So, Rel was right. They were keeping him in his own home. But pretending it was a hospital. Why? He lifted an IV-taped hand to his head and rubbed his temple. “What’s…?”
Rel withdrew a syringe from her pocket and slid the needle into the tubing of the IV. “They are keeping you heavily sedated. I’m weaning you off the drug, but if you are too coherent too soon, they’ll get suspicious.”
Marshall swung out a hand. “Wait. Why…why is he doing this?”
She gave a sad smile, her beautiful pale face twisted into what looked like agony. Her brown gaze jumped to his, then back to the sheets. She shook her head, as if pleading with him. “You don’t remember?”
Panic streaked through him. He caught her hand. “What? Tell me, Rel—please!” Swirls and swoons surfed his brain waves. He fought the lure of the drugs she’d injected into his IV. “What? What don’t I remember?” He tightened his hold on her arm. “Tell me, Narelle. I need you to help me.”
“Okay, okay, be quiet.” Her eyes watered. “Someone attacked the Nightshade team. Max and my brother are missing. The others are…” Her chin trembled. “They’re gone, Marshall. I don’t know where. They’re just gone.”
No…
His body sucked him into a dark chasm.
Kyrenia, Cyprus
“I’ve located Azzan,” Dr. Golding said as he returned from the terrace. “He’s at the state hospital in Güzelyurt. It is not far from here, and I have a friend who is the head of surgery.” Golding ran a hand through this thick mop of slightly grayed, curly hair. “Not too far from here, and I believe it will work for our favor, yes?”
Griffin stood.
“No, it is good that I do this alone.” Kindness oozed from the man who stood as tall as Griffin but had the gentility of a lamb. “I believe my position will grant me unfettered access, but showing up with strangers will beg questions we’d rather not have drawn up.”
Fingers curling into fists, Griffin probed the man’s eyes, searching for the thing he’d seen in many faces that warned him to withhold his trust. What position? Who was Dr. Golding?
“Thank you, Jacob.”
The man inclined his head, then left. Griffin stared out the door, wondering what he’d find. Was Azzan alive? They would’ve told Dr. G if the assassin was dead, right?
“I know there is much to discuss,” the general said. “But I think you both need a shower and a good night’s rest.”
A caged lion paced within Griffin’s chest. Rest? At a time like this? Yet his experience in the field told him the suggestion came from the voice of reason. But with his men, his friends, out there, in God-knows-what kinds of situations…
“Jacob’s home has many bedrooms,” Olin said. “Charlotte and I have the first room on the right. There is another on the left, then three more rooms upstairs, as well as the rooftop terrace.”
The lion paced more. Sitting here, doing nothin’, having no plan…It’s like flinging mud and hoping something sticks. He’d go out of his good mind. “We need a plan.”
“We will.”
The reply took Griffin by surprise. Had he really spoken out loud? He ran a hand over his face and scalp.
“For now, shower and rest,” Olin said firmly but softly.
Griffin stared at the man.
Laugh lines crinkled the Old Man’s blue eyes. “That’s an order, Marine.”
“Oorah,” Griffin muttered, not feeling the oomph that normally went into that word. He glanced at Kacie—but Olin had said her name differently, like Kazie. Was that her real name? Or just another pseudonym she used?
Kacie eyed him. “I’ll shower first.”
He nodded and held a hand toward the hall.
Her chin drew up, and this expression overtook her face. What is that? “I need to speak to the general.”
I see. She needed to talk to the general but still didn’t trust Griffin enough to speak in front of him. Fine. “Then I’ll shower first.” He trudged down the hall and stepped into the bathroom. There, two sets of clothes, neatly folded, sat on a bench next to the sink. Griffin lifted the black shirt of one and held it up. Pressed it shoulder to shoulder with his large frame. Perfect. The pants—nobody ever got that right. He might be built like a train, but he took care of his body. The Good Lord told men to buffet their bodies, and Griffin took that literally. He didn’t have a tire for a waistline. With hesitation, he lifted the black tactical pants. Held them up.
And grinned.
