Dark Salvation (DARC Ops Book 7)

by Jamie Garrett

  The wind had died down, but she was glad to stay in his arms. Her heart was beating harder and faster and she’d begun to worry that he’d notice, that he’d feel it throbbing. It probably felt like he was hugging a heart attack. And then there was her breathing, quickened and shaky, and way too much for hugging. It was the kind of breathing that preceded some trouble—the good kind and the bad. Though with Cole, she couldn’t deny that she was now interested in both.

  15

  Cole

  Annica felt fluttery in his arms, like a butterfly in a closed hand, her breathing quickening to match his own. But there was no way her heart could keep up with his. Absolutely not. He could feel it, knocking against his ribcage, the sound of its hurried blood throbbing in his ears. It was almost a little embarrassing. He was usually so cool and confident and levelheaded. Especially with women. Though it had been a while. He thought back to the last time he’d done something like this with a woman. Had he been so excited then?

  He remembered a time before the long ocean voyages, before what he did and didn’t do to assist an international smuggling ring, his last time being with anyone before he’d changed, before he’d lost the man he used to be. It was after a New Year’s Eve party in San Bernardino. A fond memory because he finally landed a waitress he’d been flirting with all night. But he couldn’t remember his body reacting in such a visceral and uncontrollable way as it had done tonight. He’d been plied with drinks on both occasions. Both women were beautiful—with Annica definitely taking the easy lead there. But it was more than that. On the beach with her now, his face inches away from hers and her hair billowing against him, Cole understood the difference. With her and every other woman before. No matter how much fun they’d been having on this beach, the hard reality of their situation was dire and fraught with danger. Picking up a waitress seemed ridiculous in contrast. As did the waitress, herself, compared to Annica and what she’d meant and come to symbolize for him: a second chance. But a second chance only through ashes. Only through death, a rebirth. It was the phoenix rising again, Cole making his way up from the depths of the ocean after tumbling overboard on Batchewana.

  “I feel like you caught me,” Cole said.

  “What? How do you mean?”

  He could feel her breath on his face. He liked being close like this.

  “Cole?”

  “On the ship, I mean. And I guess before that, too. But I just never realized.”

  “You didn’t realize a lot of things.”

  “I know,” he said, looking down into the sand between their legs. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said it again, looking into her eyes now.

  “No, don’t. You don’t have—”

  “I do. I need to say it. I’m sorry I doubted you. That I didn’t trust you enough to fully come forward, and to talk with you on the ship.” He reached for her hand, holding it around the outside. “Because now look where we are.”

  “What do you mean? We’re holding hands on a beach.”

  His grip tightened. “I mean with getting you so involved in this mess.”

  “Forget it,” she said. “Forget the past. Just be here with me.”

  Cole nodded.

  “Are you?”

  “I’m here,” he said, squeezing her hand. He folded his hand with hers, so their fingers clasped together. “You won’t have to follow me again.”

  Annica nodded.

  “I just want you to know that,” he said. “That you can count on me.”

  “And you can count on me.”

  “I am.”

  It brought a smile to her face, and a warmth through his heart. He wanted to keep her smiling.

  “They’re probably worried about us,” she said, nodding her head toward the beach house.

  “Let them worry,” he said. “Let someone else do it for a change.”

  He’d kept her smiling. “It feels kinda nice, doesn’t it?”

  “It does,” Cole said, happily aware of how their hands squirmed warmly against each other. Through hands they emoted their true intentions. Their true desire. How his hand ached and hungered against hers was precisely what his whole body felt for its counterpart. Sliding against her, feeling every inch. Even just over clothes would be fine. Right here on the beach. Right now.

  Cole left her hand, his fingers climbing up Annica’s bare arm. He leaned forward, needing to taste her lips again. He closed his eyes and heard the roar of another ocean wave rumble ashore. And then he heard Annica yelp again.

  It was not about wind and sand this time, but ocean foam. It bubbled white in the dark and shot up past the wet crescents of sand, climbing over dry territory and approaching their little slice of heaven. It looked surreal.

  “Whoa, it’s coming up here,” Annica shouted.

  It was too late to run anywhere.

  Annica cried out again as Cole lifted her off the sand, one hand underneath her thighs and another behind her back, slumping her weight against his chest and holding her there with his legs wide and flexed. She was laughing now, clutching onto him as the wave streamed in around his ankles. His pants immediately clung wetly to his legs. Then the wave flowed back down, back between his legs and back into the darkness and gone.

  Annica was laughing and hugging his neck. She’d survived the wave.

  “Oh, my God,” she said. “What was that?”

  “Sheer bravery,” Cole said, chuckling. “And selflessness.”

  “And good reflexes. That was quick.”

  “Instincts,” Cole said.

  “I know.” Her head had dipped to his, foreheads touching. “I know,” she said again, her voice nice and low and near him.

  “Your feet would’ve been soaked for the rest of the night, like mine.”

  “Poor baby,” Annica said, their heads still touching. “What can I do?”

  “I think a kiss might be in order.”

  “On your feet?”

  “What?”

  Her laugh vibrated through his ribs.

