by Kaylea Cross
“Can you just put a little bit in mine?” Bryn pleaded. She hated feeling woozy, hated throwing up even more. Especially in front of the man who’d just lit her body up like the Fourth of July with one kiss.
“Stuff makes me puke,” Spencer grumbled sleepily.
“Me too,” she sympathized, watching with a sinking heart as the nurse gave her a full dose anyway. She didn’t want to fall asleep while Dec was still here, and she wanted no part of vomiting in front of him. Already the drug had her eyelids feeling heavy.
The nurse fixed the blankets around her, snorted in amusement when she saw the paper medal pinned to her chest.
“Hey, I earned that,” Bryn said, covering it defensively with one hand.
“You sure as hell did,” Dec agreed.
The nurse pointed a finger at him. “You’ve got one minute, Lieutenant, then these two need to rest.”
He seemed to fight a smile. “Yes ma’am.” Bryn’s heart leapt as his long fingers twined around her hand. “You get better, okay?”
“I will.” He was going to leave, just like that? After he’d kissed her? Disappointment swamped her, but the morphine was tugging at her, pulling her under.
“I’ll get in touch when I get stateside,” he whispered, smiling down at her. “If that’s okay.”
“Okay.” She tried not to sound too enthusiastic, but it was hard to tell if she pulled it off with the narcotic floating through her veins. She watched helplessly as he walked to the door. “But I didn’t give you my number.”
He stopped inside the doorframe to look back, his eyes laughing at her. “I’ll find you.”
As he disappeared from view, fear for his safety made her panic.
“Dec!” she called, fighting a losing battle with her pain meds.
He stuck his head in the door a moment later, brows raised expectantly.
She opened her mouth, closed it, memorizing his handsome face in case she never saw him again. “Be careful,” she managed.
His dimples flashed. “Always.”
“And thanks—for everything.”
He winked. “Anytime, sweetheart.” Then he was gone.
To ease the ache in her chest she sighed heavily and closed her eyes against the sting of tears. It was the medication, she told herself. That was why she felt so weepy and alone. Nothing to do with the fact her father might die and Dec had just left.
“Hey, pretty lady.”
She swung her head around to look at Spencer. “Okay, you so can’t mean me.”
“Sure I can. I want to thank you now before I go into hibernation, so lean over, will you?”
“Wha—?”
He grabbed hold of her bed railing and dragged it across the floor until it touched his, then palmed the back of her head in one hand and kissed the breath right out of her.
When he released her, she fell back against the pillow. She hadn’t really thought he’d do it. As far as thank-yous went, that was a first for her. There’d been no heat in it on either side, though, just his heartfelt gratitude. Not at all like the volcanic rush of Dec’s kiss.
“Well.” She tried to think of something appropriate to say, lips tingling from the imprint of his mouth on hers, but she was remembering Dec. “Well.”
“Thanks for saving my ass, Bryn,” he said, eyes closed. “Never thought I’d say this to a woman, but I’d want you on my team any day.”
The compliment warmed her to her toes.
A nurse came in. “Bryn?”
One look at her solemn expression, and all the blood drained from Bryn’s face. Her father. Her muscles tightened. “Is he…?” She couldn’t say the words aloud. Shock rendered her jaw and limbs rigid.
“I’m sorry. He’s taken a turn for the worse,” she said, coming over to inject something into the IV line.
A turn for the worse. Wasn’t that something they said to prepare family members when their loved one had already passed away? She swallowed.
“This will counteract the morphine, and then I’ll help you into a wheelchair and take you upstairs to see him.”
Her heartbeat sped up. What if they hadn’t come to her in time? What if she didn’t get to say goodbye?
As the nurse went to fetch the wheelchair, she caught sight of Spencer’s face—full of sympathy. He muttered something about how he was sorry and that he wished he could go up with her.
So she wouldn’t be alone.
Oh God, she really was all alone, wasn’t she?
The stitches in her arms and side pulled and throbbed, but the pain didn’t register as she eased herself into the wheelchair. The nurse hustled her to the elevator and upstairs to the neurological ward, then down the hall to her father’s room.
****
Halfway to the cab waiting at the curb, Dec stopped on the sidewalk and looked over his shoulder as the nurse came running out of the hospital calling his name.
“I’m McCabe,” he said, bracing himself for bad news.
The middle-aged woman was out of breath as she reached him. “Petty Officer Spencer sent me after you,” she panted with a hand on her chest. “Miss McAllister is going up to see her father. The doctors expect him to pass away any time now.”
Christ, poor Bryn. He wiped a hand over his face and let out a hard sigh. She’d been through so much already, but to lose her father this way on top of everything else was beyond cruel. At the very least she shouldn’t have to go through it alone, which was no doubt why Spencer had sent the nurse for him.
Damn, he couldn’t leave her to face this by herself. He glanced at his watch, grabbed his cell phone and dialed headquarters as he followed the nurse back inside. Once he’d explained what was going on, they promised to send someone from Jamul’s staff to come and be with Bryn. He would gladly have stayed as long as she needed him to, but he had to be back at the base in less than three hours.
