Last Breath

Eight

Daniel

I DREAM OFTEN. TOO MUCH. Usually my dreams are about my sister, Naomi. I’m with her on vacation, and sometimes I save her from the kidnapping. But most of the time I’m left standing on the beach as the waves come up and take her out to sea, and I swim and I swim and call out her name but she never responds. When I try to turn toward the shore, my dad is standing there with my mother prostrate at his feet, so I turn around and dive back into the ocean. When I wake up, I’m gasping for breath.

Other times I dream of my missions when I was a sniper in Delta Force, lying in a ghillie suit in the sand with my spotter next to me. I’m shooting people regardless of their sex or age, like I’m in an arcade. I don’t know from my position who they are—and for my own sanity don’t want to know—I only know they are a danger to my brothers and I’m to kill them before they harm any members of my unit. After these dreams I wake up holding my breath, waiting to pull the trigger.

This dream is so different than all my other nighttime movies. In this dream Regan is telling me that the only way I can save her is to have sex with her. No doubt this dream is going to end as badly as all my other dreams, but I can’t figure out whether fucking her is swimming toward the shore or back into the ocean. She keeps saying that this will make it all right for her—that she’ll be healed by my dick. There’s something about it that I know is wrong, but the press of her body against mine drowns out all those concerns. It’s a pretty fucking good dream, and then…I wake up and realize it’s not a goddamn dream. That the fucked-up chick is stroking my cock, but her eyes are dead and I’m not into drilling corpses.

I stuff my stupid-ass hard cock into my pants and zip up. Even though I’m pissed as hell at her, I get her a glass of water.

Inside the bathroom I see Regan leaning over the toilet, her bare ass resting on her heels. She’s not just gagging. She’s crying and trying to retch out every ounce of her body. I kind of want to start vomiting right beside her. Half of me wants to scream at her until my throat is raw and the other half stupidly wants to pick her up and soothe her tears.

“Here’s a glass of water. We need to talk.”

She doesn’t acknowledge me. Her shoulders are heaving and every breath is labored. I place the glass on the sink, and my hand hovers over her head. Apparently the side that wants to comfort her is winning out. That’s probably my dick talking, so I clench my fingers into a fist and back out, closing the door quietly behind me.

The sounds of her sobs and dry heaves are muffled but still audible. Each reverberation of her grief is like a fucking needle into my skin. I grab my burner phone from the counter. She must have looked through it because it was in my jacket pocket. This morning I was dead tired from flying from Seattle to Russia down to Rio in three days followed by three more days of looking for Regan at Gomes’. I’ve had only a handful of hours of sleep, and this morning, after disposing of Gomes’ thug and buying Regan some clothes, I thought I could give in and rest a moment. We’d have a few hours before Gomes’ dead man would have to check in.

I’d thought that I’d have time to sleep. I needed a few hours, but apparently my body and mind had shut down so completely I couldn’t tell what was going on. But what the fuck was she trying to seduce me into doing anyway? I let anger at Regan, at the whole goddamn situation, burn away my guilt. She had no business trying to have sex with me. I’ve been nothing but good to her.

Fuck. Me. Sideways.

Climbing out onto the fire escape, I dial up Petrovich because if I don’t check in, the motherfucker will keep texting me. And that pretty much ruins the purpose of the fucking burner phone.

“I’m working, and if I have to stop every goddamn second to tell you that I’m taking a shit then you’re not going to see any results.”

“You sound angered, Daniel.” Petrovich’s nearly accentless voice tumbles down the phone lines.

“Not angered. Irritated. Do you know what that is in Russian?”

“Yes. I went to Oxford, do you not remember?”

“I could give two shits where you went to college. Just fucking stop texting me.” I wish I could pace but the fire escape is about four feet by four feet. There’s barely enough room to take one step.

“I should come,” he muses.

“Sure, come on down. This place definitely needs more Russians. You aren’t going to look out of place at all,” I say.

