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“But that’s impossible. The shot—it came from a helicopter. He was—” She turned her head to look at Rook. “You were hit in the chest. All that blood…” She had to force air past her constricted throat.
“It was so awful. How could you not tell me, Deke?”
“It was…a matter of national security—” Deke started.
“He was following my orders. He didn’t know I was still alive until he contacted a prearranged number three days ago.”
Irina’s head was spinning. Too much information. “But I saw the bullet hit you. It made a little puff.” She gestured with her fingers. “F-fibers from your shirt, I think. Then blood—your blood—spattered on my blouse. You fell into the water.” She pressed her palms to her temples. “Were you wearing a bulletproof vest? No, you couldn’t have been. We’d just…” Her voice trailed off as more memories flashed across her vision.
They’d made love. She’d watched him dress afterward. All at once she realized that was the origin of her recurring dream.
They’d made love and then he’d been shot.
Killed.
“I watched you die,” she whispered. Then suddenly the floor tilted and her vision turned dark. Strong arms enveloped her.
Rook’s arms. But no. It couldn’t be. Rook was dead.
She came awake as he laid her gently on the sofa. She didn’t open her eyes, afraid the room would tilt again. Afraid her world would turn right-side up again and Rook would be gone.
The next thing she was aware of was Deke’s voice.
“—can’t believe you’re here in the flesh. But I gotta say, I’d like to strangle you right now. You could have let me know you were alive.”
“After all that planning, it was too risky to take a chance like that. What happened to your arm?”
Their words confirmed what Rook had said. The two men, who’d been best friends and oath brothers since childhood, really hadn’t spoken in two years. She could tell from Deke’s voice that he’d feared he’d killed his best friend.
At least Deke hadn’t betrayed her—not like her husband had.
“This? It’s just a scratch, courtesy of a costume cowboy called Frank James, who insisted he wasn’t working for Novus.”
“It’s wrapped up like a mummy. Looks like a little more than a scratch.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. More than I can say for your widow. Think she’s okay?”
“I think so. But look at her. She’s so pale, so scared. Dear God, I never meant to hurt her.”
“Well, you did.”
“You think I don’t know that? If there had been any other way—”
“You know what, man? Just stop. I had to watch her, knowing the whole time what I’d done—what I’d let you do. I’ve learned a lot in the past two years. And even more in the past few days. One thing I can tell you for sure, it may take me the rest of my natural life to make up to Mindy for everything I put her through in the past. But I’ll do it. And I won’t waste time whining that there was nothing else I could do.” Deke’s voice was low, but Irina heard the disgust and anger behind his words.
Cloth squeaked against leather as Rook stood up. “You got anything else to say, Cunningham? Because if you do, maybe we should go outside. I’d rather my wife not be any more upset than she already is.”
“Now you’re blaming me for upsetting her? You arrogant—”
Their argument was fast escalating into a fight. Irina sat up, a lot more quickly than she should have. Stars flared at the edge of her vision. She pushed her hair out of her face.
Both men turned toward her. She could see Deke’s sheepish expression and Rook’s worried gaze through the fading starbursts.
“Hey, Irina.” Deke’s voice softened into gentleness. “Are you okay?”
“Not even near,” she muttered.
“Stay still. Rest. Maybe you can even sleep for a while,” Rook said.
She laughed. “Sleep? I don’t know what sleep is. Not for two years. My brain is speeding ninety miles an hour. There are so many questions that I don’t know where to start.”
His gaze faltered.
“Okay. Answer this one. Why did Deke bring me here?”
Deke answered her. “Because he doesn’t want you out of our sight for even one second.”
She shook her head and smiled sadly. “No. That doesn’t explain it. Why now? I’ve been out of your sight for two years—” She stopped. “Or have I? Don’t tell me you have watched me all this time.” Her stomach churned. “I think I may be sick.”
“I swear, this is the first time I’ve set foot in the U.S. I couldn’t chance being spotted.”
She turned to Deke. “So how did you find him?”
Deke’s gaze slid past her to Rook. “I’ll let you field that one. I’m going to go take a look around outside—”
“No!”
Deke and Rook jumped.
She swallowed. Her vehemence surprised even herself. “No. You stay right here, Deke. You’re involved in this, too.”
Deke looked down at the toe of his boot.
Rook rubbed a hand across his face. Despite her hurt and anger, Irina’s heart squeezed at the soul-deep weariness etched there.
“I set up a message service,” he said flatly. “The fees are paid automatically on a yearly basis by electronic withdrawal from a bank in the Caymans. I used the name Kenneth Raven.”
She stared at him. “A bank—” How had she been married to him and not known him at all?
“So who called you on this message service? I thought Deke did not know you were alive. You said nobody knew.”
“That’s right. Nobody. Deke had the number, but he wasn’t to call it unless it was a life-or-death situation.”
“You arranged your assassination. You planned for a contingency in case you needed—or wanted—to return to life. You left your sister, your wife, all your friends and family, to think you were dead.” Irina’s stomach was still churning. Her head was spinning. “We had a funeral. We grieved for you. And the whole time you were laughing at us.”
“Trust me, I wasn’t laughing.”
