Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) (35 page)

He had to believe heartache came for her before the relief. Heartache because he knew she had fallen in love. Relief because she never wanted to feel that much for anyone. Not that she was going to confirm it, or deny it.

“Great,” she said, a punch of sarcasm delivered with the word. “You needed the insight. Glad I provided it to you.”

“Thank you for that gift. Now, I also goddamn-well understand why we personally have nowhere to go from here.”

“Your choice,” she said, her cheeks flushed red.

“Not really a choice. I’m damn happy for the symbolism on your ring finger, because that big rock is a pretty constant reminder of things gone wrong. That goddamn diamond is my kryptonite. If you’re going to marry him, I’m done. Do your open marriage thing. I won’t pretend to understand that and trust me, I’m not lining up to be a part of it. Got it?”

She shot him a fulminating look. “I
am
marrying him.”

“Fine. Done.” He shifted in his seat, pressed the arrow down button on his laptop, pretended to stare at words that could just as well have been Mandarin, a language he did not understand, and glanced back at her. “Stop acting like marrying him isn’t a choice. It is a decision that you’re willingly making.”

“I fully realize I’m making a choice. Even you had a choice,” she said, her low whisper sounding more like a hiss than fully articulated words. She unfastened her seat belt, and stood. “You made a choice seven years ago.”

“No. I had no choice. I had to marry her,” he said. “Especially since you weren’t asking me to stay. And especially when I was giving you an out, gift-wrapped with a fucking bow on it, so you didn’t have to claim responsibility for being relieved. Have you even admitted that to yourself? That you were relieved? Which means you have no right to feel wronged by what happened.”

Standing in the aisle, Sam folded her arms, and glanced down at him. “Fine. I admit it. I was relieved when you left me. I’ll also be relieved when this damn trial is over so we can both get on with our lives. And…” She drew a deep breath, her eyes glistened with moisture that he knew she was going to will away before the first tear fell, and said, “I’m sorry that it has to be this way.”

“Save your apology. Don’t need it. What you’re not understanding is I’ve given up. Get it? I’m going cold turkey. I fold. Understand? I’m done. Giving up on you, on us, on what we could be.”

She had the fucking nerve to look surprised, cheeks flushed red, before she turned away from him. But for the gut-wrenching feeling of regret that came with things that had gone wrong, he almost laughed as she strode down the aisle to the small galley.
Dammit
, but she’d gotten her apology in, and she didn’t seem to care whether he accepted it.

He closed his laptop, stood, found a pillow and a blanket in an overhead compartment, and reclined in his chair. He needed sleep and he was damn well going to get it.

Before shutting his eyes, in his peripheral vision he watched as Sam returned to her chair, nibbling on finger sandwiches and barbequed potato chips as she opened her laptop, and settled in for work.

Gabe is right.
She’s a goddamn velociraptor. The twenty-first century version of the man-eating monster, giving new meaning to the war cry of ‘I am woman, hear me fucking roar.’ In control of everything, even her emotions, and determined to thrive in a world where old-fashioned notions of love were meaningless.

He shut his eyes tight, blocking out the vision of her, and pushed his head deep into the pillow.

She might love me with every fiber of her being, but she isn’t going to admit it. Not to herself, not to me. The reasons why? Goddamn irrelevant, because the rule of survival of the fittest created this highly evolved, modern-day version of a female with a cast-iron will that will allow her to fight anything she feels.

I fully understand—because, damn Gabe, correct again—I’m just like her. Except with her. Thanks for the reminder, Gabe, because I’m cured.

I’m fine.

I’m over her.

He promised himself that the beautiful monster sitting across the aisle from him had taken the last bite he’d give her of his bloody, ripped-to-shreds heart.

Chapter Thirty-One

Aboard Raven One, over the Atlantic Ocean

Tuesday, February 8

A not-so-gentle shake on his shoulder roused Zeus. “Sir.”

