by Lee Stephen
“Yeah, you said that already.”
“You had better enjoy this, Scott Remington.”
He waved her forward. “Come on. Take it like a blonde.”
Hands on her hips and face flushed, Svetlana stepped toward him. “I can’t believe I am doing this.” She shot a look that screamed not happy.
“Are you ready?”
“Do not get it in my hair.”
“Are you ready?”
She inhaled. “I am ready.”
“Okay. On three.” There was zero chance he was waiting until three.
“Okay,” she said, “on three.”
“One.”
She stared the pie down like it was her mortal enemy. She nodded confidently. “One.”
“Two.”
“Two—”
Thrusting the pie forward, he slammed it into her face with the passion of a thousand clowns. She couldn’t even shriek. Whipped cream enveloped her head as he blocked her instinctive retreat with a hand to her back. As her body went rigid, he slid the pan around in circles.
Beneath the layers of white that cascaded from Svetlana’s face was a look of open-mouthed horror. By the time Scott ended his masterpiece, the contents of the pan were completely gone. Her head was a wreck.
“Oh, my God,” she said. The way the words came out, it was as if she was about to either laugh or commit homicide. The end result was a mixture of both. “Scott James Remington!”
“Hang on, hang on,” Scott said, taking a step back. “I want to take this in.”
Finally, her grin came out. It was a grin of disbelief, but a grin just the same. Cocking one hand on her hip, she stared at him. Or at least he thought she was staring at him. He couldn’t quite tell. “I am going to get you,” she said, pointing a finger. “I want you to know that. When you least expect it.” Wiping her hand across her head, she slung a pile of mess to the floor. “I am so mad at you.”
“Can I tell you something?” Scott asked.
She leered through globs of white. “What?”
“You’re an incredible sport.” Amid the absurdity, he wanted to say something sincere. “I mean it. When I say this was the last thing I expected this morning, this was really the last thing I expected. I had no idea you were capable of this.” Her skin was barely visible, but he could swear she was blushing.
“I try,” she said. “This was a first for me.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes, really,” she said, laughing. “I would not do this for anyone else. I hope you got a good laugh.”
Did he get a good laugh? Yes. But she’d given him something infinitely more meaningful. She’d given him a momentary reprieve from all things Cairo, and that was exactly what he’d needed. “You want to look at yourself?”
“Not particularly. Okay, yes.” Sliding her fingers over her eyes, she cleared them to see. Scott eased her in front of his sink mirror. As soon as the blonde saw her reflection, she succumbed to a laughing fit. “Scott!” She angled her face to see the sides of her head, then grabbed at her ponytail. “I am so going to get you one day.”
“Promises, promises.”
“I told you not to get my hair!” Wiping the filling from her face, she flicked it in globs to the sink basin. “Can I have a towel?”
Tossing her a towel from his linen closet, he watched as she ran it solidly over her face and its various crevices.
“This is the grossest thing ever. I cannot believe I did this.”
“You were good at it. You’d be good at a circus.”
“Thanks a lot! I will keep that in mind.”
He motioned to his bathroom. “You want to use my shower?” She paused, eyes lingering on the bathroom door as if considering the offer. “Seriously, go wash your head. I won’t go in.”
“Okay,” she said, leaving his towel in the sink. “I will not be long. I need to rinse my hair, thanks to someone terrible.”
“Rinse away.”
Pointing again as she passed, she said, “I will get you for this. You wait.”
“I’m sure you will.”
Her leer lingering, Svetlana walked into his bathroom and closed the door behind her. A minute later, he heard his shower turn on.
I can’t believe she did this. The whole while Svetlana showered, Scott’s mind replayed the morning’s scene. When he’d opened that door and seen her in that initial moment, he’d been so confused. She didn’t have on a lick of makeup. Has anyone else seen her like that? Living in barracks, it was a certainty. But he couldn’t imagine her letting anyone see more than fleeting glances. Women were prideful about how they looked, and Svetlana was no exception. No mascara, nothing to conceal her blemishes. She just showed me herself. Something about that was a little special.