Perfect. Had to be the Old Man to get this right. But…how’d he know? That question and many more trailed Griffin beneath the pelting spray as he scrubbed down. Amid the steam and hot water, he let the tension drain from his limbs and from his mind, right down the drain.
“I…I was thinking of going into the Marines, like you, Uncle Griff.”
Hand on his nephew’s neck, Griffin gave a playful squeeze. “You got a better head on your shoulders than I do. A good, strong family who’s got your back. Go to school.”
They moved to the steps of the back porch and sat. “But,” Dante said, “I thought you said I could be whatever I put my mind to.”
Thump-thump. A black object tumbled into the center of the living room.
Flash-bang! Curled into a corner, he obeyed the instinct that made him plug his ears, open his mouth, and squeeze his eyes shut.
Boom! Crack!
Griffin jerked. Slapped the water off and stepped from the shower. Hands on the edges of the sink, he braced himself, hauling his mind from the edges of the nightmare. He stared down at the tactical pants. Being a Marine, being a warrior, that’s what Dante thought made a hero. Shooting people. Chasing down bad guys.
And look where it got him.
Chest tight, Griffin snatched the clean shirt from the bench and ripped open the door. He stomped upstairs, ignoring the lull of conversation in the living room. They didn’t want him down there anywhere. Kacie—Kazie—didn’t, and in this mood, it was the right thing to separate himself.
Anger destroys. Anger kills. Nothing good comes of anger. Taking the steps two at a time helped him expend some of the pent-up frustration. At the top of the stairs, two options existed: right where three doors opened into two bedrooms and a closet of some sort, then to the left—a glass door provided a view of a rooftop terrace.
Griffin flipped on a light in one of the bedrooms, checked it—bed, dresser, nightstand, couple of nice paintings—before he pulled it closed, then headed to the roof. Early morning dawn streaked the sky with midnight blue. He eased the door open and turned. On the far wall, he set his shirt. Stepped back. Closed his eyes and drew in a slow, deliberate cleansing breath.
With practiced moves, he swept his right arm out and simultaneously spread his legs shoulder-width apart and bent his knees. In wide arcs, he pushed the tension out with his right hand, then drew his hand in. Tai Chi had been the one outlet that allowed him to release the storm within him, find some semblance of peace.
“Peace comes from the Lawd, boy. Don’t you forget it.”
Madyar never would let him forget it. And though he tried it her way, tried to draw on the strength of God, it seemed he repeatedly hooked his claws in demons of fury instead. Controlling his anger was tantamount to peace. Without the harness, without the purification, he could become one of the demons that had plagued his father.
Griffin stumbled. He blinked out the image that came with the mention of that man. Unheeded, they came. Shouting. Pleading. Screams. A loud bang. Then…silence. Horrible, terrifying silence. Bang!
He went to his knees. Pebbles dug into his flesh. Dropping onto all fours, Griffin drew in a ragged breath, feeling as if something had hold of his chest, squeezing…twisting…strangling. Two paces forward brought him to the wall. He turned and slumped against it, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
God, make it go away. Please…
Griffin lifted his eyes heavenward, panting. Just like that night. Fleeing the house. Wishing with all the fervor of a six-year-old bo
y that he’d been the real creature his mother had named him after, the gryphon. The noblest of noble creatures, head and claws of an eagle, body of a lion. A powerful beast who could’ve ripped through that stormy sky and stopped the nightmare. But he had been all of sixty pounds.
A shadow to the right danced, blocking the light from the interior hall.
Click.
Kacie stepped into the predawn morning with a grace and style all her own. In fact, the way she moved, the way she strode toward the wall, she owned it. She wore the clean clothes that had waited for her in the bathroom. Eyes on the sparkling sky, she moved to the opposite wall. In seconds, she stood atop it, walked to the far edge. With one look over her left shoulder—he stilled, waiting for her to spot him—she looked to the house. Then refocused, held her hands straight out in front of her.