The captain was in the aisle next to his chair, crouched down to eye level. Most of the lights in the cabin were off. Floor lights were on. A reading light had been left on midway down the aisle. It made the entire cabin dim, not dark. Sam was in her fully-reclined chair, head on a pillow and nestled under a blanket, turned towards the wall. Only her sleek ponytail was visible.

Sitting up, he glanced at his watch as he stretched his arms over his head. He’d been asleep for two and a half hours. The jet was steady. No turbulence. The low hum of jet engines sounded normal. It was climbing, though, and banking left. There was no need for a mid-Atlantic course change, or for the captain to be waking him, unless something was wrong. “Mechanical problems?”

“No.” The captain—Agent Phillip Canwell, five years in Black Raven—had a look of concern in his eyes that was serious enough to tell Zeus there was big trouble.

“But we’re altering course?”

“Yes. Miami.”

No!

‘‘Ragno’s on the satellite phone.” Canwell placed the satellite phone receiver in Zeus’s hand, then continued down the aisle, rousing Jenkins, Miles, and Deal.

“Ragno?”

“Zeus, brace yourself.” The concern in her voice pinged off of his spine, sending shock waves that reverberated in his brain.

He watched his team go from dead sleep to instant attention as Canwell’s words registered. Jenkins stood, and walked up the aisle with the captain, to Zeus. They flanked him in the aisle, one on either side, a show of support for the bad news that had yet to be delivered.

Zeus knew.

Maximov’s organization was cherry picking. Going after families of those involved in the ITT proceedings, and twice over the last week, Zeus had been the star of the goddamn show—first, when cameras had caught him running through the streets of Paris with Sam in his arms and then when he’d thrown the suicide bomber off the bridge.

From the back of the plane, Miles and Deal, both standing, cast him glances that were full of unmasked concern. Sam stirred, turned over, and rested her eyes on him. She sat up, immediately, without a trace of sleepiness.

“Goddammit. Tell me.”

“Ana’s been kidnapped.”

“GPS?” He choked out the question. He’d chipped his daughter with the same type of chip he’d put in Sam.

“Not detectable.”

He gasped for air. Whoever had her knew what the fuck they were doing.

“Are you with me?”

“Yes,” he managed the outright lie. Being able to utter an automatic response wasn’t the same as being ready to handle the news with his usual equanimity, his unparalleled ability to park his emotions and feelings on a back burner.

“At 1955 Eastern time—”

As though self-control hadn’t ruled every single fucking day of his life after his father’s death—except those days involving Sam—as Ragno spoke, Zeus’s world became a chilling blur of horror. His vision narrowed until all he could see was a pinhole, which gave him nothing on which he could focus. Mentally, he was alone and in darkness, lurching and tumbling in the ice-cold, ink-black night that covered the Atlantic. A place where Ragno’s words had no meaning. Where nothing had meaning.

He didn’t know when he stood, but knew when his knuckles punched into the hard wood that lined the cabin of Raven One, a sleek and beautiful landing for the fury that came with his fist. Again. And again. He tried hard to feel the pain that each hit caused, because it gave him something to focus on that was different from the horror that was playing out in his head.

“Sir.” Jenkins’s plea wasn’t enough to stop him, because when he looked into the man’s eyes, and the eyes of his other agents, they mirrored his own abject fear.

His agents knew how much could go wrong. They, like him, had seen too much evil in the world and knew that a six-year-old girl was no match for it. Thinking of the countless jobs where things went wrong, no matter how perfectly Black Raven performed, he punched harder at the wall, throwing his body into the effort.

Captain Canwell, Jenkins, and the other agents spoke words designed to calm him, but the words had no meaning, because he was lost, free-floating in space to a time where he was holding his baby girl in the palm of his hand, minutes after her birth, wondering how he could’ve been involved in creating such a tiny miracle. Knowing, that if he only did one more thing in his life that amounted to anything, it was to make sure that his girl grew into an adult who could stand on her own two feet and handle whatever life threw her way.

