Page 3 of Hawk on the Hunt

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Ace leaned over the table, lowering his voice, while handing him a small piece of paper. “So we’re agreed. Tomorrow at 9 a.m. This is the address.”

Nodding, Dylan took the piece of paper and read it. “Okay.”

“Memorize it, then burn it.”

Ace rose and turned to leave. Dylan took another look at the paper, having already memorized the address, and held it over the candle on the table. It caught fire, and a moment later, he dropped it down on the table, where it burned completely, leaving only ash.

When Dylan looked up again, Ace was already on the sidewalk, heading down the narrow road on foot. Dylan rose, leaving the half-empty plastic cup of iced coffee on the table, when he saw somebody come toward him. For a moment, he couldn’t see the woman’s face because of the headlights of a car silhouetting her. But a second later, the outside lights of the café illuminated her face.

He felt his heart stop, and he stood there as if suddenly paralyzed. His mouth went dry, and he couldn’t form a coherent thought. He tried to recall what he’d been taught in his training as a CIA agent to deal with a situation like this, but nothing came to mind. He couldn’t think straight. He’d never been able to think straight when it came to Zara, and that hadn’t changed, even though he hadn’t seen her in four years. Clearly, time didn’t heal all wounds. Nor had it killed his love for her.

Zara hadn’t changed a bit. She was still as beautiful as ever, maybe even more so now because he knew he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting her back. He’d messed that up royally. He’d panicked four years ago, and by the time he’d thought things through and figured out a way to stay safe, and keep her safe too, it had been too late to take it all back.

“Zara.”

She stopped right in front of him, her green eyes glaring at him, her long blond hair caressing her shoulders. She looked like a water nymph in the light summer dress in green and blue pastel colors. Like an apparition. Perhaps he was hallucinating, daydreaming like he often did when he thought of her. And of what he’d lost. Of what he’d given up. Of what he had to give up. Because he hadn’t had a choice, not back then, not when he’d had to run for his life. Some nights, he dreamed of her, of the time they’d spent together, the plans they’d had.

“Dylan.”

Her voice had an edge to it, one he’d never heard in her. It was proof that she wasn’t an apparition, but real, because in a hallucination her voice would sound sweet and sensual, teasing and beguiling. Not pissed off.

“How, ahm…” He didn’t know what to say to her. How are you? It seemed hardly appropriate.

Her jaw clenching Zara sucked in an audible breath. “You’re back?”

The accusing tone in her voice wasn’t a surprise to him. She had every right to accuse him.

“Yeah, I’m back.”

“You owe me an explanation.” Her voice grew louder.

Dylan glanced around, and noticed a single man at a table close by casting them a curious glance. This wasn’t a good place for a conversation with Zara. A conversation that would get loud and ugly.

“I know.”

“Then talk!”

“Not here.” He reached for her arm, but she sidestepped him. He dropped his hand. “Sorry.”

“I want to know why you left,” she demanded. “After everything we had…”

He heard how her voice broke, and knew that if she cried, they would make an even bigger scene at the café, and with everybody taking videos of altercations these days, he knew his face would be plastered all over social media instantly, and his enemies would find him in a nanosecond.

“I promise I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Just not here.” He tried to think of a place where they wouldn’t be overheard. “Somewhere private.”

Zara nodded stiffly. “My apartment is two blocks from here.”

He registered quickly that this meant that she’d moved since he’d left four years earlier. It didn’t surprise him. For a moment, he hesitated, but he didn’t have a better idea. The small hotel he was staying at was on the outskirts of Washington D.C.

“Okay.”

As he followed Zara to the sidewalk and began to walk next to her in silence, he wondered how much he could tell her. She deserved the truth, but how much of the truth? Could he tell her of the precognitive skills that had made him and others of his kind the nation’s most powerful asset? She would think he was crazy. And how could he explain to her why he’d had to go to ground four years ago, because somebody had killed the leader of the CIA’s Stargate program, and was sending assassins after all agents? She would think he was paranoid. But paranoia had kept him alive. Several agents had already been murdered, and more would die, if Ace and his motley crew couldn’t stop whoever had betrayed them.

Taking on their enemy would be dangerous. Could he really in all good conscience tell Zara about this? Did he have the right to scare her just to clear his own conscience by giving her the true reason why he’d left her and made it impossible for her to find him? She would be better off not knowing. Ignorance was bliss. But it would mean lying to her. And he was done lying to her. She deserved better. She deserved the truth, even if it didn’t change anything about the past. Or the future, because they had none. Because after four years without him, Zara had moved on.

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