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Of course, the US marshal Rob was interested in was married, at least she had been three years ago, from what he’d said. It pained her whenever one of her agents was hurting, physically or otherwise. But if this was the “ripping off the bandage” work that Rob needed to do to move on with his life, she was all for it.
She shifted in her executive chair and moved her mouse over the satellite image of where Rob and Trina had reunited. Reports were coming in that Vasin had been taken into custody, but there was no sign of the big ROC boss, Ivanov. Vasin had better talk, because Ivanov was still at large.
* * *
Rob couldn’t believe it. He’d taken the temporary Trail Hikers position to be closer to where he knew Trina had settled down. She’d returned to her family’s native city of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Since he’d finally realized he needed to see her again, gain closure from the intense affair they’d had, and admit to her that she’d been the one thought that got him through it, that is. His counselor as well as his boss at Trail Hikers both confirmed what he knew but hadn’t wanted to follow through on. He had to face Trina one last time, no matter if she was happily married and settled down with another. It was crucial to keep the PTSD from flaring up again and messing up a mission. Not that it ever had, but he didn’t want it hanging over his head forever.
When he’d first met the counselor and decided to gain closure with Trina, he thought he’d drive up to Silver Valley for a day, face her, then drive back to the condo he owned in Arlington, Virginia. Then the Trail Hikers opportunity had opened up six months ago when he’d turned in his CIA resignation. He was done with the hard stuff. But his CIA handler knew that a man like Rob never retired from clandestine ops. He’d connected Rob with Trail Hikers and the rest was history.
At least, the last six months of his life’s history. He’d told himself he’d approach Trina soon. He knew she was a US marshal; Claudia said she could help him make contact.
But it was supposed to be on his time schedule, when he was ready. Not in the middle of an op gone wrong.
He’d thrown himself out of the building, not sure he’d survive. He was too hurt to outrun the ROC on his own. Trina had appeared: a savior with the face of an angel and a killer body. He’d tried to figure out how quickly he could disappear into the fields and forest surrounding Vasin’s hideout even as Trina patted him down. He’d entertained hot-wiring one of the ATVs, whether or not she came with him. Fifteen seconds was his record. But with swollen hands and fingers, he didn’t stand a chance.
Then Trina had shown up as if his mind had willed her to.
When she’d jangled that key in midair he’d wanted to whoop. Until he caught the glimmer of her eyes, the slant of her cheekbones. Until he’d looked, really seen her body. Same curves but fuller. Somehow stronger than before, which was incredible since she’d always been able to keep up with him on training runs around the airfield. And then she’d spoken. Her voice was unforgettable. Tragedy and fate might have put several lifetimes between them, but he’d recognize her voice anywhere.
Trina was a US marshal. And just as memories of her and what they’d shared in the godforsaken desert saved him in the depths of POW torture, she’d plucked him from certain death today.
Bullets strafed the dirt on either side of the ATV as they sped away. He had to fight from telling her what to do. If she was a US marshal, she knew what she was doing. Judging from how quickly they put Vasin’s men behind them, she was for real. Did she even have a clue who he was? Had he imagined the flicker of recognition that crossed her face, the initial look of shock?
She buried you a long time ago.
“You okay back there?”
“Fine.” He leaned his torso against her back. The hell with it. Aches and repeat injuries to his rib cage and jaw weren’t as easy to ignore as they’d been five years ago. His thirty-year-old body had the aches of a seventy-year-old at the moment, thanks to Vasin’s attention to detail. Rob realized he’d been lucky to transition to the CIA after his SEAL time, and then into Trail Hikers. However, maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew by signing up for this particular Trail Hikers op. There were other, less lethal ops to take on.
No. Not a thought he’d entertain while escaping certain death, while Ivanov remained out there. Trina took the ATV through a rough field, and the jostling made stars stab at his closed lids. Oh yeah. He’d taken a decent beating this time.
“Hang tight. It’s going to get a little rough, but we’ll be in a regular car soon.” The commanding tone reflected her years of training. First as a Navy combat pilot and now as a marshal. He’d have pegged her as a shoo-in for the commercial airlines, but her will of steel no doubt made her an excellent marshal. The best.