  “No,” he said. “Not my feet. Probably never my feet.”

  “Probably?”

  “No, never.”

  “You know,” Annica said, “some people are into that.”

  “Yeah. And some people have to work on their feet all day.”

  “Gross.”

  Cole nodded, moving her head in unison with his.

  “I don’t know,” she said, finally pulling her head away from his. “All this feet talk made me not want to kiss you anywhere.”

  “You brought it up.”

  “And you can put me down anytime.”

  “Nah,” Cole said, leaning his head back against hers. And then their cheeks, flattening together as he laid another, softer, and longer kiss. Her back expanded out against his arms as she took in a deep breath.

  Cole felt sufficiently paid off for his rescue, for now.

  “Seriously, though,” she said. “We better not let them find us.”

  “Who?” Cole said with a chuckle. “DARC Ops or the bad guys?”

  “Either.”

  He finally let her down, surprised again at how short Annica measured up to him—barely clearing his shoulders. She was certainly easy to carry. That might be helpful to remember later. For whatever reason . . .

  “But let’s just . . .” Annica trailed off as they made their way back to the grove. “Let’s just kinda keep this on the down-low. Okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “It won’t look too good,” she said.

  Cole, not normally the sensitive one—and usually the most jaded—surprised himself with his reaction. Logically, she was correct. But whoever he’d become down there on the beach, the vulnerable, hopeless romantic, felt just a tinge of pain in a heart that had just been beating off the charts. An after-effect, he was sure.

  “What’s wrong?” Annica asked.

  Another surprise. He’d let something show.

 
; “Nothing,” Cole said.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know. We’re cool.”

  “We’ll have to be cool.”

  “It’s cool either way,” he said.

  “Yeah.” Annica took a few steps. Her strides were shorter and she was working harder. Their pace, also, seemed to have sped up toward the house and the rest of the team. “Nothing’s changed,” she said.

  “Of course not.”

  Cole hung back, letting Annica take the lead up the first set of narrow stone stairs leading to the patio. He tried not to ogle her, a nice and faint view in the dark as she moved up. He tried to remember what it was like, just twenty minutes ago, when everything between them was still strictly professional. And deadly serious, where lives were on the line. Mostly his.

  How would he talk to her, back inside the house, with everyone watching? He’d just have to play it cool. No big deal.

  “You ready?” Annica said, smiling back to him as they crossed the flagstone patio.

  “Always.”

  They walked through strips of light, the glow coming from the windows up above. It was oddly quiet inside. He expected, and definitely wanted there to be the sound of a party greeting them. The sounds of people having too much fun to notice how long he’d been gone with the star reporter.

  “Hey, Cole,” she said quietly, getting his attention again. “What’s our story?”

  “Huh?”

  “What we’ll tell them,” Annica said. “I was just interviewing you.”

  “Got it.”

  “The pre-interview.”

  He felt himself smiling in the dark, halfway up the last set of stairs. “Should I tell them that last part?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It’s the truth.”

  16

  Annica

  She got one last glimpse of him through the window, Cole walking down the front path toward the road. He’d gone out there to join the guys, and whatever they were doing around his dirt bike. The men stood in some sort of huddle around the van.

  Mira’s voice from the kitchen pulled her away. “Need another drink?” the host said, her voice loud and lilting.

  Annica joined her in the kitchen. “No,” she said. “But why not?”

  “Exactly. You don’t have a gun, do you?”

  “What? No.”

  “You don’t normally, right?”

  “Not normally, no,” Annica said. “Not ever, actually.”

  “Okay, then,” Mira said, pouring the last of the blender’s lime-green contents into two tall glasses. She looked up at Annica and said, “Straw?”

  “Sure.” She normally used them to save her lipstick. She thought about that for a second, almost panicking. She reached up and touched her lips.

  “Here you are,” Mira said, sliding the glass over the cutting-board kitchen island.

  Annica drew her hand away from her mouth, relieved that she hadn’t put on lipstick earlier. Through all the action of her day, it would’ve likely been ruined long before Cole’s lips.

  No, Cole’s lips couldn’t ruin anything—except for a professional detachment from her story.

  Mira smiled and said, “It’s nice out there, huh?”

  She nodded, mid-drink. “Mm-hmm.”

  “Taste good?”

  She was still sucking on the straw. “Mmmm . . .” Annica drew the glass away and then smacked her lips. “So good.”

  Everything was so good . . .

  She felt wonderful. Even standing there alone with Mira. Whatever it was between them felt so inconsequential now. Trivial. Immature, even. A waste of energy.

  “I love walking that beach at night,” Mira said.

  Annica nodded, imagining Mira walking along with Jackson at her side. Imagining what else they’d end up doing down there, in the sand, in the water. It hardy made a difference to Annica, who, suddenly, felt nothing about what her ex-lover did or didn’t do.

  Thank God.

  Annica took another cold sip of the sour, fruity concoction. “Life’s been pretty sweet, huh?”

  “Right now, yeah.”

  “Oh, it’s been good for a while,” Annica said. “We’ve been lucky.”

  “We have.”

