Talon

by Ronie Kendig

  Aspen took his head and reassured him as she led him toward the catwalk, glancing back as Dane reached the top. He might have avoided the conversation for now, but he had some questions to answer. It wouldn’t change her feelings. She’d known for a long time he hid things. He was a master at it, in fact.

  He hooked a leg over the top and pushed to—he pitched forward. Aspen sucked in a breath.

  Sparks flew off the hull.

  “Taking fire! Taking fire!” Candyman barreled into her and slammed her temple into the ship. “Down!”

  Pain ricocheted through Aspen’s head and down her neck, jarring. She yelped and reached for it. Hearing hollowed. Vision blurred. All from using her noggin to break her fall. Warmth slid down her face.

  Spine to her, Candyman shoved her backward, using his boots to push them to cover. Talon whimpered and dug his snout beneath her arm. Poor guy. No doubt this was too familiar.

  M4s pounded the night with their report. Tsings and cracks rattled the barge.

  Aspen wiped the blood from her cheek and watched as Dane rolled to the side, to cover.

  “Move!” Candyman shouted as he fired off several rounds. Suppressive fire.

  Dane lunged toward them. Sidled up and plastered himself to the steel that protected them. She felt stupid. Out of her element. The mortal danger reminded her of what was important—living.

  “Now!” Candyman hauled her up as he once again fired. He hook-thrusted her across the catwalk.

  Dane was with them. Holding his side.

  “You ok—?”

  “Go!” He pushed her forward.

  “Coming out,” Candyman shouted as he keyed his mic. “Cover!”

  Had the others made it out? Where was Timbrel? They reached the far side. A few more steps and they’d bound over the three-foot drop into the water and onto the dock. In reach. Talon jogged with them.

  Aspen aimed for the jump that would put her on the dock. Her foot slipped. Heat seared down her leg. She cried out. Stumbled. Kept moving.

  Deft hands carried her up. Over the drop.

  Panic hammered erratically through her. Mind buzzing. Ears ringing. Leg burning. Vision blurring. Only as her feet left the deck of the ship did she feel the rush of adrenaline that carried her over the drop.

  Her right knee buckled as she landed.

  Again, a hand kept her moving. Threw her toward the barrels that lined the dock. She crashed into them. Gulping air. Choking on fear.

  Someone landed on her.

  Talon’s yelp forced her mind from the fraying panic. “Talon!”

  Another whimper. Behind. She twisted—and cried out.

  “Stop moving,” Dane hissed in her ear.

  She stilled, realizing his hand had clamped onto her arm. She glanced down and saw moonlight glinting off something dark on her arm. “Blood?”

  Their eyes snagged together.

  Ping!

  Dane ducked and pushed himself into her. “Candyman—get us out of here!”

  “If you’d stop flirting and start shooting, we might get out of here,” Candyman shouted back.

  “You sound jealous.”

  Aspen glanced from one man to the next, aware they were both fully engaged in what they were doing. Dane—stopping her from bleeding. Candyman—stopping them from getting killed.

  Wouldn’t it be better if they all worked on that last one?

  “I’m fine.” Aspen dragged herself free and reached for the gun holstered at her thigh. Only…it wasn’t there.

  “Looking for this? You dropped it when they tagged your arm in that jump.” Dane held up her Glock. “Can you walk?”

  “My arm was shot, not my leg.”

  He arched an eyebrow.

  “What?”

  He nodded down. She looked and blanched. Where had that come from? A tear, not a hole. She must’ve sliced it on something. “It’s just a cut.”

  “Okay, they’re coming in for us.”

  “Where are the targets?”

  “One in Blue Two.” Candyman pointed to the northeastern side of the dock. “Who knows where else. I can’t peg them.”

  A vehicle ripped around the corner. Tires squalled.

  Even from here she saw the bullets pinging off the hull. Thank God for armor plating!

  It whipped around. Rammed into reverse and roared toward them. Tires screeched again as they skidded to a stop five feet to the left.

  “C’mon, c’mon,” Rocket shouted from inside.

  Dane pulled Aspen up, propping his arm around her waist and shoulders. “Ready?”

