Defender (24 page)

“There are troops in Iraq and Afghanistan expecting us.” The defense sounded weak even to her own ears, but she didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know how to hide the kind of hurt this banishment incited. Once again, she was being relegated to the “practice room,” while others lived lives.

“The show will still go on without you.”

Why wasn’t he barking orders at the others to go home? His dismissal of her role stung more than it should have, but damn it, her feelings were still raw from figuring out she loved him, something she wasn’t ready to share, especially not now. “I know I’m just a backup singer, but you have to remember I’m also an orchestral conductor. I believe in the importance of everyone in the production. Beyond that, I
need
to do this, and you know full well why.”

“It’s not worth dying for.”

“But it’s worth living for.” She tugged the covers over her breasts, already feeling more than naked enough around this man.

He cricked his neck to the side before turning back to her. “There’s a medically tricked-out C-17 that’s leaving in a few hours with Chuck. I want you to be on that plane back to the U.S.”

She yanked the sheet around her and stood. “How convenient it’s a medical plane for your weak and sickly girlfriend. Are you ever going to be able to look at me and not think of how your sister died?”

His mouth tightened. “I only meant there’s a plane heading out, and you should be on it.”

“No.” She had to stand her ground with him now, or they wouldn’t stand a chance at anything more. She secured the sheet into a tighter toga. “Unless they cancel the tour, I’m in for the long haul.”

He swung his feet to the floor, bedspread around his waist. “Chloe, you could have died this week.”

“So could you. This week and years ago and who knows how many times in between. I could have died more than once. Now I’m going to live.”

He threw aside the covers with a curse and stalked toward the bathroom, no doubt to retrieve his flight suit and haul his taut butt out of her room. Why did she have to fight so hard for this? Why couldn’t he understand after all she’d shared about herself why she needed to be here?

Her feet tangled in the sheet as she followed him. “You talked about TDYs to Atlanta, and I’m all for flying out to meet up with you, too. But if we’re going to have more than just this week, you have to accept me as I am.”

He pivoted in the bathroom to face her, already shrugging his flight suit over his shoulders. “Accepting a person works both ways, Chloe, and I can’t stand by and watch you put yourself in harm’s way again.”

The set of his jaw allowed for no leeway. No arguing. Stubborn to the end.

What a time to realize managing a long-distance romance was the least of their worries. Despite the fact that she loved him, unless he could take her wholly and fully the way she was, illness and independence and all, she couldn’t be with him.

TWENTY-FOUR

Her mood mirrored by the dim lighting, Chloe strode alongside Livia into the aircraft hangar for a final check before they left. Was it only a week ago she’d performed here for Incirlik’s service members?

At least the USO tour was finally back on track, if not her life. Greg, dressed in his unrelieved stage manager black, held a clipboard, pointing and noting while backstage crew members rolled crated equipment, working with military personnel to load up gear into one of the two cargo planes outside. If all had gone as originally planned, she would have been finishing the tour with their final stop in Afghanistan.

She wouldn’t have met Jimmy. She wouldn’t have gotten her heart broken. Damn, she was in a funk.

After Jimmy had stormed away, Livia had tried to lift her spirits by offering more wardrobe “coloring up.” The singer hadn’t let her get off with just borrowing purple socks this time. Finally, Chloe had given in to end the discussion. She just wanted to pack up for the tour without another confrontation with Jimmy.

Would he phone her when she returned to the States? Would she even take his call? She honestly didn’t know. If he could wreck her heart this fast, she feared what might happen in the long term. She’d fought too hard for her independence. She wanted to keep stepping into the light, bringing colors to her previously khaki world.

Chloe tugged at her borrowed shirt. The ruffles along the hem were a bit much for her, but the vibrant red wasn’t half bad. Any other day, and it might have stood a fighting chance at cheering her up.

“Come on,
mia cara
, smile. Jimmy Gage is only a man. There are plenty more I would love to introduce you to, and of course there are plenty of very hot ones right here.” Livia swept her arm to encompass the bustling hangar. “Just look around.”

Seeing all those men in uniform only made her think of Jimmy again. She should have sent Livia on her own when Greg gave the last call before they loaded up.

Chloe rubbed her arms. “I appreciate you being so supportive, but can we stop talking about Jimmy?”

“Of course, you need time.” Livia patted Chloe’s cheek, then stretched up on spiky heels to peer past her. “Oh, I see the costume mistress over there. I will be right back.”

Chloe spun away, wondering if she should just leave, but she’d already packed her suitcases, and she really didn’t want to face her room where she and Jimmy had made love a few short hours ago.

Maybe Greg would have something on that clipboard of his to keep her busy. She started toward him only to have another performer snag his attention first. Melanie sidled up close to peer at his clipboard, a pair of black dance heels dangling from her fingers. Chloe hung back, waiting.

Melanie sure took her time. The backup dancer tipped her head and laughed, her hand falling on Greg’s chest. Seemed she wasn’t losing sleep mourning for her jailed boyfriend either.

