It's Always Been You (23 page)

She punched Travis on the shoulder. “You could have been killed!”

“Confident in me much?” Travis muttered.

“We should’ve just run.”

“A SEAL never retreats—”

“Newsflash, Travis. You’re not a SEAL anymore. You’re my husband. And tactically, that was stupid.”

Travis ran his fingers on one side of her face, his expression rueful. “I’m an ass.”

“What?”

“If I’d known what had happened to you, I wouldn’t have fucked you so callously just now. I’m so sorry, Cat.”

Remorse leached through his skin, making her want him to know she was okay. More than okay. She hopped down from her perch and wrapped her arms around his neck. He wouldn’t look at her, so she grabbed his chin so he would.
 

“I loved what happened between us just now; don’t even think that I didn’t. You’re right. I do like rough sex.” His eyes flared, so she continued, “I’ll love it more if you make me come.” Warmth started to replace the haunted look on his face. “Tell you what, Trav. Let’s take a shower together, and then you’ll let me take care of that gash on your face, and then I’ll let you have me again. But this time, I’m coming first.”

“You got yourself a deal, sunshine girl.”

*****

“First thing we’re gonna do when we get back to DC is get you a wedding ring.”

It was early morning, and the sun was just breaking out on the horizon. They were both awake and Caitlin was lying in the crook of his arm. He raised their entwined fingers, studying how her left hand was resting in his right and lamenting the fact her fingers were bare.
 

He already had the diamond ring. He picked one out himself. He had been apprehensive about giving it to her, not wanting to spook her. But after the misunderstanding last night, he’d be insisting she wear his ring. They were getting married again, too. Caitlin was his wife. End of story. The sooner she became Caitlin Blake, the more settled he’d be about their relationship.

“Hmm . . . mm,” Caitlin mumbled.

Travis lowered his gaze on her blonde head. “I’m serious, babe. None of this mistaken shit of you being unmarried.”

“Okay, Travis.”

His brow shot up. That was too easy.

“And as soon as I can arrange it, we’re getting married again and making you officially Caitlin Blake,” he added.

Her body stiffened. Okay, maybe he was going too fast. But damn it, couldn’t she see how perfect they were for each other? She hadn’t admitted she was in love with him yet, and that was the root of all his insecurities. He was insanely and irrevocably in love with her, while she was still making up her mind.

“Maybe someday,” she added finally.

“Too pushy?” It was a good thing Travis was a morning person.
 

“Yes.”

“I love you, Caitlin.”

She splayed her fingers against his and snuggled closer. “More than halfway there, Travis.”

He could accept that for now.

*****

Travis smiled as he watched Caitlin salivate over the plate of buttermilk pancakes that was set before her. A syrupy consistency of peach honey compote was lavishly drizzled on top. Her eyes shifted excitedly to the plate holding an assortment of artisan breakfast sausages. A crusty boule sat on the rustic cutting board.
 

“I’m going to gain ten pounds in a week,” Caitlin gushed to the innkeeper, Ms. Betty, who just brought in a carafe of freshly brewed coffee.

“Heavens, dear. You need to put on some weight,” Ms. Betty replied. She was a tiny lady, not quite five feet. She was a retired schoolteacher whose dream was to hold on to the Bluebell Bed and Breakfast—a family estate home. The market crash of the 1930’s had brought the place to disarray. The family slowly renovated the home to what it was today. Much had changed. Most of the estate became the small town of Iron Ridge, and the main street passed right in front of the B&B.

“I agree,” Travis said. “Although, I wonder where you store everything you eat. I swear you eat as much as I do.”

Caitlin flashed him an indignant look. “Well, I’m not the one with zero body fat!”

“I like your fat. It’s in all the right places.”
 

“If that’s your idea of flattery, you’ve got a lot to learn,” Caitlin fired back, but there was a merry glint in her eyes.
 

Travis sighed. He really had to stop behaving like a lovesick puppy. He couldn’t help it. Every nuance of her, every action, every pucker of her forehead, and God, every smile, simply tugged at his heart. Every. Single. Time.

“So what are you lovebirds planning today?” Ms. Betty asked.
 

“What do you want to do, Cat?”

