King's Ransom: (Tall, Dark and Dangerous Book 13)

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Tasha giggled. She couldn’t help it, and he made an exasperated and disgusted-with-her sound in the back of his throat.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. But no, there’s no, um, hole. Yet. But see, it felt to me like the fabric’s thinner over there, so you should be able to, I don’t know, tear it or wear it down with your fingernails...?”

  He made an unconvinced sound as he started plucking away at the fabric, adding, “This would be easier if I could see it.”

  “The lighter’s in my pocket on that side.”

  “Thanks, but we’re sitting in the dark, with no fire, for a reason,” Thomas told her. But then he said, “So when did you start smoking, anyway?”

  “Never,” Tasha said. “It’s Ted’s. I carry it so he doesn’t have to.”

  “Ted smokes.” He said it flatly, not quite a question but not quite not.

  So she answered him. “Weed, on occasion. It really helps his anxiety.”

  He laughed at that. “I’m sure it helps his anxiety to have you carrying his lighter and, oh, his marijuana around for him. Do I have that right, or...?”

  “Relax, Officer Krupke. It’s not what you think. He’s got a medical card, and when we travel, he only smokes in states where it’s legal.”

  “So why does he have to hide it, then?”

  “He’s a prince. Princes aren’t allowed to have anxiety—among a long list of other things,” Tasha countered. “But I’m not royalty, so no one really cares about what I do.”

  Thomas laughed grimly at that. “Have you googled yourself lately? Maybe not your name but Prince Tedric’s redheaded golddigger?”

  She laughed—not grimly. Googling was actually a highly entertaining game she played with Ted and Jeff and Kayla whenever they had dinner together. Who’s Posting Nasty-Ass Made-Up Bullshit About Tasha Today? “Haters gotta hate.”

  “It honestly doesn’t bother you.”

  “Nope,” she said.

  “I cannot get this,” he admitted. “I don’t have all that much when it comes to fingernails.”

  “You really can’t tear it?” she asked, turning to try to find his face in the darkness—and realizing that he was right there, his nose and mouth mere inches from her. She quickly turned away again.

  “I’m afraid I’ll tear it too much,” he admitted. “I don’t want to ruin it.”

  “I really don’t mind if you... want to try to, you know, break the straps.” Tash had almost said, I really don’t mind if you tear it off me, and oh, there was a fantasy she hadn’t realized she longed for, damnit. She had to clear her throat before adding, “It’s gonna be ruined regardless. Think about it. An underwire bra with only one wire? That will create quite the unusual look. The Duchess will remain perky while Rufus will be all downcast and sad.”

  His laughter was warm against the back of her neck, and she couldn’t help it. She shivered.

  “But meanwhile, you’re freezing with your jacket unzipped,” he said.

  “Look, seriously,” she said. “Why don’t you see if you can tear the straps free. Then I can take it off and hand the damn thing to you. It’ll be easier for you get the wire out.”

  “But... you’ll be without a bra,” he said.

  “True,” she said. “But good news, it’s not a magic bra, so...” She thought about that. “Although maybe that’s bad news. A magic bra, right now, couldn’t hurt. Magic Bra, turn into a helicopter!” She waited, and of course nothing happened. “Nope. Not a magic bra. Somehow I’ll survive without it. You’re good to break the straps.”

  “Aren’t they reinforced?” he asked, his hands moving up to her right shoulder, where he found the strap—and a whole lot of her bare skin. Tasha closed her eyes and focused on keeping her breathing from stuttering. “If I were designing a bra...”

  He moved around to her back, where the strap connected with the band. He felt his way along the connection and gave it an exploratory tug. “Wow, that’s... not very reinforced. You really want me to...?”

  “Please,” she said.

  He must’ve understood the powerful urgency in her tone on some level, because he did it. Quickly. Efficiently. He turned her slightly so he could reach the other side of her back, and he did the same to the other strap.

  And then he helped her pull her shirt, sweater, and jacket back down before his hands were gone and he backed away.