Petrovich grunts. “The Emperor. Remember, he must be captured but not harmed. You must do everything possible to keep him out of harm’s way.”

“Yeah, I know,” I sigh and lean against the iron railing. My previous anger is draining away. Regan’s fucked up. Of course she’s going to do stupid shit. I just need more patience. It’s what I would want for my sister. “Who is this Emperor person anyway?”

There’s a pause as if he’s trying to weigh whether I’m worthy of the information, but I know far more about Vasily than makes him comfortable. I know enough to blackmail him. Why he wants the Emperor is no big deal when it comes to the fact that he had his uncle, the former head of the Bratva, murdered.

“You know of the Emperor’s Palace?”

“Yeah, it’s the place where I get most of my commissions.” And the light dawns. “You want the person who created this underground network. Not for the money. You don’t need it.”

He’s silent, unwilling to give me more information, but it is all so clear to me now.

“You must want to hack into something that is unhackable, and you think the Emperor can do it,” I guess, but I know I’m right.

“Yes,” he snarls, confirming it all. “The person who can create a network that facilitates the trade of guns, drugs, everything and not get caught? I want him.”

“My sister could do it,” I told him. “Not that I’d let you get your dirty hands on her.”

“Find me the Emperor. It’s what I’ve paid you for.” He hangs up, and I let the empty static buzz in my ear for a minute. Find the Emperor. Find my sister. Well, to do all that I needed to shed some baggage. Regan needed to get going before the two of us did each other in. I key in another number to help that process along.

“Da.” Nick’s harsh Ukranian accent is a welcome relief from the soft romantic tones of the Portuguese language. I can’t handle soft right now.

“Your girl is a basket case,” I tell him.

“Regan does not belong to me. She is not mine. I have only one.”

Nick is so goddamned literal. Usually it makes me laugh but not now. “Put Daisy on the phone.”

“Nyet.”

“Yes, put your goddamned girlfriend on the phone or I’m walking away from Regan right now.”

There’s a shuffling in the background and a grunt from Nick. “Hello?” Daisy sounds breathless but happy. A little of my anger leaks away. I can’t ruin her happiness. Daisy’s been through too much, and I know she’s crushed with guilt. If it weren’t for Daisy, Regan would never have been kidnapped. If Daisy hadn’t been a virgin, Regan wouldn’t have been raped. I can’t tell her what is going on here.

“Daisy, sweetheart, that dour Ukrainian keeping you happy? You know I’m more than willing to come to your rescue?” I try to inject some false cheeriness into my voice.

She giggles. “Nah, I love my dour Ukrainian. You’re too laid back for me. I like them morose and uptight.”

Boy, she has Nick pegged perfectly. “You’ve never had a Texan. Once you have a taste of big sky country, you can’t go back.”

“I thought big sky country referred to Montana.”

“We’re so awesome that all the best slogans are used to describe us. Montana’s a copycat and they know it. Plus, their motto is used to describe why they get away with copulating with cattle. No one around to see.”

“That’s really gross, Daniel.”

“I know. It’s why I don’t visit there.” The small talk is actually wearing on me, so I get down to business. “It’s good news. I’ve got Regan.”

When Daisy begins to cry, I want to crush the phone in my fingers. I’ve had it up to here with the tears. I can’t take one more woman sobbing, even if she is happy. But Daisy’s tears aren’t cries of relief. I can hear the guilt and sorrow and pain in them. “Did you hear me? We’re safe,” I bark into the receiver with more force than I intend.

“Do not raise your voice to her or it will be the last thing you say,” I hear Nick threaten.

“Yeah, yeah.” At this point, I’d welcome being put out of my misery. I stick my head back into the bedroom, but I don’t hear any sounds from Regan. Hesitantly I climb through the window and into the apartment again. It sounds like dead silence. Shit, did she hurt herself? “Gotta run,” I say and throw down the phone. In less than five seconds I’m at the bathroom door, but it’s open and the bathroom is empty. A light cough sounds behind me and I spin around, gun in hand. It’s Regan, sitting on the corner of the sofa, her hands upraised. I flick the safety on and stick the gun back into my tactical vest.