He leaned against a woman who’d changed as much as he had in five years. Yet her body felt as if it still belonged to him. He cursed himself for paying attention to anything but their getting out of range of the ROC’s bullets. She was married, most likely to the man he’d seen her with. And she had a kid. There was no future with Trina, only this present space as he leaned against her. But no matter what he tried to think of to keep his heart from pounding with exultation that he’d found her again, it was pointless.
It was as if no time had passed.
Wrong, buddy. Five years have passed. Five years in which she never tried to find him. Assumed he’d died. Would he have believed she’d died if presented with the same circumstances?
Anger washed over him. She had no idea that her threat to kill him if he tried to escape meant nothing, no clue that he could kill her with his bare hands. Speeding ATV and multiple injuries be damned.
Sure you’re not overestimating your capabilities?
More like underestimating his injuries. Rob groaned, and for the umpteenth time refused to acknowledge his mortality. At least the pain kept him grounded, which he needed. Trina wasn’t his angel or savior. She wasn’t his anything. The ATV hit a large bump, throwing them airborne for a solid second. He held on to the woman and let himself enjoy the physical contact with her, no matter how brief. Even though he’d crushed her chances of happily ever after with him. Or rather, the war and extenuating circumstances had. He would sure as rain jump off this vehicle if he had to. No matter if it killed him. At least it would be on his terms and not Vasin’s. And Trina need never know it was him.
You’d never leave her to face them alone.
No amount of bouncing on an ATV with his most certainly bruised if not broken ribs could cause enough pain to keep him from facing the cold truth. It mocked him with each jarring movement.
He’d never stopped loving Trina.
* * *
Trina changed her focus, from the trail as she swerved off it onto avoiding tree trunks in the dense forest. It was the perfect spot to keep them out of sight and more importantly, out of bullet range of Vasin’s men. The intensity of the wooded route allowed her to hang on to what felt like the last remnants of her sanity.
It was as if her fantasies had materialized in the form of a man who said he worked for the same team she did, and who looked, sounded and walked exactly as Justin had.
His breathing was shallow as he kept his arms around her waist, and she winced with him at each outcropping, each shale rock that the wheels hit. As if it really were Justin. As if maybe, somehow, he’d survived that explosion, crawled out of the detonation crater and lived.
His loud groan of pain tensed her muscles. Now she was feeling his pain. This wasn’t how to work an apprehension.
“Hang on and I’ll get us off this as soon as I can. It sounds like we may have lost them.” Not that the loud roar of the ATV was any way to elude detection. She only had to get them near her vehicle and they’d have the upper hand.
If her mind would stop playing tricks on her.
Chapter 3 (#u6df928f6-548b-5976-bb22-c0addcbd5a75)
“You’re awfully quiet. Hang on, we’re almost there. Don’t even think about jumping—it’ll make it hurt more.” The vibration of her voice felt comforting under Rob’s uninjured arm as he continued to hang on to her.
It was as if Trina had read his mind. That gave him pause, made his heart lurch at the possibility they still shared their unforgettable connection. As steely and official as her tone was, she couldn’t shake the seductive edge of it. When she’d been a pilot helping him in support of SEAL missions he’d heard it, looked up from his tablet to pinpoint who was speaking in such rich notes. Her voice had been what initially drew him to her, how he’d learned there was so much more to the accomplished Navy pilot than met the eye.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Not this time. Not until he leveled with her, told her he’d survived. And wished her well to her face. She had to know, or suspect strongly, that it was him. Trina was too smart not to see the similarities. She had to be at least comparing him to the man he’d once been. A man she’d thought dead for the past five years.
“Damn right you’re not going anywhere.” Her words weren’t directed at him as she didn’t shout over the engine or wind, but he felt her breath, heard her words as his ear rested on her back. He wondered if she could feel how well they still fit together.
“Ugh.” His grunt came out louder than he’d planned, but the ATV rode like a truck without the shock absorbers. Holy hell but Trina knew how to maneuver it, as well as she’d flown the P-8 they’d met in. More importantly, how to evade a pursuer. Within minutes they passed through a copse of birch, pine and fir trees and drove up onto a paved road. A real highway.