  She instantly missed his solid warmth. Of course, her jacket was still unzipped, which was going to be her next challenge after... She unfastened the front clasp of her bra and pulled it off and out from under her clothes, and went back to keeping it light. “Ta da!”

  Thomas, meanwhile was checking on the status of the rocks upon which he’d built their earlier fire, and apparently they were finally cool enough to touch. He set one down beside her, and yeah, the heat it was radiating was nice, but not as nice as his legs had been.

  “You need me to...?”

  “No, I think I can get the wire out,” Tasha told him, snuggling closer to his rock replacement as she shivered again. She couldn’t quite manage to position her hands right to zip up her jacket, though.

  “Here. Let me at least...” He reached over and did it for her. Attaching the two bottom ends of the zipper and pulling it up securely to her chin.

  It was such a role-defining move, putting them both securely back into their long-established places—big brother, little sister. Adult and child.

  How had Thomas put it?

  Hoo-yah.

  Yeah.

  Chapter Eight

  The Admiral’s outer office was teeming with high-ranking officers, all with their hair on fire. But as soon as Admiral Francisco saw Rio and Dave, he beckoned them into his inner chamber and shut the door.

  “We’ve lost all contact with Lieutenant King,” the older man said without any greeting or introduction as he limped around to the back of his desk and sat down heavily. “He missed his check-in. His last report was from the airfield near the Ustanzian facility. He and Tasha were on the ground in New Hampshire, about to take a car to the ski lodge, just over the border in Maine, ETA about three hours. They should’ve arrived by now. The Ustanzian royal delegation, however, received what they called a viable threat—as of yet unconnected to the situation in Los Angeles and Tampa, but it’s hard to believe that it’s not. They pulled out of the area—completely—and are in lockdown in an undisclosed location.”

  Rio felt his mouth drop open. “The Ustanzians just left them behind—Tasha and Thomas, I mean Lieutenant King, I mean...” He snapped back to attention. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  “Yup, they just goddamn left them.” Francisco was furious. “Get the poles out of your asses, men, so this assignment doesn’t take all damn day to discuss.”

  Dave glanced at Rio as they dropped into parade rest. “What exactly is happening in Los Angeles and Tampa, sir?”

  “Coordinated terror attacks,” the admiral told them curtly, “targeting civilian airports. Bombings, shootings, rampaging trucks. At least one airliner’s been brought down by some kind of surface-to-air missile.”

  “Jesus, really?” Rio backpedaled, hard. “Of course I believe you, sir. I’m just...”

  “It’s bad,” the admiral agreed. “We’re also dealing with power outages—cyber attacks, both on the electrical grid, and on our SAT system. Cell phone towers have been hit, and what’s left can’t handle the load. We’re down to landlines—and that system’s strained—and radios. I just got an urgent message in Morse code. Damage seems to be limited to LA and Tampa, but every major city’s on alert, all air and train travel’s been shut down.”

  “Daesh, sir?” Dave asked.

  “No. This is homegrown,” Francisco told them grimly. “White Nationalists, supported by Russia. Intel’s been showing a link to foreign funding for months now, but it’s been ignored by the White House.”

  “Very fine people,” Dave murmured.

  Rio leaned forward. “How can we hel
p you help Tasha and Lieutenant King, sir?”

  The admiral looked from him to Dave and back. “Cowboy up, and head out to the Ustanzian ski lodge,” he ordered. “Be ready for anything. Take a vehicle, and plenty of gas.”

  Rio looked at Dave who was looking at Rio, his eyes wide. Had the admiral really just told them to drive to Maine? From Southern California...?

  That was at least three thousand miles.

  Rio quickly did the math in his head. At seventy miles per hour, without stopping... forty-three hours. Adding in a little reality, they could maybe do it in... fifty hours?

  “Get there,” Francisco ordered tersely. “Find them, and bring them safely home.”

  Thomas made impressively swift work of the handcuff lock, easily popping it open despite the pitch darkness.

