The Warrior

by Sharon Sala

  “Welcome to my home,” John said.

  Alicia couldn’t find the words to answer. She just nodded, then turned around and followed him back to the car, picking up her suitcase as he took the groceries and led the way inside.

  John was so wired he could hardly focus. After centuries of waiting for this day, it was the closest he’d ever been. Only once before had he been so near. But that had been ages ago, on a train running through Central Europe. That day he’d known, as surely as he knew his own name, that the man he sought was only a few cars away. He’d felt the rhythm of his heartbeat as the pain of recognition spilled through him. He’d been running through the cars, searching for the person who held the key to all he sought, when a hard jolt sent everyone flying out of their seats, followed by the sounds of buckling metal and steam spewing into the air as the train derailed violently. He woke up some time later to the sound of people screaming and a horrible emptiness that meant one thing: the gut-wrenching knowledge that whoever it was he’d been after was dead, but not by John’s hand.

  Nothing had been resolved.

  Now his mind refocused on the woman at hand as he stepped aside to let her in. The way he figured it, playing things cool and easy was the best way to alleviate her fears, although staying calm around her was almost impossible. He’d waited so long for revenge. He needed to find out if her father was the man he sought. He guessed that he was, but couldn’t be sure—wouldn’t be sure until they were standing face-to-face.

  He didn’t know what was going to happen after this quest was over, but right now he didn’t care. If he turned to dust, so be it. Revenge was a cold mistress, and he was tired—tired of it all.

  “The kitchen is through here,” John said, leading the way.

  But Alicia was so enthralled by this place that she kept lagging behind. The walls were a pale blue. The floor tiles were oblong, rather than square, and in an off-white color with gold veins scattered throughout. The furnishings were different shades of gold and blue, with snow-white throw pillows of every size. She could see a huge library off to the left, containing what appeared to be a well-organized office. The walls were covered with art and artifacts, most of which appeared to be of Native American theme or origin. The ocean breeze funneling through the open windows billowed the sheer white drapes hanging from ceiling to floor like earthbound kites. The faint scent of salty air permeated the rooms, along with another pleasant but less distinctive scent. It took her a few moments to locate the source, and when she did, she was once again surprised. A huge vase of wisteria sat on a waist-high table in the hall, giving every room access to the sweet, sweet smell of the blooms.

  “The flowers…”

  John paused and turned. “Yes?”

  “They’re lovely,” she said softly.

  For the first time John felt a sense of guilt. This woman was obviously in dire straits, or at least she thought she was. She was also stunning to look at. He needed to remember that her well-being was just as vital for him, albeit for different reasons, as it was for her.

  “They were White…uh…my wife’s favorite,” he said, glancing toward the vase of white and lavender flowers, the slender stalks drooping from their weight. “They used to grow wild where we lived.”

  Alicia’s eyes widened. Past tense. “She died?”

  John flashed on White Fawn’s sightless gaze and the blood spilling from the gash in her chest, then stifled the anger he still felt. “Many years ago,” he said shortly, and changed the subject. “Let me put the perishables up, and then I’ll show you to a room. You’ll be comfortable here until you figure out what you need to do, okay?”

  “Yes, and, John…thank you,” she said.

  He nodded, well aware that she wouldn’t be all that grateful if she knew of his ulterior motives.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said, stifling another twinge of guilt.

  Alicia was standing on the balcony off John’s bedroom, overlooking the ocean, watching the light fading from the sky. She’d asked permission to see the view, and he’d made himself absent to let her enjoy it. Now a faint sliver of moon hung awkwardly against a growing darkness as a few wispy clouds passed in front of it. Night birds were beginning to call. A stiff breeze lifted the hair from Alicia’s neck, chilling her all the way through. She wrapped her arms around herself as a shudder ripped through her.

  From behind, she heard a footstep, then felt the weight of something soft and warm settling on her shoulders. The gesture was both thoughtful and unexpected. As she pulled the edges of the sweater close around her, the scent of musk and a fainter scent of cigar smoke wafted toward her.

  She hadn’t seen John smoke, yet she recognized the singular scent of fine cigars.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, then looked back toward the water. “This is all so beautiful, but I’m sure you already know that.”

  John knew she was referring to the view, but for the first time since she’d walked into his house, he was looking at her and seeing her as the beautiful woman she was, not just as a means to an end.

  “Yes…very beautiful,” he said.

  Alicia looked up, caught his gaze on her and lost her train of thought.

  “Talk to me,” John said suddenly.

  “I…uh…”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Most of the time in Miami.”

  “Is that where your father is?”

  She nodded.

  He stifled a smile. Now he knew where to go. His suitcase was already packed. He was willing to leave her here on her own if she chose, or she could keep on running. But tomorrow morning, he was going to Miami.

  Even though he’d gotten the information from her that he needed, he decided to keep her talking. The more he knew, the more likely his success would be, and he was long overdue for success.

  “Why are you running from your father?”

  Alicia pulled the sweater up beneath her chin and looked back across the water.

  “It’s an ugly story.”

  “I’ve heard ugly before.”