  Teeth clamped as fire tore through her leg, she nodded. They rushed forward.

  Candyman used his weapon for cover fire and his broad shoulders and back to shield them. Talon leapt into the vehicle. Aspen jumped in after him.

  “Go, go, go!” Candyman shouted, banging the hull.

  “Wait.” Aspen glanced back, knowing Dane hadn’t climbed in. She saw him throw himself at her.

  The vehicle lurched forward.

  Dane landed with a thud. Right behind him came Candyman, crawling over both of them to get out of the way as the rear doors flapped closed. Rocket secured them.

  Aspen laughed and extricated herself from Dane, pulling herself onto a seat. Relief swirled fierce and potent. That was close. She tried to shift her legs, but Dane—

  “Dane?” She reached for him. “Why isn’t he moving?”

  Candyman cursed again. Grabbed Dane. Flipped him over.

  Blood trailed down his temple. Gushed over his neck.

  Twenty-Nine

  Neil Crane stuffed a wadded-up T-shirt against his chest, biting through the pain. “What was that?” Glowering at Lina, he waited for an answer.

  Hatred spewed from her eyes. “I told you—leave Cardinal alone.”

  “No, you said I couldn’t kill him.” He flung the rag across the room and yanked off his soiled shirt to see his wound.

  “And you just might’ve. If he’s dead, then—”

  “Then what?” he hollered. “Are you going to shoot me? Kill me?”

  “I should.”

  Which meant she wouldn’t. But he didn’t care. He was too ticked off. Coupled with this Russian woman. Someone he thought he knew.

  Thought he loved. But didn’t know the first thing about. When she ripped off the mask of innocence, he couldn’t have been more shocked at the demon beneath.

  Now he was totally screwed. Back to where he was eight months ago. Nobody to trust. No answers. Just a barge full of trouble.

  He stomped to the back room and cranked the knob on the rusting sink. Water poured out of it, brown, then slowly cleared. He lapped water against the wound, hissing.

  Soft, gentle hands touched his side.

  He flinched and looked at her.

  “I need to sew it up.”

  Why? Why wasn’t he surprised she knew how to do that? “Why would you?”

  Her blue eyes lingered on his, soft then razor sharp. “Because you’re more useful alive than dead.”

  Neil grunted. “Thanks. Good to know.”

  “Come sit down.”

  Neil muttered a curse and gripped the edge of the sink. This was totally messed up. If he had any options, he’d ditch her. Vanish. Just disappear into the vast sea of people who populated this crazy planet and become a real nobody.

  “Stop brooding.”

  “You’ve gotten sassy since you ditched the whole innocent-damsel-in-distress routine.” He turned and stalked into what used to be a family room of the abandoned apartment.

  “And you’ve gotten grumpy.”

  “Nah, I’ve always been that way.”

  “That’s true.” She pushed him into the chair and went to her knees, a small bowl and supplies set up on a towel on the floor. He grunted—cold. Her fingers had always been cold.

  “You’d better hope Cardinal is not dead.”

  “Actually, I’m hoping he is.”

  She pinched her lips together as she cleaned th
e wound then used scissorlike tongs to reach into it.

  Neil pulled his head up and clenched his eyes shut as pain burst through his abdomen. Fresh warmth oozed down his side. She dabbed. Probed. He thought he might vomit. A groan wormed through his chest.

  “Sorry.”

  Clunk.

  “There.”

  He glanced down and saw the fragment. They’d nailed him on their way out. But he’d landed a few of his own in them.

  “What…?” Lina’s voice was whisper-quiet.

  He looked at her, surprised at the sudden rush of innocence that flooded her expression and mentally pushed him back a foot or two.

  “What if he didn’t betray you?”

  Neil watched her. Tried to read her. She looked…stricken. Could he believe her?

  No.

  But there was something different here. Something…weird. The change in her had been too drastic. Cardinal had taught him to pay attention to little things like that. Follow them to their logical conclusion or end. “If he didn’t, then who did?”

  She dropped her gaze. “Would it matter? Your vendetta has been against Cardinal. If he didn’t shoot you, then…”

  Why would she even bring this up? He’d already shot the guy. Killed him, if the fates were on his side. “I guess it doesn’t matter now, huh?”