In the lobby, he ditched the elevator and took the stairs, running the four flights two steps at a time. Someone at the nurses’ station directed him down the hall and he stopped outside Jamul’s room to peer in the window.
Bryn was in a wheelchair, her right arm bandaged as she bent over her father’s inert body, holding his hand, squeezing so tight her knuckles were white. Her pale face was turned toward her father, eyes locked on Jamul’s face as though she could will him back to life with the power of her concentration. Her lips moved. Was she speaking to him or was she praying?
His heart ached for her as he stood outside the door, hesitant to intrude on her private goodbye. Maybe it would be best for him to wait out in the hall for a while. He didn’t want to disturb her, and if he was still here when she came out, he could try and comfort her.
Not that there was much he could do for her. Even holding her would hurt her because of all her shrapnel wounds. But God, he couldn’t stand knowing she was suffering this way.
As he watched, her slim shoulders began to shake, and then her head bowed as she gave way to her grief. Her ravaged face turned away as she pressed it to her father’s chest and Dec knew he must be gone. He stepped away to give her more privacy, feeling helpless.
Sure enough, a few minutes later a doctor and two nurses went in and stayed only a few minutes before leaving again. As they passed, Dec heard the word ‘morgue.’ It was over.
Bryn stayed in the room, probably not wanting to leave him yet. Dec tried to imagine sitting there next to his father’s body, knowing that when he left, the staff would come in and take him to the morgue and put him in a refrigerated drawer. The thought made him feel sick. His family meant everything to him.
He walked the hallway a couple of times, watching the clock on the wall. After spending almost an hour that way, he only had a little while left before he had to report for duty. Would it be better to leave before she’d seen him?
No. He couldn’t do it. He’d wait as long as he could and if she hadn’t come out yet, he’d leave a message of his sympathy with the nurses for her. She might have been alone in that room whe
n her father had died, but at least she would know he’d been there.
Jesus, he’d never felt such a powerful need to comfort anyone. And hell, it had been totally out of character for him to kiss her, but he just couldn’t help it.
Another nurse passed him, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the linoleum, and went into Jamul’s room. Less than a minute later, Bryn emerged through the doors in the wheelchair with the nurse pushing her, and when she saw him her expression froze.
She had to be exhausted and devastated, and she seemed surprised as hell to see him standing there. “Dec,” she said, voice rough as sandpaper.
He came to hunker down in front of her, took her icy hands in his. The nurse left them alone. “I’m so sorry.”
She nodded and sniffed, gazing down at their joined hands. “Thanks.”
Damn, he wanted to hold her so bad. She looked so lost and alone it almost broke his heart. He didn’t understand how it had happened so quickly, but over the past few days he’d already grown attached to her. Protective of her.
“At least I got to say goodbye,” she whispered. “Not everyone has that chance.”
He rubbed his thumbs over the cool skin on the backs of her hands. “Someone from his staff is coming to be with you.”
Her obsidian eyes were so full of pain. “You came back.”
“Yeah. Spence sent someone after me as I was leaving.”
“It was sweet of you. I appreciate it.”
Hell, he’d have done anything for her. He respected and admired her. Waiting in a hallway an hour or more was nothing. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”
Staring at him, her beautiful eyes filled with tears, then she flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. Cursing himself for making her cry, he could feel her pain as she battled for control, and slid his arms around her.
Careful of her bandages, he tucked her in close and stroked her back, giving her what comfort he could. She felt so fragile in his embrace. Too small to carry such a burden on her slender shoulders.
After a minute or so she pushed away and dragged her hands across her wet face, sucked in a ragged breath. “Sorry. I’m okay now.”
“Don’t apologize.” Unable to stop himself, he framed her face between his hands and wiped her tears away. “What can I do?”
She forced a sad smile. “Nothing. You’ve done more than enough for me already.”
No he hadn’t. “Want me to take you downstairs?”
“Sure.”
Glad to have something to do, he went around behind her and pushed the wheelchair to the elevator and back to her room.
Spencer turned his head as they came in. “Bryn, I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.”
Dec stood beside her and glanced down at her face. Her eyes were staring dully now, from exhaustion and pain and grief. Sleep was probably the only thing that would help her.
Two nurses came in to take over and helped her back into her bed. He still couldn’t believe the anguish she must be going through. But he was out of time and couldn’t do anything more for her.
He came over to her bed, brushed a hand over her hair.
“You have to go?” An observation, not a question.
He nodded.
She reached up and pressed her hand against his where it lay on her head. “Thanks for coming back. It means a lot to me.”
“You’re welcome.” Ah, hell, he couldn’t not kiss her again. This time he bent and pressed his lips to her forehead, wishing he could make it better. Straightening, he looked at Spencer. “You’ll take care of her?”
“You know it.”
When he turned back to her, Bryn’s eyes were glazed. “Try to sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll get in touch with you as soon as I can.”
She nodded almost mechanically, as though she was sinking deeper into grief. “Bye.”
When he looked back at her from the doorway, her eyes were closed.