Despite the fact that they’d been engaged, Scott had only seen Nicole without makeup a handful of times. But she’d been a natural beauty. Svetlana...
...there was no other way for his mind to put it. Svetlana needed a little more work. It wasn’t to suggest that Svetlana was anything less than beautiful. She had a daintiness about her—an elegance. She carried herself, well, like a lady. There were certain things that she was above, like juvenility and silliness. Like pies in the face.
Why did she do that today? Why did she really do that? There was no doubt in Scott’s mind that he saw her differently than everyone else. Most others saw sourness. Even he had found her cold upon their first encounter almost a year ago. But there was one thing, if asked, that everybody would agree upon: Svetlana was a serious, proper woman. Until now.
She was telling me something.
It struck Scott that, with Svetlana being aware of his rejection of Esther, it was actually the first time the medic was free to be herself. When they’d first met prior to her departure from Novosibirsk, she’d been with Anatoly Novikov. Ineligible. Upon Svetlana’s return, Esther was already established in the Fourteenth. And while Scott was unaware of Esther’s infatuation, it was apparently something Svetlana sensed from the get-go. But now there was no Lieutenant Novikov. There was no Esther. Svetlana’s competition was gone. She was just being...her.
That’s what this morning was about, wasn’t it? It wasn’t about anything I said; it wasn’t about being even with Esther. The pie was an excuse. She wanted to show me that she could be fun. And she had done it in the most unserious, self-depreciating, off-the-wall way possible.
In football, there were certain games when messages needed to be sent through the opposing team. Players called them “statement games.” Scott had his during his first start: Michigan’s upset of nationally-ranked Southern Cal. Svetlana’s was this morning. As Scott stared at the closed bathroom door, the sound of the shower splattering behind it, he found himself wondering. Could their fun ever rival the fun he had with Nicole?
The water squeaked off. Svetlana was finishing. Bending forward in his chair, Scott closed his eyes and cupped his fists together. He didn’t know what he was praying for exactly, but he had a feeling God could figure it out. It was for something like clarity. Assuredness. A sign that, when he met that person he was supposed to be with, he would know.
Could anyone replace Nikki?
Several minutes passed before his bathroom door opened. Stepping out, her damp hair hanging to her shoulders, Svetlana placed her hand against the doorframe and gazed at him. Slowly, she smiled.
Kiss her.
The thought came suddenly. It actually caught him off guard.
Kiss her.
Back-and-forth, back-and-forth, back-and-forth. His feelings toward Svetlana were in never-ending flux. As Scott stood, he felt the sensation of floating toward her as if his feet weren’t touching the floor. Her oceanblue eyes were locked steadfastly to his. Her lips parted.
This mission was for her. To save the life of the woman before him. The woman whose gaze was unwavering. The woman he knew truly loved him. Reaching out, he placed his hands at her sides as she draped hers over his shoulders. She could never be Nic
ole. She could never be Nicole. Did it matter?
Her fingertips slid beneath the hair above his neck. Their bodies pressed. As Scott tilted his head inward, he saw her eyes close. His followed suit.
This is it. This has to be it. Or it will never be.
Could she ever be Nicole?
The course of his lips altered. Their cheeks brushed together. The kiss never came.
...no.
The exhale that came from Svetlana was as awful as the morning had been unexpected. He felt her eyes close tighter. He sensed her jaw set as the trembling began. She lowered her chin to his shoulder. In the midst of her morning, in the midst of her boldest reach into the favor of his heart and her best effort of vulnerability. In the midst of her statement game...she’d been rejected.
What have I just done?
Svetlana said nothing, but her arms wrapped around his neck tighter. She was clinging.
What have I just done?
As he slowly leaned back, he registered the look on Svetlana’s face. It was a hurt he’d never seen in her before. Her eyes started to shimmer.
What could he say? What was he supposed to say? There was nothing. “I need to get going.” It was the most pitiful thing he knew he could have said.