Was she seeing things, or were his eyes brighter than they’d been a few seconds ago? She’d never seen Rook Castle cry before. Still, even if those were tears, it didn’t matter. It was too late for tears, too late for apologies.
It was too late.
An awful thought occurred to her. “What about Jennie? Is she all right?”
He nodded without looking at her. “I hired a bodyguard for Jennie, using the Cayman Islands account. She has no idea.”
“So you have decided the best thing for everybody, haven’t you?”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
She lifted her chin. “Just so I know, how long had you been planning all this?”
“Rina, it wasn’t like that—”
“How…long?”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Deke squeeze his eyes closed.
Rook looked away and shrugged. “Six months. Maybe eight.”
A short, sharp laugh burst from her throat. “Eight months. You lived with me, you made love to me, and all the time you were planning to—? Dear God, who are you?”
She stood and caught the arm of the sofa to steady herself. Then she glared at the man she’d married in a fever six years ago. “I do not know you at all.”
Rook spread his hands. “Trust me, it’ll all make more sense once you’ve had some rest. It’s a lot for you to take in right now—”
“A lot to take in? You think?” She heard her voice rising in pitch. “But, yes, of course. I am sure I’ll feel much better once I take a nap.”
Deke reached out a hand, as if to soothe her, but she jerked away. “No. Don’t touch me.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle and turned back to Rook. “Where have you been? Who have you been in touch with?”
“Nobody. Irina, you need to calm down.”
“You have no right to tell me what I need to do. You gave that up when you let me think you were dead.” She held up her hands, palms out. “I can’t—I cannot take any more. I’m going to make tea.”
“Stay there. I’ll make it for you,” Deke said.
“No,” she snapped. She couldn’t be alone with Rook. She didn’t know what she would do—or say. “I think I’ll let you two talk. It’s pretty obvious you need to.”
She glared at Deke. “Maybe you can get some real answers out of him.”
She took a cautious step, making sure her legs weren’t going to collapse, then headed to the kitchen, with Rook’s voice following her.
“Use the light over the stove. Don’t turn on the overheads.”
“Fine. Fine. No problem,” she muttered. “Like I have no sense to figure that out.”
She twisted her hair up and anchored it with a rubber band from a kitchen drawer, then pulled the tea canister toward her, hoping there was at least one tea bag. She opened the lid.
“Jasmine,” she whispered. Her favorite. She dug the little package out and opened it.
She put the kettle on the stove eye and held the tea bag to her nose. The scent hurtled her back in time.
She and Rook had come up here a couple of weeks before the fateful trip to the Mediterranean. Just the two of them.
She’d brought up the idea of having a baby—again. And again, like always, he’d sidetracked her with jasmine tea and hot, passionate lovemaking. He’d never talked about having children. At least now she understood why.
She had to blink away tears before she could pour the hot water into her mug. Then she turned out the light over the stove and stood at the kitchen window in the dark, waiting for the tea to steep. In the distance, thunder rolled lazily and a pale flash of lightning lit the sky.
Before Rook, she’d always been afraid of thunder-storms. They reminded her of the guns and bombs from her childhood in the former Soviet Union. Thunderstorms had frightened her. But ever since she’d married Rook, she’d learned to love them.
He liked to lie in bed with the windows open, summer or winter, spring shower or gale-force winds, and watch the lightning and listen to the sounds of rain and thunder.
For her, lying in his arms, safe and secure in the knowledge that he would never let anything happen to her, was the ultimate definition of safety.
But he’d left her alone—alone with the storms and the memories and the unrelenting grief.
She swiped her fingers under her eyes and set the tea bag aside. Then she wrapped her hands around the warm mug and sipped, sighing as the hot liquid slid down her throat to soothe her insides.
She closed her eyes. She’d spent the past two years living in a nightmare. Every night, she’d prayed she would wake up and find Rook beside her, safe and sound. Every morning, she’d woken with her prayer unanswered.
Now he was here, but she still didn’t feel like her prayers had been answered.
This felt like the nightmare. The months of sleepless nights, of the recurring dream of loving him and then losing him, had become her reality.
Thunder rumbled again, closer this time. Irina’s eyes flew open. A lightning flash illuminated the dense woods on the east side of the cabin and a deafening clap of thunder made her nearly spill her tea.
Then something moved—a shadow darker than the trees.
She froze, holding her breath as the thunder continued to roar. She waited for the next flash of lightning. It didn’t take long.
The flare spotlighted a creature slinking along the edge of the woods. No. Not a creature. Not some thing.
Someone. And he was carrying a gun.
Chapter Three (#ub6fd2869-4c06-5407-b08d-9c06a11c4113)
Irina’s breath caught. There was someone outside the cabin, and he was carrying a weapon—maybe a rifle.
Setting down her mug, she moved swiftly toward the living room.
Rook and Deke were still arguing.
“—surprised he hasn’t tried to get to Rina before now,” Rook was saying.
“Son of a—That’s what I’m trying to tell you. He has.” Deke’s voice rose. “You don’t get it. The level of security I’ve got around her—she might as well be the First Lady. I told you I’d take care of her!”
“Of course I get it. That’s not what I’m saying.”