Chloe studied the couple more closely. Could Steven have been telling the truth about Melanie cheating? What did this mean in regard to the kidnapping attempt on Livia? Could Greg and Melanie have somehow played a part in that ill-fated call for help? Her instincts told her yes, and logic told her to pass along her hunch to Agent Nunez ASAP.

Chloe backed away from the couple and wished she had a good old-fashioned cell phone instead of her iPod clipped to her waistband. She searched for someone official-looking, but which uniform to pick from?

She waved down the nearest airman carrying a walkietalkie. “Excuse me? Hello, I need help. I have to speak with the police, pl—”

An arm snaked around her waist, cutting off her air and her words. She flinched, looking around to see why she’d been dragged out of the way.

Nothing fell from the sky. The airman with the walkietalkie hadn’t even heard her. The steely arm yanked her even farther behind a towering stack of boxes right by an exit door.

Nobody in the cavernous hangar seemed to have noticed, either. Chloe opened her mouth to scream.

A beefy hand stuffed a rag in her mouth.

All-out panicked, Chloe stomped, kicked, drawing on anything she could think of from Jimmy’s self-defense class, but God, he was right. It was hard to remember the moves when you were scared to death.

Rough hands spun her around, and she came face-to-face with the bearded man who’d taken her before. No, no, and hell no. Not again. Somehow the fog of fear cleared enough for her to see a woman with a gun who stood beside him in their little hidey corner.

How had they gotten on base, much less into the airplane hangar? They both even wore official ID badges of backstage hands. The answer bloomed in her mind like a toxic cloud.

The woman smiled with a twisted humor that never reached her empty eyes. “I saw you watching my new friend Greg, and I’m afraid I cannot let you alert the police. I’ve worked hard to create this security breach in the USO.”

Trying like hell to spit out the greasy rag, Chloe struggled against the brutal arms holding her. Dimly the woman’s words registered. Greg was a part of this just as she’d suspected.

The blond woman lifted her gun. “Baris, should we snap her neck or take her along?”

“A hostage is always an asset if things become sticky.”

“A hostage she will be, then. You are learning fast and earning your take from the payoff.”

“You’ve been a good teacher, Marta.”

Oh great, they’d decided to speak English just for her. She really would have preferred they switch to their native tongue and spare her some of the gory details. The fact that they didn’t bother hiding their names told her they had no intentions of letting her walk away alive.

His grip pinched harder until her arm went numb. “Killing her will be a special pleasure after she damn near crippled me outside the Oasis.”

“Your turn will come, and we will not let her escape a second time. But we need to leave before Greg realizes we’re taking our money and ending things ahead of schedule.” Marta inched her gun down but not away. “My dear, it seems you will have to leave with us, but don’t worry. Everyone will be too busy to miss you.”

Marta lifted the lid on one of the crates and pulled out a briefcase. The payoff she’d mentioned? Chloe didn’t have time to complete the thought before the black case cleared to reveal a tangle of pipes and wires and, ohmigod, the woman held some kind of remote device in her hand.

Fear gagged Chloe far more effectively than any rag. Why hadn’t she agreed to leave like Jimmy asked? Now no one would miss her, because they would think she’d been blown to bits when this crazy woman exploded a bomb in a jam-packed military hangar.

Nunez stood on the tarmac, wind and airplane engines gusting dust around in a swirl that sent his suit tails flapping. Looming alongside the test crew’s CV-22, two C-17 cargo planes sat parked twenty yards away. One C-17 was loaded up to transport the USO tour to Iraq then Afghanistan. The other was a medically equipped C-17 to transport Chuck Tanaka to the United States now that he’d been stabilized.

Defying the odds, Chuck was still hanging in there. If he managed to survive, he would have a long road of surgeries and rehab ahead of him. The guy sure had the steely will that kind of recovery would require.

Chuck had passed along valuable observations that helped in flipping Kutros. The bastard was alredy working to strike a deal in exchange for recorded discs that would lead them to blackmailed soldiers. He’d also offered up burial sites of service members who’d been kidnapped, murdered, and dumped. Families would have closure. Thank God.

Sunglasses in place against the fierce sun, Nunez scanned the flight line, watching maintenance personnel preflighting the aircraft, an aircrew doing their own walk-around, medical technicians and a flight surgeon sprinting toward the approaching ambulance.

He’d beefed up security for Chuck’s flight, even bringing in a pair of Air Mobility Command’s Ravens, specially trained security forces tasked to protect the cargo haulers from terrorists. Nothing was going to stop Chuck Tanaka from leaving here alive.

Along with Anya.

Getting her as far away from Marta—especially if the woman was truly her mother, and he knew in his gut she was—had to be a top priority. First he had to persuade Anya to agree to his plan.