Svetlana stayed silent, just stepping back. She held back a deep breath. “Okay.” Her voice quivered.
“I’m sorry.”
The knot returned. Grabbing his duffle bag and slinging it over his shoulder, he leaned in to give Svetlana a hug. She accepted the gesture. “Keep everyone straight,” he said.
Swallowing visibly, she nodded.
The exchange of goodbyes that followed was as lifeless as the linoleum floor. Neither Scott nor Svetlana looked the other in the eyes; their gazes remained downcast and away. The emotional wall between them might as well have been made of lead.
Scott walked out of the door without saying another word—without slowing down. He couldn’t afford to. Leaving her behind, he trekked for the hangar.
Go, Scott. Just keep walking.
He was doing this for Svetlana. This entire mission was, at least for him, to save her life. That proved he cared for her. That proved he...
...he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
Just don’t turn around. Whatever you do. Keep walking to the hangar.
God had led him to Novosibirsk and to Svetlana. But God hadn’t led him to become a Nightman by murdering Sergei Steklov. And it didn’t mean God was leading him to marry Svetlana.
Wait—what? Marry Svetlana? Scott, what the hell are you thinking?
Svetlana Remington. Esther had put that name in his head. Svetlana Remington. How did it sound? How did it look? He refused to answer.
You didn’t kiss her. You turned her down. It’s done.
When Scott arrived in the hangar, half of the unit was already there. Travis and Boris were talking, the close friends undoubtedly wishing each other luck. David and Max were there, Flopper sitting obediently at Max’s feet, tongue hanging out in happy obliviousness. Even Egor was there, sharing a laugh with Auric. Esther was nowhere to be seen.
“Remmy!”
Scott turned to see Becan trotting toward him.
“Hey, everything all righ’? I heard somethin’ happened between you an’ Esty.”
“Everything’s fine.”
David and Max also made their approach, as did Flopper. Crouching down, Scott swatted the air in front of the dog’s nose. Flopper’s jaws snapped in playful chase.
David folded his arms. “Hey, I never got a chance to talk to you since the meeting yesterday. Did we hear what we thought we heard back there?”
Scott knew what they were referring to: his subtle hint during the meeting about not being allowed to refuse the mission. “Yeah, you did.” Leaving Flopper on the ground, Scott rose up. “It’s Novikov all over again.” Svetlana had slept with Novikov—she’d confessed that to him. It’d affected him to hear that. Why didn’t he care about it now?
“Wait,” said Becan, “wha’ are we talkin’ abou’?”
“About Sveta,” said Max.
“Wha’ abou’ her?”
Scott looked at the Irishman. “Thoor’s using Sveta as leverage against me. If I refused to go on this mission, or if I fail, he’ll kill her.”
Becan’s jaw dropped. “Like bleedin’ hell!”
“The same thing happened with Tolya,” said Max. “I was there when it happened. Thoor made him stay behind with those explosives by threatening to kill Sveta if he didn’t. That’s why Tolya died.”
“An’ no one told me this?”
“This is what Thoor does,” said Max. “He controls you however he can. Oleg was with us for months—there’s no doubt that’s how Thoor knew about Scott and Sveta.”
Scott and Sveta. Everyone said it so naturally, as if their future was certain. They were always paired together. Only Esther had failed to see it. “What am I supposed to do?” Scott asked. “I have to go on this mission. I have to save her.” She was his damsel in distress. His. How that word stuck out.
“We’ve got your back, man,” said Max. “If anyone tries to pull something on Sveta while you’re gone, we’ll take care of ’em.”
“Remington!”
At the sound of the new voice, Scott turned around. It was Antipov, the chief eidolon from Thoor’s counsel. The scruffy captain was approaching him, slip of paper in hand. Leaving the company of his comrades, Scott met him. “Important things to remember,” Antipov said. “You and Broll are both trained Nightmen. You have forgotten what it is like to fight like EDEN. Be aware of yourself in combat. Resist the urge to fight like you know you can. It can give you away.”
