Relentless (3 page)

Covering a yawn, she glanced around her bedroom while she waited for the laptop to start up. Her studio apartment was quiet and cozy, and the view of Central Park made it worth every penny of the rent that cost two-thirds of her paycheck. Opening her e-mail, she checked her messages.

The Pan Pacific in Vancouver confirmed her reservation for the next five nights, and the chair of the conference outlined the timing for her speech and other functions she was expected to attend.

At least she'd be busy, so she wouldn't have time to dwell on her PTSD symptoms. The panic attacks and insomnia were lessening, but she was still far from functioning optimally. Or normally, for that matter.

Sometimes she questioned whether she was ready to take on something as big as the conference, but she refused to let fear rule her life. She was determined to get past the anxiety that threatened to cripple her since her traumatic experience in the Hindu Kush Mountains of Afghanistan.

To her mind, the best way to get over it was by forcing herself to keep going on with her life the way she had before her captivity. Before the day Rhys Sinclair had kicked down the door of that soiled hovel and carried her out. Before the vehicle he'd been driving hit the land mine and blew the side of his head wide open.

She still saw it happen when she tried to fall asleep. The images were burned indelibly into her mind. Only exhaustion could extinguish the sight of those flames devouring the wreckage of the truck and Rhys leaping from it, on fire as he hit the snowy ground. Sometimes she woke up with his name clawing out of her throat, just like it had on the mountainside.

Except in her dreams, she didn't reach him in time. Ever. He writhed in agony in the snow while the flames burned him alive. His navy blue eyes always locked with hers, full of terror, silently begging for help. But she never got to him.

She'd woken up in tears more times than she could count, telling herself over and over that she
had
gotten to him in time. She
had
doused the flames, and
had
pressed that filthy shirt against the gaping wound in his head. She
had
assisted the US Army neurosurgeon who'd been at the base hospital in Kabul and helped stop the bleeding.

The emergency in-situ flap craniectomy had saved Rhys's life. That was the only thing that made the memories bearable. Well, that and the fact she'd been able to see him herself at Walter Reed, though he'd still been in a drug-induced coma while they waited for the swelling in his brain to diminish enough for them to bring him out of it.

That was her guilty secret, and something she didn't want him or anyone else finding out. The last thing Rhys needed was to know the traumatized woman he'd rescued had developed an unhealthy obsession with him. Hell, it wasn't something she was proud of either, but it didn't change the fact that she thought about him every free moment. Even the daily updates from the hospital staff didn't ease her completely. She wanted to see him for herself.

An image of his handsome face swam in her head. He'd been released today. They'd called to tell her.

His meteoric recovery was nothing short of miraculous, but he'd worked damn hard— harder than any patient she'd ever seen. Whenever he'd hit a plateau in his progress, he'd personally upped his rehab sessions by fifty percent until he reached the next goal, pushing himself to the wall every time, no matter how much the staff tried to get him to slow down. It gave her goose bumps just thinking of it. She was easily his number one fan, and though she understood the psychology behind it, that didn't mean she was comfortable with her feelings. She wasn't.

Yes, she'd been through a lot. Listening to her friends scream in agony as they were murdered in the next room was the worst thing she'd ever experienced. Until Rhys had pulled her out of her prison, she'd been certain she was next.

He'd come to her rescue, so it was natural for her to be attached to him, and the fact that she'd operated on him strengthened the bond. Trouble was, she was pretty sure the connection was one-sided. As far as she knew, Rhys didn't do relationships.

For God's sake, Nev, get a grip
. She crossed the room to her tiny closet and pulled out clothes to pack, thinking about when she'd first met Rhys in Paris. She'd gone to visit Sam, who'd just finished working a job for the CIA along with Rhys and his team. Her cousin had brought him with her on their first night out together. Nev had expected to hate every moment of his company while she'd waited at the cafe to meet the knuckle-dragging, heartless assassin Sam had invited.

The reality of Rhys had been so completely opposite to that, she'd been stunned into staring at him. Her first impression was that he was drop-dead gorgeous, and quiet. Not at all the arrogant, look-how-dangerous-I-am predator she'd assumed he'd be. But then her cynical side had kicked in and pointed out she couldn't let his looks or civilized demeanor distract her from what he was. A trained killer.