He’d failed.

Oh God.

Is she already dead?

Bile rose up from his gut and choked him. If not dead, she had to be terrified. His baby. He had to get to her. Had to. But he was hours away from landing and he didn’t have the capability of sitting on the jet, waiting to land, powerless to take action.

Strong arms tried to restrain him. They couldn’t. He threw them off of him. Hammer fisting into glistening wood, he pushed Jenkins away from him. Howling with fury, his mind snapped to his last sight of her. She wore a party dress with a red ribbon in her inky-dark hair. They were at Sebastian and Skye’s wedding in New Orleans. He’d left from there on Raven One and gone directly to Paris, leaving Agent Martel to get Ana safely home. When he’d finished the hiring call from Ragno for Sam’s job, he’d gone back into the reception hall.

Ana had been sitting at a table, waiting on him, so she could give him the piece of chocolate cake she’d gotten for him. She’d gotten a slice for herself and had waited to eat with him. As his fist connected, once again, with shiny wood, he could taste the lush sweetness of the dark cake.

He remembered telling her not to eat too much icing, but gave up when he tasted the creamy, smooth richness of it. After all, good chocolate didn’t give his baby girl a stomachache. He could see the light in her eyes when he’d played dueling forks with her for the last bite of her piece. He’d let her have it, along with the final forkful of his. Her skinny arms had wrapped around his neck for their goodbye hug, her soft lips had kissed his cheek, and she’d promised in her best good-girl voice to do her homework, right before she’d said,
“I love you, Daddy.”

Ana.
Gone.
Ana.
Taken.

Darkness swirled around him, with octopus-like tendrils of fire becoming rope that grabbed hold of reason and logic. Someone placed a light, but firm hand on his shoulder. It felt different than the hands of his agents.

He turned, and glanced into clear, calm green eyes that imparted the thought that if he didn’t fight the sticky, burning tendrils that were pulling him further and further into hell, they’d yank him to a depth from which there’d be no escape.

It was a place he wouldn’t be able to help Ana.

“Zeus,” she said. “Breathe. Slowly. One. Two. Three. Now hold it.”

He knew she was trying to help him, but he couldn’t focus. So much fear infected his brain that there was no room for Sam’s urgent words, or any action to take from them.

“Come on, Zeus. Just like you taught me to do. Give me a deep breath in.” She was kneeling on the floor, her hands on a portable oxygen mask that she was trying to put in his hand. He had no memory of sitting, but he was on his ass, between the A seat and the door that led to the cockpit. His back was against the door of the jet.

Staring into her eyes, he inhaled.

“Good. Hold it. One—Two—Three—Hold it. Now exhale. Slowly.”

His left hand felt like mush, as though he’d pounded it against a steel wall.

“You’re going to find her. But first you have to think. Take this, put it on, and breathe. Inhale. Make it deep.”

He focused on the strength in Sam’s eyes. Unlike his agents, Sam gave him a solid, steady gaze that told him she had faith he was someone who could right this horrific wrong. He took the oxygen mask, placed it over his nose and mouth, drew a breath, and tried to make it deep.

She nodded. “Good. One—Two—Three—Hold it. Now exhale. Slowly.”

Her gaze locked on his. Her hands squeezed his forearms.

“Stay with me, Zeus. We’ll be in Miami in three hours. Or we’ll go wherever there are leads. You need to be able to think. You’ve got an entire company scrambling to find her right now, along with law enforcement. Black Raven is the best, and you’re the best of the best.” Her eyes told him she believed what she was saying. “Breathe. Okay?”

Ana.
Unimaginable. Gone.
Ana.
Taken.

“Breathe. Come on. Inhale with me. Purse your lips, breathe in deep. One—Two—Three—Hold it.”

