Wolfsbane (32 page)

Sweat spiraling down his back and neck, Max drew in a breath—
one full of thick, humid air. A tap on his shoulder sent him sprinting across the cement. Back to back with Aladdin, Max could count on Squirt to pull up the rear. A former SEAL like him, Squirt would get the job done and not complain. A brother in arms in more ways than one. They both had the same training, the same focus. Even if the guy did talk a bit funny.

They leapfrogged from one vehicle to another, steadily closing in on the building. Max rushed the last few yards to the secret entrance, eye on the door.
God, give Your angels charge over me … and mine. Protect us. Guide us
.

A blast of light shattered the night.

He threw himself into a roll. Came up next to a small transformer. Heart pounding, he waited. Around his boots, the light groped the cement, the rocks … the small patch of grass. Crouched, he pressed his back against the grate of the steel box and ducked.

The beam danced back and forth. Maintaining eye contact with Squirt and Aladdin gave him confidence the spotlight was randomly searching, not targeting them because Squirt wasn’t taking aim at someone. Max blew out a few short breaths to gain a normal rhythm.

Darkness blanketed the night again.
Move!
He lunged toward the building and plastered his back against the steel wall. Once the others slid up next to him, Max keyed his mic to indicate they were in position to penetrate. The response from Cowboy seconds later allowed him to breathe a little easier—the snipers had them in view. At least for the next minute or two. Once they breached the facility, they’d be dark—on their own. At that point, the snipers and the Kid would hoof it out of here because once inside, the others would have no way to extract Max’s team if they were caught.

So, don’t get caught
.

Small Venezuelan Village

It’d only taken minutes to find the dirt road and another fifteen to trek up to the farm. Satisfied, Canyon headed back. Agony had a new name tonight—Roark. She’d all but ripped his heart from his chest asking why she wasn’t worth stealing.

God forgive him, he’d steal her in a heartbeat. The fallout would be ugly. Real ugly. He toyed with her offer to talk to Range. That wouldn’t work—Range would think Canyon had put her up to it. Besides, he
didn’t want her caught in the middle any more than she already was. This was his fault. He had to pony up and own it.

But if he thought he had even one chance of happiness with her, he’d do it. Life hadn’t looked upon him favorably in a long time. Look at his career, his family, Tres Kruces—fragile pieces that trembled beneath his touch.

Regardless, he wouldn’t want a woman like Roark to set her heart on him when she had no inkling of the damage he could inflict. She might have an idea after seeing him kill that VFA soldier—but that damage was intentional. The other was unintentional and a thousand times worse. Trouble just seemed to follow him like a lost puppy.

“For I know the plans I have for you … plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

The words stilled Canyon. Though he wasn’t a Scripture-quoting Christian the way Cowboy was—and now even Max—Canyon knew the words were from God.

But could God really stem the havoc?

Stupid question, especially if he believed God was all-powerful. And he did. But how did that fit into the established norm Canyon had lived?

Sorting those thoughts and slinking through the shadows, he kept to the alley and dark patches of the village as he made his way back to the hotel. Back to Roark. Plans. God had plans for him? Seriously?

Bet I can screw them up like I do everything else
.

What would Roark say? How would she handle it if he told her about the past? He’d told her about Mariah and she hadn’t blinked. Or maybe she was just really good at hiding her feelings. After all, she was a politician’s daughter.

She’d never talk to him again, not if he told her …
everything
. It was best to keep her at arm’s length. Let her think he was this hero that he wasn’t.

That!
That right there was the reason he wanted her to know everything. So she’d stop looking at him, believing he was this good, ideal man. Canyon fisted both hands and squeezed. Why couldn’t he be that man? Be her hero, sweep her off her feet?

A car chugged by, pushing him into the shadows, and only then did he realize he’d been standing in the rain across the street from the hotel, staring up at the window. Light glowed amber through the drawn shade. Was she still awake? Probably. Which meant more talking …

Coward.

He crossed the street, climbed up on the bed of a truck parked off-center of the small balcony, then leapt up. The world spun and he dropped hard against the truck. Canyon shook his head, the wooziness away, then tried again. This time he gripped the ledge and hauled himself up over the lip. Crouched in the corner, he nudged the window open and slipped inside.

Roark stood near the door, hand on the knob as if ready to run, questions bouncing in her expectant gaze.

He removed the tunic, then peeled out of the vest. “Farm’s there, truck in the drive, just like he said.”

Her rigid posture softened. “So, we go with him—get a ride. No more stupid jungle or rain.” She sighed and hurried into the bathroom, then returned and handed him a towel. “Can you believe it? We’re this close”—she held her thumb and forefinger so they were almost touching—“to being home.”