Was she going to jump? Ditch them now that the money was in her account? If she lost her balance, it was a solid ten, maybe fifteen feet to the rocky beach below the house. If he said anything, he might startle her. He reached for his shirt and pushed to his feet, keeping his eyes on her.
Kacie, graceful as anything he’d seen, did several backflips on the twelve-inch ledge.
You have the heart of an Olympian, Kazimiera. Now tell that to your body. Train! Train! Train!
After three back-handsprings, she reached the wall and pivoted. Toeing the ledge, she repeated them till she stood on the lip, grateful for the solace, the chance to relax and unwind. As if on the balance beam, she swung around, her right leg out behind her, then dipped down and brought it up. Toe touching the warmed plaster, she held out her arms. She didn’t make the Olympics, but she’d never surrendered the one love in life she’d excelled at. Forward into a tuck, then a handstand, relishing the gentle whoosh of the cool February air around her body as she moved. She stood straight again, arms out, graceful, light, and she threw herself forward—A sound from the side broke her concentration.
She wobbled on the edge, then sat to prevent injury to herself. Kazi spun and faced the darkness. Heat swirled through her stomach as Griffin emerged from the shadows.
“Baby Girl,” he said with admiration in his tone and gaze. “I thought you had moves earlier, but you have moves!”
“What are you doing out here?”
Griffin frowned, threading his hands through his shirt. As he did, the light from the corridor traced a tattoo on his chest. Some eagle-looking creature. “Same thing as you.”
“You should’ve said something.” Kazi jerked to the wall, bent, and retrieved her shoes.
“I was afraid I’d startle you off the wall.”
She snapped toward him. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“Agreed. You handle yourself with more skill than a lot of men I know.”
Warily, Kazi eyed him, waiting for him to make the comment a backhanded compliment. She slipped on her shoes. Only the soft moan of the ocean came to her. Play nice, Kazi. Think. Change gears. “Earlier, you didn’t ask the general why he was here.”
With a sigh, Griffin strolled to the far edge of the overhang and shifted around, leaning back against the half wall, and folded his arms. As he crossed his ankles, she couldn’t help but notice he was barefooted like her. What had he been doing out here?
“No, I didn’t. But neither did you.”
On the ledge, she shrugged and hugged her legs. Mentioning that she’d taken her cue on that point from Griffin, from the fact that he didn’t question his superior, she’d reasoned there was no threat. Liking Lambert’s presence here was a different thing. She didn’t appreciate him stepping in on her game.
“You know,” Griffin said, slowly bringing his gaze to hers, “we can spend a lot of time keeping things from each other, pretending we don’t care, or we can work as a team and get this done.” He angled his broad shoulders toward her. “Did the general surprise me being here? Yes. But questioning him—we were beyond that. I knew when you showed up and told me the team had been hit that if Lambert sent you to break me out of prison—he knows, he knows how much respect and honor are foundations in my life—if he needed me to break my code and flee that prison like some criminal from the ‘hood, that told me things were beyond broke. So I left with you.”
“Yet you’ve fought me at every chance.”
“No.” Griffin swung around and straddled the wall, one leg dangling over fifteen feet of air. “Not fought you. Sought an accord, cooperation.”
“You’re a team player.” She shrugged, feeling so very small in his presence. “I’m not. I work alone.”
He inched forward. “Even if you aren’t a team player, Kacie, if you think about this with logic, with that brilliant mind of yours, then you’ll see that working together makes both of us stronger, more capable for whatever comes. Whether you want me here or not, I am doing this. And I’m not leaving till my boys are back.”
“So that’s what matters to you.” Where did that come from? Kazi pushed her gaze to the sea sparkling behind him. Why had anger suddenly tangled up her mind? Minutes lapped the silence around them, but she wouldn’t look at him. Those eyes were probing for weak spots, for ways to get in under her radar. She wouldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not ever.
“Where’d you learn those moves?”
First volley. Ask an innocuous, quiet question, and he learns a bit about her past.
Not if she had anything to say about it. “In a gymnasium.”
“How many medals did you win?”
