Wolfsbane (30 page)

“What?” His voice roared through the luxury suite.

“He is dead, General. Fauzi is dead.”

“No!” He pounded a fist on the table where several men and women sat. Grief turned him away from the shocked expressions. Turned him toward the vengeance he’d operated under for so long. “Find them, César. Find them! Hunt them down. They will pay for killing my son.”

5 May

“Here, put it on.” Canyon shoved a yellow dress toward Roark.

“Are you kidding me? I’m wearing boots!”

He glanced around and yanked another tunic from the line. When she made no complaint, he stuffed his hands in the colorful tunic he’d grabbed for himself, all the while keeping his attention focused on the nearly empty street.

Even though the town was bigger than first appeared, they’d have to keep a low profile. Play it safe. Propping against the wall revealed the tremor in his legs as he unclipped the SOG and worked it around his waist, beneath the tunic. Nothing like walking into a hotel or restaurant
with a tactical knife to scare everyone off.

A long night’s rest would do them both a lot of good, but could they let down their guard?
Never
. He eyed the two-story structure halfway down the paved road with more holes than cement. A sign hung crooked from the eaves and read: H
OTEL
. The stenciling on a grimy window revealed it was also a restaurant. Chipped plaster and cement marked the building with years of age and neglect. Not a five star but it’d do. Two birds with one stone.

He glanced back at Roark. She shrugged into the tunic and flipped her hair out from under it. The burgundy T-shirt peeked out beneath the yellow tunic but the jeans and T-shirt might give them away. She looked good—too good. And that worried him. People would notice. People would remember.
No choice
.

The greasepaint still clung to her skin. Probably to his, too. “Hang on. Come here.” Out of view, he snagged a small shirt and dipped it in a bucket of rainwater perched precariously on a chair. Holding her chin, he swiped the rag over her face. Cheeks, forehead, eyes—he tapped her nose and made her flinch—and then her chin, around her mouth …

Her lips parted and her eyes rose to his.

Shake it off
.

“Here.” He stuffed the rag in her hand. “Clean me up.”

She smiled, her pink lips alluring and beautiful. Granted, she wasn’t washed and glowing, but the woman before him could take him to his knees with that smile. The rag smoothed over his face and chin. As she craned her neck and wiped, he spotted the greasepaint along her neck and ears. In the last hour something had shifted between them, but he had to focus. On getting cleaned up so they wouldn’t attract more attention than tourists normally drew.

He took the cloth and wiped her neck and ear. As he did, he felt her eyes come to his. Canyon let his gaze soak in her beauty, her courage, her strength. He’d not met anyone like her. As much as he loved Chesa, Roark had captivated his heart and mind.

His pulse pounded when she tilted her head and leaned into him.

He let his lips caress hers. Once. Twice.

Range. Canyon jerked back. Range would kill him.

Growling, Dani drove both hands against his chest. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“What?”

“You know what. Every time you kiss me, you veer off. You go from hot to cold in seconds.” Fingers plowing through her thick, dark hair,
she blew out a long breath. “Is it me? Do you not like me?”

“It’s my brother. You know that—or should. You went out with him, dressed in that slinky dress, and paraded around the Coastie ball with him.”

Her eyes flamed, then twinkled with amusement. “You’re jealous.”

“What was your first clue?”

“Well, it’s not your brother who I love, okay? I love you.”

A two-by-four upside the head wouldn’t have had the impact those words did. He steeled himself and shook his head. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t mean it.” He bent to the barrel, scooping water and running it over his face and neck. No way she could love him. From his leg pocket he lifted the small vial, and retrieved two pills. He stuffed them in his mouth and swallowed.

She wedged herself between him and the back of the house. “Why does that scare you? That I love you.”

Canyon ground his teeth together. “Because it’ll wreck everything.”

Hurt marched across her face.

