Men-of-Action-Seres-04 -Saints and Sinners Read online

  Sully hadn't noticed before that she was barefoot. She didn't blame that on a lack of observation because when Mr. Chavez was holding her at knife point she noticed he had fully assessed the situation. No, he hadn't noticed her lack of shoes because her pants were more than an inch too long and depending on the way she stood the hem fell just over the tip of her toes. He probably assumed she was wearing sandals, which meant he probably assumed she was the typical unprepared city girl.

  "Sit down."

  She didn't protest his choice of words; she simply sat on the rock beside her, happy in the brief reprieve he had allowed her. He knelt beside her, roughly took her ankle in his hand and pulled her leg up so that the bottom of her foot was visible to him. She had to brace her hands on the edge of the rock to keep from falling backwards.

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  "You're bleeding."

  "You shot me."

  "Your foot is bleeding," he countered.

  "Oh. That explains a lot." She looked up to the trees. She could barely see the sky above, just a hint of light still peeking through the leaves made her surroundings visible. Sully seemed to be doing just fine with vision even if she wasn't. She watched as he pulled tweezers from his pocket and commenced snatching shards of pebble and wood from her feet. "Ouch," she tried to jerk her foot back, but he held on with a death grip.

  "Be still."

  "Easy for you to say," yet she tried to sit still, flinching only at the harshest pain. He pulled a bandage from another pocket and wrapped her foot before carrying out the same treatment on her left foot. When he was finished he stood, towering over her.

  "We need to keep moving."

  She sighed in desperation before willing her legs to help support the rest of her body.

  "It won't be much longer. We're almost there."

  She didn't know where "there" was, but she was glad she was almost to it. She wasn't a weak woman by most counts. She spent three days a week rock climbing indoors and outdoors. She danced four days a week, Tango, Salsa, anything that got her cardio up and kept her interest Saints and Sinners 14

  longer than five minutes. She was in shape, but for some reason this walk seemed like a lifetime hike.

  Alaina stood up straight, shook the tired, desperate feelings from her mind and nodded her consent. She would not be the weak link in the equation. No matter his reason for being incessantly rude to her, Sully had saved her life. He had rescued her from the hut and he was guiding her to safety. The least she could do was try to make his job easier.

  His rapport hadn't changed. He was still as silent as he was before.

  She had just tuned into herself and locked herself away in her own thoughts. As a child, when her father had business to attend to, she would sit in his office and draw or shoot with the little pink 110 camera he had given her. After she had exhausted those activities she would sit on the floor and think about nothing in particular. She never wanted to disrupt him, she just wanted to sit and be with him. In her mind he really was the only parent she had. Her mother was never interested in her as a child. She wasn't even sure Liz wanted her. It wasn't Liz's work that was the problem. Working women had children and somehow they managed to fit it all in. She went to school with children who had mothers who worked, but still managed to take interest in their grades, their homework, even their life. Liz never seemed to do that, and after Alaina's father was murdered things got worse.

  Liz had taken her out of school and opted for home schooling.

  Alaina liked home schooling, but she missed having somebody to talk with. She hated the first nanny, even the second, but the third nanny Capri Montgomery 15

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  showed promise and even she didn't last long. By the time Alaina turned fourteen she was staying home by herself, cooking her own meals, and the only thing she had for company was her art. On some level she was thankful for her isolation. Had she had friends in the neighborhood, or gone to school, she wouldn't have spent as much time as she did perfecting her craft.

  She tried to see the positive. She never wanted for anything other than love. Her art supplies were provided, food was always on the shelves and in the refrigerator. The bills were always paid, and when she turned sixteen she received a little Ford pickup truck. Of course Liz had found a way to get even that gift mentioned in the paper, and somehow the woman who was "single handedly raising a child after the murder of her husband, and running a major intelligence agency," had managed to seem like she should be nominated for mother of the year. Alaina never complained; she simply counted the days until her eighteenth birthday when she could strike out on her own. She had saved money, had work shown in student art shows and emerging artists shows throughout the country all so that she could be prepared to live without financial assistance from her mother once she was legally able to leave home.

  She finished school at sixteen, and two years later she left for Seattle. Washington was far away from her mother and even farther away from the chaos that her mother's job seemed to bring into her life. At twenty-four she moved to New York where she spent most of her time working as an artist and instructing seminars at art schools throughout the Saints and Sinners 16

  state. By the time she reached twenty-eight she was ready to move on again and that's when she found home. Portland Maine had been her father's favorite place to vacation and being there made her feel closer to him somehow. Between art shows and seminars she hadn't broken out of her shell. She truly was an island all of her own making. And then, Troy Christianson came into her life and she felt as if she had found what she had silently been searching for.

  Troy wasn't drop dead gorgeous like some of the models she had worked with in New York, but he was smart, and funny, and a little brazen. He had been covering an art exhibit her pieces were being featured in and he wasted no time in introducing himself. He strolled over at a leisurely pace and stopped near inches from her before saying, "I'm Troy Christianson, reporter for The Daily News. I cover entertainment for now, but I'm working my way up to the hard stories, murder, conspiracy theories, aliens." He laughed.