Though she hadn't yet known he was a Delta Force member, she'd sensed the lethal capability in him. Something about the way he moved told her that. Perhaps the way his gaze never stayed still. But mostly it was the quiet air of command he held. He radiated confidence. Without a doubt he could handle himself in any situation thrown at him. And those were merely the first of her revelations for the evening when it came to Rhys.

Throughout the night he'd continued to surprise her. He hadn't said much, but what he had was shockingly intelligent. He'd known more about Parisian history and the paintings in the Louvre than she did, and spoke almost fluent French. Sam had laughed at her stunned expression when he'd conversed with the waiter at the restaurant he'd chosen for them.

It made Nev ashamed of how she'd dismissed him as uneducated because of his vocation. Whatever else Rhys was, he was extremely intellectual.

Unfortunately for her, that combination of brains, confidence and looks made him a thousand times sexier than any other man she'd ever met. That whole night in Paris, she'd felt completely safe with Rhys at her back. He'd been a total gentleman, guiding her and Sam through the busy streets with a solid hand on the smalls of their backs, or acting as a human icebreaker to lead them through crowds.

They'd hit a club later and he'd stood guard, watching over them from a distance. When she'd met his eyes across the room, it had felt like a hand reached in and squeezed her heart before he glanced away.

Packing her favorite pale pink skirt suit, Nev frowned at the memory. For some reason, she'd sensed a silent yearning in him. Like he wanted to get close, but either didn't know how or couldn't make it happen.

She recognized a fellow loner when she saw one. Aside from Sam, she didn't have many close friends, and was perfectly content with her own company. She suspected Rhys was even more antisocial.

And while he might come across as distant and cold upon first impression, she instinctively knew he wasn't. Sam had confirmed that in many conversations over the past few months. Ever since the night she'd met him, Nev hadn't been able to get him out of her head. Since Afghanistan, it was ten times worse.

She jumped when her phone rang. Stepping over the pile of clothes beside the bed, she checked the display. Sam. She crawled up onto the mattress and answered. “Hey, cuz.”

“Hey. Bet I caught you packing, huh.”

Nev couldn't miss the disapproving tone. “Yes.” She gazed around the torn apart room. Sam would
die
if she saw it. “Somehow I don't think you'd approve of my method.”

“Well then I'm glad I'm not there. Listen, just wanted to wish you luck with everything. You feeling okay about it?”

Nev laughed softly. If she had a panic attack on stage in front of all her medical colleagues, she had only herself to blame. But hey, look at all the first responders she'd have standing by. “Not really, but I figure it'll be better once I get there.”

“I guarantee it. Know why?”

Nev rolled onto her back and drew her knees up to survey the pile of clothes mounded up at the foot of her bed. “Why?”

“Hang on a minute. Someone wants to say hi.”

She waited on the line, expecting to hear the flattened vowels of Ben's Boston accent.

“Hi, Nev.”

Her stomach did a terrified back flip. She would never mistake that voice. Deep and calm, devoid of the accent his twin still carried, the timbre resonated in her ears like the perfect pitch of a cello in the hands of a master. “Rhys?”

“Yeah. How are you?”

Butterflies fluttered to life in her stomach. She swept a hand over her hair, which was ridiculous, since he couldn't see her. “Fine, good.” Damn, her heart was racing like she'd been running for a half hour. “What are you doing there?”

“I got released today, so Sam had me over for dinner to celebrate.”

“Oh.” Would have been nice if Sam had warned her before putting him on the phone. The butterflies continued their frenzied flight in her belly as she scrambled for something sensible to say. “How are you feeling?”

“Great. Almost good as new.”

Almost. But knowing how hard he'd pushed himself, he wouldn't be happy about his remaining strength imbalance. “I'm so glad.” She hated the fact she couldn't think of something better to say, and that she felt so awkward. For God's sake, she'd had her hands in the man's cranial vault, which was way more intimate than anything she'd ever done with another man. Why was she so nervous?