  “They’ve been lucky, too.”

  “Who?” Mira said. “The boys?”

  Annica knocked on wood, the cutting-board top of the island, followed by Mira’s knock, knock, knock-knock, knock. Followed by Annica’s final two knocks, to answer to the clichéd cadence and to stir up some boozy laughter from Mira. Annica followed up with that, too, joining her in the brainless hilarity. “That was pretty stupid,” she said.

  “I know.”

  It felt good to be stupid and brainless with her. To not be on guard, or to anticipate some sort of painful memory. Now, Annica felt like she couldn’t find a painful memory if she’d tried. Certainly none about Jackson.

  The cage, maybe.

  Not Cole’s cage, but the one in Virginia Beach. That memory, and that cage, would always be painful . . .

  She took another sip, wanting to be trapped in Cole’s cage once again.

  “What do you think they’re doing out there?” Mira asked.

  “Cole said something about his dirt bike. Maybe they’re looking at it?”

  “Is it some kind of fancy bike or something?”

  “I have no idea,” Annica said. “Do they even make fancy dirt bikes?”

  “You probably know more about it than me.”

  “I’ve never even been on a bike. I mean, one with a motor. You have, though. That trip with Jackson across the country?”

  “Well, it wasn’t on a dirt bike.” Mira laughed.

  “A Harley or something?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’m assuming something more comfortable.”

  Mira grinned at her. “So you’ve never handled a gun, or a motorcycle. What are you, some kind of a writer or something?”

  Annica rolled her eyes. “Yeah, pretty much. That damn laptop sucks up most of my time. Just typing along all day. You probably know what it’s like. Doing all that translating.”

  Mira nodded. “But I switched it up a little bit. I dictate now.”

  “I should look into that,” Annica said, flexing her fingers straight from a claw. “Save me some hand cramps.”

  “How is it going, by the way?”

  “My hands?”

  Mira smirked. “Well, I guess I don’t mean to bring up work.”

  “No, it’s okay.”

  “Tonight’s a party, right?”

  “I don’t know what it is,” Annica said. “But I’m definitely drinking that way.”

  Mira said, “Me, too, a little. Don’t tell Jackson.”

  “Ditto.”

  The two ladies smiled at each other. Genuinely and warmly. They’d come a long way from the first time they’d met. At Jackson’s headquarters. In his office. An interview about Mira’s trouble with Senator Langhorne, Annica perhaps grilling her way too hard. Annica perhaps a little jealous, even then.

  Mira raised her drink and sighed. “I know we’re just about to take on another mission, with you and Cole here and everything. But I guess I’m just enjoying the peace while it lasts.”

  “The calm before the storm,” Annica said.

  “Oh,” Mira said, dropping her glass to the table, looking at Annica as if she was about to apologize for something. “But you’ve had a little storm already. No wonder you’re so thirsty.”

  Annica had almost forgotten about her morning, somehow. And then she remembered Cole, how he helped her, and how her day seemed to get better along the way, with him. She smiled.

  “You look great,” Mira said.

  “Huh?”

  Mira was studying her face. “I mean, considering.”

  “Oh, yeah, thanks,” Annica said. “You, too.”

  “You look happy.”

  It was a surprise to hear Mira talking like this. Annica smiled and said
, “Maybe I’m just getting used to it.”

  A voice from the living room said, “I could get used to this house.”

  The girls turned to see Macy slip into the kitchen. She walked up to the sink holding out blackened hands.

  “What is that?” Mira asked.

  “On my hands?” Macy flipped on the water with the back of her wrist. “It’s grease. Bike grease.”

  Mira laughed and said, “Why?”

  “Ah, it happens when you work on a bike.” Macy said, washing up.

  “I mean,” Mira said, “why when you’ve got three men out there? Three bike heads.”

  “Four,” Macy said. “Cole joined in.”

  It was really still three, but Annica kept quiet about Ethan. He was definitely not a bike head. She amused herself, wondering what he was even doing out there.

  Macy said, “It was just me and Jackson for a minute, trying to get Cole’s dirt bike out of the van. I watched how Cole and Tucker loaded it, and I guess I figured unloading would be easier.”

  “Was it?”

  Macy turned away from the sink and found a towel. “Let’s just say I’m glad the others showed up.”

  “Good thing they did,” Mira said. “I know you probably weren’t too glad when we showed up.” Mira turned to Annica and said, “Jackson and I sort of ruined their island getaway.”

  Macy smirked. “No, it’s fine.”

  “They had this cute beach hut in Kauai,” Mira said. “And then we came and wrecked everything.”

  “I guess that’s my fault too,” Annica said.

  “Guys,” Macy said. “Considering what my life was like for the past few years, before I met everyone here . . .”

  “Oh,” Mira said, her face suddenly marred with concern. “I know. I know.”

  It was as if no one had to talk about it. Just a silent agreement on how shitty things had gotten for Macy in the years preceding DARC Ops. A DARC overhaul, as the wives and girlfriends called it. Their little sorority understood better than anyone the resourcefulness and courage of their men. And it was okay if they’d kept it that way. No other women needed to know how good they had it.