****
Day 5, Near Syria-Lebanon border
Evening
Tehrazzi leaned back into the front seat of the battered pickup as it bumped and rattled over the rough dirt road that led to his childhood village, fighting back the bitter rage that filled his heart. When the intelligence had come in that morning about the traitor, at first he’d refused to accept who had helped the Americans escape. He did not want to believe his blood would commit such a terrible sin.
But the evidence was incontrovertible. They had betrayed him, and now they would pay the ultimate price so that no one would dare cross him again.
In his mind he saw his victim paused in front of the fire crackling in the crude hearth to warm her old bones. Every arthritic joint in her body would be aching and throbbing as they always did this time of day. How many hours had he spent rubbing those gnarled hands to relieve her suffering over the years? But her recent actions had sealed her fate. Did she know he was coming for her? He imagined her weakened heart fluttering against the cage of her ribs like a trapped bird.
Mortal terror did that to a person.
Whispers about the foreign captives’ escape had circulated through the local marketplace that morning. He had made certain everyone knew he was searching for those who had betrayed him, and when he found them, their deaths would be brutal. A matter of hours ago he had learned the truth about the betrayal. Now, mere minutes remained before he would mete out his swift and savage retribution. Her betrayal had pushed him into a rage so vast…
He forced a calming breath. She would pray for death before he was finished with her. As would her husband. Even the bond of shared blood would not save them from his wrath.
He thought of the stoning he’d witnessed in Kabul a year after the Taliban had restored law and order to the chaos of Afghanistan in the wake of the Communist defeat. Found guilty of adultery, the man and woman had been wrapped in white cloth, bound hand and foot and buried in the ground up to their waists. Neighbors from the village had carried out the sentence.
The memory of the rocks and stones hitting their bodies was still fresh in his memory. He could still hear the sound of it—each dull thud as the stones smashed into flesh and bone, until the white cloth was soaked crimson with blood. Left alone where they lay, the victims had taken another day to die from their injuries.
He was a hardliner. He believed in upholding the traditional Islamic Shari’a law. Should he stone the traitor to death? Behead her? He pushed away the surge of guilt. She was a woman of strong faith. No matter what crimes she had committed here on Earth, there was a place in heaven for her. After her mortal suffering was finished, Allah would have mercy on her, even if Tehrazzi did not.
As they entered the village, people peered out the windows of their tiny mud-brick huts. Children played in the dusty road, but stopped when they saw them. A few dogs skulked in the lengthening shadows. The truck announced his presence for him, as he was the only one wealthy enough in the region to afford a vehicle. Every man, woman and child in that village knew who he was and why he was here.
He thought of his intended victim. Was her husband still out herding the goats? She couldn’t leave without him. She was too old to provide for herself up in the mountains, even if she managed to get that far. It was too late to run now. She had nowhere to hide from him.
Arriving at the last house, the driver pulled up and shut off the engine. A curtain twitched in the tiny window looking out onto the street. She knew he was here. Was she praying for her soul’s redemption? He and his bodyguard exited the vehicle. His heart pounded as they approached the door of the only real home he had ever known.
The old woman jumped in her threadbare slippers when he threw the wooden door open. It crashed into the wall with a thud. She cowered in the corner, her knees quivering. His long shadow fell over the rug-covered dirt floor.
A second later, he walked through the doorway. Qamar’s wide-eyed gaze traveled up his frame and she dared to look into his face. A burning rage swept over him, bitter on hi
s tongue. The taste of betrayal.
He stood there a moment, gazing at her stricken face. Then his upper lip curled in disdain. “Hello, Grandmother.”
She shook at the promise of hell in his eyes.
Chapter Eight
Day 6, Beirut
Afternoon
The funeral passed in a blur.
Ben Sinclair, the head of Bryn’s father’s security team, stood beside her the whole day, never letting her out of his sight, and she was glad to have him there.
A couple years younger than her, the former Army Ranger was a mountain of strength for her to lean upon, making her feel relatively safe amongst the media and crowd of mourners gathered at the Beirut cemetery. He was the protective brother she’d never had, and though she’d sensed more than a platonic interest on his part lately, for her they could never be more than friends.
With Ben’s arm around her waist, Bryn was numb as she watched them lower her father’s casket. His body couldn’t be in that glossy, wooden box being put into the ground. In life he’d been so powerful and charismatic, he’d seemed to take up an entire room when he entered it. That brightly burning flame couldn’t be snuffed out forever.
Raising her eyes to the brilliant azure sky, she persuaded herself that he was watching them and allowed herself to imagine what he would think. He would probably shake his head in disgust at the public display in his memory. But maybe, just maybe he would have been proud of the way she was bearing up.
After the ceremony, Ben settled her in her father’s armor-plated Range Rover and drove her back to the compound that was now hers.
Learning that bit of news at the lawyer’s office when the will was read had come as a shock. She hadn’t thought her father would leave her something so substantial, since they weren’t really that close. She was his only child, though, and since her twenty-first birthday, he’d apparently planned to make her his sole heir. He’d wanted his wealth passed on to his blood, proving how much he trusted her.