Nunez stuffed his hands in his pockets, his right closing over the small pewter labyrinth as if it could lend some calm to a high-stakes moment. He still had work here to do tracking down Marta Surac, but he’d made arrangements for Anya to be on that plane. Everything she would need to start a new life was inside the C-17.

A small, open-top Humvee appeared in the distance, late afternoon sun a fat orange ball on the horizon. The vehicle raced closer until he saw Anya in the passenger seat, her blond ponytail sailing behind her. The Humvee squealed to a stop, and the guards unloaded, but he was a step ahead of them in reaching her side to help her down. Her soft hand fit into his, stirred him, distracted him.

The gusty breeze tore at her hair and plastered her jeans and blouse to the willowy body he’d hoped to explore. He kept their fingers linked, his other hand still in his pocket as they strode away from the Humvee toward the waiting plane. Her fingers in his were solid, real, reminding him of life yet to be lived, of relationships to be discovered. Because of the two of them, Chuck Tanaka had a chance at those. Because of him, maybe Anya had a chance at a real life, away from danger. He had a lot to be grateful for today and just as many regrets.

Anya stopped him before he could lead her onto the C- 17, sweeping her flyaway ponytail from her face to reveal her confusion. “What am I doing here?”

Showtime. He wished for a few more hours, days even, to ease her into the solution. Hell, more time with her, period. However, telling her in advance would only risk the very plan he’d put into motion if she slipped and mentioned anything to anyone. “You may have noticed I hold some pull on an international scale. You told me you want protection from your aunt. Did you mean it?”

“Of course I meant it.” Her eyes confirmed her words.

“We’re on the same page then.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “You can be on that airplane and out of here in minutes.”

The confusion on her face shifted to outright shock. “What? Where? I don’t understand.”

“Once you’re onboard, you’ll be offered three choices for a new identity in the U.S. or one in Great Britain. We have identities prebuilt for just these sorts of occasions.” He forced free the words that would send her away, knowing damn well there wasn’t any other way to keep her out of danger. “In America, we call it witness protection. You’ve helped us gather evidence against your aunt, now we owe you safety from her backlash. It’s your decision.”

Her gaze skipped to the plane and nervously back. “If you catch my aunt, I could resume my old life?”

“Do you really think she will let you go that easily?” He sure as hell didn’t, and using some of Kutros’s information, he could make sure she understood as well. “She knew you wanted to leave. She made sure you heard about the job opening at the Oasis, and she had one of her partners watching you the whole time. She knows you were with me and that I played a role in breaking up her organization. You have to accept she would use any connections she has left to come after you, even from behind bars.”

With each point he stepped closer, crowding, making her afraid if he had to, because this threat was very real and deeply lethal. “Fair or not, Anya, she’s going to believe you betrayed her. Does she strike you as the sort of woman to just let that go?”

He held his breath, praying hard he wouldn’t have to tell her his suspicion about her true parentage to tip the scales. “You have ninety seconds left to decide.”

She picked at the collar of her shirt as if the loose blouse had somehow grown too tight around her neck. “Okay.”

He wouldn’t let himself regret his tactics, even if he hated the fear he saw on this strong woman’s face.

“Okay what?” He needed to hear her say it, choose it.

She dropped her hands to her sides, fists tight, arms rigid. She could have been a soldier bracing for a mission. “I think you are right about the witness protection.”

“I wish I wasn’t.” Angling closer to her, shielding her from the prying eyes of the ground crew milling about, he slid his fingers down her right arm, stroking her fist until it unfurled. “I understand how difficult it can be to become someone new.” He pulled the palm-sized labyrinth from his pocket and placed it in her hand.

She stared down at the pewter disk. “A tiny maze? It is very beautiful.”

“Not a maze. A labyrinth.”

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

Maybe he was being a selfish bastard by not making a clean break, but he wanted her to think of him. “They may appear the same, but their goal is entirely different. A maze has dead ends and false turns meant to confuse.”

He placed one of his fingers over hers and began tracing the path from the entrance. “A meditation labyrinth has no dead ends and only one, unicursal path leading to the center. The same path leads back out again. When walking a full size labyrinth, you can release control, relax your mind and trust the path will lead you out. It frees the mind for mediation or prayer.”

She kept her finger with his, following the miniature twists and curves until he forgot about the hot runway and waiting plane. He only knew this need to share something with her, a desire to give her some piece of himself before they parted ways forever.

“This pattern is modeled after a tile labyrinth in the floor of the Chartres Cathedral outside of Paris, France, installed around the thirteenth century. It’s said that pilgrims who were unable to make the trek to the Holy Land because of the Crusades would walk the labyrinth on their knees in a symbolic
Chemin de Jerusalem
or Road of Jerusalem.”

She looked up at him, her finger still staying in synch with his. “How did you learn so much about labyrinths?”

“When I was fourteen I had a tough time with our latest move . . .” He didn’t go into his own experience with the witness protection program. Who knew if she would even believe him or merely see it as an attempt to manipulate her? He’d already lied to her in the line of duty.