would she demand to know? Would he ever be brave enough to let her?
And on that point, would he ever be brave enough to love her, to give her what she needed, what she deserved? If he decided to continue to see Flick, to explore the emotion between them, what would he have to give up? How much of himself would he have to compromise? Would she be happy with a part-time, long-distance relationship? He spent most of his time on the road, away from Mercy—would she be able to cope with that?
Would she expect a ring, a commitment, a promise? Would she demand the words he dreaded saying, the words that every woman wanted? The words that he loathed, that he couldn’t force up his throat? They were the last words he’d heard from his mother as she took that bag of heroin he’d bought a half hour earlier.
I love you.
Three little words that were, in his fucked-up psyche, inextricably, permanently linked to loss and guilt and fear. Flick would expect them, he wouldn’t be able to say them, and the longer he held out the more resentful she’d feel.
Kai placed his forearms over his eyes and thought, maybe hoped, that he might be seeing something in her eyes that wasn’t actually there. Maybe he was running away with this love idea, just seeing what he wanted to see. She was smart, funny, gorgeous, and successful, and his ego liked the idea of such a woman falling in love with him. Yeah, maybe that was it.
It wasn’t it.
The ugly truth was that he wanted to love Flick, and he wanted her to love him back. He wanted normal but didn’t know how to do it. He wanted this feeling, this happiness, but didn’t know how to grab it. And did he deserve it? Did he deserve to be happy? Flick seemed to think that he did, but he wasn’t so sure. She didn’t have the whole story—she was operating on half-truths and subversions. She didn’t know everything—nobody did—and when he told her, if he told her, that look of love he’d seen earlier would be extinguished.
I killed my mother.
Not even love could conquer that.
Out of the corner of his eye Kai saw the screen of his phone light up and he stretched out his hand to pick up the phone. A text from Sawyer? At three twenty in the morning?
Outside ten minutes. Come ready to rock and roll.
Kai gently slid out from under Flick and she immediately rolled over and curled up into a ball, solidly asleep. Ready to rock and roll was code for a kidnap rescue, meaning Axl needed their help. Kai walked over to his closet, pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a black Henley T-shirt and slid back a wooden panel behind his dress shirts to reveal a safe. He punched in the code, swung the door open, and pulled out a black gym bag. He didn’t need to check it—it was there for this very purpose. Guns, cash, fake IDs. He was always ready to rock and roll.
Kai pulled on socks and sneakers, dropped a kiss on Flick’s head, and was at his front door in eight minutes. Sawyer arrived in nine.
Kai threw his bag onto the small bench seat behind them and settled into the passenger seat.
“Who and where?”
Sawyer looked grim. “Nigeria, and it’s Sheikh Aban Armanjani.”
Perfect. Just freakin’ perfect.
***
“Clear!”
“Clear!”
“Clear. Shitafuckingbrick.”
Kai’s stomach dropped at Axl’s curse and he wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist. It was spring in Africa and it was as hot as hell. He walked back down the passage to the back bedroom of the simple, small home situated in the well-off suburb in Lagos. There was a patch of lawn outside, a satellite dish, and lace curtains at the windows. A goat tied to the tree out back. All normal, for Africa.
Behind him, Kai could hear the nervous breathing of the members of the city’s Tactical Response Team. He and his partners generally worked alone, but orders had flowed down the chain of command. The Nigerian government wanted the sheikh found and their path had been cleared by someone very powerful higher up. The locals had happily handed assault rifles and the ensuing responsibility to find the sheikh over to them. Judging by Axl’s doom-and-gloom voice, Kai wouldn’t like what he found inside the room. Something was very wrong. And very wrong normally meant dead.
Please, no.
Sawyer stepped aside and Kai walked into the room. Trying to delay the inevitable, he didn’t look down immediately. The windows were boarded up, he noticed, and insects buzzed against the deeply tinted glass. A fan whirling overhead did nothing to dispel the flies that dive-bombed their heads.
There were a series of manacles bolted to the wall, still gripping the lifeless hands of three, no, four bodies. Muhammad, Abas, and Jama were slumped against the wall, curled up into death. Kai swallowed down the bile in his throat and made himself look at the sheikh. Like the others, he had just one, perfect, deadly bullet hole in his forehead. His passing had been clean and clinical and as final as hell.
Kai turned away and ignored the hand Sawyer laid on his shoulder. He walked out of the house into the hot, humid air and onto the grass outside, ignoring the chatter and speculation of the Nigerian police. He placed his hands on his thighs as he tried to control his heaving stomach.
He would not vomit, he would not vomit . . .
“This isn’t your fault, Kai,” Sawyer said from somewhere above him.