“You look like shit,” I say because I’m at a complete loss for words. My throat aches from holding back all the shouting I want to do. Before she can respond, the phone rings. Nick and Daisy. “Get another bottle of water and drink it all down. But slowly. You’re going to be seriously dehydrated.”

Her eyes dart toward the bedroom where my phone is ringing. Ignoring the incessant rings, I stomp over to the refrigerator and pull out another bottle of water. Patience, I counsel myself. This girl has been through hell and she needs some patience. Treat her as you would your sister.

With another deep breath, I gather my tattered self-control and give her a gritty, barely there smile and hand her the bottle. The phone has stopped ringing, but then it starts again.

“You better get that.” Her voice sounds like someone has scratched it with sandpaper. It’s rough and gravelly and sexy as fuck.

“Yeah.” I make no move to answer the phone though. After two rings, the voicemail kicks in and a beep lets me know I have a waiting message.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” she whispers, and then she looks down at her hands that are busy peeling the label off the bottle.

My first instinct is to say it’s no big deal, but it’s a big fucking huge deal so I’m not going to try to sweep it under the sofa like it’s nothing. “I’ve got to make a phone call, but then you and I are going to talk. You’re going to tell my why Gomes keeps coming after you. You’re going to tell me why you won’t let me take you to the embassy. Then we’re going to talk about this morning.”

She nods again and takes a sip of water, looking at me with wet, huge eyes over the plastic container. Looking as if I’m going to drop her off on the side of the road. Rubbing my forehead, I try to find some patience.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Regan. And I don’t want you to use me to hurt you.” I stroke a finger alongside of the back of her hand, and when she doesn’t flinch I squeeze it. “I’m on your side, no matter what. But I can’t fucking help you if you don’t allow me to know what’s going on. I spent weeks looking for you, and I’m telling you right now that I’d rather be dead than allow anything bad to happen to you. So plan on talking when this is all over.”

This causes her to give another little watery gasp, so I back off. I can’t handle another crying bout this morning. My nerves are shot, and I’m sitting on the knife’s edge of insanity with no sleep, a shit ton of guilt, and the worry of Gomes’ men coming and tracking us down. I wasn’t lying when I told Regan that I’d die before I let harm come to her again. I don’t want to hear those broken sounds from her. Not ever again.

Inside the bedroom, I pick up the phone and see that Nick’s called me three more times. I step out onto the fire escape again and pull down the window. This is not a conversation Regan needs to hear. Not yet.

“Is Regan okay?” Daisy answers before the first ring completes its cycle.

“She looks okay. I haven’t taken her to a doctor or anything.” I figured someone at the embassy would take care of that.

“She can go to one when she’s back in Minneapolis,” Daisy muses. “Why isn’t she at the embassy? I thought the plan was to get her and then take her to the U.S. Consulate.”

“Thanks, Daniel, for saving my best friend when you had nothing to do with her kidnapping,” I say a bit sarcastically. When my harsh words are met with silence, I feel like a dick. “Look, sorry. It’s been a tough few days. I took her to the embassy, but she wouldn’t get out of the taxi. Rather than go through a big production by carrying her nearly bare-assed through the front doors, I brought her home with me.”

“How will you get her home, then?”

“I’m taking her over today, but here’s the deal: She’s scared of me and she doesn’t trust me, so how much do you want me to tell her?”

“Everything.”

“Everything? That Nick’s a former Russian hit man and that she was kidnapped because they didn’t know which girl he was boning?”

“Yes, all of that,” Daisy says flatly. “Or I’ll tell her. Put her on the phone.”

“Fine.”

I climb back in and hand the phone over to Regan. “It’s for you.”

She looks at me like there’s snake that will crawl through the earpiece and bite her, but after a moment she reaches out and takes the phone from me.

“Hello?” she asks tentatively.