It was pure bliss to his bruised ass and kidneys, as well as his sore crotch.
With no fanfare, she stopped the ATV and dismounted, indicating he do the same. She took the puppy from him as he stiffly executed a controlled fall off his seat. At least he was on two feet.
Trina’s gaze assessed him, but if she thought it was the man she’d once loved, her expression revealed nothing. She’d had the time she needed to regain her composure.
“We have to move quickly. Can you still run?”
“I’ll do my best.”
Her cool gray eyes met his. Awareness, tight and immediate, thrummed between them. He held his breath, waiting for her to acknowledge she recognized him.
“Damn right. Let’s go.” She tucked the damned dog under one arm and grabbed his upper arm with the other. She propelled him forward, leading them back into the deeper part of the woods, away from the highway. For someone with such a lean body she was remarkably strong. And fast. Just as he remembered.
His breath hitched, and the air felt like fire as it entered and exited his lungs, scraping as it went. The raspy sound would have alarmed him if he weren’t afraid they were both about to get shot to pieces by one of Vasin’s men. He was pretty sure Vasin was down for the count, with a shelving unit and tear gas to fight through. He’d caught the other thugs unawares, too, but at least one if not two of them had escaped and shot at them. He had no doubt they were close behind on the remaining ATVs. His ears strained to hear their roar. He was afraid that they’d alerted Ivanov to the breach of their inner sanctum. The ROC would unleash hell on earth to stop Rob and anyone who threatened their dominion.
“Come on! Don’t slow down now.” No compassion laced Trina’s urgent order.
“Going. Fast. As. I. Can.” He gritted his teeth, but his swollen cheeks didn’t make it the pain-relieving experience it should have been as his jaw screamed in protest.
The roar of an ATV reached his ears just fine, however. Cold sweat would have broken out on his neck if he weren’t already overheated from the physical demands of the run and his pain non-management.
Trina heard the engine as well. She kept moving, kept up their forward momentum as she half pushed, half dragged him by his good arm. “Come on, buddy. Pretend you’re in shape and have to score the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl. You’re a wide receiver, running with the ball toward the goalpost.”
In shape? Couldn’t she see he was freaking injured, not out of shape?
“We’re headed to that spot over there, by the way.” He looked at her out of his good eye, which made him turn his head, and he tripped. Sharp rocks and hard dirt raced up toward him, filling his limited vision, before a hard yank on his shirt collar had him upright. His neck howled in pain.
“Aggggh.” He stifled the scream, and it sounded like a damned frog. This was definitely an example of how not to run into a former lover.
“Stay with me.” Trina’s voice strained as she dug in with the heels of her work boots and kept him from falling face-first onto the forest floor for a second time. She held on to his collar as she pulled him up next to her, her silver eyes steady on him again. “You okay?”
He grunted.
“Then get in this car, back seat, now.” She’d led them to what he’d thought was a huge shrub but she pulled the branches off to reveal a small hatchback—a Ford Fiesta. If he had the breath he’d whoop and hug the tight-assed marshal. She was his ticket out of hell. Until he told her he was, had been, Justin. That he was still alive. Would she even care?
“Okay, get in.” He bit his lip as he held on to the small car’s roof with his arm, holding his injured arm against his middle. After he got into the seat, Trina put his seat belt around him, and he caught a whiff of her scent. When he breathed in sharply she stilled and stared at him, her expression wary. Frightened.
Yeah, she’d noticed the resemblance.
The buckle clicked into place and Trina straightened outside the car. “Keep an eye on the dog.” The mangy pup was placed on the seat next to him, where it immediately curled up and went to sleep. Rob envied the dog’s ability to give in to basic instinct.
He’d be fighting his the entire time he was with Trina.
* * *
The shooters had come so close to them but never noticed the car under the branches, between two full bushes.
Only minutes earlier, getting killed by fugitives had been her biggest worry. Not whether or not she was sane, thinking the man behind her was Justin. Justin was dead. But if he’d lived, if this was him, she’d have to tell him about her Justin Berger, his son, Jake.
No, you don’t.