“I noticed several shops when we rolled in yesterday.” Turning to the innkeeper, Caitlin asked, “Any place you’d suggest?”

“There’s an artisan shop that features pottery, blown glass, and metal work. I’d recommend checking that out first. Their pieces are one of a kind and made by our local artists.” She looked at Travis. “If you’re a fan of World War II antiques, the outskirts of town has a man that sells them. Town’s eclectic.”

Sounded like it, Travis figured. War and peace. War vets and the hippies.

 
Ms. Betty’s brows furrowed. “I’m glad you folks decided to stay after the trouble at Foster Bar last night. Sorry about that.”

“S’all good,” Travis replied. “Why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault.”

“I watched that boy Duke grow up. He’s a good kid. Careful about that sister of his though. She’s a wily one. She brings in this posse of club women from other counties and they’re the ones starting the trouble for the locals. Hear she took a shine to you last night.” Betty nodded to Caitlin before looking at Travis. “Fine lady you have here, don’t know why Bella thinks you’d take a bite.”

Fuck. That was one tiny detail he forgot to tell Caitlin.
 

The innkeeper left the breakfast room, unaware of the bomb she’d just dropped. And hoping Caitlin had not picked up on that was wishful thinking.

“Duke’s sister hit on you?” Caitlin asked a little too casually.

“Yes. It was nothing,” Travis said, taking a sip of coffee. “See, I even forgot about it.”

“It seems like
something
if even the innkeeper, who was not at the bar last night, already heard about it by 8:00 a.m. the following day.”

“Small town. You’re getting worked up about nothing.”
 

“You overreact about everything. I asked you this simple question. You get defensive and say I’m getting worked up.”

He considered what she said. He did overreact. A lot. “Caitlin, I’m really sorry I didn’t mention it to you. I don’t want to fight about this.”

“We’re not fighting; we’re having a discussion.”
 

Travis tried not to grin as Caitlin shoved a spoonful of pancake into her mouth and chewed angrily. He was oddly pleased that she appeared to be jealous because that would mean she cared enough to feel that way. Jealousy was a ploy he didn’t like using though, because he knew how hurtful the feeling could be, and how easily it could backfire.

“I wish you’d been honest with me,” she added when Travis didn’t say anything.

“Caitlin, this has nothing to do with my honesty or my faithfulness,” Travis said. “It slipped my mind. She came on to me, yes, but that was nothing compared to what almost happened to you.”

“Hmm . . .” She took another bite of pancake, lost in deep thought.
 

He decided to say no more. The more he tried to defend his innocent omission of events yesterday, the more likely he’d be to put his foot in his mouth.
 

“I don’t like this feeling,” Caitlin murmured finally.

Shit. What now?

“What, babe?”

“I don’t like women coming on to you; it makes me jealous.” She eyed him possessively. “I get where you’re coming from now.”

Thank Christ. No games. Just the simple truth. God, how he loved her.

Travis covered her hand and gave it a squeeze. “No one else for me but you, babe. They can strip naked in front of me, and it’ll be like I have blinders on.”

Caitlin rolled her eyes. “Jeez, let’s not exaggerate.” She stared at his plate. “You gonna eat that?”

*****

Olga Milekhin parked her vehicle near the entrance to a hiking trail in Kienberg Park located east of Berlin. It was mostly deserted on the weekends since the businesses around the area were closed. She exited her car and walked up the unpaved path, her heart beating hard against her breastbone.
 

They had Pavlo. Her husband called her the day before, and it was implied that if she wouldn’t cooperate and meet the associate of whoever had him, she would never see her husband again. She couldn’t afford to lose him, too.

She spotted her contact seated on a bench that faced the rolling hills of the park. As she neared, Olga noted the man was dressed impeccably in a custom-made Italian suit, and his shoes were patent leather Oxfords. His dark hair was longish and curled at his nape, and his eyes were shielded by black-framed sunglasses. The man she was meeting was no underling.
 

Without another word, Olga sat beside him and asked, “How’s Pavlo?”

“He’s in good hands, Ms. Milekhin.” The man’s deep-timbered voice had a commanding presence. She found herself believing him.

“Who . . . do you work for?”

