Talon: Combat Tracking Team (A Breed Apart) (22 page)

He ducked even more.

“I think I deserve to know.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He stood, struggling not to cringe. Again, he stomped around the room. There had to be another way. He couldn’t tether himself to a woman. Relationships didn’t work. Not for him. Not now. Not ever.

“Look, I’ll just get out of here, vanish.” That might work. “Tell Burnett it’s my fault. He’ll let you off.”

“Wait.” Aspen joined him. “If we don’t do this, I don’t find Austin. Right?”

“Is it worth going through this?”

She frowned then drew straight. “Yes.” She nodded again. “I want the truth about my brother—and now more than ever, it seems like a doozie of a truth.”

“Even if it means marrying me?” It was meant to be funny. But it wasn’t. He wanted to punch the wall again.

He didn’t trust himself to speak. It was the foulest betrayal Burnett had pulled on him yet. And he’d strangle the man if he could get within arm’s reach. Burnett knew…somehow, he knew what angle to pull with Cardinal. His one weak spot.

Not this fake marriage. Not the putting on of rings.

But his heart.

Get out! Get out, now!

Cardinal gulped back what he felt. The fear. The panic. His anger wasn’t about himself—he could walk out of here and never worry about what Burnett or anyone else would do to him. But Aspen…this would destroy her. Not finding out about Austin—

Somehow, Burnett had figured out what was happening in Cardinal. Even before Cardinal knew—he was falling for Aspen Courtland. And he’d do anything for her. Including staying.

Aspen lifted the black box, opened it, and plucked the plain band. She lifted his hand, slid the ring on, and looked up at him. “With this ring, I thee wed.” Her laugh fell flat. “Boy, that felt weird. But that’s all we have to do, right? Put on the rings and off we go.”

Into the deepest, darkest pit of hell.

Hunger tore at him as his shoes beat a steady rhythm on the shoveled sidewalks. Icy wind pinched his face and neck, but he swiped a sleeve along his nose and pressed on. Plumes of icy breath danced before him in the March morning as he completed his fifth circuit. Lungs aching, limbs frozen, he savored the warmth of the sun clawing its way over the frozen city and willed it not to hide from him any longer.

“Nikol.”

Startled at his name, he looked around.

Mr. Kaczmarek waved from his shop’s front stoop on the other side of the street. “Hurry, boy.”

Even though he knew the colonel could not see him from here, Nikol looked over his shoulder and slowed. Buildings protected him, but time did not. “I cannot stop, sir.”

The Polish baker smiled and stepped farther out, arm extended. Even from here, Nikol could see the warmth rising off the pastry. “You can finish it before you get home, yes?”

Nikol grinned, crossed the street, and accepted the treat. “Thank you, sir.”

Yes, he could finish it before he returned to his building. In fact, before he left this street or the possibility existed that the colonel would see him. He took a large chomp out of it. Cinnamon and butter swirled through his palate. Then a cold dread replaced the delicious flavor. Out of sight of Mr. Kaczmarek, he flung the pastry as far over a small home as he could throw it…kept jogging, sweating, panting. He bent and scooped up a fistful of snow. Stuffed it in his mouth. Quickly it liquefied. He swished. Then spit it out.

The spittle landed on a fresh blanket of undisturbed snow. And there he saw the telltale brown grains. He repeated the process. On his seventh circuit, nearly five miles, he slowed and paced in front of the building, cooling and slowing his breathing. Back inside he turned on the pot for coffee, quickly showered, then dressed. He stuffed an apple in his satchel, made breakfast. From the cabinet, he took down one white plate and a clear glass. He turned toward the table and stilled.

Two chairs? Why were there two chairs at the table? The colonel never allowed him to eat with him.
“You must learn to depend on nobody, to see nobody’s company. To be self-sufficient like me.”

“Why are you standing there like an idiot?”

The booming voice jolted him. Good for him that he did not drop the plate or glass. “Sorry, sir,” Nikol said as he set the table as he had done every morning, noon, and night—and without looking at the colonel and proving he was the aforementioned idiot. How had he not noticed the sun that had escaped from the only window on that side of the apartment—the one that was in the colonel’s bedroom?

“Set two.” With that, the colonel stomped down the hall to the bathroom.

The light beams flickered and danced, drawing his attention to the room. Someone was in there. Nikol dropped his gaze. It wouldn’t be the first time the colonel had brought home a woman to have his way with her.

Still, it ignited Nikol’s fury. The colonel had tossed his mother out like a prostitute, shouted profanities at her. Beat her. Shamed her. Berated Nikol for crying for her. Then beat him, too. He had not seen her in three years. He dreamed of her but never told the colonel.