  “Oh, God, thank you,” Tasha said, rubbing her wrists and stretching by pulling her elbows back as far as she could. Her comfort level had never gone too far south but her upper back and shoulders were a little stiff from her inability to move freely. And her hands were cold.

  “Save that in case we need it,” Thomas commanded. He was talking about the ruined remains of her bra.

  “For what, a slingshot?” she quipped, even as she folded it up as tightly as she could and stashed it in her jacket pocket. “You want me to hang on to the wire, too? I have pockets, you don’t.”

  “Thanks,” he said, and their fingers brushed for one last time as he made sure she didn’t drop it before he let it go.

  But he must’ve noticed how icy cold her fingers were because he handed her another, smaller rock from the former firepit. “Here. This’ll help. And yeah. Slingshot. You never know.”

  The rock was delightfully warm, and Tasha held it in both hands and tucked it up beneath the front of her jacket.

  “So, any hot tips or life hacks for sleeping on the ground?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Thomas answered. “Pretend you’re at the beach. You know. On a towel on the hard sand. Focus on your breath, imagine a blue sky and calm ocean, and just let yourself drift away.”

  Tasha honestly hadn’t thought he’d have any kind of constructive answer. Although, if he expected her to believe that he’d somehow miraculously learned to get his Zen on since they’d last been close...? True, it had been years, plural, since that time, but still. This man—like the boy she’d known so well—was pure energy trapped in human form.

  “Maybe you can talk me through it,” she said. “You know, when you do it, to fall asleep.”

  “I’m not sleeping tonight. I’m on watch.”

  “I could—” take a turn, she was going to say, but he stopped her.

  “No, that’s not an option.” He’d used his military-officer voice—something he’d learned from Uncle Alan. It was impossibly effective. It was slightly lower pitched, and somehow both more intense and yet quieter. Dangerously calm, with no uncertainty.

  Back when Tasha was in middle and high school, during her more rebellious years, she’d referred to that tone from Alan as Jedi mind control. But really, it was pure naval officer.

  Sixteen-year-old Tash: Mia thought it would be okay if I go to that music festival in Palm Springs with Caroline and Betsy, so I’m gonna need the car on Friday—

  Alan: (fun-uncle voice, laughing) Yeah, not a chance.

  Sixteen-year-old Tash: Uncle Alan, come on, you never let me have any—

  Alan: “Mia thought it would be okay.” You come on, Tash. I’m not an idiot. What did Mia actually say?

  Sixteen-year-old Tash: She said it sounded fun...

  Alan: But...

  Sixteen-year-old Tash: (rolling eyes hard and huffing)

  Alan: There was a But, right?

  Sixteen-year-old Tash: Ugh. There’s always a But.

  Alan: Let me guess. “But... you’re going to have to wait until you’re older for a weekend trip to Palm Springs with your friends. Why don’t you see what’s happening a little closer to home, and the girls and I will go with you. Just to drive you, you don’t have to hang out with us.” How’d I do? Did I get it right?

  Sixteen-year-old Tash: Mia never lets me do anything fun. She’s such a—

  Alan: (military-officer voice) Stop and think before you say another word. Mia is the best thing that ever happened to both of us, and you damn well know it.

  Yeah, the voice was very effective. There was little to say in response besides, “Sir, yes, sir.”

  Of course, like Alan, Tash was no idiot herself, and she’d learned how to use it, too.

  It was soft in volume, but with an energy—an attitude—of absoluteness.

  Tasha used that voice right back to Thomas. “If you get tired, don’t forget that I’m here. I can help you stay awake.”

  She cringed as she realized the potentially sexually tinged subtext of her words, but Thomas was Thomas, and he clearly chose by talking as the unspoken end of her sentence, rather than the classic fortune cookie add-on, in bed.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll be okay.”

  “I’m still worried about your head,” she pointed out.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You didn’t see them hit you.”

  “No,” he agreed quietly. “I didn’t. But I’m in my body right now, Tash, and I’m pretty good at assessing my own medical needs. You’re going to have to trust me—that I’d tell you if something was wrong.”

