Dark Memories (The DARK Files Book 1) (29 page)

Once their clothing was banished, he knelt between her legs and smoothed back her hair as he joined them. He moaned with pleasure. “Ah, Laura, at last, nothing between us. No barriers. No secrets. Only love.”

She would have told him again how much she needed him, how much she loved him, but his erotic caresses stole her power of speech. And then she was wrapped around him, and he was moving within her, and neither of them could speak except in the passionate welcome home their bodies and souls gave each other.

Two weeks later…

“MARISOL’S BEEN LOOKING for you all day, Ms. Rossiter,” the floor nurse said cheerfully. “Every time I’ve been in to check on her, she asked for her
ángel dorado
.”

Laura returned her smile and held up a book. “Thanks. I brought a Spanish language copy of
Goodnight, Moon
, but she’ll have to put up with my faulty pronunciation.”

She hurried down the Johns Hopkins Pediatrics hallway toward the child’s room. Medicinal and lemon-scented disinfectant odors permeated the bright pastel corridor.

The four-year-old orphan had arrived in the United States ten days ago. Laura acted as sponsor, and Cole accompanied her from Colombia.

Marisol underwent the corrective surgery on her foot five days earlier. The surgeon’s words were guarded, but he admitted all signs pointed to success. The physical therapist had already begun exercises with the child to strengthen her muscles. Once the cast came off and therapy began in earnest, they’d have a clearer idea of long-term recovery. Judging from the girl’s eagerness, Laura believed she’d walk normally.

“Oh, Ms. Rossiter,” the nurse called. “Mr. Stratton is already here, but I suppose it’s all right if you go in. Try not to tire her too much.”

Cole is here.
She crossed her fingers he had good news about Marisol’s future. And theirs.

She nodded, her pulse skipping in anticipation as she approached the room. The squeak of rubber-soled shoes on the tile floor and the clatter of trays faded into the background.

The patient label on the door read, “Marisol Ortiz.” The door swung in so gently, the two people in the room didn’t look up from their animated conversation.

Clad in the pink bunny pajamas Laura had brought yesterday, Marisol sat propped up with pillows on her hospital bed. One leg covered with bandages and a plastic cast from foot to knee lay on a U-shaped support.

Two heads nodded — one big and raven-haired, one small and blessed with a mop of raisin-brown curls — as they chattered in Spanish too rapid for her.

Her heart felt too big for her chest. Cole looked the same as he had that day in Maine when he’d suddenly appeared outside the tennis court. Closely cropped hair, eyes the color of Arctic seas, khaki cargos, military boots. The only changes were a tailored charcoal shirt instead of a T-shirt and a smile instead of a glower.

Seeing him with that darling child made her glow on the inside, as though she’d swallowed a sunbeam.

Hola, Marisol,”
she said. “Hi.”

The little girl was small for her age, with too thin limbs that needed nourishment and exercise, but her lively spirit and bright smile lit the room. She laughed in welcome and wiggled her fingers to beckon Laura closer. “Laura,
mi ángel dorado
!”

From his position seated on the bed’s edge, Cole eased to his feet. His arms went around Laura, holding her tightly. He kissed her forehead.

She savored the strength of his arms around her, the solid proof that her happiness was real. Gratitude that they’d found love together again threatened to overwhelm her. Only because of the child, did she disengage herself. Reluctantly.

She turned to the waiting girl and gave her a big hug.
“¿Cómo ti sientes?”
How are you feeling?

Taffy-brown cheeks flushed with excitement, Marisol replied in a flurry of childish Spanish that seemed to mean she was feeling chipper. She pointed to the picture book in Laura’s hand.
“¿El libro, es para mi?”

Was the book for her? That much Laura could handle. Of course it was for her.
“Sí, es para ti.”

A big smile on her pixie face, the child reached out with eager arms. Her big brown eyes sparkled.

Cole watched as Laura placed the classic children’s book in small, eager hands. In her pale yellow linen dress that skimmed her hips, she was his
ángel dorado
too
— his golden angel. Her recent injuries had healed, along with the pain in her soul, leaving behind only scars that no longer mattered.

Though she’d been through hell and back, her courage and generous heart had pulled him out of his black hole of bitterness. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, especially with the child who would soon be hers. His.
Theirs
.

Laura ran a finger beneath the title. “
Buenas noches, luna.
I’ll read it to you later.” She lifted her shoulders and looked to him for help. “My Spanish is too rusty. I’ve forgotten how to say it.”

“You did fine. We can read it together later.” He translated for Marisol.

“Thank you,” Marisol said in halting English. Then she turned the first page and fell into the colorful pictures.

He stepped away from the child’s bed. He clasped Laura’s hand. Her scent — apple and Laura — floated up to him, and he wrapped himself in its blanket.

“Good that you can sit with her awhile,” he said. “I have to go soon. You wouldn’t believe the red tape on this case.”

“I’ve been tangled up in it myself.” Her voice was tonic to his soul. “Has Markos told you what you needed? Have you gotten information about Husam Al-Din and New Dawn?”

He twisted his mouth in a wry grin. “His lawyers have him under wraps, but he’s given us a little. He’s more afraid of Husam than the courts. There was more for sale than Markos had you verify. And a great deal more profit. Millions. It seems our greedy importer skimmed a healthy chunk off the top, and the terrorists’ money man figured it out. That’s the real reason Markos was leaving the country.”

Laura shook her head. “He stole from New Dawn? What does he do for excitement, play Russian roulette?”

“He sure as hell seems to be spinning the cylinder now. And we have to convince him we can protect him before the chambered bullet clicks around to blow him away.”

“
Papá
Cole.” Marisol launched into rapid-fire speech.

Laura sent him a questioning look.