Sloughing the water from his face and neck, Canyon avoided looking at her long, toned legs. She’d hidden them during dinner and after his shower. But apparently in her panic to run if he was an intruder, she’d abandoned propriety.

“I can’t wait to get home.” She laughed as she folded her legs under her on the bed and drew the cover over them. “I never thought I’d be glad to see my dad again.”

“I’m still not.”

Defiance flashed through her face. She snatched something from the bed and threw it at him.

He snagged it from the air. Granola bar. He wagged it at her. “This is our nourishment till we get to safe haven, highness. Might want to be more careful in case something goes wrong.”

“Why can’t you just believe things will go
right
?”

“I’m being realistic, considering options.”

“You’re being pessimistic.” She flung another one at him. “We have a ticket out of here.”

He caught that one, too. “Anything can go wrong.
In all things prepared,”
he said, repeating the Nightshade motto, but when another bar sailed through the air, he rushed her.

She screamed and dove away but not before pitching another at him.

It beaned his face as he tackled her. He dragged her back, attempting to pin her. Digging his fingers into her sides, he tickled her.

Roark threw her head back and laughed. “Stop, stop!” And she shoved another bar at his face.

“You’re an obnoxious brat.”

Indignation marched across her face. “I am not!” Pawing for more bars, she sputtered when her hair spilled into her face. She tried to blow it away but met with little success.

“One-hundred percent pure brat.” Wrestling to keep her from whacking him with more granola, he finally pinned her. “Crazy, fiery, strong.” He swept aside the hair that had fallen into her face. Her beautiful face. High cheekbones. Silky-soft complexion. Pink smiling lips …

Canyon’s gaze flicked to hers.

Expectation hung there with her captive breath. He shouldn’t—

Roark froze, rigid. As if she understood what streaked through his mind. Then slowly, she relaxed. Tilted her head toward his. His lips dusted hers, testing, firm but gentle. A sigh escaped her. Canyon eased back, his mind warring with his actions.

Don’t do this. Honor her. Treat her right
.

Her hand cupped the back of his head, and that was all he needed.

Canyon captured her mouth with his and pulled her into his embrace. Exhilarated with her response, he deepened the kiss and relaxed against her. How long had he wanted this, wanted Roark yet stepped aside? She smelled so good, melting into his kiss. Tasted so sweet. Canyon kissed her again, deeper, more passionately. He traced her leg and drew the hem of the tunic upward.

DAY SIX

I
s it true, Bayani?”

His blue eyes that always sparkled like our river, clouded. “It is.” He frowned. “The orders came through last night. It’s been verified.” On his jaw, the muscle popped. “My men and I pull out in eight days.”

Awa came out of his seat. “We knew this day would come.” Hands behind his back, he paced. In all the years I have known Awa, I have not seen his expression so … grieved. Though not given to feelings, he had grown to love Bayani as the son I had not been able to give him
.

Bayani hung his head. “Yes, sir.”

“What of Chesa?”

“It is complicated, sir. My world is very different. I fear she would not be happy off this island.” Bayani rubbed his fisted hand. “I don’t know if it’s right to ask her to leave you and her people.”

Chesa lunged forward. “You are my people, Bayani. Have I not done well with your warriors, learned your ways?”

Bayani smiled. “You have. But Chesa, as I tried to explain, things are very different back there.” He turned his attention back to Awa. “If you feel she will do well, I will do everything in my power to return for her.”

“Return?” Chesa’s question shrieked through the air
.

Bayani did not look at her. “First, I must return and request permission for her to come back with me. For now”—his gaze moved to Chesa—“you must stay here.”

“She belongs with you, Bayani. Not here anymore.” Awa studied the outsider seated at his feet. “Then you will return for her?”

“As soon as I can, sir. She’s my woman.”

Bayani had learned our ways well. I would even say he loved our ways, our people, our island. Our Chesa.

CHAPTER 20

C
anyon jerked upright. Darkness swam mean circles around his buzzed brain. Where … where was he? Unfamiliar and damp, the room sat veiled in the secrecy of night. Something had snatched him from his sleep. What was it? He shifted—and froze. Groaned.

Roark lay curled in the sheets beside him.

He shoved himself from the bed and dressed as faint images leapt and tumbled through his mind. Raging passion. Abandon …

Horror gripped Canyon as he held his T-shirt. “No.” Disbelief choked him. “No, no, no, no …” he whispered, afraid he’d wake her. And why did his head feel like an M1 Abrams tank had trampled it?

His gaze darted back to the curvy form. No. He’d promised to protect her. He wanted to treat her right, with respect. Canyon spun away, sickened.

Oh God, please don’t let it be true
. Why did it feel more like a bad dream than reality? If he’d slept with her, wouldn’t he remember it better, stronger?

But there was no other explanation to finding himself naked in bed with her. Shame and nausea roiled through him.
What have I done?