Naked Edge (51 page)

Grandma reached out and took the nearly dried afterbirth into her hands and began to bury it in the red earth, saying Alissa's Dine name--Shandiin Hozhoni, which meant "Beautiful light that breaks through the clouds."

A lump formed in Kat's throat, the ritual meaning more to her than she'd realized it would. But then Grandma spoke again.

Her throat tight, Kat translated. "Grandma says this cord now becomes Alissa's deep root with the land and that no matter where she goes in her life, K'ai'bii'to will be her home, as it has been the home of the women of this family all the way back to the days when we returned from the Long Walk." Kat paused to listen to Grandma Alice speak, then repeated her words in English once more, tears blurring her vision. "She says that she doesn't know what happened to your cord when you were born, but that there is some of you in Alissa's cord. This means that you have deep roots here now and that K'ai'bii'to is your home, too. She hopes you will remember this and know that the door to her hogaan will always be open to you."

Grandma patted the red soil into place with gnarled hands, the placenta and umbilical cord now buried. She stood and looked up at Gabe, patting his arm. "You--Blue-Eyed Navajo."

Then she walked away, leaving the three of them--Kat, Gabe, and the baby--alone together.

Gabe wiped the tears from Kat's cheeks with this thumb. "I think that means she doesn't want me to keep the two of you in Colorado for too long at any one stretch."

Kat laughed. He hadn't understood at all. "What she was trying to say is that she loves you, that you're like a grandson to her."

Gabe glanced over at Grandma Alice, a muscle tightening in his jaw, a telltale sheen in his eyes. Then he met Kat's gaze, the love he felt for her there on his face for her to see. "A year ago, if you'd told me I'd have a wife and a new baby girl, I'd have laughed in your face. But now I can't imagine living a moment of my life without you. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Katherine James Rossiter, and I will spend every day until I die loving you."

Cradling the baby between them, Kat rested her cheek against his chest, his heartbeat strong, as strong as the sun-scorched earth beneath her feet. "I could say the same about you. If not for you, neither Alissa nor I would be here today. You gave up your life for mine, and there's not a day that goes by that I don't remember that. You're everything to me, Gabe.
Ayor anosh'ni."

Then the wind picked up, sand swirling at their feet, the last rays of sunlight stretching rosy fingers across the sky. Somewhere in the distance a lone coyote howled, as if to say that all was right with the world. And Kat knew in her heart that it was.

"Let's get you inside by the fire." Gabe wrapped his arm around Kat's shoulder and together they walked west toward the welcoming warmth of the hogaan--and the rest of their lives.

Keep reading for a special preview of Pamela Clare's next I-Team novel.Coming soon from Berkley Sensation!

ZAC TOOK HIS arm from around Natalie's shoulders, unlocked the door to their hotel room, and drew out his Glock, motioning for her to stand just inside the door. He quickly cleared the room, checking beneath the bed and behind the shower curtain, then nodded to her that all was well.

She set down his gear bag, shut the door, locked it, and slipped the door guard into place. Then she took a few steps backward and sat on the bed, once again motionless, her gaze fixed on the door as if she expected all the demons in hell to charge through it any minute now. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, her face pale, a haunted look in her eyes.

Something inside him hurt to see her like this, the girl whose smiles had made his teenage heart pound harder, now battered and terrified. Again, he found himself wanting to comfort her but not knowing what to say or do. His years in WitSec had been spent shielding criminals, people who'd turned state's witness to save their own hides--drug dealers, thugs, counterfeiters. After a meth dealer he'd protected had taken advantage of a new identity to start a life of crime with a clean slate, Zac had left WitSec and gone to work apprehending fugitives, a job that had suited him better. He had no experience protecting the innocent or comforting the victims of crimes.

God only knew what they'd done to her. In the five days it had taken him to reach her, they could have...

Don't go there, McBride.

Zac reined in his imagination, sickened by the images it conjured. He holstered the Glock and knelt down in front of her. "Hey, there's a shower in the next room with your name on it--hot water, towels, soap."

She shifted her gaze from the door to him, then nodded. "You won't go anywhere will you? I... I don't want to be left alone."

He'd planned on slipping down to the little shop he'd seen in the lobby to buy them both some personal supplies and get her something decent to wear. But he would have room service bring what they needed instead. He took her hand, squeezed it. "I'll be right here."

Natalie willed herself to stand; even the appeal of a shower was not enough to break through the strange numbness that had taken hold of her. For the past twenty-four hours all she'd done is run. Now she could barely move.

She walked into the bathroom, flicked on the light, then shut the door behind her and began to undress, letting her clothes fall to the floor. She heard Zac's voice on the other side of the door, the deep sound of it reassuring. He was probably calling to let his commanding officer know where they were so that someone could come pick them up and drive them back across the border.

Deliberately avoiding the mirror--she was afraid of what she might find there--she turned on the shower, stepped beneath the spray, and let it carry away a week's worth of sweat, dirt, and fear. She shampooed her hair twice, massaged in conditioner, then scrubbed with a soapy washcloth till her skin was pink--wanting to be clean again, needing to feel clean. Then she rinsed her hair and her body, watching the bubbles swirl down the drain.

It's over. I'm alive. I'm going home.