  “I do trust you,” she whispered.

  “Good,” he said. “Try to close your eyes. I’ll wake you if I need you.”

  Tasha nodded, but of course he couldn’t see her, so she murmured, “Okay.” And as she closed her eyes and curled up around the fading warmth of her firepit rocks—she was pretty sure he’d given them all to her—she knew he wouldn’t wake her.

  Chapter Nine

  Monday

  The silence was ominous.

  In the night, despite the temperature hovering in the hospitable mid-forties, Tasha had started shivering. Her winter jacket was “city” warm—the appropriate amount of quilting and fill to hurry from one indie bookstore to the next. But here in the Wilderness™, it wasn’t even close to good enough.

  Keeping her warm took priority over his own discomfort, so Thomas had wrapped himself around her and covered them both with layers of brush. Some hours ago, after muttering more about spiders and ticks and worms, she’d finally fallen asleep in his arms.

  The morning twilight had been slow to brighten the still overcast sky, and he had known even from beneath all those branches that the cloud coverage would hinder the helos sent to extract them from the mountainside. So he’d waited and listened.

  The world around them was silent.

  Still, when the dawn finally took hold and it was undeniably a new day and there was still no sound of approaching gunships, Thomas had to seriously consider his Plan B.

  Plan A was clear-cut and simple. Survive the night, and when the military helos arrived at dawn, use Ted’s lighter to ignite some of this brush, then wait for the sharp-eyed pilots to spot the smoke and drop the necessary ropes and basket to haul them safely aboard. Have a breakfast of MREs and bottled water on the flight back to the nearest military base. Then, a hot shower was at the top of his to-do list, after putting Tasha’s well-being securely back into her uncle’s capable hands.

  Thomas had even worked out what he’d say to her. “While I’m not even remotely glad that happened, it was good to get this chance to meet you again—to get to know you as an adult. You’ve grown into an exceptional young woman, Tasha. I’m proud of you, and I’m grateful that you’ve found someone who loves you, because you deserve to be happy.” And then he’d hug her and walk briskly away toward the blessedly less-colorful and far more emotionally stable rest of his already too-complicated life.

  Plan B was far more problematic and complex.

  Because he was a SEAL, he’d spent the night anticipating disaster and figuring out what he’d do if the helos didn’t show or the pilots couldn’t spot them
. He’d gone over Plan B—and C and even D—again and again. Not because it kept him from thinking about the literally in-his-face sweet smell of Tasha’s hair, or the way that her body curled so perfectly inside of his bigger spoon, but because he was a highly skilled professional, and being thoroughly prepared was way up high in his job description.

  Still, he was generally an optimist, and he hadn’t expected to need anything more than Plan A’s wait-for-morning-and-get-their-asses-rescued.

  But now, despite listening as hard as he could, the silence was still unbroken by even the distant pulse of rotor blades. In fact, now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard any air traffic at all. No small planes or jets, not even a high-altitude jetliner doing its flyover thing.

  That was strange. And it made him uneasy.

  He shifted slightly, leaning in to whisper, “Hey, it’s time to wake up,” into Tasha’s ear.

  “I’ve been awake for a while,” she surprised him by immediately whispering back.

  How long had she been...? Damnit, he thought he’d been letting her sleep. “Why didn’t you...”

  “Say something? Because I felt safe and warm and I wanted it to last a little longer.”

  Her quiet honesty threw him. How was he supposed to respond to that? His truth was more along the lines of Wow, that was a terrible night, and I hated every endless minute of it and why couldn’t you stay a little girl forever, because I knew how to protect you back then.

  But then she added, “Although your ass must feel like the dark side of the moon right about now,” and he had to laugh, because he absolutely could agree with that. His exposed backside was decidedly chillier than his body-heat-mingling front.

  She started to move away from him, to sit up, but he stopped her by tightening his grip. “Wait,” he ordered. “Last thing we need right now is a stick in the eye. Close ’em and cover your face.” When he felt her shift, he started pushing the brush off of them both.