“Think my call sign is an emblem of good luck? It’s not—I muck things up. Ask my family. Ask Tres Kruces.” Everything in him went cold. Had he really said that out loud?

Roark wrinkled her nose. “Tres … what? What is that?”

He used his sleeve to dry his face. “The biggest mistake of my life. It cost me everything—my career, my reputation.” He shifted and glared down at her. “You deserve Range—he’s a good guy, honest, upright. Got it? Me? I’ll just screw it up.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I’ve
lived
it.”

“Well, so have I. And you’re the only person I feel safe with, Canyon. Look, I admit I allowed Range’s attention so I could be close to you. But enough. I’ll tell him I love you and no one else.”

“Don’t. It’ll only make things worse.”

Cool hands braced his face gently. “Look at me.”

His gaze drifted to hers as if in response to the call of a siren who made his pulse race as he stood almost nose to nose with her. Though he scanned around them quickly, he couldn’t distract her. Or himself.

Her soft, pink lips curled upward. “I will never love your brother. I love you, Canyon. You’re the only one who’s been there for me. Ever.”

Intoxicated by their closeness and the intensity of her expression, Canyon lowered his forehead to hers. “Please … don’t do this.” He swallowed and wet his lips, tempted beyond all reason to kiss her soundly.
“Give me room, okay?” He couldn’t sort this out. Not in the middle of a mission. “So help me, God. I’m trying to do the right thing, Roark.”

“That’s part of why I love you, Canyon.”

An engine roared to life nearby.

Canyon cleared his throat and threaded his arms into the holes. “We should go. You ready?”

A tight-lipped smile accompanied her nod as she pushed off the house.

Regret dug into his fogged brain. He fished in his pocket for the vial again. Drew out two pills.

“Hey.” Roark’s hand covered his. “You just took two.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. I saw you.”

I did?
He frowned.

Her grip tightened. “What are they?”

“Painkillers.”

Gold eyes came to his and her brow knotted. “Are you in pain?”

Canyon hesitated.

Her fingers closed around the vial, and she plucked it from his grasp.

“Hey.”

“You don’t need these, Canyon.”

“They’re for my shoulder and back.” And his heart. His mind. When a kid’s shout distracted her, he took the pills back. “Remember.” He clasped her hand and tucked the vial in the tactical pocket. “We’re hiking through South America. Just a couple of tourists.”

They stepped up on the wooden porch, his boots clomping their arrival. He gripped the handle and tugged open the door to the hotel. Heavy grease and tobacco odors assaulted him, nearly knocking him back into the street. But he went with it, pretended to enjoy the smells wafting from the small restaurant.

“Hola.”
A man stood up from a spindle-backed chair near the door and strode toward a counter that anchored the main entry area. “Need a room?”

“Please.” Canyon led Roark to the counter, instantly taking in their surroundings. The bar and restaurant on the right. Cluster of chairs and sofa on the left along with two doors marked laundry room and office.

“How many nights?”

“One.”

The clerk pointed up. “Second floor. Room twenty-five.”

Did this place even have twenty-five rooms? It felt more like an
old-fashioned boardinghouse. With a metal key in hand, Canyon stepped back and waited, glad when Roark took the cue and headed for the stairs. The more they acted like a couple, the less attention they’d draw.

Though he had to jiggle the key to get the door to unlock, he didn’t mind. It meant it’d be harder for someone to break into the room quietly. SOG in hand, he moved into the room, waited for Roark to join them, then locked them in. As she fastened the dead bolt and secured the chain, he cleared the closet and bathroom. The sight of a second door in the bathroom made him tense. Sharing a bathroom posed risks. But again—no choice. He locked it and would keep it that way. He checked the bathtub. Rust had eaten through some of the porcelain. He flipped the knobs. Pipes groaned and creaked. Water dribbled out, then rushed into the tub. At least it wasn’t brown water.