That was true. Oleg got revealed when Becan saw him fighting on the battlefield.
“Here is the comm frequency for the extraction team. Do not program it into your comm. Queue it only when you need it.” Nodding to the transport behind Scott, Antipov went on. “Discuss everything you were told with your team. About the war, about the Khuladi. Everything. That order does not come from Thoor; it comes from me. They need to know why this mission must be.”
Slapping Scott on the shoulder, the eidolon leader nodded. “You will bring the alien home to us. I know you will.” A Nightman salute was exchanged, then Antipov turned and walked away.
Eidolon status aside, he’s probably one of the most amicable Nightmen I’ve ever met. Scott looked at the slip of paper with the extraction team’s comm frequency. Folding it, he slipped it into his pocket. I cannot lose this. I need it on me at all times.
“Hey, Scott,” said Max, “I think they’re prepping up.”
Scott looked at the transport, which was indeed preparing to taxi. Auric and Boris hopped inside. Scott could only assume that Esther was already in, too. It didn’t surprise him that the scout wasn’t mingling.
This is it.
Thoughts of Svetlana danced briefly through his head. He’d left her behind so coldly. She didn’t know he was doing this for her.
Emotions in check. Stay focused on the mission. Get it done, then get back home. Scott slung his duffle bag over his shoulder once again. He looked at Max, David, and Becan. “Be on guard. Don’t let Sveta out of your sight.”
“Aye, aye, cap’n,” Max answered, offering a salute.
Scott gazed at the three men for a moment. This was all happening so fast. It hadn’t struck him that he was about to leave three of his best friends. Extending a hand, he grasped Max’s hand firmly and pulled him in for a chest-bump. Max, the man who had once been his arch-rival, who had once resented Scott so vehemently that it called for a physical beating, was now as close a friend to Scott as anyone else. Scott couldn’t see the blond technician in any other way.
“Take care, man.”
“You too, bro.”
The same gesture went toward Becan. He recalled the first time he ever met the Irishman. David and he had heard Becan’s voice inside their neighboring room in Richmond. Neither man ha
d ever met anyone else like him.
“I love ya, B.”
“Back at yeh, Remmy.”
Then there was David. David Jurgen, former NYPD officer. Former best friend. Time had healed their wounds somewhat, but their friendship had never fully recovered from the rocky road that began with the death of Galina. The uneasiness between them had lessened, but not fully disappeared.
Make it right, Scott. Make it right now.
Their hands clutched. The chest-bump came. But the right words stayed unsaid.
“I’ll see you soon, man.”
“Be safe, Scott.”
Emotions in check. Stay focused on the mission. It was easier said than done. Forcing reflection to the back of his mind, Scott set out toward the transport.
Goodbye, Novosibirsk. For now.
Walking up the ramp, he saw his three chosen operatives strapping themselves into their seats. It was a standard civilian transport, not a Vulture or military model. The seats were very much like typical airliner seats, except this flight had no other passengers. Spotting his old EDEN armor in the corner, he focused on his golden collar. The battle garb of the Golden Lion—he hadn’t donned it in a year. It was no longer who he was. And he could accept that. Turning around, Scott gave the hangar a final look. Then he saw him.
The sniper walked into the hangar quickly, as if he’d been rushing to make it in time. His cowboy hat was firm on his head, his duffle bag in place.
Jayden.
Plopping his bag down awkwardly, almost stumbling, the Texan took a single step forward, then paused. He was waiting to be called. Even from the distance, Scott could sense the sniper’s heart pounding. “Oh, Jay...” he whispered to himself.
The other operatives who’d gathered in the hangar stared in silence. The ball was in Scott’s court.
What am I supposed to do? He had no practical use for a sniper. This was a covert operation. He didn’t need trigger men. On top of all of that, only four operatives total had been given transfer approval. Yet the sight of the Texan’s desperation tore at Scott’s heart. “Veck.” Motioning with a single head nod, Scott beckoned Jayden into the transport.