Kai sucked in a couple of deep breaths and heaved again. His stomach felt like it was tying itself in ever-increasing knots.
“Do you see anybody else here who was responsible for training his guards?” Kai said, his voice as harsh as the deaths inside.
“You told me yourself that they weren’t ready, that they needed more training. The sheikh decided to take the chance.” Sawyer whipped the words back and Kai heard the frustration in his voice.
“My job, my responsibility, my fault.”
“Bullshit!” Sawyer hissed. “I will not allow you to take responsibility for this!”
Another shadow passed over the grass and Kai knew that Axl had joined them. He stood up, sent Sawyer a furious glare, and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. He grabbed the bottle of water Axl held out and took a couple of deep sips before looking back at the house. “Wh
at happened?”
Axl shrugged. “Who the hell knows? I know as much as I did when I first briefed you. The sheikh and his guys were taken from the presidential suite at the hotel. He was here to negotiate an oil deal with the Nigerian government. The family contacted me and we started to negotiate with the kidnappers. A ransom demand was made, the family paid. They wanted more and they paid more and the kidnappers didn’t deliver. I arrived in Lagos a week ago—I flew here straight after I left Mercy and started trying to find him. My intel led us here.”Axl took the bottle back from Kai and drained the contents. He tossed the bottle from hand to hand and watched as an imam followed a high-ranking policeman into the house. “The government got involved. Maybe that’s what spooked them. Maybe the kidnappers decided to cut their losses before they caught the attention of people whose attention they didn’t want. I don’t know for sure, but that’s my best guess.”
“Whatever the cause, we were too fucking late.” Kai pulled his cotton shirt over the Beretta he’d shoved into the back of his pants. They’d surrendered their automatic rifles to the police as they’d left the premises but they’d been allowed to keep their personal weapons.
“Yeah. About four hours.”
Kai placed his hands on his hips and stared up at the sky. “Fuck!”
Sawyer and Axl knew that there was nothing to say, that no words would change the situation, that nothing but time would tame the tsunami of rage that was coursing through his body. Time and a week spent in bed with Flick, listening to her speak, laugh, feeling her hands on his body, her lips on his.
A man was dead and he was thinking about sex? Get a hold of yourself. Actually, he was thinking of love, of comfort, of a soft place to fall. Like he deserved that, any of that. He’d killed his mother and he was indirectly responsible for the sheikh’s death. And he hadn’t even started to count the deaths that could be attributed to him if he started to tally up the effect of the information he’d provided to the gangs and the police. His actions in Afghanistan, in Pakistan, and in Somalia had all made some pretty big ripples . . .
Who was he to think that he could return to that crazy, cute town and forget this hellhole of a city and a dead sheikh a continent away? He didn’t deserve love or forgiveness, and he sure as hell didn’t deserve peace.
“I need to go and liaise with the police, notify the family, make arrangements to have his body returned to Saudi,” Axl said quietly, his eyes haunted.
“Can we help?” Sawyer asked.
Kai prayed that Axl would say no. He didn’t think he could do much more. He felt gutted. All he wanted was a bottle of whiskey and a dark room.
“I’ve got it,” Axl replied.
“You sure?”
“It’s what I do, Sawyer.” Axl rolled his shoulders and sent them a small, weary smile. “I’ve got it.”
He did. Kai saw the resolve in his face, the way he drew on that reservoir of mental strength that was such a characteristic of his friend. Axl never faltered, never failed.
Unlike him. Kai bent over and groaned as he vomited all over the grass.
***
“So then Pippa walked in and I told them to talk. I heard Gina’s reply.” Flick cocked her head and waited for Kai to urge her to continue. After an uncomfortable pause he murmured a non-encouraging “Mmm.”
“So, I suggested that they both hire a male gigolo and get laid.”
“That’s nice.”
Flick laid her fork on her plate and pushed it away. Kai had returned two days before, had ducked her questions about where he’d been, and had avoided any real conversation since. They’d had sex but, while it was still good—she doubted Kai knew how to make love badly—he’d held something back, and there was something mechanical about him. The magic that they’d experienced that last night before he left town had dissipated.
But far more worrying was that his eyes were bleak, his mouth grim. He’d returned to that stick-in-the-ass person he’d been when he first arrived in Mercy—sexy but sullen.
Why?
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Sorry. Miles away.” Kai dredged up a smile. “Run that by me again?”
“I was talking about Gina and Pippa and arguments around secrets,” Flick replied. “But you don’t seem very interested, so we can talk about something else.”