  "Well I'm not a murderer, and as far as I know I'm not an alien, but as you can tell from some of my work I have plenty of conspiracy theories to keep you busy." She laughed, he laughed and from there the relationship took off at an alarming rate. He had been trying to assure her he was ambitious, with goals and he wasn't trying to get in on her money, but she never once even considered the possibility that he was. He had blue eyes, short cut blonde hair, and at five foot nine he seemed safe. He was neither muscular nor skinny, fat nor perfectly lean. He wasn't her type, although she didn't really know she had one.

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  There was something about him that took hold of her heart and he became her world outside of the one she had created within herself. And then he too died, too soon and too young. He had left her life as abruptly as her father had—without warning, without reason.

  Troy was the first person in her life, since her dad, that she felt actually cared about her, loved her. It wasn't that he listened when she talked, although he did do that. It wasn't that he cooked her dinner, although he did that too. It was how supportive he was, how freely he shared his world with her and how incredibly at peace he made her feel.

  She loved him. For the first time, in a long time, she remembered what love felt like, and how much she missed having love in her life. When he died she felt that empty, lonely feeling again. She immersed herself in her work in an effort to move on, and she did move on. She still missed him, she still missed being loved the way he loved her, but she filled that void with her art and it somehow made everything else in her life feel bearable.

  Being held captive was her wakeup call. She needed something more in her life than work. She was in essence becoming a nicer version of her mother. She wasn't neglecting a family; she was neglecting herself, her needs. Work wasn't all there was to life, no matter how much she loved
what she did. She needed to make friends, to date, maybe even fall in love again. Two years was a long time to grieve, it was time to allow herself to open her heart again. When she got home she would try to remind herself of that promise.

  "Are you okay?"

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  The low rumble of Sully's voice pulled her back into the here and now. "I'm fine," she stammered. He had actually initiated dialogue and for once it didn't involve barking orders, insulting her or threatening bodily harm.

  "You haven't opened your mouth in fifteen minutes; I thought something was wrong."

  Was that an insult? Of course it was, but she refused to acknowledge it as one. "You've made it perfectly clear you don't want to talk with me. I'm capable of holding a one sided conversation in my own head, I don't need to verbalize it when there's no hint of the possibility for a two way conversation." Although they were having one of those two way conversations right this moment.

  He grunted again. She silenced her voice again, and they walked onward even with night falling. She wanted to sleep, but sleep could wait.

  Sleep would have to wait because Sully showed no sign of stopping for the night. She understood his determination to move forward. Stopping now could be the difference between life and death. She was sure Mr.

  Chavez's men were still trying to find them. They had no doubt figured out by now that they hadn't returned to the river. His men may have been far behind, but she had little doubt that they were indeed behind them. She would walk as long as she could. If she and Sully hadn't reached his destination point by the time her legs gave out then he would either have to stop for a couple hours or he would have to carry her.

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  He pushed past a slender branch so sharply that it snapped back so fast and it smacked her in the face. The impact startled her briefly, but instead of giving him the satisfaction of complaining, she simply pushed the limb out of her way and moved onward. Were all government employees that mean? All the ones she had encountered had been, but then again she had only really dealt with two of them. Her mother didn't exactly bring people from the office home with her, and Alaina hadn't exactly made an effort to meet any of them on her own. She doubted that they could all be so heartless, which meant it was just her bad luck.

  It wasn't long after the sun vanished and the sky started to lose that last hint of light when they reached a clear stretch of land surrounded by hills. Alaina leaned over and braced herself by placing her hands on her thighs. Tired wasn't exactly the word she would have used to describe how she felt. She wasn't sure she could go another step.

  "I thought you said we were almost there."

  "See that hill?" He pointed directly in front of them.

  "Yeah." The light was barely there, but even drunk she wouldn't have been able to miss seeing the hill in front of them.

  "We have to get over that."

  "Oh, that's all? I can do that." She straightened up and walked beside him. She just had to get up the hill; that couldn't be too difficult given how much she had already been through. It wasn't exactly a small hill, but knowing she just needed to get over the hill made it seem doable.

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  Would they be leaving the area by car or helicopter? She wasn't sure. She was only sure that they were close, too close to give up.

  With great pain she climbed the hill with him. On occasion he would look back to her to make sure she was still behind him, but never once had he offered a hand up. Perhaps she was glad he hadn't. On some small level she didn't want to need anything else from him. She didn't want to be beholding to him for anything and so far she already was indebted to him for her life.

  He looked back to her once more. "Just keep going."

  For the first time she realized she was falling farther behind him.

  Mentally she gave herself the standard pep talk. You're almost there. You can do it. At some point not even her pep talk was working.

  "Typical woman," he snapped.