  “You’re stupid.” She snatched up the supplies and pushed to her feet. “You deserve what’s coming.”

  Pentagon, Arlington County, Virginia

  “What part of ‘stealth’ don’t you sorry excuses for soldiers understand?” Lance Burnett’s pulse pounded against his temple warning him to calm down. Like he would. He banged a fist against his desk, glaring at the bearded face in the monitor.

  “Sir, with all due respect—”

  “Don’t even go there.”

  “Sir, Cardinal’s down.”

  Lance felt as if someone had dumped ice down his back. “How in Sam Hill did that happen?” He grabbed for his Dr Pepper and hit the top. The drink toppled over. He cursed as he leapt up to salvage the disaster. “What happened down there, VanAllen?”

  “Unknown, sir. We encountered some unfriendlies while in the hold but neutralized them and continued. On our way out, we came under fire. Several were hit, Cardinal went down.”

  “Down? How down?”

  “Unconscious, sir. Dr. Helverson came over from Lemonnier.”

  “Good.” About time something went right. “Well, what’d you find down there?”

  “Exactly what we expected to find, sir.”

  “God have mercy.” He mopped his brow then used the napkin to mop up the spilled soda. Things were out of control. Someone was down there picking off his men. Uranium oxide sitting in the port.

  “We could go down there,” Lieutenant Hastings offered.

  Lance chewed the idea. “VanAllen.”

  “Sir.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  “Yessir.”

  Ending the call, he leaned back in his chair. “What’d he send?”

  Hastings handed the digital reader to him. “Video footage of the lockers. More than fifty of them. All marked dangerous. You’ll see he opened one of them. Radiation readings are high.”

  “We’ll need to force that ship not to leave port.”

  “Already done,” Smith said from the chair beside Hastings. “Seems there’s a problem with their permits.”

  Lance grunted. Man, he felt like crud. He reached for his DP, more carefully this time. “How soon can we be down there?” There were too many variables involved for him to manhandle this from another continent. And he had this twitching feeling that if he could dig deep enough or reach far enough, his fingers would coil around the neck of one General Payne.

  Hastings smirked. “Flight leaves in an hour.”

  Lance laughed. “Got my suitcase packed?”

  “On its way up from the front desk as we speak. Your wife says she’ll miss you.”

  He laughed again. “More like she’s partying now that she got rid of me for a while.” He sighed and ran a hand over his face. He felt old. Old and out of shape. Maybe he should’ve listened to the doctors.

  Well, too late for that. And now he had a brewing international disaster. Cardinal was done—that went beyond bad to the hellfire and damnation bad. That man simply could not die. Because with him went a bevy of information and contacts and resources. Not to mention that Lance’s obligation to the man, long overdue, had yet to be paid. If the Grim Reaper came for Cardinal, he’d come for Lance. Sooner rather than later.

  “Where’s Payne?”

  Smith lifted his chin. “Officially? Taking personal time with his family.”

  “Unofficially?”

  “Security cameras at Lemonnier have a man who looks just like Payne.” Hastings tapped another picture into view. “That’s a mighty deep pocket, reaching all the way to the Dark Continent.”

  “Let’s empty that pocket. Give Payne a little pain of his own.”

  Special Operations Safe House, Djibouti

  Arms wrapped around her waist, Aspen stood as the doctor emerged from the room where he’d worked on Dane. “How is he?”

  The doctor hesitated, glancing at Candyman.

  What? Was it bad news, and he didn’t think she could handle it?

  Candyman gave the doctor a nod as Timbrel came to her side.

  “He was hit twice—head and neck. And he lost a lot of blood.” Dr. Helverson accepted a bottled water from Rocket, uncapped it, and guzzled. “He needs to rest, but the bullet did not nick his carotid, thank goodness. If it had, we’d be planning a burial.”

  “Two hits?”

  Aspen closed her eyes and turned away.

  “What about the head?”

  Candyman’s questions drew her back round.

  “Just a graze. Head wounds are messy because they bleed a lot.” His eyes seemed to bore into her. “How’s your head?”

