Return to Glory (Hqn) (23 page)

“And you always keep your promises.” Betsy kissed him.

“Okay, that’s enough of that. I don’t need to see my best friend pawing my sister,” Caleb growled.

“I thought I was your best friend,” India interjected.

“You know what I mean,” Caleb answered.

“Can I get the blackberry cordial now?” Lula asked.

“As long as there’s some left for the wedding,” Betsy said when she finally broke their kiss.

“I remember the taste of cordial on your lips.” He grinned and eased her away from him and took the ring from the box and slid it on her finger. “On that very blanket.”

“I swore that night that we’d drink it at our wedding.”

“We will.”

Outside, fat flakes had begun to fall, blanketing the world in white, and Betsy was reminded once again that there was definitely something magical about snow on Christmas Eve.

“Is it time for the cordial?”

“Yes, Mama. Get the cordial.”

* * * * *

Be sure to look for the next romance in
Sara Arden’s sizzling new trilogy.
And now for a sneak preview of
UNFADED GLORY, please keep reading.

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CHAPTER ONE

B
YRON
H
AWKINS HAD
an ear worm.

Most people got them at one point or another—a Top 40 hit they couldn’t escape, a catchy ad jingle, a children’s song heard one time too often. Byron had such a loop, but he wasn’t so lucky as to have anything as innocuous as the last song he’d heard on the radio. He had the screams of his team as they died.

Their terror and pain were always with him whether it was a damning whisper or a roar that sounded like the army of hell.

He knew it was no less than he deserved for his failure. If he hadn’t given the order to pursue the guerrillas, they’d have all made it back to camp. They’d have gone home to their families at the end of the mission.

Instead they were ambushed and tortured.

Instead he was the only one who went home.

The voices were especially loud tonight—they always were before a mission, but here in the darkness, he silenced the howls of his fallen brothers, He drowned out that song in his head as he moved through the darkness toward his target—the Jewel of Castallegna.

The jewel was being kept in the Carthage National Museum. It would be no easy feat to get in and out with a national treasure, but breaking and entering was a skill he’d acquired in his delinquent youth.

He didn’t ask his betters how a gemstone could serve the DOD; that wasn’t his job. His job was to acquire the item and bring it home.

Byron entered through the front door. Security rolled in staggered shifts, and there were only three officers since the museum was closed to the public. He’d tranqued one officer in his car before he came on duty, and had taken his keys. Easy as his granny’s pecan pie.

Until he heard voices coming from the first chamber. He flattened himself against the wall and peered through the door.

Two men had cornered one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. She was petite, but he could tell from her stance that she could hold her own. She’d been trained. Krav maga, perhaps. She was poised for a fight. Her eyes were the most curious shade of blue, but her skin was dusky and golden. It was too bad so much of it was covered by her black fatigues. She looked ready to do battle, and Hawkins had to admit it didn’t get much hotter than a gorgeous woman with a thigh holster and a utility belt.

“You know the jewel should never leave Castallegna,” one of the men said.

He swore under his breath. There would be bodies to dispose of. Byron wouldn’t be much of a ghost if he couldn’t get in and out without a trail of blood a mile wide in his wake, and he could tell this guy wasn’t going to let the jewel go without the fight.

He hoped he wouldn’t have to dispose of the woman, but he would if she stood between him and his mission.

“The jewel
isn’t
going back,” the woman answered.

“I can’t kill you yet,” the man said with a sadistic glee. “But I can hurt you.”

Byron knew he had to act. The woman had the jewel or she knew where it was. He launched himself from his hiding place and snapped the big man’s neck with a single motion. He dropped like a stone and the other would-be jewel thief sprang to action. He launched himself toward the woman, and when Hawkins would’ve saved her, she saved herself. As he watched her fluid movements taking the other man down, he realized he’d been right in his assessment: krav maga.

Hawkins was impressed.

Even though she’d subdued the other man instead of killing him, he wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating her.

She didn’t seem afraid of him. In fact, she looked almost happy to see him.

That didn’t bode well, not at all. If she thought he was someone else, he could use that to get her to hand over the stone.

“Thanks for the assist,” she said.

Her voice was melodic and sweet with an accent he couldn’t place. She wasn’t Tunisian; it was almost Greek. The dossier said the culture and the people of Castallegna were a blend of the two. He wondered if she was a rebel or a patriot. He could tell from the fire in her eyes that she burned with one cause or another.