Kazi’s gaze bounced to his of its own will. Blue-green waters still dark beneath the subtle tease of dawn’s fingers silhouetted his large frame. The tide pulled on her mind—not the tide from the sea reaching for shore, but the one in his eyes. Why did he care? Was she just a thing he could conquer and overcome? What would he do with the information from her past, a cemetery of fallen innocence and dead dreams?
She blinked at the idea she’d even considered opening that crypt. She swung her legs over the side and stood. “Good night, Griffin.” As she pivoted and strode away, she heard his heavy sigh.
That’s right—I’m hopeless. Just give up and go away.
“Kacie,” Griffin said, her name a whisper on his lips.
Holding the door handle, she paused before her mind had a chance to catch up with the mistake.
“Don’t lock me out.” His deep voice resonated through her like the gong of a bell in a tower. And yet he’d spoken so quietly, so gently. So close.
She glanced up at him and felt the flicker of a frown tie her brows together. “I wasn’t—” Oh. He didn’t mean the door. He meant…something else. A weird taste leapt across her tongue, and she swallowed. In a fluid move, she swirled into the small foyer and flipped the lock.
Then she looked at him with a smirk…and that was her second mistake, because the warm glow of the foyer bathed his face. And what she saw there, in his undaunted eyes, in the face lined with determination amid that smooth latte skin, speared its way through the midnight hour of her heart. Past the broken and chipped headstones of fallen hopes, broken dreams, and certain fear, and straight at the vault.
Though she spun on her heels and stalked down the hall, the pained expression on his face haunted her. Where she’d expected anger, she found…sadness.
Don’t weep for me, Griffin. There’s nothing left to cry over.
Kazi closed the bedroom door and traced the small gap where the door and jamb didn’t quite meet. “Just brill, Kazi. Just brill. You scared off another fella.” Tina’s voice sailed past the gates of paradise and into the present. She had to, didn’t anyone get that? Keeping the walls up, keeping her mind focused meant she stayed alive. But…what would it be like to know a man who didn’t give up, who didn’t abuse, who didn’t seize on her weaknesses?
Like Mamo and Tata.
As if a bat hit her head, Kazi stumbled back. With a choked breath, she fought the stinging in her eyes. She turned, hands on her hips, staring, searching for whatever had brought them to her mi
nd. All these years, she’d pushed them down, suffocated the memories till they lay dead in that crypt. Her heart beat faster, pumping twice the amount of fear as blood through her veins.
She brushed her short, wispy hair from her face and let out a ragged breath. She would not—not!—go there again. They were dead. Buried. Not a part of her life. Roman had sold her. Discarded her as easily as toilet paper. And…Kazpar…my twin.
A half-choked sob punched through her chest, seeking relief.
She covered her mouth. Something hot slid down her cheek. She batted it. Curse Griffin Riddell. He’d brought this out in her; he’d slipped under her radar, under her defense. But it’d never happen again. Renewed resolve transfused the fear in her veins.
The only victims would be the ones she created. Not her. Never again. She didn’t care what it cost—even if it meant this mission.
Acholi, Uganda
Boom!
Crackling raced along the roof. Fire licked and devoured the grassy covering. Thuds outside the hut reverberated through his mind, the sound indicative of a slaughter. Smoke swirled down into his one-room hut as if seeking out victims to strangle.
Scott pushed himself off a coughing Ojore. “Stay along the perimeter.” He clapped the fifteen-year-old’s shoulder. “Just like we practiced.”
As Scott slipped out of his hut, the roof roared. Seconds of blaze brought it down with a whoosh. He seized the distraction of the noise and sprinted into the tall grass, his gaze locked on the two trucks that had borne the soldiers hauling sleeping people from their homes. Children screamed. Women wailed.
A lone figure on the other side of the village, beyond the trucks, skittered between two huts. Ojore?
Scott glanced back to where he’d expected to find the young man. But he was gone.
A fist punched Scott’s stomach into his throat.
Raging fires lit the night almost like daytime. And there…darting between thick clouds of smoke and burning hulks was Ojore. Going after Kissa.
Firethorn (Discarded Heroes) Page 16
