Unfaded Glory. Sara Arden

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      They were dangerously close to touching things he’d buried deep and dark. Like wanting to belong, knowing that there was place that was always his—always part of him.

      “Do you miss Kansas?” She interrupted his thoughts.

      “Not hardly. The last view I had of that place was from the back of a police car.” He hadn’t been back since then and never would, if he had his way. He hated the faux piety of small-town life, the shiny picture they painted on the town’s facade to outsiders who didn’t understand there were no opportunities for anything better and there was definitely no forgiveness for your sins. Everyone in a small town lived in a glass house, but they all threw rocks.

      “You were really a little hoodlum, weren’t you?” She laughed, the sound light and happy. If she was anyone else, he’d have thought she was laughing at him. But he could see that she found delight in his delinquency. “All the better for me, I suppose. You wouldn’t have the skills to do your job without it, I imagine.”

      Again they veered too close to things he’d rather not disturb. Hawkins didn’t know what it was about her that dredged every unholy thing to the surface, but she was like a magnet.

      A wise man would decide that it was time to face those things, but Hawkins had never been accused of being a wise man.

      She seemed to sense his discomfort. “I’ve never been to Barcelona. What’s it like?”

      He shrugged. One port was much the same to him as any other. He tried to think of the city with the unabashed awe that the princess would feel. From her questions when they were first at sea to now, she seemed to find joy in the smallest details, fascination with the most banal of things.

      “It’s a major economic center. My cover takes me there often.” He flashed her a grin, thinking of how much she would enjoy a particular hotel. “I know exactly where we can lie low until we can get a flight. I stay at the ABaC sometimes when I’m in town. I have a safety deposit box in the hotel and the staff are discreet.”

      She grinned. “See? My questions were helpful. I’m not just a nuisance.”

      He wanted to tell her that she wasn’t a nuisance, that it wasn’t that at all. But he knew once he started talking, he wouldn’t be able to stop—it would be a tidal wave of confessional bile and she didn’t need to hear all of that. There were things that once they were seen, once they were heard, they lived. They breathed. And they were eternal.

      Like screaming.

      Like blood.

      Like death.

      “I’m sorry we won’t be able to sightsee.”

      “Maybe someday, I’ll be able to travel and see the world. When my people are free, I’ll be free.”

      “My offer still stands.” That would take care of everything. The threat would be neutralized and Damara would be safe.

      “To kill my brother?”

      “Yes.”

      “I can’t. He’s my brother.”

      “Even though he hates you? Even though he’d do any number of things that could be worse than dying to get what he wants from you?”

      She looked up at him, her eyes bright. “Even so.”

      He vowed at that moment that if her plans failed, that was just what he would do. She deserved to be safe. If she hated him for what he’d done, well, so be it. It occurred to him again that was what he was for. He did the jobs that no one else would—or no one else could. And bearing her hate, he could do that, too.

      Resolve hard as stone, he changed the subject again. The port was in sight. “Look over there. It’s Barcelona.”

      She perked up like a tiny wren who’d spotted a succulent worm. The closer they got, the wider her eyes were. “It’s so beautiful, even from here. Are we just going to dock and walk into the city like we didn’t just escape pirates?”

      “Yeah. Why not?” He shrugged and flashed a smirk. “Half of my job requires balls.” There was a slim chance there’d be some of Grisha’s men stationed at the port to watch for them, but he’d have to take that chance. He’d burn that bridge when he had to cross it.

      “Excuse me?” She arched a brow.

      “Balls. You know...guts? Half of it is fake it until I make it. I fake a lot of things a lot of the time. Most of the time, if I act like I know I belong, I’m not questioned.”

      “Even dressed like a guerilla from hell?”

      “Even then. We’ll get a taxi and have him drop us off a few blocks from the hotel. I’ll check in to the penthouse, if it’s available. You need a special key to get on to that floor and that will help with our security.”

      “From a stinky fisherman’s boat to a penthouse suite. This has been an adventure.”

      Her smile didn’t meet her eyes. He could see that she was scared. She’d have to be stupid not to be. Everything was uncertain, and it was likely the Russians were still after them. Even when she got to the States that was possible—even likely.

      “That’s the way to look at it, Princess. An adventure.”

      He maneuvered the boat through the port, dodging larger ships and other crafts until he found an abandoned slip and docked.

      “You ready to go?”

      She bit her lip and nodded.

      “Just think about the room service. It’s exquisite.”

      “I am hungry. I could eat a goat.”

      “I don’t think they have any goat.”

      “Lamb?” she asked hopefully.

      “Most definitely.” He thought of the garlic-roasted lamb he’d had on his last trip. It had been so good his mouth watered even now. “But it’ll make your mouth stink like a dead—well, it will give you bad breath.” His comparison to a dead body wasn’t exactly fodder for royal ears.

      “Good to know. I’ll brush my teeth before I kiss anyone.”

      The idea of her kissing anyone but him didn’t sit well. Not at all. But it wasn’t his place to say anything about it.

      Things happened just as he’d said they would.

      They disembarked from the small boat and walked up the dock and through the marina and no one said a word to them. It was as if people did such things all the time. It wouldn’t be too long, though, before they found the boat and discovered its owners were nowhere near Barcelona. The boat would be impounded and dusted for prints; there would be an investigation.

      Although by then, Byron hoped they’d be long gone.

      He had no trouble getting a taxi, and it dropped them at the hotel. He always kept a variety of monies on him, and he had just enough euros to tip well without being overly generous.

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