“Looks good.” Back in the room, he drew off the hot, heavy tunic and dropped it on the bed. He stepped to the window and peered through the shades, glancing up and down the street. “Let’s get cleaned up, then grab some food. We’ll sleep and head out before dawn.” When she didn’t respond, Canyon looked back at her.

She waited by the dresser, her hands behind her and propped on the wood. With the greasepaint gone, her face seemed pale. Definitely not the rosy-flushed cheeks from when she’d kissed him on the street.

“You okay?” He turned, hesitating. Had he ticked her off by trying to stave off his spiraling attraction? Surely she understood …

She wrapped her arms around herself and took in the room. Something had drastically shifted in her personality since they entered the hotel.

“Roark, you okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.” That’s when he realized her gaze bungeed between the bed and the floor.

“I’ll sleep on the floor. Don’t worry.” Why hadn’t he thought about what she’d gone through, being held by Bruzon, raped by the monster? What an idiot.

Pink tinged her cheeks. “I—I …” She shrugged.

Canyon moved to her side. “Roark, it’s for our safety that we share a room. It’d attract too much attention to have separate rooms. And … I didn’t have enough for two rooms.”

She tucked her head.

“I’m not going to let him find you.”

That pulled the warm caramel eyes to his. He could see the pleading as those beautiful orbs watered in the hopes that what he said would be
true. Lips pursed, she bobbed her head, seemingly unconvinced.

“We need supplies. I won’t be gone long.”

Panic shoved into her face. “You’re going to leave me?”

“Roark,” he said as he threw the tunic back on. “I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t think it was best. One outsider is noticeable. Two is glaring.”

“Yeah …” Swallowing, she nodded. “You’re right.”

“Lock the door behind me—all of them. Move the dresser in front if you need to.” He crouched to see into her eyes. “Okay?”

Again, she nodded.

Canyon opened the door and automatically flipped the lock on the handle. He stepped into the hall, waiting as the door clicked shut behind him.

Thunk!

Dead bolt.

Shink!

Chain.

When his foot hit the first step, he heard the scraping of the dresser as Roark moved it into place. He hustled downstairs and out onto the boardwalk. He crossed the street, resisting the urge to look up at the window to see if she was watching. It wouldn’t surprise him if she stood at the window the entire time he was there. He hoped not—she should shower and grab some rack time. Every bit helped.

Within a few minutes, he stood under a lazily circling ceiling fan in a store. Not a sporting goods store, but it had bottled water, a canvas bag they could use as a backpack, and granola bars. He eyed a pair of radios. Too expensive. If they didn’t have to fly under the radar, he could use the credit card, but he was sure any credit purchases would send Bruzon’s army straight into the heart of the town.

Tugging his waterlogged wallet from his pocket, he spotted a leather necklace with a yellow coral sun dangling from a white crystal.
No, just get what you need and get back
. But somehow, it ended up in his pile. He paid for the items, stuffing the water and bars into the pack. Pocketing the necklace, he started back up the street toward the hotel.

Glancing at his watch, he decided to go ahead and grab a couple of meals. They could eat in the room, get to sleep early, and be out before sunup. At the bar he placed the order and waited. The massive flatscreen TV on the far wall seemed oddly out of place in this dump, but who was he to begrudge them a Saturday afternoon game of
fútbol?

Yet it was the man sitting on the other side that made him pause. Though the patron hadn’t looked at him, Canyon felt sure he’d seen the
guy somewhere else. Head down, shoulders slumped, the man stared into a glass of amber liquid.

Recognition slammed into him. No … it couldn’t be. Thankfully, the man hadn’t spotted Canyon. That was good. He needed to keep it that way.

Just then, the man looked up—straight at him. He frowned.

Move!

A woman in a multicolored dress walked toward Canyon with his food. He thanked her and started out of the restaurant, aiming for the stairs.

“Midas, that you?”

Canyon turned, steeling himself and feigning surprise. “Brick?” He extended a hand but closed his heart. This smelled rotten. “What’re you doing here?”