“The Zorin Bratva.”

Oh, God. What did she get herself into?

“You’re . . .”

“You know me as the Angel of Death.”

“Dmitry Yerzov,” she whispered, fear seizing her entire body. Belatedly, she realized she had unconsciously moved away from him.
 

“That’s right. I’m their enforcer, among other things. Now that you know who I am, let me tell you what I need.” Yerzov waved his hand as if impatient to move things along. “You have a kill code for a contract on Caitlin Kincaid’s head.”

“Those transactions are supposed to be secure,” Olga said, spirit returning to her voice.

His smile turned shark-like. “Nothing escapes our eyes, Ms. Milekhin. Twenty-five grand is not going to get the job done. What kind of professional do you think you’re going to get? You’ll only interest the bottom feeders who have no idea how to do the job cleanly.”

Olga considered this for a minute before saying, “What are you proposing?”

“Do not deploy the kill code to create the contract yet. We need something from Ms. Kincaid—”

“Other than the hundred million she owed my brother?” Yerzov just stared at her so she continued, “And you’re paying me just to delay the kill code? That’s all? Because no amount of money will be enough to dissuade me from killing her.”

Dmitry stared at her. “Not even twenty five million?”

Olga’s eyes widened; her jaw dropped open. “How much exactly is stored in that woman’s head?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. So what’s it going to be?”

“Fifty million,” Olga said with a surge of bravado. “But she’s still dead.”

Yerzov took off his glasses to reveal whiskey-colored eyes that had flecks of gold. They were narrowed at her, pinning her with a piercing stare. “Greed will get you killed. Didn’t you know that?”

Fear clawed up her throat; she wanted to flee. She could almost feel the garrote, the rumored weapon of choice of the Angel of Death, tightening around her neck. “You kill me, that kill code deploys and you can’t stop it. I’ll have to disable it every twelve hours.”

She was smart enough to put a retaliation clause that would guard against her own assassination.

“Thirty-five million and you leave Ms. Kincaid alone.”

Olga started shaking her head. “It’s not the money, don’t you get it? I don’t care if I don’t get a dime. But I’ll agree to thirty-five million so I can buy the services of the best assassin out there.”
And disappear
.

“Very well.” Dmitry put his shades back on. “My comrade will get in touch with you to transfer the money. We will keep you apprised of when to expect the transfer.”

“How long?”

“Three weeks.”

Olga nodded.

“We will not meet again, Olga Milekhin.”
 

Olga watched Dmitry Yerzov, the Angel of Death of the Zorin Bratva, rise from the bench and walk away.

*****

Dmitry got into his late model Mercedes convertible and pulled away from Kienberg park. He punched a number on his cell phone.

“Belov,” Leonid Belov, his computer-hacker expert, answered the phone. He was also holding Pavlo Milekhin in custody.

“Any updates on the Hephaestus-Carpathian files?”

“No. Blake took Caitlin out of town yesterday.”

Dmitry cursed. Blake was becoming a big problem.

“Did they take the laptop with them?”

Good thing they had a locator backup plan. Their tracking device had been fried when BSI ran a threat scan on the laptop.

“Yes, but so far I’m not showing any activity,” Belov replied. “I’ve tracked down their location using the coordinates returned by the geo-positioning software that self-installed from the USB drive. They’re in the Southwest Virginia town of Iron Ridge.”

“On a fucking vacation,” Dmitry muttered. “We need to flush them out of that town. I doubt Olga Milekhin will wait more than three weeks and Grigori grows impatient. Buyers are lined up.”

Grigori was the Pakhan of the Zorin Bratva.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Do we have any contacts with any organized crime players out there?”

“The town is protected by an MC and the local sheriff. We can’t stage anything obvious; otherwise Blake or Caitlin will realize we’re tracking them.”

“Understood. But tell me you have a plan.”

“We have some connections to a Latino gang several towns over. I’ll see if we can bribe anyone to cause trouble.”

“Sounds like you have everything under control.”

Dmitry disconnected and headed back to Berlin.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Caitlin made a beeline for the artisan craft store that Ms. Betty had mentioned. Southwest Virginia was well known for its Heartwood Initiative that supported talented artists of all types of media.