She was using the calming technique he’d used with her in Paris. It fucking scared the crap out of him to realize how badly he’d lost it, how badly he needed to get a grip, how badly he needed help so that he could…think. Rationally. He breathed with Sam, letting the oxygen fill his lungs.

“You’re smarter than whoever took her. By a long shot. You’re the smartest person I know, and I know a hell of a lot of smart people. Do you understand that?”

Firm conviction in her eyes told him she believed what she was saying. For that, he’d always love her. No matter who she married.

“One—Two—Three—Hold it. When you put your mind on a task, you achieve it. You need to focus, get the facts, and you will think of a way to rescue her. Now exhale.”

With each breath of oxygen-infused air, he was able to wrap the logic of his mind around the horror that had become his life. That he found solace in the strength of the woman who had broken his heart was just part of how off-kilter things were in his life.

“Okay, now breathe in again,” Sam said. “Long. Slow. One. Two. Hold it.”

He nodded, slowly finding his equilibrium, and glancing at Jenkins and Captain Canwell, who were standing right behind Sam. The captain held a full syringe in his right hand, needle exposed, his thumb on the business end of the plunger. Lorazepam. A serious dose that would’ve done the trick to calm down a wild stallion, or anyone in the throes of a full-fledged anxiety-induced rage. It was standard issue in Black Raven in-flight first aid kits, because Black Raven business came with serious fall-out. Usually, though, it wasn’t the agents who needed the tranquilizer.

Moving the mask to the side for a second, he nodded to Canwell. “You can pack that up. I’m past the detour into oblivion. Won’t be beating the walls of the jet any longer.”

“We weren’t worried about the walls, sir,” Jenkins gestured with his chin to the door handle. “You were close to the door handle. Didn’t know if you were going to try to open the door and Superman it.”

As that sunk in, Zeus shut his eyes for a second, making a mental note that Black Raven had to better train agents—and himself—for this exact situation. The evil that was now pervasive in the world guaranteed that this type of situation would happen, again, to someone, somewhere, in relation to some job that had turned to shit.

“Can’t say any of us would have acted differently,” Jenkins added.

“Put the satellite phone feed on the intercom.” Mentally distancing himself from the feelings that came with being the father of a daughter in peril and forcing himself to think calmly about the situation, he took a few more oxygen-assisted breaths as he waited.

With Canwell’s nod, he put the mask to the side and let go of Sam’s hand, which he’d been holding, without realizing it, in a steely death grip. He stood, gave her his hand, and pulled her up, mouthing a ‘thank you’ to her as he did. “Ragno?”

“Here.”

“Zeus. Sebastian here. I’m en route. Was working remotely near New Orleans. Wheels were up five minutes ago. One hour forty minutes away from landing in Miami. I’ll take the lead.” He drew a deep breath. “Won’t let you take the helm so don’t argue. Until I get there, Agent Blackwell is lead agent on the ground. He’s on the call.”

“Hello, sir. Standing by.”

Blackwell was second in command on the Ana/Theresa security detail. Zeus himself had approved the parameters of the detail, once they’d adjusted on Thursday to include Ana’s three-times a week, including Monday evening, dance classes.

On this Monday evening, at 1940 Eastern time, Zeus knew that Blackwell had been scheduled to be with Theresa, who’d had an evening of parent-teacher conferences planned at the school where she taught. The school where Ana went was also in Coconut Grove, just five blocks from Las Munequitas Dance Academy. Dance school was supposed to end at 1930, and from the dance school the team was supposed to take Ana to Theresa. From Theresa’s school the two vehicles were to convoy for the drive to Fisher Island, where Theresa and Ana lived. Their condo was in the same building as his. That way, when he was in town, Ana was free to pop in at any time, even on days that technically weren’t his days with her pursuant to the custody decree.

I’ll die without her.

Can’t think like that.

Agent Martel—Nanny Vick to Ana, so much like family she’d become simply Vick to Zeus—was first in command. Her absence from the call became deafening. “Vick?”