  "You know your search and rescue demeanor could use some work. You're rude, hostile, rude."

  "You already said rude."

  "And not to mention the fact that nowhere, in any manual, would it ever tell the rescuer to shoot the hostage." She stomped up the hill the best she could. She was determined to catch up with him and when she did he was going to get the full brunt of her anger.

  "You sure about that?"

  "Positive." Actually she wasn't sure of anything. It wasn't exactly as if she had read the book on hostage negotiations, but she was fairly Capri Montgomery 21

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  confident that getting the hostage released did not include shooting him or her.

  "You're insufferable, the most insufferable man I have ever met in my entire life." She huffed as she finally reached him. "You're—"

  "At the top," he said.

  She looked out ahead of them. She had made the climb thanks to him. He hadn't held her hand, but he had fueled her anger which had made her more determined to prove him wrong. He had baited her into hauling tail on the climb so that she could make it up. He was no doubt tired himself, and the thought of having to carry her up probably sent chills up his spine.

  "You were helping me," she nodded. "Thank you." She looked down to the valley below. There was no vehicle, no military assist waiting to take them back home. "Now what?"

  "You see that hill over there?"

  "Yeah," she said cautiously.

  "Now we have to get over that one."

  "But I thought we just had to clear this one."

  He shrugged.

  "Well how many more?"

  He shrugged again.

  "Do you know where you're going?"

  “Over that hill.”

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  If she hadn't been looking she might have missed the small curve of his lips upward, because as quickly as it appeared it disappeared and he moved on. He was enjoying his job at her expense. Well, it wasn't going to happen. She was done. She couldn't keep going. Not only did her feet feel as if they were going to fall off, her entire body was in pain. She sat down.

  "I can't. I can't keep going."

  He stopped in his tracks, turned to her and without even a hint of compassion said, "Get off your butt and keep moving."

  She tried to get up, but her knees buckled beneath her weight and she fell forward. He stomped back to her. "I can't."

  He squatted before her. "Listen to me, you're almost there."

  "You said that before."

  "You just have to make it over that hill."

  "You said that last time and I made it, and I can't make anymore."

  "No, last time I said we have to get over the hill. I never said it was the only hill."

  "So that one is the last one? That's it?"

  "On the other side of that hill is freedom." He wrapped his hands around her arms and pulled her up to standing position.

  "Last one," she nodded. "Okay. I can do that." At least she hoped she could do that. Right now her legs weren't agreeing with her mouth.

  "Just remember, over that hill is freedom."

  In less than two minutes he had uttered more words to her than he had since he rescued her. Somehow those words made him seem almost Capri Montgomery 23

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  human. He had let down his armor in order to get her to push on, but he hadn't let it down for long. Once she started walking he went back to the same quiet, uncharismatic Sully that she had met just hours earlier.

  Five hours later, exhausted, sleep deprived and in desperate need of food, water and a bathroom, Alaina finally received one order she was willing to take. "Sit," he had commanded in the same dry tone as always.

  It was the tone that told her he expected orders to be followed. She didn't protest because she knew if she didn't sit down she would fall down.

  "Don't fall asleep we won't be here long."

  "Fifteen minutes I swear."
<
br />   "No."

  She rolled her eyes. "Sully—"

  "There's our ride," he pointed in the distance. She couldn't see anything and had no idea how he figured there was anything, let alone a vehicle, coming their way. Until she heard the low hum of the vehicle she assumed he was out of his mind crazy. Then she saw two clicks of a light off in the distance and she realized how he knew. While she was drifting off to sleep he had signaled with his flashlight and had obviously received the correct code in return. She didn't know how long it was going to take them to get home, but she was glad she didn't have to walk anymore. At least she hoped this ride would take them to their next mode of transportation.

  She could contact the resort later in the week and request her things be sent to her. Her passport was still locked in the resort safe. Her Saints and Sinners 24

  clothes were still neatly tucked inside her suitcase, which was neatly tucked inside the closet of the suite. Of course she had been missing for awhile and she knew they had probably moved her things in order to give the room to another paying customer. Her camera was long gone. She had been forced to leave it behind when Mr. Chavez and his men forced her into their motor boat. She had no hopes of ever seeing her "baby" again.

  She knew she shouldn't be worried about such things, but that camera was the last thing her dad had given her, losing it felt like she was severing her connection to him for the final time.

  Most of her memories had faded long ago. She remembered very little about him, only small amounts of details over a small amount of time. If it weren't for her pictures she wouldn't remember the color of his eyes, they were brown, almost black, just as her eyes were. He had been darker in complexion, born in Ireland to an African mother and an Irish father. He had migrated to the United States for college and decided to make the States his home. Then he met Liz. Liz was pale, almost porcelain. She was blonde and ambitious. He had instantly fallen for her and not even a year later they were married—not even a half a year later, she mused. Alaina wasn't sure how they had managed to fall in love because from what she knew of her mother, love was not in her vocabulary. Still, somehow they had created a child. They had created her.