The thought hit her, putting a lump in her throat--but close on its heels came another. So many people
weren't
going home.

Tears spilled down her face. How many had died on that bus? Twenty-five? Thirty? All of them journalists, all of them there because they wanted to make the world a better and safer place. Killed without mercy. Shot down.

Screams. Flying glass. Blood.

Oh, God, no! No!
I've
got
a
wife and--

Bam! Bam! Bam!

The bathroom seemed to dissolve, and she was on the bus again. She didn't hear Zac's knock at the door, didn't hear him call her name, didn't know he was there until he turned off the water and wrapped a towel around her, murmuring reassurances, lifting her into his arms, carrying her to the bed.

He sat down beside her, held her, kissed her hair, his words reaching her, bringing her back to the present. "It's okay, sweetheart. Let it out."

She couldn't have stopped crying if she'd tried, her body shaking as she sobbed out the past week's horror, her face pressed against Zac's chest, the strength of his embrace a sanctuary. How much time passed she couldn't say. Slowly, her tears subsided, leaving her feeling drained--and ashamed.

She sniffed. "I'm sorry."

"You have no reason to be sorry." He handed her a tissue, his gaze soft. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here."

Natalie shook her head. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was to talk about it. But then the words came on their own, slowly at first, then tumbling out of her, bringing a fresh wave of tears. "Why didn't they kill me? Why didn't they kill me, Zac?"

The question haunted her. She needed an answer.

He drew her into his arms, stroked her hair. "I don't know, sweetheart."

"All those people..." Grief tightened its grip on her heart--and some other emotion, as well. Guilt.

"It's not your fault that they died and you lived." Had he read her mind?

She drew back, saw a wet stain on his shirt. "I got your T-shirt wet."

"Tears are probably the best thing this shirt has ever known." He stood and drew the shirt over his head, the bandage she'd made for his shoulder still in place. "You should try to get some sleep while you can."

"When are they coming to get us?"

He frowned. "When is who coming to get us?"

"The other Marshals or the State Department or whoever you're working for. The good guys."

He ran a hand over his unshaven jaw, looked down at the floor. "No one is coming to get us."

She felt a little spike of adrenaline. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not working for anyone." He met her gaze. "I didn't come here for the U.S. Marshal Service, and I didn't come here for the State Department. I came for you, Natalie."

Keep reading for a preview of the next romance from Nina Bruhns

A KISS TO KILL

Coming April 2010 from Berkley Sensation!

Manhattan
April, present day

THEY WERE USING her as bait.

Dr. Gina Cappozi could feel them following her. All day she'd had that peculiar sensation of eyes on her back, the spill of goose bumps on her flesh for no reason, a tingle in the hairs on her neck... obviously the STORM Corps special ops guys must be doing what they did best--lurking in the shadows, watching her from doorways and alleys, scanning the busy Manhattan streets for danger. Always there for her. Always watching her back. Waiting patiently for their mutual enemy to appear.

She wished they would just go away and leave her the hell alone.

Their constant presence was meant to be reassuring. It should be a comfort knowing they were there watching out for her. But it wasn't. Because even though STORM Corps once heroically saved her life, and was now supposedly protecting her, she also knew those spec ops guys had an agenda--to get their hands on
him,
their hidden enemy, any way they could.

And she was their Judas goat.

Well, too bad. They'd have to wait their turn at the bastard. Because she wanted him even more than they did.

Her nemesis.
Captain Gregg van Halen.

Gina glanced around as she quickly took the steps down into the black maw of the Lexington Avenue subway tunnel. No familiar faces lingered in the crowd as the crush of mindless, homebound humanity carried her along in its wake. Would she be able to give her babysitters the slip this time?

Or maybe they'd tired of her game of hide-and-seek, and had already gone away and left her on her own. Maybe it was van Halen she could feel stalking her.

Good. Let the bastard come.

Just let him try and hurt her.
She was ready. Her body was healed. And her mind... well, her mind was as healed as it was going to get. For now.

She was armed, of course. She never left her Upper East Side brownstone without her weapon of choice. Hell, even inside her home, she was never without her knife. Nowhere was safe for her, indoors or out. Not as long as van Halen still drew breath.

She wrapped her fingers firmly around the handle of the razor-sharp KA-BAR knife tucked in her coat pocket. Oh, yes. She'd been practicing, all right. Lunging and plunging it into the heart of a straw target, over and over, until little piles of cut straw lay scattered on the ground all around and its cloth covering was sliced to ribbons. Day after day, week after week. She'd decimated a hundred targets or more, much to the chagrin of her self-defense instructor.

She was confident now, no longer terrified of the mere thought of coming face to face with the man who'd haunted her nightmares for the past six months. The man who had sold her to terrorists and walked away without a backward glance.

Really, what could he do to her that she hadn't already endured? He couldn't hurt her. Not this time. Not her body. Not her heart. He wouldn't take her by surprise again. He wouldn't get the chance.

No one would. Not ever again.

Because Gina Cappozi was taking her life back.

And Gregg van Halen was going to die.

That was for damn sure. The very hand that had lovingly stroked his skin and caressed his body to fevered arousal was going to be the same hand that ended his miserable life for good.

And if she was very, very lucky, it would happen tonight.