Yes, she did. Protecting Jake from strangers was one thing, but from his father another. Although the man in the back seat was virtually a stranger. He couldn’t be Justin.
It’s improbable but still possible.
As she cleared the remaining branches off the car, she used the small space from Rob Bristol to get it together. She refused to look back as she took off her cowboy hat, threw it across to the passenger seat, and slid into the driver’s seat. Trina waited as the sound of the Russians’ ATV engines faded, making certain they were gone before she started the car.
The man remained silent as she drove up onto the highway. After a few miles on flat pavement, she checked him out in the rearview mirror. His head was tilted back as if he’d fallen asleep. Or unconscious. Panic gripped her chest.
“Hey! You still with me?”
Nothing.
He could be messing with her. But then he lifted his head, and she saw the tortured expression on his face. Compassion pierced her defenses.
“Are you all right? I’ve got pain meds in the first aid kit.”
“A-okay, baby cakes.”
Realization slammed through her, blowing away her cobwebs of disbelief and denial. Unless this was a ghost, and she’d imagined the entire time between seeing him stumble out of the building that was housing Vasin and now, this had to be Justin. He was the only one who’d ever called her “baby cakes.”
Justin was still alive.
She headed east, called her boss and refused to look her passenger in the eye. She gripped the wheel, waiting for Corey to pick up.
“Trina, why the freak haven’t you checked in?” Corey Blumenthal’s voice rumbled in her earpiece. She couldn’t use the speakerphone, not with an unknown in the back seat, no matter that he was probably a fellow LEA agent or officer.
And he wasn’t unknown, but a freaking practical ghost.
“Handling things. I’m safe. I should be in Harrisburg in about two hours or so. I’ve got Rob Bristol with me.”
“Thank God! We’ve got reports that the warehouse you went to had an event. Where are you?” Her boss’s voice remained professional, but she heard the concern in it.
She gave him her coordinates so that he could confirm her GPS unit was working. “I’m within two and a half hours of base. Unless you tell me to go elsewhere.” The puppy chose that time to bark. Of course.
“What the hell is that?”
“A dog. He wouldn’t stop following me.”
“You’re a US marshal, Lopez, not a dogcatcher.”
“Yes, sir.” She and Corey were on first-name basis, but she liked to rankle him by reminding him he was two decades older.
“So, you have Bristol. Well done. Just to be safe, describe him to me.”
What the hell? He never questioned her like this.
She looked in the rearview mirror as she drove, catching quick looks at Justin—God, it was Justin—but not enough to get them in an accident.
“Shaved crew cut, blondish, graying scruff on his chin, dark eyes, well, eye—one of them is swollen shut—about six feet, maybe two hundred, two-twenty.” And all of it hard muscle, if he was anything like he’d been when they’d made love under the desert stars, making the baby she’d raised on her own.
“Lopez. What about ID?” Corey’s impatience bristled more than usual because she got it—she was annoyed, too.
“Not possible. I asked. No ID, no papers on him. Not saying who he’s with.” Her fingers betrayed her as she spoke, burning with the memory of patting him down—there’d been nothing under his clothing except hard, sinewy male body. Justin’s body.
“Ask him.” Her boss’s voice shook her from her lust.
“He claims he’s an agent of some type. I trusted my gut. He’s been beat to hell by the ROC members.”
“Robert Bristol. TH.” Her fugitive croaked out his name again but this time added the “TH.” Trina locked gazes with him in the rearview mirror, fighting the urge to slam the car to a stop, get out and pull him out to get to the bottom of his identity.
“He says his name is Robert Bristol, TH, whatever the hell that means.”
Was that a sparkle of glee, amusement or demonic intention in his good eye?
“That’s all the identification we need. You’ve got the right man, Trina. Bring him in.” Corey paused, the line crackling in her earbud. “Well done, Trina.”
“Yes, sir.” She finished her conversation with Corey and turned her attention to her passenger.
“That’s not your name and we both know it. Where the hell have you been?” Trina wasn’t playing his game any longer. The initial shock was wearing thin and she had to know whom she was transporting back to headquarters, at least, whoever he used to be. Before he called himself Robert Bristol.
