Falcon: The Quiet Professionals Book 3 (15 page)

“No. C’mon—the hospital!” Brie shoved out the door.

Numb, Cassie stood there. Sal was buried alive. But not dead. But… needed medical attention.
God, You can’t let him die. Not when I came all this way to resolve things
. She was halfway to the door before she realized it.

Outside, Cassie spotted Brie jogging toward the hospital. She raced to catch up. “What happened?”

“He was tracking a spy through some tunnels.” Brie tugged open the door and hurried inside.

Cassie slowed, catching sight of the field uniforms. The SEALs hanging back, but the familiar, bulkier shape of Candyman stood out. The team stood huddled, shoulder to shoulder. Intense. A German shepherd panted in the corner, squinting as if to say he’d done his job.

“I’m fine,” a voice growled.

Sal. That was Sal. And hearing the irritation in his voice made her smile. Her breath shuddered, pushing relief through her veins.

“You’re not fine. You have a concussion—that bullet might not have pierced your skull but it gave it a good whack,” a man in scrubs said.

“I’ve had worse,” Sal groused.

“And the bullet in his shoulder?” Titanis asked.

“A graze—one that cost me a sixty dollar tac shirt,” Sal said as he lifted his bare arm, the material having been cut away.

“He’s right. It’s a graze, but we want to do an MRI and make sure there are no internal injuries from the collapse.”

“Just bruises and scrapes.” Sal shifted off the gurney, remnants of what he’d gone through evident on his face. The beard—it was so strange to see that on him, even now—had dust and blood in it. A red, angry welt across his cheek and nose made him look like a prize fighter. And the fire in his eyes roiled.

Cassie couldn’t help but smile. That was Sal. Never one to take things lying down. A man of action.

“Am I cleared?” Sal scooted to the edge of the gurney—his gaze struck Cassie’s and he slowed.

“Not so fast,” came a firm, authoritative voice. Captain Watters strode toward them. “Doc, get him checked out. Do that MRI. Make sure that tunnel doesn’t permanently bury him.”

“Dean—”

“Two hours, Sal. Meet us back at Command.” Captain Watters turned to the others. “Let’s debrief.”

As one, the team shifted and headed out the door.

Cassie hesitated off to the side, not wanting to leave Sal and yet not willing to brave his acerbic comments.

“Get him in a gown and down to imaging,” the doc said as he left the bay.

A nurse pulled a gown out of a bin and set it on the bed next to Sal. “Change into this and we’ll get you back in action ASAP.”

Sal huffed. Grabbed the blue folded gown—and grimaced. He winced and tried to tug his arm through the hole. That’s when she noticed the red, raw lines on his upper arm. Not scratches like she’d thought before. They were too even. To narrow. Rocks would leave jagged marks.

He tried again and growled, clearly in pain. Sal lowered his head, eyes pinched tight.

How she ended up next to him, she wasn’t sure. But when those chocolate eyes flared with anger at her closeness, Cassie pushed a pleading expression into her face. “Just let me help.”

“I know how you help. And I don’t need that,” he spat at her as he tried again to remove the shirt. “Leave.”

“Sal—”

“Get out, Cass!”

“You can’t shut me out forever. We need to talk.”

“No. We don’t.” He tangled his arm in the hole and lost his balance. His foot caught the edge of a wheeled tray and he pitched forward.

Cassie caught him by the sides.

Anger exploded through his face but he was free, the shirt dangling around his neck. Sal pushed her. “What did I say?”

Stumbling backward, she tensed. Slammed against a locker unit. “Please, stop.”

Sal towered over her. “How do I get through to you? I
don’t
want you here. Ever since you killed Vida—”

“I did
not
kill her,” she bit out, her throat burning.

“Might as well have.” His words were hissed, his hot breath dashing across her cheek. His nose pressed into hers. His eyes bore into hers, his breathing hard.

Her vision blurred with unshed tears, aching for the time he’d stared at her with respect and love, not anger and disgust.

But then something shifted. His gaze. It went to her lips. Skated around her face. His expression relaxed. Amid the sweat-caked dirt and scrapes, his handsome features again beckoned to her.

He punched the locker by her head.

With a blink, Cassie sucked in a ragged, startled breath, but their eyes remained locked. Vulnerability roiled through her. Always powerless beneath his gaze, she stood there. Felt hope spring through the dregs of his anger.

His thumb slid down the side of her face as his eyebrows knotted. Each breath of his skidded along her cheek. He angled closer. The mechanism of time powered down to a microscopic pace. She saw his lips part beneath his beard. His gaze softened as he homed in.

CHAPTER 12

Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
28 March—2010 Hours

H
er lips were soft, willing, as Sal gave in to the demons that had tormented him far too long. He curled a hand around her waist, ignoring a dart of pain. The chasm of passion that had lured him into falling in love with Cassie over four years ago gaped, swallowing him whole.

The surrender felt good. Being with her felt right. Always had.

But no. No, he shouldn’t do this.

But she was perfect. Sweet. Even after—

Vida.

Vida’s dead. Because of her.
What the heck are you doing, Russo?

Breaking the kiss, Sal snapped his head to the side. He heard her heavy breath but wouldn’t meet her gaze. Why did Cass have to be here? Alive, beautiful, sultry. And Vida… dead. Gone.

Sal punched the locker again. Pain rushed down his wrist and arm, resonating in his shoulder. It felt good. Pain felt good. He punched it again.

Cassie sucked in a breath with a whimper as his fist connected a third time. She blinked and recoiled, her chin trembling.