He picked up the thread of conversation for her. “So, I hear you're flying to Vancouver tomorrow.”

She toyed with a lock of hair that had slipped over her shoulder. “Yeah.”
Great dialogue, Nev. He must be spellbound.
“For a conference. I'm giving a speech on Sunday.”

“I heard that. Sam tell you I'll be in town, too?”

She nearly swallowed her tongue. “What?”

“Ben and I have a wedding to go to Saturday afternoon.”

“Oh.” Odd. This was the first time she'd heard about the wedding.

“Thing is, I need a date, and Ben's not all that attractive. I wondered if you'd go with me, if you're not too busy.”

Her jaw fell open.
If
? Was he kidding? “I— yes, that would be fine.”

“You sure? I know it's short notice.”

“I'm sure.” She wasn't going to miss an opportunity to see him, let alone go on a date with the man she'd been fantasizing about for over six months. Even spending time with him in a platonic way was reason enough to skip Saturday's agenda at the conference, and besides, her speech wasn't until the Sunday brunch. “Sam didn't mention anything about this. Isn't she going?”

“No. It was a last minute thing, so she's already committed to spending the weekend with our mom in Boston. I'm flying to Vancouver tomorrow, and Ben's going to meet me there Friday.”

A last minute invite to a wedding, yet he was going three days early? Suspicious, how they were going to be in the same city as her at the same time, and all at the last moment. She narrowed her eyes as a sickening possibility took root. “Does Sam or her work have anything to do with this?”

“Well, sort of. It's Luke's son's wedding.”

Was it. “And he just happened to invite you and Ben at the last minute.”

“Right.”

“As guests, or security?”

“You sound like a reporter,” he said on a chuckle that stirred her insides. “Luke knew Ben wouldn't go unless I was out of the hospital, so when he found out I was released, he called and invited me along.”

He was keeping something from her. As far as she knew, neither of the twins had even met Luke's son, so the only reason she could think of for the invitations was because something scary was up. She swallowed, battling an onset of nerves. “Is there something going on I should know about?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if there was?”

“Of course.”

Yeah, right. If it involved her directly, he might, but probably not even then. He'd been with one of the world's best covert units and was used to hiding things. He had the poker face thing down to an art, plus as Sam's future brother-in-law, he wasn't going to say anything that might worry her or her beloved cousin. Nev took a deep breath and made herself let it go.

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

“The Pan Pacific. You?”

“Not sure yet, but I'll get in touch with you when I arrive.”

“Okay.” The thought of traveling to a new city alone used to be exhilarating, but now it filled her with dread.

Stop being so damn scared all the time
.

At least she'd feel safe with Rhys. That was something to look forward to. She hadn't felt safe in forever.

Sam's earlier comment came back to her. “Sam said something about guaranteeing I'd feel better once I got into town. She must have meant because you'll be there, too.” When he didn't say anything, she swallowed. “I'll look forward to seeing you.”

“Good. Have a safe flight.”

“You too.” He said goodbye and handed the phone back to Sam.

Nev heard her cousin speaking, but she wasn't paying much attention to the words. Her brain was preoccupied with the fact she had a date with Rhys Sinclair in four days’ time.

Peshawar, Pakistan

Wednesday morning, local time

The two-inch knife wound in his gut had almost killed him twice now.

Too exhausted to open his eyes, Farouk Tehrazzi laid his hand on the layers of bandages covering the new surgical incision on his lower left abdomen, where the doctor had removed a section of his bowel.

A fly droned somewhere close to his head. Peeling his lids apart, he found it above him and fought to summon the strength to lift his arm and wave it away. His skin was bathed in sweat from the fever breaking, but the pain was still there. Deep. Consuming.

Peritonitis was a dangerous condition, and not conducive to living on the run.

Two operations and three courses of IV antibiotics hadn't repaired the damage done to his intestines by his former bodyguard's blade on that frozen summit in Afghanistan. Beneath the dressing he lifted, the row of staples holding his ravaged flesh together seemed obscene against his pale skin, the raised edges red and swollen. Every breath he took was its own separate torment.