  She was startled by the undisguised anger in his voice, reminding her that she was about to spend the night with a stranger. Still, he’d taken a chance for her. He deserved to know that what he’d done might put him in danger.

  “A few days ago I overheard my father and an old friend of his discussing an impending business deal. It had to do with selling weapons to terrorists…the same people our soldiers are fighting in Iraq.”

  John was stunned. It was the last thing he’d expected to hear. “Are you sure? I mean…is there a possibility you misunderstood?”

  Alicia pivoted, her voice rising as she answered. “To my knowledge, there is only one Osama bin Laden, only one group called al Qaeda. Do the words ‘delivery in Afghanistan, money transfers to Geneva,’ suggest anything to you?”

  John flinched as if he’d been kicked in the belly, then walked past her in the darkness, bracing his hands against the balcony rail as he stared off into the night. He’d waited an eternity for justice, but did his personal justice supersede the safety of thousands of young servicemen and women?

  He turned abruptly, a looming silhouette against the sky.

  “His name…What’s your father’s name? How would he have access to those kinds of people?”

  “His name is Richard Ponte. He’s the largest arms and munitions manufacturer in the western hemisphere.”

  Darkness hid the shock on John’s face. It seemed that the soul of the man who’d killed his people had not learned much during the ensuing centuries. Then another thought surfaced. Alicia Ponte was clearly afraid of her father’s wrath, so…what did she think he would do to her?

  “Does he know you overheard that conversation?”

  Alicia’s shoulders slumped. “As of this afternoon, yes.”

  A chill ran through John’s body that had nothing to do with the temperature outside.

  “You fear him because…”

  “Because when I figure out wh
o in Washington, D.C., I can trust, I’m going to turn him in.”

  John couldn’t believe it. The Old Ones must be cackling among themselves over the twist they’d just delivered. If Richard Ponte was indeed the man he sought, he was going to have to stand in line to get to him.

  “What lengths do you think he’ll go to, to stop you?”

  Bile rose in the back of Alicia’s throat. This was the question that had been hanging at the back of her mind ever since she’d left Miami. Saying aloud what she feared was only going to give life and power to the fear, but she had no choice. By going with John Nightwalker, she’d put him in the same tenuous position in which she’d put herself.

  “Whatever it takes to silence me.”

  Even as John asked, he couldn’t wrap his mind around what kind of man could commit such a heinous act. “You think your own father would have you killed?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  There was a long, uncomfortable silence, which Alicia finally broke.

  “So…about now I’m guessing you wish you’d left me standing back at Marv’s Gas and Guzzle.”

  She didn’t know there were tears on her face, but John saw them. Damn it…he didn’t want to feel sorry for her. Then she took a deep breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

  “Well, hell,” he muttered.

  Alicia saw a tiny flicker of moonlight catch on the tiny silver feather hanging from his ear as he moved toward her. Before she knew it, she was in his arms, with her nose pressed against his chest.

  “What I wish is that you didn’t think your father is capable of killing you. That’s too much for anyone to bear,” he said quietly.

  The rumble of his voice lulled her into a false sense of security. He was big and strong, and he’d come to her rescue. Lord knew she needed help. But she couldn’t continue this way without pointing out the obvious. She lingered one last moment longer, then stepped back.

  “John…you have to know that by helping me, you’re putting yourself in danger.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “But—”

  John shook his head. He’d made his decision. He would help her get her story to the appropriate people first, then go after his own revenge. It was the right thing to do. The only thing.

  “Seriously, I can take care of myself—and you—if you’ll let me.”

  “I’ve already involved you too far.”

  “Then the discussion is over,” John said. “I’m in. So how are you going to handle this?”

  Alicia shrugged. “Carefully, that’s for sure. My father has friends in high places. I’ve got to make sure that I tell someone who won’t give me up to Dad.”

  John stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned around, gazing back out across the water. As he wrestled with his conscience, he could hear the waves hitting the rocks that jutted out from the beach into the black, bottomless depths. Decency was winning out over revenge, and it wasn’t making him happy.

  “I might know someone,” he finally said.

  “In D.C.?” Alicia asked.

  He nodded.

  “And you trust him?”

  John turned. “As much as I trust anyone.”

  Alicia frowned. There was a tone in John’s voice that she didn’t recognize. It felt like sarcasm, but that didn’t make sense. Still, she wasn’t in any position to be picky.

  “Then I thank you,” she said. “But it needs to be soon. If Dad believes I’ll give him up, he’ll run. He has the whole world in which to hide, and if he does, you know what that makes me? A sitting duck, that’s what.”

  “I’ll make some calls tomorrow. But for now, you need to get some sleep.”

  Alicia nodded, then lifted her chin. With a quiet grace, she took off the sweater he’d put around her shoulders, handed it to him with a slight nod, then turned around and walked back through his bedroom, then across the hall to her own.

  John’s fingers curled into a fist as he clutched the sweater. It was still warm from her body. Muttering a soft, unintelligible curse, he followed her inside, locking the doors behind him. By the time he’d set the security alarms, the light was out in her room. He paused in the hallway by her door, then turned and entered his own suite.