  Her fingers went to the knot almost on their own will. “A headache, but I’m okay.”

  “Dizziness? Blurry vision?”

  “No.”

  “Let’s hope it stays that way,” Helverson said as he started for the door. “If she becomes disoriented or she doesn’t make sense when she talks or her speech slurs, call me. She could have brain swelling.”

  “I think she already does,” Timbrel said. “She likes that guy in there.”

  Aspen couldn’t resist the smile but shook her head at her friend. “At least I can admit when I like a guy.” She rolled her gaze toward Candyman.

  Timbrel stiffened.

  “Night, folks.” Helverson glanced at his watch. “Make that, morning.”

  “I’m going to go in with him.” Aspen clicked her tongue at Talon, who lumbered out of his sleep and onto his feet to follow.

  As she slipped into the next room, which was barren of furniture or decoration save a chair, a sink, and the table upon which Dane was stretched, she allowed Talon in. He curled up in a corner, apparently exhausted from the excitement an hour ago.

  Feeling drawn like a flower to the sun, she went to Dane. A blanket draped over his legs and waist, his upper torso bare. Two white bandages glared against his olive skin, one on his neck, one just above his temple.

  In the chair, Watterboy sat up and gave a sleepy “hey” then pulled to his feet. “Doc says he’s going to make it.”

  At the table, Aspen took in the man she’d fallen in love with. So incredibly familiar, as if she’d known him all her life. Yet a stranger. A very handsome, rugged, brooding one. But handsome all the same.

  “Thank God,” Aspen said. “Hey, if you want a break, I’ll stay with him now.”

  A small divot of his hair had been shaved near the graze at his temple. A shame. She’d liked the way the strands near his temple always dropped into his eyes. She brushed the hair back. He probably wouldn’t let her do this if he was awake. He’d tell her she didn’t know him, tell her not to trust him.

  “He’s a good ma
n.”

  Her heart zigzagged. She’d almost forgotten Watterboy was in the room still. “Yeah, he is.” But she sensed that the team leader was trying to tell her something else, something more.

  She looked at the man with the dark hair, still garbed in his tactical gear, blood on his shoulder and chest from hauling Dane into the space that became the surgical bay. Candyman had radioed en route for a doc, and thankfully, Helverson had been at the hospital, just minutes away.

  Watterboy was a stark contrast to Candyman, who was all play and games. The man before her took his job seriously and himself even more so. What was his hidden message?

  “Do you…know him? I mean—really know him, Captain?”

  “You care about him?”

  Aspen couldn’t hide the blush if she wanted to and let her focus return to Dane, still unconscious. Sedated. A beautiful face. She swiped her thumb over his cheek and rested her hand on his shoulder. Did she care about him? “Yeah.”

  Oh, it went way beyond that. Seeing him with all that blood, thinking of him being dead, leaving her alone—it terrified her. More than anything she’d experienced losing her parents. Losing Austin. They all seemed like the end of her world. But then Dane came, and she felt like the world was a good place to be again.

  Watterboy’s expression softened. “That look on your face…”

  Aspen’s cheeks heated even more as she met the man’s hazel eyes. “You must think me silly.”

  “Hardly.” He gave a quick shake of his head. “But…just remember what you’re feeling now.”

  Remember? “When? What do you mean?”

  “I should grab some rack time.” Watterboy left the room without another word.

  Confusion settled on her like a weight. Ominous words. She turned back to Dane, contemplating Watterboy’s words. It left her unsettled, much like Timbrel’s warning had. She studied Dane. The pads of her fingers tickled at the stubble on his jaw and chin. Such chiseled features. Everything about him was chiseled. With his chest bared, she couldn’t help but notice, though she tried to keep her eyes on his face. His heart had even seemed chiseled—right out of granite—when she’d first met him. But little by little, that mask crumbled.

  She brushed her fingers through his hair and bent down, planting a kiss on his left temple. “Father, bring him back to me. We’ll figure it out. Whatever it is.” She planted one more kiss, resolving to brave the coming storm. And there was definitely one coming. It made her stomach quaver. She’d been through a lot in her life, but nothing like this. And never had she felt the accompanying peace that quieted her panic. Gave her strength.