It would be easier if she was just a jewel thief, an unscrupulous antiquities dealer. One of those could be bought off—not so much when it was a cause.

“Don’t thank me yet, sweetheart. I’m here for the jewel.”

She smiled, baring all of her straight white teeth at him. “You’re looking at it.”

“You’re shitting me.” There was no way, no way that this woman was the Jewel of Castallegna.

“No, Mr. Hawkins. I would never do that. I’m Princess Damara Petrakris, also known as the Jewel of Castallegna. We better get moving. The last thing we need is to get caught with a dead body on our hands.”

She knew his name. She had been expecting him. Damn it. This screwed up all of his plans. “That’s going to be a problem. I only made provisions for one.”

“They didn’t tell you the jewel wasn’t a stone?” She arched a dark eyebrow.

“No.” And Hawkins knew why. As a private contractor, he could decline an assignment, and his handler, Renner, had known that Byron would decline this one if he’d had all the information. Damn him. Damn him to hell. Renner knew what he’d been through in Uganda. Knew why he’d left the army. He knew it, and he hadn’t cared. The DOD wanted this woman on American soil whatever it took, whatever the cost to him.

He swallowed hard. Hawkins was a soldier to the marrow. He knew how this worked. But he couldn’t be responsible for someone else’s safety. Not again. Not after Uganda. If Renner had dispatched him to kill the two men on the floor in front of him, he would’ve accepted that gladly, but this... He couldn’t do it.

“Whatever is going through your mind, you can’t leave me here,” she whispered, and put her hand on his arm.

It was so small, so delicate, but he knew she was fierce.

“You don’t understand. I planned a water exit in a small fishing boat that’s only big enough for one. It’s hours from Tunis to Marsala on the water. How long before there are others looking for you? Castallegna is in the Ionian Sea. That’s close enough that they’ll be watching the airports. I only have papers for one.”

“Your Mr. Renner already provided me with documents. I won’t complain about the accommodations.” She looked down for a moment. “Please. My country—”

“I can’t be responsible for you. That’s how people die,” he confessed. Even though he’d never see her again, for some reason, he needed her to know that he wasn’t leaving her behind to be cruel. It was the only kind thing he could do for her.

“I’ll die or worse if you don’t take me with you.” She cocked her head to the side, and one lock of her hair had come free from her long braid. “And of course you’re not responsible for me. I’m not a child. But you can help me. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”

“What I do is kill people,” he said, as if that wasn’t clear.

“And for that, I am grateful.” She nodded, wearing an earnest expression.

He scrubbed his hands over his face. She wasn’t giving up; she wasn’t afraid. So why was he? He’d only ever failed one mission before

If he left her behind, this fearless princess, it would be Uganda all over again. He kept seeing her beautiful face bloody and beaten.... He’d heard her attacker.
I can’t kill you yet, but I can hurt you.

Byron Hawkins supposed there was some decency left in him yet.

Knowing what lay in store for her if he didn’t take her, well, he just couldn’t have that blood on his hands.

* * *

F
OR
ONE
HORRIBLE
MOMENT
, Damara thought her savior was going to leave her behind. She could see his eyes harden with what must have been resolve, and then they were filled with so much pain. Something had happened to this man.

Yes, he was definitely a killer. He’d snapped Sergio’s neck with the swift and easy brutality of a predator. She hadn’t been lying when she said she was grateful—Sergio was her brother’s head security adviser. A pretty title for what amounted to head torturer. She needed this Byron Hawkins to make her escape, and in doing so, to save her country from Abele.

But she knew there was more to this Hawkins than this machine he’d made of himself.

Damara found herself intrigued by him, by his pain. It didn’t hurt that he was handsome and strong. He dwarfed her, a giant, deadly wall of lethal power. What woman wouldn’t find that attractive?

Damara had to remember she wasn’t just a woman; she was a princess. In her heart, there was only room for her people—her country. She understood what it was to live a life in service.

“It’s ten minutes to the port of La Goulette, but I plan to make it in five. Let’s go.”

Relief flooded her. He would help. She followed him outside and he led her through some well-groomed shrubbery to where he’d hidden a Ducati.

He handed her the single helmet and she took it gratefully.

“It’s a Panigale 1199 R. Wish I could take it with me.”

