Talon: Combat Tracking Team (A Breed Apart) (26 page)

“Master yourself or you will be mastered.”

Frustration smothered him in the small box-of-a-bathroom. Cardinal removed himself to the terrace. Warm, balmy air lured him into the darkness. He removed his shirt, spread his legs shoulder-width apart, bent his knees, and glided through his tai-chi moves. Though he wished for a support bar to pull himself up and do something more strenuous, for tonight he’d settle on this. Bring his mind and body into submission through controlled exercises.

I hurt her
.

He hung his head, tried to shrink from the thought. Stretched his neck. Straightened. Changed positions. Yes, he hurt her. She was innocent and a bit on the naive side. Easily pliable for those who went that route. He wouldn’t. Neither would he go the other route. Allowing, encouraging, and fostering feelings he could not return.

She was emotionally compromised in this mission. If she did not create a fissure between her affection for her brother and the bald truth that Austin had lied to her, she would end up crushed. As such, he could not encourage any romantic notions. The appearance of a marriage between them served one purpose and one purpose only—to provide a cover while they were there. To hide his real identity. To protect her by having him with her at all times.

Burnett was right to arrange it.

Though Cardinal would use it to end the tepid relationship between him and the American government. They had dragged him along far enough. Once he returned their asset to them, it was time for them to give him the promised head on the silver platter.

His eyes popped open. Cardinal blinked, unmoving as he assessed his surroundings. Where was…? Oh. Rooftop terrace. He’d dropped into one of the chairs, propped his head against the wall, and had fallen asleep. But what…

Voices skidded on the blue hues of dawn. Whispers. Fast.

Easing his legs onto the roof, he controlled his body in an extreme fashion. He scooted onto the edge of the chair, concealed and listening.

Santos could be heard. But somehow, the other voice proved too quiet to discern.

“I didn’t tell them anything.” Santos sounded frustrated.

A pause. At least thirty to forty-five seconds long. Water lapped. Inside and behind him, Cardinal heard quiet movement—Aspen and Talon, no doubt.

“Why would they bring the Army? She’s merely looking for her brother.”

Something about this conversation bugged him. To hear Santos, who spoke just below a normal voice at dawn…

Cardinal stood and casually walked to the edge. Looked around, as if he’d stepped out here just now, and glanced down. Santos stood near the back corner that abutted an abandoned shop talking with another man. Shadows deep and long concealed the man.

“Good morning,” Cardinal called as he raised a hand.

Santos’s gasp could probably be heard at Lemonnier. For show: “Ah, Mr. Markoski. You are up early.”

“Guess jet lag is getting the best of me.”

“Indeed. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” The shadows hadn’t changed, and nobody flitted away in haste.

“I will put breakfast on right away.” Santos vanished into the home.

Alone with the early morning, the lightening sky, and the stranger in the shadows, Cardinal perched on the hand-wide half wall, his gaze directed at the sea. Waiting for a sight of whoever found it necessary to be scampering around in the predawn hours to talk with a missionary.

The sun rose, and with it the shadows faded.

Laughter billowed from the house. Aspen’s laugh. Talon’s bark.

But strangest of all—nobody stood in the shadow.

Hustling back toward the house with Talon’s lead firmly in her left hand, Aspen rounded a corner. A shape slipped past her. Aspen’s heart rammed into her throat. She sucked in a breath. “Oh.”

Talon tensed. Locked on to the stranger. Growled.

The other person gasped—a light, feminine one.

“Talon, out!” Aspen knew the tension she felt radiated down the lead and back up again between them both. “Heel! Sit!”

Surprisingly, he obeyed, returning to her side and sitting.

The slight figure darted around them, head ducked.

“Good boy, good boy,” Aspen said, her heart still thundering from the encounter as she rubbed his head.

But…a woman? Out here at this hour?

Aspen glanced down the road. Rubble half-giants cowered beneath the rising sun. Scattered trees. Older cars. Dead cars. Men in trucks. But no woman.

After her fallout with Dane last night and then this creepy encounter this morning, she was ready to get answers and get back home. Talon looked up at her, those brown eyes asking if she was over the fright yet.

“C’mon, boy.” She hurried back inside and found Santos in the kitchen. His smile wavered as he glanced toward the front then back to her. “You are both early risers.”

“Both?” Her eyes betrayed her and drifted to the small hall.

“Yes, he just went in to shower.” Santos nodded toward her. “Your hair is wet.”

“Yeah, I showered before I took Talon for a walk.”

“A walk.” Nerves bounced in his face. “You should take someone with you next time. It’s not so safe as one might expect. Especially not for a pretty woman like you.” He turned back to the stove.

“Eggs?” she asked, trying to shift the awkwardness from the room.