He hated himself. Hated that he’d fallen into this weakness again.

“What’s going on here?” a male voice demanded.

Without a word, Cassie ducked and left. “H–he needs help.”

More than she or anyone else could ever know. Knuckles to the locker, Sal didn’t dare move. Didn’t trust himself with his stupidity. His anger. His demons and self-hatred.

Weak. He was
weak
and dumb. A little pain and near-death experience and he was already willing to fall into the arms of the woman who’d bewitched him into betraying a promise he made to his high school sweetheart.

“You ready, sir?”

Sal stepped back. Drew himself up straight with tight lips and muscles as he turned toward the nurse. “Yeah.” On the tray by the bed, he saw the scalpel.

One word flooded his mind at the sight of the shiny blade: relief.

Kabul, Afghanistan
30 March—0800 Hours

“He has agreed to look into things.”

Daniel stood at the window of his condominium on the thirteenth floor of Takkar Towers, staring at the embattled city. The crumbling city. This sandpit of a desert had nothing on the energy and vitality of Shanghai. Why had Sajjan insisted on continuing to build his empire in such a wasteland?

“He was suspicious.”

At this, Daniel smirked. “Of course he was.” He turned, sliding his hands into the pockets of his silk slacks. “I would be concerned if he were not.” He strode to the bar and lifted a snifter from the glass cabinet.

“But if he learns of what you are doing, what you have planned…” Aamir scurried forward like some street rat fleeing a mangy, unclean dog. “If he learns what you are doing, he will stop you. You should kill him before he can interfere.”

Fury surged through Daniel. He flashed an angry glare at the man.

Aamir drew up, his dark face going white. “You do not realize the power he has. You have not been here long enough to see how far he can reach. They listen to him. All the mullahs and imams respect him—”

“They do not respect him. They
fear
him.” Daniel felt disgust at his words and let the rancid taste hang for a few seconds. “And that is what we will capitalize on. If we sever the serpent’s head, the carcass will be thrown to the winds.” But even he knew he could not kill Sajjan Takkar. It would betray the memory of Daniel’s father. Somehow. He wasn’t sure how, but the thought had kept him awake more than once.

Aamir’s eyes widened. “Sever…” He shook his head. “No. No, you cannot do this.”

After sipping the vodka, Daniel let the heat of it spill through his body. Drew strength from it and the reaction Aamir had given, convincing him he was indeed on the right path. He would not literally decapitate Takkar, but he would decapitate his ability to control the company so resolutely. And by severing that control, Daniel would also restore the power and strength to China, as his father had long dreamed. “Do you believe in our plan, Aamir?” Glass in hand, Daniel returned to the window. He lifted his phone from his pocket and sent a message.

“You know I do, bu—”

“And do you have what it takes to see this through? Or do I need to find another? One who is not so easily moved by unrealistic fears?”

Standing rigid, Aamir stared at him. “You… you would threaten me?”

Daniel again sipped his vodka. Held it on his tongue then slowly swallowed, allowing the warmth to permeate his being. “Consider it a promise, Aamir.”

A man appeared in the hall, hands folded calmly before him.

“Ah, Nianzu,” Daniel said, motioning to the new arrival. “Aamir, have you met my friend, Lee Nianzu?”

“No.” The Afghan looked pale and terrified. “We—I thought he was dead.”

“As you can see, he is not.” Daniel smiled. “Nianzu has been with me since the beginning. There is not a part of this plan that he is not familiar with.” He turned to his friend. “Please show Aamir the labs.”

After inclining his head, Nianzu stepped back and to the side, holding out a hand. “This way, please.”

With a disconcerted shake of his head, Aamir shot a glance to Daniel. “I would warn you not to act against Takkar. He is too powerful.”

“Why would I act against the man who has allowed me into the company, the one my father and his founded?” Daniel’s animosity hid behind his cloak of civility. “Good-bye, Aamir.”

As the Afghan turned and followed Nianzu, Daniel saw a shape gliding across the hall. Someone had just come in. Kiew. She stopped at the foyer to the living area and watched the two men retreat. Dressed in a red-and-white top and black slacks, she epitomized grace and elegance. Beauty unrefined. Strength. Her brown eyes came to his, filled with concern.

She descended the three stairs into the living area and crossed the cream cashmere rug. Though she hadn’t hurried or rushed, there was an urgency about her somehow. “Are you sure it is wise to”—her gaze slid in the direction the men had left—“take care of things?”

“You question me?”

Kiew lifted her chin and straightened. “Of course not, I only seek to protect our interests. Should some grow suspicious—”

Daniel’s hard laugh silenced her. He dumped back the last of his drink and returned to the bar, where he poured another. “We have them so confused, the right hand does not know what the left is doing.” He added two ice cubes, a luxury here. “What of your appointments?”

Kiew sighed heavily. “You are so confident, but I wish you would for once show some care.”

He walked toward her and ran a hand along her cheek. Then grabbed her neck. She dropped her clutch, gripping his wrists as she knotted her eyebrows.

“Do not tell me what to do, think, or feel,” he hissed. “You do your job and stick to that, and things will be fine. I do not need you.”

“I want only… to help. We… worked so hard.”

“We?”

Her brown eyes glossed with tears, and her face went dark red from the constriction of air.

“This is my plan. My company. My attack.”

She nodded, tears bursting free and slipping down her porcelain cheeks.

He tossed her back.

Kiew wobbled on her heels but steadied herself then bent to retrieve her purse.