“Did you steal this?” She eyed him.

“What do you think?” He mounted the bike, swinging one long, powerful leg over the side.

She supposed that didn’t matter. Damara had more pressing problems. The seat was tiny. Given his size, she didn’t think there was any way she was going to fit on the thing. But Damara had said she wasn’t going to complain about accommodations, and she wouldn’t start now.

Especially not when he could still change his mind.

“Don’t be shy now, Princess.”

She’d never heard anyone say
princess
in that way before. It made her shiver. She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

His arm snaked out and wrapped around her waist as he hauled her onto the front of the bike. As he revved the engine, he said, “Hold on.”

She was barely aware of the speed or even the scenery as it melted into swirling colors at the edges of her vision.

The man holding her dominated all of her senses.

He was a solid wall against her back—his body was immovable like a marble statue, but he exuded heat like a bonfire. Even when she’d been surrounded by bodyguards in the royal palace, she’d never felt as safe as she did right at this moment. It was insanity; they were tearing through the streets barreling toward even more danger. Damara was about as far from safe that she could be.

Only she was almost out of Abele’s reach and that felt amazing, too.

She breathed deeply, centering herself and pushing down all of her fear. Damara could smell the salt and the sea, something that never failed to ground her. Strangely enough, it seemed to be coming from him more than the air around them.

Their bodies swayed and twisted with the bike as it shot through the streets and alleyways, and for a moment, Damara could swear she was riding the wind.

The colors and scenery slowly untangled into recognizable things as Hawkins decelerated the machine. They emerged on a small, hidden beach. Damara had been to Tunis and La Goulette numerous times, but she’d never known anything like this was here.

Well, what had she expected? To leave a secured international port from a monitored dock?

She saw the boat that would be their mode of transport. He wasn’t kidding; it was going to be a tight fit. She bit her lip. It was true that she’d trained hard for the skills that she had, but she wasn’t used to hardship or discomfort.

You can do this.

She could do anything she had to do to stop Abele and save Castallegna.

“Get in and lie down. I’ll cover you with the tarp until we’re clear.”

Damara did as she was told. The boat stank like old fish and she pulled her shirt up over her nose. The roar of a small motor soon rattled the hull and Damara didn’t know how long she lay there under the tarp as still and quiet as she knew how to be until he pulled it back from her face.

The first thing she noticed was the sky. The stars were big and bright, like glittering holes burned out of the pitch—breathtakingly beautiful. She could smell the salt in the air again, and the ocean around them seemed so black and fathomless in the dark, except for the pale ribbon of moonlight that shone down like a winding road over the inky waves.

“There’s no way we can make it together to Marsala in this, and even if we did, it would blow our cover. There’s a cargo ship anchored just over there that’s headed to Marseille. It’ll be close quarters, dirty and dank for about twenty hours, but I think it’ll do the job.”

She turned her attention from the sky to where he gestured. “How are we going to get aboard?”

“Captain is a friend. I got in touch with him before I dumped my cell. You’re not carrying any electronics, are you? Phone, iPod...”

She shook her head. “No, I knew they’d be able to track me.”

“Smart girl.”

Pride swelled and bloomed at his praise. She didn’t even know him, and after this, she’d never see him again. It didn’t matter what he thought of her as long as he got her to the States.

“He’s going to linger there for the next twenty minutes and we have to get aboard and down in the cargo hold before any of his crew sees us. So I need you to do exactly as I say when I say it. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” she agreed easily.

He maneuvered the boat up next to the cargo ship, the sound of the small motor drowned out by the idling growl of the giant engines of the ship. A rope ladder had been left hanging down the side for them.

She grabbed hold of the ladder, the rope abrasive on her palms. For all of her training, she still had the hands of a princess. Damara wouldn’t complain; instead she would just do as he instructed. She tried to be as quiet as she could, remembering her ballet lessons and balancing her weight so she didn’t flail and clang against the side like some alarm alerting everyone to their presence.

When she pulled herself to the top, she heard voices and she ducked her head, still clinging to the rope ladder. She looked down at Hawkins.

What’s wrong?
he mouthed.

She made a talking motion with her hand and then held up three fingers to indicate the number of voices she’d heard.

He put his head down for a moment and then he began to climb. When she would have shimmied back down the ladder and back into the boat, she saw it had already been set adrift. They were well and truly stuck.