“Yes. A local woman brings them to me from her chickens.”

“Oh.” She sat on the small sofa near the kitchen. “I think I bumped into her in the courtyard.”

Clank! Thunk!

She looked over at him.

“Dropped the spoon,” he said with a chuckle. He washed it then resumed cooking. “I hope this breakfast does not disappoint. Dane said you both had a long day planned, so I hope it holds you over.”

“I’m sure it will.” Why was he so jittery? She made her way back to the kitchen. “Can I help? Set the table maybe?”

“Oh, yes. I’m afraid we do not have much, but it is enough for the three of us.”

After getting direction on where things were stored, Aspen set the table with mismatched plates, two forks, and a spoon. “How long have you been here in Djibouti?”

“Seven years.” Santos worked a big cast-iron skillet, teeming with eggs, on the tiny stove.

“That’s a long time for mission work.” And not many dishes. Not even enough for a couple to sit down and eat with knives and forks.

“When you believe in what you’re doing, time holds no boundaries.”

Interesting philosophy. It’d be even more interesting if the man believed what he’d said. At least, she didn’t think he did. There was no resolution in those words. “My parents sent me on a mission trip when I was a senior. I went to Nepal. I fell in love with it, but I am so over eating half-cooked meat.” She shuddered at the memory. “Okay, just need glasses.” Hands on her hips, she turned—and froze.

Dane entered. “Smells wonderful.” He’d shaved. Hair wet, it made his skin seem darker and his appearance more rugged.

Crazy thought
.

“Glasses are in the cabinet there.” Santos nodded to a narrow cupboard that hung a little crookedly and whose door sat off-center.

“Great.” Aspen shifted her attention toward setting the table, toward feeling useful instead of like a decoration.

“We’ll need to eat quickly. We’re behind schedule.”

We are?
The thought lodged at the back of her throat, forbidden from escaping lest she undermine whatever Dane was up to. As far as she knew, there was no schedule other than to work the area, talking to locals and trying to find a scent Talon could track. With his million-receptor nose, he could track a scent that was weeks old. A fact she still grappled to believe.

“I was talking with Mr. Santos about his mission work.” Aspen tucked herself in at the table, her back to the wall.

“Yeah?” Dane joined her, extending a hand toward Talon.

Aspen snapped a flat palm at him and shook her head. Unless he wanted to lose it, he’d better remember Talon wasn’t a pet.

Dane gave a subtle nod and kept the conversation going. “What denomination are you? I didn’t notice crucifixes in the rooms.”

“None,” Santos said quickly as he served them. “I mean—nondenominational. The focus here is to share God’s love. Not religious mandates.”

Aspen frowned. Was there as much venom in his words as butter on the eggs he heaped onto her plate? She eyed Dane over the table.

He dug into the eggs and let out a moan. “Wonderful. Thank you.”

“It is a pleasure to cook for someone besides myself,” Santos said as he started cleaning up. “Oh, I will be going out to a village later today. Some are coming down with sickness. I want to see what I can do.”

“No problem. We’ll be gone all day.” He stuffed down the last of the eggs then took a sip of water and nodded to her. “Ready?”

Aspen ate a few bites, but the heavy butter and protein meal weighted her stomach. “Yeah.”

“You did not finish,” Santos objected.

“I’m sorry. I’ve always eaten like a mouse.”

“Here in Djibouti, you will regret that. Drink like an elephant and eat like one. The heat will fry you if you don’t.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Dane stood and held out a hand to her. Right. Hold his hand. Because he wasn’t interested.

Two could play at that game.

Aspen picked up Talon’s lead and linked up. “Ready, boy?” Talon stood, tongue out and panting, as he flicked his tail. Keeping the lead slack so there was no tension like they’d shared earlier, she led him past Dane. “Bye, Mr. Santos.”

The man nodded with a distant look.

Out in the sun, Dane slipped on a ball cap and started walking. Fast. Aspen had to double-time it to keep up. Down one street. Up another. Past a cluster of women walking with children.

Aspen smiled at a small child, maybe three or four years old, who stared back at her with wide, expressive eyes. So did the mothers. No doubt her fair skin and platinum hair stood out here. Though she expected Dane to try to talk to them, he didn’t.

“Aren’t we supposed to be talking to people?”

He kept walking. “Quiet.”

Petulant now? Disappointment saturated her mood. She kept up, sweat trickling down her back and temples. It wasn’t even noon and Djibouti felt like a sauna. Though Talon kept pace, even he seemed to be struggling in the heat.

About to protest his careless regard for them, she bit her tongue as he stepped into a building. She skidded and followed him in.

Darkness blanketed her. From behind, a hand clamped over her mouth.

    Eighteen