When the child finally ran down like a wind-up toy, he cleared his throat. It was time. His heart bounced like one of Laura’s tennis balls. “She wants me to tell her
ángel dorado
the secret I shared with her today.”

“A secret? The adoption?” Anticipation burned her eyes.

“You’re leaking again.” He dabbed at her cheek.

She blinked back the tears of joy. “Marisol won’t return to Colombia? We can keep her?”

He lifted her hand to his lips. “We’ll have a boatload of rigmarole to go through, but I got the word. How many bedrooms in that house of yours in D.C.?”

Her smile glowed. “Three. But I imagine we could find something bigger.”

He grinned. “Marisol will only be our first.”

“I can stay home with her while she has therapy. The museum replaced me with a series of interns. I’m working only part-time directing special projects.”

“And I’ve put in for transfer from fieldwork to the analysis desk. I’ll be D.C. based from now on.”

“We have a wedding to plan. Then we’ll be a real family.”

“Es mi mamá ahora?”
Marisol asked Cole. Her Cheshire-cat smile showed white teeth. She wriggled closer to them.

“
Sí, niña,
I am now your mama.” Laura sat on the bed.

“Por favor, mami.”
A dimple winked in the child’s cheek.
“Leeme el libro.”

Cole’s heart leaped and kicked so hard he thought it might burst out of his chest and dance around the room. He’d damn well stay awhile with his almost wife and daughter. DARK’s reports could wait.

“Go ahead. We’ll read her the story,” he said. He stood beside them, his arm around Laura and his hand resting on Marisol’s small shoulder.

Stamps and signatures would make it official, but love already made them a family.

A real family.

This single moment beat anything he’d ever dared hope or dream. Happiness welled up until he could barely breathe past the football-sized lump in his throat. The dark memories of their past had miraculously led to a bright future.

Eyes misted over, he helped Laura read the simple text, as lyrical and beautiful in Spanish as in English.

Thank you for reading
DARK MEMORIES
, the first book of the DARK Files. This is a story about learning to trust after undergoing loss and pain. I loved the tension of the deep conflict and primal sensuality between the hero and heroine, and I loved creating the puzzle of the villain. I hope the heroine’s torment and the hero’s longing touched your heart as they did mine. I hope you enjoyed this book. If you did, please help others find the book by leaving a review at the retailer where you purchased it.

Now please continue for an excerpt from the next book in the series,
DARK COVER
.

~ Susan

Please Enjoy this Excerpt from

(Book #2 of the
Dark Serie
s)

“YOU WILL RETURN the money your brother stole from us, or we will take action.”

“It’s three in the morning. Who the hell is this?” Nick Markos slammed down his half-empty glass. Glenfiddich splashed onto the mahogany desk that dominated one end of the library.

Damn. A waste of single malt Scotch.

He’d spent the day torn in two directions — running his own business long-distance and trying to sell another. Sleep eluded him this autumn night, but he had no patience for demands in the wee hours. He didn’t know the voice, but recognized the Middle Eastern accent and the menacing tone.

The quicksand of his brother’s dirty dealings was sucking him deeper and deeper. Would he ever be rid of the muck?

“My name is not important.” The sly smile in the man’s unctuous voice scraped Nick’s nerves. “Are you not the brother of Alexei Markos? The late Alexei Markos?”

Regrettably. Although they hadn’t spoken in years until Nick visited Alexei in the District of Columbia jail, he did regret his younger brother’s untimely death — for many reasons. This phone call among them.

“Who wants to know?”

“You are conducting his affairs at present?”

“If this is about business you had with my brother, call the office tomorrow. Markos Imports, on O Street. During business hours.”

The cordless headset at his ear, he paced the length of the library. Books on antiques, history, art and artifacts filled the floor-to-ceiling shelves. Their musty odor permeated the room.

He stopped at the modern globe in the Victorian oak stand. Though Alexei had lacked integrity, he’d known value and he’d had taste. Nick spun the globe, stopping it with his finger on a tiny Middle Eastern country — about as far from suburban Chevy Chase, Maryland, as you could imagine.

If, as he suspected, the caller was the leader of an ultra-extremist group from that land, no records of those transactions were in the office or anywhere else Nick had searched. His temporizing tactic would serve only as a chance for more information.

If he were given more luck than he’d had lately.

“Your brother conducted transactions for us, but he kept ten million dollars that is ours. It matters not where you get it.” The falsely pleasant tone vanished. His caller fired the words out hard and clipped, bullets. “You know who we are. It is not wise of you to feign ignorance, Mr. Markos.”

“Ignorance is all I have to offer.” Nick forged steel into his voice. “Alexei and I weren’t close. He didn’t confide in me. He left no money and no investments. Only debts, which will be paid as much as possible once his business and this house are sold. Get in line.”

He stalked back to the desk and downed the rest of his drink. The Scotch, smoky and rich, slid warmth down his throat. He’d rather have savored it slowly.

Silence hung at the other end of the line. Would the bastard give up so easily? Not bloody likely.

“Mr. Markos, I see you do not yet understand the precariousness of your position. Your brother also thought he could cheat us and get away with it. Alas, the warrior sent into the jail to persuade him otherwise went too far.”

The meaning of the words chilled Nick’s bones. The D.C. jail was notoriously overcrowded and dangerous. A knife fight had broken out during a recreation period. After the scuffle, Alexei was found stabbed although he hadn’t been anywhere near the two men fighting. The strange altercation made grim sense in light of the caller’s words.

Nick had hoped to settle his brother’s estate quickly and quietly and return to his business in London and New York. He wanted no breath of the scandal to reach their ailing father in Greece. The depths to which Alexei had sunk boiled his blood and sickened him.

But redeeming the family honor seemed impossible in the short run.