Kai just shrugged and Flick tried to ignore the hurt that flew through her. He’d become her sounding board, the person she could talk to about anything. But if he didn’t want to listen, if he wasn’t interested, then she was well and truly on her own. Flick lifted her wineglass to her lips and watched him as he ate. He’d retreated to a place where it would be difficult to reach him. In fact, it would be near impossible. He’d rebuilt his barriers and she wasn’t sure why. Had something happened while he was away? What? And why couldn’t he just tell her?
That wasn’t the deal, she reminded herself. There wasn’t supposed to be anything emotional between them, and she’d agreed to that. In fact, she’d insisted on it. But she’d fallen in love with Kai, an intensely stupid and dangerous thing to do. She’d known that she shouldn’t, had warned herself about doing it, but, since she was a special type of stupid, had done it anyway.
Flick rested her wineglass against her forehead and fought the urge to weep. This wasn’t a schoolgirl crush, wasn’t a way to seek attention, to feel safe, to play the rescuer, or any of the million other games she’d played with men in the past. This was undiluted love, as pure and as bright as a sunbeam. She saw him clearly: He was difficult, defensive, independent, and a little fucked-up, but she loved him anyway. She loved him because he was all of those things, and because he tried to be better than the crappy hand he’d been dealt. She loved his courage, his soft center below the layers of armor, his dry sense of humor, his integrity, and his brain. She didn’t want to rescue him, change him, or rehabilitate him—she just wanted to love him and be loved by him.
And he was back-peddling his ass off. He didn’t want her like that. In fact, she didn’t think that he wanted her at all.
“What’s going on, Kai?” Flick asked, conscious of the fact that her voice was shaking.
Kai frowned at her. “What do you mean?”
“Are we really going to play that game?” Flick demanded. “You’ve been back two days and something changed while you were away. You went away as my lover and came back as a stranger.”
“We’ve had sex since,” Kai said, pushing his plate away and reaching for his beer.
Jeez, he couldn’t even say “make love.” Was that a big hint or what?
“What. Happened.”
Kai stared at a point past her shoulder. “This past week or nearly twenty-five years ago?”
Flick frowned, not understanding. “Would you like to explain that?”
Kai stood up so abruptly that his chair flew backward. He kicked it out of the way and walked out of the kitchen to stand on the back porch. Flick watched him go and thought she’d give him a moment alone. After carrying their mostly full plates to the sink, she topped up her wine, grabbed another beer from the fridge, and joined Kai. She handed him the beer bottle, leaned her butt on the railing, and looked at his tortured face.
“Want to explain that cryptic comment?”
“Not really.”
“Do it anyway.”
Kai twisted off the beer top and shoved the cap into the pocket of his jeans. His white button-down shirt was rolled up at the sleeves and he looked hot and frazzled and oh so sexy. And miserable.
“When I first came to Mercy six weeks ago, I had just finished an assignment to train the bodyguards of a Saudi sheikh who deals in oil.”
“Don’t all Saudi sheikhs deal in oil?” Flick quipped, trying to break the tension between them.
Unfortunately Kai’s sense of humor was AWOL. “He was a big player and he needed protection.” Kai sna
pped the words out. “I wanted him to employ Cas’s bodyguards, but he wanted me to train his own people. I did that but I had to do a crash course. I told him that they hadn’t had enough training but he insisted that they were ready.”
Flick bit her bottom lip. She wanted to offer Kai reassurance, but judging from his stiff posture, he wouldn’t welcome her touch.
“The sheikh and his guards were killed in Nigeria this past week. That’s where I was.”
Wooden words, choppy delivery. He sounded cold but she knew he was anything but. He was just dealing with a hell of a blow.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
When she looked into Kai’s eyes, she shivered. They were a cold, pale champagne color and filled with rage. She’d never seen him so angry. “It was my fault. And it’s not the first time I’ve been directly responsible for someone’s death.”
Ah, the rage was directed at himself. Good to know. “That’s a hell of a statement to make, and even more of a cross to carry.” Flick kept her voice non-judgmental. “Want to explain to me why you’re responsible for a man’s death when he made the choice to employ his own guards and put himself in what I presume was a dangerous situation?”
“I should have insisted.”
“I’m pretty sure that you did. If I know you at all then you did, often and loudly.”
Kai didn’t reply but she could tell, by the stubborn lift of his chin, that her argument didn’t make a difference. She waited for him to speak again and knew that if she wanted anymore information she’d have to carry on with her teeth-pulling exercise. She had to know—she had to get to the heart of this man. Even if she had no future with him—and she knew that she didn’t—she would always regret not understanding the monsters in his head. She would love him whatever he said—she knew that like she knew her own heartbeat. There was nothing he could say that would stop her loving him, but he would never understand that.