“Nikol,” came the soft, feminine whisper.

With wide eyes he looked to the bedroom. Wrapping herself in a robe, the beautiful form took shape, wrapped in a halo of light. “Mama!”

She waved him into the room.

He stood there, mute. Terrified. And shook his head. “I’m forbidden,” he whispered.

She darted a look down the hall, then hurried across the small dining area to him and drew him into her arms. “Oh, my sweet boy!”

In his mind, he clung to her. Cried against her soft chest. Savored her love that he could sense. She pulled back, cupped his face, and wept. “You have become such a young man.”

“I am nearly ten.”

More tears.

“Please.” He darted a nervous glance toward the hall. “Do not cry. It will make him angry.”

She brushed away her tears then nodded. “I am so proud of you, Nikol.”

Then the panic started. The thoughts of what the colonel had done to her last time. “Why are you here?” His heart thundered. “You should go. Hurry. Now, before he comes out.” Frantic, he tugged on her arm, drawing her toward the door.

“No, Nikol, it is well. He…we made a deal.” Her smile was small and did not make her eyes sparkle the way he remembered. “It is okay. It is worth it to see you.”

“No! You must go.”

“Nikol, be calm, my son. He only has the power we give him.” She held him again, then knelt in front of him so he stood over her. “Besides, he said if I…if I”—her gaze darted to the bedroom and her voice trembled, but she smiled up at him—“if I
came
, I could see you.”

“See but not speak to.” The venomous voice melded with the words as the colonel appeared, dressed only in a pair of pajama bottoms. “I will not let you poison him, make him weak!”

His hand came down hard on his mother’s face. Her head. Curled on the floor, she cried, “You promised! I did what you wanted. You said I could see him.”

“Shut up, you whore!” His fist nailed her nose. Blood spurted over her cream-colored robe.

Something in Nikol died that day.

    Fifteen    

T
he plane hit cruising altitude, and Aspen settled back, her mind and finger still weighted with the ring she bore. Timbrel had vowed bodily harm against Dane if he made one wrong move. Warned them as soon as they were back in Djibouti they would have eyes on them, and she’d find a sniper to take him out.

Though Aspen warred with the thoughts that she’d somehow violated her belief in the sanctity of marriage, she knew this was a logical path to finding Austin. They wouldn’t do anything immoral. Candyman
and
Watterboy threatened intense personal pain if Dane crossed lines.

And Rocket alluded to something he’d seen the two do to terrorists who’d kidnapped another special-ops comrade.

It’d taken her the six hours from the time they’d left the others, boarded a military jet, and then made their “connecting” flight back to Djibouti to relax.

Which she couldn’t say for Dane.

He hadn’t spoken a word.

“I don’t remember you two,” the Middle Eastern man next to them said as he pointed to Dane’s face. “I would have remembered that mess.

I’m a plastic surgeon.”

Dane smiled, the swelling still obvious. “Like my trophy?” He grinned wider. “Got this when a guy tried to hit on my wife.”

The doctor tsked. “Are women worth such a price? How did you get to sit up here? It was full.”

Dane thumbed toward the back. “We were in business class. They had an opening—something wrong with someone’s papers—and since my wife wasn’t feeling well, we upgraded for the last leg.”

The passenger leaned forward and peered at her. “Ah, she does look pale. Between your black eyes and her sickness, it’s a wonder you are traveling.” He grinned. “First class is better, no?”

“Much. It’s nice and quiet.” With that, Dane closed his eyes.

Aspen wanted to laugh, but she was supposed to be sick. She looked out the window and placed her hand on her stomach, which caused the heavy wedding ring to thump softly against her fingers.
Weird. So very weird
.

“I don’t want this. I’m not the marrying kind of guy.”

The words had startled her and crushed her at the same time. She had been interested in Dane, was willing to explore things. They seemed to have faith in common. And he was handsome. He seemed to like her, too. But apparently not.

Her mind whirred at what lay before them. Convincing the missionary they were a couple. That would be interesting, considering they’d never even held hands, kissed, or—well, anything.

But she kept coming back to one thought: Dane had tried to leave the mission.

Had she done something wrong?

Or was it because of the near kiss?

She snorted. That’s what she got for reading romance novels with arranged marriages. The romantic notions of falling in love with the unlikely man had her going places she’d better not. Dane had wanted to kiss her, then tried to get removed from the mission. And he wasn’t the marrying the kind. He’d said so himself.

That made him the last man on earth she’d ever marry.