  It was time to rest, and to hope that tonight would be a night without dreams. But after the excitement of the day and the fresh hope that his quest would soon be over, it was too much to ask.

  She looked up from the cooking fire, smiling at his approach. Her smile widened when she saw the haunch of deer meat he carried on his shoulder.

  “I have made your favorite,” White Fawn said.

  Night Walker inhaled appreciatively as he laid the deer haunch aside and squatted down beside his woman to peer into the cooking pot. The ground maize had been cooked to a thick porridge consistency, and flavored with strips of pemmican and fresh berries.

  Night Walker dipped the stirring stick into the pot, then tasted it.

  “More berries,” he said.

  White Fawn laughed out loud. “You always say that,” she said as she thrust her hand into a basket beside the fire and scattered another handful of small black berries into the pot.

  When Night Walker cupped the back of her head, she leaned into his touch.

  “I would lie with you,” he said softly.

  An ache spread through White Fawn’s belly as she saw the look in Night Walker’s eyes.

  “And I with you,” she answered.

  Night Walker set the pot beside the fire and threw a blanket over the meat to keep off the flies, then followed his woman into their hut. He pulled the flap over the doorway, shutting them in and the rest of the village out.

  With one pull, the skins he wore tied around his waist fell at his feet.

  White Fawn was already naked. Without taking her eyes from his face, she lay down on the furs that were their bed and waited for him to join her.

  When he did, he made no pretense as to his intentions.

  He lay beside her, then rose up on one elbow and slid his hand between her thighs, gently nudging her legs apart.

  White Fawn’s heart was already beating fast, anticipating the pleasure that was to come.

  In one swoop, he was inside her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him down, burying him deep. When he began to move, she met him thrust for thrust, and for a while, time stood still.

  The scent of woodsmoke mingled with the passion-induced sweat from White Fawn’s body. Her tight, wet heat pulled at Night Walker with every thrust. She was everything beautiful to him, his own personal aphrodisiac. He would never get enough—could never get enough—of the woman who held his heart.

  Slowly, slowly, the rhythm of their lovemaking became less steady, more frantic, harder and harder, until it burst within. White Fawn held him as he spilled his seed into her so-far-fruitless womb, then wept quiet, happy tears as he collapsed on top of her with a soft, satisfied moan.

  John jerked, then sat up abruptly, searching the shadowed corners of his room for the woman he’d been making love to. His shoulders slumped as he wiped a shaky hand across his face and crawled out of bed.

  He didn’t think about his guest as he walked naked through the house, quietly disarmed the security system and strode outside. The cool air felt good against his heated skin as he made his way down the backside of the bluff to the water below.

  The steady ebb and flow of the ocean pulled at his senses like a drug as he walked into the surf. The water was cold—so cold—but he didn’t care. He needed the shock of it to wash away the dream—which was, if he’d ever stopped to analyze himself, ironic. While remembering their love and what he’d lost was often too painful, it was the memory of what had happened to her that kept him focused and sane.

  When he was knee-deep in the ocean, he dove headfirst into the next wave and began to swim, fighting the current because it was the only enemy at hand. He swam until his muscles burned and his legs felt like jelly. Only then did he stop.
Treading water, he turned to look toward shore. From this distance, his house was barely the size of a child’s building block, but the anger was gone. All that was left was a bone-deep weariness.

  Without thinking, he began the long journey back, one stroke at a time.

  Dawn was imminent on the horizon as he came out of the surf, his head down, his shoulders slumped. His steps dragged as he began the climb up the bluff.

  Alicia woke up suddenly, her heart thumping, her eyes wide with fright. For a second she couldn’t remember where she was or how she’d gotten there. Then her gaze centered on a dream catcher hanging on the wall opposite her bed, and a face slid into her mind.

  John Nightwalker.

  She rubbed her face with her hands, then swung her legs off the bed and stood, stretching slowly as she made her way to the bathroom. A few minutes later, she came out just as the digital readout on the clock flicked over to ten minutes after six. The bed looked inviting, but there were too many unknowns in her life for her to be able to go back to sleep.

  She needed to get to the authorities as soon as possible. The quicker she put a stop to her father’s dealings with terrorists, the sooner she would be safe. Once everyone knew, it would serve no purpose to keep her quiet. Nothing else would stop him. She’d grown up seeing his ruthlessness firsthand. Her mother had been the one who’d taught her what it meant to love. Her father’s lessons in life consisted of disappointments and lies. But her mother had been dead for years now, and Alicia was a woman long grown and strong. And she swore that determination—the one trait she’d inherited from her father—was going to prove to be the one that took him down.

  Her suitcase was open on the floor. She thought about getting dressed, but it was nearing daybreak, and the idea of watching the sun come up on the horizon to signal the beginning of a new day was too enticing to miss. She noticed that the alarm system had been turned off, so she felt no concern as she hurried downstairs, then out the French doors to the terrace beyond. She walked to the edge, then out onto the grass and headed to the edge of the bluff.